#i just want him to be happy is that so much to ask | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bernardsbendystraws · 14 hours ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 — 𝐌.𝐒.

SUMMARY ʚɞ Moments where Matt shows you how much he's gonna miss you before tour.

CW ʚɞ Smut, fluff, and angst. Crying, needy sex, raw sex, creampie, p n v, kissing, teasing, begging, and more.

PAIRING ʚɞ Reader x Matt Sturniolo

A/N: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. This is pretty long, but half of it is smut (very emotional intimacy)

With love and big tits, Rose ➜ navigation

Tour. Sad yet exciting.

You’re thrilled for your boyfriend, but you’re also a little depressed. He’s gonna be gone for so long, a busy schedule that will make calling a difficult task between different time zones and all the other chaos.

Matt knows he’s gonna miss you. He’s enthralled by the idea of traveling around with Nick and Chris, but he’s less than happy about the thought of leaving you.

The last day before he leaves, he shows you how much he’s really gonna miss you.

01: Really Gonna Miss You.

“Baby,” Matt husks, trying to kiss lightly on the side of your neck as he spoons you from behind.

You hazily grumble in response. Matt bites on his lower lip, nuzzling the tip of his nose beneath your ear as he hums against you.

“Wanna go get breakfast?” he offers. Your eyes peek open. He feels his cheeks flush with a soft smile as you gleam over at him.

The slight nod you offer makes his heart fill with a feathery warmth, his hand on your lower stomach massaging slightly as he places another delicate kiss on the side of your neck.

“Hmmm, good,” he purrs, his breath fanning behind your ear making your body twinge with delight, “-gonna take you on a full adventure today. Makeup for all the missed time before and after the tour, alright?”

Even though you’ve just woken up, you still feel like you’re dreaming. He’s just so sweet—so passionate and kind. You can’t help but clutch your hand on top of his, squeezing as he pulls you even closer.

A slight laugh purses through your lips as you attempt to get up. Matt is reluctant to let you out of his hold, but eventually allows you to move, following you as you get ready.

He gets dressed after you, making sure to coordinate his outfit to yours. The sight of him holding up articles of clothing against your outfit to match the colors perfectly makes your heart pulse in your chest.

You’re really gonna miss him.

Matt notices your face falling as you sit on the bed, waiting for him to finish getting dressed. He has jeans on, the shirt still laying on the duvet, but he doesn’t care.

“Hey,” he coos, standing in front of you, cupping your face in his hands as he gleams down at you with a soft worry. “-what’s up, sweetheart?” he asks.

Your lips twitch with sadness. Staring up towards the ceiling, you blink profusely, shaking your head as you feel his fingers glide delicately over your cheeks.

Matt kneels down, guiding your eyes to his as he holds your face with a gentle grip. Your lip wobbles as you stare at him, the thought of him being so far away starting to really sink in.

“What’s going on?” he questions, his voice soft yet deliberate.

Your heart clenches in your chest, a lump in your throat making it harder to breathe as you choke out the words, “I…just—’m really gonna miss you.”

Matt’s face falls as he sees a singular tear stride down your cheek. It takes all of his effort to keep his own emotions at bay, wanting to comfort you and make sure you’re happy with the little time you two have left together before he leaves.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he soothes, his knees shuffling across the ground as he moves closer to you.

Matt drops his hands from your face, letting them slide down your arms before he clutches your hands on his own, resting the tangled fingers on top of your knees as he stares up at you with pure devotion.

“-’m sorry, I’m—I’m trying not to think about it—”

He interrupts your stumbling words, clutching your hands tighter as he leans down, pressing soft kisses along each of your knuckles.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, pushing the back of your palm against his cheek. The feeling of his light stubble tickling into your skin makes your gut flutter with comfort. You take a deep breath, watching as he starts to kiss along your hands, his lips warm and gentle.

“I’m gonna miss you too. So much.”

His voice is strained. You can’t help but feel your eyes fog with more tears, embracing the moment as you think of the painful thought of waking up alone.

02: The Day of Dates.

After brunch, Matt refused to let the adventures end there. It’s been an eventful day, the sun barely above the horizon as you sit in his car, looking over the cliffside as the smell of McDonalds floods the car.

Your face flushes as you feel him staring at you. All the food left you feeling full, but he left you feeling complete.

Shifting, you adjust in the passenger seat, the feeling of his hand clasped around your thigh squeezing lightly.

He really loves to touch you. It’s always been a big part of how he shows his love, and you have no complaints. However, today has been different. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off of you for even a millisecond.

“You’re so beautiful.” he compliments, leaving over the center console to press a kiss to your cheek. The gentle touch of his lips leaves your stomach fluttering, your lips pursing together into a tight line as you keep your gaze trained on the cotton candy sky through the front windshield.

“Matt, you’re supposed to be watching the sunset.” you remark, biting on your lower lip as you feel one of his hands callus beneath your chin, pulling your gaze towards him.

God.

The look in his eyes makes you feel like you're melting. Your chest hitches with a sharp breath, your eyes softly falling shut as you feel his lips press against your own.

No matter how many times you kiss him, it’s always the same feeling—sensations of pure bliss paired with a passionate comfort.

Matt pulls back, smiling as he watches you slowly blink your eyes open towards him. “I don’t care about the sunset,” he purrs, leaning his forehead against your own as you feel the tip of his nose graze yours, “-not as much as I care about you.”

03: Home.

Coming home created more desperation. The day is over, your last day is practically gone.

Matt’s lips are needy. His tongue plunders into your mouth with a romantic yearning.

Hungrily, he kisses down your neck, his lips wandering around your breasts and down your stomach. “Can’t-” his lips grasp for air as he whispers against your skin, kissing you relentlessly as if he needs it more than air. “-get.” kiss. “-enough of you.” kiss. kiss. kiss.

Your mouth draws open as you feel his length slide against your dripping cunt. Clothes had been discarded long ago, but he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you.

He’s always loved foreplay and making out, but this is more than that, this is pure longing—absolute desperation.

Every second feels like hours. The sensation of a wet slick dripping from your heat is painfully apparent. Matt is selfish taking his time with you, trying to absorb every single sound leaving your lips as if he’s trying to remember this forever.

“Matt, I—I need you.” you plea, your chest rising and falling with gasping breaths as you clutch onto his biceps while he hovers above you.

“Hmmm, just,” he nips lightly on your nipple, his hand sliding up and down your waist, “-a little longer. Need this, baby. Need it so bad.” he groans.

A sharp whine erupts from the back of your throat as you feel his throbbing length slide over your clit. Your body automatically chases the friction, a deep moan vibrating from his lips as you grind your hip against him.

“Stay still.” he directs, his voice firm but gentle. You can’t help but shake your head vigorously, the ache between your legs unbearable as you repeat the motions. “Fuck.” he seethes, grasping tightly onto your waist, trying to keep you in place.

Tears are bubbling on your lower lash line. Matt’s ears perk at the sound of a real cry falling from your lips, looking up and sparing a sympathetic frown as he watches a tear cascade down your cheek.

“Oh, baby…” he coos, wiping the wetness off your face before placing a gentle peck to your lips. Matt looks into your eyes, sinking his hips to glide against your sobbing pussy as he watches your eyes roll with relief.

“Matt, please.” you cry, your nails piercing into his arms as he readjusts himself slowly.

“Need me to fuck you now, hm?” he asks, gliding his cock through your wetness as you vigorously nod your head. “Been teasin’ you too much, huh?” he tuts, slowly starting to push the tip of his length against your entrance, mocking your facial expression as your mouth drops into a perfect ‘O.’

“Please, please, please—oh!” you gasp, your chest hitching as your body freezes.

The sensation of his length gliding into your hole making every pore on your skin burn, the stretch of his thick, veiny cock making you let out a broken moan.

“That’s it, baby, c’mon, take it all for me,” he coos, hovering back on top of you as he pets his fingers over your cheek, slightly pulling out to let your slick coat his length before gliding right back in. “God,” he groans, his head falling into the crook of your neck as your walls clutch around his member tightly.

He starts to gently rock his hips, his shoulders broadening with pride as he hears satisfied noises erupt from your lips.

“Matt, it—I—mmmm,” you moan, completely at a loss for words as he ruts into you deeply, using precision to make sure he hits the perfect spot that makes your body tense with each thrust.

Your sticky walls are grasping around his length so tightly that it’s hard to focus on anything but trying not to cum. Matt accidentally lets his instincts take over, a loud scream falling from your lips at a particularly hard thrust.

“Sorry, I’m—’m sorry, fuck,” he groans, rocking himself in and out of you, completely lost in the way you feel—the way you sound. “-you feel so good.” he purrs.

Your gut is twisted in knots. Every part of your body is pulsing with pleasure, words hard to find as you feel his movements speed up a little more, never losing any depth as he plunges his cock inside of you with deliberate intent.

“Matt, I–it’s—close, baby, close,” you squeal, your breath stuck in your throat as his thick cock hits right where you need him to.

“C’mon, you—you got it,” he praises, hissing as you start to convulse around his length.

Your body is shaking, your face contorted with utter bliss as hot waves of euphoria crash over you. Matt feels his balls tighten, his high dangerously close as he tries to ride you through your own orgasm.

“Sweetheart, gotta—need—’m gonna cum, where do you—”

Matt is cut off as your legs wrap around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into his lower back. He whimpers, trying to hold off, crying out as you hold him in place even tighter.

Usually, you don’t let him finish inside of you, but right now you need it. You need it deep, hard, and raw.

You need to be full.

“Inside, Matt. Please.”

Your voice is strained from all the overstimulation. Matt’s hips are tensing, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he leans against your shoulder, struggling to keep himself propped up.

“Are you sure, baby?” he asks, getting cut off by an elongated moan as he feels your walls pulse around him.

“I need it. Need you to fill me up—”

The words barely leave your mouth. Matt can’t help but lose any restraint, allowing himself to let go as the warmth of his cum erupts deep inside of you.

Your hands tangle in his hair. He lets his body fall limp on top of you, his lungs burning as he gasps for air.

And then the sad thought crashes over you again.

He’s leaving tomorrow. Tonight is all you have.

Matt slowly retracts his softening dick, trying to not stare as he watches his cum drip from your swollen pussy lips. You laugh as he nearly drools, his eyes trained on the sight as he stands up.

“Sorry.” he blushes, rushing to get a damp cloth.

The second he leaves, you feel a wave of defeat.

You’re not ready to wake up alone, you’re not ready to feel so far from him.

Matt comes back quickly, apologizing under his breath as he cleans you up with a damp cloth. He notices the sad look on your face as he tries to hand you your underwear, knowing you usually like to at least have panties on when sleeping.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, throwing the article of clothing back onto the ground carelessly as you hold an arm open for him.

Matt slides on his back, resting against the pillows as you practically lay on top of him. “Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, feeling the dampness of your tears leak onto his neck, pulling you impossibly closer as you sniffle.

“I—I…gonna—’m gonna miss you.” you stammer, choking on tears as you clutch onto him closer.

His face furrows, his eyes fogging with an overflowing warmth as he loses his ability to hold his own tears back.

“I’m gonna miss you too. So much.” he whispers.

Matt continues to hold you in his arms. The two of you both fight off sleep as you try to take advantage of every minute you have left together. Random jokes, reminiscent memories…anything and everything is talked about under the moon until the sun starts to peek out into the sky.

He’s exhausted. Waking up, he shuts off his alarm as quickly as possible, sighing in relief as he sees you still sound asleep. But he doesn’t regret it. In fact, he knows this night will keep him going when he starts to miss you really badly.

He knows it’s gonna be okay as long as he’s coming home to you.

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cressidagrey · 1 day ago

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White Horse - Chapter 3: May 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

Welcome to 8k of my waffling. Warnings: we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussion of toxic relationships in the past, also discussion of very toxic thoughts about intimacy, and discussion of past dubious consent, Max being a simp for his girl, ...I think that's it? If I missed something, let me know.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hey, just a heads-up—it’s Mother’s Day this weekend.

Max: …Okay?

Isabelle: I always remind my brothers, or they forget. Thought I’d do the same for you.

Max: Thanks, I guess? But I ordered flowers and her favorite sweets three weeks ago.

Isabelle: …You what?

Max: Yeah. And a handwritten card.

Isabelle: THREE WEEKS AGO?

Max: Yes?

Isabelle: Do you understand how unfair this is??

Max: What do you mean?

Isabelle: You’re making every other man in my life look terrible.

Max: Maybe they should simply try harder.

Isabelle: You don’t get it. I usually have to remind them, nag them, and buy the gifts myself so they don’t show up empty-handed.

Max: Again. Not my problem.

Isabelle: You’re actually infuriating.

Max: Because I remembered a holiday in advance?

Isabelle: Because you remembered without me having to tell you!

Max: This is a weird thing to be mad about.

Isabelle: I’m not mad, I’m just—adjusting.

Max: To what?

Isabelle: To a boyfriend who actually does things without needing to be reminded?

Max: Well, get used to it.

Isabelle: I might cry.

Max: Please don’t, you’ll make me feel bad.

Isabelle: You should! For setting the bar so high I can never accept bare minimum effort again!

Max: Good. You deserve better.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Isabelle: Reminder—it’s Mother’s Day. Call Maman.

Charles: …Right.

Arthur: Oh. Yeah.

Lorenzo: Was just about to text about that.

Arthur: Did we get her a gift?

Isabelle: Her favorite flowers and the perfume she’s been wanting.

Charles: …We did?

Isabelle: Yes.

Arthur: Perfume? Again?

Lorenzo: Arthur.

Arthur: I’m just saying, it’s kind of boring.

Charles: Yeah, maybe we should’ve gotten something else?

Lorenzo: Like what?

Arthur: I don’t know. A handbag? A candle? Something a bit more exciting?

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/charles_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day to Maman! 💖

@/arthur_leclerc: Love you Maman! You’re the best 💐✨

@/lorenzo_leclerc: Happy Mother’s Day!

@/f1gossipqueen: Such a beautiful tribute, Isabelle! Happy Mother’s Day to Pascale 💐💖"

@/tifosi_in_monaco: Happy Mother’s Day! You’ve clearly been raised with so much love ❤️

@/trackside_tales: That’s the sweetest! Happy Mother’s Day to your beautiful mom ❤️

@/f1_ultimatefan: Your mom must be so proud of you! Wishing her the best Mother’s Day 💖

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Hey Mom, just wanted to make sure the flowers arrived okay and that you liked them.

Sophie: Max, they are beautiful! 💐 Thank you so much for thinking of me. The flowers are stunning, and the sweets were a lovely touch, especially my favorites! The card... well, it made me tear up a bit. ❤️ You really didn’t have to.

Max: Of course I did. It’s Mother’s Day. 😊

Sophie: And I heard you bought something for Victoria too? She texted me already—said you got the exact bag she’d been eyeing for months? How did you even know that?

Max: She mentioned it once during Christmas when I was half asleep on the couch. Guess I wasn’t that asleep.

Max: She’s always there for me, so I thought I’d do something nice for her too.

Sophie: You’re becoming dangerously thoughtful. Should I be worried?

Max: I’m evolving.

Sophie: Speaking of evolving… How are things with your girlfriend?

Max: She’s…

Max: Honestly? She’s kind, and steady, and smart in this quiet way that gets me every time. She makes everything feel lighter. Even the hard parts.

Sophie: Max.

Max: What.

Sophie: That was almost romantic. Who are you and what have you done with my son?

Max: He’s still here. He’s just tired of being an emotionally constipated Dutchman.

Sophie: Well, I’m proud of you. I’m looking forward to meeting her one day. You deserve someone who makes you happy, Max. Just make sure you don’t wait too long to introduce her to me.

Max: Don’t worry, I’ll bring her home when the time’s right. But seriously, I’m just really happy with her.

Sophie: I can tell. Take care of her, Max. You’re both lucky to have each other.

Max: I will, Mom. Thanks. Love you.

Sophie: Love you too, Maxie.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: He just brought me coffee. Exactly how I like it. Without me even asking.

Emilie: …Okay?

Isabelle: He just knew.

Emilie: Isabelle, you’ve been together for over a month. Of course he knows how you take your coffee.

Isabelle: But I didn’t say anything. He just handed it to me and kissed my forehead like it was normal.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: And now he’s sitting across from me, just existing all content and relaxed, and it’s weird.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: Why is he so nice to me? Why does he just do things for me?

Emilie: BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU.

Isabelle: …but??

Emilie: No. No buts. You deserve this. This is what a relationship is supposed to feel like.

Isabelle: I know that logically. It’s just… I’ve never had this before.

Emilie: You mean, you’ve never been with someone who actually pays attention to you and treats you like you matter without you having to remind them?

Isabelle: …Yes.

Emilie: Yeah. I figured.

Isabelle: It just feels like I should be doing more.

Emilie: You don’t have to earn love, Isabelle. It’s not conditional. You don’t have to do something for him to treat you well.

Isabelle: But I want to do something for him too.

Emilie: That’s different. Wanting to give back because you love him, not because you feel like you owe him, is different.

Isabelle: …How do I stop feeling like I owe him?

Emilie: Time. And maybe letting yourself actually believe that you’re worth all of this without needing to repay it.

Isabelle: …I’m trying.

Emilie: I know. And so does he.

Isabelle: He just put my feet in his lap and started rubbing them like it’s nothing.

Emilie: And let me guess, your brain short-circuited again?

Isabelle: Yes.

Emilie: Good. Now shut up and let the man spoil you.

***

Max leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as Isabelle sat on the floor of his apartment, completely lost in play with the cats. She didn’t even notice him.

Sassy was curled up in her lap, purring so loudly Max could hear it from across the room, while Jimmy was perched on the back of the couch, watching with sharp eyes as Isabelle dangled a feather toy just out of reach. She giggled when Jimmy finally pounced, batting at the toy with his paws, determined to “win.”

Max couldn’t help but smile.

There was something about watching her like this—soft, unguarded, completely comfortable—that made his chest ache in the best way. Isabelle, for all her quiet confidence and composed demeanor, had a way of melting around the cats. She whispered to them, scratched behind their ears just the way they liked, and let them nuzzle into her like they’d been hers all along.

Sassy stretched out in her lap, belly up, a clear sign of trust. Isabelle laughed, running her fingers through his fur. “You’re so spoiled,” she murmured.

“Wonder where they get that from,” Max teased.

Isabelle glanced up, startled, as if she’d forgotten he was even there. Her face warmed slightly, but she didn’t move, just kept stroking Sassy’s fur. “Not my fault they like me better,” she said, grinning.

Max huffed a laugh, pushing off the doorway and walking toward her. He crouched down beside her, reaching out to scratch behind Jimmy’s ears. “I think they just know you’re gonna spoil them rotten”

Isabelle playfully nudged him with her shoulder. “You say that like you’re not just as bad.”

Max didn’t argue—because she wasn’t wrong. He spoiled the cats, and now, without even realizing it, he was doing the same with her. Small things: the flowers he sent her, the extra blanket he made sure was always on his couch because he knew she liked to curl up with one, the way he always stocked her favorite tea.

Jimmy finally lost interest in the feather toy and instead padded over to Isabelle, rubbing his face against her arm. She smiled, scratching under his chin as he flopped dramatically onto her lap.

Max just sat there, watching.

His life had always been fast—races, flights, training, the never-ending cycle of the season. But this? Watching Isabelle on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by his cats, like she belonged there?

This was the kind of moment he wanted to hold on to.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: Maman’s birthday is next week. What’s the plan?

Arthur: Same as last year?

Lorenzo: Dinner at her place?

Charles: Sounds good.

Arthur: What about a gift?

Lorenzo: Something nice.

Isabelle: I’ll figure it out.

Charles: Perfect.

***

Isabelle: Okay, everything is sorted. Dinner is handled, and I ordered her favorite cake. I also picked out a necklace for the gift.

Charles: Oh, great.

Arthur: Nice.

Charles: This was way easier than I expected.

Arthur: Yeah, that came together fast.

Lorenzo: Good teamwork.

***

Max hadn’t meant to look at her phone. It was just there, sitting on the coffee table, screen lighting up as another message from Lorenzo came in.

“Good teamwork,” it read.

Max frowned. Teamwork, his ass.

Isabelle, curled up at the other end of the couch, didn’t even react. She had a book in her lap, one of the cats purring against her side, completely unbothered.

“You planned the whole thing yourself,” Max said, still staring at her phone.

Isabelle sighed. “Max—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, looking at her now. “You did all the work, and they don’t even realize it. They just said ‘Good teamwork’ like they did anything.”

She shrugged, turning a page. “That’s how it always is.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “And you’re just okay with that?”

“It’s easier if I do it.”

“That’s not the point.” He sat up, shifting so he was facing her properly. “They should see you, Isabelle. They should appreciate you.”

She didn’t answer. Her fingers absentmindedly scratched behind the cat’s ear.

Max exhaled sharply. “You know that’s not normal, right? They just expect you to handle everything, and you let them.”

She finally glanced up from her book. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Max argued. “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

She blinked at him, lips pressing together.

Max softened, reaching over to take the book from her hands and set it aside. Then he tugged her closer until she was against his chest, arms wrapped securely around her.

“I’m going to steal you away,” he murmured into her hair, “and never give you back.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “That’s dramatic.”

She still curled into him, holding on just as tightly.

Max pressed a kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there for a moment. “I mean it,” he said, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to do everything for them.”

Isabelle sighed, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt. “If I don’t, no one will.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“It is my problem.” She pulled back slightly to look at him. “Because if I don’t, things don’t get done. And then—then it’s just easier if I handle it.”

Max studied her, eyes searching hers. It wasn’t just about their mother’s birthday, and they both knew it.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked softly.

She hesitated. “Since I was a kid,” she admitted eventually. “Lorenzo was always busy, Arthur was younger, Charles had racing… Someone had to take care of things.”

Max exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “And no one ever thought to take care of you?”

Her expression flickered, something like surprise flashing across her face. She didn’t answer, but that was answer enough.

Max swore under his breath and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her again. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

She didn’t say anything, just buried her face in his shoulder.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So. That was… something.

Emilie: Oh no. What happened?

Isabelle: Max found out how my brothers treat me.

Emilie: Ohhhhhh shit.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Emilie: What did he do??

Isabelle: He got angry. Like, not just annoyed. Not his usual “ugh, Ferrari” face. Like actually angry.

Emilie: …Is it bad that I love that for you?

Isabelle: He kept pacing around, ranting about how they take me for granted, how they never prioritize me.

Isabelle: He was like, “You deserve better than being the invisible one in your own family.”

Emilie: Honestly? Valid.

Isabelle: And then he just—sighed and pulled me into a hug. And said, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, schat.”

Emilie: Isabelle, I am going to CRY.

Emilie: You realize he’s ready to go to war for you, right?

Isabelle: For the first time in my life, I feel like someone’s actually on my side.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Do you ever just want to punch someone?

GP: I work with you. Weekly.

Max: I’m being serious.

GP: …Okay, who do I need to be concerned about?

Max: Isabelle’s brothers.

GP: Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo??

Max: Yes.

GP: What did they do?

Max: More like what they don’t do. They don’t appreciate anything she does for them, and barely acknowledge her unless they need something.

