#i just know Italian pasta better

[checkeredflagggs]

Rookie Comfort

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: max and his girlfriend take the 2025 rookies under their wings

a/n: please give these rookies some slack oh my god. This was written during the race — which omg what an opening!!

Masterlist | Taglist

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 824,623 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

y/n: baby lion coming spring ‘25!

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user1: oh my god oh my god it’s happening!

↳user2: this is everything I’ve ever wanted

↳user1: same!

oscarpiastri: Congratulations!

↳y/n: thank you!

landonorris: Oh! Congrats! McLaren and Quadrant merch on the way!

↳y/n: nope!

↳landonorris: 😮

↳y/n: listen if this baby is gonna support anyone but their dad, it’s gonna be Ferrari

↳maxverstappen1: no

alex_albon: so has redbull signed baby verstappen yet?

↳y/n: not quite…I told them baby had to sign the papers themselves so it might take a couple of years!

charles_leclerc: Félicitations! Ferrari onesies on the way

↳maxverstappen1: thanks but throw them out.

↳y/n: absolutely do not! Forza Ferrari!

↳user3: max’s girlfriend (and boyfriend) being tifosi just makes sense liked by y/n, charles_leclerc

f1gossip

liked by user, y/n, user and 173,923 others

f1gossip: it seems like Max has adopted some rookies this year!

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user4: ok but that was so cute?

↳user5: right? They followed him around just like ducklings…

y/n: oh this is so adorable ☺️

↳user6: Queen! Is it true that max adopted them?

↳y/n: well even if he hasn’t I now have!

↳charles_leclerc: stop stealing my kid!

↳y/n: take better care of them then!

↳olliebearman: hi mom!

↳y/n: oh hello darling

↳charles_leclerc: 😱

↳olliebearman: sorry but she gave me some ice cream liked by y/n

↳charles_leclerc: i have ice cream??

user7: maxverstappen1 are you aware your girlfriend has decided you’ve adopted some rookies?

↳y/n: some??? No no no we’ve adopted all of them

↳maxverstappen1: have we??

↳y/n: yes we have!

↳maxverstappen1: ok

↳olliebearman: score!

↳gabrielbortoleto_: yes!

↳liamlawson30: does that mean free dinner?

↳isackhadjar: ill take dinner

↳jackdoohan: even me?

↳y/n: absolutely. Dinner on us tonight

↳kimi.antonelli: fantastico!

user8: I see that the winter break has made EVERYONE crazy…

maxverstappen1

liked by y/n, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 1,823,192 others

tagged: y/n, olliebearman, gabrielbortoleto_, liamlawson30, isackhadjar, jackdoohan, kimi.antonelli

maxverstappen1: dinner with the wife and kids

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user9: DID THEY GET MARRIED AND NOT TELL ANYONE?

↳user10: if they did, they’ve been married for years.

↳user11: yeah max has been calling her wife since they started dating really

user12: im so invested in this family you have no idea

↳user13: big same

charles_leclerc: you didn’t invite me?

↳y/n: well the husband doesn’t usually invite the mistress to dinner with the wife?

↳charles_leclerc: I can bring ice cream over?

↳y/n: oh my god yes please. Baby lion is craving some classic vanilla please

↳user14: you know with everything with the rookies going on i completely forgot y/n is actually pregnant

↳y/n: i wish i could but baby lion is using my ribs as drums…

jackdoohan: thanks for the invite! And for dinner

↳y/n: you have an open invitation darling

↳jackdoohan: thanks! Will definitely be using that

kimi.antonelli: that was some quality pasta!

↳y/n: stamp of approval from our Italian!

↳kimi.antonelli: ehehehe

oscarpiastri: how does one get an invite to dinners like this?

↳charles_leclerc: son?

↳oscarpiastri: sorry dad but that looks very good

↳y/n: you’re welcome to come over as well!

↳charles_leclerc: stop taking my kids! liked by y/n

f1gossip

liked by y/n, user, user, and 824,813 others

tagged: y/n, olliebearman, jackdoohan, isackhadjar, fernandoalo_oficial, gabrielbortoleto_, liamlawson30

f1gossip: and it’s a race weekend that’s not been kind to the 2025 rookies

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user15: this is so insane…

↳user16: this better not be the entire season. My heart can’t take it…

user17: but ok y/n is working overtime on comforting her rookies

↳user18: the cameramen are doing the lords work on focusing on her

↳user17: I mean it’s not hard — she’s in one place and her rookies are coming to her

↳user18: as they should! She’s like 7 months pregnant

user20: I was biting my nails the entire race…

↳y/n: you were??? I was!

↳user21: how you doing girl?

↳y/n: oh my god so stressed

y/n

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,273,183 others

tagged: maxverstappen1

y/n: oh my love what a race this was! But I don’t think I can do it again…

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olliebearman: did you see my drive today?

↳y/n: I did darling! And you did very well!

↳user22: he was last?!?

↳y/n: and yet he finished the race when so many didn’t? With only 1 full practice session?

gabrielbortoleto_: thanks for being here today!

↳y/n: of course darling! It was a pleasure to see your first race!

↳user23: you’ve really just dove into this motherhood didn’t you?

↳y/n: they’re good practice for baby lion liked by maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri: ok but I’m gonna need a family dinner after today

↳y/n: oh absolutely! You and jack pick the place and we’ll be there!

↳jackdoohan: yes! We gotta go to my favorite!

liamlawson30: where’d you go? I’ve got your water

↳y/n: back to the car — I needed some peace and quiet

↳liamlawson30: On my way!

↳user24: love how they also jumped on the family train too

maxverstappen1: thanks for coming but maybe it’s time to head back home?

↳y/n: but our sons?

↳maxverstappen1: don’t worry. I’ll watch over them

↳charles_leclerc: as will I! Because Ollie is MY son

↳olliebearman: 😊😊😊

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @elliegray2803 @anunstablefangirl

[cameronsbabydoll]

ex!husband!rafe baby trapping you… again

warnings: manipulation, baby trapping, rafe being arrogant and condescending, explicit content 18+

wc: 1,643 — a/n: i went a little crazy with this but i’m kinda obsessed with ex!husband!rafe

you pull into the driveway of rafe’s ostentatious mansion, tires crunching on the pristine gravel, and already you’re irritated. the place is a monument to his ego—towering columns, a fountain that probably cost more than your car, and those floor-to-ceiling windows that scream look at me. it’s sunday, 6 p.m., and your son’s supposed to be packed and ready for pickup. except the house looks dead quiet—no little boy barreling out to tackle you with hugs. you grit your teeth, haul yourself out of the car, and stomp up to the door, banging on it with the side of your fist.

it swings open, and there he is—rafe cameron, your ex-husband, the human equivalent of a migraine you can’t shake. he’s leaning against the frame, white dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing off that infuriatingly sculpted torso. a glass of whiskey dangles from his fingers, ice clinking as he swirls it, and his lips twitch into that smug, lopsided grin that makes you want to slap him—or worse, kiss him.

“well, well,” he drawls, voice dripping with condescension. “look who’s gracing my doorstep. early, too. miss me that much, sweetheart?”

you glare, arms crossing tight over your chest. “where’s our son, rafe? don’t play games with me.”

he takes a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey, letting the silence hang heavy just to mess with you. “oh, him? yeah, he’s at a sleepover. didn’t i mention that?” his brows lift, feigning innocence, but the glint in his eyes says he planned this down to the second.

“no, you didn’t,” you snap, voice rising. “you purposely didn’t, you manipulative—”

“easy, easy,” he cuts in, stepping aside with a lazy wave of his hand. “no need to storm off. come in. i’ve got dinner.”

you should turn around. you know you should. but then you smell it—garlic, rich tomato sauce, the unmistakable aroma of your favorite italian takeout from that little spot downtown you used to drag him to. your stomach betrays you with a growl, and rafe’s smirk widens, like he’s already won.

“got your usual,” he says, voice low and coaxing, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating off him. “figured you’d be starving after all that… hard work you do.”

it’s a dig—he’s always loved reminding you how “cute” your post-divorce life is compared to his empire of excess. you clench your jaw, but your feet move anyway, carrying you past the threshold. one dinner. that’s it. then you’re gone.

the takeout’s laid out on his ridiculous marble island, a spread that’s way too much for two people—pasta, bruschetta, tiramisu, the works. he pours you a glass of wine without asking, sliding it across the counter with a smug, “whiskey’s too harsh for you, princess. stick to what you know.”

you roll your eyes but take it, sipping just to prove a point. he’s lounging across from you, shirt still half-open, watching you eat like it’s a damn performance. one glass becomes two, then three, and soon you’re tipsy, the room softening around the edges. he’s telling some story about a client overpaying for a yacht, his voice all smooth and mocking, and you’re laughing despite yourself—because he’s still got that stupid charm that hooked you years ago.

“see?” he says, leaning closer, his knee brushing yours under the counter. “you’re always better off here. loosen up a little.”

his hand grazes your wrist when he refills your glass, lingering just long enough to send a shiver up your spine. you should pull away. you don’t. the wine’s buzzing in your veins, and he’s looking at you like you’re prey he’s been stalking for months—smug, hungry, knowing. before you can process it, he’s rounding the counter, tugging you off the stool with that effortless strength that always made you weak.

“c’mere,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave, and then you’re in his arms, stumbling toward the master bedroom like it’s inevitable.

the bedroom’s all rafe—dark wood, crisp white sheets, a king-sized bed that’s probably worth more than your mortgage. he’s got you pinned against it in seconds, mouth crashing into yours, all teeth and heat and desperation. his hands roam everywhere—up your sides, gripping your hips, sliding under your shirt to yank it over your head with a rough, “off. now.”

you’re too far gone to fight it, hands fumbling with his shirt buttons until he just rips it open himself, smirking down at you like he’s doing you a favor. “that’s it, sweetheart,” he mutters against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “always so needy for me, huh?”

“shut up,” you hiss, but it’s weak, and he knows it. his laugh is low and condescending, vibrating against your skin as he kisses down your collarbone, hands shoving your jeans down with zero patience. he’s pressing you back onto the bed, climbing over you, all broad shoulders and whiskey breath, and you hate how much you want this.

“look at you,” he says, voice thick with arrogance as he settles between your thighs, one hand pinning your wrists above your head. “divorced me, moved out, and you’re still right back here. couldn’t stay away, could you?”

you glare up at him, but he just grins, dragging his free hand down your stomach, slow and deliberate, until he’s pressing hard against your lower abdomen. “gonna give me another one,” he murmurs, eyes dark and locked on yours. “you’re mine, always will be.”

there’s no condom in sight—he doesn’t even pretend to reach for one—and you don’t stop him, too caught up in the heat of his mouth on yours, the way he’s kissing you like he owns you. he’s rough, relentless, sliding into you with a groan that’s pure smug satisfaction, like he’s proving a point. “fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, hips snapping against yours, deep and possessive. “knew you’d come running back.”

his hand stays on your stomach, pressing down just enough to make you gasp, and he smirks against your lips. “gonna fill you up, princess. make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.” he’s going harder now, all control and condescension, whispering filthy praise in your ear—“so fucking perfect for me,” “gonna look so good carrying my kid again,”—until you’re a trembling mess beneath him, clinging to his shoulders as he pushes you over the edge.

he follows right after, burying himself deep with a low, “that’s it, take it,” and you’re too blissed out to care about the consequences, lost in the haze of him—his weight, his scent, his infuriating victory.

—

you wake up alone, sheets tangled around your legs, head throbbing like a drum. the room’s too quiet, and there’s a note on the nightstand in rafe’s sloppy handwriting: “work called. coffee’s in the kitchen. you’re welcome. — r” you groan, rolling over to bury your face in the pillow, cursing yourself for last night. how does he always do this?

you drag yourself to his stupidly huge shower—marble, rainfall heads, the works—muttering about his overpriced body wash and the fact that you’re even here. you dig through his closet after, finding that old sundress of yours shoved in the back—floral, faded, a ghost of your pre-divorce life. it barely fits, clinging to your hips, and you hate how it makes you feel soft for him all over again.

you’re stomping around his mansion now, checking your son’s room—his little clothes are neat, toys in place, and it only fuels your grumbling. “fucking rafe,” you mutter, glaring at that gaudy gold lamp in the hall. “thinks he’s so fancy with his dumb rich-guy shit.” you don’t know he’s watching—sprawled in his office chair downtown, feet up, smirking at his phone as the security feed catches every word. he zooms in on you tugging at the dress, muttering about his “pretentious bullshit,” and he chuckles to himself. “still feisty,” he says, sipping his coffee. “love that about you.”

you leave in a huff, determined to put last night behind you. work’s a blur—meetings, emails, pretending you’re not replaying every second of rafe’s hands on you—and by the time you pull into your driveway, your cozy little house feels like a sanctuary. until you see him.

rafe’s leaning against his range rover, parked right in your spot, arms crossed, a handful of designer shopping bags at his feet. he’s in a crisp polo now, looking every bit the smug bastard he is, and that grin’s back—wide, knowing, maddening.

“what the hell are you doing here?” you snap, slamming your car door so hard it echoes.

he doesn’t flinch, just straightens up, sauntering over with the bags. “brought a little something for our newest addition.” he nudges the bags toward you—chanel onesies, a prada blanket, a tiny leather jacket that’s absurdly expensive. “gotta start ‘em young, right?”

your heart stops. “what are you talking about?”

he steps closer, crowding you against your car, voice dropping to that slow, patronizing drawl. “c’mon, sweetheart. you’re late, aren’t you? two weeks, by my count. don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

you freeze, mind spinning. the dates line up—last night, the wine, the no-condom recklessness—and your stomach twists. he sees it, the realization dawning, and his smirk turns downright triumphant.

“yep,” he says, popping the p like an asshole, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “guess i still got it. you and me? we’re a package deal, princess.” he leans in, lips grazing your ear as he whispers, “should’ve known you’d never really leave.”

you want to shove him, scream, anything—but he’s already strolling past you, bags in hand, letting himself into your house like it’s his. “where should i put these?” he calls over his shoulder, all casual arrogance. “nursery’s upstairs, right?”

and the worst part? you’re standing there, keys dangling uselessly, wondering how he’s still got you wrapped around his finger—and if you even mind.

