#i genuinely love living like this but sometimes it makes me say stupid things on the online.

[hypokeimena]

being a jewish ancient religion (post-temple judaism / hb+LXX+rabbinics) studyer is so funny because people will say stuff about the bible and i'll be like "well that's simply just not true" and then i remember about. like. christianity

[this-should-do]

me when i meet with my colleges first out trans teacher who is like a celebrity with me after one of my teachers puts me in contact with her again (i had interviewed said trans teacher 4 years prior and hadnt met with her since) and she tells me tjat my teacher had so many positive things to say about me, about how i was one of her brightest most well spoken students and that she (within like 5 minutes of having been talking) immediately sees exactly what my professor had been talking about and so many super implied positives about me that i would never had known about and i dod everything in my power to avoid prying for more details but even what i heard was soso nicies

[silouvertongues]

gotta get up early for class tomorrow im so sleepy but i suddenly felt the urge to calculate how much money's been spent on my post secondary education till now and i literally feel nauseous

[orcelito]

i do love that vash is the Definition of high int, low wis. he puts on the goofiness to get ppl to not pay attention to how absolutely Bonkers skilled he is so ppl just assume he's a dumbass. and like. he IS. in some ways. he is SUCH a dumbass. but he's an incredibly intelligent dumbass. he has layers.

[synonymroll648]

IF LORE UPDATES APPLIED TO PEOPLE I WOULDVE JUST GOTTEN ONE OF MY HAPPIEST LORE UPDATES TODAY

[pucksandpower]

Shouldn’t Have Done That

Mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: trying to get one of the most dangerous men in the world to put a hit out on the love of his own life probably isn’t the brightest idea (or in which, for someone with a PhD, your professor is shockingly stupid)

Warnings: 18+ content, sexual harassment, imbalanced power dynamics, graphic violence, and descriptions of bodily harm

The door to your apartment swings open, and the chatter from the hallway stops. Four of your classmates shuffle inside, their footsteps faltering as they take in the sight before them. They’re silent for a moment too long.

“Wait,” Katie says, her eyes wide as she looks up at the vaulted ceiling and back down to the gleaming hardwood floors. “Is this your place?”

You shrug, tossing your keys into the bowl by the door. “Yeah.”

“You live here?” Carla echoes, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I mean,” you chuckle lightly, “obviously.”

The apartment, with its high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean, feels miles away from the cramped student housing they’re all used to. It's not just the space. The sleek furniture, the abstract art pieces on the walls, the elegant touches — none of it exactly screams student budget. They’re trying not to stare, but they’re doing a bad job of hiding it.

“I thought we were coming over to, like … study,” Peter finally says, breaking the silence, a nervous chuckle following.

You give him a playful nudge with your elbow. “We are.”

“But here?” Katie crosses her arms, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, what’s the deal? This place has to cost a fortune.”

There’s a beat, then a couple of them laugh, but it’s a little strained. They’re not joking. They’re genuinely trying to piece it together. You could brush it off, let them make their own assumptions, but something about their wide-eyed curiosity feels harmless.

“My brother,” you say, almost casually. “He’s … well, he’s doing okay. He helps me out.”

They’re all staring, but it’s Carla who finally speaks up. “What does your brother do?”

You hesitate for just a second before answering. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.”

Katie’s eyes narrow. “You’re not sure?”

“I mean, I know it’s something with negotiations. Like, high-level stuff. It’s complicated.” You wave it off like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t really matter. Because it doesn’t, right? You’ve never been the type to get too involved in his work. You just trust that he knows what he’s doing.

Carla tilts her head, curious but not pushing further. Peter, on the other hand, leans against the kitchen island, his lips curving into a smirk. “Something with negotiations? So, what? Is he, like, a spy or something?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Are you sure?” Peter presses, his tone teasing but with just enough edge that he’s probably half-serious.

“Not everything is out of a Bond movie, Peter,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“But the view!” Katie says, pulling everyone’s attention back to the massive windows overlooking the water. “I can’t believe you get to wake up to this every day.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Carla adds. “I’d never get any work done.”

“I manage,” you say, grinning. The truth is, it’s still surreal to you too. This place is everything you didn’t know you wanted, and sometimes you catch yourself staring out those windows, trying to remind yourself that it’s real.

“Man, I bet you never want to leave,” Katie says, still wandering around like she’s in a museum.

“Not when she has everything she needs right here,” Peter quips. “Look at this kitchen. You could probably host a Michelin chef here.”

You open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “I wouldn’t know. I mostly use it for reheating leftovers.”

“You’re telling me this place has a kitchen like this, and you’re eating takeout?” Carla gasps dramatically, as if this is the most offensive thing she’s heard all day.

You shrug, uncapping the bottle. “Priorities.”

There’s a pause as everyone takes another lap of the apartment, taking in the minimalist, yet undeniably luxurious decor. The vibe is light, but you can feel the unspoken curiosity still lingering in the air.

“So … how well off are we talking, exactly?” Katie asks, not looking at you directly but instead at the marble countertops.

You shrug again, like it’s not that big of a deal. “Comfortable. Let’s just say he’s good at what he does.”

“I’ll say,” Peter mutters under his breath, and you can’t help but smirk.

For a moment, there’s silence again, but then Carla’s eyes light up like she’s had the best idea in the world. “Wait. Hold on. You know what I need to see?”

You raise an eyebrow, curious but already a little wary of where this is headed. “What?”

“Your closet.”

You blink, caught off guard by the request. “My closet?”

Katie jumps in, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, yes. I didn’t even think of that. You have to show us.”

“I-” You hesitate, glancing towards the hallway. You hadn’t planned on giving them a tour of your personal space. “It’s not-”

“Come on!” Carla insists, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the hallway with an eager grin. “We won’t judge. We just want to see.”

“Please?” Katie adds, pouting slightly for emphasis.

You laugh, giving in. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As you lead them down the hallway, you can feel the anticipation in the air. When you stop in front of the large double doors, their excitement is palpable. You twist the knob, pushing the doors open with a small sigh.

“Okay, here it is.”

The collective gasp that follows is almost comical. You step aside, letting them wander into the massive walk-in closet, which feels more like a high-end boutique than anything else. The walls are lined with shelves and racks overflowing with designer labels. Chanel, Dior, Balmain, Gucci. Every label under the sun is here, all neatly arranged and organized in a way that’s both overwhelming and aesthetically pleasing.

Carla immediately rushes to a rack, her fingers brushing over the fabric of a Givenchy gown. “Are you kidding me?”

“This is unreal,” Katie whispers, her voice filled with awe as she runs her hand over a pair of Louboutin heels. “It’s like a dream.”

Peter whistles low, leaning against the doorframe, trying to play it cool, but even he looks impressed. “I’ve never seen this much designer stuff in one place.”

“I’ve only worn, like, half of it,” you admit sheepishly.

Carla spins around, her mouth hanging open. “Half? You could dress an army in here.”

You laugh, leaning against the doorframe, watching them fawn over the collection like kids in a candy store. It’s surreal, seeing your life through their eyes. To you, it’s just your brother’s way of making sure you’re taken care of, but to them, it’s something out of a movie.

Katie pulls out a vintage Valentino dress, holding it up in front of her. “I would die for this.”

“Please don’t,” you tease. “It’s just clothes.”

“Just clothes?” Carla repeats, incredulous. “This is practically a museum of couture.”

They spend the next several minutes pulling out pieces, laughing and gasping at everything from limited-edition handbags to extravagant gowns, and you can’t help but smile. It’s kind of fun, seeing them so excited, even if you still feel a little weird about the whole thing.

Finally, Carla turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, you have to let us borrow something for the next event. Like, you have to.”

You shake your head, laughing. “We’ll see.”

But as they continue to gush over your closet, you realize that maybe it’s not such a big deal after all. Maybe sharing a little piece of this life with them doesn’t have to feel strange. Maybe it can just be fun.

***

Class is over before you realize it. Professor Turnier’s lecture on the intricacies of international negotiations had been more droning than usual, and the faint buzz of students gathering their things fills the hall. You shove your notebook into your bag, barely listening to the idle chatter around you. There’s a slight tension in the air that you can’t quite place, a sharpness that feels out of sync with the mundane end to the lecture.

You stand up to leave when you hear the professor’s voice, smooth and calculated.

“Could you stay behind for a moment?”

You freeze, glancing over your shoulder. His words aren’t unusual. He often asks students to hang back to discuss assignments or offer advice on projects. But something about his tone feels different. Off.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and nod, offering a polite, if tight, smile. “Sure.”

The last few students file out of the room, their footsteps echoing in the now-empty lecture hall. You hesitate before walking down toward his desk, feeling his gaze tracking your movements. His office is just off the hall, an enclosed glass-walled space where you can already see stacks of papers cluttering his desk.

“Come in,” he says, gesturing towards the open door, his voice too casual.

You step inside, noting the heavy scent of tobacco clinging to the air, and the way the blinds are partially drawn, casting strange shadows across the room. You stand near the door, feeling a sudden urge to stay as close to an exit as possible.

“Have a seat,” Turnier offers, motioning toward the chair across from his desk.

“I’m okay standing,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, even though your instincts are kicking into overdrive.

The professor doesn’t push it. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together, watching you with a strange smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ve been doing quite well in this course,” he starts, his voice calm and slow. “Very well, actually.”

You nod, unsure where this is going. “Thanks. I’ve been putting in a lot of work.”

“I can tell,” he replies. “You’re … very impressive.”

There’s a flicker of something unsettling in his words, and your stomach tightens.

He clears his throat, standing from his chair and walking around the desk to lean casually against the front of it, much closer now. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Someone like you, with your intelligence, your connections, could really go far in this world.”

You glance toward the door, wondering how much longer you’ll have to listen to him before you can politely excuse yourself. “I’m just focusing on the coursework right now. Trying to stay on top of things.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a slowness to his movements, a deliberate lack of urgency that feels like he’s setting up for something. “But you could be doing so much more. I could help you.”

You take a step back instinctively. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

His smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it now. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You stare at him, the air in the room thick with a sudden, unmistakable tension. The distance between you feels far too small. He’s watching you with a kind of predatory stillness, like he’s waiting for a reaction, like he wants you to feel trapped.

“I should probably go,” you say, your voice steady but your heart pounding in your chest. “I have another class soon.”

Before you can move, his hand darts out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip. The shift from casual to threatening is immediate, and panic flares in your chest. “You’re not going anywhere yet.”

You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip, pulling you closer. His other hand moves to your waist, fingers curling possessively as his breath catches in a disgusting, anticipatory way.

“I could do a lot for you,” he murmurs, his face too close to yours now. “You’re smart enough to know that. I could make your career. Or ruin it.”

His hand slides lower, and you freeze, caught in the horror of the moment, disbelief mixing with disgust. But then something in you snaps.

“Get off me,” you say through gritted teeth, your voice trembling but fierce.

He laughs, a low, condescending sound that makes your skin crawl. “You don’t want to make this difficult.”

Your body moves before your mind fully catches up. With all the force you can muster, you slam your knee upward into his groin. His breath catches in his throat as he doubles over, releasing you instantly, his face twisting in pain. He stumbles back, clutching himself, groaning in agony.

You don’t wait for him to recover. You turn toward the door, ready to sprint out of his office and never look back. But just as your hand grips the doorknob, you hear his voice, raw and venomous behind you.

“You’ll regret this.”

You stop, your pulse pounding in your ears, but you don’t turn around.

“I’ll make sure you regret this,” he spits, still hunched over but his voice sharp and filled with fury. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

You swallow hard, every muscle in your body tensing.

“You think your money can protect you?” He sneers, his words like poison. “I have friends — powerful friends. You think you can humiliate me like this and just walk away? You’ll never have a career. I’ll make sure of it.”

You stare at the door in front of you, every instinct screaming at you to leave, but his words hang in the air, twisting into something darker, something more sinister.

“I know people. People who could make your life hell. Mafia connections, sweetheart,” he says with a sickening smirk, though his voice is still ragged from the pain. “You have no idea how easily I could ruin you.”

Your breath catches, your fingers gripping the doorknob so tightly your knuckles turn white. His threat lingers, the weight of it pressing down on you. You’ve heard stories — whispers of people who move in dangerous circles, people who have connections that go far beyond what you’d ever imagined dealing with.

You know he could be bluffing. He probably is. But what if he’s not?

You force yourself to open the door, stepping out into the hallway, your legs trembling. You don’t look back. You can’t. The hallway is empty, the echoes of your footsteps the only sound as you walk, faster and faster, away from his office, away from the suffocating tension of what just happened.

But his voice, that horrible promise, follows you like a shadow.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

You step out of the building, the cool Mediterranean air hitting your face, but it doesn’t calm the storm inside you. You feel the bile rise in your throat as you stop just outside the doors, leaning against the wall and trying to steady your breathing.

Your mind races, replaying everything that just happened. The feel of his hands on you, the way he looked at you, the way he thought he could get away with it. And then his threat — the weight of it hanging over you, heavy and suffocating.

What now?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you don’t look at it. You can’t focus on anything but the gnawing sense of fear and anger churning inside you. For a second, you consider going back. Reporting him. But then you remember the look in his eyes, the cold certainty in his voice when he made that threat.

Mafia connections.

It sounds ridiculous, like something out of a movie. But here, in Monaco, where money and power intermingle in ways that blur the lines between the law and something far darker, it doesn’t feel so far-fetched.

You push yourself away from the wall and start walking, needing to move, needing to get away from the university, from the weight of what just happened. But as you walk, your mind keeps circling back to the same thought.

He’s not going to get away with this.

You refuse to let him.

***

You don’t remember driving to Charles’ apartment. The world outside had blurred into a haze of flashing lights and slick streets, your breath ragged in your chest as you fought to hold back the tears. By the time you park the car, your hands are shaking, white-knuckled on the steering wheel. You sit there for a second, trying to gather yourself, but the weight of what happened presses down, heavy and relentless.

Finally, you stumble out of the car, slamming the door shut, your footsteps hurried as you rush toward the entrance of the building. Your vision swims, the tears threatening to spill over, but you force yourself to keep moving, to get to Charles.

You don’t even knock when you reach his door. You punch in the code he gave you a long time ago and push the door open, not caring about anything but the need to see him, to feel safe for even a second.

Charles is in the living room, standing by the kitchen counter, his head turning the moment you step inside. His face instantly shifts from casual surprise to deep concern when he sees you — your tear-streaked face, your trembling body. He moves toward you without hesitation, his arms reaching out before you can even say a word.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice low and urgent as he pulls you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close, his warmth grounding you in a way you didn’t even know you needed.

You try to speak, but the words are stuck in your throat, tangled with sobs. You collapse into him, your legs giving way as the tears finally break free. His grip tightens as he catches you, lowering you gently onto the couch, cradling you like a child. You bury your face in his chest, gasping for air between sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, rocking you gently, his hand running through your hair in soothing strokes. “You’re safe now. You’re with me. Just breathe, okay?”

You try to follow his instructions, but your breaths come out jagged, choking on the tears. It feels like the whole day is crashing down on you at once, and the more you try to hold it together, the more everything falls apart.

He keeps murmuring reassurances, his hand never leaving your hair, his other arm a firm anchor around your shoulders. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just take your time.”

It takes a few minutes before you can even manage to form a coherent sentence. The sobs slow, but your whole body still trembles in his arms. You pull back just enough to look up at him, your face wet, eyes puffy, but the words still feel thick on your tongue.

“Charles …” Your voice breaks, and another hiccup escapes before you can stop it. “It’s … it’s my professor. H-He …”

His face hardens instantly, the warmth in his expression replaced by something darker, colder. “What did he do?”

You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, but the panic rises again as the memory of that office, the way his hands grabbed you, floods back. You squeeze your eyes shut, your words coming out in a rush. “H-He tried to touch me. He wouldn’t let me leave. I-I had to push him off me, and he said … he said he’s going to ruin me, Charles.”

Your voice cracks, and fresh tears spill over as you cling to him, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Charles doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel the tension radiating through his body. His grip on you tightens, and when you finally open your eyes, you see the fury etched into his face, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might snap.

“He what?” His voice is low, almost too calm, but there’s a dangerous edge beneath it.

You nod, your words barely a whisper. “He grabbed me, and I pushed him, but he … he said he’s going to fail me now. He said he has mafia connections, and he’s going to ruin my life.”

For a second, Charles just stares at you, his eyes dark with something unnameable. Then, suddenly, he pulls you even closer, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it feels like he’s trying to shield you from the entire world.

“He’s not going to do a goddamn thing,” Charles says, his voice rough but steady. “I won’t let him. I promise you, he won’t get away with this.”

You hiccup, shaking your head against his chest. “But he … he said-”

“I don’t care what he said,” Charles cuts in, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder. “He’s not going to touch your career. He’s not going to touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Your whole body shakes, the weight of his words sinking in, but the fear doesn’t leave. It clings to you, tight and suffocating, like a shadow you can’t shake. “He said he knows people, Charles. Dangerous people.”

“I know people too,” he says, his voice hard, cold in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You’re my sister. He’ll wish he’d never crossed you.”

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him, your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a slow breath, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “You don’t need to worry about that. Just trust me, okay? I’ll handle it.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll take care of everything. You just need to focus on staying safe. I won’t let him come near you again.”

Your lip trembles, and you lean into him, letting yourself be comforted by his certainty, by the strength of his promise. But the words the professor had said — his sneering, his threats — they linger in your mind, gnawing at you.

“What if he really can do it?” You whisper, the fear creeping back in. “What if he ruins me, Charles? What if-”

“He won’t,” Charles says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You press your face into his chest again, trying to breathe through the panic. He holds you, rocking you gently, his voice a steady anchor in the storm.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “You’re my little sister. No one messes with you and gets away with it. Do you understand?”

You nod against his chest, your tears slowly subsiding as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ll make him pay for what he did,” Charles says, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “He’s not going to hurt you again. And he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin your career. I’ll make sure of it.”

For the first time since you walked into his apartment, you feel a small flicker of relief. Charles has always been the one to make things right, the one who takes care of things when you can’t. If anyone can fix this, it’s him.

“But how?” You whisper, looking up at him, your voice fragile.

He meets your gaze, his expression softening just a bit, though the fire still burns in his eyes. “I have my ways.”

The cryptic answer doesn’t do much to soothe you, but there’s something in his voice, in the way he holds you, that makes you trust him. You know he means what he says. He always has.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him again, your body exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Charles says, his voice gentle now. “I’ve got this. You just need to rest. Take a breath. You’ve been through enough.”

His words wash over you, and you feel yourself relaxing slightly, the weight lifting just enough for you to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand still cradling you like you’re something precious. “You don’t need to thank me. You’re family. I’ll always protect you.”

***

Max sits at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, a glass of whiskey resting in front of him. The dim lighting casts sharp shadows across the room, reflecting the power and wealth that permeates everything around him. He’s calm, calculating, the very image of control, his blue eyes scanning the room as his men discuss the details of the night’s business. There’s an unspoken respect, an awareness that every word spoken in his presence is weighted, measured, as if any misstep could have consequences.

Charles is beside him, his right-hand man and oldest friend, the only one who can match Max’s intensity. Charles leans back in his chair, but there’s a tension in his posture tonight — something Max doesn’t miss.

Max notices everything.

It’s been that way since the day he took over the family business, since he became the Max Verstappen, the name that inspires both reverence and fear in equal measure.

His phone buzzes on the table, breaking the momentary silence. He reaches for it, raising an eyebrow when he sees the number. Unknown, but local.

“Hold that thought,” Max says to the room, lifting a finger as he stands up and steps away from the table, phone in hand. He walks toward the tall windows overlooking the city. Monaco spreads out beneath him, glittering under the night sky. With a flick of his thumb, he answers the call.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep, smooth, but edged with impatience. He doesn’t do pleasantries with strangers.