GP: That can’t be right. They seem close?

Max: No. They’re close with each other. Isabelle just gets ignored.

GP: …How bad are we talking?

Max: Bad. Their group chat is a constant barrage of stuff Isabelle does for them without so much as a thanks. Every year, she reminds them about their mother’s birthday, Mother’s Day, everything. Buys the gifts for them. They wouldn’t remember otherwise.

GP: That’s… actually insane.

Max: I know.

GP: Why does she still do all this for them?

Max: Because she loves them. And they don’t even see how much they take her for granted.

GP: …Okay, I get why you want to punch someone.

Max: Thank you.

GP: So what’s the plan? Because I assume you have one.

Max: I take care of her. Since they won’t.

GP: …Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.

Max: I know it is.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Be honest. Was I ever a bad brother to you?

Victoria: …What? Where is this coming from?

Max: Just answer the question.

Victoria: No, Max. You were annoying, but you were never bad. Why?

Max: Because I just watched Isabelle’s brothers completely forget she existed. And I needed to know if I ever did that to you.

Victoria: …What did they do?

Max: Only notice her when they need something. She reminds them of every holiday, every important date, and then buys their gifts for them so they don’t look bad.

Victoria: You’re joking.

Max: I wish.

Victoria: That’s—what the hell?

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: Oh my god.

Max: So, again. Was I ever like that with you?

Victoria: No, Max. You and I fought, but you never made me feel like I wasn’t part of the family.

Max: Okay. Good.

Victoria: But seriously—how does she put up with that?

Max: Because she loves them. And she keeps hoping they’ll notice.

Victoria: …That’s heartbreaking.

Max: I know.

Victoria: What are you going to do?

Max: The same thing I’ve been doing since we got together. Make sure she never feels like that again.

Victoria: …You really love her, don’t you?

Max: Of course I do.

Victoria: No, I mean—not just in the way you say it. But in the way you see her when no one else does.

Max: She deserves to be seen.

Victoria: Yeah. She does.

Victoria: So, what’s the plan?

Max: Plan?

Victoria: You’re Max Verstappen. You don’t just sit back and let things happen. You’re already scheming. Spill.

Max: It’s not scheming. It’s just… making sure she gets everything they don’t give her.

Victoria: Which means?

Max: I remember her birthday. I get her gifts she actually likes. I make sure she knows she’s appreciated.

Victoria: That’s the bare minimum, Max.

Max: Yeah, well, they don’t even manage that.

Victoria: True.

Max: I just want her to know she’s not invisible. Not to me.

Victoria: She does. I promise you, she does.

Max: I hope so.

***

Isabelle Leclerc had never been so deeply, shamefully down bad.

She knew it the second she opened Instagram and was met with a carousel of Max’s sweaty, post-race pictures. His fireproofs clinging to his torso, curls damp against his forehead, jaw set in that sharp, focused way that made him look unfairly good. She scrolled further—pictures of him on the podium, champagne dripping down his neck, his Red Bull suit unzipped just enough to make her brain short-circuit.

She dropped her phone onto her chest, staring at the ceiling.

"I’m doomed," she muttered.

Sassy, Max’s cat, meowed from her place curled up on Isabelle’s stomach, completely unimpressed with her crisis. Jimmy was sprawled next to her, purring away, blissfully unaware that his owner’s girlfriend was currently struggling with an epiphany she hadn’t been ready for.

Because it wasn’t just that she found Max attractive. Of course she did—she had eyes. But this was the first time she’d ever felt like this. Like she actually wanted. Like she craved more than just stolen kisses and his hands warm on her waist.

And the worst part? Max wasn’t even here to do anything about it.

She groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "This is your fault," she told the cats. "If he hadn’t given me a key to come play with you, I wouldn’t be stuck here thinking about him."

Sassy let out another meow, clearly judging her.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Where do I buy the best lingerie?

Emilie: …Excuse me???

Emilie: Are you finally planning to jump your ridiculously in love, multi-millionaire, world champion boyfriend??

Isabelle: …

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I tried, okay?!

Emilie: What do you mean you tried??

Isabelle: I mean I tried but he wanted to take things slow!

Emilie: …You’re telling me that Max Verstappen—the man who drives at 300 km/h for fun—wanted to take things slow?!

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Are you sure he’s Dutch and not secretly Victorian??

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, because I’m actually stunned. You’re telling me you’ve been together for two months, he’s madly in love with you, bought real estate just to see you more, and still hasn’t—

Isabelle: No.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: He said he didn’t want me to think this was just about that. That he wanted to show me he was serious.

Emilie: That’s actually disgustingly romantic.

Isabelle: I know. But also, Emilie, I am going to combust.

Emilie: Oh, I am absolutely taking you shopping.

Emilie: We’re getting you the best lingerie. The kind that makes a man forget the concept of “taking things slow.”

Isabelle: I don’t want to pressure him.

Emilie: Isabelle, babe, I love you, but you could show up in a paper bag and he’d still be obsessed with you. This is just insurance.

Isabelle: Insurance??

Emilie: Yes. For when you inevitably break him.

Isabelle: …

Isabelle: That’s not how insurance works.

Emilie: It is in this scenario. Now, when are you free? We’re going shopping.

Isabelle: You’re way too excited about this.

Emilie: Because I am emotionally invested!! Do you have any idea how rare it is for a man to be this in love and still have the self-control of a monk??

Isabelle: I don’t know whether to be flattered or frustrated.

Emilie: You can be both! But mostly, you can be prepared. Because trust me, the moment he decides he’s ready, you need to be ready.

Isabelle: … I did buy silk sheets.

Emilie: YES, that’s my girl!! Now tell me, what’s Max’s favorite color on you?

Isabelle: Emerald green.

Emilie: Oh, we are going all out.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

***

Isabelle hadn’t been this nervous in a long time.

Not during presentations, not in meetings, not even the time she accidentally spilled coffee on a potential client’s Hermès bag (it had been black, mercifully, and Max had made her laugh about it later).

But this? Standing in Max Verstappen’s bedroom, bathed in the soft golden glow of his bedside lamp, wearing lingerie she had stared at for weeks before buying? This made her heart hammer so loud she swore he could hear it.

She had planned this—carefully. She knew he was expecting her. She’d texted earlier, promised takeout and a quiet night. That part wasn’t a lie. But the bag of food now sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, and she stood in front of him wearing forest green lace and every ounce of courage she’d been hoarding since their first kiss.

Max didn’t speak.

He didn’t move.

Just stared at her, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly, like he’d forgotten how to function. And for a single, terrifying moment, she thought she’d misjudged everything.

“Say something,” she whispered, her voice far steadier than she felt, her fingers fiddling with the strap of the lingerie. “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.”

But then—he moved.

In an instant, he crossed the room, hands warm as they settled on her waist, pulling her gently closer. His eyes met hers, and they were nothing short of reverent.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, low and rough. “A very, very good idea.”

Her breath left her in a shaky laugh, part relief, part giddy disbelief. Her hands found the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric like she needed something to anchor her.

“You like it?” she asked, her voice small now, almost teasing.

Max swallowed visibly, eyes roaming over her again like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Isabelle, I think my brain just stopped working.”

That earned a crooked smile from her, some of the nervousness melting into something bolder, flirtier. “That good, huh?”

Instead of answering, Max let his hands drift lower, tracing the curve of her hips, fingers skimming the sheer lace with maddening care. He looked like he was touching something precious. Something rare.

“You did this for me?” he asked, quieter this time. Like it surprised him.

She nodded, heart thudding. “Wanted to surprise you.”

He exhaled slowly, leaned in. Pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her temple. The edge of her mouth.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

The words made something flutter and twist deep in her chest. She arched into him without meaning to, breath catching as his grip on her waist tightened just slightly.

“Then show me,” she whispered.

And the look he gave her after that? Wicked. Worshipful. Dangerous in the best possible way.

Max Verstappen had never turned down a challenge in his life. And from the way he kissed her next, Isabelle knew he wasn’t about to start now.

His mouth met hers with quiet intensity—no rush, no urgency, just the kind of kiss that made Isabelle feel like she was being memorised, piece by piece.

Max kissed her like the world had narrowed to her skin and the space between them.

And God, the way he touched her.

His hands were still firm on her waist, thumbs brushing gently along the edge of lace like he didn’t dare go further without permission, like she was something sacred—not because she was wearing lingerie, but because she was Isabelle.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then lower, over her jaw, down the curve of her neck.

Isabelle let her eyes fall shut, a soft breath escaping her as her hands slid from his shirt to his shoulders, pulling him just a little closer.

“Still thinking this was a bad idea?” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathy laugh, fingers threading into the back of his hair. “No. Definitely not.”

Max pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his expression shifting from teasing to something quieter—like he was checking in, even without asking.

And it struck her again—how different this was from every other time she’d tried to be brave for someone. This wasn’t performance. This wasn’t her trying to prove she was enough.

With Max, she was.

“You okay?” he asked, quietly, sincerely.

She nodded, and that time, it felt real. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His hands moved to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because I want to take my time with you.”

That sentence alone nearly undid her.

She didn’t respond with words—just kissed him again, deeper this time, letting herself lean into it, letting herself feel it.

It was slow. Gentle. Everything she’d dreamed of, and somehow… so much more.

Max kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like the moment mattered more than the destination. His hands slid across her skin like a question, never demanding, only asking. Always waiting. Always listening.

And Isabelle—Isabelle gave herself over to it. To him.

For a while.

Because this was different. Because Max made her feel safe. Because she wanted this.

But even as her body responded—arching into his touch, breath catching when his mouth dragged down her collarbone—something inside her began to unravel.

She didn’t notice it at first. Not really.

It started as a quiet overwhelm. The weight of his hands on her waist. The way he whispered her name like it meant something. The softness in his eyes, the care in every kiss.

He touched her like she was precious. Like she was the most important thing in the world.

And it broke her.

Because no one ever had. Not like this. Not without expectation. Not without making her feel like she had to be performative, or perfect, or grateful.

She gasped—not from pleasure, not from panic, but from the sudden ache of being held so gently.

And then the tears came.

At first, she didn’t realise she was crying. Just a strange heat behind her eyes, a tightness in her throat. She blinked hard and tried to breathe through it, tried to hold onto the moment.

But Max noticed. Of course he noticed.

His hands, which had been skimming her skin, froze. His brow creased, worry flickering across his face. “Schatje,” he murmured, voice impossibly soft. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, pressing her lips together, embarrassed. “Nothing.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, catching the tear that slipped free anyway. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

She swallowed hard. “I just…” A shaky breath. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Max went impossibly still. His blue eyes searched hers, something flickering behind them—understanding, frustration, something else entirely. He exhaled slowly, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You deserve this,” he whispered. “All of it.”

Isabelle broke.

She curled into him, burying her face in his neck as his arms tightened around her, grounding her, holding her together.

No one had ever held her like this before. No one had ever made her feel like she wasn’t just something to take from.

But Max wasn’t like anyone else.

Max didn’t rush her. He didn’t push or pry. He just held her, one hand smoothing over her back, the other tangling gently in her hair as she clung to him.

Isabelle took slow, shaky breaths, letting herself settle, letting herself believe—that this wasn’t just desire, that Max didn’t just want her for a fleeting moment, that he was here because of her, all of her.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were still damp, but the knot in her chest had loosened. She met his gaze hesitantly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Max frowned immediately. “Why?”

She let out a breathy, almost self-conscious laugh. “Because that’s not exactly what you expect when you bring your girlfriend to bed.”

His expression softened. “Isabelle,” he said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. “I don’t care how long this takes. I don’t care if we stop now or in ten minutes or in ten weeks.” His thumb brushed over her cheekbone. “I just want you.”

Something deep inside her cracked open.

Isabelle had spent so long being overlooked, taken for granted, expected to give without ever receiving. But Max didn’t expect anything from her. He just wanted her—whether she gave him pieces or the whole damn thing.

She swallowed hard. “I want this,” she said, and she meant it. She really meant it.

Max searched her face, his fingers tightening slightly on her skin. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t urgent, wasn’t hurried. It was deep and consuming, felt like something more.

Isabelle melted into it, into him, into the warmth of his body and the way he touched her—carefully, reverently, like she was something to cherish.

And for the first time in her life, she let herself believe she was.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: So.

Emilie: I let you run off with a bag full of very expensive and very effective lingerie, and I have received zero updates.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Emilie: I am not a patient woman.

Isabelle: I genuinely don’t know how to process last night.

Emilie: …Good or bad?

Isabelle: I think I need therapy.

Emilie: Therapy???

Isabelle: Emilie, I thought sex was supposed to be uncomfortable. I thought it was normal. To just… grit my teeth and wait for it to be over. To pretend it was fine. To pretend I liked it.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: I’m serious. I thought it was normal for it to be awkward and underwhelming, and that I just had to deal with it.

Emilie: …I suddenly have a burning need to hunt down every single one of your exes.

Isabelle: They didn’t care if I enjoyed it.

Emilie: …What do you mean?

Isabelle: I mean, it was always just about them. Their pleasure. Their satisfaction.

Isabelle: I was just a body.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It wasn’t just bad—it was awful. Sometimes painful. Almost always embarrassing.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I thought that was normal.

Emilie: You’re joking.

Isabelle: I used to fake it just to get it over with.

Emilie: What the actual fuck?!

Isabelle: Em…

Emilie: No, because I was expecting you to say like, oh, it was awkward. Or boring. But this?!

Isabelle: I just thought that’s how it was.

Emilie: IT’S NOT.

Isabelle: I know that now.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: It was so different with Max.

Emilie: …Because he actually cares.

Isabelle: Yes. The first time I just…

Emilie: What happened?

Isabelle: I… broke down.

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: I just—panicked. Everything hit me at once.

Emilie: What did he do?

Isabelle: He stopped immediately. Held me. Told me we didn’t have to do anything, that he just wanted me to feel safe.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And then the next time…

Emilie: He remembered everything.

Isabelle: Every single thing I liked. What made me feel good. What made me feel wanted.

Emilie: Because he pays attention.

Isabelle: Exactly.

Emilie: That’s that racecraft in bed, huh?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, but think about it! The man lives to optimize performance. He knows how to read data, analyze conditions, adjust his approach for maximum efficiency—

Isabelle: STOP.

Emilie: No, because it’s true!

Isabelle: …I mean. You’re not wrong.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I hate you.

Emilie: No, you love me. But not as much as you love Max Verstappen blowing your mind every night.

Isabelle: I’M BLOCKING YOU.

Emilie: So tell me everything.

Isabelle: I already told you enough.

Emilie: Isabelle. You literally admitted that every guy before Max made sex feel like a chore, that you had to fake it, and that it was sometimes painful. And then, suddenly, Max comes in? You owe me details.

Isabelle: It was just… different. From the second he touched me, it was like he was paying attention to every single reaction, every little noise I made. I didn’t even have to say anything—he just knew.

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: And it wasn’t just physical. It was—I felt safe. I wasn’t just a body, I wasn’t just there to be used. He made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world to him.

Emilie: Belle.

Isabelle: I was so nervous at first. I wanted it to be good, I wanted to enjoy it, but I had all these bad experiences in my head, and I kept waiting for it to go wrong.

Emilie: But it didn’t?

Isabelle: No. Because Max—he’s so patient. Even when I got overwhelmed, he just slowed down and made sure I was okay.

Emilie: And then?

Isabelle: And then it was… mind-blowing.

Emilie: Define mind-blowing.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: I’m serious. Because I need to understand how we went from you faking it to you losing your mind completely.

Isabelle: …Okay.

Emilie: Yes.

Isabelle: So, you know how Max is in the car, right?

Emilie: Oh my god.

Isabelle: The way he reads conditions, the way he adapts in real time, the way he knows exactly when to push?

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: It’s the same.

Emilie: I KNEW IT.

Isabelle: I’m serious. He’s so in tune with everything, like he’s constantly adjusting, constantly making it better.

Emilie: He’s optimizing performance.

Isabelle: YES.

Emilie: Max Verstappen. Two-time World Champion. Fastest driver on track, fastest learner in bed.

Isabelle: I am not dignifying that with a response.

Emilie: But you’re not denying it.

Isabelle: …

Emilie: BELLE.

Isabelle: I didn’t even know it could feel like that.

Emilie: Wow.

Isabelle: Like, I thought those romance novels were lying. I thought all that passion and chemistry and overwhelming pleasure was just fake.

Emilie: But then you met Max Verstappen.

Isabelle: He’s just… so good to me. And not just in bed. He takes care of me, he makes me laugh, he listens to me. He actually sees me.

Emilie: I love that. But also, I need to understand the full scope of the dominance we’re dealing with here.

Isabelle: You sound like an F1 journalist trying to analyze Red Bull’s advantage in the regs.

Emilie: I am an F1 journalist trying to analyze Max Verstappen’s advantage in the bedroom.

Isabelle: …I hate that sentence.

Emilie: Okay, but is he like methodical with it? Like does he go in with a strategy?

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: No, I need to know if he’s a precision driver or a send-it-and-hope-for-the-best kind of guy.

Isabelle: …He’s both.

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???

Isabelle: It’s like he’s calculating everything in real-time, but then when the moment’s right—he just commits. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Emilie: So what I’m hearing is… late-braking masterclass.

Isabelle: I knew you were going to say that.

Emilie: AND I’M RIGHT.

Isabelle: He literally waits until the last possible second, and then it’s like—boom. You can’t react fast enough.

Emilie: So he takes the racing line and the perfect approach angle.

Emilie: I’m just saying, if he starts looking at data after, I’m going to scream.

Isabelle:

Isabelle: …He does kind of ask for feedback.

Emilie: STOP.

Isabelle: And then he actually remembers everything I like.

Emilie: You’re telling me Max Verstappen actively takes notes on how to ruin your life?

Isabelle: Pretty much.

Emilie: If he ever applies this level of dedication to anything else, we’re all doomed.

Isabelle: He already does. It’s called Formula 1.

Emilie: And now he’s doing it to you.

Emilie: I need a moment.

Isabelle: Take your time.

Emilie: …Actually, no, I don’t, because I need to ask the most important question.

Isabelle: Oh, no.

Emilie: How many times?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: I NEED TO KNOW.

Isabelle: …four.

Emilie: FOUR?!?

Isabelle: I told you. Life-altering.

Emilie: Max Verstappen is out here setting lap records and you’re only telling me now??

Isabelle: Well, I wasn’t going to text you midway through.

Emilie: I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU.

Isabelle: Thank you. So am I.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: Max Verstappen ruined you.

Isabelle: He rebuilt me.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/paddocktea: Isabelle Leclerc is my Roman Empire and here’s why:

@/paddocktea: People know her as Charles Leclerc’s baby sister, born right in the middle between him and Arthur.

@/paddocktea: But there is so much more to her…She’s the most overlooked yet most intriguing Leclerc sibling. She’s always there, always supporting, but somehow, she remains in the background.

@/paddocktea: And because it’s her 24th birthday today… Here is everything you need to know about Isabelle Leclerc.

@/paddocktea: While Arthur’s karting career was put on ice to fund Charles’ career, a lesser known fact is that the family also sold Isabelle’s childhood horse to help fund Charles’ racing.

@/paddocktea: They SOLD HER HORSE. HER. HORSE. To help fund Charles’ career. Like, imagine being 13, losing both your sport and your horse while your brother gets to keep racing. If I were her, I’d still be holding a grudge.

@/paddocktea: …but instead apparently it’s a throwaway line in the family lore that Charles has only ever mentioned once in an interview, while he has mentioned Arthur’s “sacrifice” multiple times.

@/paddocktea: Still, instead of causing drama, she put her head down and worked. She studied architecture while also being there for every major moment of her brothers’ careers. It wasn’t just about showing up to races—she was always supporting them.

@/paddocktea: The few times she does give interviews? It’s never about her. She just hypes up her brothers. Every single time. No complaints, no bitterness—just, "They work so hard, I’m really proud of them.” If I sacrificed as much as she did, I’d be insufferable, but she’s just so sweet and adores her brothers more than anything else.

@/paddocktea: Anyway, Isabelle Leclerc is the backbone of the Leclerc family, and I need people to start appreciating her.

↳@/paddockinsider: WAIT. They SOLD her horse to fund Charles’ career?! I did NOT know this. That’s actually insane.

↳@/formulatea: They really said ‘sorry girl, no more childhood joy for you, we gotta get Charles to F1’ 😭

↳@hoofbeatsandcheckeredflags: As a horse girl, I would NEVER forgive them. I would be bringing this up at every family dinner.

↳ @f1drama: No bc imagine your parents sitting you down like ‘hey, your brother needs to go fast so we’re getting rid of your best friend, hope you understand xx’

↳@f1archivist: How did this never make it into Drive to Survive?? Like hello, Netflix, this is PEAK drama.

↳@girlmathf1: They stole her childhood and she still shows up at races supporting them. Isabelle Leclerc is a better person than me fr.

↳@gossipinthepaddock: So you’re telling me Charles got a career and Arthur got a second chance at racing, while Isabelle got… character development???

***

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments:

@/charles_leclerc: Happy 24th! 🎂

@/f1fashionista93: Happy birthday, Isabelle! You deserve all the happiness in the world. 💐✨

@/emilie_abadie: Happy birthday to my favorite human! You deserve the best year ahead—can’t wait to see what it has in store for you 💖"

@/leclercsquad_: Happy birthday, Isabelle! I can’t wait to see all the amazing things you do this year! 🎉💐

***

Her phone had buzzed all morning with Leclerc family group chat notifications—heart emojis from Arthur, a single “Joyeux anniversaire x” from Charles, Lorenzo asking if she’d gotten the spa voucher he emailed (“it expires in two months, so use it soon!”), and her mother’s text: “Hope you like the book. And the suit!”

The book was titled “How to Be More Assertive: Owning Your Voice in a Loud World.

The suit was black. Structured. Corporate.

Isabelle had never worn a pantsuit in her life. She barely wore pants, unless she was on a horse or doing pilates.

Arthur’s gift had arrived wrapped in glossy blue paper—inside was a heavy coffee table book about the history of golf.

Charles had sent an Amazon gift card.

She had smiled. Said thank you in the chat. Told herself they were trying. That they were busy. That this was just how birthdays went for her in her family—slightly impersonal, vaguely thoughtful, and always… a little off.

And it wasn’t like she needed more. Emilie had taken her out the evening before, dinner just the two of them, which had been lovely… and which had ended with a single chocolate cupcake with a lit candle that she had blown out with a huge grin on her face. The two of them had giggled like teenagers and ended up sharing it.

Emilie had given her a whole basket full of things, like she was always prone to be doing. It was stuffed full with Isabelle’s favourite things, from her favourite bar of chocolate, to her favourite soap, a new bottle of signature perfume (always Miss Dior), new workout clothing, because she had mentioned in an offhand way that the zipper on her favourite jacket kept opening up… filled with the kind of thoughtful little things that Emilie Abadie hoarded like the french dragon with expensive perfume and perfect eyeliner that she was.

Really, that basket more than made up for anything her family did.

And now, here she was sitting on the sofa a at Max’s place that evening, sipping her favourite wine in her favourite sweater, legs tucked under her.

She was happy. Completely and utterly content.