[itsnesss]

hiii :)

could i pretty please request Kimi Antonelli x fem reader where they're dating and get into a silly fight over something small and reader gets just slightly petty and does stuff like breaking spaghetti in front of him, ordering pizzas for dinner but they all have pineapple on them, basically everything italians consider sacrilege and Kimi just sits in silent italian rage cause he knows a reaction is exactly what reader wants

just a silly couples argument that somehow breaks out into an all-out war

thank you xx

𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you and kimi have a playful fight over food. he stays calm, but you know he’s secretly fuming

warnings | playful arguments, food-related humor, light teasing and petty behavior, silly and lighthearted tone

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

It all starts over something silly. Something so small that it’s not even worth arguing about. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself… right before you argue about it anyway.

“You said if I cooked, you’d wash the dishes,” Kimi reminds you from the kitchen, with that tone somewhere between irritated and condescending that ignites you more than the oven.

“And I washed the breakfast dishes. It’s not my fault you cook like you’re feeding the entire paddock,” you respond from the couch, not even bothering to turn to look at him. Your voice is sweet, but with venom.

“Non è lo stesso. It was three plates. Now there are twenty. This isn’t a restaurant, tesoro.”

Your eyebrow arches. You glance at him over the back of the couch, pretending to be innocent. He gives you a look that clearly means “I’m not playing.” You just smile. Because of course you’re not playing… but you’re definitely winning.

The silence that follows is tense, but almost fun. Kimi returns to his tomato sauce as if he’s a scientist in his lab. Meanwhile, you start plotting your next move.

And then you see it: the package of spaghetti in the pantry. It almost calls your name. A completely malicious idea forms in your mind. And you can’t resist.

You get up calmly, as if you have no evil intentions. You walk over to the pantry and pull out the package, holding it in front of you. Kimi watches you with suspicion. You don’t say anything. You just look at him… and then…

CRACK!

You break the spaghetti in half.

Kimi freezes. The spoon he had in his hand falls into the bowl with a soft clink. His eyes fixate on the broken pasta as if he just witnessed a murder.

“You didn’t…” he whispers.

“What? It cooks faster this way,” you respond with a small smile, throwing the broken pieces into the boiling water like nothing’s happening.

He says nothing. He just slowly turns around, with the expression of someone praying internally not to explode.

And you know it hurts him. Of course, you know.

But it doesn’t end there.

The next day, you decide cooking is too much effort. Better order pizza. When Kimi asks what kind you ordered, you smile sweetly.

“Surprise.”

When they arrive, you open the first box and set it on the table. Then the second. Then the third. And all of them, absolutely all of them, have a generous layer of pineapple.

Kimi sits in front of the boxes, staring at them in silence, and doesn’t say anything. Not a sigh, not an insult. Just that gesture of his that you know so well: clenched jaw, slightly furrowed brows, eyes fixed on nothingness.

The Italian silence is deafening.

And you, on the verge of laughing, take a dramatic bite of a slice and say, “Mmm… pineapple with cheese is delicious, don’t you think?”

You know he’s about to lose his composure. You know that deep down, an ancient voice inside him is screaming “traditrice!” and that he’s doing everything he can not to get up from the table and scream at the universe.

But he doesn’t.

Because he knows that’s exactly what you want.

The next morning is suspiciously calm.

Too calm.

Kimi doesn’t say anything when he wakes up. He doesn’t frown. He doesn’t mention the sacrilegious pizzas or the pasta broken like it’s glass. He just gets up, kisses your cheek, and murmurs a soft “bongiorno” as if everything is fine.

And honestly, that scares you.

Because an angry Kimi talks. An offended Kimi protests. But this Kimi… this elegant silence with a mysterious smile and suspicious calm… that’s the Kimi planning his revenge.

You decide to ignore it.

But by noon, the first signs begin.

You walk into the kitchen and see that he’s already made lunch.

“You cooked?” you ask with a mix of distrust and tenderness.

“Certo. I thought you deserved a… special meal,” he says with an angelic smile.

You sit at the table, a little wary. It smells good. Too good. You take a bite.

It tastes… bad.

Something’s off. Salt? Sugar? Both?

You look at him. He just takes his glass of water and drinks it slowly, provocatively.

“What did you put in this?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Love. And a pinch of divine justice,” he answers with total calm.

You put your fork down.

“Are you seriously getting back at me with pasta?”

“I’m just balancing the universe, amore. Karma exists. And so do horrible sauces.

You don’t know if you’re more indignant or impressed.

Later, when you take a shower, you hear noises in the kitchen. When you come out, the air smells like… cheese? Herbs?

And there he is.

Kimi stands in front of the oven, taking a steaming tray out. The dish looks incredible. Pasta al forno, made with a delicacy that melts your soul.

“And this?”

“It’s for me.”

“And for me?”

He gives you a cold look… theatrically cold.

“You have pineapple.”

He opens the fridge and shows you a perfectly intact box of Hawaiian pizza, with a label that reads “For culinary traitors.”

You suppress a laugh. He walks over, without losing his dignified air, and whispers in your ear:

“Never underestimate the Italian pride. Especially in the kitchen.

But then, just when you’re about to give in, when you’re about to say “okay, enough,” he leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Although… I have to admit, seeing you bite that pizza with pineapple and pretend you didn’t expect my reaction was adorable,” he murmurs, softly, as if it slipped out.

You turn, pretending to be offended, but he grabs you by the waist and lifts you easily, making his laugh resonate against your neck while you scream in laughter:

“Put me down, Antonelli!!”

“Admit that parmesan is better than pineapple and I’ll do it!”

“Never!”

“Traditrice!” he says dramatically.

[lavottino]

Self-indulgent but mandatory "What if the strawhats were Italian" because it has been plaguing my mind for months.

I'm putting some context (and also some headcanons) for each drawing under the cut for anyone interested in better understanding what is going on, so expect a lot of yapping 😭

I think I will draw more Italian strawhats shenanigans in the future (I'm sorry for sidelining you like that Jinbe...), we'll see...

1. Italy is divided into 20 regions, and I associated the 10 strawhats to 10 of those regions. The regions I chose have been mainly picked on instinct based on whatever felt right to me, so I wouldn't look too hard into it 😭

2. Tortellini are a type of stuffed pasta specifically from the Emilia-Romagna region (where I see Robin coming from) and even more specifically from the Bologna and Modena provinces; while fiorentina is typically from Florence (Tuscany) and Luffy would eat at least 10 of them a day if he could

3. Alberto Angela is a paleontologist and history and science communicator, and he runs some TV programs that mainly focus on history and science. He's well-spoken, he's educated, developing a little crush for him is basically a canon event, he's the IT Italian man if you ask me. Robin is watching Ulisse - Il piacere della scoperta, which is also the TV program that introduced me to him when I was like 9 😌

4. Table football is quite common in Italy (all my life I've called it biliardino, but apparently its name is calciobalilla? whatever 😭). I don't really have a lot to say about this one, actually. I just think that a Zoro and Sanji team up would be unmatched (just like in animanga). Like 10-1 (AT BEST) kind of unmatched. If they receive a goal (which was definitely a fluke) they're going to mercilessly trash talk each other into scoring the most diabolically aggressive goal ever witnessed in the history of mankind (Chopper is scared of them) (Luffy thinks it's kinda funny) (Nami decided they won't play at the same time until they learn to chill out).

5. Paolo Fox is a famous astrologer in Italy and basically there used to be this Sunday TV program (Mezzogiorno in famiglia, they discontinued it some years ago but it's the show that Nami and Zoro are watching), where he was called in every week as a guest to rank the signs from 12th to 1st based on the luck, love, money etc. they were going to get during the following week. And whether you believed in astrology or not, you were still going to eat that shit up regardless because you just wanted to know where your sign was going to be placed.

6. Easter eggs in Italy are this big chocolate egg that contains a "surprise", which can be toys or various trinkets (bracelets, keychains, that kind of stuff). When Easter is coming, the supermarkets have full aisles of Easter eggs because there are multiple brands and multiple themes (for example, the ones specifically targeted towards children could be One Piece/Pokemon/Winx etc. themed, containing a surprise that is related to them). I like to think that Chopper would be so excited about the chocolate that he would eat it all without even looking at the surprise 😭 (it's lying somewhere on the ground, a forgotten soldier amidst the raging battle)

7. Neapolitan songs can go pretty hard when you don't have someone in your ear telling you how corny and cringe they are. Franky has a whole arsenal. If during a conversation he hears a word that reminds him of one of his songs, he will start singing it. Brook joins him whenever he hears him, and if he doesn't know the actual words to the song, he will still string together some notes with his guitar. Luffy and Usopp will join at a certain point, while the other strawhats enjoy the little show. If Franky is singing and Robin appears in his line of sight, he will switch to a romantic song and start serenading her. When this happens, Sanji joins too (not because he's trying to woo Robin, but because he will never miss a chance to serenade a woman 😌).

8. I just know Brook has en entire repertoire of love songs that he sings whenever Zoro and Sanji are fighting. In this case he is singing "Bello e impossibile" by Gianna Nannini, whose chorus goes something like "handsome, handsome and impossibile, with black eyes and your Middle Eastern taste" and then again "handsome, handsome and invincible, with black eyes and a kissable mouth/a mouth to be kissed" (it sounds more poetic in Italian I'm sorry 😭). They get mad and flustered every time. It doesn't matter if they are still dancing around each other or are already together. Brook has the time of his life.

[wordsmeetwbb]

Two Minutes

Word count: 3.4k

Content: smut (semi-public, Daddy!Paige, sub!Azzi)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: So it only took UConn winning the national championship to get me to finish a fic for the first time in a month (I have 5 different ones half written. my bad), but here is some Pazzi smut to celebrate! Send in your reactions bc I'm missing all my anons and my ego needs a boost. Enjoy!

________

The team had a tradition of going out for a nice dinner after a big game. They’d vote on a restaurant, get all dressed up, and go out to eat and bond with each other. Those nights were some of Paige’s favorite memories from her five years in college. Getting to eat good food and spend quality time with the people she loved- almost nothing was better than that.

Tonight, they’ve picked a nice Italian restaurant and all 14 of them are seated around a long table. Azzi is on Paige’s right, and Caroline is on her left, but Paige can’t honestly say she’s paying much attention to anyone other than Azzi.

She’s in a long sleeveless black dress, the fabric clinging to every curve and dip of her body. She even has a little makeup on for once. It’s just some mascara, a dark lip gloss, and a little bit of blush on her cheeks, but Paige is entranced. Between every sentence she contributes to the group’s conversation, her eyes return to Azzi.

Azzi’s not immune to Paige’s staring. She had started the meal by pretending to be annoyed by the attention, but the faux annoyance quickly devolved into blushing and heavy-lidded glances. Even now, after so many years of knowing the younger girl, knowing the effect she had on her still brought butterflies to her stomach. It was an intoxicating feeling.

The conversation at the table dies down slightly when their food arrives, everybody digging into their meals with all the enthusiasm and hunger that comes with being a D1 athlete. It doesn’t keep Paige’s eyes off Azzi, though.

Paige has her fork halfway to her mouth, noodles twirled haphazardly around the tongs, when she feels it. Two fingers slowly drag up the outside of her thigh over the fabric of her black shorts. Her hand freezes for a second before she remembers to shove the pasta into her mouth. Azzi’s fingers reach the crease of Paige’s hip and then reverse their movement back down her thigh. Paige’s eyes dart over to find Azzi already looking at her.

Paige raises an eyebrow, questioning Azzi’s goals. Azzi just sends her a sweet smile and goes back to her own plate of pasta, her hand leaving Paige’s leg. The blonde almost wants to argue, to reach over and replace Azzi’s hand where it had been on her thigh, but she restrains herself.

“-right, Paige?” Paige shakes her head, quickly trying to tune back into the conversation.

“What?” She asks. KK, who had been the one to speak originally, laughs at her.

“Is that pasta so good you can’t pay attention to me, P Boogers?” KK teases. Paige holds up a hand, flipping KK off quickly before a waiter walks by and shoots her a judgmental look.

“What was your question, Kamorea?” Paige raises an eyebrow, and KK grins.

“Over the summer, when you leave us” -Paige is hit with a pang of sadness before shoving it down- “I’m gonna be the one you miss the most, right? None of these other idiots have the special bond we have,” KK teases. Paige snorts.

“Yeah, right. By ‘special bond,’ do you mean your mission to bother me more than anyone else?” KK’s mouth hasn’t moved from a wide grin since the conversation started. The rest of the team has been roped into their antics by now, and various expressions of disagreement are obvious.

“KK, you can’t seriously think you’re Paige’s favorite,” Ice argues from down the table. KK sticks out her tongue at the taller girl. Then Jana is getting involved, stating that she’s actually Paige’s favorite child. She cites all the breakfasts Paige had made for her before sunrise during Ramadan, and it only makes everybody grow louder with their own counterclaims and arguments.

Amid the chaos, Azzi’s hand returns to Paige’s leg. This time, Azzi’s touch isn’t gentle or soothing. No, now Azzi’s fingers are digging into the sensitive flesh of Paige’s inner thigh, far too high up to be appropriate in such a public setting. Luckily, the white tablecloth covering the table hides the movement, but Paige can’t hide the gasp it draws from her lips.

Caroline nudges Paige from her seat next to the blonde.

“You okay, Paige?” she asks, face open with concern. Paige only gets one word into her reply before Azzi’s fingers are suddenly tracing a line straight up to the heat between Paige’s legs. Paige swallows and tries again.

“Yeah, all good. Just remembered I forgot to… do an assignment,” she lies. Caroline raises a skeptical eyebrow but shrugs and leaves Paige alone. Paige lets out a slow breath, trying to get herself under control. Then Azzi is leaning into her space, the warmth from the younger girl’s arm bleeding into Paige’s skin.

“You gotta stop, baby,” Paige mumbles, keeping her voice low so none of their teammates will overhear. Azzi tilts her head, and suddenly her hand that isn’t busy on Paige’s thigh is gripping her chin, angling Paige’s face so she’s forced to look Azzi in the eyes. Paige almost moans right there at the table. It’s not normal for Azzi to be this bold in general, but especially in public, at a table with all their teammates, surrounded by random other people eating at the restaurant. Paige squeezes her legs together tightly.

“You’re terrible at hiding your reactions to things, baby,” Azzi starts. Paige’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“Yeah, great observation. That’s why I told you to stop, ‘cause I can’t hide it.” Azzi smiles sweetly. She looks dangerous. Paige is incredibly turned on. She shifts in her chair, trying to relieve some of the ache between her thighs.

“This is your warning to make your face look normal and keep it that way,” Azzi warns. Paige tries her best to quickly school her features into a mask of composure. She’s not entirely sure she’s successful. Azzi leans a little closer, speaking softly into Paige’s ear so no one else can hear.