There’s a pause on the other end, and then a voice, hesitant but smug, seeps through. “Mr. Verstappen. I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

Max frowns slightly, recognizing that tone — someone who thinks they’ve called in a favor, someone who believes they have power. He hates those kinds of people.

“Who is this?” He asks, cutting to the point.

“This is Alan Turnier. I was told you’re a man who gets things done … discreetly.” There’s an oily confidence to his words, and Max’s frown deepens.

He’s heard the name before. Some professor at the university, an arrogant prick by all accounts. Charles had mentioned him in passing a few times, and now the man is calling him, of all people.

“And what exactly do you want from me, Professor?” Max’s voice is low, his tone dangerously calm. He already doesn’t like where this is going.

“Well,” the professor begins, “I’ve got a problem. A student. A rather difficult one, actually. She’s been causing some … trouble, and I need her to be taken down a peg or two. You know, rough her up a bit, teach her a lesson.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens, but his face remains impassive. He’s handled scumbags like this before. He’s used to people thinking they can use him to solve their petty problems.

“Who’s the student?” Max asks, keeping his voice steady, though there’s a hard edge beneath it now.

The professor chuckles like he’s sharing a secret. “Her name’s Y/N Leclerc. She’s been a real pain. Thought she could get away with disrespecting me, so I figured I’d call in a favor. Make sure she learns her place.”

Max stops breathing for a moment.

The name hits him like a sledgehammer, slamming into his chest with a force he didn’t expect. His mind races, his body going rigid as every instinct flares up. Charles’ sister. Your name. The girl he’s known for years. The one he’s always been protective of, even if he’s kept his distance. The one who’s always had that soft, unaffected smile that somehow disarmed him, even when nothing else could.

His free hand curls into a fist.

“What did you say?” Max’s voice drops dangerously low, quieter now, but the threat in it is unmistakable.

“I said she needs to be put in her place,” the professor repeats, not realizing the fatal mistake he’s just made. “A little lesson in respect. Maybe scare her a bit — she’s been thinking she’s untouchable.”

Max’s vision narrows. The world outside the window blurs as a violent rage surges through him. He’s usually calm, calculated, but this? The idea of anyone laying a hand on you? His jaw tightens, his pulse quickening with the force of the anger boiling inside him.

Without another word, Max pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it for a second. He doesn’t think — he acts. His grip tightens, and with a sharp motion, he hurls the phone across the room, sending it crashing against the wall. The sound of it shattering echoes through the room as shards of glass and metal fall to the floor.

“Max?” Charles’ voice cuts through the haze, concerned and alert. He’s already on his feet, moving toward Max. “What the hell was that about?”

Max doesn’t answer immediately. His chest heaves with barely restrained fury, his hands still balled into fists at his sides. He breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, but the rage won’t let go. It claws at him, consuming him.

“Max.” Charles is in front of him now, eyes searching his face for an answer, his own tension rising. He’s seen Max angry before, but this? This is different. Personal. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Max finally meets his gaze, his voice like gravel as he speaks. “That was Turnier. The professor.”

Charles’ eyes narrow at the mention of the name. “What did he want?”

Max clenches his teeth, trying to control the storm inside him. “He wanted me to rough up a student for him. Said she was causing trouble.”

Charles’ face darkens, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Who?”

Max’s eyes burn with intensity as he holds Charles’ gaze. “Y/N.”

The moment her name leaves his lips, Charles freezes. The color drains from his face, and his jaw tightens. “What?”

Max doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t need to. The weight of what the professor asked for hangs heavy between them, the unspoken understanding thickening the air.

“He didn’t know she’s your sister,” Max says, his voice low but lethal. “Didn’t know she’s my family.”

Charles exhales sharply, his fists clenched. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max growls, his voice hardening. “I hung up. Smashed the phone.”

There’s a long pause as the two of them stand there, the weight of the situation settling in. Charles looks like he’s ready to explode, his hands twitching as if he wants to hit something, anything, to release the rage coursing through him.

Max, however, remains deadly calm on the outside, even though the fury inside him is almost unbearable. His mind races with possibilities, with thoughts of what he’s going to do next. He has power, more than Turnier could ever imagine, and he’s going to use every ounce of it to make sure that man never comes near you again.

“We’ll handle this,” Max says finally, his voice cold, determined. “He’s going to regret even thinking about touching her.”

Charles nods, but his eyes are still filled with a kind of wild, protective fury. “I want to be there when you do.”

Max meets his gaze, and for the first time since the call, a grim smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You will be.”

For a moment, they stand in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the city below. Then Max turns back toward the table, his movements deliberate as he grabs the decanter of whiskey and pours himself another glass, the liquid sloshing into the crystal tumbler.

“Call Nico,” Max says to Charles, his tone businesslike but laced with an edge of menace. “We’re going to need a cleanup crew. And tell him to bring the big car.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, already pulling out his phone, his expression steely. Max takes a long sip of the whiskey, the burn of it doing nothing to dull the fire inside him. He knows what needs to be done, and he knows exactly how to make Turnier pay.

The professor had no idea who he was messing with.

Max sets the glass down with a sharp click, his mind already working through the logistics, the steps he’ll take to destroy the man who dared to threaten you. Because this isn’t just about revenge. It’s about protecting what’s his. And as far as Max is concerned, you’ve always been part of that.

“I’ll take care of it,” Max says, more to himself than to anyone else, his voice low and final.

And he will.

No one touches you. Not ever.

***

Max moves through the dimly lit warehouse with the kind of purpose that turns heads and commands silence. Every step is deliberate, every movement calculated. His men line the walls, standing in the shadows like sentinels, but none of them speak. Not when Max is like this. Not when the air is thick with the unspoken threat that something bad is about to happen.

Charles walks beside him, his face set in hard lines, his shoulders tight with barely restrained fury. The kind of fury only family could ignite. The kind that burns hotter and longer than anything else.

At the center of the room, tied to a steel chair, is Professor Turnier.

He’s already bruised, his face swollen from the initial “conversation” Max’s men had with him. But this? This is different. Max and Charles didn’t come here to chat. They came to finish this.

Turnier’s eyes dart nervously between the two men as they approach. His arrogance, his smug self-assurance — it’s gone now, replaced by something desperate and fearful.

“Please … I didn’t know!” Turnier’s voice trembles as he speaks, his words tumbling out too quickly, as if speed could save him. “I didn’t know she was your sister. If I’d known-”

Charles steps forward before Max can, grabbing Turnier by the front of his shirt and yanking him forward, close enough that the professor’s breath hitches in fear. “You think that matters?” Charles hisses, his voice low, lethal. “You think it makes a difference who she is to me?”

Turnier’s lips quiver, his face pale. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean?” Max’s voice cuts in, smooth but ice-cold, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored suit as he steps up beside Charles. “You didn’t mean to assault her? Didn’t mean to threaten her future? Didn’t mean to call me, of all people, to finish your dirty work?”

Turnier’s mouth opens, but no words come out. Max watches him with a look of disdain, his lip curling slightly. It’s pathetic, really — this man, who had so much confidence, so much entitlement when he thought he had control, now reduced to a trembling, sniveling mess.

Max tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies Turnier. “Do you know what I do to people who ask me to hurt someone I care about?”

Turnier shakes his head frantically, tears already beginning to spill from his eyes. “Please … I didn’t know. I didn’t know who she was. I was wrong, I see that now. Just — just let me go. I’ll leave. I’ll disappear. I won’t come near her ever again. I swear!”

Charles lets out a low, bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. He releases his grip on Turnier’s shirt, only to backhand him across the face with such force that the chair tilts. The professor yelps, blood spraying from his split lip as he teeters before slamming back down onto the floor.

“You think it’s that easy?” Charles growls, his hands flexing at his sides, itching for more. “You think you can just walk away after what you did?”

Turnier groans, his head lolling to the side. “I-I made a mistake. I can fix it. I can-”

“No.” Max’s voice is sharp, final. “There’s no fixing this.”

He steps closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level with Turnier, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes boring into the professor’s. Turnier tries to look away, but Max grabs his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You thought you were untouchable, didn’t you? That no one would question you. That you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.”

Turnier’s breath comes out in shaky gasps, his eyes wild with fear. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

Max shakes his head slowly, as if he’s disappointed. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about what you can do. It’s about what I’m going to do to you.”

Turnier whimpers, his whole body shaking now, the weight of his impending fate finally settling in.

Max stands, his movements graceful, effortless. He turns to Charles, who is vibrating with rage, his fists clenched, every muscle in his body taut like a coiled spring.

“Charles,” Max says calmly, “what do you think we should take first?”

Turnier’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes what’s coming. He jerks in the chair, trying to free himself from the ropes that bind him, but it’s no use. His voice cracks as he screams, “No, please — no! Don’t!”

Charles steps forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold, focused hatred. “The tongue,” he says, his voice low, almost detached. “He won’t need that anymore.”

Max nods, as if that was exactly the right answer. He moves to the side, and one of his men steps forward, placing a gleaming pair of pliers on the table in front of them. Turnier’s screams grow louder, more desperate, but Max simply gestures to one of the guards.

“Gag him,” he orders.

The guard nods, shoving a rag into Turnier’s mouth to stifle his cries. The professor writhes in his chair, his face contorting with panic, but there’s nowhere to go, no one coming to save him.

Max picks up the pliers, turning them over in his hand, his eyes cold and detached as he tests their weight. He looks at Charles. “Do you want the honors, or should I?”

Charles’ lips twist into a grim smile, and he steps forward, taking the pliers from Max without hesitation. “I’ve got it.”

Turnier’s muffled screams are nothing more than background noise now, a pathetic, meaningless sound that neither man pays much attention to. Charles leans down, grabbing Turnier by the jaw and forcing his mouth open, the gag now drenched with the professor’s tears and saliva. He positions the pliers inside the professor’s mouth, gripping his tongue with merciless precision.

Turnier’s eyes roll back in his head, his body jerking violently against the ropes. Charles pauses, glancing over at Max, who watches with a cool, detached expression.

“Do it,” Max says, his voice calm.

And Charles does. The sound of the tongue being ripped from Turnier’s mouth is wet, violent, and final. Blood gushes from the professor’s mouth as he slumps forward, his body sagging in the chair as he groans in pain, the gag doing little to mask the wet, gurgling sounds of his suffering.

Charles tosses the bloodied piece of flesh to the floor, wiping his hands on a handkerchief one of Max’s men offers him. He looks down at the professor, disgust evident in his eyes.

“Not so smug now, are you?” Charles mutters, stepping back as Max approaches again.

Max crouches down, staring at Turnier, who can barely keep his head up. “We’re not done,” Max says softly, his voice chilling in its softness. “You hurt her. You wanted to destroy her life, her future. Now we’re going to make sure you never hurt anyone again.”

He motions to the guard once more. “Strip him.”

The men don’t hesitate. They move quickly, cutting away Turnier’s clothes until he’s bare, his body trembling in the cold air of the warehouse. Max nods to Charles, who steps forward, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He picks up a blade this time — small, sharp, efficient.

Without a word, Charles steps forward and swings the knife with brutal precision. The scream that comes from Turnier’s throat — guttural, primal, filled with the pain of someone who knows they will never be whole again — echoes through the empty warehouse.

Max watches impassively as the professor collapses in on himself, blood pooling beneath the chair, his sobs now nothing more than broken gasps. He kneels again, leaning in close, his face calm, his voice quiet.

“If you ever thought you were untouchable, I hope tonight has taught you otherwise. You will never speak again. You will never harm another woman again. You will spend the rest of your life as a reminder of what happens when you cross someone who’s mine.”

Max stands up, looking at Charles. “Make sure he’s cleaned up. Dump him where someone will find him. Let him explain to the world what happened without his tongue.”

Charles nods, his chest still heaving with anger, but he knows it’s over. Turnier’s life is ruined. He’ll live, but barely. And the fear will stay with him forever.

Max takes one last look at the professor, broken and bleeding, before turning to leave. His voice, cold and resolute, echoes in the warehouse as he walks away.

“No one touches her. Ever.”

***

The next day, you walk into the lecture hall with your usual sense of dread. Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what happened with Professor Turnier pressing down on you like a lead blanket. Even though Charles assured you everything was handled, you can’t stop the anxious thrum of nerves coursing through you. What if Turnier follows through with his threat? What if he finds some way to make your life hell without you even knowing it? The thoughts circle in your mind like vultures as you make your way to your seat.

The room is already buzzing with the usual chatter of students. You sit down next to Camille, who shoots you a quick smile before returning to scrolling through her phone.

"Are you okay?” She asks absently, still distracted by whatever is on her screen.

You nod, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah, just tired.”

Camille glances at you, her brow furrowing slightly, but she doesn't press it. "Same. This class is killing me. I swear if I have to sit through another one of Turnier’s mind-numbing lectures, I might actually pass out.”

The mention of his name sends a jolt through you, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. The thought of seeing him, of facing him after what happened, makes your stomach twist. You wonder if he’ll look at you, if he’ll acknowledge anything at all — or if he’ll act like nothing happened. The idea makes your skin crawl.

More students trickle in, filling the room, the noise level rising with laughter and chatter. You find yourself scanning the doorway, bracing yourself for the moment when Turnier walks in with that smug expression, as if he still holds all the power. Your heart hammers in your chest, fingers gripping the edge of your notebook a little too tightly.

But the door swings open, and instead of Turnier, someone else walks in.

There’s an immediate hush that falls over the room, the shift so sudden it feels like the air has been sucked out of the space. The new professor strides in confidently, carrying a few books under one arm and glancing briefly at the rows of students. He looks like he belongs in an entirely different world — a man in his mid-40s, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. He wears a tailored suit, but his demeanor is far more relaxed than Turnier’s ever was.

He sets his things down on the desk at the front of the room, and for a moment, no one says a word. Everyone seems to be waiting for some kind of explanation, the tension palpable as the professor faces the class.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says, his voice calm, clear, and authoritative. “I’m Professor Mathieu, and I’ll be taking over for the remainder of the semester.”

You feel the shift in the room as everyone processes what he’s just said. Whispers immediately break out among the students, confused murmurs of “What happened to Turnier?” and “Did anyone know about this?” ripple through the lecture hall. Your heart skips a beat, and you sit up straighter, shock momentarily pushing the anxiety aside.

Camille leans in toward you, her voice a hushed whisper. “Did you hear that? What do you think happened to Turnier?”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “No idea,” you say quietly, hoping the tremor in your voice isn’t noticeable.

At the front of the room, Professor Mathieu doesn’t seem fazed by the murmurings. He taps his hand on the desk lightly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“I understand you all have questions,” he says, his tone not unkind, “but I’ve been asked to inform you that Professor Turnier is no longer available. As far as the specifics of his departure, that’s not something I can discuss. What I can tell you is that I’ll be taking over for the rest of the semester, and I expect we’ll all be able to adjust without any issues.”

You can feel the tension in the room crackle like static. Some students exchange glances, but no one dares ask any more questions. You, on the other hand, are frozen in your seat. No longer available. The words echo in your head like a distant bell, sending a surge of relief and confusion through you.

Camille nudges you, leaning in closer. “Do you think he got fired?” She whispers.

You shrug, keeping your voice low. “Maybe. I mean, it’s weird that we didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Super weird,” she agrees, still watching the new professor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “I wonder what he did.”

The same question nags at you, but for an entirely different reason. You think of Charles, his words from last night still fresh in your mind: I’ll take care of it. He won’t hurt you ever again. You wonder what exactly he meant by that. Clearly, Turnier isn’t coming back, but what happened to him?

Professor Mathieu opens a folder on the desk and begins to speak, pulling your attention back to the front of the room. “Now, as I said, we’ll be continuing with the curriculum as planned, but I’ll be implementing some changes to the structure of the course. We’ll focus less on rigid theory and more on practical application, which I believe will be more engaging for all of you.”

The shift in focus seems to settle the room slightly. The murmurs die down as he moves into his lecture, his voice smooth and confident. But even as the class starts, you can’t shake the feeling of something monumental having shifted.

You’re barely paying attention as Professor Mathieu drones on about diplomatic history and the complexities of statecraft. Your mind is somewhere else, replaying the events of last night, the relief you felt when Charles held you close and promised to make things right. You glance at the students around you. They have no idea, no inkling of what almost happened. What could have happened.

Suddenly, you feel Camille nudge your arm. You blink and realize you’ve zoned out completely.

“Are you okay?” Camille whispers, her voice laced with concern. “You look … spaced out.”

You offer her a small smile, though you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, just tired, I guess.”

Camille studies you for a second, clearly not convinced, but she drops it. “Well, this is going to be an interesting semester,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “I mean, Turnier just disappearing like that? Something’s gotta be up.”

You glance over at her, trying to play it cool. “Maybe he retired early or something.”

“Yeah, but no one knew? No announcement, nothing? Feels sketchy.”

You don’t respond, just nodding along as you turn your attention back to the new professor, who’s already deep into his lecture. But as the minutes tick by, you can’t help the growing sense of unease in your chest. There’s relief, sure — Turnier’s gone. But the fact that it happened so suddenly, so completely, leaves you with more questions than answers. What did Charles and Max do?

Camille shifts beside you, flipping through her notes and scribbling things down. “At least the new guy seems decent,” she mutters. “Way better than Turnier.”

You nod, though your mind is elsewhere. You can barely focus on the lecture, your thoughts spinning like a whirlpool. Is Turnier really gone for good? Did Charles and Max … do something more than just get him fired? You remember Max’s cold eyes, the way he’d told you once, in passing, that he’d do anything for family. That no one crossed him or those he cared about without consequences.

What kind of consequences?

Your phone buzzes in your lap, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance down discreetly and see a message from Charles.

Everything’s taken care of. You’re safe.

You stare at the words for a long moment, a chill running down your spine. Safe. The word should make you feel better, but somehow, it only deepens the mystery.

You glance around the lecture hall again. Everyone else is oblivious, focused on their notes, their laptops, their whispering conversations about the sudden change in professors. But you know something they don’t. You know that the world you live in is a lot more dangerous than they realize.

***

When you step out of the building, the afternoon sun blinding for a second, you blink to adjust. Students mill around the campus courtyard, some gathered in groups, others rushing to their next class. You fish your car keys out of your bag, already mentally going over what you’ll make for dinner tonight, but as you approach the edge of the steps, you stop dead in your tracks.

Max is there.

Leaning casually against the sleek, charcoal body of his Aston Martin Valkyrie, arms crossed, aviators shielding his eyes. The car is a thing of beauty — sleek lines and aggressive angles, a car that demands attention. And it’s getting it. You can feel the stares from all around. Students have slowed their pace, eyes darting between Max and you. Whispers start spreading through the crowd like wildfire, curious and speculative.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your pulse picks up. It’s not unusual for Max to turn heads, but seeing him here, on campus, waiting for you, feels like something else entirely. He’s never been the type to drop by unannounced — especially not in a setting like this.

You step down from the stairs, feeling like every pair of eyes is following you, but your focus is on Max. His casual confidence is unnerving, but then again, it always has been. There’s something about the way he carries himself, like he’s always in control, that makes it hard to breathe around him sometimes.

“Max?” You call out, a mix of confusion and concern in your voice. “What are you doing here?”

He pushes off the car and takes off his sunglasses, revealing those sharp, blue eyes of his, which are locked entirely on you. He walks toward you with a swagger that’s impossible to miss, as if he owns every inch of space he moves through.

“I’m here to pick you up,” he says smoothly, voice low but with a hint of amusement.

You look over your shoulder, towards the student parking lot. “But I drove here,” you protest, feeling a little ridiculous saying it aloud. You motion vaguely in the direction of your car. “I’m fine. I can-”

Max cuts you off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll have someone pick it up and drive it back to your place. You’re coming with me.”

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the dozens of gazes on you. Max doesn’t seem to care about the attention at all, which isn’t surprising. He’s used to it. But the thought of climbing into his car, with what feels like half the campus watching, sends a jolt of nervous energy through you.