Max came in from the kitchen, a little grin tugging at his lips, something behind his back.

“Okay,” he said, “I know you said you didn’t want anything fancy…”

She narrowed her eyes. “Max.”

“But,” he continued, stepping closer, “you’re turning twenty-four, and that feels like it should come with something a little special.”

He pulled a small velvet box from behind his back.

Isabelle blinked. “Max—”

“Just open it,” he said, sitting beside her.

She opened the box slowly—and froze.

Inside was a bracelet.

Diamonds and Emeralds connected with delicate gold fixing. The emeralds were a deep, deep green.

The exact shade of green that lit her eyes when she was excited, or furious, or pretending not to cry during animal rescue commercials.

She didn’t speak.

Max leaned in, his voice softer now. “Emeralds. Because it’s your birthstone. And because every time I see your eyes in the sun, I think—how does that color even exist?”

Her breath caught. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did,” he said. “You’re the easiest person in the world to pay attention to, Belle.”

She bit her lip, suddenly blinking too fast. “It’s beautiful.”

He unclasped it, slid it gently onto her wrist, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“You deserve beautiful things. Not because it’s your birthday. Just because you’re you.”

Isabelle didn’t mean to tear up. She really didn’t.

But here was Max—watching her with that look like she mattered—giving her something not just expensive, but personal. Thoughtful. Kind.

She laughed through the tears, wiping at her face. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’re not,” he said, pulling her into his chest. “You’re just not used to being seen properly. But I see you.”

“I love it,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”

And she meant it.

Because it wasn’t about the bracelet.

It was the way he saw her.

The way he always did.

Not as the sister. Not as the quiet one.

Not as someone who needed a personality makeover or to be more “assertive.”

Just as Isabelle.

And for once—just once—that was more than enough.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max got me a bracelet.

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: Emilie. It’s emerald.

Isabelle: He said it’s my birthstone and that it matches my eyes.

Emilie: Isabelle, I need you to breathe.

Isabelle: I AM TRYING.

Emilie: This man is not just spoiling you; he is actively ruining you for anyone else.

Isabelle: Right???

Emilie: Send a picture. Now.

Isabelle: Attachment: photo.jpg

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

Emilie: That is not just a bracelet. That is a statement.

Isabelle: What statement?

Emilie: “You are mine, and I will give you the world.”

Isabelle: …

Emilie: You’re staring at it right now, aren’t you?

Isabelle: I haven’t taken my eyes off it since he clasped it onto my wrist.

Emilie: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Emilie.

Emilie: How are you still alive?

Isabelle: Unclear. Might be running purely on shock at this point.

Emilie: I warned you. I told you he was in deep.

Isabelle: I didn’t think this deep.

Emilie: Oh, honey. He is drowning.

Isabelle: What am I supposed to do with this??

Emilie: Love him back. That’s literally all he wants.

Isabelle: …I already do.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I thought you were joking.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish I was.

Max: Arthur really got her a coffee table book about golf.

Emilie: She doesn’t even like golf.

Max: EXACTLY.

Emilie: I’m convinced he just panic-bought it at the airport.

Max: And Charles… a generic Amazon gift card.

Emilie: Isabelle literally used last year’s gift card to buy presents for other people because she didn’t even want anything from Amazon.

Max: I actually feel secondhand embarrassment.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

Max: Lorenzo got her a Spa Voucher with only 2 months left on it. I am pretty sure that was a gift he once got.

Emilie: That’s still better than the self help book her mother bought her “How to be more assertive”. (I mean I guess she tried, she did buy her that new pantsuit…just that Isabelle has never worn a pantsuit in her life. She never wears pants, AT ALL, unless she works out or is at the stables.)

Max: I— No. I need to sit down.

Emilie: Oh, don’t worry, Max. She’s used to it. That’s what makes it worse.

Max: That’s actually depressing.

Emilie: Right?? I feel like I’m the only one who actually pays attention.

Max: I feel like I need to apologize on their behalf.

Emilie: Oh, you’ve already done enough. You got her a bracelet with emeralds to match her eyes.

Max: That’s just normal? It’s not hard?

Emilie: Max, you put more thought into one gift than her family has in a decade.

Max: Good. She deserves better.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: So… still in love?

Max: More every day.

Victoria: You’re such a sap.

Max: You asked.

Victoria: I did. Because I knew you’d say something like that.

Max: And yet, here you are, pretending to be surprised.

Victoria: Not surprised, just entertained.

Max: Glad my happiness is amusing to you.

Victoria: Oh, it is. You’re actually just gone.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And you’re fine with that?

Max: More than fine. Best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Victoria: …Wow.

Max: What?

Victoria: Nothing. Just… I’ve never seen you like this.

Max: Me neither. But I don’t want it to stop.

Victoria: Then don’t.

Max: I won’t.

Victoria: Good.

Max: …You’re being suspiciously nice.

Victoria: I can be supportive, you know.

Max: Yeah, but usually there’s teasing first.

Victoria: True. But I don’t think I need to say anything. You’re already completely and utterly done for.

Max: Not wrong.

Victoria: So, when do I get to hear about the inevitable dumb thing you’ll do to impress her?

Max: What makes you think I’ll do something dumb?

Victoria: Max. You bought an entire penthouse just to work with her.

Max: …That’s not dumb. That’s practical.

Victoria: Sure, sure. Practical.

Max: It is! I needed a new place anyway. And I have great taste.

Victoria: She has great taste. You just followed her lead.

Max: …Still counts.

Victoria: Sooo, can I follow your mysterious girlfriend on Instagram yet, or is she still top secret?

Max: …

Victoria: Max. It’s been two months.

Max: And?

Victoria: And I want to know who she is! Give me something. A name? A clue? Anything?

Max: Isabelle.

Victoria: Isabelle what?

Max: …Leclerc.

Victoria:

Victoria: HOLD ON.

Victoria: As in Leclerc-Leclerc?? Like, Charles Leclerc???

Max: Yes.

Victoria: AS IN HIS QUIET LITTLE SISTER FROM KARTING???

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: OH MY GOD.

Victoria: I remember her! She was always at the races! Super quiet, always watching.

Max: That’s her.

Victoria: AWWWW. MAX.

Max: What?

Victoria: She’s perfect for you! She was always so sweet!

Max: …Thanks?

Victoria: Does Charles know??

Max: No.

Victoria: Max.

Max: Isabelle wants to keep it private.

Victoria: But why??

Max: Her family… it’s complicated.

Victoria: What do you mean? The Leclercs are like, the most wholesome F1 family ever.

Max: Her brothers are close with each other. She just…exists in their periphery and is forgotten 90% of the time.

Victoria: Max, that’s awful.

Max: I know.

Victoria: And they still don’t know you’re together?

Max: Nope.

Victoria: You haven’t told Charles??

Max: Isabelle doesn’t want them to know.

Victoria: I mean, I get it, but… that’s really sad.

Max: Yeah.

Victoria: But you make her happy?

Max: I try.

Victoria: Good.

Victoria: But just so you know, when this does come out, Charles might actually explode.

Max: I know.

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jeonginsleftcheek · 2 days ago

Text

Among the trees (drabble)

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut

wc: 1.2k

warnings: manipulative hyune, innocent reader, free use, unprotected sex, public sex, creampie, praise, lots of nicknames, mentions of breeding

a/n: i took a walk in the forest today and it rained so this came to my mind🫠 enjoy😏💚 also i'm sleep deprived, excuse any mistakes!

masterlist

You were currently enjoying the fresh air and the smell of petrichor as you strolled along the forest path with your boyfriend.

Hand in hand, Hyunjin led you deeper into the forest and you followed him without question, you'd always follow him anywhere. Hyunjin took such good care of you, he loved you very much and you always wanted him to be happy, make him feel good, make him proud of you. He was your first serious boyfriend and you trusted everything he told you.

You trusted him with your life blindly.

Hyunjin kept glancing at you, your wondrous gaze set on the trees and the flowers around you, his jacket draped over your smaller frame, your pretty legs on display for him in the dress he asked you to wear today. You were so adorable, so innocent, so doe like.

You always listened to him intently, nodding your cute little head, even when he told you that you always have to be ready to give into him and please him. The thought of having you whenever he wants, your body compliant to him, never asking any questions or looking for explanations drove him even more crazy for you.

You were so giving. And Hyunjin couldn't contain himself anymore, his cock already hardening and twitching in his pants at the thought of your cute confused face when he tells you to be a good girl and let him fuck you right here, among all the trees, not caring about other people who might pass by on the trail.

He tugged your hand lightly, leading you away from the path and into the thicker part of the forest.

"W-where are we going?" you asked cutely, your brows lifting up. He liked that you were always curious despite being an obedient little thing.

"Right here, my angel." he pulled you closer behind one of the trees.

You looked around and Hyunjin chuckled at your cluelessness. He looked up, noticing that the trail was still somewhat visible and if someone were to walk there, they might see the two of you.

"Turn around." he told you when you looked back at him, not understanding why he brought you here.

"Are we playing a game?" you wondered but obeyed, turning your back to him.

"Sort of. Brace yourself against the tree, princess." Hyunjin said and you placed your palms on the damp tree trunk. Hyunjin slid his jacket off of you, making you shiver as he threw it aside carelessly.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and you knew then just what the game was.

You strained your neck to look back at him and saw him smirking deeply at you, his eyes dark under his bangs. You felt his hand on the back of your thigh, traveling up before he touched the fabric of your panties and then cupped your pussy, fingertips pressing into your little clit.

You gasped as your legs trembled and you faced forwards, nails already digging into the tree.

"Always so warm and wet for me. Ready to let me come home, aren't you princess?" he asked, caressing your pussy and you whimpered.

"Y-yes, Jinnie." you leaned into his touch and he smirked, pushing your panties aside and sliding his fingertips on your wet folds as he stroked his length with his other hand and got closer to you.

"My angel. Such a good girl." he praised you, pressing the head of his hard cock against you.

"Mm." you moaned, spreading your legs more.

"I-Isn't someone gonna see?" you remembered suddenly, shivering a little as you felt a droplet of rain hit your arm.

"They'll see who you belong to, princess." Hyunjin smirked and slowly pushed in without prepping you and you took all of him in easily, your pussy used to the stretch of his length and girth.

"Ah!" you let out a moan when Hyunjin bottomed out inside you.

"That's my good girl." he praised you again, making you clench around him as he started fucking into you. "I couldn't wait to come home and fuck you. I wanted you now. And you took me so well, princess. Always so good for me."

"Mm, Hyunjinnie!" you whimpered as he sped up immediately, deciding not to go easy on you since he knew you could take it. You'd take anything he gives you, he knows this because he trained you to do so.

You kept whimpering and gasping, scratching at the tree trunk as Hyunjin pounded you from behind, his hips slapping into your ass, the sound echoing around you as the rain started to drizzle more.

"Mm, fuck!" Hyunjin's eyes rolled back with the way you kept clenching around him like you never wanted him to pull out.

You were so addicted to him and he was obsessed with you.

"I want you to cum all over my cock, angel. Let me see how good I'm making you feel." Hyunjin reached between your legs and started playing with your clit, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot constantly.

"Mm, yes Hyunjin!" you moaned and exploded around him, coating his cock in your arousal and he pushed in impossibly deeper, twitching as he gripped at your hips.

Suddenly, you heard voices nearing from a distance and Hyunjin pulled you flush against him, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pressed his palm against your lips.

"Be quiet." he whispered and kept fucking into you, chasing his high. Your heart started beating out of your chest and your eyes widened as you saw a family walking down the path with their dog.

You felt so filthy in that moment but you loved it, the thought you might be seen all fucked out on your boyfriend's cock aroused you even more now that there were people closer to you.

The cold rain clung to your hair and skin, the droplets now bigger and sliding down into your cleavage and down your arms. The people luckily hurried up, running away from the rain as Hyunjin mercilessly pounded into you, a smirk on his face.

You came again, making him groan as he released your mouth when he deemed the people were far enough and his hands came up to grip and massage your breasts.

"Gonna fill up this sweet pussy." he groaned, biting down on your shoulder as he pushed in deep and exploded inside you, ropes of warm cum filling you up completely.

"That's it, princess, milk me dry. Take everything I give you." he growled, riding his high until he was spent.

He pulled out and quickly put your panties back over your pussy, tapping the wet fabric with his fingers as you moaned.

"Keep it inside you." he turned you around, holding your waist and you looked up at him as you grabbed at his arms, both of you getting soaked with the rain. "I want it to stick so you're mine forever, angel."

"Hyunjin." you whined, hugging him as his words suddenly made you feel embarrassed while you were sobering up from your high.

He let out a deep chuckle before gently lifting your chin up.

"I love you, my little doe." he looked into your eyes and you shivered from the intensity he carried.

"I love you too, Jinnie." you answered and he leaned in to kiss you as the rain started pouring suddenly.

"Let's get home quickly, I'm not done with you yet." Hyunjin grabbed your hand and his jacket, covering you up as much as he could, his arms wrapping around you as he led you back to the path.

You followed him obediently just like you always will.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog

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cherryyluvs · 1 day ago

Text

Little Notes, Big Feelings

Notes in your locker, simple, and anonymous. A little bit sweet. You never expected Mark Grayson confessing that he likes you. ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

It started with a note, neatly folded and tucked in between the vents of your locker. Just barely sticking out and impossible to miss.

You were half asleep still rubbing the exhaustion from your eyes. grabbing the little slip of paper “Pop quiz in Johnson's class today. Hope you studied. (I didn't, Whoops.)"

You blinked at it, turning it over just to see no name, no clue on who wrote it. Just a simple, neat handwriting, and a tiny smiling doodle of Seance dog in the corner. You glanced around the busy hallway, scanning faces. But no one seemed to be watching you. Just students going to their class, laughing with their friends, and stuffing books into their bags.

Weird. But sweet.

After that notes kept coming, little messages that made you smile. “Did you see the new episode of Seance Dog? Crazy right?” Other times they would be personal. “You looked really happy today.” You kept every single one, tucking them into your notebook like they were little treasures. You found yourself looking forward to them, and you wanted to know them too. So one afternoon you decided to write back, slipping a note into your own locker. Leaving it right where the mysterious writer had been placing theirs. “Okay, secret admirer, your turn. Who are you?”

The next morning a reply was waiting. “If i tell you. It ruins the fun doesn't it?” You let out a huff, fine.

If they wanted to play, you’d play. The back and forth went on for weeks! You had asked what their favorite color was (Yellow but sometimes blue) . Some were rants about a new superhero sighting or how the cafeteria’s chicken nuggets are a danger to society. “The cafeteria nuggets are definitely a health hazard. Stay safe out there”

There's a response the next morning, “RIGHT?? I'm glad someone gets it. Also I can neither confirm or deny that I saw one of those nuggets move.” The messages became part of your daily routine, a little secret, something that made the school day a little brighter.

And one day you found a note that made your heart drop.

“Would it be weird if i said i kinda like you?” Your fingers trembled slightly as you held the small piece of paper. This wasn't just playful anymore, this is real. At this point you needed to know who it was.

You waited, keeping an eye out at your locker, hoping to catch them in the act. Whoever they were, they were good at being sneaky. So you tried a different approach.

You left a note in return, simple and direct. “Not weird. Kind of sweet, but I think i'd like it more if I knew who you were.”

The next day there was no note, and after that, nothing. Your heart sank, had you scared them off? Had they changed their mind? It gnawed at you, making you realize just how much these silly little notes meant to you.

And then it finally happened. You were at your locker, gathering books for your next class, when a voice behind you cleared their throat. “Uh… hey.” You turned around to face the stranger and there he was. Mark Grayson, moving nervously on his feet, his easygoing confidence nowhere to be found. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes but you could see the pink creeping on his cheeks.

It clicked instantly. The handwriting on the notes, the way he always looked in your direction in class when you weren't paying attention. Mark, who was sweet and awkward, always rambling about comics and superhero movies.

“You're-”

He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for days. “Yeah it's me.” Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding into your chest.

Mark Grayson, you'd noticed him, you never thought if he had noticed you but he had. And for a long time apparently, “So.. was that too weird? He asked hesitantly. “I can stop if-” You shook your head, a small smile creeping onto your face.

Pulling out a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist, before he could question it, you scribbled onto his palm.

“No, not weird at all.” When he read it, his entire face lit up.

#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible #fluff #comic nerd #mark grayson

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luvvcharxo · 2 days ago

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so in love with you - mark grayson headcanons

warnings: fluff, smut, NSFW CONTENT!! MINORS DNI. word count: 541 summary: boyfriend!mark x fem!reader headcanons. notes: hi so this is just some tired rambling from me because i have writers block so i cant write an actual fic. sorry, hope this feeds the mark lovers. yall, the suit stays on!!

boyfriend!mark who always makes sure to bring something for his girlfriend when he's late (as usual) to a date.

boyfriend!mark who tries his best to plan the dates, but secretly likes it when you take charge.

boyfriend!mark who has you saved as his wallpaper, a picture of you in his phonecase, and has a picture of the two of you as his pfp for EVERYTHING. no one can argue with the fact that that man loves you.

boyfriend!mark who always makes time to send you a 'good morning' and 'good night' text. it doesn't matter whether he's just been beaten up, or is about to be beaten up, he will always do his best to make time for you.

boyfriend!mark who likes to show his affection subtly, like when he does the sidewalk rule or when he holds your hand when he notices you feeling anxious. he's not opposed to PDA, too.

boyfriend!mark who feels happy when you show PDA, a big smile on his face if you give him a small kiss before going to work or school, or when you hold his hand when walking together.

boyfriend!mark who likes to remember little stuff about you, whether it be that one makeup product you wanted ages ago, or the name of your first pet. he'll even remember that one person you hated years ago and talked shit about to him.

boyfriend!mark who's too scared to initiate anything physical, worried you'll reject him (even though the two of you are literally dating).

boyfriend!mark who gets flustered during the first time you have sex, but eventually gets the hang of it.

boyfriend!mark who could live between your thighs and would be the happiest man alive, eating you out for the rest of yours (and his) life.

boyfriend!mark who worries whether he'll hurt you with his viltrumite strength, but you reassure him that you'll be fine. besides, you wouldn't mind getting crushed by those muscles anyway. it would be a nice way to die.

boyfriend!mark who stares at you for a moment when you stop him from removing his suit when you two are on your bed.

boyfriend!mark who's face turns bright red when you sheepishly ask him to keep the suit on, doing your best to prevent yourself from grinding against his hard length that you can already feel poking against your thigh.

boyfriend!mark who actually enjoys it (maybe a bit too much) when you sit in his supersuit-cladded lap, the friction between your lower halves making you let out a small whimper.

boyfriend!mark who's grateful for the fact that the suit is so tight, meaning he can still feel everything you do and how you feel.

boyfriend!mark who can feel your wetness seep through the fabric when you remove your pants.

boyfriend!mark who can't help but cum in his suit when you let out the most pornographic moan he's ever heard after rubbing against his hard-on.

boyfriend!mark who doesn't cares about the clean-up (that's a problem for future him to think about) and instead flips the two of you over, a smug smile on his face, ready for round two. maybe with the suit off, this time.

extra notes: hiii im so sorry if this isnt written well. im not used to writing sexual content, but i hope this is okay. love u guys, and reblogs are very welcome!! :3

⋆ MASTERLIST

#mark grayson #invincible #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson headcanons #mark grayson x reader headcanons #mark grayson x fem!reader #reader insert

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 2 days ago

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Just 2 years ago I visited a Pet Smart with my mother. The cashier was a cool dude with these gauges in his ears, and tattoos all over, a real rugged punk type like myself!

But as we approached, my mother outright asked him if it was hard to get a job with all of that. She asked if it's impractical to have gauges and tattoos because what if people think poorly of him?

Completely unprompted. She just suddenly began drilling him.

The cashier, gods be with him, brushed it off and took it like a fucking champ, expressing his love for how he appeared and I can't blame him!! He looked badass as hell!! Yet my mother kept pressing and causing obvious discomfort to not just him and myself but others in line as well, as if somehow her berating questions would get him to change. But that man defended himself relentlessly but kindly and with an upbeat attitude!

My mother literally didn't stop trying to push her point until I ushered her out of the store.

Once, as a little kid, I saw a cashier at the art store with blue hair, and seeing that blue is my favorite color, I wanted to compliment her!!

Before we even got in line, my mother pulled me aside and told me, word for word, "Do not say anything about her hair."

I ignored her, of course, and a few seconds after we arrived at the register, I told the woman I liked her hair a lot!

And my mother just exhaustedly sighed and held her head in utter dismay, IMMEDIATELY reprimanding me verbally for having said anything!!! That cashier told my mother it was fine and she was so happy to hear somebody say something nice about her hair!!

While I was walking with my mother through our neighborhood as a kid, we'd passed by a boy shooting hoops or something, but he was making every shot and well, so I said aloud as we passed, "Wow, that boy is REALLY good!"

And my mother SCOLDED me!! She harshly said, word for word, "Magnus, you DON'T do that!" And she was VERY relentless and angry in how she said it.

I was so confused. I still am.

My grandparents were the exact same. I encountered many situations like this when with them growing up. My aunts did the same, reprimenading me for giving a compliment. But all of them found it completely ok to berate a stranger for any reason at all, prompted or unprompted.

I tried asking my mother why I couldn't say something nice, and she couldn't give a valid explanation no matter how much I asked. All my mother did was continuously insist I don't do that (complimenting a stranger), and that it's rude to say anything of the sort.

Why is it so abhorrent to say someone is good at something? Why is it horrible if I tell someone their appearance is cool? If their talents are great? Why is it acceptable to berate somebody and call them out for any minor reason completely unprompted, but it's not acceptable to voice unprompted kindness and support with genuine desire to share love???

Why is rudeness acceptable but kindness isn't????

Now, I'm autistic, and I don't even pretend to understand social norms. But I do know how kindness can literally save lives, and how it genuinely just makes shit better for everyone no matter if they're having a good day or bad, when they are given a genuine compliment. So I was never sure if this is just some double standard or if it's something deeper, either or obviously being ingrained over many generations, but I say fuck it.

I compliment strangers constantly these days. I tell folks their tattoos are awesome, that I love their earrings, their outfits are so cool and well put together, their hair looks perfect! I compliment folks on their talents, and I'm genuine and heartfelt about it, meaning every word I say with sincerity!!

Strangers have given me hugs! People have broken down crying and hugged me for my I kindness!!! So many people have told me word for word, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me!" And I'm not kidding.

I find every possible reason to compliment somebody, to voice kindness, especially for things such as piercings and hair dye and talents and the sort, especially those that many would disapprove of.

The way I see it is that if nobody ever hears support, then how will they know they're being supported at all? And if all anyone voices is disdain and berating, then how does anyone feel loved and supported??

So yeah. I don't get the whole belief of compliments = rude, and berating = fine. I don't think I'll ever know why this is normalized here.

But I'm damn tired of this because it's the precursor to allowing folks to walk all over you. If you can't voice a kind compliment to another without being shut down, then you're never going to be able to vocalize support of someone in need when they're being berated harshly and given shit left and right.

weird as fuck living in a culture where it's considered more impolite to speak up and defend yourself against someone treating you unfairly than it is for someone to be rude to you in the first place

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heartsbyani · 2 days ago

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𐔌 현진 .ᐟ ꒱ ── "the art of loving you."ㅤ❀

HWANG HYUNJIN! ⓘ when your artistic boyfriend wants to use you as his muse for the first time . . (,,>ヮ<,,)!