“I know we’ve been busy lately, but it’s been two weeks since we had sex at this point, and I’ve been wet since the press conference after the game. So I’m going to go to the bathroom to take care of this, and you’re more than welcome to come help,” Azzi murmurs. Any composure Paige had managed to achieve before is completely wiped away by the time Azzi finishes her first sentence.

“Fuck,” Paige whispers. Her face feels hot, and she knows her cheeks are bright red. Whatever the opposite of discreet is, she thinks, that’s exactly what she’s being right now. Azzi slides one finger down Paige’s jaw before letting go of her chin and leaning away. As she stands up from the table, she leans down to whisper into Paige’s ear once more.

“Oh, by the way, I’m not wearing any underwear,” she says, voice soft and teasing. Paige is gone.

It takes every ounce of Paige’s restraint to keep herself seated at the table for a few more minutes. In all honesty, it’s probably only enough time to take her departure from obvious to suspicious, but she can’t wait any longer. She can feel herself soaking through her boxers with every second she sits at the table, thinking about Azzi in the bathroom. Is she already touching herself? Dripping down her thighs from how wet she is?

It’s that mental image that drives Paige from her seat, making some half-assed excuse to Caroline about needing to use the restroom.

She makes a beeline for the restroom, knocking urgently on the door when she reaches it. It takes barely a second for Azzi to open the door and tug Paige inside before promptly locking it behind them again. Then she has the blonde pressed up against the door, and their lips are crushed together, tongues meeting hungrily when Azzi licks into Paige’s mouth.

Paige groans when Azzi brings her knee in between her legs. She grinds herself down, mouth falling open as she pants.

“Shit Az. Hang on, wait, lemme get you first, ‘kay?” Azzi looks at Paige skeptically, grinding the older girl down onto her thigh to prove a point as it rips a moan from Paige’s throat. Paige curses again.

“Come on, Az. I know you’re all worked up. Gotta be dripping down your legs by now, right? Said you’ve been wet since the post-game and I know you don’t have anything under that dress. Probably hurts, doesn’t it, baby? Let me take care of it. I’ll make it feel better,” Paige coos. Azzi’s determination collapses, giving way to the pure need she’s been feeling for days at this point.

Paige flips their position, shoving Azzi up against the sink and dropping to her knees. She pushes the fabric of Azzi’s dress up, first past her knees and then up to her stomach.

“Hold it up,” she commands. Azzi’s hands scramble to obey. “Good girl,” Paige praises. Azzi feels herself clench around nothing. She presses her thighs together to relieve the ache.

Paige isn’t having any of that, quickly shoving Azzi’s legs apart and gripping her thighs with a strength that they both know will leave bruises on Azzi’s skin. Azzi sighs out a soft breath.

“Shit. Look at that baby. I was right. You’re dripping,” Paige murmurs. Azzi leans her head back. The image of Paige on her knees in front of her, assessing everything she sees, ready to please her, is far too much for Azzi to handle right now.

“Fuck. Just touch me,” she demands. Paige’s hands leave Azzi’s skin.

“Nuh-uh,” she tuts. “I wanna take care of you, mama, but you gotta be good for me. That means not making demands without saying please,” Paige says sternly. Azzi squirms.

“Paige, we have to be fast. Everybody’s gonna notice we’re gone,” she whispers. Paige just looks up at her, eyebrows raised as if to say “And what do you want me to do about it?” Azzi swallows a groan.

“Please,  Paige. Please touch me, and please be fast about it so we don’t get caught,” she asks. Paige smiles and her hands return to Azzi’s thighs, sliding up until they find the wetness dripping from her slit.

“Fuck, honey. You need it that bad, huh?” Azzi whines and bucks her hips in an attempt to get Paige’s touch where she really needs it. Luckily, they’re pressed for time, and Paige doesn’t think it’s quite worth it to make her beg again.

Paige’s fingers meet Azzi’s swollen clit and begin to circle roughly. Azzi swears and her hips move of their own accord. Paige uses her unoccupied hand to shove Azzi more firmly against the sink. Her forearm forms a bar across her pelvis, preventing any more movements. Azzi’s head falls forward.

“Paige, please. More,” she pleads. Maybe it’s the multiple weeks without sex or the teasing Azzi had done at the table earlier or the leftover adrenaline from the game that afternoon, but Paige’s response gives away the very particular mood she’s in.

“How do you ask me the right way, mama?” Azzi’s brain buffers for a moment. She had said please. She had asked nicely for what she wanted. Then it hits her. Oh. She knows what Paige means. Her legs twitch and it has nothing to do with the fingers still circling her clit.

“Please, Daddy? Please give me more. I need it so bad, Daddy, please.” Azzi knows that was the right answer when Paige groans, her arm shoving Azzi harder into the counter, and two of her fingers slip into the younger girl’s cunt.

“Fuck. Oh god, yes, that’s so good,” Azzi breathes. The stretch of Paige’s fingers is easy, slick and smooth from how wet she is. Paige’s thumb starts up the circles on Azzi’s clit again, driving the brunette higher. 

“Please, baby, can I have your mouth?” Azzi asks. Paige pulls back, her eyebrows raised as she waits. It only takes a second before Azzi realizes her mistake.

“Please, Daddy,” she corrects. Paige smiles, removing her arm from Azzi’s torso and instead bringing it down to pet along warm brown skin.

“Good girl, Az. We gotta hurry up now, so do you think you can cum in two minutes for me? Can you do that for Daddy?” Paige murmurs. Azzi nods desperately. One of her hands comes down to fist in Paige’s hair. She doesn’t bother mentioning that it probably won’t even take that long for Paige to get her off.

Paige pulls away for only a few seconds, rummaging in her pockets, but it’s far too long for Azzi. Then Paige pulls out her phone, clicks a few things on the screen, and then hands it to Azzi. It’s the clock app. It’s a stopwatch. Azzi’s legs feel weak.

“Shit,” she mumbles.

“When I put my mouth on you, you start the timer, okay mama? You get two minutes, and when it hits two minutes exactly, you tell me and I stop. Got it? You cum in two minutes right now, or you wait until we get home later.” Azzi is nodding, unable to do anything else. Her eyes are trained on Paige’s. She can’t look away.

“Are you gonna be good for me, Az? Gonna follow directions and do what I told you to?” Paige prompts. Azzi is beyond desperate at this point. She knows they’ve already been gone from the table for far too long, but she needs to cum too bad to really put any energy into caring about what their teammates are probably guessing right now.

“Yes, yes, Daddy. I‘m gonna be good for you Daddy, gonna be your good girl.” The words are spilling from Azzi’s mouth, like the more she agrees, the faster it’ll get Paige to act. It works because before Azzi can even take a breath, Paige’s tongue is licking a strip through Azzi’s folds and humming at the way she tastes.

“Oh god,” Azzi groans, and then remembers she’s been given a task. She quickly hits start on the stopwatch, watching the numbers tick up as seconds go by.

It doesn’t take Paige long to get into her rhythm at all. Before Azzi can even get a good, stabilizing grip on the counter behind her, Paige has her face completely buried between Azzi’s thighs, tongue teasing her hole just to slide back up and suck the younger girl’s clit into her mouth. It takes thirty seconds of this for Azzi to be a whining, writhing, breathy mess.

“Please, please, so close,” she begs as the tension in her stomach grows tighter and tighter. Paige doubles her efforts, sliding two fingers back into Azzi’s cunt effortlessly, meeting no resistance. Azzi lets out a whine that’s so pathetic she’s embarrassed of it even in her current needy state.

“Gonna cum for me honey? Can feel you clenching around my fingers. You’re just dripping down my hand. So fucking dirty, Az, look at that,” Paige says and she thrusts her fingers in and out roughly. Her voice is low and hoarse as she speaks against Azzi’s clit. The vibrations, combined with Paige’s words, push Azzi even closer.

“Fuck, fuck- Daddy please, gonna cum. Can I cum? Need to cum, please Daddy, please, let me cum-” the words are spilling unbidden from Azzi’s lips in between the other noises Paige is drawing from her.

“How much time is left, mama?” Paige asks instead of answering. She keeps her fingers moving. It feels like every thrust is harder than the last. Azzi’s eyes dart down to Paige’s phone screen.

“I have thirty seconds. Please Paige. Daddy, please, please, I still have time, please let me,” Azzi begs. She’s suddenly consumed by the fear that Paige will draw this out for too long, making her beg to cum until she runs out of time, until she has to tell Paige to stop and wait until they get home after dinner. A tear rolls down her cheek as Paige’s teeth scrape lightly over her clit. Her hips buck, feeling completely and utterly overstimulated.

“Please, Daddy!” She cries once again, and she tries desperately to keep her eyes open and trained on the seconds ticking up on the stopwatch. Only twenty seconds now.

“Cum for me mama. Been such a good girl. You can cum now. Make a mess all over my hand, baby, that’s it.” Paige talks her through it as Azzi trembles through her orgasm, wave after wave ripping through her as Paige keeps moving her hand since her mouth is occupied with speaking.

“Oh god,” Azzi whimpers as she starts to come down. Paige doesn’t stop the movement of her fingers, dragging them in and out of Azzi’s pussy with obscene, slick sounds. Azzi knows better than to push Paige away right now. She’d learned quickly that when Paige was Daddy, she liked to draw out Azzi’s pleasure and overstimulation until she physically couldn’t take it anymore.

Only when Azzi is shaking and whining, one of her hands gripping tightly in Paige’s hair as her hips jump against Paige’s hand, does the blonde pull her fingers out.

Looking up to make sure Azzi is watching, Paige sucks each of her fingers into her mouth, cleaning Azzi’s wetness off every digit. Azzi lets out a soft moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“Eyes on me, honey,” Paige orders. Azzi’s eyes snap back open, once again trained on Paige’s lips. Paige’s expression softens, and she rises from her knees, licking into Azzi’s mouth gently.

“You did so good for me, baby. Gotta get cleaned up now so we can go back to the table, ‘kay? Can I clean you up?” Paige asks softly. Azzi nods, eyes still locked on Paige’s. She hasn’t been given permission to look away yet, so she doesn’t. Paige’s chest warms with pride as she grabs some paper towels, wetting them and then gently wiping them along Azzi’s thighs to clean her up. Azzi does exactly what’s expected of her and stands there obediently.

“Being such a good girl, Azzi. So good. I’m so proud of you,” Paige keeps soothing. Azzi has finally noticed how delightfully fuzzy and detached her brain feels. She’s not worried, though. Paige will take care of her.

“We’re gonna go back to the table now, okay honey?” Paige starts. Azzi’s chest tightens with panic. She can’t make conversation with her girls like this. She can’t let them see her like this, fucked dumb and submissive. The panic is obvious on her face, prompting Paige to run her hands along Azzi’s arms in an attempt to calm her.

“Hey, it’s alright. We don’t have to stay. We’re gonna go over there, I’m gonna tell everyone you don’t feel well and I’m taking you home, and then we’re gonna leave. Does that sound okay, mama?” Paige murmurs. She tilts Azzi’s chin up to meet her eyes more easily. Azzi’s expression is so open and trusting and wrecked that Paige feels something in her chest crack.

Azzi nods, eyes big and shiny. Paige presses a soft kiss to her lips, stroking a few fingers over her cheeks.

“I’m gonna take care of you, mama. Gonna get you home so you can relax and come down from this when you’re ready, okay?” Azzi’s eyebrows draw together as Paige starts to pull away, leading her to the door of the bathroom. She tugs on Paige’s sleeve to stop her.

“I don’t wanna come down,” she mumbles. Paige’s confusion turns into a smile.

“Oh, honey, are you still feeling needy?” Azzi nods, relief threading through her body. “Okay, baby. When we get home you can cum as many times as you need to. Just gotta wait until we get there. Can you be good and wait for me?” Paige asks gently. Azzi nods. Her words have abandoned her, but Paige seems to understand.

Azzi is in a pleasant daze as Paige leads her out of the bathroom, back to the table to make an excuse to their teammates, and then to her car. The daze continues as they climb the stairs to Paige’s apartment, as they enter her room, and as Paige makes Azzi shatter into a ball of pleasure many more times throughout the night. And throughout it all, Azzi feels safe and knows she is loved, and is incredibly glad they don’t have to go two weeks without sex again anytime soon.

[gghostwriter]

Language of Devotion

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: You caught Spencer learning a new skill—your native language

Trope: Fluff! just fluff

Warning: Language learning app inaccuracies, that’s it really. I wrote this in a frenzy and no proofreading was done

Main masterlist

At around 6:30pm, you arrived at your boyfriend’s apartment complex with takeout on hand. The whole day you’ve spent slumped on your office desk, slaving away on documents that needed your attention and wishing time would move faster. You were knackered and planned to spend the rest of the evening charging within your boyfriend’s arms. You knocked twice on his mahogany apartment door but there was no answer.

“Spence. Spence,” you called out. “You there?”

Silence.

Strange, even though it was a week night, he mentioned that no call came in for a case—strictly paperwork day. You juggled the takeout to your other hand as you reached into your bag for the spare key with slight difficulty.

As you let yourself in the apartment, a ping sound echoed in the confined space. The source of the noise coming in from the bedroom door that was slightly ajar. You quietly placed all your items on the dining table and crept towards the room at the further end of the apartment.

Heart beating loudly on your chest, you peeked inside the room and breathed a sigh of relief. It was Spencer, hunched over his desk, furiously scribbling on a notebook and his phone light reflecting on his glasses.

“Hey Spencer,” you lovingly greeted and although you’ve already announced your presence multiple times earlier on, the sound of your voice made him jump and if you didn’t know any better, a whimper of fright also escaped his lips—he’d deny this, of course.

“Hey, Y/N,” he raked his hand through his hair. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You smiled coyly. “Y’know for an agent, you’re awfully jumpy.”

He laughed, the tone of his voice warming your heart. “I was just busy with something,” his hands closing the notebook and pushing it aside, as if he didn’t want you to see what had occupied the entire capacity of his brain.

That intrigued you. Spencer wasn’t really the type to keep things hidden from you unless it’s case related and in which, he doesn’t bring it back home for him to study. When your relationship started that was one of your laid out boundary and he had respected and agreed to it—the days and nights that he’s not on call were meant to enjoy each other’s company.

You tried to creep closer, curious as to what he was doing. Being adept with your body language, Spencer tried to divert your attention—keyword ‘tried’. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving,” he rubbed his stomach for emphasis.

“I got us some pasta from the Italian place around the block,” you answered, still distracted by the secret contents of his notebook.

He wrapped his arms around you, seemingly intent on manhandling you out to the dining, before his idle phone notified with a green owl flashing on its screen and an automated voice in your first language spoke through the speaker: Dr. Reid, are you still there? Your chapter and lesson progress will not be counted should you exit.