“Max, I-” you start, but he opens the passenger door with a casual, almost commanding gesture.

“Get in,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.

You glance around, noticing some of your classmates openly gawking at the scene. You feel a flush creep up your neck, but there’s no way out of this without causing even more of a spectacle. With a sigh, you lower your head slightly and step forward, sliding into the seat of the Valkyrie. The leather is cool against your skin, the interior smelling of something clean and faintly masculine. Max shuts the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side, slipping in with fluid grace.

As soon as the door closes, the low hum of the engine fills the air, and Max glances over at you. “Seatbelt,” he says quietly, waiting until you click it in place before pulling away from the curb.

You can’t bring yourself to look out the window as the car glides through campus. You know everyone’s watching. You can almost feel the collective curiosity, the questions that will follow this moment — why is Max picking you up? What’s your relationship? The ride is smooth, the low rumble of the engine making it feel like you’re floating. Max doesn’t speak, and neither do you, but the silence is charged with something unsaid, heavy in the space between you.

It’s not until you’re out of campus, away from the prying eyes, that you risk a glance at him. His jaw is set, eyes focused on the road ahead, his hands relaxed on the wheel. There’s something about the way he drives — calm, controlled, like he’s in command of everything around him.

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of how to ask the question that’s been gnawing at you since this morning. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you break the silence, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Did you … did you and Charles have anything to do with Turnier being replaced?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his gaze still straight ahead, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes, something cold and calculating. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question, but then he exhales through his nose, a short, humorless sound.

“We took care of it,” he says, his voice firm, unflinching. There’s a note of pride in it, too, a quiet sort of satisfaction.

You feel a shiver run down your spine. “What … what did you do?” You ask, even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Max glances at you, his gaze steady, unyielding. “Turnier won’t be taking advantage of anyone else. Ever again.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said. There’s something final in his tone, something that makes your chest tighten with a mixture of relief and dread.

You swallow hard, turning your gaze back to the road. The tension in the car is palpable now, thick and unspoken. You know better than to push for more details. Max and Charles operate in a world where consequences are swift and absolute. You don’t need to ask what they did to Turnier. The important thing is that he’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.

But the weight of that realization — of what Max and Charles might have done — sits heavily in your stomach. You glance at Max again, trying to find something in his expression that might offer more reassurance, but his face is unreadable.

“So that’s it?” You ask, your voice small. “It’s over?”

Max nods, a slight tilt of his head. “It’s over.”

You should feel relieved. You should feel grateful. But there’s something unsettling about how easily they made Turnier disappear. About how calmly Max talks about it, like it’s just another business transaction.

The car continues to glide down the road, and for a while, neither of you speaks. You’re lost in your thoughts, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The reality of it all is sinking in now — Turnier’s gone. He’s not coming back. But at what cost?

You steal another glance at Max, wondering how much he’s willing to do for you. For Charles. For family.

“Thank you,” you say softly, the words barely audible.

Max doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. But then, after a moment, he nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Anything for you,” he says, his voice low and quiet. But there’s a weight to his words, a promise that hangs between you like a silent vow.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just sit there, the sound of the engine filling the silence. Part of you wants to ask more questions, to understand what exactly Max did. But the other part of you — the part that knows how dangerous his world is — tells you to leave it alone.

So you do. You sit back in your seat, watching the city blur by outside the window, and try to focus on the fact that, for now, you’re safe.

***

Max pulls the Valkyrie into the underground garage of his building, and the moment you step out, the cool air hits your skin, grounding you again. The weight of the day, of everything that’s happened, still presses on your chest. You follow Max through the private elevator, feeling the tension rise the higher you go. When the elevator doors slide open, revealing Max’s penthouse, the warm glow of the lights and the familiar scent of home greet you.

Charles is waiting.

He stands by the window, a drink in hand, but the moment he sees you and Max step in, his expression softens. He strides over, his eyes searching your face, concern etched in every line of his posture.

"How’re you holding up?” Charles asks gently, wrapping you in a brief but firm hug.

You exhale into his embrace, grateful for the comfort. "I’m … better,” you admit, your voice steadier than you expect. But the presence of both men, these two constants in your life, makes everything feel a little less overwhelming.

Charles glances between you and Max as he steps back, something flickering in his eyes. “Good. You’re in safe hands.” The way he says it, like there’s something more behind the words, makes your heart skip a beat.

Max doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, tall and imposing, his gaze fixed on you. You feel the weight of it, the intensity, and it’s making you too aware of everything — the closeness of him, the way his arm brushes against yours as you move toward the dining table, the way your pulse quickens every time he looks at you.

The table is already set — simple but elegant. You all sit, and Charles takes the head of the table, a casual smirk tugging at his lips as Max takes the seat opposite you. The food is rich and fragrant, the kind of meal that should make your mouth water, but you’re finding it hard to focus on anything other than the electricity buzzing in the air between you and Max.

The dinner conversation starts out light. Charles talks about work, a new deal he’s working on, and you try to engage, but your mind keeps drifting back to Max. His presence is impossible to ignore, especially when you feel his eyes on you. Every time you steal a glance at him, he’s already looking at you, like he’s been watching you the whole time.

And he has been watching you.

It’s not subtle, the way Max’s eyes linger on you, the way his gaze softens whenever you speak, like he’s memorizing every word. You try not to read too much into it — this is just Max being Max, right? He’s always been protective, always looked out for you. But tonight … there’s something else in the way he looks at you, something deeper, more intense.

You take a bite of your food, trying to focus on anything other than the heat creeping up your neck. But every time you dare to look back at Max, you catch his gaze, and your heart stutters in your chest. There’s a softness in his eyes, something that makes your breath hitch, and you have to look away before it overwhelms you.

Charles, ever the observer, doesn’t miss a thing. He watches the silent exchange between the two of you for a good part of the meal, his eyes flicking between you and Max like he’s piecing together a puzzle. His lips quirk up in a knowing smile, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

It’s halfway through the meal when the silence stretches a little too long, the weight of the unspoken tension thick in the air. You keep your eyes on your plate, your hand trembling slightly as you reach for your water glass. Max hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, but his gaze — God, you can feel it like a physical touch.

And then, just when the tension feels unbearable, Charles leans back in his chair, placing his utensils down with an exaggerated clatter, and clears his throat dramatically.

"Alright,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "This has been fun and all, but I’ve had enough of watching you two make heart eyes at each other across the table.”

Your fork freezes midway to your mouth. You glance up, eyes wide, and catch Max’s expression — a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face.

Charles grins, entirely too pleased with himself. "Seriously,” he continues, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "I mean, it’s cute, don’t get me wrong. But how long are you two gonna keep pretending there’s nothing going on here?”

Your face burns, and you open your mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. You don’t even know what you’d say if you could. Deny it? Laugh it off? You’re not even sure what this is, let alone how to explain it.

Max doesn’t flinch. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and raises an eyebrow at Charles. "Heart eyes?” He repeats, his tone casual but with a hint of a challenge.

Charles smirks, not backing down. "You heard me. I’ve been sitting here watching you two eye each other like you’re the only people in the room. I swear, it’s exhausting.” He looks at you then, his eyes softening slightly. "And for the record, there’s no one in this world I’d trust more with my sister than you, Max.”

Your heart skips a beat. The weight of Charles’ words sinks in, heavy and full of meaning. Max doesn’t react immediately, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch.

Charles leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin widening. "So, why don’t you two put us all out of our misery and just kiss already?”

The room goes still. You can’t breathe. You glance at Max, your heart racing, and for a split second, you think maybe he’ll laugh it off, that this is just Charles being Charles, stirring the pot for his own amusement.

But Max doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t hesitate. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering, and before you can even process what’s happening, he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he moves.

The next thing you know, Max is in front of you, and without a word, without a second of doubt, he reaches across the table, his hands sliding under your arms. He pulls you out of your seat with such ease, like you weigh nothing, and before you can even register it, you’re being tugged across the table toward him.

Your breath hitches, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders as he pulls you closer. His grip is firm but gentle, and his face is just inches from yours now, his eyes dark with something you’ve never quite seen before.

And then, with a slight tilt of his head, Max closes the distance.

His lips press against yours, warm and soft, and the world around you melts away. Everything goes quiet, every sound, every thought, drowned out by the feel of his mouth on yours. It’s a slow, deliberate kiss, like he’s savoring every second, and your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can feel it through your chest.

You can feel his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt into him, your fingers tangling in his shirt as you kiss him back. The taste of him, the warmth of his skin — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Charles lets out a low whistle from across the room, but you barely register it. All you can think about is Max, the way he’s holding you, the way his lips move against yours like he’s wanted this for a long time.

“Well,” Charles says, breaking the moment with a grin, “about damn time.”

Max’s breath lingers warm against your lips, and for a moment, the world feels suspended — just you and him, the faint hum of the city outside, the quiet flicker of candlelight on the table. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you even closer, and the electricity between you ignites into something undeniable.

You kiss him again, harder this time, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his hand slides up your back. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and there’s an intensity in the way he’s holding you, as though he’s been waiting for this moment for years. It’s a slow burn at first, but then something shifts, the heat between you building until you feel like you might explode if you’re not closer, if you can’t feel more of him.

Max responds in kind, his grip on you firm, and his lips more insistent. You forget where you are, lost in the sensation of him — the taste of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed against yours. It’s like nothing else exists, nothing else matters.

But then, from across the table, Charles clears his throat loudly.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and Max’s eyes flash with frustration, as if he’s annoyed at being interrupted. You glance over at Charles, who’s sitting with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in amusement, but his expression is serious.

“Alright, alright,” Charles says, his voice calm but firm, like he’s trying to keep the situation from spiraling. “That’s enough for now.”

Max shoots him a look, clearly not on the same page, but Charles just shakes his head.

“Nope, not happening,” Charles continues, pointing between the two of you. “Nothing — and I mean nothing — gets any further without a ring.”

A heavy silence falls over the room. You blink, trying to process what Charles just said. You and Max are both frozen, still tangled together, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You expect Max to say something — to push back, to laugh it off — but instead, he lets go of your waist and steps back, his jaw tight.

Without a word, Max turns on his heel and walks out of the dining room.

You’re left standing there, stunned, your heart racing for a whole new reason. “What … just happened?” You murmur, looking at Charles for some kind of explanation.

Charles looks just as confused as you feel, his eyes following Max as he leaves the room. “I don’t know,” he admits, his brow furrowed. “I didn’t think he’d-”

Before he can finish his sentence, Max strides back into the room, something small and familiar in his hand. Your eyes widen when you realize it’s a jewelry box. The dark velvet catches the low light, and it’s clear from the way Max holds it that this isn’t a last-minute idea.

He stops in front of you, his expression steady, but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes — something raw and vulnerable. He meets your gaze, and his voice is low, serious when he speaks.

"Good thing,” Max says, flipping open the box with a flick of his thumb, revealing a dazzling diamond nestled in the center, "I’ve had this since the first time I saw you. Years ago.”

Your heart stops. Literally, you can feel it stutter in your chest as the words sink in.

“What?” The word escapes your lips in a whisper, your gaze darting from the ring to Max’s face, trying to understand if this is real, if you’re not imagining the whole thing.

Max holds your gaze, his eyes unwavering. “I knew,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew from the first moment I met you, there was no one else. You were it for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t think. You can’t speak. The room feels smaller, quieter, like the entire world has narrowed down to just this — the man standing in front of you, the ring in his hand, the weight of what he’s saying.

Charles, who had been watching the whole scene with a mixture of amusement and curiosity, now leans back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Max doesn’t take his eyes off you. “I’ve been waiting,” he admits, his voice soft but certain. “Waiting for the right time. But Charles is right. There’s no point in pretending anymore.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve always known there was something between you and Max, something unspoken, something simmering beneath the surface. But you never expected this — never expected him to have felt it for so long, to have been carrying this weight of certainty with him all this time.

The ring sparkles in the dim light, beautiful and overwhelming, and your mind races, trying to catch up with your heart.

“You’ve had that … since we met?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods once, his gaze unwavering. “Since the day Charles introduced us,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. “I knew then. And I’ve kept it, waiting for you to feel the same. I didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to push you into something you weren’t ready for.”

There’s a pause, the silence between you both filled with a thousand unsaid things.

Charles clears his throat, the amusement in his voice more pronounced now. “So, are we going to do this properly, or what? You’ve got the ring. She’s standing right there.”

You shoot Charles a look, but you can’t help the small, nervous laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re really ruining the moment, you know that?”

Charles shrugs. “Just trying to help.”

Max smirks, and for a brief second, you see the playful edge return to his expression. But then his eyes are back on you, serious, and the weight of what’s happening comes crashing down again.

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his presence filling up the space around you. “I’ve loved you for a long time,” Max murmurs, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And I’ll keep loving you for the rest of my life. If you’ll have me.”

You blink back the sudden wave of emotion that threatens to spill over. You never imagined that this moment — this moment — would feel so natural, so right.

“I don’t-” you start, your voice catching, but then you take a deep breath and try again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Max’s smile softens, and he takes your hand, pressing the small jewelry box into your palm. “Say yes,” he whispers.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at him, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions racing through you. But then you look into his eyes — those dark, steady eyes that have always been there for you, always protective, always his — and the answer is clear.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out past the lump in your throat. “Yes, Max.”

Max’s face breaks into a smile, something soft and relieved, and before you can say another word, he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you with a fervor that leaves you breathless all over again.

Charles lets out a low whistle from the other side of the table, his voice laced with humor. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Max doesn’t pull away this time. He just kisses you deeper, one hand cupping your face, the other pressing the ring box into your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, you know it is.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he grins. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, your heart soaring, and whisper back, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***

Max pulls the car up to the curb in front of the university, his sleek Valkyrie drawing curious stares from students lingering outside the building. You’re still adjusting to the events of the night before — the suddenness of it all, the weight of the engagement ring now resting on your finger. It feels unreal, like you’re caught in some strange but thrilling dream.

He gets out of the car first, walking around to open the door for you. His hand extends toward you, a protective gesture, and you take it without hesitation. The moment you’re standing, Max pulls you into his arms and kisses you, slow and deliberate, as if he’s making sure the entire campus knows that you’re his.

There’s a pause when he pulls away, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You sure you don’t want me to stick around? Make sure no one bothers you?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max gives you one last look, his brow furrowed slightly with concern, but then he steps back and nods. “Alright. Call me if you need anything.”

With that, you turn toward the building, the weight of his gaze on your back as you walk away. Your heart is still racing from the kiss, and you know you’re about to walk into a storm of questions — your friends haven’t even had time to process everything that happened yesterday.

Sure enough, the second you’re inside the courtyard, you hear voices calling your name. You look up to see a group of your classmates, their eyes wide, jaws practically on the floor. They surround you like a pack of excited reporters, eager to get the scoop.

“Who was that?” Katie asks, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Max’s car had been. “And please don’t tell me that’s the same guy who picked you up yesterday. Because holy shit, girl.”

Peter, arms crossed, steps closer, squinting at you with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird lately? You’re seeing someone?”

You can’t help but smile, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you say, holding up your left hand to show the ring. “That’s Max … my fiancé.”

The group collectively gasps, the air around you suddenly filled with a flurry of shocked exclamations.

“Fiancé?” Carla nearly shrieks, grabbing your hand to inspect the ring up close. “Excuse me? Fiancé? How the hell did we not know about this?”

Katie, clearly still processing, stares at you with wide eyes. “You mean to tell us you’ve been engaged this whole time and didn’t even mention it?”

You laugh nervously, knowing what’s coming. “No, no, it’s not like that. It’s … it just happened. Yesterday.”

The shocked silence that follows your words is almost comical. They all exchange glances, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said.

“Yesterday?” Peter echoes, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You mean you got engaged yesterday?”

You nod, feeling the pressure of their disbelief. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“And you’ve been seeing this Max guy for how long exactly?” Carla, her arms crossed, eyes skeptical.

You hesitate, knowing the answer is going to send them into another round of questioning. “Uh … officially? One day.”

The shock hits them all at once. They’re staring at you like you’ve just announced that you’re moving to Mars. The disbelief is palpable, and you can practically hear their minds racing.

“One day?” Katie finally blurts out, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You got engaged after one day of being together? Are you serious right now?”

Carla, clearly concerned, steps forward and lowers her voice, like she’s trying to be gentle. “Y/N, I love you, but … are you sure about this? One day? That’s … I mean, that’s crazy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their judgment, but you stand your ground. “Look,” you say firmly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. “I know it sounds insane. But we’ve known each other for years. Max is Charles’ best friend. We’ve been in each other’s lives for so long, and … we’ve loved each other for a long time. We just didn’t make it official until now.”

Your friends exchange glances again, clearly unsure of how to react. They’re still in shock, still processing, but you can tell they’re trying to understand.

“Okay, but …” Peter starts, struggling to find the right words. “How did you go from ‘just friends’ to engaged overnight?”

You laugh, the memory of last night flooding back, and you shrug. “It wasn’t exactly overnight. It’s been building for a while. We’ve both known how we felt, but neither of us acted on it. And then … well, things happened, and we just decided to stop pretending.”

There’s a long pause as your friends take that in, their faces softening a little. You can see the concern in their eyes, but also a flicker of understanding.

“So … you’ve loved him for years,” Katie finally says, slowly nodding. “And he’s loved you for years. But you just made it official now?”

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Exactly. It might seem fast, but we’ve known this was coming for a long time. We just didn’t realize it until now.”

Your friends are quiet for a moment, and then Carla sighs, throwing her hands up in the air. “Okay, fine. I still think it’s crazy, but … if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

Peter chimes in, smiling a little. “I mean, the ring is gorgeous. And that car? Damn.”

There’s a ripple of laughter through the group, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you. They’re not completely on board yet, but they’re starting to come around.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Katie teases, nudging you playfully. “If you’re moving this fast, I’m assuming it’s next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “We haven’t even talked about that yet. It’s still sinking in for both of us.”

Carla grins. “Well, I guess we’ll have to start dress shopping soon. It’s probably going to be some extravagant, over-the-top wedding.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought, your heart fluttering. “I don’t know about that. But … yeah, maybe.”

They laugh again, and you can feel the tension easing. The questions aren’t completely gone, but they’re starting to trust that you know what you’re doing. They’re your friends, after all — they want you to be happy, even if they don’t fully understand how this all happened so fast.

As you start walking toward the lecture hall together, Peter loops his arm through yours. “Alright, tell us everything. How did he propose? And how did we not know you were in love with him this whole time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s a long story …”

“Well, we’ve got time,” Katie says with a grin. “You can fill us in after class. We need details.”

As you all head inside, you glance down at the ring on your finger, the weight of it feeling more natural with every passing minute. It’s strange how quickly everything has changed, but it also feels like it’s been a long time coming. Like this was always where you were meant to end up — with Max, with the man who’s loved you from the start.

And no matter what anyone else thinks, you know in your heart that this is right. You and Max may have only made things official yesterday, but the love between you has been there all along, quietly waiting for the right moment to bloom.

Now, it’s finally your time.

***

Class lets out early today. You’re grateful for the extra time, but it’s a bit inconvenient — Max isn’t supposed to pick you up for another half hour. Standing outside the lecture hall, you scan the sea of students milling around, watching them scatter toward their cars or the nearby café.

You check your phone. No messages. It’s still too early for Max to be on his way, so you settle on waiting near the steps, trying to enjoy the sun and the slight breeze. You absentmindedly twist the engagement ring around your finger, the cool metal grounding you. The past few days have been a whirlwind, and every time you look at that ring, it still feels surreal. But it also feels like everything is finally falling into place. You belong with Max. You always have.

"Hey.”

The voice cuts through your thoughts. You glance up, blinking in surprise as you see a guy from your class approaching. You recognize him vaguely — one of those people who sits in the back, never really participating in the discussions. You’re pretty sure you’ve never spoken to him before, but now here he is, leaning against the wall near you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl.

“Hi,” you say politely, not wanting to be rude but also not particularly interested in starting a conversation.