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!hyunjin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , pure love ! 33OOwc. ⎯⎯ Yᗩᑎi's ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. nicknames , kisses , intimacy , jokes. ┆ 🐇 ⋮ an original drabble .ᐟ ֹ ₊

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ huhuhuhu i wrote this in the span of an hour. minus the formatting. i love love so much :( i love hyunjin so much :( i cried writing this sorry. mostly written for my hun, ishi. i know life isn't the best right now, but here's a lil' something that might help you be a bit more at ease! apologies if it isn't very effective though. love you! happy reading <3

the apartment smelled like faint lavender and the lingering sweetness of the vanilla candle she had burned earlier. a warm, golden haze from the late afternoon sun spilled in through the sheer curtains, pooling on the wooden floors, stretching shadows long and lazy.

the world outside hummed softly—distant car horns, the occasional laughter of neighbors, the rhythmic tapping of a tree branch against the window. inside, everything was still.

cozy.

wrapped in the kind of silence that only felt peaceful, never empty.

hyunjin had been staring at her for a while now, perched on the couch with his sketchbook in his lap, his pencil resting against his bottom lip. he wasn’t even pretending to be subtle. every few seconds, his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but thought better of it.

she was curled up at the other end of the couch, distracted by the book in her hands, knees tucked to her chest, one sock slipping off her foot.

he liked her like this.

relaxed.

unfiltered.

beautiful in the way that people are when they don’t know they’re being watched.

he swallowed. his heart was already tumbling over itself.

he had been thinking about it for days now. weeks, even. the idea had planted itself in his mind like a stubborn seed, refusing to be ignored. i want to capture her.

it wasn’t just a want. it was an ache. a pull.

he had sketched her before—messy, thoughtless doodles in the corners of napkins and on the backs of receipts, quick little impressions of the way her hair fell, the way her lips curved when she was deep in thought. but this—this would be different.

this time, he wanted her to be his muse.

he exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. she finally looked up, blinking at him, and he panicked—like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

"what?" she asked, voice soft with amusement.

hyunjin hesitated. his fingers drummed against his sketchbook. "nothing," he mumbled, glancing away.

a pause.

then she nudged his thigh with her foot. "liar."

he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. she always saw right through him.

for a moment, he debated brushing it off, pretending like it wasn’t clawing at his insides. but he knew he couldn’t. not with her.

so he bit his lip, gathering his thoughts, before finally exhaling.

"i want to paint you."

the words hung between them, stretching the air thin.

she blinked again, tilting her head. "what?"

hyunjin sat up straighter, shifting so he was fully facing her now, sketchbook balanced on his knee. his fingers curled over the edges of it, gripping it like a lifeline.

"i—i've been thinking about it for a while," he confessed, voice quieter now, like he was scared of startling the moment. "i want to paint you. properly. like… really take my time with it."

she didn’t respond immediately, just studying him. he could see the gears turning in her head.

"you want to paint.. me?" she repeated, as if testing the weight of it on her tongue.

hyunjin nodded. "yeah."

he couldn’t quite read her expression. he wasn’t sure if she liked the idea or not, and the uncertainty sent something anxious skittering through his chest.

"you don’t have to say yes," he added quickly, fingers tightening around his sketchbook.

"i just—i think you’re beautiful. and i want to capture you. not just your face but… you. the way you exist. the way you are."

there it was again—that ache. that pull.

she was silent for another beat, then a small smile played at her lips. "that’s very romantic of you."

hyunjin exhaled a breathy laugh, relieved by her teasing tone. "i am very romantic, actually."

she hummed, pretending to consider. "i don’t know… what if you make me look ugly?"

he scoffed immediately, reaching out to flick her knee. "impossible."

she giggled, pulling her legs away.

hyunjin watched her for a second, then, quieter, more vulnerable—"you’ll do it?"

she held his gaze. and then she nodded.

"yeah," she murmured. "of course. i'll be yours in whatever way you need."

hyunjin's entire body melted. his shoulders dropped, his fingers loosened, his breath left him in one long, relieved exhale. a slow, glowing grin stretched across his face, dimples appearing, eyes crescented with something soft and adoring.

"you really will?"

she rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. "yes, baby."

baby.

his heart stumbled over itself again.

before she could react, he was already leaning forward, hands finding her waist, pulling her into him. she laughed as she tumbled into his lap, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

"hyunjin—"

"thank you," he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, voice muffled against her skin. "you have no idea how much i wanted this."

she softened, fingers threading through his hair. "i think i do."

hyunjin smiled against her skin. his hands rested against the small of her back, warm and secure, holding her like something precious. because she was.

and now, he could finally capture her the way he saw her.

the apartment smelled different today.

not drastically—just subtly altered, the way a shift in seasons feels. the usual traces of lavender and vanilla were still there, clinging to the air like a familiar embrace, but now they mingled with the crisp scent of stretched canvas, the faint musk of oil pastels, and the distinct earthiness of paint—thick, rich, waiting.

hyunjin had been preparing for this all morning.

sunlight pooled through the wide windows, gilding the hardwood floors in a lazy sprawl. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of fabric as he adjusted the sheets draped over their couch to protect it from accidental paint smudges.

his art corner—his sanctuary—was usually a little more chaotic, but today, everything was placed with care. he wanted the space to feel right. to feel like it could hold something sacred.

at the center of it all, his easel stood tall, an untouched canvas waiting, patient and expectant.

his brushes were lined up beside it, freshly cleaned, their wooden handles smooth beneath his fingertips as he traced over them absentmindedly. next to them sat his palette, dappled with early mixes of color—soft beiges, warm caramels, a whisper of rose.

he had mixed those shades by memory alone. he knew the way she looked under sunlight, the way her skin carried warmth like a secret.

now, all he needed was her.

the guy straightened, glancing toward the hallway just as she appeared, wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters.

his breath caught.

she always stole his clothes, and he always let her. he liked the way she looked in them—how the sleeves hung past her wrists, how the fabric swallowed her just enough to make her look small, but never lost. she looked comfortable. at home. and something about that made his chest ache in the best way.

"you done?" she asked, voice still laced with sleep, soft and warm at the edges.

he smiled.

"almost," he murmured, crossing the room. his hands found her waist instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his sweater, tracing over her skin. "but first, let’s make you comfortable."

she raised an eyebrow, "is that an excuse to undress me?"

"partly."

she rolled her eyes, but there was no real protest as he gently peeled the sweater off her, leaving her in just a simple tank top and shorts.

hyunjin hummed in approval, fingers trailing over her shoulders, brushing against her collarbone.

"perfect," he murmured.

she let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. "you haven’t even posed me yet."

he smiled, but he didn’t answer right away. instead, he took her hand, guiding her toward the chair he had placed near the window—where the sunlight would catch her just right.

"i want you to be natural," he said softly. "just be comfortable. let me see you the way i always do."

she settled into the chair, shifting slightly, and he stepped back, studying her.

he had painted people before. strangers, muses, faces he barely knew but found interesting enough to capture. but this—this was different. this wasn’t just painting a face. this was capturing a feeling. a presence.

his fingers twitched, itching to start.

she watched him, tilting her head slightly. "how do you want me?"

he swallowed. his gaze softened.

"just like that," he murmured.

she held still, trusting him, and something in his chest tightened.

slowly, he stepped closer, fingertips grazing her cheek, tilting her head just slightly. his thumb traced the curve of her jaw, lingering at the hinge where her pulse thrummed beneath his touch. then, his hands drifted down, adjusting the way her shoulders rested, the way her hands settled in her lap. every movement was careful, reverent.

"there," he breathed. "stay like that."

she held his gaze, steady and sure. "okay."

he let out a slow exhale, stepping back. his hands found his brushes, and then, finally, he began.

the first strokes were light, tentative. the foundation of something much bigger. his focus narrowed, the world outside of this moment falling away. it was just her and the canvas, and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing.

he traced the shape of her first—soft lines, delicate curves. her shoulders, the slope of her neck, the gentle angles of her collarbones. then, slowly, he worked his way up—capturing the arch of her brow, the fullness of her lips, the way the light kissed her skin.

hyunjin didn’t just see her—he felt her.

every touch of paint was a memory, every brushstroke an echo of the way he adored her. the way she looked when she laughed, when she was lost in thought, when she reached for him in the middle of the night, half-asleep but seeking.

she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

and now, she would live on his canvas, exactly as he saw her.

...minutes melted into hours.

the apartment existed in a bubble of stillness, broken only by the soft drag of bristles against canvas and the occasional shift of fabric as she adjusted her posture. hyunjin barely noticed time slipping through his fingers; he was lost in the rhythm of creation, in the steady pull of something deep and unspoken.

she remained patient, quiet but present, watching him work.

at some point, she broke the silence. "you’re really taking your time with this."

he didn’t look away from the canvas, but a small smile played at his lips. "of course. you deserve to be painted slowly."

her lips parted slightly, caught off guard. then she exhaled a soft laugh. "that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said."

his gaze flickered to her then, his brush hovering midair. "i say romantic things all the time."

she hummed. "you do. but that one made my heart flutter a little."

hyunjin grinned. "good."

he went back to painting, his eyes flickering between her and the canvas. the room had dimmed slightly, the sun lower now, casting long golden streaks across the floor. the light touched her cheekbones in a way that made him pause, his fingers tightening around the brush.

"hold still," he murmured, stepping closer.

she obeyed, but her brows lifted slightly in curiosity.

hyunjin reached out, fingertips barely brushing the corner of her mouth. he tilted her chin, his touch featherlight, tracing the outline of her lips with nothing but air between them.

"you have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" he murmured.

her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. "w—"

"you don’t," he cut in gently, thumb ghosting over her bottom lip before he stepped back. "you’re always so effortlessly perfect, and you don’t even realize it. that’s why i want to paint you. so you can see yourself the way i do."

a moment passed.

she swallowed, something unreadable flickering across her face. then, softly, "i don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way you do."

hyunjin’s throat tightened.

he knew he was staring too much, that his emotions were slipping into the air between them, heavy and unguarded. but he couldn’t help it.

"i love you," he said simply.

her lips parted again, but this time, she didn’t try to deflect. she just let the words settle, her eyes softening as a slow, glowing smile spread across her face.

"i love you too."

he inhaled deeply, letting it fill his chest. then, shaking off the moment before he could get too distracted, he gestured toward the canvas. "now stay still, my muse. i have work to do."

she giggled, settling back into position.

hyunjin returned to his easel, but his mind was still full of her.

brushstroke after brushstroke, he captured the softness of her gaze, the delicate slope of her nose, the warmth in her expression. he mixed colors carefully, making sure her skin glowed the way it did under sunlight, the way it did when she laughed, the way it did when she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world.

hours passed like this—soft conversations, lazy teasing, moments of silence that weren’t empty but full of something warm and steady.

eventually, she sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "hyun, my legs are falling asleep."

he blinked, coming back to reality. "oh—wait, don’t move yet."

she groaned playfully. "i’m dying."

"you’re not dying."

"i might be."

hyunjin laughed, but he set his brush down, stepping closer again. he crouched in front of her, hands gliding up her legs, massaging gently. "here," he murmured. "better?"

she melted instantly. "mmm. yeah."

his thumbs pressed into her calves, slow and firm. "you were so patient for me," he murmured. "thank you."

she peeked down at him, her fingers threading through his hair. "always."

he exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes briefly at her touch. then, without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knee. just because he wanted to.

she stilled slightly, then her fingers curled against his scalp.

"hyunjin."

he looked up, his hands still resting on her legs. "yeah?"

her gaze softened. "can i see it?"

his heart did something funny in his chest.

he stood, suddenly nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. "it’s not finished yet."

she reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "that’s okay."

he hesitated, then nodded. slowly, he stepped aside, letting her stand and move toward the easel.

her eyes widened slightly.

for a long moment, she said nothing, just taking it in.

he chewed on his lip, waiting. "do you like it?"

she turned to him then, and he almost staggered back at the look on her face.

she wasn’t just smiling. she wasn’t just admiring.

she was looking at him the way he looked at her.

like he was something to be treasured.

like she had never felt so loved in her entire life.

"hyunjin," she breathed. "it’s… it’s beautiful."

hyunjin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

then, before he could say anything, she was in his arms, burying herself into his chest, wrapping around him like she belonged there.

he closed his eyes, arms curling around her, holding her impossibly close.

"it’s you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "exactly the way i see you."

and that was all he had ever wanted to do.

...she didn’t let go.

even when the painting stood in front of her like a quiet confession, even when her eyes were still drinking in every delicate brushstroke, she couldn’t bring herself to step away from her lover.

instead, she pressed her face into his chest, arms tightening around his waist.

hyunjin chuckled, his palm smoothing over her back. "baby," he murmured. "aren’t you gonna keep looking?"

"i’ve seen enough," she mumbled, voice muffled against his sweater. "it’s too much."

his brows furrowed slightly. "too much?"

she nodded, inhaling deeply—his scent, the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "hyunjin, my boyfriend, the love of my life, the most dramatic artist to ever exist—"

he snorted. "oh, here we go."

"—has painted me with so much love that i might actually pass out. and it's-"

hyunjin grinned, resting his chin atop her head. "please don’t pass out. i’d have to catch you, and we’d both go down, and then you’d blame me."

"i would. because it would be your fault."

he hummed. "i love how you admit it so easily."

she lifted her head slightly, just enough to peek up at him. her eyes were still shimmering, lined with something fragile. but her lips curled, soft and fond.

"hyunjin, you love me so much," she whispered.

his breath hitched.

he wasn’t sure what it was—maybe the way she said it, like a realization, like an overwhelming truth she was only just coming to terms with. maybe the way she was looking at him, wide-eyed and almost awed, as if she couldn’t believe how much love she was receiving.

but something inside him ached.

he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. "of course i do," he murmured. "you didn’t know?"

she swallowed, her lashes fluttering. "i did— but i didn't think it'd be this.. much!"

"then why do you look like you’re about to cry?"

her lip wobbled. "because—because i love you so much too, and you just—you love me so much, hyunjin, it’s ridiculous."

his heart squeezed.

and then she was rambling, as if the words couldn’t come out fast enough, as if they’d been sitting in her chest, waiting for this moment.

"my boyfriend loves me so much that he paints me like i’m the most precious thing in the world," she whispered, blinking rapidly. "my boyfriend loves me so much that he stares at me like i’m art before i even become art."

the guy bit his lip, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"my boyfriend loves me so much that he took hours to mix the perfect shade for my skin, because he wanted me to glow exactly the way i do in his eyes. my boyfriend loves me so much that he barely blinked the entire time, like he was memorizing me all over again."

she sniffled, voice wobbling. "my boyfriend loves me so much—"

hyunjin burst into laughter.

she gasped, offended. "hyunjin!"

"i’m sorry," he wheezed, pressing his forehead against hers, shoulders shaking. "you’re just—" another laugh bubbled out of him. "you’re so cute, baby. you’re literally giving a whole monologue right now."

her cheeks burned. "it’s not my fault! i’m emotional!"

he softened instantly, his laughter fading into something gentler. "i know," he murmured, tilting her chin up. "i love that you are."

she huffed, her lips pursing, but her eyes were still damp. "well, you did this. this is your fault."

"yeah?" his thumb brushed over her cheek, catching the faintest trace of moisture. "then let me take responsibility."

and before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

soft. slow. full of everything he couldn’t put into words.

her hands curled into his sweater, and he felt her melt, felt her sigh against his lips, felt the warmth of her love spilling into the space between them.

when he pulled back, she blinked up at him, dazed.

"you’re not real," she whispered.

he laughed again, quieter this time. "neither are you."

she exhaled, leaning in to press her face into the crook of his neck.

for a long moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the painting forgotten in the background.

then, in a whisper—"thank you."

he smiled, his arms tightening around her. "you don’t have to thank me."

"yes, i do." she pulled back just enough to look at him. "for painting me. for looking at me like that. for loving me like this."

his heart swelled.

he kissed her forehead. "always."

she sighed dreamily, resting against his chest again.

and just like that, time slowed.

there was no rush, no urgency—just them, bathed in the golden remnants of daylight, wrapped in love, in laughter, in warmth.

just them, in their little world, where hyunjin’s brush had captured her beauty, but his love had captured her heart.

⤿ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑟𝘵𝑎𝑔. @its-stayville-forever @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos — fill out this form to be added !! ✶

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3

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pythonmoth · 1 day ago

Text

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back.

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans.

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be.

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot.

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes.

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain.

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists.

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s.

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it.

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again.

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in.

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrified of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

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daeyumi · 19 hours ago

Note

for the doodle requests... Which flower makes your Zelda, Impa, Link and Ganondorf happy? :))) OR suit them?

this was suuuuuch a good ask tbh— i thought about it a lot and i think i’m pretty happy with my answers!

Ganondorf- water lily

tbh i thought initially to choose something that fit his personality more, or a type of flower he would like- maybe some kind of flower that thrives in harsh conditions like the crevasses in a rock face. but in the end, i couldn’t say no to the water lily. it’s what inspired his design (along with other similar water plants), and i do think it suits him even tho it may not be his favorite flower personally. he also keeps water lilies in his throne room (in a shallow pool that surrounds the throne itself)!

Zelda- orchid

for Zelda, i wanted to pick something elegant, refined, and feminine. she’s a huge lover of flowers and plants in general, and has a special place in her heart for flowers commonly grown in Hyrule Castle’s gardens, but i think she really enjoys something that’s a little bit more difficult to cultivate as well. actually, the flower design on the bottom of her skirt is kind of reminiscent of an orchid as well- totally unintentional as i was kind of just going for “flower” when i designed it, but i guess it’s a nice coincidence!

Impa- gladiolus

for strength of character, and for honor and protection. straightforward like her personality. when i was looking up reference images, i found a really pretty orange & red colored one that reminded me so much of Impa’s color scheme for her Sheikah cloak as well!

Link- wild clover

quiet and subdued. a weed. something commonly found in nature and covering the ground, rather than a plant that would be grown purposefully in a garden or similar role. basically the opposite of Link, in his role as the Hero and as a being cultivated specifically for grand purpose- but one they identify much more with subconsciously. i think one of the reasons Link would enjoy it so much is because they saw a lot of clover and similar plants while wandering the forests before being brought back to Hyrule Castle. so it’s a familiar kind of enjoyment.

#zelda #legend of zelda #zelda au #loz au #answered asks #dae answers #zelda fanart #cycle of the stars #cycle of the stars au #cycle of the stars notes #cycle of the stars link #cycle of the stars zelda #cycle of the stars impa #cycle of the stars ganondorf #thanks for the request!

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lyn31 · 3 days ago

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Do you mind if I request a pure fluffy oneshot about pregnant MC feels lonely since Zayne always busy at work where in fact, Zayne already planned a long holiday to take care of his pregnant wife?🥺🥺

Omg this is so cute! Thank you for the request/idea! I try my best for pure fluff! Hope it's what you're thinking of!

Lonely?

Summary

You thought you’d have to endure more lonely days, waiting for Zayne to come home late from work. He’s always been attentive, making sure you’re comfortable, checking in on your cravings, and doing everything he can to care for you—even from a distance. But it’s not enough. You don’t just want his care. You want him. And what you don’t realize is that he’s already made sure you won’t have to wait much longer.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader If you've been reading my stuff, you know I'm prone to getting carried away—but not too much this time! Anyway, pure fluff incoming!

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

The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of whatever simple breakfast you managed to put together. Across from you, Zayne sits with his usual composed demeanor, sipping his coffee as he reads something on his terminal. He looks effortlessly put together, as always, dressed in his usual crisp attire, ready for another long day at the hospital.

You try not to pout. You really do.

But the disappointment settles in your chest before you can stop it.

It’s not like Zayne has been neglecting you—far from it. Even with his busy schedule, he still makes sure you’re eating well, checks in on your cravings, and finds small ways to take care of you. But it’s not the thoughtful gestures you want right now. It’s him. His presence. His warmth—well, as warm as he can be. You just miss having him by your side.

“Another long shift?” you ask, poking at your food without much enthusiasm.

Zayne glances up, his golden eyes calm as ever. “Hm?”

You roll your eyes. “At the hospital. You’ve been working late every day. It’s fine, I’m just asking.”

There’s no accusation in your tone, but you still feel a little guilty for even bringing it up. It’s not like Zayne is staying late for fun—he’s a doctor. His work saves lives. But still, a selfish part of you wishes he could just… be here.

Zayne sets down his coffee cup with a quiet clink, studying you for a moment. Then, instead of answering directly, he asks, “Did you sleep well?”

You huff. Typical. He always redirects the conversation back to you. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Back pain?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Hm.” He reaches for a small dish beside him and slides it toward you. “I picked these up on the way home last night. You mentioned craving something sweet.”

You glance down, finding a delicate pastry, the exact kind you’d been wanting the other day. Your heart squeezes. See? He never forgets. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

You pick it up, turning it slightly between your fingers before taking a bite. The flaky crust melts in your mouth, the filling perfectly sweet without being overwhelming. Exactly the way you like it.

Your mood should lighten. And in some ways, it does—just not the way you need. Zayne always remembers these little things, even when he barely has time to breathe.

You swallow, glancing at him as he returns his attention to his terminal, seemingly unbothered. Like picking up pastries at an ungodly hour just to make you happy is the most natural thing in the world.

Your lips curve slightly. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

Zayne hums, not looking up. “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely with the half-eaten pastry. “This. Bringing me things. You’re already busy enough.”

Finally, he meets your gaze. “It’s hardly an inconvenience.”

The words are simple, stated like a fact rather than reassurance. But you know what he means. If it’s for you, it’s never a burden.

The warmth in your chest grows, just enough to quiet the selfish ache—at least for now.

You take another bite, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Even if he has to leave soon, at least for now, he’s here.

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

There’s not much to do when you’re off work and pregnant. Ever since you and Zayne found out, you’ve both been buried in pregnancy books, but now that you’re in your second trimester, there’s more waiting than anything else. At least your pregnancy has been on the milder side so far.

It’s not like he’s neglecting me. You keep telling yourself that, fingers absently tracing patterns against your stomach. He still calls. He still buys me whatever I want. I’m fine. The house is quiet—too quiet—and before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to the clock. I don’t need to be so clingy. But somehow, the weight in your chest doesn’t ease.

So here you are again, texting Tara and catching up on the latest gossip.

Tara: Oh, and get this—remember that newbie from last week? The one who swore up and down that they could handle a solo mission?

You: The one who nearly got flattened by a Normal Wanderer?

Tara: Yep. That one. Well, guess who had to bail them out today?

You: No way. You?

Tara: Of course me. Because someone didn’t read the mission brief properly and walked straight into a nest.

You: LMAO, you’re kidding.

Tara: I wish. I had to listen to them apologize every five seconds while I cleared the area. If I hear one more “I’m so sorry, Senior Tara” I might actually lose my mind.

You: Pfft. Sounds like a fun day for you.

