#i think i just wanted to... put things down and reflect a little... it's been a while

[bu3ck3r]

tied together – part 8

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

warning: suggestive content

a/n: the rookies put on a masterclass yesterday so we’re back with the next part of this series! once again im sorry it took so long. however, i really like how i wrote it so i hope this makes up for the wait :) as usual if you can lmk what you think and if theres anything that you would like to see in the next and probably the last part i would love to hear it!

tied together – masterlist

they had been in new york for over a week now. between the meetings, interviews, photoshoots, and the nonstop city energy, their schedule had been a blur. but tonight was different. tonight, paige made time stand still.

she hadn’t told azzi where they were going. just that she needed to wear something warm but light, comfortable, and most importantly, to trust her. azzi had done exactly that, smiling at her reflection in the mirror before turning to paige and whispering, “you’re up to something.” and paige had only smiled, that quiet, smug smile that always said i know you better than anyone.

the car ride out to the beach was quiet, the loud city noise eventually replaced by the sound of waves. soft music was playing from paige’s phone while azzi’s hand resting over hers on the center console.

now, the sky was melting—pink and gold streaked across a slow-setting sun as the ocean breathed steadily beside them. paige had set down a soft blanket in the sand, a little picnic basket beside it with things she knew azzi loved—strawberries with nutella, coconut water and chocolate chip cookies.

but azzi wasn’t thinking about the food. she wasn’t even thinking about the sky or the beautiful ocean in front of them. she was looking at paige, who was sitting cross-legged across from her, heart beating like it had something to say.

“i didn’t write this down,” paige said suddenly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “i’ve been saying it in my head for days now, every night before i fall asleep. i didn’t want it to be something rehearsed. i just…i want to say it to you like this. just us.”

azzi’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t say a word. she just nodded and leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees, eyes soft and waiting.

paige’s voice was steady, but her heart—man, her heart was loud.

“i think about the first time i saw you all the time. like, the real first time. we didn’t even speak for a while, we were just running drills. but the first time we passed the ball to each other, something clicked. i remember thinking, oh. like it wasn’t even basketball anymore, it was like music or something, i dunno. that’s how it’s always felt with you. even when we weren’t speaking, even when things got complicated, there was always that rhythm. you’re a part of my pulse, baby.”

she looked at azzi, eyes already warm, full. “and then…life happened. college happened. and we stopped talking for a while. and god, azzi, that silence was loud as hell. it was worse than fighting. it was like walking through a world where the color had just disappeared. i’d see something funny and want to text you. i’d hear a song and think, she’d love this. i missed you even when i was pretending not to.” azzi blinked, her throat tight. the sky behind paige was going full orange now, glowing off her skin like firelight.

“but we came back to each other. and i know why now. because love like this doesn’t just fade. it doesn’t break that easy. it bends, yeah. it gets quiet, complicated. but it doesn’t die.”

paige paused, breathing in the air.

“i need you to know something,” she continued, her voice lower now. “i’m not just in love with you, az. i admire you. the way you carry yourself, the way you hold space for people, the way you light up when you talk about the things you care about. the way you still get a little shy when you have your hair down, even though you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen. you’ve got this strength and softness, and i fall in love with you even more, day by day. and i honestly didn’t even know that was possible.”

azzi’s hand was covering her mouth now, eyes full, but not looking away.

“i think god gave me you at exactly the right time. i don’t know how else to explain it. maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s just good timing, maybe it’s just that we were always meant to orbit back to each other. i don’t care how it happened. i’m just so grateful that it did.”

paige leaned forward now, closing the space between them, voice trembling with how much she meant every single word.

“i love you so much, baby. it scares me sometimes. how deeply i feel this. how badly i want to protect it, protect you. how much of my future i see with you in it. and i know the world’s about to change again. we’re going into something new, something huge. and yeah, we might end up on different teams. we might have to be apart sometimes. but none of that matters. because there is no version of my life that doesn’t have you in it. nothing is bigger than what we have. nothing.”

azzi was crying now, and paige was too. but neither of them looked away.

“thank you,” paige whispered, voice cracking now.

“thank you for fighting for this. thank you for believing in us even when it hurt. thank you for coming back to me. thank you for being you. i will spend every day showing you how much i see you, how much i love you, how much i choose you.”

she leaned in, their foreheads touching now, their breaths mingling. and then the only sound was the waves and their breathing and the softness of their kiss. it was slow, tender. like they were making a promise with their mouths. when they pulled back, they curled into each other on the blanket, tangled up and warm against the cooling sand, wrapped in the kind of silence that only comes when hearts are at peace.

the sun was nearly gone now, leaving behind just enough light to remind them that it had been there. just like this night. just like this love between them, that was always there.

after that kiss, the kind that felt like it rewrote the meaning of silence, azzi didn’t say anything right away, she didn’t need to. she just stayed close, tucked into paige’s side as they laid back on the blanket, the last of the light brushing over their skin like it didn’t want to leave just yet.

they watched the sky go from cotton-candy pink to a darker kind of blue. stars were starting to blink in one by one, slow and unsure, like even they didn’t want to interrupt.

paige tilted her head toward azzi and whispered, “you’re quiet.”

azzi turned just enough to look at her. “you just said the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. you want me to crack a joke right now?”

paige smiled, that lazy, crooked smile that made azzi feel fourteen again. “kind of, yeah.”

azzi laughed, soft and full. “alright. you asked for it.” she then sat up and reached into the picnic basket and pulled out the container of strawberries.

“remember when you tried to cut strawberries for the waffles that one morning and they looked really disgusting?”

“that was one time!” paige groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

“you cut them like you were mad at them or something,” azzi said, already laughing.

“it’s not my fault that the knife was dull.”

azzi shook her head, biting into one now. she exaggerated the way she chewed, looking off into the distance. “mmm, yes, this one tastes like victory, and also…fear.”

“you’re impossible,” paige muttered, but she was laughing now too.

azzi held one out. “you want one or not, chef bueckers?”

paige reached over to take it, but azzi pulled her hand back at the last second and squished it lightly onto paige’s lips.

“you are not serious right now—” paige started, but then azzi leaned in and kissed the mess off her mouth before she could say another word.

“mmm,” azzi said, smirking. “now that’s how you should eat strawberries.”

“you’re crazy,” paige whispered, breath catching a little.

“and you love it.”

“unfortunately,” paige said, flopping dramatically back onto the blanket. “i very much do.”

azzi laid down beside her again, resting her cheek on paige’s shoulder. their legs tangled together naturally, lazily. they stayed like that for a while, letting the world slow down. the ocean kept singing its quiet lullaby. the wind played with strands of their hair and the moon was beginning to rise behind them.

“what if we just stayed here forever?” azzi asked, her voice low.

“say less.”

azzi shifted to look at her. “you mean you wouldn’t miss your 3 a.m. sweet treats?”

“wow,” paige said, eyes wide. “okay, personal attacks.”

“i’m just saying. you’d start trying to organize the sand grains by texture.”

“and you’d let seagulls eat out of your hand like some disney princess.”

azzi grinned. “you know damn well you’d be right there with me.”

paige shook her head, already laughing again.

they kept trading jabs and kisses until the stars came out fully, until the cold snuck under the edges of the blanket and they had to wrap it tighter around them, until they realized they were more than just in love—they were best friends too.

the kind of best friends who could cry, then make fun of each other, then laugh, then kiss again, all in the span of five minutes.

azzi sat up eventually, stretching her arms above her head. “okay. we probably should head back soon.”

paige didn’t move. “hmm i don’t wanna move yet, give me ten more minutes?”

“five,” azzi said.

“eight,” paige negotiated.

“six.”

“deal.”

azzi leaned back into her and whispered, “i love you, p.”

“i love you too, az.” paige closed her eyes and smiled, like she was finally home. because she was.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the morning of the draft was quiet in a strange way. not empty quiet, more like a held breath.

new york’s usual noise was still humming beyond the hotel windows, but inside the suite, it felt like the world had slowed down to wait for them. paige sat by the window, already dressed in her tailored suit. it was pretty simple, sharp, the kind that didn’t really scream for attention but stole it anyway. she stared down at the city, how far below it all looked. she hadn’t said much in the past hour.

azzi, on the other hand, was pacing. she was wearing a soft brown dress that hugged her in all the right ways, but let her move, too. she kept checking her phone even though there were no new texts. she hadn’t put on her heels yet.

“babe, you okay?” paige finally asked.

azzi looked at her and sighed, pulling her hair away from her face. “yeah. just nervous.”

“me too.”

azzi walked over, sitting down beside her on the edge of the couch. “you don’t seem like it.”

“i’ve been freaking out silently since 6 a.m.”

they sat in a warm, calm silence for a moment, until paige reached out and held her hand. thumb brushing against her knuckles.

“remember that no matter what happens tonight,” paige said, “we’re gonna be fine. even if we end up on opposite teams. we’ve done distance before, we’ve done harder than this.”

azzi looked over, eyes soft. “i know. i just… i want us to be together. i know it’s not up to us, but i still want that.”

paige leaned in, pressing her forehead to azzi’s. “me too, baby.”

they arrived at the draft venue just before sunset, cameras already flashing, fans buzzing outside the barricades. paige stepped out first and the crowd cheered. azzi followed, and the cheers only grew. they walked in separately—for now—because the league had its own way of organizing entrances. but everyone watching could see the way they looked at each other. like they weren’t “just friends”.

it didn’t matter what table they sat at. they were at the same table in their hearts.

the minutes ticked by slowly, until finally the commissioner walked onto the stage.

“with the first pick in the 2025 wnba draft,” she said, “the dallas wings select…paige bueckers university of connecticut.”

the room exploded. people stood, some clapped, others gasped, but all eyes were on her. paige stood slowly, the nerves catching in her throat, but then she turned—to her mom, her dad, geno—and hugged each of them tightly.

then she looked across the room, locked eyes with azzi, and smiled so wide it almost hurt.

azzi mouthed, “go get it.”

paige walked up to the stage, hugged the commissioner, held up her jersey, and took it all in. flashes from the cameras, her name up on the big screen, the weight of the moment finally landing.

in her interview right after, a reporter asked, “so paige, how does it feel to be number one?”

she smiled. “it feels like everything we worked for. not just me. my family, my team, my coaches. i don’t want to get complacent. i want to stay humble, nothing in the future is guaranteed so just taking every moment as it is. i’m a firm believer that god has a plan for me so whatever that is, i’m ready to do it”

azzi was the fifth pick

she didn’t expect it. she thought maybe seventh, maybe eighth. and she definitely didn’t expect the team.

“with the fifth pick in the 2025 wnba draft, the dallas wings select…azzi fudd university of south carolina.”

azzi’s hand flew to her mouth. her friends started screaming. she turned to her mom and held her so tightly it made her cry. she hugged everyone at the table. and then she looked toward paige.

paige was standing now, her eyes glassy, hands on her head in disbelief, they locked eyes again, and azzi just shook her head with a big smile on her face.

after the interviews azzi walked straight to paige and they hugged so tightly it looked like they might fall over.

“are you serious?” azzi whispered into her neck.

“i swear to god,” paige said, laughing through tears. “you’re coming with me.”

they kissed quickly, not even thinking about it—like the crowd didn’t exist. and in that moment, they didn’t.

the rest of the night was a blur.

interviews. flashing lights. hugs from other draftees, from friends, from former pros.

one reporter asked them how it felt to be going to the same team.

“feels like fate,” azzi said.

“we didn’t expect it,” paige added. “but man, i was praying.”

another asked how they’d handle being on the same court again after previously playing together on the usa basketball team.

“we’ve been reading each other’s minds since we were younger,” paige said. “this is nothing new.”

back at the hotel, they finally collapsed onto the couch in their suite. heels off, jackets tossed aside, hair pinned back messily.

paige laid her head in azzi’s lap, eyes half-closed.

“we really did it,” she said.

azzi brushed her fingers through her hair. “we’re going to dallas.”

“we’re going together.”

azzi smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “i can’t believe this actually happened. it feels like a dream.”

they both laughed. then paige whispered, “i’m so proud of you.”

azzi looked down at her. “i’m proud of us.”

later that night the rooftop was glowing. strings of fairy lights flickered above, tangled in green ivy and yellow bulbs. there were tall plants in every corner, soft music floating under the chatter, champagne glasses already clinking in celebration. the venue wasn’t massive—just private enough, the kind of hidden new york gem you only get access to when you know someone who knows someone.

azzi and paige walked in hand-in-hand to a chorus of cheers.

“there they are!” someone shouted—probably nika, already halfway through a cocktail.

the crowd was a mix of teammates, agents, family, friends who came in just for the night. someone had made a banner that said double trouble and it was honestly terrible, but paige took a picture with it anyway, holding azzi’s waist.

they made their rounds—thank yous, hugs, short speeches, kisses on cheeks, everyone telling them how proud they were. but every time they got separated by conversation, their eyes still found each other across the space.

it didn’t take long for azzi to start drinking.

not recklessly. just…celebratory. loose and warm. she started with a couple tequila shots with her south carolina girls, then a cocktail paige handed her, then another when someone offered something bubbly in a fancy glass. within an hour, azzi’s cheeks were glowing, her eyes a little glassy, her smile wider than ever.

“babe,” she said, stumbling up to paige, who was talking to her friends near the bar. “you’re so hot.”

paige blinked, laughed. “azzi.”

“no i mean it,” azzi said, wrapping her arms around her waist like she’d just spotted her in a club instead of a private party they were both the guests of honor at. “you’re like… dangerously fine tonight. you got the buttons open and everything. how am i supposed to act normal?”

“you’re not really acting normal now, baby.”

“exactly.”

paige tried to keep it cool but blushed anyway, biting down a smile. “you’re so drunk.”

“i’m soooo in love with you,” azzi corrected, very serious, very tipsy. “like it’s honestly upsetting.”

“oh my god.” paige leaned back and laughed. “you’re so gonna regret this tomorrow.”

“nooo,” azzi said, hands still on paige’s waist. “i’m gonna want you to remind me word for word. ‘azzi said paige was fine as hell, azzi said she wanted to make out with paige in front of all these people.’”

“you just said it again.” paige muttered, half-laughing.

“and i meant it,” azzi replied, then leaned up to kiss her. it was a little sloppy, not their usual public-safe kiss, but not overly wild either. just full of emotion, full of love and alcohol and adrenaline.

they pulled back only when someone behind them cheered and said, “get a room!”

paige rolled her eyes but didn’t let go. “this is our room. we run this party.”

azzi giggled and tugged her toward the dance floor. “come dance with me.”

the dj had finally switched to something with more bass, and the lights above were pulsing soft purple and gold now. azzi pulled paige into the middle of the floor, her hands already around her neck, her forehead pressed against hers. they moved slow at first, just swaying in sync, their world tightening into a small orbit made only of each other.

paige leaned in, her voice low against azzi’s ear. “yeah, you’re definitely drunk.”

“i know you like it.”

“i really do.”

azzi laughed, spun herself around, then backed into paige’s arms. they started really dancing then, still mostly wrapped around each other, but looser, sillier. azzi kept singing along to the lyrics, sometimes getting them wrong and laughing about it, sometimes turning around just to kiss paige on the mouth in between verses.

“you know what’s crazy,” azzi said, breathless from dancing, “i don’t even see anyone else here.”

paige smirked. “you’re literally surrounded.”

“nope. just you. everything else is blurry. like when the camera focus is only on one person in a movie? you’re my camera focus.”

“az.”

“no listen,” azzi said, holding her face with both hands, too close, too sincere. “you’re everything. like i was thinking about this the whole draft night. doesn’t matter if it was dallas or if it was the middle of nowhere. i just wanted to be near you. i’m gonna be so annoying when we live in the same city. like you’re gonna have to beg me to give you space.”

paige smiled, heart soft, body warm, her hands never leaving azzi’s waist. “i’d never beg you to leave, you know that, baby.”

they kissed again. deeper this time. of course people noticed, but no one cared. it was their night. and honestly, everyone expected it.

the music picked up again. more people joined the dance floor. a few more players did too. but azzi and paige stayed wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

because it didn’t.

this was the night everything changed, but also the night everything finally made sense. they were in love. they were in the league. but most importantly —they were together.

and nothing could touch them.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

paige stirred first, eyes half-lidded, the sheets tangled around her legs and azzi’s arm heavy over her stomach. there was still glitter on azzi’s cheekbone, a smudge of mascara under her eye, and her lips were parted slightly, like she was mid-dream.

paige didn’t move for a long time. just watched her.

the city noise was already picking up outside, but in here it was all soft breathing and that specific warmth that only existed when they were pressed close together like this.

finally, azzi shifted, brow furrowing slightly as she blinked awake.

“mmm what time is it?” her voice was raspy.

“too early,” paige whispered.

azzi squinted, then smiled sleepily. “you’re staring.”

“i always stare, how could i not? i have the prettiest girl next to me that i get to wake up to every single day.”

azzi tucked her face into paige’s neck and sighed. “you’re so cute like this.”

they slipped out a few hours later, oversized hoodies, messy buns. no makeup, no schedule. just them.

they found a café a few blocks from the hotel—the kind with sleepy jazz playing in the background.

paige ordered an iced vanilla latte with oat milk. azzi got black coffee, then immediately regretted it and stole half of paige’s drink, as usual. they sat by the window, knee to knee, their phones face-down on the table. azzi played with paige’s fingers absentmindedly.

“so what’s the first thing you wanna do when we get to dallas?” she asked.

paige thought for a second and laughed. “move in.”

“we’re already living together?”

“obviously.”

azzi smirked. “not even a discussion?”

“what’s there to discuss?” paige said, sipping her drink. “i’m yours. you’re mine. logistics are just logistics.”

“okay fine,” azzi said. “but you’re not allowed to complain when i steal all the covers.”

“you already do that, mama.”

“yeah, you’re right.”

their last night in new york, they ordered takeout— pad thai, dumplings, some random dessert they didn’t finish. they brought everything up to the hotel’s rooftop after hours, slipping past a door that paige jammed open with a key card.

they laid a blanket out, shared food straight from the containers, the skyline blinking around them like a promise. azzi leaned her head on paige’s shoulder.

“can i ask you something kind of stupid?”

“always.”

“do you ever get scared that… we’re too lucky? like we got everything?”

paige didn’t answer right away. just reached for azzi’s hand.

“i think we earned everything. and i think we’re not even close to done.”

azzi nodded slowly. “i just don’t want to mess it up.”

“you won’t.”

“but what if—”

“azzi. look at me.”

she did.

“we’ve already been through so much and we didn’t give up. that means something. that means a lot. i’m not going anywhere. you’re stuck with me. period.”

azzi exhaled. it wasn’t shaky, it was solid. “okay. that sounds good.”

they stayed on the rooftop until the air got cold and their food did too.

their hotel room was a mess the next morning. suitcases half-zipped, outfits strewn over every surface. azzi trying to sit on her suitcase to close it, paige laughing, folding her things.

“we’re gonna be late, princess,” paige groaned.

“you’re the one who packed six pairs of shoes.”

“they each serve a purpose.”

“you wore two.”

“shhhh.” paige pulled her into a hug from behind, pressing her face into azzi’s back.

“i’m excited.”

“me too,” azzi whispered. “for everything.”

they kissed before heading out.

they were ready.

the plane’s wheels hit the runway with a soft thud, the familiar buzz of landing mingling with the sharp texas heat waiting outside. azzi pressed her forehead against the window, the sun pouring in like golden syrup, painting everything with a warm glow that felt like a challenge. beside her, paige was quiet, headphones on, eyes closed, but she had that slight smile that told azzi she was already dreaming ahead.

the airport was loud with the shuffle of new arrivals and echoes of rolling luggage. as they stepped out into the thick dallas air, it felt unreal—this was their new home, their new chapter. azzi reached over, squeezing paige’s hand, a silent promise that whatever came next, they’d do it together.

their apartment was new, the kind with wide windows that caught the golden hour just right, turning the living room into a pool of amber light. they unpacked on the floor surrounded by half-open boxes—shoes here, jerseys there, little mementos from years past carefully stacked. paige held up a framed photo from their time at usa basketball, smiling softly.

“we’ve really come a long way,” she whispered.

azzi nodded, setting down a pair of sneakers on the couch, which instantly earned her a playful glare.

“you’re ruining the feng shui,” paige said, laughing.

“maybe your feng shui needs work,” azzi shot back, grinning.

paige lunged for azzi, grabbing her hand and pulling her down onto the couch. the light dusting of sweat from their day clung to their skin, mixing with the faint scent of the city drifting through the open window. they lay there tangled together, a quiet moment of peace before the storm of the season.

training camp was brutal and beautiful all at once. every drill tested their limits, every scrimmage was a battle. but through it all, paige and azzi found their rhythm together—not just as teammates but as anchors.

azzi and paige ran drills, muscles burning, lungs gasping, pushing each other harder than anyone else.

“come on, azzi! faster!” paige called out during a sprint drill, her voice ringing with encouragement.

azzi pushed through the fatigue, matching paige stride for stride. their competitive spark ignited the entire team, driving everyone to new heights.

the next scrimmage was fast and loud. paige’s defense was relentless, shutting down opponents, sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. someone yelled a play—arike drove to the basket, kicked it out to azzi, who nailed the three like she was born for it.

paige’s whistle cut the air as she jogged over. “yes ma’am!”

azzi raised her brow. “oh so you’re coaching now?”