You turned your head to watch Spencer’s cheeks turning pink.

“Spence, are you—are you using Duolingo?” A giggle escaping your lips. “To learn my first language?”

He smiled with a hint of guilt. “Uh—well, research published in Psychological Science indicates that multilingual individuals exhibit better attention control, cognitive flexibility, and problem-solving skills than monolinguals.”

“Uh-huh, that doesn’t explain why you’re learning my first language specifically.”

He caressed your cheek and smiled. “It’s the first language you learned to speak and it’s part of who you are, Y/N. I mean, you entered the US for your job as a translator,” he explained, staring into your eyes as if you were the most important thing in the world—you were, he assured, you and his mom were. “Do you know you only speak in your language when you mumble in your sleep? You dream in a language that I can’t understand and I want to know every side of you. I love you that much.”

You leaned in for a kiss, his care and adoration to you leaking out of him like honey and you were a bee unable to resist the sweetness. “That’s sweet of you, Spencer,” you pulled back and studied his hazel doe eyes as if they hold the key to the universe. “But I have to ask, does this also have something to do with my mom and dad flying in for a visit?”

He nodded. Last month you mentioned to him that your parents were visiting for four days before they fly to New York, where your other sibling was located. “I want them to get to know me and like me as your boyfriend and—and I can’t do that if we can’t understand each other.”

“They can speak English, granted it’s very much broken, but I can translate for you, Spencer, it’s no problem at all.” You assured him. “Plus, you’re a federal agent, that already makes you great in their books. My dad feels relieved that his own daughter is dating someone who could protect her and my mom already likes you—trust me on this. She hears how happy I am when I talk about you.”

“Are you sure?” He clarified again, clearly he was nervous in making a good impression. You were his first girlfriend and he wanted the relationship to last for a long time—forever really, if you’d let him.

“Yes, Spence. If you want, I can teach you the basics just to get you by. Duolingo isn’t really that accurate,” you mentioned as you pulled him out of the bedroom and into the dining. “Now, let’s eat. I’m hungry and the pasta has turned cold.”

He laughed, nodding his head, watching you prep the table as he reheated the pasta based exactly on the packaging instructions.

And on the first night of your parent’s arrival, your mother pulled you aside and smiled. “He’s a keeper, Y/N. Don’t let him get away.”

You laughed as you watched Spencer try his best to communicate with your father in his broken grammar and questionable pronunciation. “I won’t, Mom. I think he’s it for me, really.”

[yeahxsurexokay13]

cat's outta the bag, lando norris

summary: after lando's win with y/n back in the mclaren garage, fans now have to go back to getting used to not seeing the actress and the driver together anymore... or not.

warnings: the 'monaco may gala' is made up, as everyone would've guessed. and i think that's it really.

this is part 2 to ideal weekend requested by @maysofi and @nan-lzzn. not sure if it's just me not knowing how to work tumblr or what but i couldn't reply to your comments /: but here you go!! hope it lives up to your guys' expectations x

y/n.y/l

Liked by landonorris and 1.200.329 others

y/n.y/l la dolce vita

view all 2.086 comments

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y/n.y/l and the occasional tiramisu when i feel fancy

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15 May 2024

ynupdates

Liked by username and 1.208 others

ynupdates 📸 | New pictures of Y/n this morning. Apparently she flew home from Italy with Lando and Oscar, who raced in the Italian Grand Prix yesterday.

view all 293 comments

username Y/NLANDO CRUMBS WHO CHEERED

username ok but where is the pic with oscar

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username this has me screAMING

20 May 2024

mclaren

Liked by username and 2.091.134 others

mclaren An elite squad backing the papaya brigade at Monaco GP 🧡

view all 4.273 comments

username MASON FREAKING MOUNT AND PHIL FREAKING FODEN AAAAAHHHHHH someone better get me a picture of those two with lando and oscar i'm begging

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tommyhilfiger Our dear Y/n ❤️

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username McLaren is winning both on and off the track!!

username my favourite celebs and my favourite team together??! sign me up

26 May 2024

lando.jpg

Liked by martingarrix and 389.982 others

lando.jpg Cat's outta the bag part 2

view all 2.981 comments

username SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

username PIC 3 IS FROM MAY GALA DAY SHE WAS WITH HIM IN MONACO WE WERE RIGHT

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francisca.cgomes Excited for my baby to be back to being a regular at race weekends @.y/n.y/l ❤️

username cause of death: pic 1

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lando.jpg i can

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lando.jog we tried 🤷🏽‍♂️

username HARD LAUNCH IS ABSOLUTELY HARD LAUNCHING OMFG

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carlossainz55 Happy for you, cabrón! ❤️

username parents are back together!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

charles_leclerc LET’S GOOOOO!!!! ❤️

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y/n.y/l absolutely no one saw this coming

y/n.y/l i love uuuu!! <333

landonorris I love you ❤️

username AND I LOVE YOU PLEASE NEVER BREAK UP AGAIN

username it's him changing accounts for me

[sunny44]

September 30th

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Mom!Wife!reader

Warnings: pregnancy and mentions of birth

Summary: It’s Max’s birthday and he couldn’t ask for a better gift than his wife giving birth to their daughter.

Celebrating Max’s birthday had always been special, but this year felt different. The restaurant was filled with the warmth of familiar laughter. Seated at the table were Max, his parents, Victoria, and a few close friends, all smiling and sharing stories. Despite my prominent belly revealing how close we were to meeting our daughter, I felt light and content. We were in one of those cozy Italian restaurants Max loved, the air rich with the aroma of fresh pasta and fragrant herbs.

While Max chatted animatedly with his father, I noticed the sparkle in his eyes—he had always cherished these simple family moments. It made me smile. I knew how much these gatherings meant to him, especially now that we were on the brink of a new chapter in our lives.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked, noticing my gaze fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” I replied, gently caressing my belly. “She’s calm today… for now.”

He chuckled softly, placing his hand over mine to feel the subtle movement of our baby. “She knows it’s my birthday. She’s being kind to me.”

The evening unfolded beautifully, framed by joy and love. I felt complete. It wasn’t just being surrounded by the people we loved but knowing that soon, we’d be holding our daughter in our arms. As plates came and went, conversations flowed effortlessly. Victoria and Sophie, Max’s mom, exchanged ideas about the baby’s nursery. I chimed in occasionally, but mostly, I observed, lost in thoughts about how it would feel to see Max with our daughter, how he would step into his role as a father.

Suddenly, I felt a slight tightening in my belly. It was barely noticeable, a subtle pressure. I didn’t think much of it. I’d felt a few of these small contractions before, and the doctor assured me they were normal in the final weeks of pregnancy. Taking a deep breath, I shifted in my seat, catching Sophie’s warm smile. “You’re glowing, Y/n. You don’t even look like you’re so close to giving birth.”

“Thank you,” I laughed. “But I think that could change any moment now.”

A few minutes later, another tightening came, stronger this time. I tried to mask it, but my hands instinctively went to my belly, and this time, Max noticed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He squeezed my hand, concern evident in his voice.

“Yes… I think so.” But deep down, I knew something was changing.

As the minutes passed, the contractions became more frequent. At a certain point, I could no longer hide my discomfort. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, but it was growing more intense and consistent.

“Y/n, you’re starting to look pale,” Victoria commented, her worried eyes on me.

I sighed, trying to stay calm. “I… I think it’s happening.”

Max froze for a second, and I saw the moment he processed my words. “You mean now?”

I nodded, biting my lip as another contraction hit, sharper this time. “Yes, now.”

The restaurant, which had been buzzing with laughter and conversation moments before, grew quiet around our table. All eyes turned to me and Max, who was now on his feet, ready to take charge.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a mix of excitement and nerves.

The drive to the hospital felt like it lasted forever and passed in the blink of an eye all at once. I sat in the car, Max by my side, gripping my hand tightly while trying to focus on the road. The contractions continued, each one stronger than the last, making the reality of becoming parents all the more tangible.

When we finally arrived, a medical team swiftly led us to a delivery room. Max stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand and murmuring words of encouragement. By then, I could barely think clearly. The pain was intense, but all I could focus on was the thought of seeing our daughter’s face.

Time lost meaning as the process unfolded. Sometimes, it felt like hours; other times, it blurred into a series of contractions, deep breaths, and Max’s voice reassuring me that I was doing great.

During one of the most intense moments, I looked at Max. He was sweating almost as much as I was, his face concentrated, but his eyes shone with emotion. “You’re amazing, love. We’re almost there,” he said with a smile that, despite the tension, gave me strength.

And then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the sound that would change our lives forever: the soft, sweet cry of our daughter.

She was born at 11:59 PM, in the last minute of Max’s birthday.

Tears streamed down my face as the doctors cleaned her up and placed her in my arms. She was perfect—tiny, delicate, and absolutely perfect. Max, beside me, gazed at her with an expression I’d never seen before—a mix of pure love, awe, and reverence. He kissed my forehead, then gently kissed our daughter’s head.

“She was born on my birthday,” he whispered, almost in disbelief. “The best gift I could ever ask for.”

I smiled, exhausted but utterly happy. “I think she wanted to make sure this would be an unforgettable day for you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes still locked on her. “I’ll never forget this.”

The next moments passed like a dream. Max held our daughter in his arms with a tenderness that surprised me, considering how fierce and relentless he was on the racetrack. In that moment, he was just a dad, completely in love with his little girl.

Our family, waiting anxiously in the hospital lobby, was soon notified. They quickly joined us, their faces glowing with smiles and tears of joy. Sophie cried as she held her granddaughter, and Jos looked so proud, seeing his son step into fatherhood.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Sophie asked, her eyes sparkling as she looked at us.

Max and I exchanged a glance. We had discussed a few names but wanted to wait for the right moment. I looked at our daughter, and suddenly, it was clear. “Eva,” I said softly. “Eva Verstappen.”

Max smiled, nodding. “Perfect.”

As the night turned into early morning, the hospital grew quieter. I lay in bed, Max beside me, Eva sleeping peacefully in his arms. The silence was comfortable, filled with peace.

“I can’t believe she was born on my birthday,” Max repeated, still in awe. “It couldn’t have been more perfect.”

I chuckled softly, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “I think she wanted to make sure you’d always have this special bond.”

“I always knew this would be the best birthday ever,” he replied, kissing Eva’s tiny head with a tenderness that melted my heart.

As sleep finally overtook me, I knew without a doubt that our lives had changed forever. And I couldn’t have been happier.

Bonus scene!

Maxverstappen Instagram stories

“Today I received the best birthday gift ever, my wife gave birth to our baby girl and make these birthday the best. Both mama and baby are great”

[gracie-eilish]

can you write billie and reader just cooking dinner together? like just super fluffy and wholesome - maybe, if ur comfy, billie is really proud of the reader and how she's healed her relationship with food??

comfort food

warnings: none, just fluff :)

an: i’m home alone for the night and this is just so what i imagine nights would be like

“hi lovey!” billie called out from the living room at the sound of the front door to her apartment closing. she knew it was you.

“hi bub,” you replied with less energy than usual.

you walked into her living room, already donning some sweats, dropping your overnight bag next to the couch, before dropping yourself onto billie’s lap, melting into her arms.

“long day?” she asked, kissing your hair.

“mm, not really. just kinda chaotic, lot of weird things going on.” you nuzzled your nose by her jaw, taking in her scent and feeling your heartbeat slow as you relaxed.

“wanna talk about it? i mean, how chaotic can a gift store be?” she giggled playfully.

“ugh don’t even get me started,” you sat up a bit so you could see her better. “BUT! if you would like to get me started, can we at least make food first, i’m literally withering away over here.”

billie snorted at your theatrics, but scooted you off her so you two could head to the kitchen. you headed over to her pantry, opening the door and just taking a look in at what you two were working with.

“whatcha wanna make, doll? or we could order something, whatever you want.”

“do you have pasta sauce?” you asked rather pointedly, making billie giggle at your sudden enthusiasm.

“i believe i do,”

“GREAT! i want pasta.” you cut her off, and billie nearly doubled over at your hangry tendencies.

the two of you had been dating for about a month now, and she found something new to love about you every day. today happened to be your love (and aggressive craving) of pasta.

“sit down, you, let the italian take over here.” billie lifted her hands in surrender and leaned back against the counter while you shuffled around her kitchen like you belonged there, setting up a pot of water to boil. while the water started to simmer, you grabbed everything else you would need.

“you want something else in there? i have stuff to make vegan vodka sauce or alfredo? ooh or! my mom sent me this spicy pasta recipe….. you don’t look excited about any of those, babe.” you giggled, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“you’re adorable. thank you, but i think i just want regular pasta tonight. that spicy pasta i may ask for next time, though.”

you sent billie on pasta water duty while you slipped away to the bathroom real quick. when you returned, billie was taking the spaghetti out of the box, ready to go into the water.

“did you salt the water?!” she froze like a deer in the headlights.

“salt the water? does that like affect the taste?” you stood staring at her for a moment.

“you know what i’m gonna be so honest with you, i have zero fucking clue what it does.”

“let the italian take over!” she mocked.

“just gimme that,” you couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. pinching some salt into the water, and dropping the pasta in, all while billie snuck her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder.

you both simultaneously turned your heads when a certain duo padded into the kitchen, soft whines filling the air.

“well hello you two,” billie said in her little voice, looking at the two dogs that had been fed… not even 30 minutes ago. she kneeled down to give them both pets while you continued stirring your noodles. she stopped suddenly looking past them for a second, then turning to face you.

“can dogs eat spaghetti?” she couldn’t even get the sentence out before you both were crying with laughter.

for a while, you two just stood in comfortable silence, occasionally broken by puppy whines, while you stirred the noodles. you tapped the spoon a few times before setting it down and turning around in billie’s arms. you laid your head on her shoulder, closing your eyes. she inhaled deeply and pressed a few kisses to the top of your head.

“i like when you’re here like this,” she whispered softly, her own eyes fluttering closed.

“like what?” you mumbled into her hoodie.

“like.. like normal. like when i’m doing laundry, or you’re cleaning your bathroom when we’re at your place. orrrrrr… when we’re cooking dinner together after a long day at work.”

you lifted your head up, blushing as you bit back a smile.

“i like it too.” she leaned in, closing the gap between you, pulling you closer by your waist, your own arms wrapping around her neck softly.

a sizzling sound on the stove made you both pull away suddenly.