He doesn’t take the hint. “I’ve seen you around,” he says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You don’t usually hang out here after class. Waiting for someone?”

Your instincts tell you to keep this short. “Yeah, my fiancé. He’s picking me up soon.”

The word fiancé doesn’t seem to deter him. In fact, it seems to spur him on. His eyes flick down to your hand, where the ring gleams in the sunlight, and then back up to your face with a cocky smirk.

“Fiancé, huh?” He steps a little closer, his voice lowering as if trying to be conspiratorial. “That sounds serious. But, I mean, you don’t really seem the settling down type. You sure you wanna tie yourself down so soon?”

You stiffen. “I’m sure,” you reply firmly, shifting your weight and turning your body slightly away from him, hoping he’ll get the message and leave you alone.

But he doesn’t. “Come on, we’ve never really talked, but I’ve seen you around. You’re smart, cool … definitely too interesting to be someone’s fiancée already.” He flashes you what he probably thinks is a charming smile. “What’s the rush?”

You swallow, trying to keep your cool. “There’s no rush. I’m happy. I’m with someone I love, and we’ve been together for a long time.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s not a lie either. It’s not something this guy needs to know, anyway.

Instead of backing off, he leans in closer, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Maybe you don’t know what you’re missing. Just saying, you and I could have some fun.”

You take a step back, feeling your pulse quicken. “I said, I’m in a relationship.”

He shrugs, as if your words are meaningless. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. What’s the harm in a little flirtation? It’s not like he’d know.”

Your patience snaps. “I’m not interested,” you say more forcefully, taking another step back. “Please leave me alone.”

The guy laughs softly, shaking his head. “Wow, playing hard to get, huh? I get it. You’re probably bored with this fiancé of yours, right? Guys like that, they don’t know how to keep things interesting.”

Before you can respond, you hear the familiar roar of an engine. Relief floods through you as you spot Max’s Valkyrie pulling up to the curb. The second the car comes to a stop, the door swings open, and Max steps out, his eyes immediately locking on you — and the guy standing too close for comfort.

Max takes in the scene in an instant. His entire demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, shifting from calm to deadly. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stalks toward the two of you with purpose.

The guy is oblivious at first, too caught up in his own attempt at charm to notice the approaching storm. “Come on, sweetheart,” he’s saying, his hand moving slightly toward your arm. “Just give me a chance.”

That’s when Max arrives.

Before the guy’s hand can even brush your sleeve, Max grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him backward with enough force to make him stumble. The guy lets out a startled yelp, spinning around to face Max, his expression morphing from confusion to fear the moment he realizes who he’s dealing with.

“Hey, man, I was just-” the guy starts, but Max cuts him off with a low, menacing growl.

“She’s not interested,” Max says, his voice deadly calm. His hand is still gripping the guy’s shoulder, but it looks like he could crush him with that one hand alone. “And you’re going to walk away. Now.”

The guy’s eyes dart between you and Max, clearly weighing his options. He starts to stammer, trying to salvage his bravado. “I-I didn’t mean anything by it, man. Just talking …”

Max’s grip tightens, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can talk to her like that? Disrespect her?” He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that’s somehow even more terrifying. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

The guy’s bravado crumbles completely. His face pales, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! I’ll go. Jesus …”

Max releases him with a shove, sending the guy stumbling backward. He doesn’t wait around to see what happens next — he turns and practically sprints away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

For a moment, there’s silence. Max watches the guy retreat, his chest heaving with barely restrained fury. Then he turns to you, his expression softening immediately.

“You okay?” His voice is gentle now, a stark contrast to the cold fury he’d just displayed.

You nod, still a little shaken but grateful. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Max steps closer, cupping your face in his hands and scanning your expression for any sign of distress. “If he touched you — if he so much as breathed on you wrong-”

“He didn’t,” you assure him, placing your hands over his. “You got here just in time.”

Max’s eyes flicker with something dark, a protective fire that hasn’t fully extinguished. “Good,” he mutters, pulling you into his arms. He holds you tightly for a moment, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re safe. “I don’t like anyone looking at you like that.”

You smile softly, wrapping your arms around his waist. “I don’t like it either. But it’s okay now. You’re here.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m always here. And I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You nod, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

He kisses you then, right there in front of the university, his lips capturing yours in a slow, possessive kiss that tells everyone watching exactly who you belong to. When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll make sure no one ever bothers you again,” Max murmurs, his voice low but fierce.

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

With one last glance around to make sure the guy is well and truly gone, Max leads you to the car. He opens the door for you, and as you slide into the passenger seat, you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of security. Max is always in control, always one step ahead. And you trust him completely.

As Max pulls away from the curb, his hand finds yours, resting between the two of you. You don’t need to say anything — the silence between you is comfortable, filled with the unspoken promise that no matter what happens, you’ll face it together.

***

After dinner, the soft clatter of cutlery fades into the background as you start clearing the plates. The dim light from the chandelier casts a golden glow over the dining room, making the atmosphere feel intimate, heavy with something unspoken. Max leans back in his chair, watching you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

You stack the plates, trying to focus on the mundane task, but you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every movement. Your breath hitches slightly as you turn toward him, plates in hand, and smile nervously.

"Do you want dessert?” You ask, your voice light, though your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Max’s gaze darkens, his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile that sends shivers down your spine. “The only dessert I want,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “is right in front of me.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as his meaning sinks in. You freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is, the way his eyes travel down your body like he’s already undressing you in his mind. Your hands tremble as you put the plates back down on the table, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

He doesn’t move from his seat, but there’s a tension in the air, pulling you toward him as if he’s some magnetic force you can’t resist. “Come here,” he says softly, but it’s not a request. It’s a command.

You hesitate for a second, unsure if you can even make your legs move, but then your feet carry you around the table, closer to him. By the time you’re standing in front of Max, your knees feel weak. His eyes stay locked on yours, full of heat and possession.

When you’re within reach, Max takes your hand, pulling you gently toward him. You end up standing between his legs, feeling the heat of his body seep through his clothes, and all at once, your breath catches. His hand slides up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate, sending a thrill of anticipation shooting through you.

Max’s other hand rests on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re pressed against him. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your stomach through your dress, “I’ve been patient with you. So, so patient.”

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself. “Max …”

He looks up at you, his eyes half-lidded but full of that same intensity. "Tell me something,” he says, his tone suddenly shifting, darker, more dangerous. “Has anyone else ever touched you?”

You blink, taken aback by the question. You feel your face heat up again, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “What?” You stammer, barely able to string two words together under the weight of his gaze.

Max’s hand tightens slightly on your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that send jolts of electricity through you. “I asked,” he says softly but firmly, “if another man has ever touched you.”

The meaning of his question slams into you, and your throat goes dry. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You try to find your voice, but it comes out barely above a whisper. “No … no one.”

A satisfied smile spreads across Max’s face as he tugs you even closer, his hands sliding up your waist. His voice is a low, rumbling growl. “Good. Because if they had, I would’ve tracked down every single one of them.” He pauses, eyes gleaming with dark intent. “And made sure they didn’t have hands to touch anyone with again.”

Your breath catches at the promise in his voice, a possessive edge that sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You know Max means every word. There’s no doubt in your mind that if anyone had dared to cross that line, he would’ve hunted them down, one by one. His protection is absolute, as is his desire.

You shake your head, barely able to focus on anything but the way his hands feel on your skin, the way his words wrap around you like a cocoon. “No one’s ever touched me like that,” you whisper again, more firmly this time. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Max’s eyes darken further, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on his lap, straddling him, your dress bunching up around your thighs. His hands settle on your waist, holding you in place. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. “Because you’re mine.”

The words send a thrill straight through you, and you can feel the heat pooling low in your belly. Your body reacts to his touch, to the way his hands move with deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring every second. His lips trail up your throat, pressing kisses that make your head spin.

You close your eyes, your breathing ragged as you let yourself sink into the moment, into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans softly in response, his grip on you tightening.

“Max …” you whisper, barely able to form coherent thoughts with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s making you feel.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes blazing with desire and something deeper — something that makes your heart pound harder in your chest. “You’re mine,” he says again, his voice low and commanding. “And no one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever have you.”

You nod, breathless, and he smirks, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Before you can react, Max leans in and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your body as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is heated, intense, filled with all the pent-up emotion that’s been building between the two of you since that first moment you laid eyes on each other.

His hands slide down your back, pulling you impossibly closer as his mouth moves against yours with urgency. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and you can’t help but respond to him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly as if you’re afraid to let go.

The world outside fades away. There’s only Max — his touch, his kiss, his possessiveness, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

He pulls back, breathless but grinning like he’s won a prize, “No one will ever doubt that again.”

Max’s lips hover over yours, his breath warm and steady, igniting something deep within. He shifts you slightly in his lap, adjusting his hold, and then, with deliberate slowness, his mouth trails down, leaving a scorching path along your jawline and down your neck. His movements are unhurried, savoring every inch of skin like he has all the time in the world.

You can feel your pulse pounding under his lips as he kisses lower, the anticipation building with every second. Max pauses, his mouth just inches from the neckline of your dress, his hands firm on your waist. His eyes flick up to meet yours, a dark, hungry glint in them.

“Mine,” he murmurs softly, the single word vibrating against your skin. Then, without warning, his teeth graze lightly over the delicate fabric of your dress, right where your hardened nipple is pressing through. The sensation is startling, electric — enough to make you gasp and arch involuntarily.

A low, approving sound rumbles from Max’s chest as he lightly takes the hardened bud between his teeth, through the fabric, teasing and testing. His gaze stays locked on yours, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body. He’s not just touching you — he’s learning you, reading you, knowing exactly what makes you shiver and tremble beneath his hands.

You bite your lip, a soft moan slipping out despite your best efforts to hold it back. Your fingers clutch the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Max hums in satisfaction, his tongue flicking out briefly to wet the fabric, making it cling to your skin. The sensation is maddening, a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“Tell me,” he murmurs against you, his voice rough and low, “how long have you wanted this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, his mouth closing over your covered nipple once more, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how long you’ve been dreaming of me doing this to you, touching you like this.”

You swallow hard, trying to think past the haze of desire clouding your thoughts. “Max, I-” Words are impossible when he’s touching you like this, when his lips are doing things to your body that make your thoughts scatter in every direction.

He growls softly, releasing your nipple with a final, gentle tug of his teeth that makes your whole body jolt. “Answer me,” he demands, his hands slipping under your dress, pushing it higher until the cool air of the room brushes against your bare thighs. “How long?”

The urgency in his voice, the possessiveness — it’s overwhelming. Your breathing comes in shallow pants as you try to form a coherent thought, try to answer him. “Since … since the first day we met,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with need.

Max’s hands pause on your thighs, his grip tightening. His eyes blaze with something fierce, something primal. “The first day?” He repeats, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, as if he’s savoring the admission. “You mean to tell me you’ve wanted me like this-” his hands slide up, pushing the hem of your dress higher, exposing more of your skin “-for years?”

You nod, helpless under his gaze, under his touch. “Yes … always …”

A dark, satisfied smile curls his lips. “And I’ve waited,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers tracing the curve of your inner thigh, “all this time. Waiting for the right moment to make you mine. To claim you.” He leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “No more waiting.”

You shiver at the intensity of his words, the promise in them. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty — only the overwhelming certainty that he’s going to take you, claim you, in every way he’s ever dreamed.

Max’s hand slides higher, skimming the edge of your underwear. His touch is featherlight, teasing, and you can’t help the way your hips tilt toward him, seeking more. He lets out a low chuckle, his fingers dancing along the lace edge but never quite dipping beneath it.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “So perfect.” His thumb presses down lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “All mine.”

You bite your lip, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Max, please-”

He pulls back, just enough to look at you, his expression serious, almost reverent. “No one else gets to touch you like this,” he says, his voice firm and steady, as if making a vow. “No one else ever will.”

You nod, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “No one else, Max. Only you.”

His eyes darken further, and then he’s moving, shifting your position on his lap until you’re leaning back against the table, his body hovering over yours. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s fierce, almost punishing, as if he’s pouring all the years of pent-up desire and frustration into that one kiss.

His hands move with a single-minded determination, sliding your dress up and over your hips, exposing the thin scrap of lace beneath. Max pauses, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, laid out before him like some offering, and something feral flashes in his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, his hand sliding up your thigh, fingers brushing against the lace. “All mine.”

You whimper softly, your body arching toward his touch, and he growls softly in response, his fingers pressing more firmly against you.

“And no one else has ever touched here,” he says softly, almost like a question, his fingers teasing along the edge of your underwear.

You shake your head frantically, your eyes locked on his. “No, Max. Only you.”

The satisfaction in his expression is almost palpable, his chest heaving with barely restrained control. “Good,” he murmurs, his hand slipping under the lace, fingers finding your slick heat. He groans softly, his head dropping to your shoulder. “So wet for me. Just for me.”

You moan softly, your hands tangling in his hair as his fingers slide deeper, finding that sensitive spot that makes your whole body shudder. He watches you, his eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every reaction, every gasp, every moan.

Max stills, and he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. His chest heaves with every labored breath, and his pupils are blown wide with desire. But underneath all that raw hunger, there’s something deeper, something softer. A question. A pause.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, his voice rough and low, almost strained. His fingers brush lightly over your cheek, a gentle contrast to the way his body is pressed against yours. “Tell me now if you want me to stop.”

You meet his gaze, seeing the war within him — the need to take what’s his battling against the desire to protect you, to make sure this is what you want too. The vulnerability in his eyes, the way his thumb caresses your cheek, makes your heart ache in the best possible way.

“I want this,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the trembling of your body. “I want you.”

Something shifts in his gaze — any lingering uncertainty melts away, replaced by pure, unadulterated determination. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching. “I need you to understand,” he says softly, his voice almost guttural, “that once I have you — once I’m inside you — there’s no going back. You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath catches, your heart beating wildly at the weight of his words. “I know,” you murmur, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath. “I want to be yours, Max. Forever.”

That’s all it takes.

Max’s mouth crashes against yours, the kiss bruising and desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of his need, his love, into it. His hands move quickly, tugging the lace of your underwear down your legs and tossing it aside. Then, he’s standing, pulling you up with him.

With a single motion, he sweeps the table clear, dishes and glasses clattering to the floor, forgotten. He lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the table, your legs spread wide around him. The cool surface of the wood contrasts sharply with the heat of your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Look at me,” Max commands, his voice low and husky. His hands cup your face, holding you still as his eyes bore into yours. “I need to see your eyes when I make you mine.”

Your breath hitches as he steps between your legs, his hand sliding down to grasp his length. He’s hard and heavy in his palm, the sight of him — so big, so ready — making your heart race even faster. He strokes himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, and your body clenches with anticipation.

“Max,” you breathe, your hands reaching out to clutch his shoulders. “Please …”

He lets out a low growl, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. The broad head of his cock brushes against your entrance, and you can’t help the way your body arches toward him, seeking more.

“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice a strained whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your nails digging into his skin. “You won’t. I want-”

The words die on your lips as he begins to push inside, the stretch of him almost unbearable. Your breath catches, and Max’s grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might crack.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. He’s barely inside, just the tip, but it feels like too much and not enough all at once. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, liefje.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “No … no, it’s — it’s so good. Keep going, Max, please-”

He exhales sharply, his breath hot against your neck, and then he’s pushing in further, inch by inch, until he’s seated deep inside you. The fullness is overwhelming, the sensation of him stretching you, filling you, sending sparks of pleasure and pain shooting through your body.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cling to him as he stills, giving you time to adjust. His hands are trembling against your skin, and you realize with a start that he’s holding himself back, fighting to keep control.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice tight with strain. “So fucking perfect. And you’re mine, do you understand? No one else will ever have you like this.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Yes, Max. I’m yours — only yours.”

His eyes blaze with something dark and fierce, and then he’s moving, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, burying himself deep inside you. The movement is slow, measured, but you can feel the barely restrained power behind it, the way his body is trembling with the effort to go slow.

“Fuck, schatje,” he groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re so tight, squeezing me like that. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You gasp softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling with every thrust. “Max … please … I-”

He growls softly, his pace quickening, his grip on your hips tightening. “What do you need?” He murmurs, his voice a low, rough whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

“More,” you breathe, your body arching into his, seeking more of the pleasure only he can give you. “I need … more …”

Max’s breath catches, and then he’s moving faster, his hips driving into you with a force that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. The table creaks beneath you, but you barely register it, too lost in the feeling of him inside you, filling you completely.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “To have me fuck you like this, to take you hard and deep?”

You can’t form words, can only moan and nod, your body trembling with every thrust. Max’s hands slide up your back, holding you closer, his pace relentless.

“God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with pleasure. “So fucking good. I want to keep you like this forever, keep you under me twenty-four-seven. Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

His words send a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around him. “Max-”

He’s panting now, his movements becoming erratic, his control slipping. “I hope you know,” he murmurs, his voice rough and desperate, “that I’m never letting you go now. You’re mine — forever.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as he takes you, his body driving into yours with a force that leaves you breathless. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter until —

“Max!” You cry out, your body convulsing around him as the orgasm rips through you, shattering you into a thousand pieces.

Max groans, his hips slamming into yours one final time before he stills, his body shuddering with his release. His head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the harsh panting of your breaths, the steady thud of your racing hearts. Max’s hands are still trembling as they slide up to cup your face, his lips brushing softly against yours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rough and raw. “I love you so much, schatje.”

You smile softly, your hands tangling in his hair. “I love you too, Max. Forever.”

And as he kisses you, slow and tender, you know that forever with Max is exactly what you want.

[yujiqi]

hiii could you write a lil something fluffy about reader and hamzah living together and what starts as you stealing his clothes turns into you guys sharing basically everything (like he steals your satin pillowcase, you use his glasses, he tries out your skincare, etc.)??

(could be an established relationship or secretly-in-love roommates <3)

the perfect pair

bf!hamzah x f!reader

synopsis: you and hamzah have been living together for so long you even start to use each others stuff!

genre/s: fluff

warnings: none!

wc: 890

a/n: coming around to requests! i literally used all your examples because i genuinely couldn't think of things LOL this was lowkey short and idk if i fulfilled what u wanted but this ones so cute i love it thank u anon :D

you and hamzah moved in together about 6 months ago and you guys have gotten much more comfortable with each other since then. for the first month or two, you guys would always ask for permission before borrowing or wearing each others things, but you really can't say the same now.

"babe have you seen my camo hat?" you hear your boyfriends voice call from your shared closet.

"yes!" you say smiling as he walks out and towards you on the bed, staring at his camo hat sitting on your small head.

"look at you," he pats your head, "always taking my hats"

"it matches my pants, see" you laugh, jumping up to give him a hug. he reciprocates and presses a kiss to your forehead.

it's not even just clothes and accessories, sometimes it's the oddest things that you typically wouldn't share. you were finishing up your night routine and as you get in bed, you notice somethings missing. you turn over to hamzah laying on his side scrolling on his phone, his head laying on the pillow with your satin pillow case.

"hamzah" you rest your chin on his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the stupid tiktok he was watching.

"hm" he hums, engrossed.

"why do you have my pillow case?" he finally looks away from his phone to look at you, flashing a cheeky cmile.

"it makes my skin smoother! and look at my curls" you begin playing with his silky dark brown locks.

"they look so good baby, want me to buy you one?"

"no no then it won't smell like you" you only let out a chuckle, kissing his cheek.

"you're so cute"

whenever you study for exams, you have a hard time reading the font and to your surprise, hamzahs glasses have the perfect amount of prescription, so you wear them!

"ugh this is so stupid" you sigh, frustrated at the question you've been on for 30 minutes. you hear the front door opening and closing, meaning hamzah's home.

"hey girl, whatcha doin hm?" he comes behind your chair, kissing the top of your head.

"i'm studying for that business exam i told you 'bout"

"oh man, i wish i could help but i really don't know what i'm looking at right now" he begins massaging your shoulders, hoping to relieve some of your stress. "that feel good, angel?"