“just appreciating greatness, princess.”

after a tough drill, azzi wiped sweat from her brow and grinned. “bet you can’t beat me in free throws.”

paige cocked an eyebrow, rolling her shoulders. “you’re funny. just watch and learn, baby.”

they took turns shooting, teasing each other with light jabs and laughter. when azzi sank her final shot, paige clapped with mock frustration. “okay, you win this round, i guess.”

“just one round,” azzi said, bumping shoulders with her.

after the grueling practice, sweat stinging their eyes and legs burning, azzi grabbed paige’s arm. “we need ice cream. tonight. and you’re driving.”

paige laughed, the sound light and genuine. “anything for you, princess.”

they joked and teased their way through the locker room, finding refuge in each other’s presence.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the apartment was filled with sounds of gentle bubbling from the pot on the stove and the steady, rhythmic chop of azzi slicing vegetables. the scent of garlic and fresh herbs mingled with the warmth of the kitchen. paige leaned casually against the counter behind azzi, her eyes tracking her every movement—the way azzi’s strong hands held the knife, the way her muscles tensed just so with every slice.

“you know,” paige murmured, her voice low and teasing, barely above the simmering pot, “i don’t think you realize how ridiculously sexy you look when you cook.”

azzi glanced over her shoulder, a slow, wicked smirk curving her lips. “oh yeah? and what if i told you i’m doing this just to impress you?”

paige’s smile deepened, a soft hunger flickering in her eyes as she slid her fingers along azzi’s waist. her touch was light, tracing lazy, teasing circles on the soft skin under azzi’s shirt. the warmth of her hand seemed to ignite something beneath the surface. she pressed a few gentle kisses along azzi’s neck, her lips warm and soft against the pulse at the side of her throat.

“you don’t need to do all that, you know i’m obsessed with you, mama.” paige whispered, letting her mouth trail along azzi’s throat.

azzi’s laugh was rich and low, but before she could say anything, paige’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. “mmm let me help,” paige murmured against azzi’s ear, her breath hot and tantalizing, sending a shiver down azzi’s spine.

carefully, paige took the knife from azzi’s hands and set it down on the counter, her fingers lingering in a slow caress. her hands began to roam—one slipping beneath azzi’s shirt to cup the curve of her side, thumb brushing over soft skin, while the other tangled in her hair. azzi leaned into the touch, lips parting slightly as heat pooled in her chest.

paige’s mouth followed her hands, nipping softly at azzi’s neck before trailing down, lips pressing kisses along her collarbone and the swell of her shoulder. “how do you stay so focused,” paige murmured, voice thick with want, “when I’m this close…breathing down your neck…thinking about all the things i want to do to you?” paige teased, her voice low and thick with need.

azzi’s breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips. “no idea, baby,” she whispered, turning to capture paige’s mouth in a deep, searing kiss.

their mouths moved in a slow, hungry rhythm—tongues teasing, exploring, tasting. paige’s hands slid down azzi’s back, fingers digging into the softness of her ass, pulling her impossibly closer, while azzi’s fingers traced the sharp planes of paige’s jaw and the curve of her neck, memorizing every inch. the heat between them was electric, a current that pulsed stronger with every breath.

they broke apart with a breathless laugh, the air thick with tension and desire. paige pulled back just enough to grin wickedly, eyes glittering with mischief. “you know, i could get used to this cooking thing.”

azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft, her voice a low tease. “don’t push your luck, p.”

paige’s hands slipped back to azzi’s waist, fingers curling into the small of her back as she leaned in again, lips brushing just beneath azzi’s ear. “oh, i think i’m just getting started.”

the rest of dinner prep became a playful game of stolen kisses, whispered compliments, and touches that lingered a second too long—a perfect blend of tenderness and fiery passion.

[mikkies]

「 TODAVIA PUEDO SENTIR TU TACTO INCLUSO EN LA OSCURIDAD. 」

Chance x Fem! Clothing Designer! Reader (no mentions of she/her)

warnings: mentions of itrapped (he should be a warning on its own).

notes: thanks for the title help AHEM AHEM... sighhh... ANYWAYS PART 2 OF my THIS exploring the way Chance is towards the reader (reader is eerily similar to Itrapped yet so different)

HE’S SITTING ON the edge of the porch, one arm resting over his knee, the other cradled against his side where the wound hasn’t finished healing yet.

You’ve offered to re-stitch it properly—said he was healing wrong, that it was gonna scar messy—but he waved you off with a lopsided grin and a “scars build character” quip.

You let him sit with it. Not because you agree.

But because some things he needs to choose on his own.

It’s late. The sky glows a dull orange from the breach hanging far over the forest, never fully night here, never fully day. The whole world stuck in between, just like him.

From inside the cabin, you watch his silhouette as your fingers work without thinking, threading ribbon through a jacket collar you’ve been trying to finish for weeks now. It was meant to be for him—like most things you make lately. But you haven’t given it to him yet.

Because something's off.

Not new. Just... growing.

He flinches when you touch his shoulder now. Laughs a little too loud when you tease him.

And when you patch him up, he never looks you in the eyes anymore.

That used to be your favorite part. The way he’d smile down at you—cocky, always pretending he didn’t need your help—but grateful. Silent. Loyal.

Now? His loyalty feels heavier. Like it’s chained to something you can’t see.

You don’t realize you’ve stopped working until you feel your magic dim under your skin.

The jacket falls silent across your lap.

And you finally go outside.

He doesn’t turn when he hears the door creak open. He just says, “...You ever feel like someone's haunting you, even when they ain't dead?”

You pause in the doorway.

“I think,” you say carefully, “there are worse things than ghosts.”

Chance chuckles. It’s humorless. “Yeah. Like still loving the person who put the knife in you.”

You move slowly, taking a seat beside him on the porch. You don’t speak right away. Just sit, close enough he can feel you, but not touching.

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then,

“You remind me of him.”

That’s the first time he’s said it out loud.

You turn your head. His expression is unreadable—shades reflecting the broken sky.

“iTrapped,” you say.

He nods.

“He didn’t build anything,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t make things the way you do. He didn’t even fix his own mistakes. Just... left ‘em. Let me clean ‘em up. Let me follow him into worse and worse messes like some stupid stray. And I did. ‘Cause I thought that’s what love was supposed to feel like.”

He laughs bitterly.

“‘Die for me,’ he said once. I thought it was a joke.”

You say nothing.

“I played every game he asked me to. Lost things I’ll never get back. He told me I was lucky, and I believed him. Even when my luck ran dry and my hands were shaking and I couldn't even tell which pain came from the game and which came from him. I loved him.”

Chance grips the side of the porch railing hard, metal groaning beneath his fingers.

“And then I met you.”

You look at him.

“I thought maybe I was finally over it. That what I felt for you was new. Real. But sometimes you touch me and it’s like I’m back there again. And I hate that. I hate that my body doesn’t know the difference between someone hurting me and someone holding me.”

Your chest aches. “Chance…”

He finally looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And it’s terrified.

“You’re kind. And soft. And strong in ways I don’t know how to name. But you’ve got the same patience he did. The same way of watching me. The same quiet hands, same soft voice when I bleed. And I’m scared that I’m doing it again.”

Your voice shakes. “Doing what?”

“Falling into someone else's gravity.”

You want to say he isn’t. That this is different. That you are different.

But that wouldn’t be fair.

Because he's right.

You are patient. You do patch him up. And maybe, maybe, he was never taught the difference between affection and obedience.

Between care and control.

Between you and iTrapped.

So instead of trying to prove him wrong, you say:

“I won’t make you stay.”

He tenses.

“I won’t ask you to prove yourself. Or test your love. I won’t drag you into things you don’t choose. If you ever feel like I’m becoming him—walk away. I mean it, Chance. You are not leashed to me.”

His breath catches.

“But,” you continue, voice quiet but unwavering, “if you do stay, I need it to be because you want to. Not because you’re afraid to be alone.”

He doesn’t answer.

He just leans into your side, carefully, like he doesn’t trust his body not to shatter from it.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers.

“You’re not going to.”

“Even if I see him in you sometimes?”

You reach out, gently sliding his shades up onto his forehead. His eyes are tired. Red-rimmed. Honest.

“Then I’ll stay long enough for you to see me instead.”

He exhales like he’s been holding it for months.

And finally—finally—he rests his head against your shoulder. Not like a loyal dog.

But like someone learning how to be human again.

[momo-kageyama]

The Emperor's Promise

—————————————————————————

Anime: Blue Lock

—————————————————————————

Michael Kaiser x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

Michael Kaiser with his fiancée, a young woman who has been with him since childhood - the one to whom he promised marriage when they were still children.

She is brilliant, outgoing, always with a smile on her face... but behind that, she has a sardonic and sharp personality, who knows exactly how to hit the emperor's ego - and make it seem like a joke.

Michael Kaiser, the arrogant and determined emperor of football, found his only true strength in the woman he promised to have as a wife since childhood. She, with her bright smile and provocative personality, is the only one capable of breaking his cold armor, revealing the vulnerable and passionate man behind the ruthless attacker.

Together, they form a perfect duo of power and tenderness: he, the dominator who fights against his traumas; she, the shrewd provocateur who challenges and supports, never letting him lose the connection with who he really is.

Their relationship is built on promises made under the sunshine of childhood, fulfilled before the adult world - a mature, intense love, marked by complicity, challenges and a passion that burns stronger than any stadium.

—————————————————————————

—Bastard München | Champions Pre-game

The city of Munich vibrated with the buzz of the next big game, but the hotel room where Kaiser rested was almost a temple.

Silent, perfectly tidy... until she enters.

- So it's today? - she said, leaning against the door, with that smile too light to be just sweet. - Are you going to save the world with your golden kick?

Kaiser didn't even look up from the mirror where he examined his own image.

- Today is just one more step. The glory is not ready for me yet. But I'm ready for her.

She snorted with a debauched smile and walked up to him with too much lightness on her feet.

The loose hair, the eyes shining from that soft malice that made him restless.

- You're so dramatic. - she said, leaning over his shoulder to grab his hairband. - I bet you dreamed about it. Since you were a kid... remember?

He turned his face just a little. Enough for her eyes to capture her in the reflection of the mirror.

- I told you. When I became the best in the world, you would be my wife.

- And did you think I wasn't going to charge?

- I never promise anything in vain.

She really smiled this time - not the provocative smile, but the one that melted even the ice behind his words.

But a blink was enough and there was the poison again.

- So why are you so nervous? I bet Isagi will steal the show again.

- Do you want to provoke my ego or my concentration?

- Both. - she replied, laughing - and lay down on the couch with her legs crossed.

- Because you only play even better when you're angry.

Kaiser stood up, walked up to her and held her ankles with a sudden firmness.

She didn't even blink.

- You annoy me more than any rival.

- And yet you want me around.

- Because you remind me of what matters.

There was a silence that screamed more than any public statement.

He knelt before her and put his forehead between her knees. A rare, human gesture, without arrogance.

She ran her fingers through his hair.

- You grew up too fast, Michael. And you still carry that injured kid at the bottom.

- He still thinks he's going to lose everything.

- I was never "everything". - she said, but her voice faltered for a second. - I'm just the memory you never managed to bury.

He looked up at her.

There was tiredness. There was longing.

And there was love - the kind he couldn't express with words.

- You're the only thing I promised... and fulfilled.

She held his face with both hands, firm as if supporting something about to collapse.

- And I'll continue here. Even when you forget who you are.

Even when the whole world wants you just for what you can offer.

I'm the only one who knows the boy behind the emperor.

And then she kissed your forehead.

- Go there. Break the world into pieces, Kaiser.

He smiled lightly, for the first time in the day.

And he replied:

- I'll get back to you. I always come back.

—————————————————————————

—Champions League post-final

The final whistle sounded like thunder.

Bastard München had won the Champions League. Michael Kaiser was elected the star of the match.

The stadium exploded in screams, lights and headlines being written in real time.

But he barely heard.

Reporters crowded, colleagues hugged him, and he just looked for her.

And there she was.

On the other side of the field, next to the staff, smiling. That relaxed smile, as if nothing was too much for her - not even the most important victory of his career.

Kaiser crossed the lawn ignoring everyone around.

His eyes were fixed on her.

She arched her eyebrow as soon as he approached.

- Are you going to dedicate the goal to me or are you just going to ignore me in front of millions of people?

- No. - he replied, seriously. - I'll give you something else.

He took the microphone from the hands of one of the astonished reporters.

The cameras turned immediately. The whole world now saw Michael Kaiser... kneel.

She widened her eyes. Her smile faltered - for the first time that night.

- You... no.

- I promised. - he said, staring at her on his knees in the middle of the lawn, still sweating, still with his shirt glued to his body and his eyes more intense than ever.

- When I was the best in the world...

- ...you would be my wife.

She put her hand to her mouth. But it was her. Always her. He recovered the sarcasm in seconds.

- Are you really doing this here? With your messy hair and the smell of grass?

- That's how you met me.

- Sweaty, dirty and telling the world to kneel for you?

He took out a small box from the inner pocket of the uniform - as if it had been there all the time, waiting for the exact moment.

It opened slowly.

The ring shone under the reflectors as if it were a second cup.

- So? - he said, his voice low, but firm. - Are you going to keep provoking or are you going to tell me yes?

She looked at him. For the ring. For the crowd around.

And then, with that ironic and unforgettable smile, he replied:

- Michael Kaiser...

- ...You're impossible.

- And that's why yes.

He smiled. How only she made him smile.

The crowd exploded, the networks collapsed, and the whole world witnessed the impossible:

The emperor kneeling - and happy.

He put the ring on her finger. She held his face and pulled for a short and provocative kiss, with the taste of a fulfilled promise.

And whispered just to him:

- Now the whole world knows... that I have always been your secret victory.

—————

The stadium was still shaking with celebrations and flashes, but inside... the silence was dense. Full of rapid breathing and moist skin.

Michael Kaiser was sitting on a bench in the locker room, with his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes down, fixed on the wedding ring on her finger.

She was standing in front of him, wearing his shirt over the dress, her perfume mixed with his sweat, both in a bubble that seemed out of time.

- I'm still in shock - she said, waving her hand to make the ring shine. - You, kneeling? On a worldwide network? That was...

- Madness? - he raised his eyes, his voice low, hoarse with effort. - For me, it was just... natural.

She sighed. Her voice came out softer this time.

- You scared me. For the first time.

- I thought nothing scared you.

- Just losing you. - she said.

He shut up. He looked at his hands. For your own knees. For the body still hot by the departure.

And then, as if something broke inside him, he spoke without a mask:

- I spent so much time fighting to win...

That I forgot that the only victory I couldn't lose was you.

She knelt in front of him, took his hands and put them on her own face.

- I've been here all the time, Michael.

Even when you didn't even remember who it was.

Even when you yelled at everyone... except me.

- You've always been my home.

- You just took a long time to get home. - she replied, with a slow smile.

He pulled her into his lap with a rough gesture of urgency, hugging her tightly.

She slid her arms around him, her hot bodies glued together. His heart racing as if it were the last goal of life.

- Stay with me - he murmured, with his forehead on her collarbone. - Marry me soon. Tomorrow. Today.

- Kaiser...

- You're the only real thing I have.

- I'm the only thing you chose when you weren't anyone yet.

- And that's why... I've been yours since then.

He raised his face, his eyes watered - but without shame.

Because there, in that isolated room, the emperor no longer existed.

Just the boy who one day promised that he would love someone forever.

And I was fulfilling it.

They kissed again - this time without haste. No audience. Only true.

The kind of kiss that starts with the promise...

And it ends with a new life.

—————————————————————————

The silence of the room was broken only by the soft sound of the city outside, in addition to the large hotel window. The moonlight drew elegant shadows on the walls.

She was leaning against the edge of the bed, the dress slightly maladjusted, revealing more skin than he had seen until then. The smile on her face was that dangerous mixture of sweetness and challenge - the same one that always made him lose control.

Michael entered slowly, the cold and severe look that everyone knew softening just for her.

- You're kidding me - he said low, his voice hoarse.

- I always play - she replied, walking to him with slow steps, her eyes shining with malice. - But you know I don't lose.

She touched the collar of his shirt, sliding her fingers to the buttons, with a smile that said: "let's see how far you can take it".

He held her hand, but didn't try to stop. Because deep down, he knew that that provocation was what made him feel alive.

With a firm gesture, she pulled him close, the bodies fitting perfectly. Her perfume mixed with his sweat smell, creating an electrical voltage.

- He promised that I would be his wife - she whispered in his ear, the hot breath causing goosebumps.

- And I'll comply. - he murmured, sliding his hands through her dress, feeling the soft skin, feeling the fire grow inside.

She laughed low, that laugh that only he knew - full of secrets and desire.

With an agile movement, she took control, gently knocking him over on the bed, her body dominating the space, her gaze challenging him.

- Now you're mine - he said, biting his lower lip. - But can you accompany me?

Her touch was firm, accurate. Every caress, a promise. Every sigh, a confession.

Michael didn't need to say anything. He just gave in to the moment, to the desire, to the fire that burns stronger when two souls who understand each other meet.

Time stopped there, in that dance of power, pleasure and mature passion - where the emperor met his queen and together they dominated the world, without needing an audience.

The temlight of the room wrapped the bodies like a warm and dense veil. The moonlight filtered through the window, highlighting the contours of bare skin and light sweat that shone under it.

She was on him now, dominating with the confidence of those who know each fraction of him - from tense muscles to contained sighs. The dress, thrown at the foot of the bed, revealed a soft skin that pulsated with desire.

Her fingers slid firmly over her chest, drawing lines that burned more than the fire itself.

- I told you it would be mine - he murmured, biting his earlobe, feeling the tension grow inside that powerful chest.

Michael let out a hoarse sigh, his hands squeezing the firm curve of her hips, guiding and being guided by that slow and provocative rhythm.

She tilted her face, her eyes shining with a mixture of malice and rare tenderness.

- I want to hear you say - he ordered, his voice low, hoarse - that only I dominate you.

He met her gaze, and for a moment, the merciless emperor disappeared, replaced by a vulnerable, surrendered man.

- Only you - he replied, his voice failing with the weight of the truth.

Every touch, every sigh, was a silent dialogue between two worlds that only they understood - passion, power and trust intertwined in a hug where neither of them needed to hide.

She arched against him, the heat rising like lava, a wordless promise that that moment would be unforgettable.

And while the world outside celebrated a new champion, inside, they reigned in the flame of desire and absolute complicity.

The room was wrapped in delicate shadows, illuminated only by the soft light of the moon that escaped through the semi-open curtains. The hot air carried the mixture of his smell - sweat, power and desire - with her sweet and subtle perfume.

She slid her firm and delicate hands through his skin, exploring every line of the muscular body she knew so well. The fingers passed through the abdomen, slowly going up to his chest, causing goosebumps that made him hold his breath.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the deep connection, the touch that said more than words.

She leaned over to kiss his neck, her tongue drawing slow and precise circles, burning the skin with its intensity. He moaned low, holding her buttocks tightly, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body press against his.

Their breathing mixed in an accelerated rhythm, like an intimate and ancient music.

She held the bar of his shirt, pulling slowly until it came off, revealing the hot skin and tattoos that told her story. Michael matched every touch, sliding his hands down her back, caressing the curve of her hips, going down to her thighs, provoking goosebumps and low sighs.

With a biting smile, she positioned herself on him, letting their bodies speak in the language of desire. Every movement was a promise, every touch, a confession.

Their eyes met - he, severe and domineering; she, provocative and wild. The chemistry between them burned like fire, involving them in a dance of pleasure and power.

The bodies moved in synchrony, each touch more intense, each sigh deeper, until the world outside disappeared completely.

There, in that room bathed in the moonlight, there were no more emperors or promises - just two lovers delivered to the ecstasy of a mature, intense and true passion.

——————

"After the Fire, the Silence"

The room was silent, wrapped in a cozy shadow. The breaths were still paused, the hands intertwined on his chest, the heat of the intertwined bodies filling every inch of the space.

She rested her head on his firm chest, feeling the quiet beating of the heart that, for the first time in a long time, did not need to fight against the world.

Michael slowly stroked her hair, his fingers tracing paths that spoke of protection and affection - a soft contrast to the rigidity he used to show to the world.

- You know - she murmured, her voice still hoarse for what they had shared - I always knew you were more than an emperor.

He laughed low, a rare and genuine sound.

- And you... have always been my calm point in this storm.

She raised her face, eyes shining in the dim light.

- You don't need to hide that part of you anymore.

- I like the man you are, inside and out.

He pulled her into a stronger hug, as if he wanted to keep that moment forever.

- I promise I'll never let you forget who I am again.

- You won't even let me forget, right? - she smiled, teasing softly.

Michael replied with a tender kiss on her forehead.

- Never.

And there, between whispers and silent caresses, the emperor and his queen found what really mattered:

To each other - complete, vulnerable and forever together.

—————————————————————————

"Do you remember when we were children?"

Nostalgic flashback —

The sunlight crossed the leaves of the trees, painting dancing shadows on the soccer field where two boys ran without worries.

Michael, with even more messy hair and a rare boy's smile, kicked the ball hard, trying to impress the girl who watched him with bright eyes.

She laughed, running after him, provoking:

- It's no use, Kaiser, you'll never be able to reach me!

He stopped, panting, and turned to her, his eyes too serious for a boy of that age.

- One day - he said, taking a deep breath - when I'm the best in the world, you'll be my wife.

She stopped, surprised, her eyes wide with sincerity.

- Really?

- Seriously. - He stretched out his hand, and she held it without hesitation.

- So it's agreed. - she smiled, bright and full of hope - When you win everything, I'll be waiting.

The wind rocked the trees, as if it were a promise that time could not extinguish.