Tara: Oh, absolutely. Thrilling. The highlight of my week, really.

You: LMAO.

Tara: Anyway, why aren’t you asleep yet? You need a lot of rest—you and the baby, that is.

You: I’m waiting for Zayne to get home 🥺

Tara: Eh? He’s not home yet?

You: He’s supposed to be, but there was an emergency he had to take care of 😩

Tara: Well, that’s rough. But still, don’t you see him when he gets home anyway?

You: Barely. I keep falling asleep early 🫠 And now, for the morning I keep waking up later and later… Damn hormones, I swear to god.

Tara: LOL, what can you do? It is what it is. Just don’t stay up too late!

You sigh, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. Just this once, you want to stay awake—just to see him properly, not only in passing before he leaves for work.

“I get it. He’s busy. I shouldn’t complain.” The words come out light, almost dismissive, but your fingers catch on the hem of your sleeve, twisting the fabric between them. Even saying it out loud doesn’t make it feel any less hollow.

And, of course, your body has other plans. Because when you open your eyes again, it’s morning.

You're no longer on the living room sofa but tucked into bed instead. The sheets are smoothed around you, and the weight of a blanket drapes comfortably over your body. A pillow has been carefully adjusted against your belly, positioned just right to relieve any strain.

You groan into your pillow, frustration muffled against the fabric. You missed him again—just like every other night these days.

A cool, gentle touch lands on your shoulder.

You peek up, already knowing who it is.

Zayne is squatting beside the bed, his hazel eyes level with yours. Dressed in his usual crisp attire, he looks as composed as ever.

“Are you feeling any discomfort?” His tone is clinical, but the concern beneath it is unmistakable.

You shake your head, your voice still heavy with sleep. “No, I’m good. I just keep missing you coming home.” You pout without meaning to.

Zayne leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, then another to your temple. “Sorry.”

Your heart squeezes. A tiny, selfish part of you wanted him to feel bad for leaving you behind so often. But not like this.

You shake your head, frowning. “What are you sorry for? It’s your job—just like when I get emergency calls for Wanderers, remember? I understand.” You smile, actually meaning it.

Zayne takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing your palm. “You won’t have to miss me for much longer.”

You blink. What?

But before you can question it, a thought occurs. Right. He’s probably pushing himself harder just to get home earlier.

You huff. “Just don’t overwork yourself, got it?” You reach up and pinch his cheek lightly.

Zayne merely hums, his lips twitching slightly before he leans down, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. Then, he stands. “I made breakfast. If you’re ready, I can help you get up.”

You narrow your eyes at the curve of his lips, recognizing the teasing edge in his voice.

Still, you reach for him anyway, stretching out both hands toward him. “Well, husband, help your wife up, then.”

His low chuckle is your only warning before he pulls you into his arms with practiced ease.

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

“Take care, Mrs. Li.”

You reply with a smile, “You too.”

The person—whom Zayne hired at the start of your pregnancy—gives you a polite nod before stepping out, leaving your home spotless as always.

Honestly, sometimes your husband is even more dramatic than you. It’s sweet that he refuses to let you lift a finger, but now you’re left with nothing to do. The house, now silent and empty, feels even bigger than usual.

You huff, shaking off the creeping loneliness. You could dwell on it… or you could find something to entertain yourself with.

Speaking of entertainment, Zayne should be on his break around this time.

So, of course, you text him.

You: Zaaaaayyyneeeeee.

Mine♥️: Yes? Did something happen?

You: Send me your selfie ☺️

Mine♥️: My selfie? How about you send me yours first?

Did he just? This man, you swear. You shake your head grinning while you type your reply.

You: Hey! I say it first! The baby’s asking.

You can practically see Zayne’s deadpan stare through the screen, and the thought alone makes you giggle.

Mine♥️: The baby is asking?

You: Yes. The baby wants to see their dad’s face 🥺

You stare at your screen, waiting, watching the three little dots appear… then disappear. Then appear again. Then disappear.

You know he’s hesitating.

Mine♥️: That doesn’t sound medically accurate.

You snort, already imagining his flat expression.

You: Wow. Are you denying your child’s request? How could you, Dr. Li?

Silence.

Then, finally—a new message arrives.

It’s an image.

You open it eagerly, only to burst into laughter.

It’s exactly what you expected. A slightly blurred, poorly angled selfie, as if he took it at the last second just to shut you up. His expression is his usual composed neutrality, though you can see the faintest arch of his brow, like he knows this is ridiculous but indulges you anyway. The lighting is terrible, half his face is cropped out, and yet—it's still unmistakably him.

You: LMAO, Zayne, still?? Are you sure you know what that is?

Mine♥️: A selfie.

You: This is a crime against photography.

Mine♥️: You asked. I delivered.

You can’t stop grinning. Even with his reluctant participation, it’s these little moments that make you feel closer to him, even when he’s away.

You: Fine, fine. You win. But I’m adding this to my Zayne’s selfie collection.

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s only two words.

Mine♥️: Of course.

And maybe it’s just your hormones, but somehow, that single message makes your heart flutter a little too much. After a beat he sends you another text.

Mine♥️: Now, where’s mine?

You debate teasing him for a few seconds, but you’re feeling generous, so you take a picture of yourself, angling a bit to show you holding your baby bump, and winking at the camera. Then you send it.

Mine♥️: Perfect.

You stare at the screen, re-reading his response. Perfect.

It’s such a simple word. Just one. But somehow, it makes your chest feel warm and achy all at once.

You puff out a breath, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Why is this making you emotional? It’s not even that serious. It’s just Zayne being Zayne. Calm, composed, and effortlessly sweet in that way of his.

But then you glance back at your own selfie—the one with your baby bump in clear view—and your eyes start to sting.

He thinks you’re perfect. Just like this.

Hormones. It has to be the hormones.

You sniff, rubbing at your eyes, and quickly type back before you can get any more sappy.

You: I’ll let you have that one, Dr. Li. Just this once.

His reply comes instantly.

Mine♥️: I appreciate the honor.

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. Even if you feel lonely right now, at least moments like this remind you—Zayne is still with you, no matter the distance. And yet, no matter how sweet these moments are, the ache of missing him doesn’t go away.

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

Another morning dawns, light filtering softly through the curtains, painting everything in a muted golden hue.

You wake up feeling... off. Not upset, not really, but there’s a quiet heaviness in your chest, a weight of reluctance. Maybe it’s just that your bed is so comfortable, or it’s the cool presence beside you—one you know will be gone in just a little while.

Zayne is still half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady. The moment you shift closer, he stirs. He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers find their way to your hair, smoothing down the strands with that same absentminded gentleness he always has.

You press your face against his shoulder, sighing. Just a few more minutes. Just a little longer before the day starts and he leaves again.

But time moves too fast. Before you know it, he’s getting up, moving through the familiar motions of getting ready. You stay in bed longer than usual today, even though you’re already awake, not feeling like facing the day just yet, but eventually, you shuffle out of the room, just in time to see Zayne placing the food on the table.

He glances up when he notices you. “Come sit. You need to eat.”

You hum noncommittally but let him guide you to your chair. Breakfast is warm, comforting—just like always. You eat quietly, and while Zayne doesn’t comment on it, you know he notices. He always does.

And now, here you are, standing at the front door, watching him as he prepares to leave for yet another work day. You keep your expression neutral. Or at least, you try. But it must show anyway, because as Zayne smooths out his sleeves, then glances at you. “You won’t be waiting much longer.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if this should be obvious. “Today is my last shift before my extended leave starts. I’ll be home starting tomorrow.”

Your brain stalls. You just stare at him, completely thrown. The words don’t quite register at first, like your mind refuses to take them in all at once, because—what?

You open your mouth, then close it again, struggling for words before finally managing— “You’re…staying home starting tomorrow?” The words come out small, hesitant, like you’re scared to believe them. But the look on Zayne’s face—calm, assured, like this was never even a question—makes it all too real.

Then the realization crashes into you, and before you even know it, your eyes burn—tears spilling over, completely unprompted, catching even you off guard.

Zayne’s expression shifts in an instant. His hands reach for you immediately, one settling on your back, the other tilting your chin up so he can study your face. “What’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but you can hear the thread of concern beneath it. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head rapidly, even as another choked-out laugh bubbles up between your tears. “No, I just—” You sniffle, gripping onto his coat.

His touch is gentle as he tilts your chin up again, but before that, his thumb brushes the corner of your eye, catching a tear before it can fall. He exhales softly, barely more than a breath, and murmurs “No tears, love.” low and steady, as if grounding you with just his voice.

And that you make your tears flow even more. “I’m just really happy. And I feel ridiculous. Oh my god, I can’t stop crying—”

Zayne blinks, still looking slightly lost. But he tightens his hold on you, shifting slightly to the side so he doesn’t squeeze you or the baby, his hand stroking your back in slow, steady motions. Then, as if something clicks, he exhales softly. “Didn’t I already tell you? That you wouldn’t have to miss me for much longer?”

You let out a hiccup, still clutching his coat. “You were being vague! I thought you meant coming home earlier or something!”

His lips twitch slightly—amused, but choosing not to show it too much for your sake. “I see. My mistake.” He presses a kiss into your hair, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “You think I’d leave you lonely if I had a choice?”

You huff, burying your face against his chest. Zayne lets out a quiet breath before wrapping his arms securely around you. “And you’re not ridiculous,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But you do need to breathe.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I am breathing.”

“Barely.” He smooths a hand down your back, his voice quieter now. “You really missed me that much?”

You nod against his chest. “Yeah. I really did.”

Zayne says nothing for a moment, just holds you there, his grip firm and steady. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “Then I’ll make up for all of it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by just how much you love this man. “You’re not allowed to leave me for even a second, you hear me?”

A pause. Then, so casually, “That might be difficult. What if you need to use the restroom? You don't usually let me follow you there.”

You pull back just enough to glare at him. “Zayne.”

“Hm?” His expression is calm, but you can see the slightest glint of amusement in his eyes now.

“You’re ruining the moment.”

Zayne hums, entirely unbothered. “I thought I was making it memorable.”

You sniff, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“I know.” He smooths his hands down your sides one last time before stepping back, adjusting his coat. “Now, go inside. You shouldn’t be standing out here too long.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “Fine. But you better come home on time.”

Zayne lifts a brow. “I always do.”

“Liar.”

He exhales through his nose—just barely amused—before leaning in, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And with that, he turns, heading off without another word. You linger for a second longer, watching him go before finally stepping inside.

By the time evening comes, the moment Zayne steps inside, you immediately cling to him. His hands settle at your waist, steadying you, and just when you’re about to pull back, he shifts his grip—lifting you effortlessly.

“Zayne! Are you insane? Put me down! I’m the weight of two people!”

“This is why I work out,” he replies smoothly.

You gape at him before bursting into laughter. He just walks, carrying you as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, before gently setting you down on the living room sofa. Squatting in front of you, his eyes flick toward the kitchen, probably catching the scent of the food you just finished making. One brow lifts.

“You were cooking?”

“I’m pregnant, not invalid.” You challenge his stare with a pointed look.

He exhales, clearly holding back a remark, then concedes with a small nod. “Alright then. Do you want to eat first?” He asks, even though he already knows your answer.

Now that your mood feels much lighter, you flash him a sweet smile. “I’m eating with you, obviously. Speaking of, husband…”

You toy with his collar, dragging a finger slowly down his chest. Zayne watches you with a suspicious gaze.

“Do you want to eat first, take a bath, or…” You drag out the words teasingly. “Me?”

You wink, fully expecting him to scoff. And he does—but not before his eyes flick down to your breast, then back up. The way his gaze darkens for half a second makes your breath hitch.

Then, without missing a beat, he says, “You first, then.”

“What?” You laugh, eyes widening as he shifts to sit beside you, pulling you against him. His cool breath brushes against your skin, lips grazing the curve of your neck.

“You asked, darling.”

And just like that, the day ends in the most perfect way possible.

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Notes

Hehehehehe 😳 sorry ahahahaha love how this turn out actually, gosh they're so cute 🫶🏻😩🥹 This is ended up connected ahaha either way, if we're going for chronological order here it is: (this is part 2) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 smut one perhaps? ahahaha

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seasidefallenangel · 16 hours ago

Text

now say i'm the only one you need

ranking the bllk men on how good of a boyfriend they are ft. isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, michael kaiser, alexis ness

song from here listen to it to get a kiss from me

༄ isagi: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” he’s incredibly attentive of all your needs and overall is very good at balancing his soccer career with your relationship. dictionary definition of “walk him like a dog.” anything you say goes and he’s more than happy with things being that way. actually has a pretty high tolerance for whatever things you might put him through, he tends to be good at solving problems before they can spiral out of control. the most you’ll have to deal with is the fact he can be kind of on the more awkward and shy side of things, unsure how to really be in a relationship. he wasn’t really popular or well known at all before blue lock, so at most he had crushes that were one-sided. his friends joke and tease about how you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. he doesn’t even care that they’re right.

༄ bachira: 9/10

the thing with bachira is that you’re not gonna date him unless you’re okay with all of his quirks, so there’s really nothing “bad” or unexpected going into the relationship. at his worst he can be clingy and a smidge overbearing, but he’s terrified of you deciding you want something more, better than him. he’s very easy going because of this, and really won’t have any disagreements with whatever ideas strike you. you’re actually a rock in this life, and he feels safe confiding all the thoughts clawing at his mind when he’s being held in your arms. despite what people may think, he does have a calmer temperament to him - generally after practice or late at night. he’s a big cuddle bug and will most likely fall asleep on your stomach, clinging to you so you can’t leave him.

༄ chigiri: 5/10

rose-glasses off, chigiri kinda sucks. he’s very selfish without the whole egoist thing going on, and it’s confirmed in canon that a lot of people get turned off by his personality after being drawn in by his looks. he obviously has some interest in you if you’re dating, but that doesn’t mean his bad traits magically go away. his mindset is very “me before you.” if you’re arguing he’s going to bring up points for the sole purpose of hurting you because he has to be right. he has too much pride to admit when he's wrong but also to apologize for his actions. on the opposite side of that, though, is compliments and the like are easy for him to give you. he’s pretty open with his opinions so if he likes a certain thing about you he has no qualms with telling you as such. he would never deny you're dating and generally likes to show you off, wanting everyone to know he bagged an incredible person. he’s not the worst person to date, but it probably won’t be worth anything as a long term relationship.

༄ nagi: 6/10

nagi is my favorite character and that’s why i need to say this. he does have some merit for what it’s worth. he’s very physically affectionate and is also really easy to be around. i see him as being more open to compromise if you’re stern enough with him. he might complain a bit but he’s not that hard to convince. the biggest issue with him is that he just… doesn’t care. if he goes to a new cafe with you it’s cause you asked him, not because he wanted to. it’s not that he doesn’t love you, he just doesn’t process things like this in his brain. the concept of ‘doing things for your partner before they ask’ doesn’t click. he’s not a mind reader, so isn’t just being vocal about what you want the easiest? he doesn’t really expect much from you as a partner so easily grows confused at why you have these random demands and expectations from him when you know exactly how he is. it might not be a dealbreaker, but it does make you question if he’s ever actually enjoying his time with you.

༄ reo: 8/10

reo’s biggest issues are 1.) he's absurdly jealous and 2.) his money. the thing with his money is the fact he uses it almost as a deflector of sorts. if you have a genuine problem you need to sort out with him, he's giving you new jewelry, designer bags, dinners at michelin star restaurants instead of talking it out. he doesn’t want to give you the chance to bring up your displeasure in regards to something he’s done. it’s his default answer because it’s the only thing people have wanted from him. reo is actually very scared of conflict. he’s worried you’ll leave him at the first sign of him not being the picture perfect boyfriend that’s expected from him, which ties into the jealousy. if someone has a trait you admire, he’ll mold himself to fit that thing you seem to like. he hates when you even acknowledge other people’s talents or attractive features (save for nagi.) speaking of nagi, it’s played out but i do believe he’s the only person reo will share you with. if nagi wants to cuddle, kiss, act like your boyfriend, reo has no issue as long as he’s involved too. when you’re someone reo truly loves, he’ll let you do pretty much anything to him with no repercussions. it’s very easy to take advantage of him as long as you promise stay by his side.

༄ rin: 7/10

no matter how much he denies it, rin tries very hard to be sae. he wants to be the nonchalant boyfriend, never losing his cool and making it seem like you’re always running back for more. in truth, he couldn’t be more obvious about how badly he needs you. he has this sort of non-stop identity crisis going so he’s going to have this front of “fine with you, fine without you.” he wants you to think he doesn’t need you that bad because he’s worried you’ll see him as weak. the thing that makes it obvious is that when you’re threatening to leave because he’s just too hot and cold, he caves instantly. teeth gritted, he’ll ask what you want him to change, what kind of person should he be for you? after sae, he became so desperately starved for love that the second you started dating he felt like he was suffocating, always needing your validation but unable to ask for it. similarly to reo, he’s easy to take advantage of if you insinuate that you’re unhappy with something currently in your relationship. be gentle because you can break him apart and he’ll always think it was his fault.

༄ sae: 9/10

i’m gonna go against the grain and say that sae is actually a great boyfriend because he wouldn’t bother getting into a relationship to begin with if he didnt think it’s worth his time. he’s an incredibly self assured person so he has no reason to be all wishy-washy with who he’s interested. sae’ll make it clear he wants to date you and obviously you’re reciprocating because duh, he’s sae itoshi. from the get go he’ll remind you that soccer is his career, his lifeblood, and while he loves you more, his priorities lay there. the fact he straight up admits it instead of letting it become a festering issue is exactly why he’s so good because neither of you will have wasted time in the relationship. he’s also easier to talk to than one might think. sae generally believes drawn out arguments are pointless and wasting energy on them doesn’t help anyone, so any that you two have are squashed pretty quickly. affection comes pretty easily to him but he can be a little emotionally absent at his worst. it’s not really something that changes over time, but he has other methods of making sure you know he adores you. it’s very “what you see is what you get.” if you’re acquainted with him at all, there’s really no negative surprises or unexpected twists that put a damper on the romance between you both. if nothing else, he makes sure the whole world know exactly who you belong to, and it leaves you with no room to doubt he plans to keep you by his side forever.

༄ karasu: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” this is generally a shock to people who know the kind of company he keeps around but the thing is that karasu doesn’t approve of otoya’s behavior. he goes from insinuating otoya could be doing better things with his time than leading girls on to flat out telling him he’s pathetic for not holding down a relationship. most of the girls who have their hearts broken by otoya fall in love with karasu right after from how kindly he treats them and the way he apologizes for his friends nasty habits. karasu holds a lot of respect for you as a person since he’s attracted to people he can analyze and read into. a common bonding activity is just him asking your opinions on certain topics or how you’d approach a theoretical situation and he’ll sit back and listen, trying to dig into your mind. he’s also very self aware of his flaws and will admit he isn’t perfect but is always working to better himself (“his weakness is that he can't be nice to people he thinks are mediocre and knows he needs to fix that.”) it’s not like you’ll never have issues, but he always resolves them in a way that doesn’t add tension or doubt to your relationship. he’s also good with all 5 love languages and prefers to show them all to you, but if you have ones you prefer or dislike then he can easily adjust. he’s always listening to you, learning about you, wanting to be the best version of himself he can for you.

༄ otoya: 6/10

the glaring bone of contention with otoya is obvious to anyone who knows him - but not in the way you think. otoya can be a good boyfriend if he wants ; he knows what girls like, what makes them happy, how to keep them satisfied. he’s had enough practice for it to be second nature. once you're in a genuine relationship with him, he’s going to treat you pretty well. thing is - that’s exactly his problem. in the back of your head you know why he’s so good at this. you know you’re an idiot for thinking you can change him despite the fact you did. it’s just impossible to believe. every time he tries to reassure you that yes, you’re his only, he doesn’t want to go back to his old ways, you’re just staring at him thinking to yourself, ‘wonder how many times he’s used this line on someone.’ you’re just never going to have a sense of security with him because there’s always this lingering "what if" bouncing around. the worst part is that it’s not an unreasonable line of thought. mindless paranoia is one thing, but there’s so much proof against him that you’d be more humiliated for assuming he isn’t cheating on you - you can’t date a serial cheater and be really that mad or shocked if he does. you know what you signed up for accepting his confession, so your entire viewpoint is that it’s a matter of ‘when’ and not ‘if’. you can never ever say with full confidence he's 100% yours, even when he is.

༄ yukimiya: 10/10

one third of the “perfect boyfriend trio.” i know it’s like beating a dead horse since this is a commonly shared sentiment but he really is incredible. a big part of the reason why is actually the fact he’s emotionally mature. he’s in tune with how he feels and knows how to convey it respectfully but isn’t so set in his ways he can’t see what points you want to make if you were to disagree on something. something else is that he’s very good at reading your micro-behaviors and can fall in line pretty well with how you act without compromising his own personality (in comparison to how someone like bachira or alexis would.) if you tend to be on the shyer side, not really one to defend yourself, he has no issue stepping in and solving whatever problem is going on. on the flip if you are more outgoing and not scared to bite at people then he'll fall back, only intervening when he can sense things’ll get ugly if he doesn’t tug on your leash a little bit. something he particularly enjoys doing is picking up hobbies or skills that you enjoy or would appreciate. he’ll learn how to cook if you hate it or asks you to read your favorite books to him at night, wrapped in his arms while he presses a gentle kiss against your temple.

༄ kaiser: 4/10 to 8/10

the thing with kaiser is that he’s a really good boyfriend, but you have to go through hell to get to that point. he has so many walls and has all these little “tests” where he tries to catch you using him for his money, status, looks, etc. kaiser wants to convince himself that love obviously isn’t real ; look at his parents for god’s sake. so he’s always trying to plan some “gotcha” thing and catch you in the act. the issue is, he doesn’t. you’re really like this from the bottom of your heart and he can’t wrap his head around that fact. so he goes to the emotion he knows best - anger. he’s lashing out at you for lying to him, accusing you of all sorts of things because surely there’s no way this is real, that he has something fully his, someone who cherishes him and sees him for his best. this entire process isn’t a few months either - this is a good two or three years. he has a lot of built up trauma to navigate both on his own and with you. if you somehow have the conviction to get through this then he’ll be a really incredible guy to have around. he loves you so fiercely that he’d rather die than let the one good thing he’s been gifted to slip from his fingers, but everyone in your life is going to hate him by then and insist he hasn’t changed, feeling like you’re going to eventually be broken by him.