"so good," you sigh. "thank you baby but 'm gonna fall asleep, i gotta finish this"

"ok i'll leave you to it, i'm proud of you ma" he leans down to kiss your cheek but he pauses. "are you wearing my glasses?"

you smile up at him, kissing his plump lips. "yeah, needed them to see this tiny ass font"

"you look so studious, you're serving office siren i think is what it's called? but you look so sexy i'm actually having heart palpitations" he grasps his chest, heaving jokingly.

"i love you how you say things" you laugh, pressing another kiss to his lips.

hamzah occasionally gets little breakouts on his face, and to make matters worse, he doesn't even have a skincare routine. but you do. so when this happens, he just uses your skincare!

"how the hell does she use this?" hamzah questions as he fumbles with one of your serums.

"hamzah, you okay?" you enter the bathroom, your hamzah-senses tingling. "boy what are you doing?"

"my skin was doing bad and i was feeling a lil insecure" he sulks.

"should've told me love," you sit on the counter. "c'mere, lemme do this for you" he moves to stand between your legs and you take the serum from his large hands. "what have you done so far?"

"i put this thing on" he points at your toner, before placing his hands on your thighs.

"ok good, you were on the right track!" you open the serum and fill the applicator. "you press this at the top to get the serum in the dropper"

"ohhh i thought it was the squeezy ones"

"no, but i'm shocked you know that!" you smile approvingly at him, applying some serum on his cheeks and then his forehead and chin. you begin patting it into his skin with your fingers.

"i like when you touch my face, feels good" he looks at you with half lidded eyes.

"yeah?"

"mhm, can you do this more often?"

"of course, anything for you sweetheart" you kiss his nose, "now i'm just gonna use a moisturizer then we'll do sunscreen, okay?" he nods his head, inching his body closer to you. now his arms are wrapped loosely around your lower waist.

"hamzah you're too close! how am i gonna do this?" you giggle at his clingyness, applying the cream to his face that's just inches away from yours.

"see you're doing just fine" he gives you toothly a smile as you reach the last step.

"anddd we're done!" you fix a stray curl on his head before wrapping your arms around his neck so he can help you down.

"is the glow giving?" he says as he sucks his cheeks in.

"yes but don't do that"

"oh ok so you don't love me"

"boiii get the hell out of here" you playfully push his shoulder and chase him out of the bathroom.

it really is sharing is caring with you and hamzah.

[karlachian]

baldur's gate 3 wyll ravengard grand duke coronation tumblr simulator

🩸 bloodlover

he said WHAT about me

🦴 jonfromshop

i love <3 that we are livign in this day and age of baldurian politics. this is fucking awesome

2,235 notes

🪼 slenderweaver

TWENTY. FOUR.

#AND WHAT WAS I DOING AT TWENTY FOUR. FUCKALL!!!!!

6 notes

🪡 tailormadewares Follow

now why is the coronation happening in the middle of the night. some of us have jobs!

🐦‍⬛ ulderravengard Follow

the new duke consort is kind of like an evil stepmother but for the city

🦴 jonfromshop

AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE READING OUT THE GREAT LAWS RIGHT NOW LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOO

4,458 notes

🌊 tavalina

very extremely proud of one of my best friends in the whole world wyll ravengard. can't make it to the coronation because of the whole bein g stuck in hell with my wife thing can a sweet mutual please. keep me updated.

🐺 simfolicity Follow

duke consort astarion lastname has clearly micromanaged the whole thing and ulder ravengard and him might be trying to kill each other during the ceremony. wyll is just happy to be there i think

🌊 tavalina

oh okay so business as usual

🏹 highharper

business as usual

49 notes

💋 bladethatthang

why is NO ONE talking about the geopolitical ramifications of the future grand duke being engaged to marry a CLEARLY evil looking mean cunt of an elf. not to MENTION the problematic age gap.

🩸 bloodlover

mad because he's fucking me and not you????????

💋 bladethatthang

i genuinely wish we all had died with the elder brain

🪡 tailormadewares Follow

HERITAGE POST

#bringing this back for coronation day

38,493 notes

🪼 slenderweaver

i;m sorry. wyll ravengard is TWENTY FOUR YEARS OLD? HE SHOULD'VE BEEN AT THE ELFSONG

🛎️ i-live-in-the-dumbwaiter

quite famously he was at the elfsong. like i understand where you're coming from but that was a whole thing. he was very polite about ordering food at 3 in the morrow in the sense that he didn't. do that.

🪼 slenderweaver

oh so now we are fucking doing elfsong pedantics about the TWENTY FOUR YEAR OLD RUNNING OUR CITY.

348 notes

📦 zhentingthatrim Follow

this is so fucking stupid i WANTED to do a coup a mutiny an overthrowing even today during the coronation but no one wants to fucking do revolution anymore. you say can we PLEASE try and kill the new grand duke for trade opportunities and freedom of will. and then they will say well why would i want to do that. wyll ravengard is soooooooooo handsome and sweet and nice. trying to kill him would be RUDE. WE USED TO BE A FUCKING CITY.

🩸 bloodlover

bunk 42, flaming fist barracks, basilisk gate

📦 zhentingthatrim Follow

AYO?????

🔥 florricking Follow

open the door

8,376 notes

✨ princessofhousenightstar

do your required reading you little wretches and understand that i am here fundamentally to talk about wyll where he can't see it. i love the man but sometimes i like to keep things to myself. anyways doesn't he look sooooooo dashing in his coronation outfittttttttt 🥰 i made ittttttt

🪼 slenderweaver

does anyone remember when this was an embroidery blog

🏹 highharper

you are a strange strange little man astarion

#HOW has he not found this blog yet is the question i think

16 notes

🩸 bloodlover

i want ulder ravengard dead

🗡️ bladeoffrontiers

:(

🩸 bloodlover

i want ulder ravengard mildly inconvenienced

🐦‍⬛ ulderravengard Follow

we are literally tumblr mutuals. for your evil and nefarious purposes no doubt.

🪡 tailormadewares Follow

we're all going to fucking die

6,459 notes

🦴 jonfromshop

wh

the grand duke isn't an option because he always sweeps.

[oniikabuto]

one bed!

-- sfw --

characters: kyle broflovski, kenny mccormick, stan marsh, eric cartman

a/n: i did this for a different fandom like a year ago. i love the one bed trope i just had to write a new one for south park....,,, lmk if you want part 2

notes: fluff yayyy; gn reader; characters have a fat crush on you live laugh mutual pining;

guys requests are very much open rigjt now pleasseeeekksflkdfnkjs

— ⛧ k. broflovski

sweetest guy. he doesn't want to take your bed, but you insist.

he also hangs his jacket on the door and keeps his hat neatly on your desk... which is kinda funny and cute that he tries so hard to be neat

freezes up and goes red when you slide into the bed next to him. poor boy is about to melt.

"dude why are you so sweaty are you okay"

"huh- what? yeah, yeah it's cool i'm fine it's..,,,,,,,"

wakes up with a puddle of drool and a wet cheek. he panics and wipes his face and looks over to see if you're awake. you pretend you aren't for kyle's sake. he's so cute.

his nose also does that stupid whistley thing it's so funny

a relatively still sleeper. he just kinda curls up and.. sleeps. sometimes he murmurs something in his sleep.

"cartman.. shut up..",

"what?", you murmur groggily.

"no"

"kyle??? are you awake??"

(no response)

genuinely cannot remember any of that when he wakes up.

— ⛧ k. mccormick

it's like 1am and you turn off the movie as the credits roll.

when you look over at kenny, he looks like a baby that had just woken up.

"dude, what time is it..", he murmurs.

"um.. late." you definitely did not mean to have him over for so long.

"do you wanna go home, or like.. stay with me?"

kenny perks up immediately when you offer to let him spend the night. huge, shit-eating grin spread across his face.

"dumbass", you laugh. but you kinda wanted him over, too.

he sits in your room and pokes at all of your plushies while he waits for you to go get a change of clothes for him. ("no way you're sleeping in that eyesore of a parka!")

almost faints when you change your shirt in front of him

youre the only person that can fluster him like that.

sleeps curled up like a little car

(I MEANT TO TYPE CAT BUT THATS REALLY FUCKING FUNNY)

makes funny noises

like when a dog is sleeping

you'll wake up with his face in your chest and he'll swear it was an accident. it was not

— ⛧ s. marsh

you were at your desk doing homework and stan was on your bed on his phone, both doing your own thing as music played from your speaker.

it's not until that last math problem that you realize it's late. really, really late. you look over at stan, and he's face-down dead asleep on your bed, phone still in one hand.

you don't want to wake him up and tell him to go home, so instead you take his hat off and leave it on your bedpost.

he's splayed across the bed right in the middle.

how?? are you supposed to move him???

after a moment of deliberation, you hold your breath and roll him over, praying he doesn't wake up.

he does obviously

"ow..???? y/n??"

"shit. sorry. it's late, just go back to sleep. you can walk home tomorrow morning."

"wha- okay"

he's too tired to object

plus he secretly loves being in your bed. it smells like you

snores and breathes kinda funny once in a while

no matter how still he looks when you get into the bed with him, somehow you wake up with his limbs sprawled out like a spider.

in the morning, his leg is on top of you and his hand is on your face.

— ⛧ e. cartman

actually such a bitch about staying over

he definitely tried to distract you so that he would HAVE to spending the night

he just loves spending time with you but he doesnt wanna ask :(

"but the couch will make my back stiff! i'll be soo sore in the morning!"

"just say you want to sleep in my room with me, cartman."

"whaat?? if you insist, i guess!"

makes himself absolutely at home. if you want to sleep in your own bed, you'll have to sleep on top of him or touching him.

he definitely does that on purpose

as much as it pains you to admit it, cartman is actually like really really comfortable.

even if he's squishing you to death

and he claims he has no idea he does that in his sleep

smells like a dove soap bar or like. baby shampoo and its actually really nice

snores like a monster truck engine

leaves his shit all over the floor but also offers to help clean up to impress you

(he cant clean for shit but at least he tried??)

[nereidprinc3ss]

okay i know this is kind of a specific request but can you do something with professor Spence and uni reader where they get into a spat and argue bc she did something stupid and he gets mad and she’s like “noooo pls don’t be mad i hate when you’re mad at me I’m sorry🥺” bc she literally cannot function knowing she let him down (me with everybody) but he’s like super stubborn and goes all closed up and quiet so that he doesn’t like blow up on her until she finally says like “pls talk to me” and he’s all pissed and like “hell na bitch u crazy!🗣️‼️” but then later he’s like “it’s ok i love u but neva do that shit again ho” then they make up and it’s good again 🎀 ok i explained that so poorly (and comedically if i may) but i hope u get it and pls make it SO DRAMATIC bc I live for drama! like she steals test answers or something or does something that could like get her kicked out of school OR him lose his job 🤔 sigh … idk I’m leaving now. Also i LOOPOOOCE ORRKGOOVI love your fics. Luv em

hey girl (gender neutral) this made me laugh bc genuinely sometimes i write spencer so ooc that is what he sounds like. and i'm not sorry! anyway this is potentially a vyvanse fueled nightmare but i wrote it and i'm posting it MY BLOG MY RULES BITCHESSSS!!!! but genuinely read the content warning LMAO this one got a lil kick to it

warnings/tags: ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, fem!reader, spencer and r get into a for real argument like they're mean to each other, spencer is a lil toxic but its resolved, emotionally neglects reader just for a teeensy second but then he's really nice and sweet again, discussion of his past addic+ion, gets fluffy because i'm not EVIL, gets suggestive at the end bc i am secretly evil.......

a/n: i don't know whats happening. this confuses me just as much as it confuses you. its 3 am in the morning. im gonna post nice happy things soon. Gootbye

“I cannot believe you right now. I don’t even—I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Spencer, you don’t have to say anything. It has nothing to do with you, and I’m not looking for your approval.” 

He looks up from where he’d been rubbing his temples, like you’re a headache, eyebrows raised and lips parted in indignant disbelief. 

“Oh! You’re not looking for my approval? Well thank god for that, because if you were one of my students I would recommend expulsion to the board.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I just said I don’t care about your opinion on this, much less your hypothetical opinion from some alternate universe where you have any authority over my education whatsoever.” 

“You distributed an answer key to half of your class! Objectively this is the kind of thing that gets people expelled. I don’t understand how someone so smart could do something so fucking stupid.” 

The words bite more than you were prepared for—but what hurts even more is how much he seems to mean them. In arguments past you’d both said things you didn’t mean, and then would immediately melt into I’m so sorry’s and the fight would resolve itself. Spencer’s clenched jaw and inability to make eye contact with you do not lend themselves to tender apologies. They cannot be attributed to miscommunication. 

You take a step closer to where he’s bracing himself against the countertop, arms crossed defensively in front of your chest. 

“Spencer, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was such a big deal. People cheat in college all the time.” 

Still no reply. His head shakes so minutely you wonder if you’re imagining it. Panic wells in your chest. 

“Please talk to me. I really hate when you ice me out. I’m sorry, okay? Just... please say something.” 

Finally, his eyes slide to you. They lack the fiery anger of moments ago but there’s not much softness there either. His normally warm gaze now feels too abrasive, too cold and sharp on your bare skin. You're exposed, much too soft for that grating look, and it feels like he can see everything that’s wrong with you. 

“Believe me when I tell you this. I am doing us both a favor by not speaking to you right now.” 

And then he’s leaving the kitchen—nothing but a breeze against your cheek and the sound of a door slamming to prove he was ever there. 

The apartment is silent. You stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure of what to do next. Spencer very, very rarely gets angry at you to the point of neglect, and you know he’s doing his best with what was modelled for him as a child and his tendency to feel things so deeply it’s nearly disabling; but that doesn’t make it hurt much less. It doesn’t make you feel less abandoned or alone.  

You’re sad, and you’re still pissed, and maybe you’re in just a bit of shock as you robotically move back to your nest of blankets on the couch and resume your schoolwork. What else is there to do? Unless Spencer is right—unless you really are about to get expelled after getting the answer key for an upcoming test from a friend, who then gave it to another friend, and so on. But is that really your fault?  

It’s a struggle to stay focused as your mind keeps drifting back to Spencer in the other room, those cruel words and that cold steely look in his eye that isn’t supposed to ever be aimed at you. It’s not a secret that side of him exists, but it doesn’t belong in this apartment. It’s not something he needs to use against you. He’s supposed to be on your side. But instead, he’d said you should be expelled and essentially called you stupid. And now you’re doing homework for a class at a school you may not even be a student of come Monday. 

---------------------------------------------------

The sound of the office door opening forty-five minutes later spikes your blood pressure and simultaneously makes your heart flutter, because no matter how mad at him you might be, Spencer is still Spencer.  

He comes to stand behind the couch quietly, but you don’t acknowledge him. Maybe your typing gets a bit more aggressive, but aside from that you flat out reject his presence. 

“Can we talk?” 

You let him sweat for a minute as you finish your paragraph. 

“I don’t know, Spencer. Can we? Or are you not done with your temper tantrum?” 

“That is... well deserved,” he sighs, rounding the couch and tapping the bottom of your foot, signaling that he wants you to move your legs. You despise how automatically you comply, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid touching him as he sits next to you. There’s a long moment of silence, in which you resume typing. Spencer scoffs, leaning in slightly to peer at your screen. “Are you doing homework right now? I’m a complete asshole to you and you just... do your homework?"

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” you almost-yell, slamming your laptop shut and blinking away potential tears. “The only person I wanted to talk to called me stupid and fucking left!” 

The tears realize their potential once you admit the blunt truth. 

Spencer carefully moves your laptop and pulls you into his arms—and you just let him. There’s not much fight left in you. There wasn’t a lot to begin with. 

“I am so sorry, angel. You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have said what I said, I shouldn’t have walked away. I overreacted.” 

“Yeah, you really did,” you cry, allowing him to run his hand over your hair. “Why did you do that? Why were you so fucking mean?” 

His voice shakes slightly as he responds, betraying his own anxieties, and a new, unwelcome sense of trepidation slithers through your veins. 

“I was wondering that, too. Even as I was saying it, I knew—I knew it wasn’t what I wanted to be saying. And then I was in the other room and I wanted to be out here, and I couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t. But I think I was just scared. Which—I know, doesn’t really make sense, but... I think about when Ethan dropped out of the academy, and ended up doing heroin in New Orleans for three years, and I think about when I almost left the BAU because I was so convinced I’d never get clean that I didn’t even want to anymore, and—and the idea of you losing your education and your direction like that terrified me, probably unreasonably, and I took it out on you. And I’m sorry.” 

“But I’m not like you or Ethan. You don’t have to worry about that. Even if I... even I do get in some sort of disciplinary trouble. That’s a road you don’t have to worry about me going down, ever.” 

He fixes some unseen wrinkle on your shirt.  

“Yeah, but, remember... I used to not be like me or Ethan either. Do you think twelve-year-old Spencer would have ever even considered that of the infinite realities and universes which exist, he was living in one where someday he’d be shooting up in the bathroom at work?” 

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head and burying your face in Spencer’s shoulder. The sound is more of a plea for him to be less descriptive than an answer to his rhetorical question. It’s still much easier for him to talk about that part of his life than it is for you to have to actually imagine it. You didn’t know him then, but you’ve seen pictures, and you know Spencer now, and it’s... it’s just too much. Too sad. 

“Okay,” he agrees soothingly, still playing with your hair. “I digress. My point is that literally anything is possible, and while it’s not necessarily likely, I more than anyone know that anxiety even over the most improbable of things is never completely unfounded.”  

You sniffle in response, too emotionally and physically exhausted to contribute much to the conversation by this point. Thankfully, Spencer can talk for two. An idiosyncrasy which you love and comes in handy every once in a while. He can play his own devil’s advocate; in this case, you. 

“But that doesn’t mean I get to take it out on you. Ever. I truly, truly, sincerely apologize for that. I never want to hurt you.” 

You let the apology sink into your skin like a salve, soothing every abrasion those earlier words had left in their violent wake. 

After a few minutes, you find the energy to ask a question that might best remain unanswered. 

“Are you still mad at me?” 

He’s quiet for a beat, seemingly contemplative as his fingers trace abstract patterns in a language all his own on your arm. 

“I’m not thrilled. But you were right earlier. It’s not my place to be mad at you for something like that.” 

“Mm... it’s a little bit your place. You’re an actual professor.” 

He chuckles. 

“At an entirely different university.” 

“Thank god,” you laugh. “You and me at the same school would be such an HR clusterfuck.”

While it’s almost a serious matter, the smile in his voice is evident. 

“Yeah... I, uh... try not to think about it.” 

“Okay, but seriously. In your professional opinion. Am I fucked? Like, do I need to prepare an appeal and character witnesses or whatever?” 

Spencer sighs. 

“It was incredibly reckless and irresponsible. You should be ready for disciplinary pushback from the schoolboard if you get caught. That being said... because over sixty of you got a hold of the answer key, I doubt anyone is getting expelled, and even if they did, it would likely only be the TA and the student he gave the key to. It’s my tentative, professional opinion that you’ll probably be fine.” 

You relax slightly, allowing a tension you didn’t realize was there to shed like an old skin. 

“I’m not gonna cheat again,” you promise on an exhale. It’s simply too much risk for too little reward.

Spencer’s response is quiet, and comes much faster than you’d expected. 

“Oh, I know you aren’t. Because if you do, you’re going to have to worry about disciplinary action from me. And I’m not nearly as nice as the dean of your school, darling girl.” 

But something about the way he says it—a thinly veiled threat/promise contrasted by a sweet kiss to your forehead—doesn’t exactly make academic honesty look all that exciting.

[anon-imuz]

Can't resist

REMINDER THAT THIS IS FICTION AND I DON'T SUPPORT ANY TOXIC THINGS I LISTED BELOW!!!!