⸻

Back to the present, their eyes crossed, full of that same complicity.

- Do you remember that? - she asked, her eyes shining as if the past was alive there.

Michael smiled, a little softer than usual.

- How could I forget?

- It was the beginning of everything.

And at that moment, there was no doubt.

The boy who promised was no longer just a dream.

She was a man who kept every word, and a woman who never stopped believing.

—————————————————————————

Bonus:

The entire stadium held its breath when Michael Kaiser fell hard on the lawn after a violent entrance. The referee whistled loudly, but the impact was already done - and she, in the VIP stands, had no patience at all.

She jumped up, her eyes sparkling, her blood boiling.

- ARE YOU CRAZY?! - he shouted, pointing his finger at the opposing player who was still trying to justify himself. - WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO TOUCH HIM LIKE THIS?

The security team immediately surrounded her, worried. But no one had the courage to really try to contain it. Not even the reporters dared to cut the scene.

She went down two steps with fury in the steps, her hair stuck swinging behind her like a cape, and pointed straight to the field.

- IS IT YOUR HUSBAND WHO IS THERE ON THE FLOOR? NO?! SO STAY QUETO!

Bastard München fans exploded in applause. The reserve bench stopped to look. Kaiser, still being examined by the physiotherapist, looked up and saw the scene... and laughed.

A low laugh. Rare. The kind of laugh that only she could get.

He raised his hand, as if saying "it's okay" - and she crossed her arms, taking a deep breath, trying to resume the pose... but still looking ugly at the opponent.

- If he limps, I'll wait for you in the parking lot, understand? - he murmured low, with a calm and deadly smile on his lips.

Kaiser, in the distance, murmured to the masseur next door:

- I don't need security guards. I have my wife.

—————————————————————————

[sharksimp-03]

Spiney Shore

Tattoo Artist Rafayel x Bookstore Owner Reader

Photo banner made by me, photos from Pinterest

Summary: The vacant shop across the street has a new owner; maybe this charming stranger can help (Y/n) get over a deep-rooted fear of the ocean.

A/N: I'm not quite sure if this counts as a meet-cute cute but it's fluffy, I might make a part 2 since this one is pretty short and has the potential for more. Let me know if you're interested in that.

Word Count: 887

Trigger warnings: Depictions of a panic attack/panicking in general, anxiety, let me know if I missed anything

Dividers from @uzmacchiato and @hyuneskkami

Just breathe… but there is no air to breathe. (Y/n) awakens with a gasp; it was that dream again. The one that causes her to wake up riddled with sweat, and her heart caught in her throat. She can still feel the waves pushing her deeper and deeper, farther from the surface and her freedom. Glancing over at her clock, the red numbers stared back at her, showing 6:25 a.m. It was just before her alarm was set to go off, so she decided to start her morning earlier than normal. (Y/n) hurried through her morning routine in a desperate attempt to get that dream out of her mind. Once she arrived at her shop, she unlocked the door and set about her tasks in order to fully open her shop. It was a quaint little bookshop on the corner of Ivy and Breeze Way, just a mere six blocks from the ocean. Though (Y/n) didn’t like to think about that. The shop was her grandparents' pride and joy, and (Y/n) had fond memories there. Like sitting in the bookshop reading books as a young girl, and helping her grandmother put books back on the shelves. 

Across the street, a moving truck pulled up in front of the vacant store. The truck door opens, and out steps a tall man with black hair and dressy clothes. His face is stoic and cold, unlike the other man who exited from the passenger side of the truck. The second man is dressed a little more casually and has a bright smile on his face, the sun above him reflecting his lavender colored hair. (Y/n) had been in the middle of unpacking her newest books and setting up a display in her front window when she noticed the men. She was surprised to see them unpacking the truck and hauling in big massage chairs? Was that what they were? (Y/n) was unsure as she hadn’t seen equipment similar to it before. She was curious, but the thought of going over and asking caused shivers to race down her spine. 

A few short hours later, the chime of the bell hanging above the front door alerts her to another person's presence. Lifting her head, she was greeted with the sight of the man from across the street. His lavender hair ruffled slightly from the breeze, and he smiled brightly at her. (Y/n) returns his smile as she welcomes him into her shop. “Hi! Welcome to Spiney Shore Bookstore. Is there something specific you’re looking for?” 

“No, not yet. I just wanted to come introduce myself. My name’s Rafayel, and I own the store across the street,” he answered her sweetly. “Oh well, it’s very nice to meet you, Rafayel. My name is (Y/n), and this is my bookshop,” she beamed. His eyes are deep blue, reminiscent of the crashing waves that haunt her dreams. The thought makes her smile falter, and her eyes widen. When she sees his expression shift, she quickly reverts to a steady smile. “What kind of shop do you have?” she asks quickly to distract him from her slight shift in mood. “I have a tattoo parlor.” Rafayel replies, “I’m mostly done with the setup, but a few of my things have yet to arrive.” 

“Do you have any tattoos of your own?” (Y/n) inquires. “Why yes, I do. Would you like to see some of them?” Rafayel answers, smiling cheekily. His response caused (Y/n) to deadpan, completely unamused by his antics. “Not anymore,” she huffs grumpily. 

“What! Why not?” Rafayel whines, “I didn’t mean it like that! Most of mine are on my arms, see, look!” he exclaims while rolling up his sleeves. What's revealed to (Y/n)’s eyes can only be described as breathtaking. Up and down the expanses of Rafayel’s arms are beautiful, life-like tattoos of sea life and realistic depictions of the ocean and its inhabitants. (Y/n) hated the fear that rushed through her veins, the anxiety that gripped her throat and made her heart pound. She felt ridiculous, Rafayel seemed like a sweet man and here she was freaking out at the sight of his tattoos. They were only pictures drawn intricately on his skin, but she couldn’t help the terror that rushed through at the sight of the ocean and the things in it. (Y/n) could not deny that Rafayel’s tattoos were done with extreme care and detail. Rafayel must have seen the horror in her eyes, and he opened his mouth and softly said, “Are you okay? Do my tattoos bother you?”. 

(Y/n) shook her head vehemently. “NO! I mean no, they don’t. I’m just not the biggest fan of the ocean,” she admitted, her voice growing quieter as she continued to speak. “It’s something I’ve been trying to be better about. I don’t even know where my fear came from,” she sighed. 

“Oh… well, if you’d like, I can help you overcome this fear. I mean it’s kind of ironic that you live near the ocean but you’re terrified of it,” Rafayel stated with a small smile. In all honesty, he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with the girl. 

A/N: Thank you for reading! Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated, Feedback as well, though please be kind and respectful. :)

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[silusvesuius]

unleashing the same hellscape i did on my notes app here it's my nelvas thinking dump i wrote just for fun and to keep track of what i view them as up 2 this point. Might change my mind on it later on it has a lot of things written in brackets for no reason . it's like ~2500 words long which isn't much but i think i said everything i've had in my mind for now read it for fun if you like to have fun leik me :) And talvas :) And nelothxP

retyping what i said in the tags of those last text posts and rearranging those thoughts a bit: in my train of thought that's been going steady since early 2024 i'm almost certain that neloth might see talvas as the epitome of being morally Clean (before that changes because of neloth's influence over him) and generally pure as a person. pure not used in the Pervert way; neloth is just a veeery big fan of talvas having absolutely no backbone and being very docile when it comes to him. which is r expected traits 4 someone if they find themselves under neloth's thumb as an apprentice, but it being written that he isn't at all catty and defiant to his face is cute. all talvas manages to do is shit talk neloth to others and pray neloth doesn't find out he meant the things he said but also can’t help feeling bad about it, even though neloth doesn't and wouldn't care, if he found out. neloth is happy with being an obnoxious & disgusting person. truly.. him growing obsessed with talvas' docile and innocent nature doesn't necessarily have to add up to him wanting to Taint or Ruin him (and if it happens ((it does)) it's not done on purpose, neloth can't hold that much control and power of his actions in that specific department). he encounters difficulties when he realizes he actually wants that Elven Twink.. it's too far gone to fix anything after he's tampered with talvas' patience and stability, and even then he can't be honest with talvas about anything, because he still wants to hold a great deal of power over him (neloth essentials for survival).

Might be the type to just want talvas to magically(haha) think it's okay that his wizard master desires him and expect that energy right back without talvas actually acknowledging it because it'd make neloth feel insanely cringy and embarrassed.. humiliated.. EVEN. but that's just in a deep deep dark corner of his mind, he isn't stupid. when trying to gain 'access' to his apprentice ("*His* apprentice" is also kinda funny way of viewing his mind too. just cause talvas is working as an apprentice under him neloth probably already feels a concerning sense of ownership over him that makes him feel very good) he can't even make the signs of interest be apparent to talvas because he's insanely inept at being Soft and honest for obvious reasons. he can tell what possibly could make talvas warm up to him even after he treats him like shit for eons but there's no way he's bringing himself to do it (change is embarrassing, especially in their formal dynamic, and especially at his age). so it's a half-assed attempt (actually he's trying his hardest🙄) to try and make talvas be (at least) less afraid of him. not that talvas has any other place that we know of that he "Belongs" to, he just sticks with neloth regardless of anything. neloth watching him as he sleeps ensues . Guys what do i do to make my apprentice let me hit because all of the eye contact i do with him while gripping his arm or petting his knee isn't helping. 

if we were to go back to how that spark is ignited in neloth swamp of a heart, brain… idk, it has to be when he realizes talvas' capability of forgiveness and 'Sucking it up' instead of lashing out at neloth after .. anything, but perhaps physical abuse in particular. neloth a 100% has absolutely no problem putting his hands on anyone, especially someone he sees so often, such as talvas. not that talvas really annoys him (his clear and voiced obedience pleases neloth as anyone can tell), but he just doesn't see it as too much of a big deal. the physical mistreatment that happens once in a blue moon isn't intense enough to scare off talvas for sure anyways. neloth is a bitch so all he can so is smack him at the back of the head (talvas finds it very normal) and slap him if he's feeling festive (something talvas finds kinda extreme but not that it happens often. he sometimes feels like he deserves it, or that neloth is warranted to do as he pleases. he tosses around it being justified or pitying himself, though). May be possible that neloth would realize he Like Likes talvas once he slaps him, mayhaps, for the first time, but talvas' immediate reaction to being treated like that is just sadness mixed with feeling shame for tearing up/crying in front of someone he respects *bishoujo sparkles sfx*. talvas is a delicate soul so he can't hold warranted emotions like that for long, and even tho it's expected of him to be making eye contact w/ neloth in a setting like that, he wouldn't be able 2 bring himself to do it because looking at neloth would make him wanna burst out in tears like a weeeee baby. Booo hooo.. talvas is the 19th century (4th era) damsel that runs out of the ball in tears after no young cavalier invited her to dance. watch this bleed into the most awkward and silent week of neloth's entire life because talvas doesn't even really feel like speaking to him or looking at him, but neloth doesn't wanna brute force the usual respectful etiquette out of him cus he thinks that's just gonna make talvas hurl himself down on some rough rocks at the seashore. Good thing talvas is very spineless and forgiving (especially in relation to neloth… i mean.. who r YOU to not forgive him) so that might just last a day or two. the hurt always stays tho. neloth this is why talvas doesn't wanna smash you.. you might've made some conclusions about what elven twink you like but talvas is just even more scared of you now. was your Pervert awakening worth it. and even if we do backflips and jump thru the point where everything is too far gone for either of them to go back, dude is still too afraid to make out with his apprentice. Deserve. but why though because talvas wouldn't refuse. for what reason? we may never know

^^^ this makes me feel like i love seeing characters i reaaaalllly love (elenwen and talvas in this case) as enigmas in situations where they're confronted with something so ""Intimate"". elenwen's stance on this is final tho cause she's a grown ass woman and there's no way you could reshape her brain. ulfric left her mind plane in SHAMBLES. talvas has more right (in the literal sense) to be erratic or inconsistent with his actions. maybe he likes to be desired. Also i strongly believe that talvas has probably never been in love (for any reason rly but it's mostly him not having actual time for it + not seeing it as something that is important to him at that point in his life)… i want neloth to be his first experience with Love so that it ruin his view on it forever. can't get myself to say he'd be in love with neloth at any point though. From his standpoint it really should feel empowering and 'nice' that neloth wants him in many ways (ew).. cause that's a man with status.. power.. ability to do anything rly . talvas is in no condition to be playing mind games with him or anything tho so don't get that idea. he's not strong enough of a person to be Tricking anyone or to be Playing with anyone's feelings. neloth would be immune to that, too. neloth can just kinda tell talvas is too good and … UNTAINTED. talvas wants to see the best in everyone. too bad he genuinely detests you, neloth.. so: he doesn't actually love neloth but wouldn't be happy to see his tombstone either. SO (PART TWO): if you time it right he wouldn't be against getting Freakkkkyyyy with you okay?but no promises

even if @ some point talvas develops indistinct feelings towards neloth cause of neloth's own incessant weird-mild advances it wouldn't have to mean he just likes old men permanently now. actually it kinda does. i can sorta feel it rearranging his braincells and making him unable to normally interact with people in his age range. he probably already had a hard time talking to others in hopes of developing a friendship just cause he's timid but after neloth's nonstop abuse and Accidental romance mind games he morphs into a whole new type of guy. it's hard to notice at first but he'd probably just start to leech off of neloth's prissy and unbearable personality in a natural course of things + neloth is the only person he sees and talks to on the regular pretty much. < this can just be reworded as just the cycle of abuse and whatnot. if he notices an opening in the abilities and Smarts of another person, especially someone his age/younger, he will automatically see them as umm…stupid. and also insult your abilities to your face if he snaps. he strikes me as the type to be afraid to say what he really thinks (another consequence of being glued to neloth all the time when all talvas does is act like he totally respects anything he says) and gets scared if anything slips out his mouth but is proud in letting the "Truth" be known because he already figured out you're a lesser being than him. he's just cloning neloth's verbal abuse braincells though he would never put his hands on someone. his desire to be mean and see himself as superior stems from neloth always disparaging him obviously.. talvas 4 that reason is very self conscious of his abilities and doesn't rly think he's all that useful or talented. his self doubt then would play into how he doesn't know when to believe what others are saying to and about him.. i wanna imagine that talvas is very oblivious to neloth's weirdo status just cause he partly doesn't even want that thought to cross his mind. i bet everyone but him sees it and finds it gross😕 but nobody in the vicinity is strong enough to tell neloth that he should be ashamed LMFAO. if you would try and even hint to talvas that it's happening he'd never take you seriously and just get mad. he's protective of neloth's image more than neloth himself is; not that people knowing neloth has abnormal sodomistic inclinations toward his apprentice would make his public image worse than it already is (everyone already thinks he's weird so it's not shocking at all) but talvas still wouldn't wanna hear it cause he thinks it's just false. maybe he's just ashamed that he's being brought into the whole thing. also because he doesn't wanna face the reality EJI23JRIO32KJ Well talvas when neloth makes an actual move on you don't say that we didn't warn you.. we're all waiting till neloth's status as an obvious apprentice-pervert becomes obvious to you

even if he's willingly ignorant of the fact he still thinks of the 'accusations' a lot when he feels like it. and unknowingly begins feeling even more uncomfortable in neloth's presence. heart starts beating faster and everything. neloth could come up to him meters away and talvas would still cover his mouth in realization and be like "i knew it… the DB told me but i didn't wanna believe it …..😦 so you really do like young men … and you're in love with me ..😨" *Neloth wakes up from this fever dream drenched in sweat* < neloth doesn't want (obvi) talvas to react that way at any point because he himself would just get scared so they'd just be staring at each other wide eyed. but talvas jumping into his advances isn't what he wants either (that'll also scare him). neloth is still relying on talvas' politeness to let him do as he pleases. but it is impossible for talvas to let it slide without questioning anything regardless so🤷‍♀️ take your few Ls and move on. neloth just wants talvas to sit on his lap. wants to spoonfeed him soup. he's so romantic. he also wants to(sniper on rooftop blows my head to bits). neloth is actually a pretty touchy feely person when he's feeling Frisky (=deranged about talvas). I'm certain his favorite part of talvas' body is his legs. talvas has beautiful young man skipping leg day legs. so nothing special at all but neloth wants to touch them lol.. let your master wizard squeeze your calves and he might just be occupied enough like a kid playing with a fidget toy to not abuse you verbally for 3 seconds. as i said befoar neloth is unpleasant with his touch because he doesn't know how to be soft + doesn't even want it to necessarily feel very 'rewarding' as to not pamper talvas. petting talvas kinda turns into a nervous habit for himself and an instrument of some sort of Reassurance 4 talvas when he wants him to know he’s not mad, for example. non-vebal confirmation. talvas still finds it weird but thinks it’s a charm point too. neloth wouldn't even be against touching him familiarly in front of others but only in a "older male figure" ways ex. touching his knee or putting his hand at the back of his neck (talvas sees it as some sort of disciplinary tactic though). physical touch that matches neloth's age and is enough for it to be seen as not necessarily romantic / overtly weird. 

there'ssssss no saving talvas after such a powerful person gets his hands on him. any will to leave would leave HIM either out of fear or out of attachment and neloth wouldn't just let him go (Alive at least) since he knows the things he knows. if talvas were to escape i'm a Truther of him not feeling in place and wanting to go back cause it's the stability that he's used to. but tbh if he encounters neloth on accident anywhere he's gonna start running. I was drinking tea while writing this and started choking on it i just nearly died writing this are youhappy. anyways, nelvas is a never-ending abusive relationship that doesn’t even have High highs, all it has is low lows. neloth always mistreats talvas for any reason but is never genuinely kind from the heart or out of remorse. .. hmm……yeah. I forgot to type this back out from my posts tags > talvas might just start viewing neloth as fuck crazy and demented after he Finally notices at least one molecular sign of gay attention from him . like ‘Oh wow Master Neloth obviously doesn’t get any female attention or anything cus he’s a sick fuck why does he have to search for it from me Can varona take the hit for me 🥺 *sees her dead body being dragged by the DB* hmm i guess not well i’ll figure something out i guess’ (he doesn’t) also the dialogue talvas has with varona after he steals neloth’s book trying to conjure some bs up will always be so cute to me he’s so defensive and afraid of neloth finding out. Him trying to decipher neloth’s handwriting is cute TOO ik their 19th century love letters to each other would go crazy and make sense to anyone but each other but i’m not gonna talk about 19th century girl talvas x neloth rn it’s too much . what ever. i think i’m done thank you i should just go back to drawing them as grecian pottery red figures or smthj Fun stats for you 4 getting to the end: times the word ‘abuse’ is used: 6

[crows-of-buckets]

I need to draw my rook bc I actually do have some ideas for them I just. Have NOT been in a creating mood idk I'm so tired... Aoughgggh

[neverendingford]

.

[mw00nie]

kento absolutely adores the way you take care of yourself.

the way you have a skincare routine so meticulous,it’s practically sacred; double cleanse, toner, serum, moisturizer, sometimes even a face mask if you're feeling indulgent. he watches you sometimes from the doorway, leaning against the frame with soft eyes, mesmerized by the way you take your time with it. by the quiet discipline. the calm focus. how gentle you are with your own face. the same gentleness you extend to others, including him.

he loves how you wake up early on saturday mornings, the sun barely rising, and lay your mat down for yoga before he's even opened his eyes. the quiet sound of your breathing is his favorite way to wake up. peaceful. steady. something about that rhythm inhale, exhale makes him fall in love with you a little more every time.

he even notices the way you almost never reach for greasy foods, no matter how good they smell. how you’ll nibble from his plate but never overdo it, how you’re always trying to stay healthy, in tune with your body. not out of vanity but care.

and god, he loves that. because he knows that for you, wellness isn’t about perfection. it’s about intention.

but lately, you’ve been tired.

he noticed it immediately: in the way your shoulders drooped as you stepped through the door tonight. in how you held him like someone whose bones hurt from just existing. the exhaustion radiating off you in quiet waves.

“hey… rough day?” he asked, already wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking you against his chest like he always does when he knows you're unraveling.

you hummed into his shirt too tired to speak, resting your head above his heart. he held you like that for a while, saying nothing, just gently rubbing circles into your back with his thumbs.

he noticed you hadn’t done your routine the past couple nights. and not because you forgot, but because you didn’t have it in you. and it breaks his heart, quietly, because he knows how much those little things mean to you. he knows how not doing them makes you feel worse.

and more importantly: when you’re upset with yourself, you don’t let him kiss you as easily. you turn away, mumble something about your skin, and that. that’s what hurts the most.

so he came up with a plan. a theory, really.

if he does the routine with you, right beside you, maybe it’ll feel less heavy. more fun. and if your mood lifts, maybe you'll let him kiss you again. win-win.

so when you’re still clinging to him in the dim light of the entryway, he leans down and presses a kiss to your hair.

“how about we do your skincare together tonight?” he murmurs.

you blink up at him. “...together?”

he smiles. “yeah. side by side. me, following your lead. think of it as a little couples activity.”

your eyes narrowed. “you mean you want to use my toner.”

“i mean i want to wash my face beside the love of my life and get kisses after. yes.”

and you’re already laughing, already melting, because you know how stubborn he gets when he’s decided something is the solution.

so you let him pull you to the bathroom, flick the light on, roll up both your sleeves. he puts on one of your spa headbands the one with bunny ears without shame. you grab another one for yourself.

he watches closely as you wet your face. mimics you exactly when you lather up the cleanser.

“gentle circles,” you instruct. “you’re not scrubbing the sink, kento.”