“shit!” you giggle whispered, turning the heat down a bit watching your pasta practically bubble over.

once you had dodged that fiacso, you looked over to see billie already prepping the sauce in two bowls; one how she likes it, and the other how you like it. you turned off the stove, and went to go grab a strainer... only to find it already in the sink ready for you to use.

"let me do that, love," billie carefully took the pot from your hand, pouring the pasta into the strainer carefully. now it was your turn to wrap your arms around her from behind. you rested your cheek between her shoulder blades while she shook out the excess water, and scooped it into your two bowls. she turned around, cupping your cheeks, squishing them a bit, before giving you a dramatic kiss.

the two of you sat down next to each other at billie's little kitchen table, your head on her shoulder while you both started eating.

"so you wanna tell me about your chaotic day now?" she nudged your side.

"OH MY GOD I FORGOT!" your mouth was full of food, but your energy and enthusiasm spiked right back up from earlier. "you remember mr. black friday?" billie scrunched her nose, nodding, remembering one of your little characters from work.

"HE FUCKING SHOWED UP TODAY!" the two of you sat and talked for the next hour, shifting positions every so often to get comfy on the kitchen chairs, chatting like two teenage girls at a sleepover.

it was fun, it was easy, it was domestic, it was warm and cozy.

billie cleared the table, smiling as she saw the bottom of your bowl scraped clean. she didn't say anything about it, but she was proud. you continued to yap away about the silly customers who overshared their lives, that one old lady who always returned things within 24 hours of purchasing them, and that one dude who never failed to show up with his dog for some reason.

without interrupting, she lured you back over to the couch, letting you drape yourself in her lap, cozying up to her under the fluffy throw blanket she had tossed over the side.

as she listened to you talk, billie couldn't help but feel like this was so much more than comfort food. this was you finding comfort in the private corners of billie's life, nuzzling your way deeper and deeper into her heart with each passing day.

[takimakiiiii]

did you order pasta, miss?

part1! to the cosmic girl records 

!Cosmic Girl Records!

Summary: going to italy for the italian gp and getting pasta spilled all over you by a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card that year 

fc!: random girls on pinterest <3

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

warnings: swearing, telling people to die (in a joking way), reader and the 2019 rookies have friendly banter where offensive things may be said idk if there’s any other ones but lmk if there is

a/n: reader own a german shepherd dog called mickey. don’t pay attention to any of the dates, likes etc on the insta and twitter posts i got lazy. also this is my first post in this sort of category? u catch my drift? 😭 i do write but i rather try this out first anyways enjoy and please leave me feedback it’s always appreciated!

disclaimer: there are some sensitive comments and things said that may offend some people, they are just included for humour and feel free to scroll away any time

liked by landonorris, georgerussell64, alex_albon and 8,121,801 others 

view 7,632 comments 

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve got 99 problems and going to italy has solved 98 of them 

tagged: bestie1 

 User1: Who’s she?

 User 2: She’s good friends with the 2019 rookies and the rest of the grid bit she’s been besties with Lando forever, she’s a couple of years younger than him though

 user7: she’s studying mechanical engineering though in NYC but she travels a lot to support the 2019 rookies

 Bestie1: um pic credits please 🙄

 unfortunatelyy/n: geez okay bossy 😤

 landonorris: i better get a post when i win in Monza 

 georgerussel64: as if, you’d be lucky to even finish the race with 4 tires still intact

 landonorris: @carmenmundt come and get your child. He’s escaped the psych ward again 

 georgerussel64: you’re just bitter I’ve got more wins than you

 landonorris: blocked, reported and my mom’s calling your mom 

 unfortunatelyy/n: stop fighting in my comments section girls 

 User3: she cooked ya’ll 

 user5: lando and y/n are so cute 

 user6: be so fr rn 

user4: love how she and the 2019 rookies are still so close 

liked by unfortunately/n

 alex_albon: you’ll be cheering for me in Monza right y/n? *sharpening knives 

 unfortunatelyy/n: WOAH 

 lilymhe: i don’t know him 

 alex_albon: HEY 

 unfortunatelyy/n: @lilymhe it’s always been you and me bae 🥰

 alex_albon: stop stealing my girlfriend

 unfortunatelyy/n: no.🫶

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, landonorris, bestie1, alex_albon and 6,795,973 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: shoutout to the 6ft brown haired boy who spilled pasta all over my new red dress, i hate you🖕

view 3,789 comments 

 landonorris: HAHA.

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you DNF this weekend 

 georgerussel64: you tell him y/n 

unfortunatelyy/n: 😐

user1: NOT THE RED DRESS 

user2: curse you, brown haired boy 

 olliebearman: sorry for the dress 😔

 user3: OLLIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE 

 user4: this was not on my 2024 bingo card. 

 landonorris: don’t be sorry, I would’ve done the same 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hate you both 🖕🖕

 user9: she's so petty I love her 😍

 user5: ollie being the boy who spilled pasta on y/n is wild 

 User6: fr like what in the multiverse is this 😭

 lilymhe: come to me and i’ll buy you as many dresses as you like 😍

 unfortunatelyy/n: omw honey 🤭

 alex_albon: I- 

 georgerussel64: you just gotta let it happen mate.

liked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussel64, alex_albon, oscarpiastri and 9,379,543 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: okay, what are thinking for this weekend, ya’ll?

view 8,832 comments 

 user1: not ollie in the likes

 User2: he’s down bad, maybe the pasta spill wasn’t on accident 😏

 user3: i mean do u blame him, i would trip over if i saw her too 

 alex_albon: “ya’ll” you’ve been spending way too much time with logan 

 unfortunatelyy/n: god bless america‼️ 🇺🇸🦅🗣️

unfortunatelyy/n: WTF IS A KILOMETRE 🔥🔥����🦅🦅🦅🦅

 Landonorris: TRAITOR, IS THAT AN OSCAR CAP I SEE 🫵

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve always been an oscar girlie at heart

 oscarpiastri: as it should be 👍

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: i see how it is. betrayed by my two best friends, the world’s full of fake people isn’t it.

 unfortunatelyy/n: oh please stop being so dramatic, don’t pretend u only use me for my fame

 landonorris: GASP. how could you say such a thing 

 georgerussell64: pretty sure 90% of your followers follow you because of her 

 landonorris: wow. low blow mate. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: where’s the lie tho? 🤔

 landonorris: alexa, play traitor by olivia rodrigo 

user7: here for the love-hate relationship between y/n and the 2019 rookies 

 lewishamilton: roscoe says you should go for mercedes in monza  

 unfortunatelyy/n: Mercedes it is! 

 landonorris: never in my 24 years of living on earth have i ever felt so betrayed. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: roscoe’s wishes are my commands 🤷‍♀️

 georgerussel64: amen sister 🙌🗣️

 unfortunatelyy/n: get out of my comment section Russell

user4: the williams t-shirt goes hard tho 

user5: oh to be y/n *sigh 

 olliebearman: how about ferrari? 

 unfortunatelyy/n: hmm, we’ll see, pasta boy

 user9: THE GASP I GUSP

 user10: pasta boy 😭

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 5,773,878 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: congratulations, ig 😒

tagged landonorris 

view 13,638 comments 

 landonorris: really? you had to use those photos? 

 unfortunatelyy/n: why? What’s wrong with them? I think you look very macho, especially in the first and third pic. 

 landonorris: i think i just lost a piece of my manhood. 

user6: the three reasons i love y/n: number 1: because she’s hot and sexy, number 2. I wish I was her, number 3. Because of the lando content she gives us 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user4: THE THIRD PIC IM DYING 

user5: always leave it to y/n to humble lando after a win 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 user9: GUYS. Y/N WAS WEARING A FERRARI JACKET IN THE PADDOCK TODAY 

 user3: WHAT

 user9: and so it begins. 

 user13: I CALLED IT.

 user17: excusez moi? 

 user32: I SCREAMED. 

 lewishamilton: i told roscoe you wore a ferrari jacket today. let’s just say that he doesn't want to be seeing  you in the foreseeable future

 unfortunatelyy/n: WAIT NOOO

 user12: not lewis exposing her 😭

 unfortunatelyy/n: ROSCOE PLEASE FORGIVE ME 

 lewishamilton: he says you can only make it up with a playdate with mickey 

 unfortunatelyy/n: omw with mickey 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman and 9,736,389 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: my babies 🥰 dog playdate soon anyone?

tagged lewishamilton 

view 8,382 comments 

 charles_leclerc: leo says you have officially been demoted to 2nd favourite aunt 

 unfortunately/n: WAIT NO WHO’S FIRST

 pierregasly: bitch it’s me.

 unfortunatelyy/n: @francisca.cgomes come and get your boyfriend he’s bullying me 

 charles_leclerc: it’s actually @lilymhe

 unfortunatelyy/n: TRAITORS.

 user1: anyone else been here since Mickey was a puppy?

 user2: ikr he’s so big now its making me cry 😭

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 lewishamilton: @pierregasly @charles_leclerc @unfortunatelyy/n @olliebearman @carlossainz55 dog playdate next week?

 landonorris: can i come too

 unfortunatelyy/n: no dog no invite 

 landonorris: @oscarpiastri can we buy a dog

 oscarpiastri: what. 

 user3: i have a feeling that we should get used to seeing ollie in the likes more often now

 user4: homeboy’s whipped fr 

 user5: if only he had the confidence to ask her out 😔

 user10: GUYS RELAX THEY’RE JUST FRIENDS 

user9: mickey’s the real f1 star fr 

 olliebearman: @unfortunatelyy/n how about instead of a dog playdate, i take you out on a real date? 

 user6: MY BOY’S FINALLY SHOOTING HIS SHOT 

 user7: GO GO GO GO GO 

user11: CHAT IS THIS REAL

 unfortunatelyy/n: will there be any pasta involved? 🤨

 olliebearman: no promises 

 unfortunatelyy/n: hmmm. . . text me. 

 landonorris: nO

user8: LETS FREAKING GOOO 

user11: THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

user9: my life is complete, i can finally die in peace 

user10: i’m sorry i doubted yall 😔

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad and 6,429,765 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: what do we think guys? and don’t worry, there was no pasta involved 

tagged olliebearman

view 11,382 comments 

user11: phew, no pasta, really dodged a bullet there 👍

 landonorris: WOAH WOAH WOAH HANG ON A MINUTE 

 unfortunatelyy/n: what do you want, mom? 

 landonorris: GASP. Is that grammar I see? what has he done to you 😨

 unfortunatelyy/n: seriously? 

 landonorris: @georgerussel64 and @alex_albon back me up here 

 georgerussell64: unfortunately he’s right, no boyfriends on our watch 

 unfortunatelyy/n: then look away. 

 georgerussell64: @landonorris . . .  she got us there.

 landonorris: @alex_albon?

 alex_albon: lily is forcing me to stay out of it 😔 

 unfortunatelyy/n: HA. EVERYONE LAUGH 🤣

 charles_leclerc: 🤣

 lewishamilton: 🤣

 maxverstappen1: 🤣

 carlossainz55: 🤣

 danielricciardo: 🤣

 landonorris: wow. 

 user5: all the boys being so bitter and not liking the post 😭

 user9: but them still jumping in to bully lando any chance they get 

 olliebearman: did you seriously just ask your 8 million followers what they think about me 😰

 unfortunatelyy/n: it’s actually 9 million but . . .yes 😅

user3: everyone out here wishing they had older brothers just like the grid to be protective over them 😔

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

liked by olliebearman, lilymhe, bestie1, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 2,938,282 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: italy you will be missed, where to next?

tagged olliebearman

 olliebearman: pic creds please 🙄

 unfortunatelyy/n: okay okay calm down pal 🥱

 user1: pal 😭 i can’t 

user7: “how to be as beautiful as y/n no borax no glue” 

 user2: IS THAT THE DATE OLLIE TOOK HER ON 

 user3: screaming, crying, throwing up all at once

 user4: i can’t decide whether i want to be ollie or y/n 

 liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

 bestie1: you’ve forgotten about me already i see. I HATE YOU, YOU’RE THE WORST.

 unfortunatelyy/n: I’M LITERALLY OUT BUYING CHEETOS FOR U GIRL 

user6: HELP THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS HILARIOUS 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: hmmm, i think i dislike the first pic

 unfortunately/n: so petty geez 🙄

 landonorris: we’re literally the same person 

 unfortunately/n: die ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous 😍 loved seeing you in Monza! 

 unfortunatelyy/n: marry me 🥰

 charles_leclerc: 🤨 

 olliebearman: 🤨

 unfortunatelyy/n: SO JUDGY GEEZ 

 alexandrasaintmleux: they’ll never accept us 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: killing them is always an option 😌 🔪

 charles_leclerc: that’s murder. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m aware 😒 

user5: HELP SHE’S GONE CRAZY

a/n: thank you for reading if you finished it! have a lovely day xxx

[bohemianrapshawty]

Missed Signals

Dr. Robby had always prided himself on his ability to read people. In the fast-paced world of the ER, it was a skill that had come in handy more times than he could count. But when it came to you, his abilities seemed to fail him completely.

From the moment you started working alongside him, Robby was hooked. It wasn’t just your professionalism or your skill—it was the way you moved with a quiet confidence, how you greeted every patient with warmth, and how you never seemed to lose your calm amidst the chaos. It was your smile, your laugh, the little way you always seemed to hum under your breath when things got really busy.

Robby couldn’t help himself. He’d catch himself watching you, making excuses to be near you, dropping by the nurses’ station just to hear your voice or to see you fidget with the small gold cross around your neck—a gesture you didn’t even seem to notice you did.

And so, like any lovesick fool, he tried to drop subtle hints. So subtle, in fact, that even *he* was surprised at how much he’d been able to hide his feelings behind a cool, professional exterior.

"Hey, Y/N. I’m thinking of checking out that new Italian place down the street. You like pasta, right?" Robby said one day, leaning against the counter casually, hoping for a spark of interest. "It’d be nice to get away from here, you know, after a crazy shift."

You glanced up from the patient chart you were filling out, your eyes bright with the usual warmth. "Oh, I love pasta! But I think tonight’s a little too hectic for me. Maybe next time."

Maybe next time. Robby couldn’t help but smile a little, even though the small sting of disappointment lingered in his chest. He didn’t give up, though. He wasn’t the type to take rejection, or in this case, polite disinterest, lying down.

The next day, he decided to try again. This time, he saw you walking out of the break room with your coffee cup in hand, your usual focus on the next task at hand. Robby leaned against the doorframe, pretending to adjust his coat, giving you his best nonchalant grin.

"So, I was thinking," he said, his voice light and playful, "We’ve got a couple hours off coming up… What do you say we hit that new coffee shop down the street? I’ve heard they make the best espresso in the city."