༄ alexis: ?/10

alexis is actually pretty similar to bachira, just more extreme. in any other context, his obsessions would be viewed as something of concern or distasteful but dating alexis means you already would know about it and in turn only get into a relationship if you were okay with it. it’s not as if his attachment to kaiser is a secret. if you’re going in with the “i can fix him” mentality then you’ve doomed yourself already. you have to already accept his quirks and such to really reach him in a way that matters. a relationship with him is this unending back and forth. you're actually not really going to be viewed as this untouchable deity because he's already yours. he doesn't have to prove his worth like with kaiser. the thing is that kaiser molded who he is now so kaiser is kind of his tie to humanity - without him, alexis doesn’t really have much keeping him tied to earth. don’t think you’re not important to him because and he’s going to insane lengths for you to accept his unhealthy outlets of showing his love and devotion to you. he feels so much more human with you because you’re giving him the attention that he has to beg kaiser for but without the requirements to earn it - you just love him naturally. he’s not trying to prove that he deserves your love, he’s trying to prove that he loves you just as much back but he doesn’t know how to do it normally. he doesn’t know how to offer himself to you in a way that isn’t self destructive. he’s stuck in this non-stop cycle of you trying to convince him he doesn’t need to like earn your love and him thinking that it’s you saying he’s not doing enough to to earn your love and thus he goes to more extremes. if you can handle it then he’s great for you, you’ll never question that he’s madly in love with you. but if you get overwhelmed then he grows more unstable, and you’re stuck trying to make him better while he makes himself worse to hopefully get you to finally praise him for shattering who he is.

#sae itoshi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #reo mikage x reader #alexis ness x reader #bachira meguru x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #bllk x reader #karasu tabito x reader #otoya eita x reader #yukimiya kenyu x reader

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azzifuddslover · 1 day ago

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UNRAVEL - chapter six

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

tw: swearing, light sexual content (not much detail)

themes: angst, jealousy

word count: 6.7k

a/n: um… hey! first of all, i’m so sorry for disappearing for like a month. school has been kickin my ass 🥲 anyway, i have been contemplating continuing this series and was so convinced i’d never write again. obviously i decided against that! this chapter really started pickin up the pace and WHAT ABOUT IT. please go easy on me i understand this is awfully written, but keep in mind i haven’t actually wrote anything since early january. lemme know how y’all feel about this chapter, maybe even share ur live reactions? i would love that! enjoy and happy munch madness pookies

soaking up the high of an absolute blowout of a game, paige and azzi walk giddily to the blonde’s apartment, with paige leading the way. their giggles echo throughout the hallway matched with ear to ear grins. paige casually unlocks her apartment door, glances over her shoulder and pulls azzi into the open space by her jersey.

azzi lets out a louder laugh, her dimples popping out as she stumbles into the room. paige places both hands on either side of the brunette, keeping her stable and balanced.

“you played so good today,” paige tells her, locking eye contact.

azzi smiles, her cheeks flushed from both the game and their proximity. “you think so?” she teases, raising an eyebrow.

paige’s grin grows at her comment, her eyes softening as she leans in, pressing her lips gently to azzi’s cheek. she moves her hand to cup the back of her head, holding her closer. the contact is light but warm, only causing azzi to flush more.

“yeah,” paige whispers, her voice lower, “you were incredible.”

azzi’s grip on paige’s shirt unknowingly tightens, her body mere inches away from the blonde’s. she ducks her head, suddenly shy.

paige steps backward, dragging azzi with her until they’re both seated on her bed— close enough that their thighs are full on touching. paige’s hand never leaves azzi’s frame.

azzi opens her mouth, eyes searching paige’s face. after a moment of hesitation, she closes it, unsure how to approach this topic.

paige notices— of course— and scrunches her eyebrows. “what’s wrong?”

“what, nothing,” azzi shakes her head, “i just need to tell you something.”

trying not to jump to conclusions, although she can feel her heart begin to race, she says, “okay.”

azzi loosens her grip on paige’s shirt, “someone asked me out on a date.”

definitely not what paige expected— worse, even. “a guy?”

azzi waits a moment before nodding, her lips creating a line.

paige feels a knot form in her stomach, the words hitting her harder than they should— as her best friend. she forces herself to remain calm, her eyes flicking to azzi’s face, searching for any sign of how she’s feeling about it. “what’d you say?”

azzi’s expression is unreadable as she glances away, almost ashamed in a way. “i said yes,” she whispers, “his name’s tyler, he’s pretty nice.”

paige nods, plastering a soft smile on her face regardless of her disappointment. “that’s great, azzi. really. i’m happy for you,” she says, though her voice doesn’t quite match the enthusiasm she’s attempting to project.

azzi looks at her, clearly noticing a subtle shift in paige’s tone. she bites her lip, her gaze continuing to flick between her friend’s face and the floor. “thank you, p,” she mumbles.

silent for a minute, paige clears her throat, “‘course, az,” her voice is gentle. she shifts slightly on the bed, creating a small distance between her and the brunette.

“i think you’d like him,” azzi speaks up, “he’s really sweet. good looking, too,” she exhales a weak laugh.

paige only hums in response, looking down. “maybe,” she agrees, “if you’re happy, that’s all i care about. i just want you happy.”

azzi’s heart swells in her chest at the sincerity behind paige’s words. god. she scoots closer, their thighs brushing against each others once again. the brunette leans in, connecting her full lips to the area below paige’s ear, staying there a second longer then she should.

a pleased sigh escapes paige’s lips, her body tensing from the unexpected closeness.

“love you, p,” azzi mutters, quiet enough that paige is unsure if she said it at all.

instead of responding, paige turns toward azzi, offers a kind smile and stands. “alright, come on,” she holds her hands out for the younger girl; when their hands meet, she tugs her up into a standing position. “let’s get showered and then we can grab some food. sound good?”

azzi nods, already thinking of the food she’s been craving. she feels paige squeeze her hands before dropping them, turning away to find some comfortable clothes.

going through the motions, paige cannot help but feel a sense of unease settle in her chest. it’s not a full blown feeling, but more of a quiet, nagging discomfort she can’t quite shake. azzi has a date. azzi. her best friend. her azzi— going on a date with someone that’s not her.

she shallows dryly, making primal effort to shut these feelings down. it fails, to say the least. her mind continues to wonder back to azzi’s words, almost in a haunting manner. someone asked me out on a date. fuck.

after paige and azzi had dinner, enjoying each others company and having unnecessarily long conversations, azzi heads off to her room she shares with caroline.

paige brushes a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sighs, her mind racing with the way azzi had smiled at her and her soft giggles that make her stomach flutter for no reason at all. she takes a deep breath, suddenly deciding to pull out her phone and text nika.

p: i’m coming over

the walk is short before paige is standing at nika’s door, knocking lightly— she pushes the door, finding it open, entering without waiting for a response. nika looks up from where she’s sitting on the couch, scrolling on her phone.

“hey,” nika nods once, “what’s up?”

the blonde crosses her arms, trying to appear more casual than she really is. “azzi has a date,” her voice betrays her by cracking on the last word, the sudden tightness in her throat making it sound much weaker than intended.

nika raises her eyebrows, obviously shocked at paige’s statement. “a date? with who?”

paige shrugs, “a guy named tyler. i don’t know, she didn’t go into much detail— just said ‘he’s nice, i think you’d like him,’” she scoffs softly, her voice growing quiet, “like i could ever fucking like someone who’s after azzi.”

nika knowingly smirks, playing with the tips of her brown hair. “why not? i thought you said she’s your best friend— nothing more. what happened to that?” she tilts her head, teasing her friend.

paige’s cheeks flush, her gaze dropping to the floor. “cmon, nik,” she mutters, leaning her head against the wall, “i don’t know— it’s complicated, okay? i mean, she is my best friend. but sometimes, it’s just more than that. i hate it.” (she loves it.)

the croatian’s expression softens, feeling paige’s frustration radiating off her. she sets her phone down, leaning forward slightly. “you know, it’s okay to admit it, p. everyone can see how much you feel for her.”

a shaky breath escapes the blonde’s lips, her eyes shutting for a second. “fuck,” she mumbles, embarrassment washing over her features. “is it really that obvious?”

nika smiles, her voice gentle. “yeah, it is, but that’s not a bad thing, paige. it just means you’re human— you’re allowed to feel this way.” she pauses, letting the words settle for a moment. “you don’t have to figure everything out all at once, take your time. but i’m always here whenever you need me, you know that, right?”

paige walks towards nika, taking a seat next to her on the couch. she squeezes her friend’s hand, conveying her appreciation. “thank you, nik.”

“always,” nika nods, “and if it makes you feel any better about this whole date thing, azzi hasn’t mentioned him to any of us. if she likes him so much, don’t you think she’d at least tell caroline?” she raises an eyebrow, eyes widening slightly.

paige tilts her head in thought, “caroline doesn’t even know?”

“not that i’m aware of,” nika replies, “so i’m sure she doesn’t like him too much. plus, i’ve seen the way she looks at you. you can’t fake that, lemme tell ya.”

paige meets her friend’s eyes. “what way?” she asks, her voice curious.

the corners of nika’s lips curve into a grin, “like you hung the goddamn moon. she loves you, p.”

paige exhales quietly, her gaze dropping. “she wouldn’t go on a date with someone else if she loved me,” she suddenly rises from her seated position, heading for the door. “thanks, nika. i’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

the croatian nods once, understanding that paige needs to be alone right now. “see you, paige.”

with a final glance over her shoulder, paige offers a small, appreciative smile before stepping out and into the hallway.

the walk back to her room is silent, but her mind continues to drift back to azzi— her best friend, the one she trusts and loves most, and now, the one with a date.

why can’t azzi see it? why can’t azzi see her? she’s willing to do anything for her, yet here she is, going out with someone else. a guy, to make matters worse. paige would fucking climb mount everest in the dead of winter, down, and up again, just for azzi. all for her.

flopping onto her messy bed, she stuffs her face into a pillow— she screams.

you could hear the obnoxious chants and cheers of the gampel pavilion all the way in the locker room, where the uconn women’s basketball team prepares for their game. the excitement outside was palpable, but inside, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation.

paige leans against her locker, eyes scanning her teammates who were also getting ready until they found a set of very familiar brown eyes. azzi only offers a half smile which paige doesn’t return.

the two haven’t spoken— besides easygoing conversations during practices— in a few days, ever since azzi left paige’s room after mentioning her date. they haven’t even texted, which they’ve done everyday since meeting during USA basketball all those years ago. it’s unusual— azzi hates it.

the brunette breaks eye contact, looking down to tie her shoes. her pulse is steady, yet her thoughts are pure chaos. why wasn’t paige talking to her? did she say something to upset her?

a loud cheer from the stands outside broke her from the over consuming thoughts. azzi glances up only to find paige’s eyes still dead set on her, unwavering. the sophomore didn’t look away. she couldn’t.

without breaking eye contact, paige slowly tugs her shirt off, revealing her toned stomach and her, only in a sports bra. the motion was deliberate, controlled, almost in a teasing manner. azzi’s cheeks flush, her gaze flicking down to her chest, then back up to paige’s face.

paige, making sure to keep her eyes on azzi’s, slips on her jersey, then her warm up shirt over top. she makes it a point to move slow, liking azzi’s gaze on her— liking it even more when that gaze lowers.

paige was enjoying this— enjoying how azzi’s eyes that she loved so much seemed to follow her every movement. even when paige finished dressing, azzi’s eyes momentarily fell again, soaking in the sight of paige.

quickly, however, paige straightens, her focus shifting entirely. she tied her shoelaces and was out of the locker room before anyone else, leaving azzi behind, and speechless.

this is going to be a long game.

driving towards the basket, the sound of the ball bouncing on the floor floods paige’s ears.

she throws it up, getting hit on the arm. the whistle blows instantly as the ball swooshes through the net.

“yeah p!” kk yells, holding her hand out for a high five.

the players on the floor huddle paige, who continues to gather her breath. azzi hesitates to take the place next to paige, but nods in her direction regardless. “nice shot,” she tells her, her voice light.

paige exhales before placing a hand on azzi’s lower back, just above her waistband. it’s a gesture she uses with all their teammates, yet it speeds up the pace of azzi’s heart nonetheless.

paige easily makes the free throw, and the game resumes to their usual quick momentum. azzi makes most of her shots, only missing two off of bad passes while paige collects 23 points off midrange jumpers and driving layups. the two get pulled out during the fourth quarter, both out of breath but satisfied with their game tonight.

“you played well,” paige notes, nodding once at the younger girl.

azzi— still flustered at their little moment in the locker room— glances at paige, cheeks turning a light shade of red at the compliment. “thanks. you did, too,” she responds, choosing her words carefully.

paige’s gaze lingers on azzi for a beat too long, taking in her features that are coated in sweat— yet she manages to still look good.

the two watch the game in silence, not bothering to continue their conversation. they focus on the players that usually don’t play, hyping them up and cheering whenever their shot falls. it isn’t until azzi decides she’s had enough that she speaks up.

“are you mad at me?” she asks, making sure to keep her tone causal and calm. she doesn’t want to upset paige further by raising her voice.

paige scrunches her eyebrows, clearly caught off guard at her sudden question. “what, no? what makes you think that?”

azzi offers her a half shoulder shrug, “i don’t know. we haven’t talked lately; it makes me think i did something to upset you.”

“az,” paige mumbles, feeling guilty over their lack of communication over the course of the last few days. “i promise, i’m not mad. i could never be mad at you.”

with that, she scoots her leg closer, thigh coming in contact with azzi’s. she doesn’t bother meeting her eyes— although she can practically feel her staring, the silence thick between them.

azzi takes it a step further by resting her arm around paige’s chair, her fingers beginning to play with the tips of her blonde hair.

paige’s tenses, but relaxes almost as quickly, unable to ignore the warmth blooming in her chest. she tries to keep her focus on the game, but it’s difficult to ignore the way azzi lightly tugs at her hair, the soft pressure somewhat comforting.

the game winds down with the team leading by double digits. the final buzzer goes off— the team lines up, high fiving the opposing team and offering the usual “good games.”

on their way back to the locker room, after spending a couple minutes with fans and the media, paige finds herself only a couple feet behind azzi. she quickens her pace, jogging up to her best friend and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

azzi stumbles forward a little at the unexpected weight hitting her. she laughs, not hesitating to wrap her own arm loosely around paige’s waist, her fingers gripping the jersey ever so slightly.

“hi,” paige giggles, a smile clouding her serious expression that was once there.

“hey,” azzi says, her eyes immediately finding paige’s.

“wanna go to mine?”

azzi unintentionally bites her lip, nodding rapidly. paige laughs at azzi’s eager reaction and squeezes her shoulder gently.

the two make their way back to the locker room, never breaking contact. they slowly pack their bag, stuffing their shoes in along with other gear they brought.

kk nudges azzi, catching her off guard, “az, you see the coach’s face when you hit that three right in front of him?” she laughs, recalling the memory. “that’s cinematic, if you ask me.”

“i would’ve quit coaching if i were him,” ice points out, joining in on the laughter.

azzi quietly chuckles, although she’s missed the opportunity to look at his face, like they were saying.

paige, looking proud as hell, wraps her arm around her shoulder like she had before, holding her closer this time. “aren’t you guys glad i got her to come here?”

“oh please,” azzi tilts her head towards the sophomore, “i didn’t come here just for you.”

paige quirks an eyebrow, barely holding back a laugh, “okay, az, sure.”

“i didn’t, asshole!” azzi exclaims, half serious, half sarcastic. she shoves paige by the arm.

paige steps back, “mhm,” she hums, continuing to tease her.

but azzi just rolls her eyes, deciding not to entertain paige. she finishes her bag and throws it on her back before walking out and into the hallway, with paige on her trail— like usual.

she cannot help but hear paige’s annoying giggles coming from behind her. she turns her head mid walk, throwing paige a swift glare, only causing more chuckles out of her.

their walk to paige’s dorm isn’t long, but enough to make azzi throw herself on the older girl’s bed, groaning as she lays face first into the soft comforter. after a moment of silence, she turns on her side, letting out a little sigh.

paige watches her, blue eyes roaming the length of azzi’s body all laid out on her bed. she tosses her bag to the corner of the room before walking towards azzi, laying besides her, on her back.

azzi licks her lips. fuck, did she look good.

“i missed this,” paige breaks the comfortable silence while adjusting her position, now facing azzi.

“missed what?”

“us hanging out like this— talking. just me and you,” she explains, quietly. “i missed you.”

azzi, nervous all of a sudden, smirks, “wow, you’re dramatic. it was only a couple of days.”

azzi’s words hang in the air. paige’s expression shifts from soft to irritated at azzi’s response. she pulls herself up into a sitting position on the edge of her bed, her face scrunched in annoyance. “okay, forget it then.” she crosses her arms, her tone sharper than it once was. she adds, “sorry for missing my best friend, i guess.”

azzi follows paige’s movement and sits up as well, scooting a tad closer. although her tiny smirk still remains, she can tell paige is actually a little frustrated. “i was only messing around, p,” she says, “i missed you too. i miss you after not talking for a hour. i always miss you.” she reaches out, squeezing paige’s hand in hers.

azzi rests her other hand against paige’s neck and jaw area, and not giving paige a chance to reply, the younger girl leans in, pressing a featherlike kiss to the side of her head. the another— delicate, slow— on her cheekbone.

azzi leaves a trail of wet kisses down paige’s face, continuing down her neck like she’s done so many times before. she adjusts her hand— that’s still in paige’s— to rest on the blonde’s stomach, feeling her abs under her shirt.

a sigh of pleasure escapes paige, her eyelids fluttering shut. azzi’s fingertips tease the bottom of paige’s shirt, traveling slightly in, grazing her bare stomach.

“azzi,” paige whispers.

azzi hums against her skin, never disconnecting her mouth from paige’s flesh.

without another word, the older girl shifts completely, moving her body to face azzi once again. azzi— not expecting the quick movement— jerks back, but paige is fast to react, grabbing her nape and pulling her in. their lips meet and paige knows. knows this is exactly where she’s supposed to be, forever. with azzi, touching azzi, kissing azzi.

azzi can’t help but kiss her back, desperate and sloppy. they’ve kissed before, but this time around feels different. maybe it’s the intensity, the buildup— or perhaps it’s paige’s murmured words, barely audible for her to hear.

“fuck, az,” paige mumbles between kisses, “you feel so good.”

paige focuses on the sensitive spot on azzi’s jaw, sucking as her hands find themselves underneath her shirt, on her bare hips. azzi groans in pleasure, her head tilting back, granting paige better access.

the minute paige removes her lips from azzi’s jaw, the brunette is quick to remove her own shirt, throwing it off to the side. she’s left in only a sports bra— paige’s eyes widen, her cheeks redden.

paige doesn’t wait any time attacking azzi with another messy kiss, this time incorporating her tongue, swiping it over her bottom lip. her hands explore azzi’s body, fingers tickling her skin.

“you’re so goddamn beautiful,” paige murmurs, “my god.”

azzi falls back on the bed, dragging paige with her. “you’re beautiful,” she whispers against her lips.

the heat between them intensifies. their pace picks up as they begin removing each article of clothing, starting with paige’s shirt, exposing her toned muscles. next comes azzi’s sports bra, leaving her in nothing but her basketball shorts.

paige’s mouth wanders, sucking and kissing her way down azzi’s laid out body— all for her. she doesn’t stop until azzi’s nipple is fully against her lips, dark and peaked.

“jesus, baby,” paige mutters. her hand sneaks down to azzi’s waistband, ready and waiting patiently (impatiently) to yank it down.

the use of the nickname makes azzi shutter undoubtedly. this is everything, she thinks. paige is everything.

encouraged by the little sounds azzi makes, paige gently tugs at her shorts, as if to ask for permission. when she receives a frantic nod in response, she slowly pulls them off her, taking her panties too before tossing both into an unknown corner of her room.

her eyes revert back to azzi’s body, laid out completely bare on her bed. for her. jesus, paige could almost cry from happiness— she’s wanted this for so long, it’s hard to remember a time where she didn’t.

she leans forward yet again, pressing a closed mouth kiss to azzi’s now swollen lips. “i love you,” paige whispers so faintly azzi wonders if she imagined it, “i swear to god, i love you. so much.”

azzi stills. was it just sex talk, or did she actually love her? she genuinely couldn’t tell— but she wasn’t about to question it now.

(paige means it, though. from the depths of her soul— with everything in her, she means it. if this isn’t love, than what is?)

azzi allows paige to continue her trail of wet kisses down the length of her frame, licking and leaving marks that’ll appear tomorrow. when she reaches her glistening clit, paige glances up. “ima make you feel good, okay?”

azzi meets her gaze. “okay.”

and she does.

they don’t talk about it much after it happens. they choose to go back to pretending as if nothing had happened— like they didn’t completely come apart for one another, kiss every inch of each other’s bodies.

the two continue their normal routine, eating breakfast with the team, having the usual conversations. they share minimal words, hardly ever looking one another in the eye.

caroline notices, of course. she pulls azzi aside during practice while the others work on their personal drills. “az, what’s up with you and paige?”

azzi tenses at her name. “huh? nothing— what makes you think that?”

caroline raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “you two have been avoiding each other all day— not even looking when the other passes by. did something… happen?”

azzi holds her breath, knowing she can never lie to caroline. she adverts her gaze to the opposite side of the gym, where paige is practicing with kk and ice. her heartbeat intensifies, recalling the memories from the following night. her delicate tough, her teasing tongue, her soft lips. her everything.

“no need to say anything, i think i already know,” carol smirks, eyeing both paige and azzi.

azzi instantly feels heat rush up her neck, reaching her cheeks. she decides to play it as cool as she can, “nothing happened between me and her,” she replies, hoping and praying her voice remains stable, “in fact, i have a date tonight.”

caroline’s jaw drops the littlest amount, obviously not expecting her to say that. “a date? with who?”

“tyler— he’s in one of my classes. he’s cute. sweet,” she smiles.

“hm,” caroline hums. she doesn’t know what to make of this situation.

“what?” azzi questions her friend.

carol shakes her head, “nothing. i just didn’t know you dated.”

azzi shrugs, “not really— but it’s one date, it won’t hurt. i’m willing to give him a chance.”

“right,” caroline mumbles. “didn’t really expect it to be with him, though,” she adds, her voice quieter than before.

“then with who?” she asks louder, her tone sharp.

caroline curls her lip, looking away as if the answer it obvious. “oh, maybe just with a certain blonde standing a few feet away from us,” she explains, “the one you label as your ‘best friend,’” she quotes with her fingers.

azzi’s jaw practically drops at the insinuation, her heart suddenly racing. she definitely didn’t expect carol to go there— especially with such a pointed, targeted tone. her face flushes with a mix of shock, disbelief, and something she can’t quite place, but it’s enough to make her stiffen.

eventually she sighs, not even going to argue with her friend. “whatever, carol,” she says, giving up. “you might think you have everything figured out, but i can assure you, you don’t.”

caroline holds up her hands in surrender, shrugging her shoulders in the process.

what does she know, azzi thinks. she doesn’t know anything about them— none of them do.

azzi exhales, rubbing her hand on her forehead. she decides to switch the topic away from paige, “anyway, can you please help me pick an outfit for tonight? you know how indecisive i am.”

she laughs, her expression softening a bit. “‘course az, that’s what i’m here for.”

azzi smiles, thankful she dropped the previous subject. her and carol begin discussing potential outfit ideas as they continue practicing. however, her mind can’t help but wonder back to the blonde across the room— the one who’s gaze keeps flicking to her every now and then. how does paige feel about the date? does she care? azzi cuts off those thoughts, trying to focus on wrapping up practice and then when the time comes, tonight.

while applying light makeup to her face, azzi hears a gentle knock on her dorm door. she figures it her roommate, caroline, coming back from grabbing dinner, but when she turns the knob, paige is standing there, dressed in her pajamas.

paige stills at the sight of azzi. she’s in a tighter fitting, black shirt paired with light washed jeans. she has on her go-to heart necklace, along with silver hoops in her ears. the outfit highlights the curves of azzi’s body— paige knows she’s staring, yet she can’t seem to tear her eyes away.