“noted,” he says dryly, but softens his touch.

you rinse together, side by side, making a bit of a mess with the water. he hands you your toner, then pours some into his own palm, copying your dabbing motion.

“is this doing anything?” he asks, and you catch his reflection in the mirror. his usual sharp features a little flushed, damp skin glowing, expression sincere.

“it’s hydrating,” you reply. “and cute. seeing you like this.”

he huffs a soft laugh and bumps your hip with his. “don’t mock me. i’m making an effort.”

you go step by step. serum next, then moisturizer. you guide him through the amounts, the motions, and he listens like it’s the most important meeting of his life.

he’s a little clumsy, a little too focused, but he’s also warm. steady. present. and the bathroom suddenly feels like a sanctuary. not just a space for routine, but for togetherness.

by the time you’re patting the last bit of cream into your skin, your mood has lifted, your body no longer feels so heavy. you turn to him, finally relaxed, and lean in with a smile.

“you did a good job.”

he tilts his head, just slightly. “so... do i get my kiss now?”

you roll your eyes, but your hands are already curling into his shirt pulling him down for a kiss. you kiss him slowly, sweetly, your lips soft and freshly moisturized. he exhales against your mouth, arms circling your waist again, and you feel him smile.

and later that night, tucked into bed with your cheek against his chest and your skin glowing in the soft light, he thinks maybe he’ll start doing skincare with you more often.

not because he needs it, but because you do. and loving you means meeting you in the places where you care for yourself… even if it means wearing bunny ears and dabbing toner like a fool.

he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant you’d smile like that again

[sapsolais]

-

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 11: December 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: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, discussion of allergies.

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

EXCLUSIVE: MAX VERSTAPPEN ON LEGACY, LOVE, AND LIFE BEYOND THE TRACK

Max Verstappen has nothing left to prove. At just 26, the Dutch driver has secured his third consecutive Formula 1 World Championship, cementing his place among the sport’s greats.  A record-breaking season. The most dominant year of his career.

Sitting down with us in the aftermath of his 2023 season, Verstappen is more reflective than ever—about racing, his future, and, unexpectedly, love.

“I’m just really happy with where I am,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a rare, easy smile. “It’s been an incredible year, not just on the track but personally too.”

For a driver known for his laser focus and relentless pursuit of perfection, the mention of his personal life is intriguing. Verstappen has always been fiercely private, but for the first time, he opens up—just a little—about the woman who has been by his side through it all.

“She’s been amazing,” he says with a rare softness. “Just always there, supporting me. It makes a difference, having that stability, someone who understands what this life is like but also makes it feel normal. Racing is intense, it takes so much out of you, and having someone who understands that, who knows when to push and when to just be there… it makes a difference.”

There’s a softness in his voice that is unexpected, a rare glimpse into a side of Verstappen few get to see. While he doesn’t reveal her name, it’s clear she holds a special place in his life.

“I’ve been learning French,” he reveals, smiling. “It’s… a work in progress. But I hear it a lot at home now, so I’m trying. I think it’s important to make an effort, to meet someone halfway.”

The mention of home is deliberate—he’s no longer just passing through Monaco, but truly settling in. For a driver who once lived and breathed racing with little room for anything else, that shift is telling.

And when asked about his future outside of F1, his answer is telling: “Marriage with her? Yes, definitely,” he said with the certainty of a man who knows exactly what he wants. “One day, I want a family. I want kids. I think that’s something really special.”

Still, don’t mistake contentment for complacency. If anything, Verstappen seems more driven than ever. “I love what I do,” he says simply. “And I love coming home after, too.”

As Verstappen looks ahead to 2024, his goals remain the same: keep winning, keep pushing, keep proving that his dominance is no accident. But for the first time, it seems like he’s racing toward something more than just trophies. And perhaps, that’s what truly makes a champion.

Comments: 

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN. LEARNING FRENCH. FOR HIS GIRLFRIEND. WE HAVE WON.

@/RedBullRacingUpdates: “I hear it a lot at home now” HOLD ON. HOME?????? HE LIVES WITH HER?????

@/MonacoGossip: So Max has a girlfriend. He’s learning French. He hears it a lot at home. CONCLUSIONS ARE BEING DRAWN.

@/PitLanePrincess: No bc WHO is she. WHO is this woman who has Max Verstappen learning a whole new language.

@/SoftMaxxie: “She makes it feel normal” I’M SORRY BUT THAT’S SO CUTE I NEED A MOMENT

@​​DR3Stan: Max is really out here being domesticated and thriving.

@/CharlesFanatic: French. Girlfriend. Monaco apartment. squints at every French-speaking woman in the paddock

@/TheGridTea: The way he just casually dropped that he’s LEARNING FRENCH for her like that’s a normal thing. Max, sir, you are in love.

@/CheckeredHeart: Not me downloading Duolingo because if Max Verstappen can learn French for love, so can I.

@/OversteerQueen: The fact that he didn’t even realize he was basically confirming he lives with her… Max, babe, you’re so in love.

@/SoftLaunchDetective: I need to go through Max’s entire Instagram with a fine-tooth comb IMMEDIATELY. There must be something.

@/F1Troll: Duolingo about to see a spike in Dutch users trying to figure out what Max is learning.

@/DR3Honeybadger: “I hear it a lot at home” SO YOU’RE SAYING HE GOES HOME TO HER. MAX VERSTAPPEN GOES HOME TO HIS GIRLFRIEND.

@/BoxBoxBox: Max Verstappen being all “oh yeah, my girlfriend this, my girlfriend that” like we KNOW who she is. SIR, WHO??

@/FormulaHeartbreak: I thought I was prepared for soft domestic Max but I WAS NOT.

@/TifosiDrama: Charles Leclerc’s face when he realizes his biggest rival is learning his language for his mystery girlfriend.

@/SidepodShenanigans: Forget the championship, I need an in-depth investigation into WHO this woman is and how she has Max Verstappen willingly studying.

@​​/ChecoFan88: We’re never getting her identity confirmed, are we? Max is just going to keep saying “my girlfriend” like it’s a classified government secret.

@/F1Obsessed: MAX VERSTAPPEN JUST SAID “MARRIAGE WITH HER? YES, DEFINITELY.” HELLO??? WHO IS SHE???

@/LandoNorrisFanclub: I need someone to look at me the way Max Verstappen looks at his mystery girlfriend that none of us have ever seen.

@/GridGossip: Max Verstappen, the man who once said all he needed was sim racing and his cats, is out here talking about marriage and kids. Character development.

@/Formula1Fanatic: Max in 2021: “I don’t need friends, I have sim racing.” Max in 2023: “I want kids, a home, and a life beyond the paddock.” What did this woman DO TO HIM???

@​​LightsOutMax: This man used to refuse to even acknowledge personal questions and now he’s out here basically writing wedding vows. Love really changes people.

@/PaddockPrincess: If Max Verstappen, king of emotional repression, is out here openly talking about love and marriage… yeah, she’s the one.

****

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Spotted: Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀

@/F1Updates: oh we’re COOKING today. someone get the conspiracy board out. it’s time.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Charles is gonna be an uncle????? 🍼

@/mclarenny: Wait wait wait Isabelle has a boyfriend??? Did i miss a chapter???

@/verstappensupremacy: me, knowing damn well who her boyfriend is, sipping my tea calmly 😌🍵

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is,  i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/f1insiderz: to be clear: no confirmation of anything, she was spotted in a boutique, could be a gift, could be for someone else, could be NOTHING (we’re still gonna lose our minds though)

@/chequeredflag: me trying to stay calm: it’s probably just a present also me: ISABELLE LECLERC BABY ERA CONFIRMED 😭

@/charlesincrisis: charles: what a peaceful day

twitter: ur sister might be pregnant

charles: 🧍🏻‍♂️

@/reasonableracer: guys: take a breath. Victoria Verstappen is literally pregnant. And CHRISTMAS IS IN 24 DAYS. Maybe Isabelle is just buying baby clothes for HER FRIEND’S BABY. 

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHY ISABELLE WAS JUST SPOTTED BUYING BABY CLOTHES??

Charles: WHAT???

Arthur: LOOK AT THIS. [attaches screenshot of a Twitter post: “Pretty sure I just saw Isabelle Leclerc buying baby clothes…??? Is there a Leclerc niece/nephew we don’t know about? 👀”]

Lorenzo: Isabelle. Tell me this is a joke.

Isabelle: Calm down. It’s not a big deal.

Arthur: NOT A BIG DEAL??? WHY ARE YOU BUYING BABY CLOTHES???

Isabelle: Because they’re cute?? 

Charles: …What?

Lorenzo: Isabelle, that’s not an answer.

Isabelle: I just like them, okay?

Charles: Wait. Is there something you need to tell us?

Arthur: OH MY GOD. ARE YOU PREGNANT?

Isabelle: No. 

Arthur: Then WHY are you buying baby clothes??

Isabelle: First of all, a friend of mine is pregnant, so I bought some as a gift. Secondly, I like baby clothes! I have a whole box of them at home!

Charles: A WHOLE BOX???

Arthur: ISABELLE. THAT MAKES IT WORSE.

Lorenzo: WHY DO YOU HAVE A BOX OF BABY CLOTHES WITH NO BABY??

Isabelle: Because I’ve been collecting them for years!

Charles: …Years??

Arthur: But… for what?

Isabelle: For when I have a baby one day??

Lorenzo: One day?? Isabelle, you don’t even have a boyfriend.

Charles: Yeah. Who exactly are you planning this baby with?

Isabelle: Excuse me??

Arthur: I mean… it’s a little weird, right? Collecting baby clothes for years when there’s no sign of a baby happening anytime soon?

Charles: It’s just… I don’t know, kind of pointless?

Isabelle: Wow. Okay.

Arthur: We’re just saying—

Isabelle: No, I get it. It’s weird because I have them. If someone else did, it’d be sweet. But because it’s me, it’s just sad and pathetic, right?

Lorenzo: We didn’t say that.

Isabelle: You didn’t have to.

Arthur: Come on, don’t be like that.

Isabelle: No, really. It’s fine. I’ll make sure to run all my future life choices by you three first so I don’t embarrass the Leclerc name.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: So… my brothers are currently having an absolute meltdown.

Emilie: What did you do? Actually, wait—what do they think you did?

Isabelle: Oh, nothing major. Just bought some baby clothes.

Emilie: …Are you pregnant?

Isabelle: NO!

Emilie: Okay, just checking! So why are they freaking out?

Isabelle: Because I told them I have a box of baby clothes at home, and now they think I’m insane.

Emilie: Pffft. That’s not insane. That’s just you.

Isabelle: THANK YOU.

Emilie: Seriously, I don’t know why they’re acting so shocked. You were the girl who had a wedding binder at thirteen and a full baby name list by fifteen.

Isabelle: It was color-coded.

Emilie: Of course it was. Because you plan ahead. It’s not weird—it’s just you being Belle.

Isabelle: It’s just a small box of things I’ve collected over the years…

Emilie: Honestly, I don’t get why they’re so weird about it. Like, I don’t want kids, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s strange that you do.

Isabelle: You don’t?

Emilie: I will personally never deal with sticky fingers or 3 AM crying, but you? You’re gonna be an amazing mom one day. And when that happens, I will spoil your kids rotten.

Isabelle: You’re the best.

Emilie: I know. Now, do you need me to help you pick out more baby clothes? Because I will fully commit to this.

Isabelle: I might have seen a few more things today that were cute.

Emilie: I’m in. 

***

Instagram Story: @/isabelleleclerc

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1Updates: LMAO, not pregnant, just buying Christmas presents for literally anyone with a baby. I can’t.

@/ItsAboutDrive: Sadly Charles is not gonna be an uncle 😭 Isabelle literally went on to Instagram to shut down these rumours

@/mclarenny: It’s honestly insane that we need a full IG story to clear up the rumors. Just let her buy a few baby clothes in peace…

@/verstappensupremacy: The fact she had to make that statement is just... wild. Why do we live in a world where women can't even buy baby clothes without everyone assuming they’re pregnant?

@/leclercslens: Honestly, it’s not even funny. If she was pregnant, it’s her news to share, and people jumping to conclusions is gross. Let her live her life!

@/gridgossip: LECLERC BABY ERA INCOMING??? ISABELLE WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US RIGHT BEFORE THE WINTER BREAK

@/f1blonde: If Isabelle Leclerc is pregnant and we don't even know who the dad is,  i'm going to personally storm the monaco royal palace

@/chequeredflag: Imagine buying a gift for a baby and then having to do a whole Instagram story just because people have assumptions😭

***

The winter sun slanted low through the living room windows, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floors.

Isabelle sat cross-legged on the carpet, the lid of the old storage box propped up against the coffee table.

 Inside: soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted booties, delicate little cardigans wrapped in tissue paper.

 A tiny quilt she had picked up at a market in Paris three years ago, too lovely to leave behind.

She hadn’t meant to pull it all out today.

It had just... happened.

Maybe because the fight with her brothers was still lingering under her skin, the words they hadn’t said loud enough to name — weird, sad, pathetic — scratching at her confidence like sandpaper.

Isabelle carefully unfolded a tiny pair of socks, brushing her thumb lightly over the soft fabric.

She hadn’t even heard the door open.

"Hey," Max’s voice came, warm and familiar from behind her. "You’re back early."

She turned, startled — and froze.

Max stood just inside the doorway, gym bag slung over one shoulder, hair tousled, still a little flushed from training.

His eyes dropped to the scene in front of her. The open box. The tiny clothes.

Isabelle’s stomach twisted painfully.

"I—" she stammered, already rushing to shove the lid back on, to stuff the pieces away. "It’s nothing. I was just... cleaning. I should put this away."

But before she could, Max was there, crouching down beside her, one hand gently catching her wrist.

"Hey," he said, voice low. "You don’t have to hide it."

She looked at him helplessly, the shame still hot and heavy in her chest. "I know it’s weird," she muttered. "You don’t have to pretend."

Max just shook his head, slow and certain.

"It’s not weird," he said simply. "It’s you."

He reached into the box without hesitation, pulling out a tiny, soft grey onesie embroidered with a little fox.

He smiled — a small, real smile that made her chest ache.

"This is adorable," he said, running his thumb lightly over the fabric. "You’ve had all this ready. Just waiting."

Isabelle swallowed hard. "It’s stupid," she whispered. "I don’t even know if—when—"

Max set the onesie carefully on her knee, and took her face in his hands.

"You’re going to be an incredible mother someday," he said, steady and sure, like it was a fact written in the stars. "And it’s not stupid to dream about it."

Tears stung behind her eyes, burning hot and fast.

"I’m not in a rush," she said quickly, panicked, because the last thing she wanted was for him to feel trapped. "I’m not—this isn’t pressure, I swear—"

Max’s thumb brushed under her eye, catching the first tear before it could fall.

"I know," he said. "I know you’re not rushing. And I’m not scared."

He smiled again — small, crooked, devastating. "I want that with you. One day. When you’re ready. When we’re ready."

Isabelle let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch.

Max kissed her forehead, lingering there for a long moment, like he could press all his promises into her skin.

“I hope they have your heart,” he murmured.

“I hope they have your eyes,” Isabelle whispered, half-laughing through the emotion that suddenly welled up in her chest.

They stood there for a long moment — Max with his arm around her, Isabelle resting against his shoulder, the box of tiny dreams between them.

And for the first time in days, she didn’t feel silly for hoping.

 Didn’t feel foolish for wanting.

She just felt… safe.

 Held.

Seen.

***

The meeting was supposed to be quick.

 Just a light debrief before the holidays — finalize a few schedules, exchange terrible Secret Santa gifts, maybe sneak out early and pretend they were already on break.

It wasn’t supposed to turn into... whatever this was.

GP, casually flipping through his notes, glanced at Max and said, "You sorted your Christmas break yet, mate?"

Max shrugged. "Mostly."

Then, without warning, he pulled a folder from his backpack and slid it across the table like it was nothing.

"Also, this is for you."

GP raised an eyebrow, visibly suspicious. "What's this?"

Max leaned back lazily, arms stretched over the chair next to him. "Kitchen plans," he said. "Merry Christmas."

Checo, half-listening at first, glanced up. Kitchen plans?

GP cracked open the folder, frowning. Max was utterly relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Belle helped draw it up. Should make it easier," Max added, casual as anything.

Checo’s brain stalled on one word.

 Belle.

 Belle?

 Belle?

Across the table, Checo slowly straightened, feeling a weird knot twist in his chest.

 Surely Max didn’t mean—

 No.

 No way.

"Belle," Checo repeated carefully, watching Max’s face.

Max nodded once, calm and easy. "Yeah."

Checo looked at the folder again.

 Then at Max.

 Then back at the folder.

Slow horror dawned in the pit of his stomach.

"Belle like..." Checo said, the words dragging themselves out against his will, "Isabelle Leclerc?"

Max’s answering nod was small but smug. Proud, even.

"Yeah."

Checo stared at him.

 Dead silent.

 The realization hitting him like a slow-motion car crash.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," Checo said aloud, more for his own sanity than anyone else's.

 Not a question. A statement. A grim acknowledgment.

Max’s smirk widened, barely restrained.

"Yes," he said again, almost cheerfully.

Checo just sat there for a long moment, frozen in place, wondering at what point in life he had taken the wrong turn that led him to this exact situation.

Charles was going to kill him just for knowing this information.

Max might survive because Max was Max. But Checo? Checo had a family to think about.

He valued peace. He valued survival.

Very, very carefully, Checo set his coffee down.

"You know what?" he said, pushing his chair back with slow, deliberate movements. "I don't want to know more."

Max tilted his head, amused. "You sure?"

"Completely sure," Checo said firmly, standing up like he needed physical distance from the absolute disaster this could become. "I value my life. I value my continued existence. I don’t want to be an accessory to whatever crime scene this turns into."

Max just chuckled under his breath, spinning his pen between his fingers like the smug bastard he was.

Meanwhile, GP was still utterly oblivious, flipping through the kitchen plans like he’d been handed the Holy Grail.

 "This is under budget," GP muttered, awed. "How the hell—?"

"She’s good at what she does," Max said simply, stealing a sip of his Red Bull like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

Checo rubbed a hand over his face.

 He needed a drink.

Maybe several.

"You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s little sister," he muttered again, mostly to himself. "And now she’s designing kitchens for your engineer. I’m just... I’m going to mind my own business. Completely. Forever."

Max gave him a bright, insufferable thumbs-up.

"Happy holidays," Checo muttered darkly, clutching his coffee like it might save him from the nightmare he was now complicit in. He turned and walked straight out of the meeting room, not daring to look back.

Some things, he decided grimly, were above his pay grade.

Max Verstappen dating a Leclerc was absolutely one of them.

He didn’t want to know more.

He didn’t want to witness more.

And if anyone asked later, Checo would simply say he had no idea, no involvement, no memory of any of it.

Survival first.

Questions never.

***

The kitchen was filled with the soft clatter of dishes and the hum of the coffee machine.

Belle leaned against the counter, scrolling absently through emails on her phone, half-listening to the quiet patter of the cats chasing each other down the hallway.

She still hadn’t decided what she was going to do next.

Quitting had been the right choice — she didn’t doubt that. But for the first time in years, she felt... unmoored.

No title to hide behind.

No company name to make herself sound important.

Just her.

Her phone buzzed, startling her slightly.

Unknown number.

Frowning, she answered.

"Hello?"

"Isabelle Leclerc?"

The voice was vaguely familiar. Polished. Professional.

"This is Daniel Moreau — you worked with us last year on the Chevalier renovation in Beaulieu?"

Her heart lifted in instant recognition. The Moreau project — one of the few she’d truly loved. A quiet, modern transformation of a historic villa. One where the client had listened. Trusted her.

"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, straightening.

"I hope I’m not interrupting," Daniel said warmly. "I just... I was hoping to get in touch with you directly."

Isabelle blinked. "With me?"

"Yes. I know you were working with Atelier Renard before, but I heard you’ve gone independent?"

She hesitated.

 Independent.

Was that what she was now?

"I—" She cleared her throat. "Yes. I’m no longer with them."

"Good," he said, without missing a beat. "Because between you and me, I wasn’t impressed with the rest of their work. You were the reason we kept moving forward…Frankly, we want to work with you. Not the firm. You were the reason the project went so smoothly last time."

Isabelle felt something flicker in her chest — a cautious, disbelieving warmth.

"We’ve bought another property," Daniel continued. "Another historic site. Needs sensitive handling. We were hoping you might be willing to take it on."

Her heart was hammering now.

They wanted her.

Not the company behind her name.

Not the brand.

Her.

"I—I'd love to hear more," she said, keeping her voice steady somehow.

They talked for a few minutes — broad sketches of timelines, budgets, expectations. Nothing binding yet. But real. Solid. Tangible.

When she finally hung up, she stood there for a long moment, the silence of the apartment pressing in around her.

And then it hit her.

She could do this.

Freelancing wasn’t just a fantasy.

It wasn’t some reckless, impossible dream.

She had clients who trusted her.

She had projects she could be proud of.

She didn’t have to disappear into someone else’s firm again.

She could build something of her own.

The realization settled into her bones, slow and sure and so much bigger than she'd expected.

From down the hall, she heard the cats yowl — something crashing into a wall — and a muttered curse from Max, who was apparently trying (and failing) to play referee.

Isabelle laughed under her breath, feeling something unfurl inside her she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Real, solid hope.

Maybe she didn’t need a title to be important.

Maybe she just needed to bet on herself — finally, properly — and not be afraid of being seen.

***

Max wandered out of the hallway, barefoot, hair still damp from a quick shower after wrestling two hyperactive cats off the curtains. He found Isabelle standing by the kitchen counter, barefoot too, scrolling through her phone with that look he knew well — half-distracted, half-scheming.