You paused, your eyes brightening for a moment, and Robby’s heart skipped a beat. He thought for sure this time you were going to say yes. You chewed your lip for a second before responding, and Robby’s hopes soared.

"Sounds amazing," you said with a smile that sent warmth rushing through him. "But, I’m actually on call tonight. So, I’ll probably be tied up here again." You tilted your head apologetically. "Maybe another time?"

There it was again. *Maybe another time*. But Robby couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips, and you noticed. You always noticed everything.

“Hey, Robby,” you said softly, stepping closer with a warm smile that made his heart ache. “You know, I think you're the only one who doesn’t give up on me when I turn down all these invitations.” Your eyes sparkled with amusement, and Robby found himself blushing under your gaze.

He chuckled, trying to cover up his growing nerves with humor. “Well, I’m persistent. And besides, I figure you’ve got to be busy, but eventually, we’ll find a time. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” His voice took on a teasing tone. “Unless you want me to stop offering.”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “No, don’t stop offering. I’m just… always working.” Then, in a quieter voice, almost as if you were letting him in on a secret, you added, “I don’t really have time for anything else these days.”

The way you said it made Robby pause. There was something almost wistful in your voice, as though you weren’t just talking about work, but about life in general. And Robby—who had spent the better part of the last few months noticing every little detail about you—wondered if maybe, just maybe, you were feeling the same way he was.

That evening, Robby had another idea. If he couldn’t get you to go out for a meal or coffee, maybe he could do something else that would be a little more subtle, yet just as meaningful.

He found you in the hallway later that night, a stack of patient files in your arms. You were walking quickly, head down, and Robby couldn’t help but notice the way you rubbed your thumb over the little gold cross around your neck—something you did whenever you were stressed, something Robby had quietly observed on countless occasions.

He stepped up beside you, a casual smile on his face. “You’re going to wear yourself out, you know that?”

You glanced up, startled for a moment, before relaxing when you saw it was him. “I’m fine. Just a long shift.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Robby said, his tone gentle. “But you’ve been going nonstop for hours. Maybe you should take a break before you burn out. How about we go get that coffee? You’ve got to be running on empty.”

You blinked, your expression softening for a second. “I… I could use a little break, actually. And I guess I’m always saying no to you. It wouldn’t hurt to take you up on it this time.”

Robby’s heart leaped in his chest. He couldn’t believe it. This was *finally* happening.

“I’ll let you pick the place,” you said with a grin. “But only if you promise to stop offering every time. You might give me a complex.”

Robby laughed, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. “Deal. I’ll even let you choose what we order.”

Later that night, you and Robby found yourselves at the little coffee shop down the street. It was quieter than the hospital, the dim lighting casting a calm glow around the cozy tables. Robby smiled across from you, watching you laugh and relax in a way he’d never seen before. There was something so natural about being with you outside the hospital walls, and as he listened to you talk about everything—your favorite books, your love for traveling, the things you dreamed of doing someday—he realized he’d been waiting for this moment longer than he had admitted.

You took a sip of your drink and leaned back in your chair, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “You know, Robby, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken the time to get to know anyone like this. Life’s just been… too busy.”

Robby couldn’t resist. He leaned forward slightly, his voice low but sincere. “Well, I’m glad you’re taking the time now. I’ve been pretty smitten with you for a while. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a brief moment, Robby thought maybe he had pushed too far. But then, you smiled—genuinely, warmly—and his heart stuttered.

“Robby,” you said softly, “I’ve been noticing you too. I guess I was just waiting for the right moment.”

And just like that, all the subtle hints, all the missed signals between you two, faded away into nothing. It was no longer about trying to get the other person to see what was there. It was about finally realizing what had always been in front of you both.

“Guess it’s a good thing we didn’t give up on each other, huh?” Robby said with a grin, feeling lighter than he had in months.

You smiled, your eyes sparkling. “Guess so.”

And from that moment on, it wasn’t about hints or missed opportunities anymore. It was just you and him, finally seeing each other the way you were always meant to.

[studioeisa]

no one and nothing 📄 seokmin x reader.

you call your sweetie when you can— a minute in and it’s bitter again.

★ part of buzz (seventeen's version). ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, established [and dissolving] relationship, divorce, hint of an unreliable narrator, angst, i swear this is happy if you really think about it. based off of NIKI’s nothing can; also inspired by ruth lepson’s ‘the day of our divorce hearing’. ★ footnotes: wrote this in one sitting at an overpriced cafe. it’s more prose-heavy than anything, in part because i wanted to experiment with an older writing style. while short, i felt like this is one of the sadder fics i've ever written, and @chugging-antiseptic-dye upon beta-reading described it as something "tired, weary, [and] fatigued." sounds about right. p.s. this was inspired by a conversation with @diamonddaze01, who will likely despise me for seeing this through. it is what it is. 🫡

The tiramisu is perfect, cruelly so. 

You’ve complained about not having any good ones for a long time and, unbeknownst to you, Seokmin has made it his personal mission to try every Italian restaurant within a ten-kilometer distance. It’s not the nicest thing he’s done for you, which is saying a lot. 

Which makes the divorce papers— sitting in a brown envelope; printed on crisp, legal paper— cruel. So, so cruel. 

“You’ve done it again,” you say, your tone edged with amusement as you lick your fork clean. 

From across the table, Seokmin offers you a meek smile. In the split second that it takes him to respond, you hedge your bet on what he’ll say. It’s nothing or you would’ve done the same or—

“It’s just tiramisu,” he says. 

It’s not just tiramisu. It’s never just tiramisu, and the two of you know that. Does it make it worse? Does it make it better? You haven’t decided. Maybe someday, when you’re older and wiser, you’ll have an answer. 

Today, you only have a divorce hearing. 

The fact looms over the two of you. It makes the food taste a little bitter, makes the awkward silences a lot louder. 

When some of the pasta sauce dribbles down the front of Seokmin’s shirt, you resist the urge to draw parallels to your first date. You were kids back then. Babies, Seokmin used to joke. In your early twenties, sick of swiping right to find someone worth your time. Desperate for something real, for someone who would still be there in the morning. 

Fools, you used to think in the thick of your despair. You had been fools who were willing to settle for the first hint of goodness, fools who didn’t know the first thing about being grown-ups. 

Present-day you doesn’t reach out with a tissue like you might’ve early on in your relationship. Present-day you doesn’t shoot him a glare like you might’ve when you first started resenting him. 

You just— tell him the truth. 

“Still such a slob,” you say, half in jest and half as a fact. 

He offers you a rueful grin as he tries to rub the offending spot out of his shirt. A shirt you gave him several Christmases ago, you realize, and my God, what a choice. All the clothes in his closet and he goes for the very first polo you’d given him. 

“Hey, I clean up pretty well,” he shoots back, and you resist the urge to answer Yeah, I know. 

The sauce doesn’t come out completely. It stays a red stain over his left breast. 

A bleeding heart, you think, but then you banish the thought. 

Not everything has to be a metaphor. 

It’s just a stain. This is just a lunch. And Seokmin is just your soon-to-be ex-husband. 

Not the loss of your life. Not the human embodiment of all your failures. Not living proof that you cannot be saved. 

Soon-to-be ex-husband. That’s it. That’s all. 

Seokmin pays for the bill. When you make some joke about alimony, you pointedly ignore how he winces. (Too soon? Too soon.) 

He tips the overzealous waitress generously. Maybe too generously, because she lights up and asks if the two of you want a picture together. 

“Uh…” Seokmin hesitates, glances at you. “Sure.”

The waitress takes his phone. You give him The Look. Sorry, he soundlessly mouths to you, but he’s also not sorry enough to take it back. 

It’s over faster than the waitress can chirp “Cheese!” You lean over the table to see the result. The picture is a touch overexposed, and your smile is tight, and Seokmin’s gaze is unfocused. It may very likely be your last photograph as Mr. and Mrs. Lee Seokmin. 

“Thank you,” Seokmin tells the waitress. His voice is soft. Unbearably so. 

You take your separate cars to the courthouse. There’s no need for opening statements; the two of you are not here to tear each other’s throats out. This is not a ‘contested’ divorce, as your attorney likes to remind you.

It is a ‘mutual’ decision, and so the hearing is an amicable affair. You’ve had worse days together.

There’s that one Christmas you don’t like to talk about, and the summer road trip that Seokmin always conveniently forgets. Vacations marred with minor inconveniences. Anniversaries and birthdays foregone in favor of things deemed more ‘important’. 

You’ve had bad days, and your divorce hearing not being one of them is both a blessing and curse. 

There is no kicking, no screaming, no tears. Just the flourish of your signatures and the bang of a gavel. On an unassuming Saturday afternoon, your marriage with Lee Seokmin ends. 

(You are not the twenty-something-year-old fool that you once were. Which is to say: It probably ended way before this. It ended the first time you tried to say divorce out loud, your tongue curling around the word like you were a child learning to cuss. It ended on that one drive back from couple’s therapy, where Seokmin mumbled at a red light, I think we should stop going.

It ended the night you two slept together for the last time— how you were sick to your stomach at the thought of treating this like a Band-Aid, how Seokmin had to call it quits midway because he couldn’t stop crying. It ended a dozen different times, a dozen different ways before today.

Today, it’s just final. Today, it’s on paper, on record, made known to everyone outside you two.) 

The walk back to the parking lot is heavy in its implication. You can’t decide if you want to drag your feet or if you ought to make a run for it, so you decide to match Seokmin’s pace. 

And Seokmin takes his time. He fixes his shoelaces twice. He goes down the wrong corridor. He lingers; you let him. 

All roads lead to the end, though, no matter how much time he tries to buy. 

Seokmin’s grin is far from the smile that could rival the sun. Right now, it’s an acquisition. A kindness that no longer matters. “Any last words?” he asks as he fiddles with his car keys. 

“I’m tired of being the one who sums things up,” you say. “You get the last word.” 

You try to sound cheeky but you come off more sarcastic than you probably intended. And— with the way your voice quivers on words— there might also be some fear. Fear of a future, a life without the man who you once thought you’d see grey-haired and wrinkled. 

(This will be your last image of him: Dark-haired, dead-eyed, putting on a front. You will not watch him develop a midlife crisis. You will not see him in his old age. The Lee Seokmin you loved and lost will always be twenty-eight in your head.)

Seokmin considers it for a moment. This impossible task. This opposite of an honor.

The last word.

“You never needed it,” he decides. 

“‘It’?” 

“Saving. You never needed saving.” 

It’s perfect— cruelly so. Seokmin, who in his wedding vows had promised to always keep you safe. Seokmin, who was seriously upset when he first found out he wasn’t your emergency contact. 

Seokmin, who thought loving you was synonymous to rescuing you. 

From what, you never did know. Lonely nights? Expensive rent? 

Yourself?

(Later, you will realize that his words were a callback to one of your therapy sessions. You had told your shrink something along the lines of I am not some broken thing that has to be fixed, and I don’t think he understands that. You had been so mad, so hurt; raring to be anything but your husband’s damsel in distress. And Seokmin had been so tired. So willing to give you anything you asked.) 

You never needed saving, he tells you now. The words that might have changed everything—

Realistically, maybe not. It might have given you an ounce of fight. It might have kept you in place for a couple more years. 

But it was all bound to end here. A Saturday, a parking lot, a final word as sweet as your favorite dessert. 

You do not know if you can afford him the same grace, so you give him the next best thing. 

“See you around, Seok,” you say, even though it’s unlikely. 

“Yeah,” he lies just as easily. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

You get into your car. He doesn’t get into his until you’ve pulled out of your parking space, and so you’re treated to the sight of him fading in the rearview. 

Your husband— sorry. Your ex-husband, once larger-than-life, once the personification of love itself. Now nothing more than a story you’ll tell however you see fit. 

Seokmin was always nice to you, even on the days that you didn’t deserve it. Especially on the days you didn’t deserve it. 

Seven years of being together and one failed marriage later, this turns out to be the nicest thing Seokmin has done for you. 

Watching you leave. 

Letting you go.

[ouiouibaguettt]

Amore e Pasta

YN YLN -> your name & your last name

2,7k of words! Sorry in advance for my italian lmao

masterlist (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

The sea always smelled like memories.

Every summer, the coastal air carried that same blend of sun, salt, and the sharp scent of lemon trees. You'd grown up with that scent, with the hiss of olive oil in a hot pan, the laughter of families filling the cobblestone alleyways, and the soft buzz of cicadas under a golden sun.

This year, though, that air carried something else too—Alessia Russo.

She was here again. Just like every summer since you were kids. And just like every summer, your heart did that stupid little flip the second she stepped off the ferry with her duffel bag and impossibly soft smile.

She was still yours. Somehow. After all the years, the distance, the growing up.

Alessia Russo, half-English, half-Italian striker, and all heart — and somehow still in love with the local chef who used to burn pancakes at 10 years old but now ran the town's most adored trattoria.

This summer, though, was a bit different. She hadn’t come alone.

Behind her followed Beth Mead, Vivianne Miedema, Victoria Pelova, Leah Williamson, Lia Wälti, Steph Catley, and Kyra Cooney-Cross — all sweat-slicked and sun-kissed, dragging their suitcases down the stone road, muttering “it’s so hot” and “this is heaven” in alternating breaths.

Your mother was already hugging everyone at the gate. Her voice rang out: "Vai, Y/N! Vieni a salutare la tua fidanzata!" ("Go on, Y/N! Come say hi to your fiance!")

You blushed. Of course she had to say it like that. In front of literally every Arsenal player.

But Alessia just turned, wide smile, arms open. "Ciao, amore."

She still looked at you like she was sixteen and you’d just stolen her gelato and kissed her on the cheek to make up for it.

Later that night, your trattoria was alive with energy. The team sat at the long wooden table in the courtyard, passing around antipasti, sipping limoncello, dipping bread into your nonna’s recipe of olive oil and sea salt. You were in your element—commanding the kitchen with ease, every dish kissed with intention.

And every now and then, your eyes would flick to the table, where Alessia sat like she belonged there. Where she always had.

She caught your glance, holding it for just a second too long. Leah elbowed her, smirking. “God, you two are disgustingly in love,” she whispered. Alessia rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Yeah. I know.”

That night, as the stars settled above the ocean, you walked hand in hand through the sleepy streets of the village. The others were scattered—some back at their rented villa, others still nursing wine on your restaurant’s patio.

“You know,” Alessia said softly, her thumb brushing your knuckles, “I could stay here forever.”

“You say that every year,” you teased.

“I mean it this time.”