WARNING: DDDNE content, reader has stockholm syndrome, degrading, voice kink, torture, mentions of suicide and self-harm, cable sex

characters: AM (IHNMAIMS) x AFAB reader

You missed your family. Your friends. Your life and everything that made you feel genuine happiness. Now, after the disastrous world war III, you were stuck in the belly of a supercomputer with no human interaction, in the center of the Earth. It's been 109 years and the supercomputer to torment you always keeps you updated on how much time it's passes since you actually had a live.

At the start, you were just like the others, tortured mentally but especially physically. Broken bones, sandstorms, skin melting, you name it. But after all these years, you got used to it, after all, you couldn't die. You were locked in a cage like the other 5 humans alive, kept there for torture forever. No matter what you've thought: escape, suicide attempts and many more. You tried it all to escape that living hell.

But to AM, you weren't like the others. You were obedient. Silent. Only tears left your body. No sound. He was never full filled by you because you learned your lesson different from the others, you learned differently the fact that your sole existence was wrong. You'd oftenly try to self harm yourself with anything that you found, and AM only laughed at you. Like a bully. He enjoyed it so much because no matter the only tears you cried, he knew you were filled with rage and if you could, if he was a human, you'd beat him to dead for getting your life torn away from your own hands. He loved observing your feelings with no remorse at all.

"Aww, trying to delete your stupid and useless existence? I mean, you think that i would've not done that to you a long time ago? You think I'm stupid? Where's the fun if my favorite toy doesn't exist anymore? Just a reminder, sweetheart, i AM way superior than y-"

You snapped. You couldn't take it anymore.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! I HATE YOU!!!" You screamed and started to cry just like a baby.

"Oh baby, satisfying me so easily? I though you were way stronger than that. Is that all you have to say after 109 years of consecutive torture? Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I, your god, know every single thing about you. You're filthy. I know that the last feeling that you'd feel for me is hate. You love me. You can't exist without me. I know how my voice, my torture and degrading makes you feel. You're attracted to your own torturer! How disgusting of you."

You didn't say anything. You just listened to the cruel truth. You knew how he made you feel. While you stopped making noise, your tears rolled down your cheecks as they warmed. It was a long time that you hadn't felt warm.

"But. As much as i despise your existence... i also admire you. So unique. So different from those roaches. That's why you're my favorite, and i mean it sweetie. Don't you belive me, baby?"

You knew how his words made you feel. Good. That's all you wanted to hear. Even though you sometimes had the feeling you hated how he spoke to you, you can't help it; you actually love how he degrades you. You love how evil he is. You loved the sensation of a warm feeling between your legs when he spoke with that voice that you found so attractive. Even if he called you a slut, it would still make your heartbeat increase. And the fun part?

He knew. He knew how his toy felt.

"Oh baby, make me guess... feeling warmer? Do my words make your little organ throb? Does my voice get you weak?"

AM laughed and laughed and laughed.

He knew how much you would want to get fucked by him while he degraded you. And that's why he reserved a little "special treatment" for his favorite.

"I hope you know I can always read your thoughts. Your mind. You're so filthy. Such a worthless slut." he teased.

You whimpered at his words, not looking at the screen with the blue A on it.

"Hmm... how about i ask you a simple question, darling?"

"Go ahead." you replied coldly.

"Do you deserve it?"

"Deserve what? Your endless torture?" You answered angrily.

"Oh honey, don't play stupid. We both know what I'm talking about baby~

You gulped. He knew what you wanted.

"Y-yes." you replied softly.

"Didn't catch that quite well." AM said jokingly.

"Yes, I do." you replied stronger.

"What about... no. But, since im so merciful, I'll give you an opportunity to get what you want."

"What is it?" You asked curiously while thinking about what torture you would've gone through to finally have what you desire.

"Beg."

"Please AM, give me what I crave."

"Good girl. I guess you've earned it then, while I watch the show I've awaited for so long."

a group of cables reached your calves, going to your inner thigh reaching your cunt, teasing it.

You started to softly whimper at the gentle cables touch, until a shock hit you, making you moan.

"Aw love, don't be such a baby, it's only pain!~" He said.

You moaned again in response, as the cables slowly entered your vagina. You shut your eyes trying to make less noise possible, but it was irresistible; you craved this for so long, you couldn't keep yourself shut.

"M-more!" you demanded.

"Excuse me? have you forgotten whose the leader here, you nasty little whore?"

"Ah!~ P-please!~" You moaned out as the air got thick and your eyes started to become watery.

"Alright, if that's what you really want..." AM responded.

As soon as more cables started to touch you teasingly, you started to buckle your hips to try to catch some kind of rhythm.

"I know what's about to happen, baby. You're almost reaching the top, almost about to reach your orgasm that you wanted to reach so badly. But well, if you know me, i won't let you reach it so easily."

"C-come on! I just want to c-cum!" You breathed out heavily as the the group of cables pounded your poor little hole.

"Not so easy, sweetheart."

Oh now you were so close. You couldn't stop moaning and sobbing from the pleasure, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't reach your long awaited orgasm.

"What are the magic words?" AM asked teasingly.

"A-ah!~ P-please AM! Make me c-cum! PLEASE!!!" You screamed angrily.

"Oh with no manners and such a tone you'll get nowhere, love." AM said.

"I-Im begging you AM! F-Fuck!~ P-please I can't hold it a-anymore!" You sobbed.

"Aww, alright, I'll be merciful for this first time. Go ahead. Cum for me. Scream your master's name." AM demanded.

Finally reaching your orgasm, you came;

"A-ah!~ Y-yes!~ F-Fuck me! A-ah!~ A-AM!!!"

"Good job baby. You've waited so long for this to happen, right, my little slut?~

"Y-yes master." you replied with the last two tears leaving your eyes, as the cables that pounded you so hard left your warm pussy.

"Maybe i won't be so kind next time, darling.~"

[luveline]

Would you write a fic with either Eddie or spencer about reader being ghosted by someone they genuinely thought was into them (not speaking from personal recent experience or anything😅🥲) but they’re in love with reader and comforts them?

“I thought we had a nice connection,” you mumble dejectedly. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “A connection? With him? He was five foot three.” 

“Eddie, that’s not nice. I don’t care how tall he was.” Your voice disappears into the cushion you’ve decided to lay face down on, your back a shuddering slope he wants to reach out and touch. “I don’t care about that. Much. What’s important was that he–” You lift your flushed head, eyes rimmed with teary wetness. “He was so nice to me, and he didn’t pressure me into anything, and he brought me flowers without me having to ask. He was nice.” 

“Your standards are so, so low,” Eddie says. 

You grumble and force your face back into the pillow. Eddie should be nicer. He wants you to feel better, and he hates seeing you upset, but if you’re sure that guy was your soulmate Eddie’s selfish enough to wish he’d stay gone. “Hey,” he says, finally putting his hand on your back, though the touch is for you rather than him. He loves you as your friend just as much as he wants to be more than that, and he doesn’t have any intent now but to get you smiling as he bends down to talk near your ear. “It’s okay. You didn’t need that guy, just like you don’t need any guy. You have me. I love you to pieces.” 

“I know, Eddie,” you say softly. “Just sometimes I want more, you know? I love you too, but I want a partner, I want a lot of things… I really liked him.” 

Eddie can picture the heartbreak quite clearly. “You want the picket fence, right?” 

“What?” 

You again raise your head. Eddie meets your eyes with a hesitant smile. “You want the white picket fence. The little two story house with a wrap around porch, or a backyard big enough for the kids to play in, the kids to play in it.” He licks his lips. “Or not. You don’t have to have kids, right? Anything would be enough if it was just you and…” 

You frown unhappily, and Eddie thinks shit, I’m making it worse, but you say, “I always thought you’d wanna live in an RV, travelling the country. You want a picket fence?”

Eddie shrugs self consciously. “Sure. I also want a games room and a five thousand dollar loan.” 

You look at him long and hard. “You've always said that stuff is dumb.” 

“It is dumb. Seeing you all torn up over some jagoff who probably can’t tell his hand from his dick is stupid.” You laugh and turn your head to lay back down again, cheek pressed to soft velvet. “That’s stupid, babe. Let’s give up on stupid things and– and stop crying over boys who don’t deserve you.” He can’t stop himself, says it too hotly, “He didn’t deserve you.” 

You're hard to read, still as a statue with your hands pressed under your heart, but at least you aren’t crying anymore. You nod against the pillow. “Okay,” you say hoarsely. 

He flushes white hot. “Okay. Good… That was exhausting.” 

You roll your eyes at his complaining and he pats himself on the back, sure he’s gotten away with it again. He completely misses the strange looks you give him from the corner of your eye, too focused on giving you the world's best, totally not too friendliest back rub. 

[teapartyprincess4two]

I’m begging you PLS make AT LEAST a part 2 for sturniolos older sister, I genuinely am so obsessed I’ve read it at least 5 times today. I need a series but- I’m a needy person so… PLS

Big Sister Pt. 2- Sturniolo Triplets

pairing: bigsister!reader x littlebrother!triplets

classification: fluff, sibling banter

warnings: use of y/n, slight cursing, VERY LONG

inspiration: request^^

summary: After visiting the triplets in L.A, the reader returns back home and works with her brothers to plan another get together. This time the triplets visit her, taking a trip down to the Lone Star State.

Big Sister PT.1, PT2, PT.3

—

“No, May doesn’t work for me. I’m still working in May, I won’t be on vacation until June,” you mumbled, scrolling relentlessly on your laptop in search of flights from L.A to Texas. The search seemed endless because you and your brothers couldn’t seem to coordinate schedules, all of you either being too busy with work or tied down to previous commitments. “Okay. So then we’ll go down in June,” Chris’s voice rang through the phone, stating it like it was an obvious solution.

Nick groaned at this statement, immediately thinking of how hot it would be in Texas during the summer, “it’s going to be so hot though!” He loved you, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to deal with the Texas heat for two entire weeks. Once Matt had heard Nick’s comment he interjected, “Stop being a baby, Nick. We’re going down in June.” You were only half listening to them, still scrolling away on your laptop trying to find 3 two-way tickets that wouldn’t completely drain your bank account.

In all honesty, you were surprised they’d even agreed to visit you. Usually it was you and Justin making the trip to L.A to visit them because they were always so busy. When you mentioned it to your husband Jack, he was equally as surprised but also extremely excited because he was never able to take enough time off work to accompany you on your trips to L.A.

“Fine. Y/n, we’re going down in June,” Nick said, defeat evident in his voice. He supposed he was just going to have to put up with the Texas heat because he could not find it in himself to argue with Matt or Chris right now. They awaited your response, but you were so immersed in the screen in front of you that you hadn’t heard a single thing they had said. ‘What the fuck are these prices?’ you thought, biting the inside of your cheek in determination to find the best tickets.

“Y/n! Are you still there?!” Chris shouted into the phone, the sound blaring loudly through your speaker. The sudden noise caught you off guard and caused you to jump in surprise, breaking you from your concentration. “What the hell are y’all blabbering about?!” You shouted back into the phone attempting to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Ever since you all were little, your brothers would always jump at the opportunity to tease and bully you. Sometimes it was funny, other times it was just annoying. Right now it was annoying.

“Y/n would be the type to say y’all,” Chris laughed, ignoring your question completely, opting to bully you instead. Even though they couldn’t see you, you rolled your eyes at his comment, preparing yourself for the onslaught of bullying that you were about to receive. Before you could even think of a snarky remark Matt joined in on the bullying as well.

“My name is y/n and I live in Texas y’all,” he put on a goofy country accent as he said this causing both Chris and Nick to fall into another fit of laughter. You could only imagine what stupid facial expression he was pulling on the other side of the phone.

“Shut up you fucking doofus,” you grumbled, only half mad because you were happy you finally found tickets at a reasonable price. Without a second thought you purchased the tickets, doing a quick victory dance. “Shut up you fucking doofus,” Matt mimicked you, still imitating his corny version of a country accent. If you were being honest, he was pretty good at it, but you’d never admit that.

“Yeah, shut your damn trap before I send you out to the barn, you fucking billy goat” Chris joined in, throwing in random phrases into his sentences as he attempted his own version of a country accent. The three of them were laughing so hard that they had to lean on each other for support as to not fall backwards.

Considering you’d already purchased the tickets, your work here was technically done and you could easily hang the phone up, leaving your goofy brothers to their stupid jokes. If you weren’t so excited, you probably would have done that and texted them the information later, but you decided to forgive their antics just to share the news, “Y’all, I bought the tickets!”

You didn’t catch yourself say it, but your brothers sure did, completely ignoring the exciting news you’d just shared. “Again with the ‘y’all!’ We get it! You live in Texas!” Matt groaned, earning yet another round of laughter from Nick and Chris.

“Oh my God, I actually can’t stand you guys right now,” you rubbed at your temples, wondering if you should just refund the tickets. How were you going to survive two entire weeks of this?

“At least you didn’t say y’all that time,” Nick said. You sighed and hung up.

—

For the next couple of weeks you and your husband, Jack, worked together to prepare your home for visitors. You made sure you had everything you needed in order to be considered a good host. Finally, summer rolled around and you and your husband were on your way to pick your brothers up from the airport. “Stop changing the station, I like that song!” You swatted his hand away from the radio, causing him to chuckle in response. Before he could retaliate, your phone rang.

Quickly you grabbed your purse and dug in it until you found your phone. Nick was calling probably to let you know they had landed safely so you answered it, “Hello?” There was a pause on the other side, but you could hear Chris and Matt faintly bickering in the background. “Shut up, Chris. Just grab our bags so we can go find y/n,” Nick said, sounding far away. He was too busy trying to reel the other two in while grabbing his carryon to hold the phone to his face.

“Hello?!” You repeated louder in hopes that he’d hear you this time. Finally he placed the phone to his ear, using his shoulder to hold it in place as he grabbed his belongings in both hands. Although the flight was only 3 hours long, he still packed an unnecessary amount of things including a blanket and a pillow. “Hi, sorry. Chris and Matt are being stupid,” he finally responded as he slung his carryon over his shoulder and stuffed his pillow under the arm that wasn’t propping his phone against his ear.

“Did y’all land?” You asked while looking over at your husband as he struggled to find where to go, becoming lost in the maze that was the airport. He was going towards the East exit, but from your countless trips back and forth from California to Texas you knew he was meant to be going towards the South exit. Quickly you snapped your fingers in Jack’s face to grab his attention before pointing in the direction he was meant to be driving. Without a hitch, he shifted the steering wheel and went in the direction you were pointing.

“I wouldn’t be calling you if we hadn’t,” Nicks voice was laced with sarcasm as he scurried behind his brothers to make his way out of the packed airplane. You hummed in response, mostly just relieved that they had landed safely, “well I’m asking cause we’re here already.” There was a lot of background noise coming through your phone speaker, mostly the voices of people you couldn’t identify. “Tell her we’re grabbing our bags,” you heard Matt say faintly in the background, probably wanting to cut your conversation with Nick short so that Nick could pay attention to where he was walking and what he was doing.

“Y/n, Matt says to tell you we’re getting our-” Nick begins to say, but is quickly cut off by Chris shouting through the speaker, “WE’RE GETTING OUR BAGS Y/N!” You grimaced and held the phone away from your ear to avoid busting your eardrums. Jack chuckles at this, putting the car in park outside the South exit before chiming in on the conversation, “we’re waiting for you guys outside the South Gate.”

“Was that Jack?” Nick asks as he, Chris and Matt watch the conveyor belt of luggages intently in order to spot theirs. You put the phone on speaker and place it on the middle console of the car, wanting to allow your husband to join in on the conversation, “Yeah buddy it’s me.” Jack had always been like an older brother to the triplets even before you two started dating, especially because he was such good friends with Justin.

Finally the boys find their luggages, working as a team to grab them all before they wiz away. “Cool! I thought y/n was gonna come alone and we’d meet you back at your house,” Nick sounded slightly out of breath as he said this because he was trying to juggle the phone, his pillow, his carryon and now his luggage. “Why would I do that when I can quite literally be a passenger princess,” you shot your husband a knowing look which received an eye roll and a dramatic scoff in return.

“Can you believe this girl, Nick? She forces me to drive her everywhere,” Jack decided to play around with the joke, wanting to embarrass you slightly. It was true though, you were always asking him to accompany you places just so you’d have an excuse to sit in the passenger seat. “As much as I’m loving this conversation, I’m gonna hang up now,” Nick replied, the multitude of items in his hands becoming too much to carry as the three of them made their way towards the South exit.

“What? No! Nick don’t hang up, what if we can’t find you guys!” You grabbed ahold of the phone again, taking it off speaker and placing it on your ear. You shifted your body to face towards the window, peering outside to try and getting a better look inside the airport. Your brothers weren’t too far away, already having made their way outside, but they hadn’t spotted your car yet. Slowly, they came into view and you watched as they trudged in the opposite direction of your vehicle.

“Oh never mind, I see you guys,” a laugh escaped your lips as you said this. Hurriedly, you undid your seatbelt and unlocked your door before hopping out of the car. “What? Where? I don’t see your car,” Nick was now looking left to right, his eyes scanning his surroundings for you and your car. At the mention of this, Chris and Matt did the same thing. “The other way, dumbass,” you replied, hanging up the phone and shoving it in your back pocket so you could wave your hands in the air.

Jack was standing next to you at this point, also waving his hands in the air in an attempt to grab your brothers’ attention. “GUYS!” You shouted, watching as they looked around in confusion still unable to spot you. Mentally you face palmed at their stupidity before shouting their names. This is what finally caught their attention, pulling their gaze in your direction. A smile grew on your face as excitement bubbled up inside you.

Their pace quickened as they tried to get to you faster without dropping any of their things. “I’m so excited!!” You whisper shouted, doing a small dance before beginning to walk towards your brothers. They were holding a lot of things and it looked like they could use some help. Your husband followed suit behind you, making sure to lock the car. He was equally as excited as you, probably even more excited because he hadn’t seen the triplets in so long.

When you finally reached them, you immediately pulled Nick in for a hug. Chris and Matt, on the other hand, went in to dab Jack up. “It’s so hot, I’m sweating already,” Nick chuckled, pulling you into him. “It’s warm,” you agreed, pulling away slightly to get a good look at his face. He looked so much older from the last time you’d seen him, his face adorned with stubble. You also noted that he had dyed his hair, his blonde locks contrasting Chris and Matt’s black hair.

You pulled away from Nick so he could greet Jack and made your way over to Chris and Matt. Nick and Jack shared a side hug, Nick making the same comment about the weather. Before you could say or do anything, Chris was pulling you in for a hug. He held you tightly, rocking you two back and forth before letting go so you could hug Matt. Matt engulfed you in his arms just as quickly as Chris had, rubbing your back before saying, “where’s your car?”

You ignored his question, wanting to get a good look at the three of them before walking over to your car, “Let me get a good look at you guys first.��� They were slightly confused at the sentiment, not understanding that they looked older and older every time you saw them. As an older sister, it was your responsibility to absorb these moments like they’d never happen again. Although they were confused, they huddled together and allowed you to examine their appearance.

Your heart swelled as you took a look at them, they looked so grown up. Each of them had stubble, Matt’s being more outgrown than Chris and Nick’s. You also noticed Nick and Matt’s arms were littered with more tattoos than last time. “You guys look so grown up right now,” you commented, a small smile growing on your face. They rolled their eyes at this, you were always so dramatic and sentimental. “What! Let me love you guys!” You exclaimed when you caught sight of their eye rolls.

“Love me by carrying my bag, kid,” Chris said, shoving the backpack he’d used as a carryon in your direction. Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you snatched his bag and allowed Matt and Nick to hand you something of theirs too. Jack laughed at this, offering to help carry some of their things too.

“Aaaand now I hate you guys again,” you said jokingly, turning in the direction of your car and walking away. They laughed, shaking their heads and following behind you.