“what’s up, p?” azzi offers a kind, small smile in her direction, moving aside to let paige in her room.

paige strolls in acting like she owns the place. she allows herself to look azzi up and down once more, silently admiring her utter beauty.

“hey,” paige says finally, eyes finding azzi’s as she sits on the edge of her bed.

a moment of awkward silence passes until the brunette speaks up, “did you… need something?”

“nah, just bored,” paige shrugs, “i forget you had a— y’know, date.”

azzi’s eyebrows quirk upwards, not entirely surprised at paige’s forgetfulness. “yeah, i’m leaving in a few minutes, actually.”

“oh,” paige mumbles. she shallows. “okay, well, i should get going then.”

she stands, making an effort to move for the door, but azzi stops her with a hand gripping her arm. she turns, facing the younger girl.

“wait,” azzi breaths. her eyes scan paige’s face, “you sure you’re good?”

paige’s lips curve into a soft smile, making her best effort to mask her disappointment. “yeah, az, i’m good.”

azzi nods, “okay, just making sure.”

before thinking it through, paige steps closer and reaches out, playing with a few curls on her head. azzi freezes and suddenly becomes acutely aware of her grip on paige’s arm, still lingering on her warm skin.

“have fun on your date,” paige smirks, watching her closely— a little too closely. “you look stunning, az.” (if he doesn’t take you home, i will, she wants to add, but doesn’t for obvious reasons.)

azzi’s heart flutters in her chest at her words. paige always knew how to make azzi absolutely crumble. “thank you,” she whispers, her gaze unintentionally flicking to her lips.

with one good last look at azzi, paige turns and exits her dorm without another word passed between them. she said all she should, and that was enough.

tyler was, in fact, pretty sweet— and definitely not unpleasant to look at. azzi rests her face in her hand, eyes solely focused on the man in front of her.

he laughs at something she said, his smile warm and genuine, and for a moment, azzi wonders if she’s actually enjoying herself. maybe this would be good for her, being with someone like him. she wasn’t necessarily disgusted at the idea.

his laughter calms and eventually, he flips the subject, asking her questions about herself. “so, you play for the women’s basketball team, right?”

“yep,” azzi nods, her smile lingering.

“how’s the season going? i haven’t been able to catch a game yet.”

he actually seemed interested. “so far so good. i personally think i could work on some things, but overall, pretty good.”

“that’s good to hear,” he nods as he takes a sip of his drink of choice— a classic coca cola.

“what about you? what types of things are you interested in?” azzi questions, tilting her head in her hands.

“well, i’m really into photography…” he goes on, but azzi’s mind drifts once she feels a faint buzz against her leg. a text message.

she sneakily glances down, noticing it’s from, of course, paige. who else? she takes a better look, finally reading the message itself.

p: u forget ur bra in my room

azzi’s breath hitches in her throat. tyler continues talking, oblivious to azzi’s shift in focus. but azzi can hardly concentrate on his words now. she stares at her phone, the text from paige blinking back at her— almost taunting, in a way.

she immediately feels a flush creeping up her neck she tries, and fails, to compose herself. fuck. now, of all times, paige decides to bring it up?

making the quick decision to ignore paige’s text, azzi clears her throat. “sorry… my mom texted,” she says, offering a tight-lipped smile.

“no worries. everything alright?” he grins back, not aware her unease.

“everything’s perfect,” she replies, leaning in to sip her water.

the two revert their conversation into talking about their hobbies, interests, personal goals for the future. azzi shares how she plans to reach the wnba level, while tyler explains his hopes of becoming a sports journalist, where he can continue his passion for photography there.

mid laugh, azzi feels another buzz coming from her phone. she flips it to see another message from the persistent blonde.

p: u just gonna leave me on read? answer ur damn phone azzi

azzi, growing more and more aggravated, excuses herself from the table and heads in the direction of the bathroom. once she’s in a free stall, her fingers work away at the tiny keyboard.

a: r u serious right now? wtf

p: wdym

a: u know damn well what i mean. why r u texting me that while i’m out with someone else?

azzi lets out a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check. of course paige would do this to her— it’s paige.

paige takes a little longer to reply than before. but when the message comes, it’s short and sweet, yet still has the ability to make azzi’s heart stop.

p: i miss u

goddammit. paige always does this, azzi really shouldn’t be surprised. she cannot help but feel bad for accepting this date. she shuts that thought down instantly— she deserves a chance at a relationship. she deserves this.

instead of replying with her typical “i miss you too,” azzi shuts off her phone, leaving her on read.

she walks out of the stall, applies a fresh coat of lip gloss in the bathroom mirror and heads back to their booth, more in control than she was when she left. she refuses to acknowledge paige’s snarky text tonight. tonight is about her getting to know tyler, getting a feel for him— giving him the chance he deserves.

by the end of the date, she does just that. she learns tyler is genuine, thoughtful, surprisingly funny as well as an overall good person. they exchange phone numbers and already start talking about a second date in the near future.

azzi even works up the courage to kiss him gently on the cheek when saying their goodbyes— she thanks him for the good night together before flashing him a smile, dimples and everything, and walking away feeling good about the outcome of this date. she really hadn’t expected it to go this well, but is grateful it did. although, paige still lingers in the back of her mind which she tries her best to ignore. this day was about her and tyler. not paige.

the following day, the uconn women’s basketball team had another game in the gampel pavilion. the fans were loud, the atmosphere was intoxicating, the players in blue were absolutely dominating the opposing team— like usual, when it came to the big east.

paige and azzi continued to remain on the outs, barely making any conversation, if any at all. their usual chemistry seemed distant, and the tension was evident whenever they shared the same space. the team noticed but, for the most part, chose to keep their distance, focusing on the game instead.

the game ended as fast as it started, with uconn winning by 46 points. azzi collected 20 of her own, while paige had a solid 24. their automatic passes to one another was off tonight— that is, whenever they’d actually pass the ball to the other. it wasn’t necessarily intentional, paige thought. it seemed to happen naturally.

after the team had showered and changed into comfortable clothes, they found themselves at ted’s, drinks already in hands.

azzi leans against caroline, planted in the corner of the room. she swirls her dirty shirley temple— paige got her hooked— with her straw, looking at the liquid move in the glass. she glances up in attempts to locate the blonde, to which she finds another familiar face: tyler. they lock eyes and smile at the other. when he makes an effort to walk over to where azzi sits, caroline notices and stands.

“you have fun,” carol says, walking away before she finds herself in an awkward position.

azzi laughs. she takes another quick swig of the drink, feeling it go down her throat. she bites her lip, anticipating tyler’s approach.

“hey azzi,” tyler greets her, a kind smile on his face. “long time no see.”

she giggles, “it feels like forever,” she drags out the word, in a sarcastic tone. “how are you?”

“pretty good, yeah,” he nods. “how bout yourself? how’d the game go?”

“i’m good, thanks for asking,” she replies, her voice soft. “wait, you knew we had a game today? i thought you didn’t keep up with basketball.”

tyler exhales a weak breath, feeling almost embarrassed. “i typically don’t… but you’re on the team, so i figured i should probably start.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, a grin playing at the corners of her lips. “that’s sweet of you,” she points out, her voice quieter.

their conversation continues, discussing the game in depth and the little mistakes azzi wished she could’ve perfected. she finds herself laughing more than she expects; tyler’s easygoing nature makes it difficult not to, and suddenly she feels a little more at ease than she had earlier in the night.

“maybe i should go to a game soon,” tyler brings up.

azzi’s face reddens the tiniest amount, “yeah, maybe you should—“

mid sentence, azzi feels a body collide with hers, causing her to stumble to the side a little— basically right into tyler. he holds out his hands, stabling azzi after nearly falling.

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry,” a voice says, genuine and sincere. azzi knows that voice.

her gaze immediately find paige’s blue ones, who’s already looking her dead in the eye. paige’s line of sight flickers between azzi, to tyler, to his hand on her arm.

“oh, hi paige,” azzi speaks, her voice crackling a bit. she removes her grip from tyler’s touch, not wanting paige to see.

“az,” paige whispers, flustered and wide-eyed.

staring at the blonde in front of her, she finally pulls herself out of her trance and shallows. she looks at tyler, then back to paige. “this is tyler,” she introduces him.

“hi, nice to meet you,” tyler nods in her direction.

“hey.”

azzi clears her throat, “tyler, this is paige,” she begins before adding, “she’s my best friend.”

paige locks gazes with azzi as soon as her words tumble out of her mouth. “is that what we are?”

the words hang in the air, and everything seems to slow for a beat. azzi’s pulse quickens, her cheeks bright red at this point. azzi feels a knot in her stomach as she stares blankly at the sophomore.

azzi opens her mouth, yet nothing comes out. she shakes her head, in absolute disbelief at paige’s comment.

paige’s lips curl into a line. she hums at azzi’s response— her silence speaking for itself. she eyes tyler once more before shifting her gaze back to azzi, raising her eyebrows.

without another word being passed between them, paige turns on her heels and walk away, leaving azzi there, motionless. she takes off straight for the bathroom, setting her drink down on an open table in the process.

azzi watches as paige’s retreating figure vanishes around the corner, the sound of her footsteps fading into the background. she stands there, still frozen, the tension thick in the air. tyler, who’s been silent throughout their interaction, finally speaks.

“that was… intense,” he says, his voice a bit hesitant. “is there something going on between you guys?”

azzi shallows hard, her mind racing. “um,” she murmers, unable to look him in the eye. “maybe— i’m not really sure, to be honest.”

tyler gives her a sympathetic look, “maybe you should go after her. talk it out.”

azzi nods, finally snapping out of her daze. “yeah, probably. thanks, tyler, i’ll see ya.”

without waiting for another word, she walks briskly towards the bathroom, following the blonde’s trail. she pushes out the heavy door and steps inside, adjusting her eyes to the bright light. not immediately spotting paige, she raises her voice.

“paige?”

azzi’s voice echoes off the bathroom walls, but there’s no quick response. she steps further in, her heart pounding harder, nerves tightening in her chest. luckily the bathroom is empty, besides the closed stall at the very end. azzi brings her knuckles to the door, knocking gently.

“paige, please open the door.”

and she does— paige is standing there, shoulders shaking, eyes full of fresh tears. fuck.

“what?” paige asks, barely loud enough to be heard. her voice cracks and azzi swears her heart does too.

azzi doesn’t hesitate to lunge forward, pulling paige into her warm embrace. she wraps her arms around her waist, their bodies fully flush against the others.

paige stiffens but almost automatically relaxes against her body. she rests her head on azzi’s shoulder, with both hands tightly wrapped around her frame.

a few moments pass with nothing but breathes being exchanged. but the next words out of paige’s mouth makes azzi heart swell. “i can’t stand the sight of you with someone else, azzi,” she whispers in azzi’s ear. “i try to be as supportive as possible, for your sake— but i can’t anymore.”

“paige…” azzi pulls back, keeping her hands resting on the blonde’s hips.

paige wears a sad smile. she brushes loose curls out of azzi’s face, her fingers playing with the tips of them. she leans forward, placing a delicate, slow kiss on the side of her face. then another, in the same spot.

azzi’s breath catches in her throat as paige’s lips touch her skin. the contact is gentle, almost hesitant, but also warm and comforting in a way.

paige steps back, out of azzi’s grip. her eyes lower to the floor as she takes a shaky breath. she wipes her eyes quickly, trying to regain composure. “i’m heading back. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

she turns towards the door, her steps slow but purposeful. she hesitates for a second just before she exits, glancing back at azzi one more time. “have a nice night, az,” she says quietly, taking off.

she doesn’t.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #basketball #uconn huskies #fanfic #nika muhl #caroline ducharme

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mashtatosworld · 3 days ago

Text

calm in the chaos

summary: you give birth to your first baby

You should have known when Jiyong walked into the room with a beret perched on his head and a set of fine paintbrushes in the other, that today was not going to go as planned.

You had thought you were going to start painting the nursery.

You had been excited, even, having selected a range of pink shades together weeks ago. You’d imagined the two of you working side by side, getting messy with paint, making this space a home for your little girl.

But instead, you found yourself sitting on the nursery floor, your maternity dress rolled up over your stomach, as your husband carefully dragged a paintbrush across your swollen belly.

You sighed, watching him dip the brush into a soft pastel colour before sweeping it over your skin. "Ji, why are we doing this again?"

He didn’t even look up, his lips pursed in deep concentration. “She gives me inspiration.”

You arched a brow. "She?"

“Our baby,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m waiting for her to tell me how she wants the room painted."

You blinked. "You don’t know what colour you want the nursery to be?"

He had a vision board, a Pinterest board and even hired interior designers to help plan the nursery. But in the end, the two of you went to the store and picked out your favourite swatches of pregnancy safe paint - of which he was now painting on your stomach.

“I thought I did," he admitted, sticking a tiny flower to your belly, right where he had just painted. "But then I realised, I should wait for her input."

You stared at him, bewildered. "She’s going to decide?"

He nodded sagely. "Of course."

You sighed again, shaking your head. "And how exactly is she going to do that?"

At that exact moment, a small but firm kick pressed against your stomach, right where he had been painting.

Jiyong grinned, eyes wide with excitement. "Ahhh, see? She’s choosing!"

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Or maybe she’s just done with you poking her all the time.”

He ignored your teasing, his expression turning softer, more thoughtful. He ran a hand gently over your stomach, his wedding ring cold against your skin as it grazed the painted surface.

"I feel so connected to her already," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your belly. "I think she’s going to share my artistic vision but have your beauty." His eyes flicked up to you, filled with so much love it made your breath catch. "She’s so lucky."

Your heart melted, and you reached out to touch him, feeling closer than ever. "We’re the lucky ones, Ji."

He smiled, rubbing a hand over your belly again before picking up another flower petal and sticking it carefully to your skin.

After a few more strokes of paint and some deep, artistic pondering on Jiyong’s end, you finally asked, "So… now that she’s chosen the colour, can we start painting the nursery?"

Jiyong froze, slowly pursing his lips. His expression instantly shifted from serene to guilty.

You narrowed your eyes. "Jiyong."

He cleared his throat. "Well… we could… but, you know, it's a lot of labour, and - "

"Ji."

"And you're pregnant, and I just - ”

"Ji."

"I don’t want you moving around too much!" he finally blurted, eyes pleading. "It’s not safe!"

You stared at him, incredulous. "That’s why you’ve been delaying? Because you don’t want me painting?"

He nodded quickly. “I mean, you are involved! You’re growing our princess!”

You threw your hands in the air. "Jiyong, come on. I want to help. I’m not going to break!"

He hesitated, clearly torn between his need to protect you and his desire to make you happy. After a long pause, he finally sighed in defeat.

“Fine.”

"Thank you."

"But only sticking flowers to the wall," he warned. "No climbing ladders. No stretching. No actual painting. Just decorating."

You rolled your eyes but took what you could get. "Deal."

He'd been like that your whole pregnancy.

You weren’t allowed to carry anything. Not a grocery bag, not the laundry, not even your own shoes if he was feeling particularly protective. The man had damn near wrestled a glass out of your hand once, insisting it was too full and too heavy - until you nearly bit his head off.

After that, he reluctantly allowed you to lift a drink or your phone. But everything else?

Off limits.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

An hour later, the nursery was transformed.

The walls were coated in the perfect shade of soft pink, the door dotted with tiny, delicate flowers. Jiyong had even painted a subtle mural on one wall - gentle brushstrokes forming a dreamy, almost ethereal heart. It was beautiful.

You both stood in the centre of the room, looking around in awe.

It suddenly felt real.

This wasn’t just a room anymore. This was your baby’s room. The space where you would rock her to sleep, where she would wake up every morning, where she would play and grow.

Jiyong took your hand in his, his grip warm and steady. He gave you a small, almost disbelieving smile. “This is really happening, huh?”

You squeezed his fingers. “Yeah.”

Briefly, you were pulled back to when you first met him. At the time, you'd been too afraid to even look him in the eyes. And yet now you would touch your stomach and wonder if your baby would have those same, curious eyes...

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

The three of you - already a family.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You should have known.

You should have known when Jiyong didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol all night - not even during Youngbae’s toast.

You should have known when he stayed practically glued to your side all night, his hand permanently resting on your belly like some kind of monitor.

And you should have known when he kept looking at you with that knowing little smirk every time you shifted uncomfortably.

But you?

You were in denial.

Sure, there had been some cramping earlier that day, but that was normal at nine months pregnant. It was not the start of labour.

No way. Not tonight, of all nights. Not when you were supposed to be enjoying Youngbae’s big concert, surrounded by your closest friends.

So, you pushed through.

You swayed lightly in the VIP section, singing along with Hyorin. And you breathed through the discomfort when Jiyong leaned in, murmuring sweet nothings against your temple.

And then the concert ended.

You were all backstage, congratulating Youngbae, when a sharp pain rippled through your stomach. Your hand immediately shot out, grabbing the nearest thing - which happened to be Jiyong’s forearm.

You squeezed, fingers digging in.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he sighed, tilting his head with that same knowing smirk. "Right, jagi - your contractions are within five minutes. It’s time to go to meet our baby."

Silence.

Then -

“WAIT, WHAT?!”

Every single person in the room turned to stare.

Youngbae, still towelling off his sweat, froze. Hyorin’s jaw dropped. Daesung, mid-sip of water, choked violently.

"Is this really happening?!"

"How could I have not noticed?"

"I'm going to be an uncle again?"

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Yes, ok, she's in labour. Time to go. Let’s move."

"Yah!" Hyorin smacked your arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"You can't smack a pregnant person!" Daesung jumped in, standing in front of you like a personal bodyguard.

You tried to protest, but another contraction hit, and all that came out was a pained groan.

"What are we waiting for!" Youngbae ushered, grabbing his wife as Daesung threw on his jacket.

"This isn't an afterparty." You muttered, shuffling out of the room with Jiyong at your side as the others followed closely behind.

"We were there when you met, we'll be there for this too."

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car ride was complete chaos.

You were wedged in the back between Hyorin and Daesung, who were gripping your hands like they was the ones about to give birth.

Youngbae was in the passenger seat, throwing out directions that he believed was the fastest way to the hospital.

"Take a left here! Hyung! Hyung! You missed the turning," He instructed Jiyong, his maps up on his phone. "Go right here! No! Jiyong!"

Your husband ignored his frantic shouting as he continued straight ahead. "I know the way." He'd been studying every route to the hospital since you entered your third trimester.

Daesung, squished in the back, was losing his mind. “Drive faster! Why are we not driving faster?! This is an emergency! Run the light!”

Jiyong stayed silent.

Completely calm. Not panicked. Not frantic. Not hovering.

He just gripped the wheel, eyes steady, jaw set. Cool. Collected.

Which only made it worse because nobody expected this.

“Why is he so quiet?!” Daesung hissed from the back.

"Maybe he's in shock!" Hyorin whispered back. "Youngbae fainted when I had our son."

"Hey... I was tired and simply closed my eyes," Youngbae muttered in return. He then looked to his bandmate with wide eyes. "You're not going to faint right? Tell me and I'll grab the wheel."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly fine.”

"That makes it weirder, Jiyong!” Daesung exclaimed.

You let out a strangled groan as another contraction hit, gripping Hyorin’s fingers like a vice.

Jiyong found your eyes in the mirror. His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Breathe, jagi," he murmured. "We’re almost there."

Everyone else was in full-blown meltdown mode, and yet he was here, anchored, pulling you back down to earth.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

By the time you got to the hospital, Jiyong immediately sprang into action.

The moment the car stopped, he was out, grabbing the hospital bag from the trunk - which he had secretly packed without your knowledge.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group spilled out of the car like a panicked clown parade.

"Move, move, move!” Youngbae yelled like it was a military drill.

Jiyong opened the door for you, helping you out carefully, and wrapped an arm around your waist as he guided you inside. The others trailed behind, all talking at once -

"We’re here for the birth!”

"She’s having the baby right now!”

"We need a wheelchair!"

"I can still walk Daesung.” You declined even when he nearly tripped you up, trailing closely behind at your heels.

Jiyong ignored all of them. He was only focused on you.

Hyorin was on the phone with your mother, giving her updates in hushed tones. Youngbae was already calling Jiyong’s mom. Daesung, pulled out his own phone, not one to be left out.

"I'm calling Seunghyun," He muttered.

Another contraction hit. You clenched your jaw, voice shaking. "Ji... I’m scared."

And just like that, his entire demeanour softened.

He turned to you, his hands framing your face as he rested his forehead against yours.

"I know, baby," he whispered. "But you’re going to be okay. I’m right here."

And somehow, that was enough.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment you were wheeled into the delivery room, the chaos of your friends faded.

It was just you and Jiyong now.

He never let go of your hand.

Not once.

Through every contraction, every moment of pain, he was there. Whispering reassurances. Kissing your knuckles. Smoothing your hair.

"You’re doing so well, jagi."

"Just a little more, my baby."

"I’m right here."

And when your daughter finally entered the world - when her tiny cries filled the room - Jiyong let out the softest, most broken breath.

The doctor placed her in your arms, and Jiyong just stared.

He looked at you, his eyes wet, his lips trembling. "She's here," he whispered. "You did it."

You nodded weakly, exhausted beyond words.

And Jiyong - your calm in the chaos - just broke.

Tears streamed down his face as he cupped your daughter’s tiny head, his hands shaking. "She's perfect," he whispered.

You smiled sleepily, watching the love in his eyes as he gazed at your little girl - the masterpiece he had been waiting for.

The one he'd been waiting for his whole life.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

a throwback to the birth of baby diva! i thought i should post this before Angel arrives - which is not long now!

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

#bigbang #kpop #mashtatosworld #gdragon #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #gdad

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maddie0101 · 18 hours ago

Text

birthday surprise

summary: It’s your birthday, and you think dean has forgotten, but you’re completely wrong as he surprises you with a few things you’ve always dreamed about.

warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (mdni), cute surprise for the reader, dean is so thoughtful, impala sex, heavy makeout, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, semi public sex (but dean & the reader could care less), cute shit tbh.

word count: 5.6k

note: in honor of my birthday I decided to write this smutty little oneshot to celebrate! 🤭 I hope you guys enjoy! ☻

Dean forgot your birthday.

At least, that’s what it seemed like. The whole damn day had passed, and he hadn’t said a word. No offhand comment in the morning, no teasing remark over coffee, no gruff, half-assed “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

—Nothing.

And it hurt...more than you wanted to admit.

Because sure, it wasn’t like birthdays had ever been a big deal in your life. You weren’t expecting balloons or cake or some grand gesture.

But a mention? A quick acknowledgment that today wasn’t just any other day? That would’ve been nice.

But instead, Dean had spent the day being… well, Dean. Fixing the Impala, cracking jokes with Sam, arguing about dinner plans. Acting like today (or whatever the hell the date was) didn’t mean a damn thing.