She looked up when she heard him.

 And immediately, he knew.

Something had shifted.

Something good.

He crossed the room lazily, leaned one hip against the counter, and stole a sip of her coffee before she could swat him away.

"Alright?" he asked, pretending to be casual.

Isabelle bit her lip — that tiny, telltale smile she couldn't hide when she was excited.

"I got a call," she said.

Max tilted his head, setting down the cup. "Yeah?"

"Daniel Moreau. From the Chevalier project,” she said, voice careful, like she was still half-afraid to jinx it. "You know — the villa renovation project I did this year?"

Max frowned, sorting through his mental archive — and then remembered.

The client she’d actually liked. The one who sent her a handwritten thank you note. The one she had called reasonable, which for Belle was practically sainthood.

She’d talked about that project differently. Like it had meant something.

"He wants me to take on a new property," she said, almost breathless. "Not with the firm. With me. Freelance."

Max’s chest tightened in a way he hadn’t expected.

 Pride.

He grinned, wide and stupid, and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her off the ground for half a second before she squealed and shoved at his shoulders.

"Max!" she laughed, breathless.

He set her down carefully, brushing her hair out of her face.

"You’re a menace," she accused, cheeks pink, smiling anyway.

He just smirked. "And you’re brilliant."

Isabelle ducked her head, embarrassed, but Max didn’t let go. He never would.

"You’re doing it," he said, quieter now. "On your own."

She nodded, biting her lip again.

"It feels... real. Like maybe I can actually do it."

Max dropped a kiss on her forehead, easy and sure.  "You’re going to be brilliant, schatje. You always were."

Then, grinning wickedly, he added, "Although I guess this means you’re quitting your career as my trophy wife after, what, three weeks?"

Isabelle snorted. "You’re the one who said I should be a trophy wife while I figured things out."

"You were terrible at it," Max teased. "No gold digger instincts. No dramatic shopping sprees. You kept refusing to use the black card."

"I bought the cats toys," she said defensively.

"For like two hundred euros," Max deadpanned. "Pathetic effort."

Isabelle laughed properly then, tipping forward to rest her forehead against his chest.

Max wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.

"You’re the worst trophy wife," he said affectionately. "But you’re the best everything else."

She hummed quietly against him, the kind of sound that always made something in him settle.

And just like that — without even thinking about it — a plan started forming in his head.

"You’re going to need space," he said, thoughtful.

Belle blinked. "Space?"

"A proper office," Max said casually, already picturing it. "One of the guest bedrooms. We’ll clear it out this week. Desk, shelving, everything you want. Set it up properly."

She stared at him, stunned.

"You—you don’t have to—"

He cut her off with a soft snort. "You're not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle. You're not hiding your work anymore."

She bit her lip, eyes shining.

"You’re building something," Max said, voice low and certain. "And you’re doing it here. With me."

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: EMILIE

Emilie: Oh god.  What did the cats destroy?

Emilie:  Is Max in jail for killing your brothers? Do I need bail money?

Isabelle: No?? Not this time

Isabelle: This is GOOD news!

Emilie: 👀 I’m listening

Isabelle: Do you remember the Chevalier project??

Isabelle: The villa in Beaulieu with the modern restoration?

Isabelle: The client I actually liked??

Emilie: omg yes

Emilie:  The miracle project. 

Emilie:  The one with the client who sent you a thank-you basket instead of screaming about grout. 

Isabelle: YES

Isabelle: He called me. 

Emilie: Wait what??

Isabelle: He called me directly. Me. not the firm. 

Isabelle: He and his husband bought another property

Isabelle: A historic one and they want me to lead it

Isabelle: me-me

Isabelle:  not me-through-someone-else

Isabelle:  not “representing a firm”

Isabelle:  just me

Isabelle:  freelance

Emilie: OH MY GOD BELLE

Emilie: HOLY SHIT

Emilie: YOU’RE DOING IT

Isabelle: I think I am??

Isabelle:  I think I actually am 😭

Emilie: I’m so proud I could throw up

Isabelle: thank you

Isabelle:  I literally hung up the phone and just stood in the kitchen like. blinking. processing.

Isabelle: Max is already planning to convert a guest room into an office

Isabelle:  he was like “you’re not freelancing from the kitchen table, Belle”

Isabelle:  like it wasn’t even a question

Isabelle:  I think I almost cried??

Emilie: you deserve every bit of this

Emilie: the job

Emilie:​​ the space

Emilie: the love

Isabelle: 😭😭😭

Emilie: now

Emilie:  send me photos of this imaginary office

Emilie:  we're making mood boards

Emilie:  this is not a drill

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: Belle,  you’re getting the gifts sorted, right?

Arthur: And can you find a tree?

Arthur:  The one last year was kinda sad.

Charles: Maybe get the ornaments too?

Charles:  Some of them broke last year when Arthur dropped the box.

Arthur: NOT MY FAULT

Charles: Was totally your fault.

Arthur: Ok but Belle dropped it first and I just caught it badly.

Arthur:  Not 100% my fault.

Isabelle: I can get a tree.

Isabelle: But I thought we were all doing gifts separately this year?

Lorenzo: It’s easier if you just coordinate it.

Charles: Yeah like last year.

Arthur: You have the spreadsheets.

Charles: Exactly.

Lorenzo: I’ll send you money for my part.

Arthur: Same ***

Max knew Isabelle liked things to be done properly.

He just hadn’t realized how much of Christmas rested entirely on her shoulders—until he saw it for himself.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching as she moved through the room in a practiced, exhausted sort of rhythm. No music playing, no humming, no bright Christmas energy — just quiet determination.

The dining table was buried under piles of wrapping paper, tissue, and scotch tape.

 The counters were cluttered with cookie tins she had baked and labeled herself— and he knew she had stayed up until two in the morning last night finishing them.

"Belle," Max said quietly. "When was the last time you sat down?"

She didn’t answer right away, too busy fiddling with the tags on a stack of presents. Her movements were brisk, mechanical, like she was running on autopilot.

"I’m almost done," she mumbled.

Max pushed off the doorframe, crossing the room to her. "That's not what I asked."

Isabelle finally looked up at him, and he caught it then — the dark circles under her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of it all.

"I have to finish," she said, voice soft but firm. "There’s still the place settings for dinner, and I have to make sure the boys’ gifts are packed up, and if I don’t do the grocery shopping today, no one will—"

She cut herself off with a frustrated little breath, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Max felt something sharp and angry twist in his chest — but not at her.

 At them.

 At the way her family didn’t even seem to notice how much she did. How much she gave.

"Why does it all fall on you?" he asked, gentler now.

Isabelle shrugged. A small, defeated motion.

"Because if I don’t do it," she whispered, "nobody will."

And Max realized, all at once, that Christmas wasn’t a magical time for Isabelle.

 It was work. It was duty. It was trying to make sure everyone else felt special, even if it meant breaking herself in the process.

He reached out and tugged the ribbon from her hands, letting it drop onto the table.

"Enough," he said quietly.

"But—"

"Belle." His voice left no room for argument. "Enough."

Her lip wobbled, just a little, and Max swore he felt his heart crack.

He pulled her into his chest, tucking her head under his chin, and just held her.

 Held her like he could carry the exhaustion for her, even if only for a moment.

"You don’t have to do everything," he murmured. "You shouldn’t have to."

"I just… I want it to be nice," she whispered into his shirt. "For them."

Max kissed the top of her head, fierce and aching with love, unable to come up with an answer to that.

***

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: You know what’s actually insane?

Emilie: That you’re obsessed with my best friend?

Max: That Isabelle plans EVERYTHING and no one even notices.

Emilie: Oh. That. Yeah, it’s infuriating.

Max: Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo, their mom— they just assume things magically happen.

Emilie: The best part? If she ever didn’t plan something, they’d all just stand around confused like, “Oh, I thought you handled it.”

Max: And she’d probably still feel bad and fix it for them.

Emilie: EXACTLY.

Max: How has she not quit being the family event planner?

Emilie: Because she’s too nice. And apparently, someone has to be the responsible one.

Max: No, but really. Why is she the one who always has to book everything?

Emilie: Because if she doesn’t, nobody will.

Max: They’d just show up at an airport with no flights booked.

Emilie: Or try to go to a fully booked restaurant like, “Oh, you need reservations?”

Max: It’s actually painful to think about.

Emilie: The best was when Arthur’s girlfriend was like, “It’s so cute how he planned our anniversary dinner.”

Max: No. Don’t tell me—

Emilie: ISABELLE BOOKED IT.

Max: I refuse to believe this.

Emilie: She even picked out the gift.

Max: Arthur better be eternally grateful.

Emilie: Oh, no. He just went, “Oh yeah, great,” and moved on with his life.

Max: …I need a moment.

Emilie: I KNOW.

Max: Does anyone EVER actually thank her??

Emilie: Not really. They just assume she enjoys it.

Max: What if she doesn’t?

Emilie: Then she suffers in silence because if she stops, everything falls apart.

Max: I actually hate this.

Emilie: Welcome to my world.

***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Pascale: Good afternoon my loves!

Pascale: Isabelle, have you finalized the menu for Christmas Eve yet?

Lorenzo: And did you book the restaurant for Christmas Day lunch?

Arthur: Also, did you grab the tree yet?

Pascale: Don’t forget to wrap the presents nicely this year.

Pascale:  Remember last year? Arthur’s wrapping was a disaster.

Arthur: HEY

Arthur:  you gave me like five minutes and no tape!!

Pascale: Also, Isabelle, can you remind everyone about the dress code for Christmas Eve?

Pascale: I want a nice family photo this year. No jeans.

Pascale: I want it to feel festive, but tasteful.

Arthur: CAN I WEAR A CHRISTMAS SWEATER WITH A DINOSAUR

Charles: Maman will actually murder you. 

Lorenzo: And you’re getting gifts for the cousins, right? Maman said you handled it best last year.

Pascale: And don’t forget to bake some of those little cinnamon cookies your brothers love!

Isabelle: Sure.

Isabelle: I’ll handle it.

***

The smell hit him first.

Warm, rich, spicy — the kind of scent that wrapped around your senses and pulled you straight into childhood memories.

 Max inhaled without thinking… and then frowned.

Cinnamon.

He stepped into the kitchen, fully expecting to find Isabelle humming or maybe sneakily sampling cookies fresh from the oven.

Instead, he found her hunched over the counter, moving carefully as she arranged rows of golden-brown cookies onto a cooling rack. Her sleeves were pushed up, her hair pinned back messily. There was flour on her cheek.

And a deep, angry rash beginning to creep up the side of her wrist.

Max's heart dropped.

"Belle," he said sharply, striding over. "What are you doing?"

She jumped, startled, nearly dropping the spatula.

"Max! You scared me."

He caught her hand before she could hide it behind her back. The rash was worse up close — red and inflamed, already beginning to welt. He knew the signs; Isabelle was allergic to cinnamon. Had been since she was a kid.

"You're having a reaction," he said, keeping his voice steady even as his blood simmered with frustration. "Why are you—?"

She gave a small, guilty shrug, trying to tug her hand back.

"It's just a little," she muttered. "It’s fine. I washed my hands a lot. I’ll take something after."

"Belle."

"They like them," she said, almost defensively. "Arthur, Lorenzo and Charles always ask for them. I didn’t want to disappoint them."

Max stared at her, the cookies cooling between them, the kitchen warm and bright but the air between them unbearably heavy.

"You’re allergic," he said, low and rough. "You're hurting yourself. For cookies."

"For my brothers," she corrected softly. "They don't even realize I can't eat them."

The words slipped out, unguarded, and Max felt them land like a punch to the chest.

They didn't even realize.

She baked them every year anyway.

Because she loved them. Because she thought that was what love meant — giving and giving, even when it cost her.

He closed his eyes, the fury, hot and immediate. 

All the work, all the care, all the quiet sacrifices—things her family didn’t even see unless they went undone.

Max opened his eyes and pulled a bowl away from her, setting it firmly on the counter.

"No," he said.

Isabelle blinked up at him, startled. "No?"

"No more," Max repeated. "You’re not doing this. Not for them. Not when it hurts you."

"But—"

Max cupped her face, ignoring the faint cinnamon dust on her cheek.

"I love how much you care," he said, voice low, steady. "I love how much you want things to be perfect for everyone. But you deserve someone who thinks about you, too."

He saw the way her throat bobbed, the way her lashes fluttered like she was trying not to cry.

"You don’t have to earn their love, Belle," Max whispered. "You don’t have to set yourself on fire just to keep them warm."

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

 The oven beeped in the background, forgotten.

Finally, Isabelle sagged into him, her forehead pressing into his chest, her hands fisting lightly in his sweater.

Max wrapped his arms around her, holding her together because he knew she’d spent so long holding everyone else.

****

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Your best friend is insane.

Emilie: I assume this isn’t about the fact she alphabetizes her spice rack?

Max: No.

Max:  She’s baking cinnamon cookies.

Max:  FOR HER BROTHERS.

Max:  SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CINNAMON.

Emilie: Oh god.

Emilie:  Again???

Max: AGAIN???

Max:  THIS HAPPENS EVERY YEAR???

Emilie: Max, breathe.

Emilie: Yes.

Emilie: She does it every year because Arthur and Charles expect it and she doesn’t want to “ruin Christmas.”

Max: THIS ISN’T FUCKING NORMAL.

Max:  SHE’S HAVING A REACTION.

Max:  FROM COOKIES.

Max:  THAT SHE IS MAKING FOR PEOPLE WHO DON’T EVEN NOTICE.

Emilie: Yeah.

Emilie: Welcome to the Leclerc family dynamic.

Emilie: You’re catching up.

Max: No.

Max:  Absolutely not.

Max:  I’m burning the cinnamon.

Max:  I’m throwing the cookies out the window.

Max:  I’m locking her in a room with antihistamines and telling Arthur to choke on store-bought biscuits.

Max:  How has nobody told her she doesn’t have to kill herself for them?

Emilie: Because she thinks love is earning your place.

Emilie: Not just existing and being enough.

Emilie:She’s never really had anyone who told her otherwise.

Max: She does now.

Emilie: Good.

Emilie: Because she deserves better.

Emilie: And if you ever need backup setting fire to the cinnamon cookies, I’m free.

Max: Might take you up on that.

***

Group Chat: Santa’s Elves

(Members: Max, Victoria, Tom and Sophie) 

Victoria: okay troops

Victoria:  Christmas dinner plan is a GO

Victoria:  assignments incoming

Tom: I’m ready

Tom:  already bought festive beer Tom:  and the good wine Tom:  you’re welcome

Sophie: 😂 Love the enthusiasm, Tom

Max: what’s my job? Max: …please nothing that involves cooking

Victoria: relax Victoria: you’re on babysitting duty Victoria: keep the kids alive while we finish food

Max: Easy Max:  i’m their favorite anyway 😎

Sophie: Confirmed.

Sophie:  The boys like Max better than Tom and me combined.

Tom: 😑 i’m buying more wine to cope

Victoria: Mom is doing the main course (queen)

Victoria:  I’m doing the cheeseboard and table set up

Victoria:  Tom’s on drinks duty

Victoria:  Max is kid-wrangling + ordering dessert from that bakery we like

Max: got it

Max:  will order tomorrow morning

Max:  anything specific?

Sophie: something chocolate. always chocolate.

Victoria: and something pretty for Instagram pls

Victoria:  priorities

Tom: if it looks good but tastes bad that’s your fault, Vic

Victoria:  you’re on thin ice

Max: if you two fight the kids are judging

Sophie: The kids already judge

Sophie:  you should hear the Luka critique Tom’s hot chocolate skills

Tom: As long as Max doesn’t set anything on fire we’re good this christmas

Max: no promises 🔥

***

Max’s suitcase was by the door, neat and ready, like always.

She sat on the edge of the couch, fingers curled around a mug of tea she wasn’t drinking, pretending the ache in her chest was just from the cold — not from the knowledge that he was leaving, and she was staying.

They had never made a big thing out of it. They had agreed months ago: Christmas with their own families.

 She hadn’t wanted to impose. And truthfully, she hadn’t thought she was allowed to want anything else.

Max crossed the room, zipping up his jacket, his steps slow like he didn’t want to leave either.

"You sure you’ll be okay?" he asked softly, crouching in front of her, his hand coming to rest on her knee.

Isabelle smiled, small and careful.

"Yeah," she lied. "It’s just a few days."

Max’s gaze didn’t move from her face. He was too good at reading her now — too good at seeing the spaces between what she said and what she meant.

"You’re dreading it."

It wasn’t a question.

She let out a quiet breath and looked down into her tea.

"They mean well," she said, which wasn’t really true. "They just... expect things. And it’s always a lot. No matter how much I do, it never feels like enough."

Max reached for her hand. He held it carefully, like it might crumble if he wasn’t gentle.

"You don’t have to do it all," he said. "You can say no."

Her throat tightened. "Not with them. You know that."

He didn’t argue.

Just brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

"You want me to stay?"

The words were so quiet she almost missed them.

Her eyes shot up to his, wide and startled. "What?"

Max smiled — soft, knowing. "I’d stay. If you asked."

And oh, she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

But she couldn’t be the reason he missed his family.

 The one that actually showed up. The one that divided the work. The one that loved him without conditions.

"You should go," she whispered. "They’ll be waiting."

Max nodded, though his hand didn’t let go of hers right away.

"You text me," he said firmly. "Whenever you need to. If it gets too much. If you just want to vent. Anything."

Isabelle nodded. "I will."

Max leaned in, kissed her forehead — slow and lingering — then pressed his mouth to her temple, like he was trying to pass all his steadiness into her through the skin.

"You come to me the moment you need a break, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

And then he was gone — suitcase in hand, footsteps echoing down the hall, the door clicking shut behind him.

She sat in the quiet, tea still untouched, the weight of the upcoming holiday settling back over her like a too-heavy coat.

A few days.

 She could survive a few days.

Even if it meant smiling through disappointment.

 Even if it meant being everyone’s glue while no one held her together.

She stared at the blinking Christmas lights, silent and still, and braced herself.

***

The pet carrier sat on the passenger seat, tiny but somehow loud, the small bundle inside meowing indignantly every few seconds.

"I know, I know," Isabelle murmured, glancing over as she pulled into the underground parking. "Almost there, little one. Just hold on."

The breeder had handed her the kitten that morning, wrapped up in a soft blanket, small and wriggling and so full of attitude that Isabelle had immediately thought, Yes. You’re perfect for us.

A Bengal — fiery little spirit, spotted coat shining under the winter sun, with eyes so impossibly blue they hardly looked real.

Max was going to lose his mind.

She smiled to herself as she carried the carrier carefully up the elevator to the apartment. The plan was simple: keep the kitten separated from Sassy and Jimmy for a few days. Let her adjust. Let them adjust.

Slow introductions, every guide said. Boundaries.

She set the carrier down in the guest bedroom, heart pounding with excitement.

"You have a few days to settle in before Max gets back," Isabelle whispered, unlocking the carrier door. "Nice and quiet. No stress."

The kitten immediately barreled out of the carrier, straight into her lap, climbing up Isabelle’s chest like she was a mountain to be conquered.

Isabelle laughed, steadying her with gentle hands.

"You’re trouble already," she murmured fondly.

She sat with the kitten for a while, letting her explore the little setup — litter box, toys, cozy blankets. Everything ready.

Then came the problem.

The door.

She had just cracked it open to slip out quietly when two familiar blurs appeared: Jimmy first, then Sassy, both clearly having heard the new sounds and smells.

Sassy sat elegantly just outside the threshold, blinking slowly. Jimmy practically vibrated with excitement, already chirping.

"Not yet," Isabelle whispered. "You’re supposed to meet her later, carefully, slowly—"

The kitten, of course, had other plans.

Before Isabelle could stop her, she wobbled toward the door on still-clumsy legs, let out one fierce little meow, and plopped herself directly in front of Sassy.

For a split second, Isabelle panicked, heart racing.

And then—

Sassy lowered her head slowly, gave the kitten a long, inspecting sniff... and purred.

Isabelle blinked.

 Jimmy, emboldened, bounded forward and nudged the kitten with his nose.

The kitten immediately batted at Jimmy’s ear, clearly delighted, and Jimmy flopped onto his side with a happy trill, inviting her to climb all over him.

Isabelle stood frozen, watching her careful, responsible plan unravel in real time — and somehow turn into magic.

The kitten was already nuzzling into Sassy’s side, purring like a tiny engine.

 Jimmy rolled onto his back, paws waving playfully in the air.

There was no hissing. No swatting. No stress.

Just acceptance.

 Immediate, unquestioning.

A soft lump rose in Isabelle’s throat.

They already loved her.

 No slow introductions needed. No hesitation.

Just home.

Isabelle knelt down carefully, heart full to bursting, and whispered:

"Well. That was easy."

The kitten squeaked and headbutted her hand.

 Jimmy chirped again.

 Sassy blinked at her like, obviously.

Isabelle laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

Within minutes, the kitten was curled up between Sassy and Jimmy, purring so loudly her tiny body vibrated.

Belle pressed her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by how right it all felt.

Max was going to lose his mind. In the best way.

She snapped a quick photo — Jimmy snoring, the kitten sprawled across his paw, Sassy watching them both with regal approval — and saved it carefully.

Not sending it yet.

 Wanting Max to be surprised in person.

This — this little chaotic, purring pile of love — was the Christmas she wanted to give him.

Home.

 Family.

 Peace.

Exactly what he deserved.

Exactly what they deserved.