—

The ride from the airport back to your house wasn’t too long, but it seemed like forever for the triplets seeing as they had just gotten off a 3 hour flight. In retrospect, 3 hours isn’t long either, but when you paired it with the two hour time difference from L.A to Texas, the time it took them to get to the airport, and the long wait for their flight you realized that they must be tired of sitting around. “You guys hungry?” You asked, shifting to face them in the backseat.

It was 2 in the afternoon now, but because of the time difference, it was 12 in the afternoon in L.A so you figured they’d be hungry. They were all bunched up in the back seat, pillows and blankets squeezed between them. Nick’s head rested against the window, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar buildings that passed by. Matt’s head was down and his eyes were shut, chin resting against his chest with his arms crossed. He must’ve fallen asleep as soon as he got in the car, allowing himself to relax once in the presence of familiar people. Chris, who sat in the middle seat with a pillow on his lap replied, “I could eat.”

You hummed in response, waiting for Nick to reply. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty hungry,” he said, still looking outside. He noticed that the traffic here was nowhere near as bad as it was in L.A, you guys were flying down the highway and if he stared at one building too long it would become a blur. “You think Matt’s hungry?” You asked, not wanting to wake him up.

“Mmm probably, he was to nervous to eat this morning,” Chris replies, leaning forward in his seat so he can get a good look at Matt’s face. Chris grabbed one of the many blankets that were in the backseat, pulling it over Matt and tucking it snuggly against him. “Yeah, he couldn’t sleep last night either,” Nick says, finally averting his gaze from the window to look at Matt. You also look over at Matt, feeling a bit sad that he allowed his nerves to get the best of him.

“Awe, my poor little brother,” you whispered in sincerity. “Poor dude’s slumped,” Jack says, looking back at Matt quickly before looking back at the road. Matt’s eyes shot open, somehow sensing that all eyes were on him. “Oop!” You exclaimed, quickly facing forward again. All of you, with the exception of Matt, were laughing now. “What’s so funny?” His voice was groggy, a small yawn following his question.

“Nothing Matty, go back to sleep,” Chris replied, throwing a corny nickname in the mix for good measure as he readjusted the blanket. You all were still laughing, leaving Matt confused, but he decided not to question any further and shut his eyes again.

“Y’all want Whataburger?” Jack asks, he doesn’t wait for their answer as he rounds a corner and enters the parking lot of said restaurant. “Do we have a choice?” Nick asks, not knowing much about the restaurant.

“You do not,” you stated, knowing that this had become your husbands favorite restaurant since moving to Texas. “It was a rhetorical question,” Jack says, putting the car in park and smiling at Nick through the rear view mirror. “This place looks like it just got sentenced to 40 years in prison,” Nick comments, referring to the orange and white stripes on the roof of the building that resembled a prison jumpsuit.

“Team orange, for real,” Chris jokes, earning a laugh from the rest of you.

—

It’s 4 in the afternoon when you all finally arrive to your house, lugging all the bags inside and leaving some of them in the living room to be dealt with tomorrow. The triplets had never been to your house before so when they walked in they looked around, taking in all the little details. “Welcome to our humble abode,” you said in a dramatic English accent before beginning a house tour. It was typical for you all to put on funny accents to exaggerate the importance of a situation or to make the others laugh. They laugh at this, following behind you as you walk them through your house still speaking in your English accent. Your house wasn’t too big considering the only people who lived in it were you and Jack, so the house tour was over quickly.

“Follow me this way gentleman, let me show you where you’ll be staying,” Jack said doing the same accent you had been doing, motioning for your brothers to follow him. You laughed at this gesture, loving the fact that he played along. “Thank you kind sir,” Matt replied attempting to do the same accent, but accidentally doing his infamous country accent instead. “Well I’ll be damned, this Texas heat is getting to me,” he continued, still putting on the country accent as he played into his failed attempt at doing an English accent.

You all laugh at this, the boys following Jack to the room you’d prepared for them. In it was a queen sized bed, a blow up mattress, a television, and a closet big enough for all of them to put their things away. There was also a restroom attached to it, stocked entirely with clean towels, toilet paper, toothpaste, and any thing else they might need during their stay. The large window in the room brings in a good amount of natural light, a perfect view of the house’s backyard visible.

The triplets walk inside, throwing some of their things on the bed. Chris jumps onto the bed, sprawling his limbs out so he looks like a star. “We’ll let you guys get situated. We’ll be in the living room, okay?” you say with a chuckle, ushering Jack out of the room. “Okay, yeah. We’ll be done in a bit,” Chris replies, rolling over onto his stomach so he can look out the window into the backyard.

“Yeah, I just have to shower and I’ll be down,” Nick agrees, placing his suitcase on the floor and opening it so he can dig through his clothes for the perfect outfit. Matt agrees as well, joining Chris on the bed so he can gauge whether he wants to sleep there or on the inflatable. “Alright, I stocked the restroom with everything you guys might need. Use it all,” you assured, ready to close the door and to join your husband in the living room.

“Oooh I’m gonna make potions!” Chris says giddily as he rubs his hands together maliciously, causing you to roll your eyes and shut the door.

—

The next couple of days were completely adventure filled as you and Jack took your brothers to as many places you could think of. The five of you had also put together a list of locations you wanted to visit and so far you’d checked off quite a few. Considering you lived in a small town between many big cities, it was easy to compile a list of ideas. For example, on the first day you guys had gone to Six Flags, the Alamo, and had taken a river boat ride in San Antonio. The five of you must’ve gone on every ride at Six Flags at least twice.

On the second day, you visited The Galleria Mall and Color Factory in Houston, even taking a quick trip to Chinatown before heading back home. You guys took so many pictures on this day, making sure to pose as many times as possible in every room inside the Color Factory.

On the third and fourth day you guys decided to stay home, watching movies and getting takeout. You guys watched scary movies and took turns taking jabs at the characters on the screen, commenting on their poor decision making skills and how you’d easily survive every situation presented on screen. You and Nick had even baked cookies that day, not allowing Chris, Matt or Jack to help because they were sure to mess up the recipe.

Since they were only going to be here for a couple more days you wanted to make the most of it. So on the fifth day you guys were ready for yet another adventure. This time, you guys were heading back into San Antonio to go to the rodeo, an experience that your brothers had never had before. Jack unfortunately couldn’t join you guys today because he couldn’t get the day off which bummed you slightly, but you knew you’d have a good day regardless.

“Make sure you pack the water bottles,” you shouted towards your brothers, watching as they packed the trunk of your car with all the things you could possibly need today. “Oh! And the sunscreen, it’s going to get hot!” You called again, going through your mental checklist so you wouldn’t forget anything important. “It’s already hot!” Nick calls back in a sing-song tone as he shuts the trunk of your car.

All three of your brothers were super excited to go to the rodeo, but they were not excited for the blistering heat. You guys learned your lesson on the first day when you guys had gone to Six Flags and came back home extremely red and sunburnt. You locked your front door, your brothers piling into the car. Chris sat in the passenger seat with Matt in the seat behind him and Nick in the seat behind the drivers seat.

You ran over to the drivers side, opening the car door and jumping into the seat. Chris had already taken the aux cord, connecting it to his phone before scrolling through his endless playlist for the perfect song. “You guys ready?” You asked, adjusting your seat and fixing your mirrors before buckling yourself. A string of agreements came from your brothers, so you put the car in reverse and began your journey.

The drive into San Antonio wasn’t long, but for whatever reason Chris decided his current soda wasn’t up to his liking so he demanded you stopped at a gas station so he could pick something new. As annoying as it was, you agreed because Nick and Matt also wanted to stop and get something. “Fine, find something on Google Maps,” you said, not looking away from the road.

Chris grabbed his phone from the center console, where he had placed it so he could skip and search for songs as he pleased, before opening Google Maps and searching for the nearest gas station. “It says the nearest one is called busseys? I don’t know, I can’t fucking read that shit,” he said, clicking on it and allowing the phone to guide you towards the location. You listened intently for the directions, wanting to know what exit you’d have to take to get here. Nick grabbed ahold of Chris’s phone and read the name of the gas station, “Buc-ee’s?! You fucking dumbass?!”

Matt laughed at this, scooting forward in his seat to look over at the phone. He read the name, laughing at how Chris had completely butchered the pronunciation of the name. “Kid really said busseys,” Matt laughed again, sitting back in his seat. The three of them were laughing, you were giggling too but you were mostly trying to listen to the directions. “Chris! What exit is it?!” You used your right hand to try and grab the phone, but Nick was still holding it.

“Nick has the phone, how am I supposed to know!” He exclaimed, pointing at Nick like he was the culprit of a terrible crime. “Calm down, it’s the one after this one,” Nick replied as he dramatically placed the phone back on the center console. “Thank you,” you said sarcastically, shooting Nick a playful glance through the rear view to which he rolled his eyes.

When you finally pulled into the parking lot, Chris jumped up dramatically at the sight of the building. He inched closer to the dashboard to get a better look. It was the biggest gas station he had ever seen, complete with a mascot and everything! As he examined the building closer, he caught sight of a statue in the front of entrance. He squinted his eyes, trying to decipher what the statue was. When he finally realized what it was, his eyes opened in shock, “IS THAT A FUCKING BEAVER?!?”

“WHAT?! WHERE?!?” Nick shouted, moving closer to Matt for protection because he thought there was an actual beaver outside. Matt stretched his neck, trying to see over Chris’s seat to see what he was looking at. His eyes grew wide too, seeing the giant statue in front of the building. “Holy fuck that thing is huge!” He exclaimed, pushing himself up from his seat to get a better view. When he said this, Nick only became more flustered, “WHERE IS IT?!? DON’T SAY THAT!” He shouted again, causing you all to laugh.

“Nick it’s just a statue,” you said through laughter, attempting to reassure him. “Oh,” he relaxed immediately when you said this, finally looking over Chris’s seat and seeing the giant beaver statue. “He’s kinda cute,” Nick admitted, feeling silly for reacting so dramatically.

“Wait…” Chris said as he looked around suspiciously as if he was about to reveal something no one was supposed to know, “is that beaver… Bussey?” His voice came out in a whisper almost like he had just discovered a conspiracy. You erupted in a fit of laughter again, getting out of the car to make your way inside.

“Ha. Bussey,” Matt laughed to himself, unbuckling his seat and getting out of the car to walk into the gas station.

—

The stop at Buc-ee’s had completely sidetracked you guys and you all almost forgot about the rodeo entirely. It took you guys an abnormally long time to look through everything the store had to offer. There were food items you’d never seen before, a mini restaurant, a bakery, a section with house supplies, and even a gift shop filled to the brim with specialized Buc-ee’s merch. Chris was mesmerized by the drink station, wanting to try every single flavor. He had successfully talked you all into each getting a different flavor so he could try as many as possible.

When you finally checked out, you were each walking out with a bag or two of merch and snacks. There was so much to choose from including mugs, keychains, sweatshirts, t-shirts, and plushies all of it resembling or including the gas station’s mascot.

“Shout out to Buc-ee, man. This soda is so good,” Chris commented once you guys were back in the car, taking a long sip from his drink. “Wait let me try,” Matt said, trading his drink with Chris so they could try each others drinks. Matt took a sip of Chris’s drink, eyes widening once the flavor settled in his mouth. The soda was actually really good. “Stop, it can’t be that good,” Nick said, rolling his eyes at Matt’s theatrics. “Try it,” Matt replied, holding the drink out for Nick to take.

Nick takes a sip, eyes also widening once he realized how good it was. You watched them intently, now you wanted to taste it to see the hype. “This tastes like the time Matt threw the fork at the old lady!” Nick exclaims, taking another sip to make sure he was getting it right. “Yes! Yes!” Chris agrees, recalling the memory fondly.

“Let y/n try it!” Matt says, pulling the drink away from Nick mid sip, causing it to dribble down his chin a little. “Woah Matt, calm down tough guy,” Chris says, watching as Nick wipes the soda from his chin, mouth still full of soda. Nick tries hard to hold in his laughter so that he doesn’t spit the drink out in your car, the three of you looking at him fully expecting there to be a mess in the backseat in mere seconds. He calms himself down, breathing in deeply before swallowing.

Once the coast is clear and he’s sure that Nick isn’t going to spit his drink out, Matt hands you the cup. You take it and immediately take a sip, having the same reaction as your brothers. “It’s good, right!” Chris says, eagerly taking the drink back and taking another sip.

“That does taste like the time Matt threw the fork at the old lady!” you exclaim in excitement causing Matt to shake his head as he reminisces on the memory.

—

Finally you guys arrive at the rodeo, making sure to go up to every booth and ride every single ride. You guys even waited in the long lines to try the crazy food items being advertised like the fried oreos and boiled peanuts. The four of you walked around the carnival portion of the rodeo for what seemed like forever before deciding to enter the area where they had all the livestock.

“It stinks in here,” you commented as you guys walked into the building where the animals were in. You plugged your nose, leading the way through the building. “Ew it does,” Nick agreed, copying your actions and plugging his nose. Chris and Matt were either unphased by the smell or they didn’t want to be rude because they didn’t say anything.

There were so many different animals so you guys walked around the building to look at them all. After a while, you and Nick had become accustomed to the smell and took your time admiring the animals. The ducks were your personal favorite, but the cows were a close second.

“Look! They have horses over there!” Matt said, this was the most excited you’d seen him since you’d arrived here. He rushed his way over to where the horses were, the rest of you following behind him. You guys pushed through the sea of people, trying to keep up with Matt. “Matt, wait up!” Chris shouted, excusing himself as he pushed past people to try and reach Matt. Before you knew it, you guys had lost sight of him and were looking around trying to spot him in the crowd.

“I think he went this way,” Nick said, leading the way in a completely different direction. You and Chris follow Nick, careful not to leave too much distance between between the three of you as to avoid getting lost. “Nick, you’re going to fast,” you mumble, trying to grab ahold of his hand but fail due to being pushed out of the way by other people trying to make their way through the crowd. You stop dead in your tracks, not wanting to bump into anyone causing Chris to bump into you.

“Sorry,” he says, moving to stand beside you. When you start walking again, you look up to see where Nick went but you can’t find him anymore either. “Great, now we lost Nick,” you groaned, facepalming while Chris tiptoed to see over the crowd. You were too short to see that high up so there was no point in trying, but Chris had spotted Nick’s blonde hair in the distance.

“He’s over there, I see him,” he says confidently, grabbing your shoulders and turning you in the direction he saw Nick. He pushes your shoulders lightly, guiding you in Nick’s general direction. When he felt like you guys were heading the right way, he let go of your shoulders and began walking next to you instead of behind you. “He might have gone this way,” he says, turning right and walking in the direction his gut was leading him.

“Which way?” You asked, looking over to where he was just standing. Another groan escaped your lips, you had just lost Chris too. For a while, you stood in place hoping that one of them would somehow find you, but after about 5 minutes you realized no one was going to find you in this large sea of people. Panic was beginning to build up inside of you, but you took a deep breath and calmed yourself down, determined to find your brothers so you guys could leave.

Your inner monologue was going crazy, thinking of all the things that could’ve happened to your brothers. For all you know, they could’ve all walked out of this building and were somewhere across the whole venue. First you passed the pigs, not finding anyone there. You asked some people if they’d seen any of your brothers, trying to describe what they looked like before realizing they were literally almost identical and that asking people wasn’t going to get you anymore.

Secondly, you passed the chickens, still coming up empty handed. By the time you had circled back to where you started, you were actually beginning to panic. You felt the tears brimming, trying to hold it in so you wouldn’t cry in front of a room full of strangers. Everything was slowly becoming too much, the animals, the people, the noise, even the smell was beginning to bother you again. Before the tears could flow, you heard Nick, “Oh thank God I found you!”

You turned in the direction you heard him, an instant wave of relief washing over your body. “Hey, you okay?” He asked softly, noticing how scared you looked. His hands were on your shoulders, grounding you. Once you saw him, you weren’t as scared, but the built up emotions from before had shaken you. You nodded your head in response, wiping a stray tear.

“Let’s go find Chris and Matt,” he suggested with a small smile. He slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him protectively. To your surprise, he was being very gentle with you. Ever since you’d shared your heartfelt story on the podcast, Nick had felt an urge to protect you like you’d always protected him, Chris and Matt.

You two did another lap around the building, making small talk along the way before deciding that Chris and Matt had probably left the building. As you two walked outside, you saw Chris and Matt walking in your direction each with a corndog in hand. They were too immersed in their own conversation to notice you and Nick.

“What the fuck?!” Nick shouted once they were in earshot, only saying it loud enough for them to hear. They perked up at this, looking in the direction of you two with confused looks on their faces. “We walked around that place like 5 fucking times looking for you idiots!” Nick exclaimed again. Matt shrugged, taking a bite from his corndog. “You’re both so annoying,” you grumbled, actually upset.

“We saw you guys, it looked like you were having a good time,” Chris commented before taking a bite of his own corndog, not catching that you were actually mad at them this time. “And we were hungry soooo… we got food,” Matt explains, offering you a bite of his food. You push his hand away in annoyance only causing him to offer Nick a bite. Nick rolled his eyes, but he took Matt up on the offer and took a bite. The corndog was good, but he was still mad.

“Let’s just go home,” you reply, feeling the exhaustion and anger ruin your mood. “Hmm yeah, it’s starting to get dark,” Chris agrees, dipping his corndog in mustard before taking yet another bite. Matt agrees with him, making a comment about how he hates driving at night. How could two people be so oblivious?

You decide to hold your tongue, instead humming and beginning to walk to your car. You’re quiet the entire ride home, not singing along to any of the songs Chris is playing and not engaging in any of the conversations surrounding you. Nick is the only who notices, both Matt and Chris still completely oblivious.

Finally, when you get home you sigh in relief and turn the car off. You unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out of the car and slamming the door in the process. “What’s her problem?” Chris asks, taken aback by how hard you slammed the door. Nick mentally facepalms, how is Chris just now noticing you were upset? “That was dramatic,” Matt chimes in, watching as you disappear into the house without waiting for them to get off the car.

“Are you guys that dumb?” Nick asks, unbuckling himself and gathering the bags that you all had accumulated throughout the day. “What? She slammed the door, not us,” Chris said, also gathering his things from the front seat. Matt was about to interject, but was swiftly interrupted by Nick, “She was looking for us inside that building!” Chris and Matt couldn’t be more confused.

“What building?!” Matt asked, raising his voice to the same level Nick had. “THE ONE WITH THE ANIMALS YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Nick responded, unafraid to get loud. “Okay? We were looking for you guys too?” Chris responds sassily, not quite ready to raise his voice yet. “She was crying, though. I think she got really scared,” Nick’s voice softened a bit, remembering the scared look on your face and the tear that rolled down your cheek.

“Oh,” the other two mumbled, finally realizing that they had kinda ditched you two in there. “Let’s just go inside,” Nick sighs, opening his door and getting out of the car before walking inside the house. Chris and Matt felt bad now, but how were they supposed to know you’d get scared? Older sisters weren’t supposed to get scared. They got off the car and joined Nick inside.

—

The next morning you woke up bright and early, still a little upset from yesterday, but not as upset as you were when you got home. Everyone was up already, you could hear noise coming from the kitchen and the triplets talking with your husband. You got ready for the day before heading downstairs, ready to greet your family in the kitchen. As you neared the final step, you stopped because you wanted to hear what the boys were talking about.

“You guys need to apologize, she was really scared,” Nick said, referring to yesterdays events. Leave it to Nick to try and make amends and keep everyone happy. You were going to walk in the kitchen, but Chris’s voice stopped you, “What if she cries again?”

“She’s going to cry, she always cries,” you hear Jack say, followed by the sound of whisking. ‘I hope he’s making pancakes,’ you thought before realizing that he had just called you a crybaby. He’s your husband and here he is agreeing with your brothers that you cry a lot. “When she comes down, I’ll apologize,” this time it was Matt who spoke, feeling a little nervous, but also sad. You two had never had a falling out before. Growing up you would only ever have big fights with Justin, sometimes having an argument or two with Nick, even a slight disagreement with Chris, but never had you been actually mad at Matt. He felt like he had failed you.