By the time the sun started to set, you’d accepted it. Forced yourself to shake it off. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. He’s probably just distracted.

But then, out of nowhere his voice rings out through the bunker. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go for a ride.”

You blink at him from your spot on the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “What?”

Dean just smirks, jerking his head toward the door. “You deaf now? Let’s go. Got somethin’ to show you.”

For a second, you debate telling him to shove it. Making up some excuse to stay behind and wallow. But there’s something in his expression—something warm and teasing that makes you exhale sharply and push yourself up. “Fine.”

You don’t ask questions. You just climb into the Impala, feeling the familiar hum of the engine vibrate through your bones as Dean peels out of the parking lot. The windows are rolled down, the night air cool against your skin, and despite yourself, you feel some of the tension slip away.

Dean doesn’t talk much, just lets the radio fill the silence, his fingers tapping against the wheel as he drives. And then twenty minutes later you see it.

Your stomach flips, a mix of excitement and disbelief bubbling in your chest. The neon sign flickers in the distance, casting a warm, nostalgic glow over the lot, illuminating the rows of cars already parked and waiting. A massive screen stands against the dark sky with previews playing as people settle in with their popcorn and sodas.

Dean pulls into a spot near the back, maneuvering the Impala with ease before killing the engine. The sudden quiet makes the air feel heavier, more intimate. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at you, one arm slung over the back of the bench seat, lips twitching into a smirk. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches. And for a second, you don’t say anything, just blink at him like you’re trying to piece together how the hell you got here—how you went from sulking all day, convinced Dean had completely forgotten you, to this.

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. Then, before you can find words, he reaches into the backseat.

Rustling and the sound of plastic crinkling causes your brows to furrow. What the--

A bag lands in your lap, heavy with all your favorite snacks. The ones you always pick up at gas stations when you’re on the road together. The ones you didn’t even realize he noticed.

Next comes a couple of cold drinks, condensation beading on the outside of the bottles. Then, the final touch—your favorite blanket, soft and familiar, smelling faintly of fabric softener and the Impala’s leather interior.

“I didn’t forget,” Dean says simply. “Just wanted to make it a surprise.”

A lump forms in your throat. You swallow hard, fingers curling around the blanket, trying not to let how much this means to you show too obviously on your face. “You’re such an asshole,” you mutter, voice shaky with something that is not sadness.

Dean grins. “You’re welcome.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head, and as if on cue, the screen changes—the opening credits of your favorite movie rolling in big, golden letters against the night sky.

Your heart stops. “You—” You whip your head toward him. “You got them to play this?”

Dean shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Nah. Just got lucky. Guess it’s fate.”

Fate. You don’t know why that word makes something warm curl in your chest, but it does.

The movie starts, the familiar soundtrack swelling through the old, crackly speakers. The air smells like buttered popcorn and the faint trace of summer rain on asphalt, and for the first time all day, you feel seen. Like Dean knew exactly how to fix what he’d broken, like he knew exactly how much this would mean to you.

As movie plays on, the familiar scenes wash over you. Without thinking, you shift a little closer, tugging the blanket over both your legs. The cool air nips at your skin, but it’s not the chill that makes you move, not really. It’s just the way the space between you and Dean seems to stretch out, like it’s begging to be filled. You’re not sure what’s happening, but it feels like something’s been hanging in the air all night.

Dean doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even really react. He just gives you that smirk, half amused, half something else you can’t quite put your finger on, and his eyes flick to yours.

Not the teasing kind of glance you’ve gotten a thousand times, but something a little more… hungry? Something that makes your stomach tighten, that pulls your chest in with a slow, desperate pull.

You look away, pretending to focus on the screen, but it’s like you can feel him in your bones, right there next to you. The warmth of his body, the scent of leather and gasoline, the subtle hint of cologne that lingers in the air like he’s impossible to escape.

“Comfy?” His voice cuts through the stillness, and it’s deeper now, less playful.

You hum, your voice betraying you as it comes out a little softer than you intended. “Mm. Could be a little warmer.”

Dean’s laugh rumbles out low, rough around the edges, like he’s trying to hide something. It’s the kind of laugh that makes you want to press closer, see if you can crack the shell he’s been putting up around himself for years.

But you don’t. You just try to act normal, even though your pulse is racing under the weight of his arm slowly sliding over your shoulders, pulling you into him.

It’s like his touch knows exactly what you need before you even have to ask for it. Warmth. Comfort. Something more...His fingers brush against your arm, and it’s soft, like he’s not even thinking about how much it makes you feel.

But the thing is, he is definitely thinking about it. He’s been thinking about it for way too long.

Dean’s fingers linger a second longer than they should, and he knows it. But he can’t help it.

He’s wanted this for so fucking long, wanted you for so long, it aches in his chest every time he breathes.

There’s a moment where everything is too much—the heat of him close to you, the way his chest rises and falls with every breath, the way the night air feels like it’s getting thicker, like the whole world is holding its breath along with him.

And then he just… stops pretending.

He lets his hand drop down, his fingers gently cupping your shoulder. It’s not just a casual touch anymore. It’s tender. He’s treating you like you might shatter if he moves too fast, like he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold this back before he fucking loses it.

Dean’s throat tightens, the words sitting at the back of his mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he’s not sure what to do. He’s spent so long keeping his feelings locked up, pretending he doesn’t want you in ways that make his heart race, that make his skin burn.

He looks at you, his eyes soft but full of something heavier than any of the bullshit he’s used to hiding behind. God, you make him feel like he’s breathing for the first time.

“I—” Dean swallows, his voice tight. “You don’t know how much I—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing together as if he can’t get the words out.

He wants to say it. He wants to tell you how every time you smile, it feels like the world shifts in the right direction. How every time you’re near, his chest feels too tight, like it can’t hold in all the love he feels for you. How his heart aches when you laugh and the world feels like it’s finally clicking into place, but he’s scared. Scared that if he says it out loud, he’ll ruin everything.

And he can’t lose you, not when you’re so close.

Dean’s hand stays where it is, resting on your shoulder, but it feels like he’s holding you together in some way, like he’s afraid if he lets go, everything will fall apart.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. His eyes, once dark and unreadable at first, are now soft as they trace over your features. They flick from your eyes to your lips, to the curve of your jaw, the way your hair falls over your shoulder. He studies you like he’s trying to memorize every detail, trying to burn it into his mind in case the moment passes.

Dean's gaze is intense but gentle, a combination that makes your heart race in your chest, your breath coming a little quicker than usual. You try to ignore it. You try to focus on the movie, to keep your eyes glued to the screen and not let yourself feel the weight of his stare.

But you can’t. It’s like he’s pulling you in without even trying, like you’re helpless to the gravity of whatever this is between you.

Then, without realizing it, you slowly turn your head, your eyes flicking to his.

Dean’s gaze doesn’t move; it stays locked on yours, and when you look up at him, it’s like the world sharpens into focus.

He’s closer than you thought. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that every subtle shift in his expression sends a jolt through your chest.

And then, for the briefest moment, you feel it. The intense heat between you and your eyes flick down to his lips, unable to stop yourself.

Dean doesn’t miss it. His lips part and his breath catches as his eyes drop to yours. His gaze softens impossibly more, as if that is even possible. And when you look back up at him, your pupils blown wide, the space between you disappears in an instant.

Dean’s hand moves from your shoulder to your face, cupping your jaw with a surprising gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes.

And then, without a word, he leans in. There’s no hesitation in his movement, but there’s something careful in the way he does it—like he’s afraid to startle you, like he’s making sure this moment is real. The space between you disappears, and then his lips graze yours, featherlight at first, barely there. A quiet, searching touch. His breath is warm against your skin, mixing with yours in the small space between heartbeats. He lingers, as if giving you the chance to pull away, to stop this before it can become something he can’t take back.

But you don’t.

Something in you unravels and without hesitating you instantly kiss him back. The moment you do, it’s like a floodgate opens. Warmth spreads through you, deep and consuming, wrapping around your ribs like something you’ve been starved for.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected but still undeniably Dean. It's like he’s trying to memorize this, like he’s afraid it’ll slip through his fingers if he moves too fast.

But Dean presses in just a little more, deepening the kiss by fractions, like he’s testing the weight of something fragile in his hands. Like he’s terrified he’ll break it. There’s nothing rushed about it, nothing reckless—just the slow, aching realization that this is happening, that neither of you are running from it this time.

A quiet sound escapes Dean, low and soft, and he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make your pulse stutter.

As the kiss deepens, slow at first, but then something shifts—something turning raw and urgent. Dean moves closer, his fingers twitching where they hover near your jaw, like he’s fighting the instinct to grab, to pull, to take.

Your lips part, just barely, and that’s all the invitation he needs. He presses in, the kiss turning hungry, desperate, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, for all the moments this almost happened but didn’t.

His hand finally moves, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head just right as he claims your mouth with something deeper, something needy.

A soft moan escapes you and fuck, it does something to him. A slow-burning fire turns into a full-blown inferno, that quiet, careful control snapping like a frayed thread. He groans against your lips, low and rough, his other hand landing on your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make you feel trapped—but in the best way.

The air in the impala turns thick, charged with something electric. Your hands find him, gripping the front of his jacket, like you need something solid to hold onto, like you need him. He responds instantly, his body shifting toward yours, chest pressed against yours now, heat radiating between you.

Dean pulls back just enough to breathe, but it’s not enough distance—not when his hands are still on you, gripping like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven, and for a moment, all he does is look at you. Like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to make sense of what just happened—of what’s been happening between you for longer than either of you have admitted.

Then, almost like he can’t stop himself, the words slip out. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you.”

The confession hits the air between you like a spark to gasoline, and he doesn’t stop there. His grip tightens just slightly, and he exhales a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh, his mouth twitching like he can’t believe he’s saying this out loud.

“Jesus, I—” He shakes his head, eyes flickering between yours, searching, desperate. “I don’t even know how to say it right. It’s just—you. It’s always been you. Since day one. And I know I should’ve said something sooner, should’ve—”

You don’t let him finish. You barely even realize what you’re doing as your hand is grips the back of his neck, yanking him back toward you with a force that makes him grunt in surprise.

Your lips crash against his again, harder this time, deeper, as if the kiss is some kind of answer to everything you’ve both been holding in. The softness of his mouth against yours, the heat of his body, the way his hands immediately find your waist, pulling you closer, it all consumes you.

His breath catches as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer still, and it’s no longer slow, no longer tentative. It’s frantic, desperate, like you’ve both waited your whole lives for this moment and now that it’s here, you can’t stop, can’t get close enough.

Dean’s hand moves, sliding down your side, fingers gripping the hem of your shirt like he’s not sure whether to pull it off or just hold you tighter. His lips move against yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, each kiss deeper than the last, and you find yourself gasping for air between kisses, your pulse thrumming so loudly in your ears you’re sure he can hear it too.

You’re lost in him now—in the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed so close it’s like you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

Every movement, every inch of his touch ignites something inside you, building with each passing second. His hands are everywhere, pulling, guiding, needing—as if he’s desperate to make sure this is real, that you’re here with him, just like this.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, and everything else fades. You can’t breathe, can’t think, only feel.

But then you pull back, just enough to meet his eyes, breathless. “What do you really want for my birthday, Dean?”

He looks at you, eyes dark and full of a hunger that matches your own, lips swollen and red from the kiss. He hesitates, for a fraction of a second, then his thumb brushes against your jaw, his voice low and rough as he asks, “What do you want?”

You hold his gaze, your chest tight with anticipation, but you’re not going to shy away. You gather every ounce of courage, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I want you. Inside of me.”

The air between you both crackles with heat, the words hanging there for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Dean’s entire body goes still. Then something primal flares in his chest, a fire so intense it makes his breath hitch. His hands tighten on your hips, and before you can even process it, a growl rumbles low in his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his lips brushing against yours in a way that promises more. He slams his mouth back onto yours, pulling you in with an urgency that’s almost reckless, like he can’t get close enough.

His kiss deepens, savage, hungry—like he’s claiming you in every way that matters.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, his words a dark, dangerous promise that sends a shiver straight down your spine. “You have no idea what you just did to me.”

His hand moves lower, resting on the curve of your waist, possessive, needy. It’s a whisper of everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been wanting for far too long. And in that moment, you know nothing else matters except him.

You don’t even notice when the movie’s credits begin to roll or when cars start pulling out of the drive-in.

All that’s in your head, all that matters, is the feeling of Dean, finally, right where you’ve wanted him for so long.

Every inch of him, every touch, every breath shared between you, it’s all that consumes you now.

Electricity pulses between you as Dean’s hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a firm grip. He guides you into his lap, your body instinctively following his lead and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper, tilting your head to give him more of you.

The kiss grows more intense, desperate, as you slowly start to move against him, your hips grinding gently against the hard bulge pressing through his jeans. Every movement ignites something inside both of you, the tension only building with each slow, roll of your hips.

Heat pools low in your stomach as Dean’s hands travel slowly down your thighs, his touch soft until they rest on the curve of your ass.

You gasp against his mouth when his large hands grip you, the sensation only making your hips move instinctively, pressing closer to him.

A soft moan escapes you as Dean nips at your bottom lip, and then, he forcefully thrusts his hips up, pressing into you, making you feel the exact effect you’re having on him.

"Fuck baby. Bet you're dripping f'me." Dean’s intense gaze locks with yours, and the heat in his eyes makes your breath catch.

A soft whimper escapes you as the feeling of him beneath you overwhelms your senses, nearly sending you spinning. It’s almost impossible to believe this is really happening, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less.

You sigh into the kiss as Dean's hands trail down your body, mapping every inch of you his fingers touch. “Dean,” you whimper, your voice barely a breath, “I need you.”

“Where, baby?” Dean teases, his voice low and rough, the words barely a breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear "Want me to fuck you? That what you want?"

"Fuck." Is all you manage to whisper, words failing you as he thrusts up into you again, sending the heat pooling in your core to an almost unbearable state.

"Use your words f'me baby." Dean teases, nipping at your ear as soft moans fall from your lips, the sensation making it hard to think clearly.

"Need you inside me, Dean." You whimper, "Need you to fuck me."

Before you can let out another sound, Dean growls low and demanding, “Get in the back.” His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and the urgency in his voice sends a rush of heat through you.

You quickly crawl over the bench seat into the back, moving with eagerly. Dean follows closely, his movements swift.

And before you can fully catch your breath, he’s on top of you, hovering for a moment, his gaze intense, almost searching before he crashes his lips onto yours with a fierce, hungry kiss.

You let out a low moan as Dean's hand started rubbing circles over your clothed core. The feeling sending electric waves through your body.

As Dean presses heated, scattered kisses from your lips down to your jaw, he finally lingers at the soft curve of your neck. A breathy moan escapes you as he finds the most sensitive spot surprisingly fast, his lips latching onto it without hesitation.

"Please, Dean-" you started to beg but let out another moan as Dean slips his fingers past your soaked panties and slips a finger inside you.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, only to be swallowed by Dean's mouth as it crashed against yours. As if one finger wasn’t enough, he slipped in a second, the steady rhythm sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Your brows knitted together, the coil in your stomach tightening, burning, desperate to unravel.

"So wet f'me." Dean groans in your mouth as you rock your hips with the motion of his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Been dreaming about this for so long. I can't wait to watch you come."

His words push you over the edge, and a loud moan echoes through the Impala as he keeps guiding you through your high. The feeling is pure euphoria as your body shakes. You’d fantasized about Dean making you come, but experiencing it firsthand is something else entirely.

"That's it. S' beautiful when you come for me." Dean coaxes you on as you ride out your high.

As the haze of pleasure slowly fades, you regain control just enough to grip Dean’s shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as you tug it upward. He lets you, his muscles flexing beneath your touch, and the second it’s over his head, his lips twist into a knowing smirk.

That cocky expression only fuels the fire burning inside you, and before he can get a word out, he’s already helping you out of your own shirt, his hands skimming over your skin with deliberate slowness.

His lips crash back onto yours, hungry and relentless, as the two of you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment. Hands roam, fingers fumble, fabric disappears between fevered kisses.

Before you even realize it, you’re left in nothing but your soaked panties, your skin burning beneath his touch, while Dean hovers over you—completely bare, his body pressed against yours, heat radiating between you.

You barely even catch your breath before the tip of his length was teasing you, causing a whimper to escape from your lips. "Dean quit teasing me." You pout, "need you inside me, now."

"God, I love it when you beg." Dean admits but doesn't give you enough time to make a sarcastic comment before he slowly thrust himself inside of you.

You instantly let out a loud moan when he bottoms out. The feeling of him inside you was better than you could've imagined and his large hands gripped the sides of your thighs. You met him each time he thrusted into you, wanting nothing more than the delicious feeling to never end.

"Fuck you're so tight." Dean groaned, snapping his hips to met yours "This pussy was made for me."

The words only spurred you on as you let out a string of curse words and moaned Dean's name over and over again like a prayer.

The only words you could manage to get through your lips was 'fuck' and 'dean'. Every other word in existence failed to cross your mind.

The coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, a smoldering heat spreading through your core. The pressure builds into an almost unbearable burn, every nerve in your body igniting as pleasure coils just beneath the surface, ready to snap.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” Dean growls, his voice thick with desperation. His hips slam into yours in a frantic, uneven rhythm, the control he once had slipping away. You can feel it—he’s right there with you, teetering on the edge, barely holding on as he chases that final, shattering release.

“Dean—” his name spills from your lips in a desperate moan, the last thing you manage before the pleasure crashes over you. He drags his mouth along your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses, the sensation only intensifying the rush.

Your body trembles beneath him as the release takes hold, your walls fluttering and clenching around him, pulling him deeper into the sweet oblivion.

As the waves of pleasure slowly faded, the two of you lay there, bodies still tangled, breaths heavy and uneven. When you finally met Dean’s gaze, his green eyes were dark and hooded, a lazy smirk playing at his lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice rough yet tender. Then, that signature Dean Winchester grin appeared, teasing but warm. “And I hope you’re not too mad at me for ‘forgetting’ your birthday. Had to throw you off—I wanted to surprise you.”

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice soft and full of warmth. A tender smile spread across your lips as your fingers gently traced the curve of his jaw, the touch barely a whisper against his skin. Your gaze lingered on the freckles scattered across his nose and dusting his cheeks, the way they caught the light, making him look even more impossibly perfect.

“And I’m not mad at you,” you continued, your voice almost a sigh. “If anything, I’m more than happy right now.” You paused, your heart swelling as you met his eyes, your smile growing. “It’s honestly the best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”

Dean’s gaze softens, a warmth flickering in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you for a moment, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. His hand moves to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin with a tenderness that feels both new and familiar.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the words are something sacred he’s only just realizing.

A rush of heat floods your face at his words, and before you can stop it, the blush blooms across your cheeks. You try to look away, but Dean catches the subtle shift in your expression, his lips curving into a teasing grin.

“Oh, there it is,” he says, his voice low, amused. “Look at you, all flushed. I’ve had you blushing this whole time, haven’t I?”

You try to brush it off, your smile turning shy as you look down, suddenly very aware of the heat spreading through you. “It’s not like that,” you mutter, but your voice betrays you, shaky and uncertain.

Dean leans in slightly, his face full of playful mischief. “Nah, it totally is,” he teases, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. “You’ve been blushing for me since the first damn day we met, haven’t you?”

Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. He’s right. He’s always had this effect on you, and you’ve never known how to hide it.

Dean chuckles softly, a soft sound that makes your pulse race. “God, it’s so cute,” he continues, his thumb brushing over your cheek again. “I never realized, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about it. You’re always blushing for me.”

You feel your cheeks heat even more at his words, and you try to turn away, but Dean catches your chin again, keeping your gaze locked with his. “Hey, you’re adorable when you blush. Don’t hide it from me.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, your heart swelling with the tenderness in his words. “You’re impossible,” you whisper, trying to keep the embarrassment at bay, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

Dean’s expression softens, his thumb tracing over your cheek in a way that feels intimate and unhurried, like he’s savoring this moment. “You know that, right?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “How much I care about you?”

Your heart races in your chest, and for a moment, you just let the words hang in the air. You’ve never been more certain of anything than you are in this moment. Dean looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, and it makes the blush on your face feel like the most natural thing in the world.

With a teasing grin, Dean adds, “But seriously, you’re way too cute when you blush. Can’t wait to see it more often.”

You shake your head, unable to suppress a smile. “You’re lucky I like you,” you mutter, your voice playful but full of affection.

Dean smiles, leaning in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m not just lucky, baby. I’m damn lucky,” he whispers, and just as the words leave his lips, the lights to the big screen flicker and die, leaving you both in darkness.

The stillness between you deepens, and before either of you can react, laughter bursts from both of you, the sound mingling with the night air.

“You know,” you say, your forehead resting against his as you both laugh, “we just totally fucked in a drive-in movie theater.”

Dean chuckles, his lips still brushing against your skin as he pulls you closer again, the heat between you both lingering. His hand rests on the small of your back, fingers gently caressing your skin.

“Yeah, and honestly, I’m not even sorry about it,” he mutters, his voice thick with amusement and desire. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine. “Couldn’t think of a better way to spend the night.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded with the same fire that’s still burning in both of you. A teasing grin curves on your lips as you bite your bottom lip, almost shy but too lost in the moment to care.

“Round two?” you ask, your voice breathless, the question hanging between you like an invitation.

Dean doesn’t even hesitate. His eyes darken with a mix of desire and amusement, and before you can blink, he crashes his lips onto yours again, this time with an urgency that takes your breath away.

His hands move to pull you even closer, fingers tracing over your skin, and you feel the weight of him in every touch, every press of his body against yours. The world outside the car, the drive-in, everything blurs into nothing. There’s only Dean, and there’s only you, lost in each other in the most intoxicating way.

When he pulls back, just enough to look at you, his lips are swollen, and his breath comes in heavy pants. He smiles, a slow, satisfied grin that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his voice soft, yet laced with something deeper. “I hope this is everything you wanted.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, the warmth in his gaze sending a wave of affection through you. You can’t help but smile, the kind of smile that’s full of everything you’ve felt in these past moments, and everything that’s still swirling between you.

“This was more than perfect, Dean,” you reply, your voice hoarse, but with the honesty that comes from how completely consumed you are by him. “I couldn't have asked for better.”

His smile widens, and he leans in to brush his lips against yours again, a soft, lingering kiss that says everything without needing words. He pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours, and for a brief moment, the rest of the world fades away again.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek, the softness of the gesture at odds with the intensity of everything before. “Because you deserve a perfect birthday.”

A warm, content feeling spreads through you at his words, and you realize that, in that moment, everything feels right. Dean pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you, and you let yourself sink into him, into the warmth of his embrace.

And for once, you don’t need to think about what happens next. You’re here, with him, and that’s enough. The perfect birthday, with the most perfect man.

author’s note:

hope y’all enjoyed this one! I had a lot of fun writing it! adding more fluff into my fics slowly! It’s growing on me, hehe! also, huge thank you to @bejeweledinterludes for helping me with the plot! ILY ❤︎

if you have a req you’ve sent in I promise I’m not ignoring it! working on them as fast as I can! It’s just taking me longer since I’ve been cleaning my house and hanging out with my friends :)

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

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