***

The house was warm with the scent of cinnamon and pine, the soft hum of holiday music playing in the background. Wrapping paper littered the floor as Victoria’s two-year-old son toddled between family members, showing off his new toy car, while her boyfriend sat on the couch, trying (and failing) to assemble a playset.

Max sat beside his mother, watching the scene unfold, a rare moment of quiet as the chaos of Christmas morning settled. He reached into the pile of gifts beside him and pulled out a simple, tasteful gift bag.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to Victoria. “This is from Isabelle.”

Victoria looked up from where she was helping her son unwrap another gift. “Isabelle got me something?”

Max shrugged like it was no big deal. “Well, technically for the baby.”

Victoria’s expression softened, and she took the bag, carefully peeling back the tissue paper. Inside was a collection of delicate baby clothes—soft cotton onesies, tiny knitted socks, and an elegant, hand-stitched blanket in muted pastels. She pulled out a small note tucked inside.

For your little girl, with love – Belle.

Victoria stared at it for a long moment before shaking her head with a fond smile. “Max.”

“What?”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of something knowing. “You know I love her, right?”

Max exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I figured.”

“No, I mean it,” Victoria pressed. “She’s… she’s perfect for you.”

Their mother, who had been watching quietly, nodded in agreement. “She is.”

Victoria placed the baby blanket back in the bag, then met Max’s eyes again. “You should marry her.”

Max blinked, feeling his heart stutter for just a second. He didn’t say anything at first, just rolled the thought over in his mind—something he had already done a lot lately.

His silence didn’t go unnoticed. Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “Oh my God. You have been thinking about it.”

Max exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the couch. “I mean… yeah.”

Victoria lit up like a Christmas tree. “Max!”

Their mother smiled knowingly. “You love her.” It wasn’t a question.

Max ran a hand through his hair, a little overwhelmed but not denying it. “I do.”

“So what’s stopping you?” Victoria pressed.

Max sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing, really. I just—I want to do it right.”

Victoria hummed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I don’t want her to feel like it’s rushed. Or that I’m just asking because things are good now, but I haven’t thought about what comes after.” He hesitated. “I know what comes after. And I still want it.”

Victoria’s expression softened even more. “That’s kind of the whole point of marriage, Max.”

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I don’t want her to doubt it, even for a second.”

Victoria gave him a long look, then smiled. “She won’t.”

Max exhaled, rubbing at the tension in the back of his neck. “She might. Her family—”

“Is a mess,” Victoria finished for him. “Yeah, I know. But that’s exactly why she’ll believe you. You’re showing her something different. Stability. Love. Someone who actually puts her first.”

Max swallowed, something tight in his throat. “Yeah.”

Victoria smirked. “Also, I’d pay good money to see Charles’ face when you tell him.”

Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’ll be… something.”

“You should do it at a race weekend. Really put him on the back foot.”

“Victoria.”

“What? It’d be funny.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. His sister had a point, even if she was enjoying the idea of Charles' reaction a little too much.

After a moment, Victoria nudged him with her foot. “So? You gonna do it?”

Max sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I am.”

***

Christmas with the Leclercs had always been... complicated.

Isabelle wasn’t naïve enough to expect magic anymore.

 Not after years of being an afterthought.

 Not after years of achievements brushed aside in favor of louder, brighter celebrations for her brothers.

Still— Some small, stubborn part of her had hoped this year would be different.

She had spent days picking out gifts — careful, thoughtful gifts — ones that showed she knew them, that she cared. A rare edition of sneakers from a brand Arthur loved. A custom wine set for Lorenzo. A framed photo restoration for her mother. A new golf carry bag for Charles, with his initials embroidered onto it. 

Things that mattered.

And in return? 

A wall calendar from her mother. (Dogs in silly costumes. Not even horses. Not even cats. Nothing she liked. The tag read simply: "For your office, so you can keep better track of things. Love, Maman.")

A  gift card to a random electronics store she never shopped at from Lorenzo. 

A keychain shaped like a tire from Charles. ("Because you’re a Leclerc too, Isabelle, you’re part of the racing spirit, right?") 

And then from Arthur, the piece de resistance: A crop top. Tight. Neon pink. (“Saw it on sale and thought — this is way more fun than all the beige you wear!”)

Gifts that said: We don’t know you. We didn’t try.

Isabelle kept her smile pinned in place all through the day, all through the polite clinking of glasses and the endless, thoughtless chatter.

She had smiled, folded it carefully, and said thank you.

Because that’s what she always did.

Be the good gril. The grateful quiet sister. Regardless of how much it hurt. 

Still, as soon as she could go…

Belle went home. 

The door clicked shut behind her with a final, hollow sound.

The apartment was silent except for the soft pad of paws across hardwood.

The kitten darted toward her first, meowing indignantly. Jimmy and Sassy followed, blinking sleepily from their place curled up on the couch.

Isabelle dropped her keys on the counter.

Kicked off her shoes.

She made it three steps toward the living room before her legs gave out.

She sank to the floor — cold against the wood — and buried her face in her hands.

The tears came fast. Hot. Helpless.

Not just for today.

For all the Christmases before it.

For all the years spent trying to earn a place she should’ve already had.

She didn't sob.

No messy gasps for air.

Just silent, shaking tears that soaked her palms and blurred the world around her.

The kitten crept onto her lap first, purring loudly, headbutting her arm. Jimmy slunk in next, nudging her side with his nose.

Sassy stretched lazily, then trotted over and curled against her knees.

They didn't ask for anything.

They just stayed.

Isabelle curled into the weight of them — warm and grounding — clutching the kitten to her chest like a lifeline.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his fur. "I'm sorry for expecting anything different."

The cats purred louder, blanketing her in their soft, unbothered love.

Somewhere deep down, she knew Max would be home in a few days. He would take one look at her, see right through her smile, and pull her into his arms without asking any questions.

He always did.

But for now— It was just her. And them.

And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had to be.

***

The days stretched out, slow and heavy.

Max wouldn’t be home until the 27th.

That left her in the quiet.

No clinking glasses. No forced smiles. No careful pretending.

Just her.

And the kitten, curled against her chest more often than not. And Jimmy, draped dramatically over her lap. And Sassy, perched like a soft guardian nearby.

She didn't even turn on the TV. The blinking Christmas lights stayed unplugged. The gifts — the ugly, hollow things — sat untouched on the kitchen counter, still half-wrapped.

Isabelle moved through the apartment like a ghost.

Feeding the cats. Watering the plants. Existing.

And the thing was... it didn't feel like peace.

It felt like grief.

Grief for the girl who had tried so hard.

Grief for all the years she had believed that if she just did a little more — gave a little more — loved a little louder — she would finally be enough.

She found herself curled on the couch one night, knees to her chest, staring out at the glittering lights of Monaco beyond the glass balcony doors.

The kitten kneaded her sweater, purring obliviously.

Jimmy snored softly against her feet.

And somewhere deep inside, a small, painful thought broke free:

"I can't do this anymore."She whispered it aloud, her voice cracking."I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Her chest tightened, her throat closing.

"I can't keep loving people who don't love me back the way I need."

The admission shattered something inside her.

It was terrifying — it felt like giving up.

But it also felt... honest.

Real.

Necessary.

She wiped at her cheeks with shaking hands, breathing hard.

The kitten headbutted her chin, making her laugh — a raw, broken sound.

"I need help," she whispered into the empty apartment. "I need... someone to help me figure out how to stop doing this to myself."

The kitten purred louder.

 Sassy hopped up onto the back of the couch and flopped across her shoulders with a regal little grunt.

 Jimmy rolled onto his back and batted at her ankle.

Not demanding. Not needing her to earn anything.

Just there.

Isabelle closed her eyes, letting the tears fall without fighting them anymore.

And when she opened them again — when she sat up, cradling the kitten against her chest — she wasn’t thinking about the next Christmas, or the next gathering, or the next thing she had to survive.

She was thinking about tomorrow.

One day.

One step.

Maybe she could call a therapist. Maybe she could start small — just talking. Maybe she could start choosing herself for once.

She wasn’t sure yet.

But for the first time, she wasn’t thinking "how do I fix them?" She was thinking "how do I heal me?"

***

The second he opened the door, Max knew something was wrong.

The apartment was dark. Too quiet, except for the soft, broken sounds he couldn't place at first.

He dropped his bag without thinking, heart thudding painfully against his ribs, and moved quickly down the hall.

And there she was.

Isabelle.

Curled up in a tight ball on the couch, knees to her chest, face buried in a pillow.

Crying.

Not loud, racking sobs.

 Not the kind of tears she could hide behind a tight smile and a polite "I'm fine."

The real ones. The ones she never let anyone else see.

Max's chest cracked wide open.

He crossed the room in two strides, crouching beside her without hesitation.

"Belle," he said, voice breaking. "I'm here. I'm here, Schatje."

She lifted her head slowly, her face blotchy and pale, her eyes swollen from crying.

And then, hoarse and desperate, she whispered:

"I need therapy."

Max swallowed hard.

"I need a therapist," she said again, voice trembling. "I can't—I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

Max didn’t say anything.

 He just gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest like she was something breakable, precious.

She clutched at his hoodie like a drowning girl grabbing a lifeline.

"I can’t fix it," she whispered against him. "No matter how good I try to be, it’s never enough. I’m so tired, Max. I’m so tired."

Max kissed her hair, his hands moving gently up and down her back, trying to soothe, to anchor.

"You don't have to fix anything," he murmured. "Not for them. Not for anyone. I'm so proud of you for saying it out loud, Belle. I'm so proud of you."

She sobbed then — real, gasping sobs — and he just held her tighter, rocking her gently like she was something he could shelter from the whole fucking world.

It was minutes, maybe longer, before the crying started to ease, the shaking in her body slowing to small, exhausted tremors.

Only then did he notice the movement out of the corner of his eye.

A tiny, curious kitten stood perched on the arm of the couch, blinking at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes.

 Spotted, fierce-looking, all attitude in a body that barely fit in his hand.

She meowed loudly, clearly offended at being ignored.

Max blinked, stunned.

"Belle," he said softly, half-laughing through the ache in his chest. "Is that—?"

Isabelle sniffled, curling closer into him.

"Your Christmas present," she whispered. "I got her for you."

Max smiled, the kind of smile that hurt because it was too full, too much.

The kitten — tiny menace that she was — marched straight onto his lap without hesitation, climbed up his arm, and flopped against his chest like she belonged there.

Jimmy and Sassy appeared a second later, trotting over with soft chirps, their tails high and proud. Like they were presenting the newest member of the family for inspection.

Max pressed another kiss to Isabelle’s hair and looked down at the kitten sprawled across him.

"She’s perfect," he said simply.

Isabelle let out a broken little laugh — the smallest flicker of something lighter — and Max kissed her again, over and over, soft and steady.

"You’re not alone anymore," he whispered against her temple. "You don't have to carry it by yourself. We’ll find you someone good. We’ll do it together."

She nodded against him, the tiniest, exhausted nod.

And Max stayed right there — one arm around Isabelle, one hand cradling the tiny, fierce little kitten — anchoring them both.

Because they were his family.

 And he was never letting them go.

***

The world slowed down after Christmas.

Not in the way it had when she was alone — heavy, suffocating — but in a quieter, gentler way.

Because Max stayed.

He didn’t try to fix her with grand gestures.

 He didn’t try to force her to smile or pretend she was okay.

He just took care of her.

Small, steady things.

Waking up early to make coffee before she even stumbled out of bed.

Filling the fridge with all her favorite food without asking.

Curling up with her on the couch, half-watching bad movies while the new kitten climbed all over them, fearless and bright.

They spent an entire afternoon sprawled on the living room floor, arguing over names.

"Sassy and Jimmy are named after Monaco clubs," Max pointed out, gently prying the kitten off his sleeve for the tenth time. "It’s tradition now."

Isabelle smiled — a real one, small and unsteady but there.

"Lilly, then," she said after a while, watching the kitten attack Jimmy’s tail with wild enthusiasm. "After Lilly’s."

Max grinned, reaching out to scratch behind the kitten’s ear.

She immediately tried to bite his finger.

"Perfect," he said. "A little chaos queen."

"Lilly it is," Isabelle said softly, scooping the tiny, purring bundle into her arms.

Lilly. Sassy.  Jimmy.

Home.

***

Four days after Christmas, Emilie showed up.

She barely made it two steps inside the apartment before pulling Isabelle into a hug so fierce it knocked the breath out of her.

"You should’ve called me," Emilie muttered into her hair.

"I’m okay," Isabelle said, though it came out thin.

Emilie pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes sharp. "You shouldn’t have to be."

Max gave them space, drifting into the kitchen with Jimmy and Lilly trailing at his heels. (Sassy remained queenly on the back of the couch, surveying her kingdom.)

Emilie spotted the pile of gifts Isabelle had dropped on the counter — the ridiculous calendar, the generic gift card, the keychain, the pink crop top — and went still.

She picked up the crop top between two fingers, like it might bite her.

"This," Emilie said slowly, "is an insult."

Isabelle laughed, but it cracked around the edges.

Emilie turned, her eyes blazing now.

"They don't deserve you."

The words landed harder than Isabelle expected.

Not because they were cruel.

 Because they were true.

She opened her mouth to deflect — to say it wasn’t that bad, that they didn’t mean to hurt her — but Emilie just shook her head.

"No. None of that. You gave them everything, Belle. Thoughtful gifts. Time. Care. And they couldn’t even be bothered to see you."

Isabelle felt her throat tighten painfully.

"You’re not asking for too much," Emilie said fiercely. "You’ve never asked for too much. You just wanted to matter."

The tears came fast and hot, blurring the kitchen into light and shadow.

Emilie stepped closer, squeezing her shoulders.

"You do matter," she said. "Just not to people who only know how to take."

Behind them, Max hovered silently, a plate of cookies in his hand, his eyes soft and steady.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t add anything.

He just stayed.

Exactly what she needed.

Exactly what she deserved.

Later, after Emilie left with promises of vengeance and an ominous "Just say the word and I will rain hellfire on all of them," Isabelle curled up on the couch with Max, Jimmy, Sassy, and little Lilly wriggling between them.

Max pulled a blanket over both of them, tucking her into his side without a word.

Isabelle let herself lean into him, breathing him in — warmth and safety and home.

Maybe the family she was born into would never see her the way she wished.

But the one she was building?

The one that showed up — not because they had to, but because they wanted to?

That family was hers.

 And she was enough for them.

 Exactly as she was.

***

[buckysleftbicep]

for better or for worse (3) 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (fake marriage au)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors, dni, slow burn (sorta), sexual tension, one bed trope, bucky lowkey manhandling you, possessiveness, angst, voyeurism (things happening in an elevator)

summary: you and bucky are forced to play newlyweds at a luxury honeymoon resort. he’s controlling, you’re reckless, and now you’re sharing a bed. the problem? it’s getting harder to play pretend. and you’re not sure either of you will survive what comes next.

word count: 3.5k

author's note: yay to chapter 3! i hope this series has been good so far, please drop a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed it! lots of love for you guys and please stay safe out there!

series masterlist

The bathroom was cloaked in steam and rose-scented humidity, mirrors fogged around the edges as you tapped at your comms device.

“I swear to god, Lena, if he tells me to ‘stay close’ one more time—”

Yelena’s voice crackled to life, “Let me guess. He held your hand crossing the lobby? Put floaties on you for the pool?”

You snorted, pacing barefoot across the heated marble tiles. “He’s infuriating, it’s like he needs to babysit me. He is either hovering or micromanaging, like I haven’t survived six ops without him breathing down my neck.”

A beat of silence, then the wry twist of a smirk in Yelena’s voice. “Maybe he just wants to make sure you come back. Preferably with all limbs attached, preferably…you know, clothed.”

You stopped, frowning at your reflection through the fogged glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said, far too innocently. “And if you ask me, the hovering means he cares, you know in his emotionally constipated way.”

Before you could argue, another voice broke through—deeper, rumbling, warm and a thick russian accent.

“Barnes just caring for you, little starfish.”

You blinked. “I—I don’t need him to.”

“Nyet,” Alexei replied. “But maybe you want him to.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Heat surged up your neck as you quickly muted the comm, the silence that followed thick with everything you didn’t want to think about.

You stared at yourself for a moment longer, then reached for the dress.

It was a crimson red, Yelena had picked it out for you, it was the kind of red that made men pray and women curse.The silk clung like a second skin, liquid and shining, wrapping around your hips and hugging the swell of your thighs with lethal precision. 

The neckline dipped recklessly low, teasing the curve of your breasts with every breath you took. The straps were thin and delicate, threatening to fall if you so much as tilted the wrong way.

And paired with the stilettos that Ava had convinced you would complete the look, you looked like temptation incarnate. Every inch of you was deliberate. Calculated and weaponised.

The bathroom door creaked open.

He was standing by the window, half-turned away, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

You stopped.

The brunette was in a tailored button-down, the dark fabric clinging to his chest and shoulders like sin, sleeves rolled up just far enough to bare his forearm—thick and corded with muscle, veins rising beneath the skin in clean, practiced lines. 

The shirt was tucked into black slacks that fit just a little too well, the cut precise, hugging his hips and thighs like they were custom-made for the mission of destroying your focus.

His hair was pushed back, strands falling just slightly out of place. The low golden light brushed along the sharp line of his jaw, catching on the dusting of stubble. 

He looked carved from something old. Dangerous.

Then he turned and saw you.

The shift in his face was subtle, but devastating.

His eyes dragged over you slowly, like he was trying to memorise every curve, every exposed inch. They dropped to the hem of your dress, crawled back up to the neckline, and then higher, locking on your face with such intensity you swore you almost forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. His jaw ticked and his hands flexed once at his sides.

For a long, aching beat, you both just stared at each other.

He was looking at you like he hated you. God, he was looking at you like he wanted to fuck you against the nearest surface.

“You ready?” he asked, finally, his voice hoarse, rougher than it had been a moment ago.

You nodded, trying not to let your gaze linger too long on the way his shirt clung to his chest.

His eyes dipped again, just for a second. They lingered at your chest, flicked down your legs, then snapped back to your mouth.

Your lips curled. “Try not to pop a vein.”

His brow lifted, unimpressed, but there was a glint there. Dark. Hungry. He stepped closer, brushing past you as he reached for the door.

“Try not to get killed tonight, sweetheart.”

You opened your mouth, probably to tell him to go to hell, but Ava’s voice broke in over comms before you could.

“ I heard Raskovic’s men will be there, armed and probably wired. Keep it clean guys.”

Your eyes didn’t leave Bucky’s.

“Got it. Thanks, Ava,” you replied, voice tight.

He held the door open, you walked through it, letting your shoulder brush his chest on the way out.

You didn’t look back.

But you felt the weight of his eyes burning into your spine the whole way down the hallway.

The walk down to the resort’s private club took less than five minutes, but it felt like descending into another world.

The air shifted as you passed through velvet-draped corridors and followed the curve of marble staircases carved into the side of the estate. 

Dim lighting bathed the stone in soft amber, each step echoing faintly beneath your heels as Bucky walked beside you in silence, his shoulder brushing yours every few paces, intentional or not, you couldn’t tell.

Nestled on the lower level, built directly into the cliffside, the club revealed itself behind a pair of mirrored double doors and arched golden trim. It wasn’t flashy, not in the way lesser venues tried to be. 

No, this place oozed old money, the kind of place where every detail whispered power instead of shouting it. Champagne-colored lighting glinted softly off crystal decanters and dark velvet walls. 

The scent of pine, aged whiskey, and something spiced, cigar smoke, maybe hung in the air. It was gorgeous, and every part of it screamed exclusive.

When you and Bucky stepped inside, you didn’t need to announce yourselves, the staff knew exactly who you were supposed to be.

“Mr and Mrs Barnes,” the host greeted smoothly, his smile polished, professional. “Welcome. We hope your honeymoon’s been memorable.”

You gave him a small, practiced smile, nothing showy. Just enough to charm. Bucky offered a silent nod, hands clasped casually behind his back like he hadn’t just spent the ride down brooding beside you in silence.

The host turned with a gesture, leading you into the heart of the space. Your heels tapped rhythmically against polished black stone, Bucky’s gait slow and deliberate at your side.

“(y/n)!” a voice called, light and champagne-bubbly over the music.

Layna drifted toward you, graceful as ever, her gown a wash of shimmery gold that hugged her figure like liquid wealth. Her smile was broad and curated, her cheeks perfectly blushed, every inch of her styled for the spotlight.

“You look incredible,” she said brightly, looping her arm through yours with practiced familiarity.

Behind her trailed Fred, tall and composed, eyes flicking toward Bucky with a respectful nod.

“James,” he said, reaching for a handshake. “The gentlemen’s lounge is just through the terrace. Cigars, vintage reserves, poker tables. Worth a visit.”

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, a silent question in the glance. You smiled, letting your fingers trail lightly along his sleeve, not for show, but a subtle signal, something reassuring in its intimacy.

“Go on,” you said, keeping your voice low and playful. “I’ll grab a drink with Layna.”

His jaw tightened at that, not out of disapproval but out of something else. Reluctance, a hint of hesitation. He nodded once.

“Call me if you need anything.”

This time, you didn’t roll your eyes. You just let the smirk tug at your lips. “Always do, babe”

As Bucky followed Fred across the room toward the terrace lounge, you and Layna made your way to the bar. It was tucked beneath a curved alcove of smoked glass and carved wood, with backlit shelves of rare liquors glowing like gemstones. 

You slid onto a plush velvet stool, legs crossing with ease, letting the hem of your dress slip up just an inch more.