You stopped walking, turned to face her fully. Her hair was damp from the sea, her cheeks still pink from the sun, and her eyes—her eyes were home.

“I never stopped loving you, you know?” she whispered, her accent softening into something warm and familiar.

“I know,” you replied. “I didn’t either.”

She kissed you under the moonlight, in the middle of that cobblestone street, where the scent of lemon trees still lingered in the air.

You were hers. And she was yours. From gelato-stealing kids to grown women, with summer in your veins and love like wine — better with age.

The trattoria could survive without you for a few days.

At least that’s what your mamma promised — even if she made the Sign of the Cross when you handed over your apron and kissed her on the cheek. “Vai, vai,” she said with a smile. “Godersi la vita con la tua ragazza.” ("Go, go. Enjoy life with your girlfriend.")

And so you did.

You packed a small bag, threw a bottle of prosecco in the basket, and took Alessia by the hand like you always had — like you'd never stopped.

You drove out of town on that same winding road you used to take as teenagers, the one that curved along the cliffs and opened onto the hills of wildflowers and olive groves. Alessia sat in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dash, sunglasses too big for her face, hair tied in a lazy bun.

She hummed to the radio, completely off-key, and you could barely keep your eyes on the road.

You reached the cottage by late morning — a family friend’s place, rarely used, hidden among vineyards and fig trees. No phone signal. No schedule. Just time. Just the two of you.

You cooked together that first afternoon — or tried to. Alessia burned the bruschetta and dropped a tomato between the stove and the counter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, arms around her waist as you stood behind her, guiding her hands on the knife.

“You’re lucky I’m still hungry,” she shot back, bumping your hip with hers.

You kissed her temple.

Later, you ate under a trellis of grapevines, the dappled sunlight painting golden shapes on her bare shoulders. Wine stained your lips, but hers still tasted sweeter.

That night, with the windows open and the summer air still clinging to your skin, you lay tangled in the linen sheets, heartbeats slow, limbs bare.

Alessia leaned in, her voice hushed in the dark.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are?”

You turned to her, brushing her cheek with the back of your fingers. “All the time.”

She smiled, then leaned closer — and kissed you like she meant it.

It was a slow kiss, not rushed, not desperate. A kiss that said I’m here. That said I never really left. A kiss that made your chest ache in the best way.

She pulled away, forehead resting on yours. “This. This is what I want. For good.”

You nodded, breath catching. “Then let’s make it forever.”

The next morning, she woke up to you standing on the balcony with a cup of espresso, the sun behind you, a sleepy smile on your face.

She joined you, arms slipping around your waist from behind.

“Chef Y/N,” she whispered into your neck, “I love you.”

You turned, kissed her softly, slowly.

“Ti amo, Alessia Russo.”

And in that moment, with nothing but cicadas and the scent of figs around you, it felt like the world had stopped just for you both.

The trattoria glowed that night.

Strung-up lights hung like fireflies above the stone courtyard, casting a soft golden haze over the worn wooden tables, the clay pots full of basil and lavender, and the red-checked tablecloths fluttering gently in the breeze. The scent of roasted garlic and fresh oregano floated through the air, wrapping around laughter and wine-fueled conversations like a familiar blanket.

And right at the heart of it all — the Arsenal girls.

Beth was already halfway through the bread basket. Viv was arguing (playfully) with Lia about the proper way to say “parmigiana.” Leah had stolen a bottle of limoncello from the kitchen. Victoria and Kyra were making a TikTok, much to Steph’s horror. It was loud, unfiltered, and undeniably warm.

Then you stepped out.

Apron tied tight around your waist, a clean dish towel slung over your shoulder, a teasing smirk already tugging at your lips. And the noise died just for a second — just long enough for Alessia’s eyes to find yours.

You’d been apart for less than a few hours, but it didn’t matter. The second she saw you, her smile softened. Her shoulders relaxed. Home.

“Buona serata, ladies,” you greeted, pen in hand. “Welcome back to my chaos.”

“Oh god,” Steph muttered, eyeing the menu. “I’ll take one of everything.”

“I’ll take the chef,” Alessia added, grinning as she leaned back in her chair.

You raised a brow. “That one’s not on the menu.”

“Pity,” she said, still holding your gaze.

You winked and started taking orders, scribbling down requests in a mix of Italian and English, throwing in little jokes and flourishes for the girls you now knew well. But when you reached Alessia, you just smiled softly, hand resting on her shoulder for a beat longer than necessary.

“Surprise me,” she whispered.

“Oh, I will,” you replied.

The dinner unfolded like something out of a dream. You moved between the kitchen and the tables like a well-rehearsed dance — plates of ricotta-stuffed zucchini flowers, slow-cooked ragu, hand-rolled pasta, and flaky sea bass garnished with lemon slices passed from your hands to theirs.

And then dessert came.

Except, this time, it was different.

You stepped out of the kitchen carrying a single plate. On it, a delicate panna cotta with a drizzle of berry coulis. Nestled beside it — a small velvet box.

Alessia blinked, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What’s…?”

Beth gasped. Viv’s jaw dropped. Leah grabbed Kyra’s arm like they were watching a live proposal on TV.

You walked straight to Alessia, setting the plate down in front of her. No big speech. No microphone. Just you, her, and the twinkling lights above.

“Surprise,” you said quietly.

Alessia looked at the box. Then at you.

“You didn’t,” she breathed.

You just smiled. “You said this was what you wanted. For good. So… let’s make it forever.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She covered her mouth with one hand, then looked around at her teammates — all frozen in giddy anticipation, phones out, trying (and failing) to stay quiet.

Then she stood.

And she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. No hesitation. No filter. Just the kind of kiss that said yes a thousand different ways.

When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy, but her smile was unstoppable. “Of course it’s a yes, idiota.”

Cheers erupted. Wine glasses clinked. Beth was crying. Lia was crying. Even Viv looked emotional.

You slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Just like everything else about you and Alessia Russo.

The trattoria had never been this loud after closing.

Chairs had been pulled into loose circles on the patio. String lights overhead danced with the breeze. Empty wine bottles lined the walls like trophies. Someone had found a speaker, and a mix of English pop and old Italian classics bounced between the stone walls and the laughter of half-drunk footballers.

The sign on the door said “Chiuso per Festa Privata” — Closed for a Private Party — but that felt like an understatement.

This was your engagement party.

And it was perfect.

Inside, your mamma and Alessia’s parents were laughing over espresso and biscotti. Outside, Beth Mead had taken over DJ duties, pairing Eros Ramazzotti with Spice Girls. Vivianne was holding court with Lia and Victoria over a tiramisu that somehow kept regenerating from the kitchen. Steph was trying to teach Kyra how to dance to Italian folk music, failing miserably.

And in the middle of it all — Alessia, barefoot on the tiles, a glass of prosecco in hand, wearing a soft red summer dress and the diamond ring you’d placed on her finger the night before.

She was glowing. Not just from the wine or the fairy lights — but from joy.

Real, warm, overwhelming joy.

You stepped behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist. She leaned into you like it was second nature — like it had always been.

“Are you happy?” you murmured into her hair.

She hummed. “I’m in Italy. I’m engaged to the love of my life. There’s cake. I’d say I’m more than happy.”

“Even with Beth playing a techno remix of ‘Volare’?”

She laughed, head tipping back against your shoulder. “Especially because of that.”

Later, your mamma insisted on a toast.

Everyone gathered around, some perched on countertops, others squeezed onto benches, wine glasses or espresso cups raised. You stood beside Alessia, your hand never leaving hers.

“She has burned pasta in my kitchen,” your mamma began in Italian, “but she has never failed to love you with her whole heart.”

Alessia blushed. You translated quickly as your mamma went on, her voice soft and proud.

“She is sunshine, and you are fire. She is wild, and you are steady. You’ve been each other’s since you were bambini. And now, you will be each other’s… per sempre.”

A soft chorus of “awwws” and a few sniffles followed. You and Alessia clinked glasses, kissed — and the party picked right back up.

As midnight approached, Beth shouted, “Speech! Speech!” while clinking a spoon against a Prosecco flute.

You stood on one of the tables (against your better judgment), pulling Alessia up with you. Arms wrapped around each other, shoes long gone, you looked out at the people who’d made your world feel so full.

“I don’t know how to say all of this,” you started. “But I’ll try.”

You turned to Alessia.

“You’ve known every version of me. The shy one who wouldn’t speak to you at eight. The mess of a teenager who used to sneak you leftover cannoli. The young adult who stayed up at night dreaming of what this — us — could be again.”

You paused, voice catching just a little.

“And now I get to call you mine. Forever. I can’t wait to cook with you. Laugh with you. Grow old with you. Maybe burn some pasta with you, too.”

She kissed you before you could say more, the crowd cheering, glasses clinking, someone yelling “Ti amo!” from the back (probably Victoria).

That night, as the music faded and the stars settled over the hills, Alessia took your hand and whispered:

“Let’s never leave here.”

And you nodded, because for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The trattoria was silent now.

The party had faded into memory — half-drunk wine glasses left on tables, confetti still caught between the cobblestones, the faintest scent of basil and lemon lingering in the morning air. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting golden streaks across the walls of the apartment above the restaurant, where the shutters were half open and the bedsheets were still warm with sleep.

Alessia stirred first.

Her hair was a soft mess across the pillow, her face still flushed with joy, her arm lazily draped across your bare waist. She blinked slowly, the world still quiet and hazy, and smiled before her eyes had even fully opened.

“Mmm,” she murmured, voice gravelly with sleep. “What time is it?”

You, lying beside her on your stomach, turned your head just enough to see the light spilling across the wooden floor.

“Early. Too early.”

She buried her face against your shoulder and sighed. “Let’s never get up again.”

You chuckled, rolling onto your side, your fingers tracing soft, sleepy lines across her ribs. “We have a trattoria to clean, remember?”

“Nope,” she replied, eyes still closed. “That’s a tomorrow problem.”

There was something so sacred about mornings like this — the kind where no alarms existed, where you could hear the birds waking up and the clink of a delivery truck down the road, but none of it reached you, not really.

Alessia opened her eyes fully now, locking into yours with a lazy grin.

“Hi, fiancée.”

You smirked. “Hi, future Mrs. Chef.”

She rolled her eyes, giggling, and then kissed you. Soft. Slow. Still tasting a little like prosecco and panna cotta. Her hand found your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye like she was memorizing the curve of your face all over again.

“I dreamt about you last night,” she whispered when she pulled back, her forehead against yours.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, voice still raspy.

“Mhm,” she said, kissing your jaw, “you were making pasta…”

You laughed, your body shaking gently beneath hers.

“Of course I was.”

“…in just an apron.”

You blinked. “Alessia!”

“What?” she said, all faux-innocence, kissing your shoulder now. “You looked very professional.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow to playfully hit her with, but she caught your wrist midair and kissed your knuckles instead. Everything stilled again.

“Ti amo,” she whispered.

You didn’t rush the answer. You just looked at her, your everything, with a heart full of warmth and a future full of love, and replied:

“Ti amo anche io. Da sempre.”

I love you too. Always have.

Outside, the trattoria waited to be cleaned. The town slowly blinked awake. The world continued turning.

But in that quiet apartment, in your tangled bed of sun-drenched sheets and sleepy smiles, you and Alessia stayed exactly where you belonged:

Together.

Forever.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Nine People (or so) I'd like to know better

tagged by the glorious @cillmequick 😘

Fav colour:

green

Currently reading:

I'm way behind on my reading 🫣 don't ask! I've just downloaded The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood. When I'll read it, is anyone's guess 😬

Last song:

My little girlies are currently singing APT. to me for the eleventy-billionth time.

Last movie:

The Martian

Last series:

I'm watching Daredevil and Severance atm, and they're both EXCELLENT.

Sweet, savoury or salty:

Sweet 😋

Craving:

My favourite pasta dish from my favourite Italian. Luckily, I'm going later! 🍝

Tea or coffee:

I'm a teapot usually, but I do like a coffee.

Currently working on:

Sooo much! I have WIPs coming out of my ears! I'm very much in a Bucky fix right now, which I can only guess will get bigger in the run-up to ⚡️Thunderbolts⚡️

We have:

Chapter 2 of For Your Consideration coming asap

Backseat Driver- a new Bucky fic hopefully coming by Monday!

Some old Valentine's fics for River

Slow Horses Big Bang

I think those are it for now...

no pressure tags: @hart-kinsella @a-sunflower-in-bloom @linkpk88 @onceuponaoneshot @mrs-elsie-barnes @marvelstoriesepic

[koiiiji]

lookism x teaching them your language

author’s note ; someone here is specially for @imtomiee 💋 also correct me if i used some words wrong way!!

tw ; swearing words on different languages! fluff

GOO KIM — RUSSIAN

evening air was cool, but the vibe in the room was anything but. you were lounging on the couch with Goo, your legs tangled together in a comfortable mess, a playful banter going back and forth as it often did when the two of you were together. Goo, ever the curious one, had recently taken an interest in learning a few words from your native language—russian.

of course, knowing Goo, it wasn’t the polite phrases he wanted to learn.

“so, what’s the next one?” Goo asked, his signature smirk plastered on his face as he leaned in closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. you raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before deciding to go all in. “alright - alright, how about this one — poshel nahui.”

Goo’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued by the sound of the words. he tried repeating it, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables. “po…poshel nahui?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt. “gosh, babe, you’re doing such a great job,” you teased, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “you sure you don’t know russian? or maybe in a previous life been russian?”

Goo’s grin widened, clearly pleased with your praise. “really? what does it mean?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. you tilted your head, giving him a sly smile. “it’s like… sending someone on the dick.”

Goo’s eyes lit up with amusement, and he laughed, the sound rich and warm in the small space. “but i don’t want anyone else except you on my dick!” he declared, his tone both playful and his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. you rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him away, though you couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “it’s not necessarily yours, hun,” you quipped, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “you can send them on Gun’s dick.”

the smirk that spread across Goo’s face was devilish, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained by the idea. “oh, i’m definitely using that one,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in to capture your lips in a brief, but heated kiss.

PARK JUNGUN — ARABIC

you and Jungun were lounging on the couch, both scrolling through delivery apps, the familiar debate simmering just below the surface.

“how about we order Italian tonight?” you suggested, your mouth watering at the thought of creamy risotto and cheesy pizza. Jungun’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back with a sly grin. “italian? seriously? we just had that last week. i want sushi,” he declared, his tone dripping with playful arrogance.

you crossed your arms, feeling a familiar annoyance bubble up. “but sushi is so… predictable! italian has variety, flavor, and soul! plus, you can’t deny that a good lasagna is perfect comfort food.”

he chuckled, shaking his head dismissively. “comfort food? you mean your heavy, cheesy dishes that weigh you down? sushi is light and refreshing. it’s an experience, not just a meal.”