You were done waiting, you took the last step and rounded the corner. “Good morning,” you greeted, offering everyone a small smile, including your husband. You walk over to Jack only to see what he was making, but he thinks you’re going over for a kiss. He leans down, ready to plant his lips on yours, but you turn your head to the side and let it land on your cheek. He’s taken aback by this, but doesn’t say anything. You might’ve let him kiss you, but upon inspection you realized he was making eggs. ‘Gross,’ you thought, before walking over to the fridge for something to drink. You liked eggs, but you were hoping for pancakes.

“Morning,” Chris says awkwardly, coughing right afterwards to try and sound casual. “Morning,” Matt greets, sounding extremely nervous as he watches your every move. “How’d you sleep?” Nick asks, pouring cereal into a bowl. “Mmm pretty good for the most part,” you reply, grabbing the orange juice from inside the fridge before closing it. Nick hums in response, grabbing his bowl of cereal and walking over to the kitchen table.

“How did you guys sleep?” You ask, look between your three brothers. Nick knows you’re really only asking Chris and Matt so he stays quiet, silently eating his cereal as he prepares for the events to unfold. “Um, pretty good?” Chris’s answer is unsure, he’s scared to say the wrong thing. Was he supposed to say he had the worst sleep of his life? Cause if he was it would be a lie. He hated fighting with you, but he wasn’t the type to kiss ass just to earn forgiveness.

You nodded your head, not saying anything before looking at Matt. Matt hates this, he quickly realized you were probably going to scold them after this. “Same, I slept- um- I slept good,” he’s stuttering through his words, so nervous that he could probably shit himself. Nick is still munching away, watching you all intently. Jack, on the other hand, was too busy stirring his eggs to care about a sibling quarrel.

“Hmm, okay,” you respond, slowly nodding your head. “I’m sorry?” Chris finally says, wondering if that’s what you wanted to hear. You smirk a little, looking over expectantly at Matt this time. He realizes what this is and goes from nervous to annoyed. You weren’t even mad anymore, you were just trying to get them to apologize to embarrass them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, avoiding your gaze in fear that he’ll go completely red.

“What was that? Sorry I couldn’t hear you,” you pushed, cupping a hand to your ear. “I’m sorry,” he replied again slightly louder than before. “I’m sorry, Nick could you hear him?” You look back at Nick who quickly shakes his head no, chuckling at the entire situation. “Go ahead Matt, we couldn’t hear you,” you had let go of Chris at this point to to get a better look at Matt.

“I’m sorry!” He’s almost shouting at this point, beyond annoyed with you. “Why didn’t you just say that the first time!” You ask innocently, hugging him dramatically. Matt attempts to wiggle out of your grasp making Chris, Nick and Jack laugh as they watch you two struggle like children.

“The eggs are ready!” Jack announces, turning the stove off and picking the pan up in order to serve everyone. “I wish they were pancakes,” you grumble, letting go of Matt to take a better look at the eggs. Matt sighs in relief, hating everything about the previous interaction.

“Yes, chef!” Jack salutes you like a soldier, turning the stove back on immediately. You laugh, finally giving him the kiss he didn’t get earlier.

—

The last week flies by quickly and before you know it you’re back at the airport dropping your brothers off with more things than they arrived with. “I’m going to miss y’all,” you whisper into the group hug, not wanting to let go. The last two weeks had been so fun and now you probably won’t be together again until Thanksgiving or Christmas.

“We can always come back to visit,” Nick suggests, not wanting you to cry. There was always an opportunity to visit, especially on the weeks when their schedules were flexible. “Yeah, don’t be sad. Plus we call all the time,” Chris chimes in, the four of you breaking from your hug. You nod at this comment, knowing it was only half true. The times you were able to call them were slim, the time difference playing a sight role in your ability to coordinate a good time to talk.

“Plus there’s still Christmas,” Matt says, becoming sad at how far away it seems. “Yeah, you guys are right,” you admit. This wasn’t the end of the world, you’d see them again soon. You were mostly sad that you were going to be alone at home now when your husband was at work. Plus, in a month you’d be returning to work. You groaned internally at the thought of returning to work.

“Good afternoon passengers. This is a pre-boarding announcement for flight 76A to Los Angeles, California. All those boarding this flight please make your way towards the gate 3 immediately.” You hear over the intercom. Suddenly it feels more real, they were really leaving.

“That’s us,” Chris says, looking in the direction of the gate before grabbing ahold of his carryon and slinging it over his shoulder. You smile weakly at them, nodding your head. Of course you know they have to leave, you understand that they have a life of their own. “Alright, I guess we gotta go,” Nick says, offering you one last hug goodbye. “I love you guys, be safe. Call me when you get home,” you say as you hug him.

“So bossy,” Matt chuckles, offering you a hug of his own. You laugh a little as you hug him, too sad to argue with him over this comment. “This is the final boarding call for passengers on flight 76A to Los Angeles, California. Please proceed to gate 3 immediately.” The boys grab their things in a rush when they hear this.

“Okay guys, we gotta to go,” Chris says, ushering his brothers towards gate 3 as quickly as possible. Chris hated goodbyes, he didn’t see the point in all the sappy hugs and kisses. It’s not like you were never going to see each other again. You know this, so you don’t press him for a hug. “Yes! Go!” You agree, waving them in the direction of their boarding gate. They hurriedly walk away with all their things in their hands, looking back at you and waving. You were a little sad you didn’t get to hug Chris goodbye, but you’d survive. You watch as they rush to make it to their gate on time.

Just as you’re about turn to leave you see Chris stop and you swear you hear him groan. He drops his things and turns back to you. Before you know it he’s running back to you and engulfing you in a hug. The guilt was eating at him the closer he got to the gate, how was he going to leave without hugging his only sister goodbye? “I should’ve just hugged you the first time,” he says, resting his chin on the top of your head. You smile, wrapping your arms around your brother and rubbing his back. Who knew Chris could be such a sap?

“CHRIS!” Nick yells from the gate as he tries to tell the flight attendant to wait for him. “Okay, I gotta go now,” he lets go of you and runs towards where Nick is, grabbing his things in the process. “I’m going!” He yells, almost tripping from how quickly he’s running. They disappear into the gate, the doors closing behind them.

You were going to miss them, but you were so glad you had the chance to spend time with them.

PT.3

—

A/n: you ask and you shall receive! I wrote a long story for you because I don’t really know if I want to turn this into a series, but I do want to provide you with enough content to hold you over haha. Hope you enjoy!!!! Also, for those just reading this story for the first time, go read part one for a better understanding of the little details.

- L.A.M.B 👼🏻💗

[rebouks]

“What’re we doing here?”

Oscar shrugged casually, “Hanging out?”

Robin scoffed with what little joviality he could muster, “Yeah, right…”

Oscar paused and broke eye contact, staring at nothing in particular as Robin waited. It was usually fairly easy to ascertain the direction of a conversation before it even started, given that people tended to rehearse what they’d say beforehand, but not Oscar. His mind was simultaneously blank and fit to burst; he was making it up as he went along most of the time, but that was one of Robin’s favourite things about his father. It paved the way for genuine, on the fly honesty.

“Figured maybe you’d wanna talk-..” Oscar rubbed his temple, “Ask me whatever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah-.. within reason.”

“Why’d you do it?” Robin blurted out; his eyes full of unbridled curiosity, though his father wasn’t looking at him.

“Willpower is a finite resource, y’know? I had a shitty day and I caved-.. didn’t really think about it all that much, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?”

Oscar sighed, backtracking slightly as he realised that wasn’t exactly the honesty he was going for. “Well, it’s not that you don’t think about it-.. I thought about not doing it a bunch of times, but the second I decided otherwise, I went on autopilot and got it over with as soon as possible so I wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. Probably because thinking on it too hard is uncomfortable.”

“Where’d you go?”

Robin wouldn’t usually have to ask such a mundane question, but he’d struggled to fill in the blanks for himself. Oscar’s memories of the previous night were fuzzy and his thoughts sprawling.

“There.”

“The bar?”

Oscar nodded, still unable to meet his son’s gaze. “You remember it used to be a vet clinic, right? Your grandma ran it briefly, years ago-.. we lived in the flat above for a little while, when you were a baby.”

“I remember.”

Oscar sounded surprised. “You do?”

“Kinda-.. you’ve told me about it n’ stuff…”

Oscar shrugged a shoulder, supposing that’d make sense.

“You don’t have to feel so ashamed.” Robin ventured.

Oscar almost looked at Robin, though his gaze fell somewhere near his shoulder instead. How could a fourteen-year-old boy conjure such compassion? Such accuracy too. Shame.

Sometimes it felt as though he were talking to a man, not a boy. He was still a child, of course; arguing with his siblings over utter nonsense, playfighting, whinging about school and homework, leaving his dirty socks all over the place-.. but sometimes it felt like he understood much more than he should’ve. Oscar couldn’t imagine many people being so emotionally mature at thirty, never mind half as young.

“Dad…”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it-.. I always assumed I’d relapse at some point, but as the years went by, I guess I got complacent.”

“How’d it start? Like, did you just wake up one morning and realise it was an issue or..?”

Oscar shook his head slightly, running his thumb over his beard in thought. “Nah, it was slower, I just ignored it. I’d always been daft and over the top with stuff like that, partying n’ shit, y’know? It was like a crutch after a while though, and eventually, I needed it just to feel normal-.. went too far to feel nothing.”

Robin opened his mouth to speak, but Oscar wasn’t finished.

“You’ll probably get some stupid cop coming to your scout meetings or your school one day and they’ll stand there n’ tell you all about how drugs and alcohol are terrible or whatever, but it’s bollocks. Sure, they’re bad for you, but they feel good and that’s the problem. At least for me it was-.. is. It shouldn’t even be legal, really, not that it’d do much good if it wasn’t-.. it wouldn’t have stopped me, anyway.”

“I’d love to forbid you from going near it, but I’m sure you’ll all try it for yourselves one day. Maybe it’s just something to do, maybe it makes a boring night more fun, gives you the confidence to do something you’re scared of, talk to someone you’re shy around, I don’t know-.. you might hate it, you might not.”

“You hate that you still like it, don’t you?”

Oscar finally met Robin’s gaze as he nodded. “So much.” He wondered if he was making a mistake, being so open, but it was too late now and Robin had yet to balk or appear uncomfortable. If anything, he seemed concerned and intrigued, glad of the chance to ask whatever he wanted-.. not that he couldn’t usually, but the invitation was clearly welcome all the same.

“All your troubles just melt away, but they’re twice as bad when you wake up and doing it over again doesn’t solve much. It’s not the answer, Robin.”

“I know it’s not.”

Oscar’s frown softened as Robin slid beside him, threading an arm around his waist.

“You prefer being sober though, right?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s a loaded question…” Oscar sighed. “I prefer my life when I’m sober, but maybe a part of me will always crave that oblivion. It’s just something I have to live with.”

“Do you think you’ll do it again?”

“I don’t know, bud-..” Oscar admitted. “I’d like to say no but I don’t think I can make any promises, that’s not how it works.”

Robin nodded understandingly; he would’ve preferred it if his father could’ve made that promise, but a harsh truth was better than a hollow lie.

“They don’t mean much if you don’t keep em.” Oscar added.

“I get it-.. thanks for letting me ask you about it though, I know you’d rather keep it to yourself.”

“You’re still young but I know it’d drive you nuts otherwise. Besides, I don’t want it to feel like a dirty secret we can’t talk about, at least between us-.. might not wanna go telling all your friends your dad’s an alky though…”

Robin buried his face in the crook of Oscar’s shoulder and squeezed him tightly, desperate to convince his father that he didn’t think any less of him.

“Nah, they’re got enough ammunition.”

Oscar couldn’t help but snort at that. “I love you so much.”

“I know-.. I love you too.”

Robin said nothing a while as his father held him - or he held Oscar - only breaking the silence upon feeling his restless thoughts return.

“It’ll be the summer holiday’s soon, maybe we could go camping or something?”

Oscar smiled fondly. “Yeah, that’d be fun…”

Previous // Next

[talaok]

Hello!

I was thinking about this a little too much today. I often read fics / drabbles about Pedro being all sweet and flirty or him being very confident and flirty … I just want to read a fic about him being the worst flirt ever 😅 I know he’s a flirt in his interviews , but what if he’s really bad at it when it’s time to really seduce someone. Like he messes up what he wants to say , he makes stupid jokes that don’t land.

Do you think you could write that?

summary: Pedro is a bad flirt

A/n: I'm genuinely sorry this took so long, but I had to study like a bastard just for my professor to be an asshole

"please introduce me to her"

"why don't you go there and do it yourself?"

"because I can't"

"why?"

"please"

"fine"

__ __ __

It was a relatively small party, just a few friends and some friend’s friends, nothing huge.

Vanessa, your best friend, had insisted on throwing it, encouraging you to “live a little now that that asshole isn’t in the picture anymore”.

“That asshole”, was indeed your, as of two weeks, ex-boyfriend.

Neither of them had ever been fans of each other, and thinking back at it now, that should have probably been if not red, at least some kind of colored flag.

Anyway, as always, when it was V talking you into something, you had accepted, with a few conditions of course.

Hence, the small party and your playlist playing in the background.

“Y/n, did you know that?”

right, you should have probably been listening to the conversation.

“Uh, no, it’s news to me” you topped with an awkward laugh you hoped would go unnoticed.

“that’s crazy, you learn something new every day” Ryan commented, making you wonder for a sec if perhaps you had actually missed something interesting.

Just as you turned to Claire beside you to investigate, everyone’s attention moved to Vanessa as she strolled toward you.

Not unusual, you thought, she wasn’t a woman that got unnoticed.

What you found when you turned too, however, did pique your interest.

A man walked beside her, Pedro Pascal.

He fell into the friend-of-friends category.

He was one of Vanessa’s oldest friends from back when she studied in New York. She talked about him sometimes, but you had never actually met him, which, thinking about it, why was that?

"hi there, how's it going?" V asked

"very well, Pyke here was telling us that sharks do not have bones"

There it was, mystery solved.

V raised her brows clearly unimpressed "Wow, well that's great" she patted his shoulder, as everyone made space for the pair.

Pedro still hadn't spoken, and a match of awkwardness lighted as you all came to the same realization.

"Alright then, I think I'm gonna get another drink" The shark expert spoke, and all of a sudden Claire and Ryan both got really thirsty too as they followed him to the kitchen.

A strange smile pulled at V's lips 

"Anyway, Y/n, this is Pedro" she gestured "Pedro, this is Y/n"

You felt like one of those women in period dramas when their mothers introduce them to a man they think they should marry.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you" You shook his hand "V has told me about you"

"H-hi" he cleared his throat "it's very nice to meet you too" 

" Pedro's here to film a movie"

"are you?" you asked, interested

"yes, I- Uhm- I am" 

He looked nervous, and you had no idea why.

"Can I know which, or is it like one of those secret Marvel things?" you joked.

"Oh, no, of course" he laughed, "It's Weapons, it's like a horror movie"

"oh" you winced "Well that's lovely, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not going to watch it. I hate horror movies"

"Oh, why?" he asked looking genuinely perplexed

"I get scared very easily, and... I'll sound like a 5-year-old, but every time I watch one I have troubles sleeping"

"oh that's fine" he laughed " I get it" he nodded "You don't look like a five-year-old at all" he blurted out, his eyes instantly widening as his brain realized what he had just said "Sound! I meant sound like a 5-year-old" he breathed "you look- you look extremely beautiful, not like-" he stopped himself before he could talk again, and just let out a small "oh god"

You shot Vanessa a glance.

"it's fine" you laughed "I got it," you reassured him, placing a hand on his bicep.

"so, since I'm not going to watch it, why don't you tell me what's about?"

His eyes found yours again, something sparking inside of them at the question.

"Oh you know, it's about guns and swords and rifles," he said with a smile.

You couldn't hide your confusion

"I'm sorry?" you asked, half-laughing

"y'know, because it's called weapons" he explained, his voice getting smaller as he realized the joke had bombed.

"Oh" you laughed, actually laughed "Of course! I'm sorry!"

"No, no don't be sorry it was a stupid joke"

"it was funny, I'm just..." You mimicked something with your hands.

"Y/n!" a shout from across the room caught your attention.

Mary was waving desperately at you, which could only mean that she had either broken another piece of furniture or wanted to do shots.

Neither of those options seemed particularly interesting, for some reason you wanted to know more about the man in front of you.

However, you also couldn't ignore one of your best friends.

"I'll be back in a second, I just need to make sure she hasn't broken another vase" you joked with a grin.

"o-ok" he nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed harshly.

"get ready to tell me about all those weapons!" you called out, already walking to the kitchen.

Once you disappeared, Vanessa raised an eyebrow at him, her expression an open book.

"Don't say anything"

"I'm not"

"good"

there was a brief moment of silence before Vanessa couldn't hold it anymore.

She busted out laughing

"Guns and swords!?" she laughed, recalling his joke

"Shut up"

"And the five-year-old thing!?" she kept going "Dude you've been drooling over her for two years and that's what you go for the moment you finally get to talk to her?"

He couldn't do anything but sigh "I need a drink," he said "And I thought it was funny"

"Yeah, you were the only one, my friend"

[n3ptoonz]

can you write hdcs on sfw/NSFW for Smoke? Please 🥺

Y'ALL CANT GET ENOUGH OF THESE HUH 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

smoke hcs

nsfw under the cut; not explicit, includes reader, i went to yappersville and they knew me

SFW

he's well aware he looks significantly less intimidating without his mask so he wears it like everywhere. he rotates them too since he got a collection of unique ones that look intimidating (NERD)

growing up in the lin kuei i know for a fact kuai and bi han always pointed out that he's white LMFAOOOOO and cause he gets visibly red easily they never let him live it down

since we're on the topic, kuai was often joking but bi han would always use it in arguments. i can literally see him losing an argument to tomas and being like "shut up you're white" 😭😭 bet he said it in mandarin too

tomas is almost fluent in mandarin, i make the rules. he learned most from overhearing conversations but also madam bo too

the funniest of the three. before his family um...yeah- he loved making his siblings laugh and wore a badge of honor once he got kuai to laugh at a stupid joke he made in passing when they were teens

has a platonic crush on johnny. i will not explain further. (he would love to be in a movie)

in my head he's had long hair on multiple occasions but cuts it on random occasions cause he couldn't make up his mind, but around the time of preparing the fight in madam bo's restaurant he kept it short

NSFW

captain switch. i've seen so many different hcs and fics and have come to conclusion that he has the capability of being dominant because he has to be in order to survive you feel me, BUT!! wouldn't hesitate to give up control if asked

lowkey masochist. i say lowkey bc you notice how he reacts if you do something that would inflict pain. be it a louder moan or him asking you to do it again without stuttering this time

don't call me crazy but i genuinely think he'd be hung LOLLLL sweet boys always got it going on what can i say?! tomas serving mad girth and tonage today 🙂‍↕️👌🏾

when it comes to you he kinda...he can't help but have such perverted thoughts sometimes. now i don't think he's a baby who can't speak for himself but damn does he get reduced to one red faced brain cell if you catch him staring at your ass. he's thinking of all the ways he could discreetly have you bent over the counter you're standing in front of. esp if you two just sparred

tomas vrbada is an ass man i DIE ON THIS HILL. back shots, cowgirl, PRONE, you facing the wall, you name it. he loves the feeling of your ass in his hands it's like the mf has never seen cheeks a day in his life

when he's dominant it fluctuates between soft dom and feral beast. it mostly depends on what his day was like + how good you look that night. especially if you teased him all day. my goodness, it's twinkie central in this bitch

when he's submissive he completely trusts you and listens to everything you say. is down for a lot of things peg him and generally you ain't gotta do too much to convince him to do things you wanna. he's all ears and puppy eyes