You ordered something sharp, whiskey, no ice, and answered Layna’s questions with a perfect blend of giggles and detachment.

The honeymoon’s been “magical.” The views? “Incredible.” James? “Everything I wanted and then some.”

Every word was laced with just enough breathiness to be believable, every glance down at your glass is calculated to seem casual. And yet, underneath it all, your eyes kept scanning the room. 

“I’ll be right back,” Layna said at last, giving your arm a light squeeze. “Forgot my shawl upstairs.”

You gave her a soft nod, swirling your drink.

And that was when you felt it.

The shift in the air. A quiet tension, like silk brushing against bare skin. You sensed him before you saw him, the press of someone standing just a little too close behind you, his gaze dragging across the bare skin of your shoulders like heat.

“Excuse me,” a voice said—low, smooth, perfectly cultured. “Are you alone?”

You turned slowly.

He looked like the kind of man sculptors tried to capture and never quite got right. Tall, lean, and dressed in a dark charcoal suit tailored to sin, the open collar of his black shirt revealed just enough to tease a hidden tattoo. 

His features were sharp, aristocratic, eyes like polished silver, mouth curled into a smirk that didn’t quite meet the eyes. Clean-shaven. Too clean. Handsome in the kind of way that made your instincts flare with warning.

“Depends,” you replied, your lips curling. “Who’s asking?”

“Andrei,” he said, offering a hand. “A friend, if you want one.”

His palm was warm when you slide your fingers into his. Confident. Controlled. The grip of someone who didn’t flinch, didn’t fumble.

“(y/n),” you said smoothly, watching him. “You always open with lines that outdated?”

He chuckled. “Only when they work.”

You were about to volley something back when your earpiece buzzed softly.

John’s voice filtered in, low and clipped. “Did a background check. Name’s Andrei Petrov. Raskovic’s right hand. He’s the guy you need to get chummy with.”

And then, rougher, unmistakable—Bucky, “I’m coming.”

A pause. Then Yelena’s voice, calm and curt. “She’s got this, Barnes. Stay with Fred. Raskovic might show anytime, we need your eyes on the floor.”

And finally, Fred’s voice, somewhere distant: “Come on! Shots?”

Then silence.

Andrei leaned closer, voice brushing against the shell of your ear like smoke. “So... what’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”

You tilted your head, sipping your drink. “Celebrating. First week of marriage.”

He hummed low. “To a man who lets you out of his sight? Foolish.”

You smiled slow, dragging your gaze across his jawline. “Maybe I’m the dangerous one.”

His laugh was rich, almost charming— the kind of laugh meant to distract. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated. Not long. Just enough.

Your eyes flicked to the terrace, but Bucky hadn’t reappeared.

“Why not?”

You let Andrei take your hand.

The dance floor was bathed in shadows and refracted light, the music heavy and primal, pulsing through your chest. Andrei pulled you close—his hand settling just low enough on your back to test the boundary. 

His steps were fluid, confident. Like he knew how to lead people, how to make them follow. You let your body follow his rhythm, eyes half-lidded, breath controlled.

“Your husband...” he murmured against your ear, “does he know what you’re doing right now?”

“He trusts me,” you replied, cool and unbothered. “He knows I can handle myself.”

Andrei’s hand slid lower. Over the curve of your ass. Testing. Tasting your reaction.

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in closer.

“Does your boss trust you this much?”

His eyes flickered—a crack in the mask, just for a moment. Intrigued. Interested.

And then—

A guard appeared beside him. His expression was sharp. Words in russian, fast and clipped, and you understood every word.

Andrei’s smile vanished.

“Босс хочет тебя. Перестань возиться со шлюхой.” “The boss wants you. Stop fucking around with that whore.”

Just like that, Andrei dropped your hand and stepped back.

His tone changed instantly. “Until next time. Don’t wander too far.”

And then he was gone.

You exhaled, pulse still unsteady, breath coming slow and tight.

But Bucky was nowhere in sight.

The club noise faded as you moved deeper into the resort halls, heels echoing against polished stone. The cold quiet wrapped around you like static, but your heart hadn’t settled—not even close.

Andrei’s touch still lingered on your skin, ghosting along the curve of your back like smoke that wouldn’t lift.

You hadn’t gotten much before he was yanked away. But it had been something. Worth it in your books.

You pressed the elevator button with more force than necessary, jaw tight. The whiskey still buzzed faintly through your veins, but it was nothing compared to the slow-burning heat in your chest. 

You weren’t sure if it was frustration or adrenaline.

There has been nothing from Bucky, no ping on the comms, no backup, no rough voice in your ear telling you to abort.

He’d stayed with Fred, stayed with the boys. He hadn’t come.

The elevator doors slid open.

You stepped inside, lips pursed, stabbing the button for your floor. The doors began to slide shut—

—and a gloved hand shot through the gap, forcing them open.

Bucky stepped inside like a storm on two legs.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

Not at first. But you felt it.

The tension rolled off of him in waves. His jaw was clenched, his breath sharp. Hands curled into fists at his sides like he was holding something back. 

“For fuck’s sake, (y/n),” he said suddenly, voice low and rough. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You blinked, adrenaline still pumping. “Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His eyes cut to you, sharp and furious. “Dancing with him. Letting his hands all over you. You knew who he was—”

“I was trying to get information,” you shot back, stepping toward him. “It was working—”

His voice dropped. “And your plan was what? Fuck it out of him?”

The air crackled.

You stared at him, breath catching. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he snarled. He stepped into your space, the force of him pinning you without even touching. “You think you’re subtle? You think I didn’t see the way he was looking at you? The way you let him—”

“I didn’t let him do anything,” you snapped. “That was the mission. That’s what we’re here for.”

“That’s not what that was,” he hissed. “And you fucking know it.”

The elevator kept climbing, but the floor might as well have dropped out from beneath you. The space shrank, every breath shallow, every movement taut.

And then—he snapped.

Bucky surged forward and grabbed you, spinning you and slamming your back against the mirrored wall with a thud that rattled the glass. Before you could curse him out, his mouth was on yours.

He kissed you like he’d waited all fucking night for permission—like he couldn’t hold it back another second. His tongue slid into your mouth, hot and demanding, his teeth grazing your lip just enough to sting. You moaned into him, hands flying to his chest, gripping his shirt as you arched against him.

One of his hands tangled in your hair, yanking just enough to make you gasp. The other slid down, over your ass, up under the hem of your dress, fingers digging into the bare curve of your thigh as he shoved your leg up and wrapped it around his waist.

You ground against him, breathless, desperate, needing more.

His thigh pressed between yours, firm and solid and right where you needed it.

You rocked against him.

“Every fucking time you argue with me,” he growled against your mouth, “all I want to do is pin you like this and shut you up.”

“Then shut me up,” you gasped, nails raking down his chest.

He did.

His mouth crushed yours again, more brutal this time. He sucked your bottom lip between his teeth, then slid lower, down your jaw, down your neck, biting at the soft space beneath your ear. You shuddered, fingers gripping his shoulders as his hands roamed.

He cupped your breast through the silk, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbled beneath the fabric. You cried out, hips rolling shamelessly against the bulge straining against his zipper.

“Fuck,” he muttered, breath ragged. “This dress—this fucking dress—”

His hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers trailing over your bare skin, tracing the dip of your spine, the swell of your hip.

You felt him. Hard. Hot. Pressed tight against you.

You wanted to tear the rest of your dress off. You wanted to let him fuck you here, against the glass, in this box hurtling up the side of a mountain.

But then, he froze. Just like that.

Bucky tore himself away, staggering back like he’d just realized what he’d done.

“I can’t,” he rasped, eyes wide, chest heaving.

You stared at him.

Your dress was rumpled, your lip swollen, your thighs still trembling. “What?”

“I can’t,” he said again, softer. He dragged a hand through his hair, stepping back until his spine hit the wall. He looked fucking wrecked. Wild eyes. Flushed skin. Hands shaking.

“This isn’t real,” he murmured, eyes locked somewhere between your legs and your face. “None of this is. And if we let it feel real—”

His voice cracked.

You stepped forward, barely breathing. “Too late.”

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened, and the cold air hit you like a slap.

You pushed past him, jaw clenched, dress twisted high on your thighs. He reached for your wrist—but you pulled away.

“(y/n)—”

“I need air,” he muttered, staring past you like he was already somewhere else.

You stopped, just for a second. Just long enough to turn your head.

“Then breathe,” you said, voice cold. “But don’t expect me to wait while you figure it out.”

And then you left.

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t stop until the door to your suite slammed shut behind you, the echo vibrating through your bones.

You were a mess.

Frustrated, horny, and god, you were pissed, still aching where his hands had been, still tasting him on your tongue.

And so, so done pretending it didn’t mean anything.

Somewhere deeper in the resort, past security checkpoints and beyond velvet ropes no guest ever saw, the world shifted.

No more music, laughter or lights warm enough to be inviting.

Only polished stone, muted shadows, and the quiet hiss of air systems pushing filtered silence through the walls.

The lounge in the VIP wing wasn’t for entertainment, inside, two men stood beneath the dim amber glow of a hanging chandelier.

Cigar smoke laced the air, curling upward in thin spirals that twisted and vanished into the high, vaulted ceiling.

Everything smelled expensive, aged tobacco, rare liquor, gun oil faintly buried in the leather.

Andrei leaned against the wall, casual in appearance but sharp-eyed, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling a half-lit cigar, thumb flicking it slowly as his gaze stayed fixed on the mirrored panel across the room.

The panel looked like a decorative installation, with smoked glass inset into the wall, but it wasn’t. Behind it, a discreet camera feed displayed the club below in crisp, colourless detail.

The dance floor was mostly cleared now, the lights dimmed, only a few couples left swaying to the after-midnight tempo.

But Andrei wasn’t watching them. He was watching the absence.

“They’re good,” he said finally, voice rough and quiet. “Too good.”

Across from him, Raskovic moved with glacial ease, pouring vodka into a cut-crystal glass, the sound of the liquid unnervingly loud in the silence.

His hands were thick, callused, the kind of hands that had held power and destroyed it. Gold rings gleamed on every finger, the diamonds embedded in his pinky catching the overhead light.

He didn’t look at Andrei when he responded.

“You’re suspicious.”

Andrei took a long drag from the cigar. Exhaled slowly through his nose. “I’ve seen agents wear tighter covers. Pretend harder. But there’s something off. Their body language—”

“You think they’re not married?” Raskovic interrupted, still without looking.

“I think they’re not who they say they are.”

Now the Russian did look at him.

He turned, slowly, the crystal glass raised to his lips as his eyes locked onto Andrei’s. He sipped before setting the drink down with precision on the lacquered bar.

A pause stretched out between them like the moment between a trigger pull and the echo.

“Find out more,” he said at last, the words soft. Measured.

Then, in a voice like gravel dragged through ice, he added,

“Если они лгут, я прикажу заживо сдеру с них кожу." “I will have them skinned alive if they are liars.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

The threat sat between them like a loaded weapon. Final and absolute.

Andrei nodded once, solemnly, then turned back to the feed. His eyes lingered on the last image before the camera cut, the red dress disappearing into the elevator, followed seconds later by a man in a black button-down who didn’t look like he was thinking clearly anymore.

Above them, somewhere in the dark belly of the resort, two agents had just crossed a line they couldn’t come back from.

taglist: @hughjackmanadict @vxllys @f1padfoot @mortallydistinguishedwolf @midnightvitality @starglory @benbarnesprettygurl @biggestfangirl @lexavalon52 @harrietandcats @cjand10 @loganficsonly @kqliie @kitkatyap @buckyslefttooth @its-in-the-woods @yessebastianstanus @buckysgirl27 @lokisgirlie @furiousprincesskingdom @keira-kaz2y5 @amatiswayland @emilyswortwellen @samanthaw16 @bobscucumber @rrosiitas @alicetesser @morphoportis @polkadot-567 @w-h0re @c3iiaaaaa @mouseratface

[mv1simp]

The Take ♥️

Trainer! Max Verstappen x Midsize!Reader

I wanna put you in seven positions for seventy minutes, you'll get it babe (take you down, I really wanna take you down)

Everyone knows Max Verstappen hates having to workout out constantly. If it wasn't for his physically demanding career as a F1 driver, his choice of a workout would involve a weekly padel game with his mates and FIFA on his PS5. His trainer tries something different and gets Max to be the instructor for once - to you, a sweet and naive girl whose jerk boyfriend told her to lose weight. Max couldn't resist using a hands on method to help you get your confidence back.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dark max girlies rejoice we’re back in action, naive! Chubby! reader, dubcon, explicit cheating but reader’s boyfriend is an absolute jerk hehe, size kink, WC 2.7k

Rupert, Redbull's physical trainer that had been delegated to none other than the legendary champion driver Max Verstappen, was at his wit’s end with his client. With his 4 world championships, Max was very familiar with the intense workout routine an F1 driver needed to maintain. It was just, well, he was just sick of the same repetitive timetable over and over again. And his physical trainer could see the results reflecting in Max’s pre season testing, seeing how Max’s numbers were admittedly very good, they were not as high as they’d been in the past.

Everything Rupert had tried to brainstorm to inspire Max had fallen short. From different workout locations (Monaco is only so big, after all), to the most unique exercise techniques he had googled (Brazilian cold water immersive Pilates did not resonate with Max) - everything had come up short. At his wit’s end, Rupert decided to throw a last ditch resort at Max - training you.

You’re a pretty, pure hearted twenty something marketing executive in Monaco, with a narcissistic boyfriend who thinks he’s a top shot with the new money he’s raking in from making a new app. Such a top shot that he feels entitled to hire a personal trainer for his sweet girlfriend, demanding you look like a perfect Insta model. That’s what every man in Monaco wants! he says patronisingly to you, gaslighting you into attending the training. That’s why he reached out to Rupert, a very famous trainer - who consequently dumps you onto Max, stating that he needed a two week holiday from the Dutchman and he could take over his new client. You’ll survive, it’s the off season, he says to Max with a deadpan expression as he waves goodbye.

Max is pissed, of course. What the fuck was Rupert thinking, making a four time world champion F1 driver, multimillionaire, and just general degenerate gamer train some random goldigger chick? He’s rolling his eyes as he walks into his usual gym, where Rupert had told you to turn up. He’s ready to tell you to fuck off, all Mad Max and all, because no way was he wasting his time-

And then he lays eyes on you, and his heartbeat stutters. In front of him, oblivious to the predatory stares of men around her, is the cutest little thing he’s ever seen. You’re dressed in a matching workout set, tugging at the edge of your tight shorts a little self consciously, looking around with innocent wide doe eyes. Fucking hell, Rupert had most certainly not mentioned his new client had the body of a pornstar, all luscious tits and ass and chubby cheeks, and a face that looked like an angel. Max couldn’t wait to sink his big, bad teeth into the sweet looking lamb who stumbled right into his toned arms.

Smirking devilishly, he introduces himself as your new trainer. You gasp, eyes widening cutely, feeling butterflies swirl in your tummy at the tall, handsome and muscular blonde in front of you. Shall we get started? he murmurs, a gorgeous smile on his face and pretty blue eyes intently locked on you. I have to say, I’m surprised you signed up for such an intensive course, he says in an incredibly attractive, deep Dutch accent. You look like you’re in…great shape, if you don’t mind me saying, he adds, observant gaze flicking down to take in your curves. You flush, not minding the attention at all from such a hot trainer!

That’s so sweet of you to say! You say, blushing cutely and looking down, completely missing how Max’s heated gaze glances down your tight crop top, his taller height perfect to get an eyeful of your tempting cleavage. You tell him that actually, it wasn’t your idea, but your boyfriends’s…he thinks I’m too fat, you say with a pout.

What, Max says with a scowl that he quickly smooths when you peer up anxiously at the sudden spike in his mood. Honey was definitely a better way to win over something as sweet and innocent looking as you than poison. Well, ignore whatever your boyfriend wants. You’re here only for your own fitness and confidence, okay?

You beam up at him, nodding enthusiastically. God, Max couldn’t wait to have you for himself. Your boyfriend sounded like an absolute pathetic loser, telling someone as perfect and beautiful as you to change her body. Doesn’t matter, because it made it all the easier for Max to win you over. And he’d make sure to have his fun while doing it.

He’d started all your regular sessions with him with a good pre workout stretch, of course. Taking you into a side room to shield you from the hungry eyes of the other male gym goers, because only Max deserved to see your pretty body bent over for him. It didn’t stop others from walking past the glass door multiple times to ogle you, much to Max’s annoyance. But you remained clueless, twisting yourself in whatever position Max ordered you too like a good student.

And Max was such a nice instructor. He showered you with praise over the tiniest thing, making you blush up a storm, enjoying his reassuring and comforting voice. He was so different to your mean boyfriend! Max’s large hands settled on your soft body, helping position you perfectly, as he huskily whispered in your ear for you to bend forward, all the way like that, good girl. Can you touch your toes for me?

And when you can’t quite get there, he places a strong hand across your lower back to give you that extra push. His hand sometimes drifts lower, to your plump ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he instructs you. You gasp, and when he pretends to be none the wiser and ask you what’s wrong, schatje? in such a gentle tone, calling you darling in Dutch, you shyly stammer that you’re kinda sensitive down there…your boyfriend had said he wasn’t going to touch you until you lost weight!

Max’s brain temporarily short circuits at this information. Your idiotic boyfriend wasn’t fucking you every chance that he got? And judging by the way you’re shyly looking away and rubbing your thighs together, it had been a very long time since you’d been properly handled by anyone. Max would bet his multi story yacht that even when you had been sleeping with your boyfriend, he wasn’t making you cum. Leaving you so sexually frustrated that Max just feeling up your lush ass was getting you all hot and bothered. How cute, the Dutchman thinks, unable to hide the devious grin on his face at the new information.

He guided you back into position, his strong hips digging into yours from the back. The full wall mirror in front of you given Max a delicious view of your tits practically spilling out of your top as you lean forward. Good thing your ass is so fat he can easily hide his impressive semi erection behind it, he thinks cheekily. He can’t resist leaning forward and grinding himself against you, just for a second, leaving you gasping and looking behind you with a confused expression - only to find Max innocently looking at you. Something wrong, schatje? he says so sweetly that you feel embarrassed for even wondering what he was doing behind you.

He’ll have to do something about all the hungry states from the other gym goers though - he can’t have them even thinking about something which belongs to him. He glares at anyone who dares look at you through the glass doors, but he needs a more permanent solution.

So for the next session he invites you to his house, where he has a mini gym on his penthouse balcony. You’re unsure at first, but after Max tells you it’s just so hard for him to focus on your sessions at the gym, with the way everyone is always asking him for an autograph or a selfie…you say yes immediately, because you’d never want to make it harder for him when he’d been such a caring trainer! Soon enough he has you all to himself in his outdoor gym, wearing another one of your cute workout sets. Except he wanted to see more of your pretty body, so the next day he hands you a PR package - asking if you wanted to try on the gift from one of his sponsors. You beam at his thoughtful gesture, quickly getting changed into the slutty outfit he’s hand selected.

Max smirks wickedly as he helps stretch you out again, this time with your thighs bent up almost to your flushed face. The blue booty shorts are so tiny they’re practically underwear, slipping into your tanned asscheeks and giving you a cameltoe, much to your embarrassment. You squirm as Max’s keen gaze goes right to your pussy brushing up against his abs - separated only by a thin layer of spandex. Because of course, Max worked out shirtless at home - it’s far too warm! Getting better but still not flexible enough, sweetheart Max says with a disapproving tone that has you scrambling for his approval. Here, let me help you.

He pushes down on your thighs with his huge hands. Your tits almost spill out of the tiny cropped singlet he has you in when he buries his face into them. M-Max! you stammer, asking what he was doing, was it really needed, but he just reassures you that it absolutely was. After all, you didn’t want to pull a muscle and stop being able to exercise for two weeks, right? His deep voice is muffled against your plush tits as he pressed in deeper, making you squirm some more when his lips brush against your hard nipples.

He helps you cool down afterwards too, like the dedicated coach he is. You’re so grateful for all the deep muscle relaxation techniques he knows, moaning blissfully as you lay sprawled underneath him as he massages your sore body. He started with your legs and arms, and then your tense abs, and then one strong palm squeezing your lush tits and the other cupping your pussy through your sports set. You were always embarrassingly wet after your workouts, with all the close proximity to Max, and prayed he didn’t notice how soaked your shorts had become as he rubbed his palm encouragingly against your cunny. You couldn’t stop the contended moans as you arched into his skilled hands, finding the tension draining from your muscles completely.

Soon you’re over at Max’s everyday, working out longer and longer. To your delight, Max asks if you’d mind helping him with his workout! You’re so eager to return the favour after he’s been so considerate, taking time out of his busy schedule just to train you. All you had to do was sit on his back as he did push ups-

You insist that there was no way he could do that, you were way too heavy, what if he hurt himself? All it takes is one cocky smirk from him to convince you, and you climb onto his back, gasping in amazement as his muscular back flexes when he easily starts during push ups. You’re completely distracted by how attractive he looks, so much more broader and stronger than your own boyfriend who couldn’t even lift you up! You feel a bit guilty thinking that but don’t get time to think about it - because next you’re helping Max with his hip thrusts. You squeal as his impressive legs thrust you into the air with a bounce, making your sensitive pussy land on his rock hard cock each time. You stabilise yourself with hands on his abs, running over the taut, sweaty muscle, so enamoured with the sight that you don’t notice Max’s blue gaze fixed on your jiggling tits with each bounce. Mmmh-Ah! H-how many more do you have to do, Max? you say breathlessly, feeling yourself start to get more and more turned on with each thrust of his hips. You felt so dirty, practically dripping through your booty shorts onto his lower abs, feeling all horny while he was just trying to work out!