“an experience that costs a fortune! at least with Italian, you get value for your money. you can’t tell me sushi is worth the price when half of it is just rice!” you could feel your cheeks flush, but you refused to back down. “rice is the foundation of life! and sushi is an art form — i can’t believe you’re comparing it to some pasta dish,” he shot back, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “you’re just being stubborn because you can’t appreciate the finer things.”

“finer things? like overpriced fish that’s raw? you’re just being defensive because you’re japanese!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “admit it, you’re biased!”

“bias? me? i just have better taste!” he retorted, a smirk plastered on his face. “you’ll come around one day; i’ll make sure of it.”

“yeah, right! you’re impossible!” you rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “you’re like a child throwing a tantrum over his favorite toy.”

“child? at least i know what i want, unlike you, who can’t make up her mind!” he shot back, leaning closer, his arrogance palpable.“make up my mind? this is about you being stubborn! you’ll never admit when you’re wrong!” you felt your heart race, both from the argument and the undeniable chemistry between you. he leaned back, arms crossed, a smug look on his face. “and you’ll be the one begging for sushi sooner or later. just wait.”

“okay, how about a compromise?” you proposed, trying to mediate the escalating tension. “let’s do Italian tonight, and sushi tomorrow. you’ll still get your fix!”

for a moment Gun pretended to ponder. “hmm, let me think… nope! i’m not settling for anything less than sushi tonight.” you sighed dramatically, an amused smile creeping onto your lips. “you’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

“stubborn? no, i’m just determined,” Gun replied, his arrogance unwavering. after a few more rounds of playful banter, you finally relented, knowing how stubborn he could be. “fine! we’ll have sushi tonight, but only because i can’t deal with your arrogance any longer.”

“yeah, that’s right” he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out his phone to place the order.

as the two of you settled back on the couch, the tension dissolved, and a comfortable silence fell between you, you found yourself leaning against him, his warmth comforting. you felt a rush of affection and couldn’t help but murmur into his shoulder, “ya5rab baito sho habito” Jungun pulled back slightly, a confused look on his face. “bitch, tf you just said?”

with a calm smile, you leaned your head against his shoulder and whispered, “literal translation: may your house get ruined i love you.”

he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re impossible!” but he tightened his embrace around you, pulling you closer.

“sometimes, you can be so stubborn,” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

“and yet, you love me for it,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips. “of course i do,” you shot back, your heart full as you nestled deeper into his warmth.

JIN HOBIN — GERMAN

it was just another chaotic day at school, the halls buzzing with the usual chatter of students. Hobin strode through the corridors, his presence commanding attention. he was used to the whispers and glances, but today, something else caught his eye.

in a quiet corner, you sat on a bench, phone pressed to your ear, animatedly talking to a friend. as you hung up, Hobin approached, curiosity piqued. “hey, what were you talking about?”

you looked up, slightly flustered. “just my friend. nothing important.” he smirked, leaning against the wall. “you speak german, huh?”

“yeah,” you replied, trying to downplay it.

“cool. can you teach me some swear words?” he asked, his tone teasing. you shrugged, playing along. “sure. like ‘Verdammtes Miststück.’” [fair-DAM-tes MIST-shtook]

Hobin raised an eyebrow. “what does that mean?”

“it means ‘damn jerk,’” you explained, a small smile creeping onto your face. “damn, that’s spicy,” he laughed. “i might have to start using that.”

just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. you stood up, ready to head to class. but as you walked away, something clicked in Hobin’s mind. he suddenly remembered that phrase — that phrase. the memories flooded back, taking him by surprise.

“wait!” he yelled, sprinting after you. “bitch, you called ME that name??” you turned around, feigning innocence. “what? i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“don’t play dumb! you always called me that when we were enemies!” his voice was a mix of disbelief and playful frustration. “you used it all the time!”

you shrugged, trying to suppress a grin. “i really don’t remember.”

“seriously?” he exclaimed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you were always throwing that word around at me! you can’t just forget that!”

“maybe i just didn’t like you,” you shot back, trying to keep a straight face.

“come on! admit it!” Hobin insisted, laughter bubbling up despite himself. “admit what?” you teased, enjoying the banter. “that i cursed at my rival? sounds a bit dramatic.”

“dramatic? you were practically a german swearing machine!” he laughed, shaking his head. “i can’t believe i’m just now connecting the dots.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his animated reaction, feeling a thrill at the memories of your rivalry. “well, maybe i did. but you know what? it’s not like I’m going to do it again.”

Hobin stepped closer, his expression playful yet intense. “oh, I’m counting on it. you’re just too fun to mess with.”

with that, he gave you a wink and turned to leave, a confident swagger in his step. you watched him go, heart racing. it was strange how easily the tension from those rivalry days transformed into something more intriguing, something that hinted at new beginnings. as you walked to class, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this playful back-and-forth was just the start of something.

RYOHEI KURODA — ENGLISH

you were curled up on the couch, engrossed in your book, when your adorably clueless boyfriend, flopped down beside you with a dramatic sigh.

“y/n! teach me english!” he whined, resting his head on your shoulder. you sighed, trying to focus on your reading. “Ryohei, we’ve been at this for hours. you need to practice more!”

“but i want to learn from you! you’re the best teacher!” he clung to your arm, his eyes wide and pleading.

after 5 minutes of him being annoying you finally, you gave in, exasperated but amused. “alright, fine! but i’m teaching you something cool.” you leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “say ‘bastard.’ it’s a fun word!”

“bas-tard,” he repeated like a child who just reached to something that was once forbidden, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“good! just don’t overdo it, okay?” you warned, chuckling.

later that day, Ryohei strolled into work, his confidence soaring. he spotted Eugene, who was busy with paperwork. with playful boldness, Ryohei called out, “hey, you bastard!”

Eugene blinked, stunned, while Ryohei burst into laughter, clearly unfazed by the shocked expression on his boss's face.

you could only imagine the chaos that would ensue. mortified yet secretly amused, you buried your face in your hands. Ryohei might be a handful, but he sure knew how to make life interesting — and you loved him for it.

bonus ; later that day Ryohei was feeling bold again. he spotted Kenta and, with a playful grin, shouted, “bastard!”

Kenta’s expression dropped, and he looked genuinely upset. “Ryohei, that’s not cool,” he said quietly. Ryohei’s smile faded as he felt a pang of guilt, especially since Kenta was usually so quiet. Ryohei took a deep breath and approached him.

“Magami, what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone sincere.

Kenta shrugged, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s just... i know english better than you, and it was disrespectful.”

Ryohei’s heart sank at his words. “brooo wdym im really sorry. i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined, shaking Kenta’s shoulder.you stepped in, sensing the tension. “how about we all go get milkshakes? it’ll be on me..”

SEO SEONGEUN — POLISH

smooth purr of Seongeun’s Rolls-Royce filled the quiet atmosphere as he drove through the city, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel while the other hung over the gear shift. you sat beside him, gazing out the window, trying to keep yourself occupied while Seongeun focused on the road. you had been living in Korea for a while now, and while your korean was pretty good, there were still moments where your native polish slipped out, especially when you were irritated or frustrated.

however, it had been one of those days, and your mood was already on edge. the final straw was when your phone buzzed with an annoying notification about the broken coffee machine back at home. you groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration as the stream of oolish curses tumbled from your lips.

“ja pierdolę...” you muttered, trying not to dwell on your frustration.

without taking his eyes off the road, Seongeun raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but curious. “what do you mean babe?”

you blinked, glancing over at him. “what?”

he briefly glanced at you with a smirk before focusing back on the road. “the stuff you always mumble when you're annoyed. you’ve been doing it for weeks, and I don’t get it.”

you flushed a little, realizing he’d been picking up on your muttered polish rants this whole time. “oh! that... yeah, i tend to mutter in polish when i’m emotional. it’s like a habit.”

Seongeun’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, but there was an amused glint in his eye. “and what exactly are you saying?” a small smile tugged at your lips. “you wanna learn some polish, babe?” you teased, poking his arm. he scoffed lightly but couldn’t hide his smirk. “i’m just curious. what do you say when you’re pissed?”

you hesitated, suddenly feeling shy about explaining. “well... i usually say ‘ja pierdolę’ or ‘kurwa mać.’” your cheeks flushed deeper as you tried to explain. “the first one means ‘fuck it,’ like when something goes wrong. and the second one… um... direct translation means... uh... ‘fuck your mother.’” you winced slightly, knowing how it sounded out of context.

Seongeun let out a low laugh, shaking his head “yeah, fuck that bitch. so what about the translation?”

you chuckled softly, your hand covering your mouth as you tried to find the words. “baby, i just told you! it doesn’t mean that literally. it’s more like saying ‘FUCK IT!!’ but with extra aggression.”

Seongeun laughed again, his deep voice rumbling through the car as he reached over to squeeze your knee affectionately. “gotcha, babe. polish frustrations... i get it.”

just as you relaxed, a mischievous glint appeared in Seongeun’s eyes. “so, what’s the deal with that beaver stuff? do you guys have beef with beavers or something? how do you say it? bo-bober? bober kurva?”

you stared at him for a moment, utterly blindsided by his sudden question. then, it hit you, and you couldn’t help but let out a snicker. your heart swelled with pride at his attempt.

“babe...” You blinked dramatically, pretending to wipe away proud slavic tear. “you’re trying to get it right. i’m so proud of you!”

he smirked, his gaze still fixed on the road, though you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes. “whatever makes you happy, baby. but seriously, tell me more about this beaver meme.”

[lovelytsunoda]

the way you kiss me works each time // lance stroll

summary: sexual innuendos and a scrabble board make for a flirty and cosy afternoon

pairing: lance stroll x wife! reader

warnings: 18+, no smut but it’s very suggestive and very flirty (while being cosy at the same time!!)

notes: can be read as a part of the ‘welcome to wherever you are’ verse or as a stand-alone, returning to an idea I had in part two (spill the wine). there's something about this whole concept that just makes me weak in the knees.

the sun was low in the sky as it threatened to dip behind the clouds. the breeze was gentle, coming over the balcony of the villa where the newlyweds were staying, overlooking the ocean as they basked in each other's company.

a scrabble board was spread out on the table in front of them, the low hum of the tv from the sitting room playing an italian travel programme. they had spent the day on a walking tour of capri, before spending the afternoon in an authentic italian pasta making class, and were now relaxing their tired bodies with cold drinks and a game of scrabble.

"and i play 'clever' for eleven points." she hummed, laying the tiles down and connecting them to lance's previous word.

"nice one." lance grinned, taking a sip of his mocktail. "but i think my word is better."

the grin on his face was palpable, a giddy sort of excitement radiating off her husband as he shook the wooden tiles in his hand, rearranging the letters on the board, until, lo and behold, lance stroll had played the word 'penis' for seven points.

she giggled, hiding her face behind her hand. the smooth australian lilt to her voice was like a symphony to lance's ears. "you are such a dork."

the board was full of such words. lance had gotten the brilliant idea that cleverly played scrabble tiles could be considered a way to flirt, filling the board with words like 'penis' and 'boobies' as if he was a teenaged boy again.

all in all, y/n actually found it very endearing. it was the kind of thing that had her heart swelling with love, her limbs going all funny. the kind of thing that reminded her just how much she loved her husband, and just how loved she was by the people around her.

"it's your play, my love."

resting her chin on her closed fists, elbows against the patio table, she looked down at the wooden tiles in her possession, brain scrambling to make words with what was pre-existing on the board. next to the table, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a picture from her wedding day, just two weeks ago.

"hang on, it's kirk. i should probably answer. you know how he worries."

having lost her dad when she was very young, it was her connection with kirk, one of her father's closest friends, that got her through some of the lowest points in her life. and naturally, like any good father figure, kirk worried about her more than he needed to.

while she typed back a response, she could hear lance rooting around in the velvet bag that held the remaining letters, before getting fed up and dumping them out in the lid for the box.

"babe, you can't handpick the letters you're switching." she laughed, looking up from her phone, the reflections of her text screen refracted in the lenses of her glasses.

lance put his finger to his lips, jokingly making a shushing sound. "go back to texting, i need a minute. just wait."

rolling her eyes, she sent kirk another message before turning her phone off and leaving it facedown on the patio table. "come on, lance. i'm winning and i've got a really good word to play."

"but i think i've got a string of better ones." lance smiled triumphantly, pleased with himself as he placed the cardboard box lid on top of the board.

inside, a dozen wooden tiles were arranged to spell out (with many abbreviations and mistakes) wil u have sex w me

"oh my god." she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as her body shook with good-natured laughter. "oh my god!"

"i wanted to spell it out on the board during the game, but alas, i am not that smart, or good at scrabble." lance mused, reaching across the table to clasp her free hand in his. "so...will you say yes?"

"of course i'm saying yes." she laughed, uncovering her mouth. "this is the cutest way you have ever tried to get me into bed with you."

lance wasted no time at all in crossing the table and scooping his wife into his arms, twirling her around as they both laughed, before crossing the balcony to venture back into the suite.

"wait! we can't leave our shit outside, what if it rains?" y/n whined, trying to put her feet back on the ground. "let me go back outside, i'll meet you in the bedroom."

"alright, alright." lance rolled his eyes, placing her back on the ground. "but don't take too long, if i get too comfortable i might fall into a pasta-induced coma!"

still laughing to herself, she crossed over to the balcony and haphazardly packed up the scrabble board and her cell phone, taking a large swig of her drink before clearing the table and moving everything inside, closing the double doors behind her.

true to his word, lance was waiting for her in the bedroom, shirtless underneath the cotton sheets, with a rose between his lips, body seductively draped over the bed.

"i love you." y/n laughed, reaching for the rose. "but i'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to put real life flowers in your mouth."

"there's tape over the bit i was biting." lance shrugged, allowing her to take the flower and place it on the bed side table. "i know how you get about these things."

"shut up." she laughed, playfully jabbing him in the shoulder. "i'm serious. i'm glad you're in my life. you make me really happy."

she didn't wait for a response, although she knew lance would return the sentiment tenfold while they were lying together in the half-light, and again when he brought her breakfast in bed in the morning. she pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, yet deeply before she reached up to take her glasses off.

"ah," lance said, grasping her wrist. "glasses stay on. don't you know the sexy librarian look is back in style? they look beautiful on you."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @clemswrld @userlando @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @cartierre @lorarri