Just a few more, he says vaguely, grasping onto your thick asscheeks to steady you as he continues meanly grinding his angry, hard cock into your soft cunny. You end up cumming through your shorts, desperately biting down on your lips to keep silent but failing to suppress your slutty moans. You were so cute and naive that you had no clue Max was just dry jumping you to orgasm. Training your perfect body to respond to his, just how he wanted it.

He left you in your post orgasmic bliss on his outdoor couch to cool down as he ventured inside. He’d been planning on jerking off his raging erection in the shower, not wanting to scare you off with his impressive load. But when he caught sight of the protein powder on his kitchen counter top, he couldn’t resist. All it took was a couple pumps and the image of you riding him with your bouncing tits for him to cum, filling a good half of the glass he tops off with a protein smoothie. When he hands you his homemade drink, you thank him with wide doe eyes. You’re such a thoughtful trainer, Max! you say sincerely, eagerly drinking his gift. Mmmh, it tastes amazing, what ingredients did you use? He winks and tells you it’s a top secret world class athlete recipe.

Max is completely addicted to feeding you his thick load and has you equally addicted, asking shyly if he’d make you another one of his smoothies after each session. He figured he has you enamoured enough with him to take things to the next level when you start asking for seconds. The thing is, schatje, since I eat so much protein and supplements, my sperm is super high in nutrients…but it’s not safe for you to take so much protein directly as a girl! So that’s why I had to put it in your drink, okay? You nod with wide eyes, your jaw dropped open in shock as Max unties his shorts to show you his huge swollen cock that’s been feeding you for days. You dazedly ask if maybe you should be getting “fed” from your boyfriend instead, you weren’t sure if he’d be mad if he found out-

Max cuts off your worries immediately, promising you that only his cum would be able to provide you with what you needed. In fact, you shouldn't be going anywhere near your boyfriend's weak release. You nod quickly, wanting to show Max what a good student you were, completely willing to obey him. And when he asks if you'd help him out in making your smoothie today, since his hand was kinda tired after so many days, you eagerly say yes! Soon you're snuggled up by his side, letting him guide both your hands up and down his cock. You're in awe of how big and hot his shaft looks, you'd never seen one that size. You swallow back drool in your mouth, already craving your daily treat, and when Max slyly suggests that you could just drink directly from the source? you're on him in seconds. Dutifully sucking and jerking him off, making him hiss and grab your hair as he thrusts in deep and cums with a deep moan. He makes you stick out your tongue afterwards to make sure you didn't waste even a drop.

Good girl. Let's do your cool down massage in the shower today, hmm? It's so fucking hot out. Max's praise fills you with heady warmth and you giddily agree, letting him guide you into his luxurious shower to cool down, stripping out of your skimpy workout set.

Too bad you ended up doing a lot more cardio than cooling down behind the steamed glass. Max grins devilishly as you both watch his cock go in and out of your creamy pussy together, every thrust making you scream his name and hold onto him desperately. After all, fucking up against the bathroom wall was a much more effective workout, right?

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 2 𝓱ands , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza keep your hands on me.

─── 𝓢ophia never considered herself the jealous type—until you got a haircut. overnight, it was like the whole world had started seeing you differently, comments about how fine you looked haunting her everywhere. no wonder she'd bossed you to have your hands on her at all times.

❝𝓷eed a little less talk, 𝓪nd a lot more touch.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. sophia laforteza x katseye seventh member!yn ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff, established relationship wc. 4417 a/n. good god i need to stop yapping ab details in fics i keep dragging them on on the other hand, this is my compensation for lowk neglecting u guys nd not bringing food to rhe tsble but i fear its school thats got me on a leash nd unless smn takes one for the team nd burns my school down thisll be happening more nd more often CS EXAMS ND ASSESSMENTS R COMING UP NF IMA BAWL CS WTFFFF EVERYTHING IS TOO FAST IM SO LOST FUCKKKKKKK may or may not have taken too long to get to the part where its actually inspired by 2 hands mbmb the use of 2 hands's lyrics was lowk cringy😟 NAWT PROOFREAD AT ALL🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ enjoy homos❤️

❝𝓲 just want your two hands on me at all times, baby. 𝓲f you let go, better put 'em right back, fast.❞

JEALOUSY WAS NEVER SOPHIA’S THING—at least, that’s what she always told herself. she knew you—her girlfriend, loved her. knew with every fibre of her being that you would never do anything deliberate to hurt her, never purposely stoke the ugly fire that smoldered deep in her chest. 

so why was it that, right now, the green-eyed monster clawed its way up her throat, curled around her ribcage, and blurred her vision like a stain she couldn't scrub away?

you’d gotten a haircut a few days ago—something sharper, something that framed your face so effortlessly it was almost unfair. it was the kind of change that ensured the girl crush label stuck to you permanently, as if it hadn’t already. and somehow, impossibly, it made you look even better—dare sophia say hotter—than before.

and safe to say, sophia wasn’t the only one who noticed. unfortunately.

the moment you turned to management and asked if you’d need a wig to hide your fresh cut from the eyekons before going live—like the other members had to in the newest tiktoks they were dishing out—their response was quick, casual—no need, you were free to show it off. gain more attention and eyes on the group before the comeback.

and that was all you needed to hear.

without a second thought, you propped your phone up on the table in your shared room with manon and daniela, fingers adjusting the angle with practiced ease, lips curling into a giddy smile. 

anticipation thrummed in your chest, an excited buzz settling beneath your skin as you ran a hand through your freshly cut hair, contemplating whether to hide it beneath a cap before settling to just tugging on the strings of your hoodie, tucking your hair out of sight from the camera.

the viewer count came rushing in the second you’d tapped ‘start live’, and your curious eyes peered at the camera, squinting to see what they’d been commenting about before shaking your head, a small chuckle of amusement spilling past your lips. 

user56 bro u look like an egg tf user1 humpty dumpty who?? user9 i think she pulls it off idk bout yall user0 ion care she can still get it even tho she looks like an idiot user2 i like them a little weird user89 GIRL TURN IT AWFFF

“i look like an egg like this? oh wow, that’s interesting. thank you.” you deadpanned, amusement flickering in your eyes as you read the comment aloud. a soft laugh slipped past your lips, shaking your head before tilting it slightly, as if assessing your reflection on the screen.

you kept the playful banter going for a few more minutes, responding to teasing messages with quick-witted remarks, occasionally tugging at the edge of your hood in mock offense. finally, you sighed, dramatic and drawn out, before giving in with a knowing hum. 

your fingers found the drawstring of your hoodie, twirling it lazily around one fingertip before tugging it loose. slowly, almost teasingly, you pushed the hood back, revealing the slightly poofy and mussed strands of your fresh haircut, the soft layers settling into place after being trapped beneath the fabric.

the moment your hair was freed, your hands instinctively shot up, smoothing over the mess, fingertips gently carding through the strands in an attempt to tame them. a small mirthful chuckle escaped you, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at the way the hood had left your hair slightly disheveled. 

but even then, you still looked effortlessly good. and judging by the flood of excited comments rolling in, and eyekons definitely agreed.

"we vibing with it, chat?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly as your fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair, trying to smooth down the strands that had been ruffled by your hoodie. 

your lips pressed into a thin line, dissatisfaction creeping in as you examined your reflection on the screen, the messiness making your fresh cut look a little less put-together than you had intended.

"shouldn’t have actually hidden it away from you guys," you admitted with a soft sigh, shaking your head. "or it wouldn’t have been this messy."

your hands worked quickly, gently pushing some strands into place, but after a moment of struggling, you huffed in mild frustration. deciding to leave it as it was, you leaned forward, reaching for your glasses resting on the table. with practiced ease, you slid them on, blinking a few times as your vision sharpened.

"my bad, guys," you said, lips twitching into a sheepish smile as you settled back into place. "couldn’t be assed to put on my contacts."

user90 raw raw ah ah ah or wtv it was lady gaga said user56 okay guys fess up who tf took my pants user4 iSWEAR my pants were just on user77 and the crowd is… undressing themselves⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ user78 omg girl dont play w me like that i might js make u mine user43 and FUCK whoever’s dating u bruh u look too good ima nut get OUTTTTTT user68 thank GOD my phone’s waterproof‼️‼️‼️ user70 TIL THE NEIGHBOURS LEARN HER NAME😭😭😭😭 user45 FLASH US

the chat exploded with reactions—some gushing over how good you looked, others teasing about your laziness, and more than a few keyboard smashes from people who were clearly losing their minds over the combination of the new haircut and glasses. 

you chuckled at the chaos, pushing your frames up the bridge of your nose before relaxing into the moment, letting the eyekons take it all in.

sophia who was watching just downstairs, however, wasn’t all that amused with the comments that flooded your live.

it was a jumpscare, truly. the moment sophia groggily unlocked her phone and opened tiktok, still blinking sleep from her eyes, she was met—ambushed, really—by an edit of your live from last night. the screen instantly flooded with clips of you, your freshly-cut hair falling effortlessly into place, set to the smooth, sultry beat of redbone by childish gambino.

typical, she thought dryly at the sound choice, but that didn’t stop the way her breath hitched slightly.

the light from her phone bathed her face in a bright glow, illuminating every tiny movement of her fingers as she instinctively scrolled down, her thumb hovering over the comment section before she could even think twice about it. she already knew what to expect, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

and sure enough, the comments were just as bad—if not worse—than the ones from last night. thirsting, keyboard smashes, people losing their goddamn minds over you. all of it blurred together in an overwhelming stream of admiration, and sophia could feel a familiar, unwelcome heat creeping up her neck.

because, god, of course everyone had to notice how good you looked. and of course, they wouldn’t shut up about it.

it didn’t help that the next few swipes on her for you page led to even more edits—clip after clip of your live from last night, set to sultry, slow-burning tracks that only seemed to emphasize just how good you looked. 

the way your freshly cut hair fell into place, the way your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose before you pushed them up absentmindedly, the way you’d smirked slightly at the camera without even meaning to—it was all there, replaying in high definition, edited to perfection, and worst of all, everywhere. god.

sophia groaned, flopping onto her back as she mindlessly scrolled, but she wasn’t about to just watch and let it slide. no, she was documenting this. saving receipts.

in less than an hour, she had added over fifty different edits of you into a private folder under your name, her fingers moving almost on autopilot. every new clip she found—save. another slow zoom-in on your face—save. a dramatic transition to the beat drop—definitely save.

by the time she was done, she was sure she had absolutely flooded the eyekons’ notifications, her name popping up repeatedly as she went on her little jealousy-infused saving spree.

but she didn’t care. not even a little.

because in her mind, this wasn’t just a collection—it was a statement. a quiet, possessive claim, a subtle way of reminding the eyekons exactly who you belonged to. every save, every tap of her screen, was her way of saying: watch all you want, but just know—she’s mine. and wait—no, no, no. jealousy is bad. an ugly feeling she shouldn’t be feeling. 

but the moment you’d walked into her shared room with yoonchae all mussed from sleep and seeking her out first thing in the morning, sliding into bed next to her, body molding onto hers and—to hell with it.

she’d decided to go live the next day out of pure boredom and cause chaos (unbidden flirting).

clad in an oversized black hoodie—one she had definitely swiped from your closet without asking—sophia lounged comfortably in front of the camera, the fabric swallowing her frame in a way that made it clear it was never hers to begin with. 

the sleeves fell just past her wrists, slightly bunched at her hands as she lazily adjusted the hem. paired with it was a black baseball cap, probably one of the few articles of clothing she actually owned, its curved brim casting a subtle shadow over her sharp features.

her free hand drifted to the waistband of the grey sweatpants she was wearing—another piece that was, without a doubt, stolen from your closet. with a quick tug, she adjusted the way they rested on her hips, ensuring they fit just right before letting her hand drop.

user44 GOOD GODDDDD user88 that hoodie looks rlyyyy familiar ms laforteza user51 SOPHIA LIVE OH GOD BLESS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user50 can u be my girlfriend for three seconds user41 BROOOOO I NEED U SO BAD SHUT UPPPP user32 how have u been sophia???

her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she glanced at the screen, watching the comments flood in—messages filled with excitement, teasing remarks about her outfit, and, of course, plenty of people calling her out for very obviously wearing your clothes again. she simply raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as she leaned in slightly, skimming through the chaotic flood of words.

but she didn’t deny it. not once.

it wasn’t until halfway through the live that the shift in the comment section became impossible to ignore. at first, it had been the usual chaos—people gushing over her, teasing her about the hoodie, and thirsting over every little movement she made. but then, as if on cue, the flood of questions about you started rolling in.

user55 hey queen so whats the deal w y/n?? is she single perchance😌😌😌 user63 is y/n there w u??? user80 is y/n single?? asking for a friend nd research purposes🌚🌚 user66 blink twice if y/n is in the room

mixed in with those were the more audacious ones—the teasing, flirty messages that made sophia’s jaw clench ever so slightly.

user90 how does one marry y/n?? help a girl out pls user82 can i marry y/n??

“no, you can’t marry y/n.” she’d replied, her fingers, which had been lazily toying with the hem of her hoodie, stilled. she blinked at the screen once. twice.

narrowing her eyes, she hooked her fingers under her chin, tilting her head slightly as she peered at the comment section with squinted, unmistakably disapproving eyes. her lips pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, she just stared, letting the weight of her silence settle over the chat.

and if the eyekons watching had any sense at all, they’d know exactly what that look meant.

“what’s that about me?”

sophia’s eyes snapped up from the screen of the live the moment she caught movement from the doorway, her sharp, narrowed gaze instantly softening at the sight of you.

there you stood, bathed in the dim glow of the room, your expression puzzled as you tilted your head slightly, brows knitting together in mild confusion. dressed in baggy clothes—an oversized hoodie that hung loosely over your frame and sweatpants that pooled slightly at your ankles—you looked effortlessly comfortable, the kind of effortlessness that made sophia’s chest tighten just a little. 

your prescription glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a clear sign that it was far too late in the night for you to bother with contacts. in one hand, you loosely gripped a bottle of water, your other hand absentmindedly brushing at your sleeve as your bare feet padded quietly against the floor, carrying you toward her without hesitation.

completely unaware.

unaware of the absolute chaos happening in her live chat. unaware of the thirsting, the borderline feral comments flooding in, the way the eyekons were already losing their minds over the mere mention of your name. and most of all, unaware of the way sophia was staring at you—conflicted.

because in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to selfishly keep you out of the frame, away from their prying eyes, or to let them see you, let them understand exactly why she looked at you the way she did.

but before she could make a decision, you made it for her.

with an easy step forward, you popped into the frame, completely oblivious to the digital uproar you had just caused, a sweet, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you greeted the screen. 

"hi, eyekons," you murmured, voice thick with sleep, raspy in a way that sent an immediate shiver down sophia’s spine. "how’re we doin’ tonight? good?"

your words were slow, unhurried, tinged with the warmth of drowsiness as you blinked at the screen, adjusting your glasses with a lazy push of your knuckle against the frame. your lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as you nodded, as if genuinely pleased by the flood of chaotic responses rolling in.

user77 girl i cant do ts rn im ovulating bad user66 standing ovulation or wtv the saying is user62 heyyyy so lunch by billie eilish?? user79 MY DREAM RIDE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻 user39 WHATT HEJVUKFMFK WHAT THEUCKVLVMK user50 CLEAN UP ON AISLE MY PANTS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user99 cldnt even edge to ts i exploded IMMEDIATELY😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 user34 the crowd would applaud but their hands are busy😭😭😭 user14 i swear my pants were JUST on

"i’m glad," you hummed, voice dipping even lower, softer—dangerous.

sophia didn’t stand a chance.

the moment the sound of your voice filled the room, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck, warm and betraying. without thinking, she subtly turned her face away from the camera, pretending to adjust her hoodie as she desperately tried to will away the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

but of course, you noticed.

your gaze flickered toward her, amusement dancing in your sleep-heavy eyes, and a quiet chuckle slipped past your lips—gentle, teasing.

"what’s with you?" you asked, voice lilting, but sophia refused to look at you, choosing instead to stare pointedly at her phone as if it could somehow save her from this situation.

it absolutely could not.

“nothing,” she tried to fib through her teeth. her face was half-hidden from the camera, but you knew her well enough to picture the exact shade of pink dusting her cheeks, the way she’d press her lips together in a tight line to keep from giving herself away. “don’t worry about it.”

a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips, though you chose not to push any further—for now. instead, you shook your head in amusement, eyes twinkling as you took in the rare sight of sophia, who was normally so composed, absolutely crumbling before your eyes.

"someone’s suddenly a little camera shy," you mused, voice dipping into something teasing, playful.

sophia let out a quiet huff, still turned away, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the hoodie she’d stolen from you, as if focusing on that would somehow help her regain her composure.

and for a few minutes, she did just that—taking slow, measured breaths, schooling her features back into something neutral, forcing the heat in her cheeks to die down. when she finally popped back into frame, her expression was much steadier, though the faintest traces of pink still lingered on her skin.

thankfully, the purple lighting she’d chosen for the live worked in her favour, casting a soft glow that helped mask the last remnants of her flustered state. she busied herself with scrolling through the chat, acting as though nothing had happened, her posture relaxed, exuding an air of practiced nonchalance.

or, at least, she tried to.

because just as she started to settle back into her usual rhythm, her brows twitched—barely, but enough—as her ears picked up on something that immediately set her back on edge.

"oh, baby, you’re too sweet," you purred, your voice dripping with playful flirtation as you read a particularly bold comment from an eyekon. "but if you keep talking to me like that, i might just have to take you out on a date."

user51 MY TURN user23 A TEAR ROLLED DOWN MY LEG user89 OHMGYGOD IVOLUNTER ASTRIBYTE user62 RAWRAWRARAWRARWRAW user94 THISMADE BOTH OF MY LIPS SMILE user42 raw i meant AWWWWWW user82 this so made my hole weak I MEANT MY WHOLE WEEK user42 i am not cinderella but ik it fits user51 born to cowgirl, forced to fangirl💔💔💔💔💔 user41 i have nothing appropriate to say HER VOICE UGHHHHH user17 i finally got the water bed everyone wanted in 2016 user88 good now OIL UP user33 YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE ANIMALS IN HERE WTF ENOUGH GUYS ENOUGH YOU HORNDOGS user21 all ten fingers.

sophia froze.

her grip on her the drawstring of your hoodie tightened slightly, her jaw ticking as she forced her gaze to remain on the screen, pretending to be invested in the chat. 

but anyone who knew her—especially you—could see the barely concealed flicker of irritation in her expression, the slight way her nostrils flared, the way her fingers twitched as if she were this close to reaching out and physically covering your mouth to put an end to whatever nonsense you were spewing.

she knew you were just playing around. she knew it.

but that didn’t stop the possessive heat from curling low in her stomach, nor did it stop the subtle shift in her posture—back straightening, shoulders rolling back, as if preparing to stake her claim without saying a word.

user1 guys im kinda scared of sophia user79 SHES LOOMING HELPPP user52 guard dog who user93 damn sophia my b for even looking at yn user84 im gna sleep now okay?? dont choke me in my sleep pls user77 I WAS JS PLAYING W YN PLS DONT KILL ME user91 holy shit i js got shivers down my spine

sophia hadn’t meant to react so quickly, so instinctively, but the second another flirtatious comment slipped past your lips, she couldn’t hold back anymore. before she even registered what she was doing, her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your arm in a vice grip—possessive, unwavering.

your amusement only grew at the sudden contact, lips parting slightly as you turned away from the chat, gaze landing on sophia. her expression was downright murderous, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

without a word, she yanked your arm toward her, grip tightening as if to silently remind you who you belonged to. both of her hands locked around your forearm now, as if afraid you’d slip away if she loosened her hold even slightly.

and then—thud.

in her urgency, her knee jerked forward, slamming against the table. the impact sent her phone tumbling forward, landing screen-down with a soft clack, the camera immediately blacking out. the live was still running, but now all the eyekons could hear was the sharp rustle of movement, the sound of fabric shifting, a muffled noise—

because in the very next second, sophia had tugged you forward, pulling you straight between her thighs with a force that left you momentarily stunned. and before you could even process what was happening, her hands were on you—one threading into your hair, fingers tangling at the base of your skull, the other firmly cupping the back of your neck, anchoring you in place.

and then she kissed you.

no hesitation, no teasing buildup—just pure, unfiltered need.

it was all-consuming, the way she melted against you, the way her lips moved with a desperation that sent your mind reeling. 

she kissed you like you were her oxygen, like she had been starving for you this entire time—which she has been to be fair, and now that she had you, she refused to let you go. her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging slightly, as if to draw you in even closer—though there was hardly any space left between you.

but just as you were getting lost in the heat of it—just as you felt yourself melting into her touch—she suddenly pulled away, her hands shifting to your shoulders.

and then, without warning, she pushed you back.

you barely had a second to react before your back hit the couch once again, a soft groan escaping you as sophia moved fast, swinging a leg over your waist and straddling you with ease, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your hips.

you blinked up at her, breathless, dazed, lips still tingling from the kiss. but she didn’t give you a moment to recover. the rest of the world faded, the chat, the live, the teasing—nothing else mattered except this. except her. just like how she’d intended. and she leaned back in for more.

user77 HELLO??? WHAT IS GOING ON user51 GET ME OUT OF THE BASWMENY user11 BTCHCICHFUHFIE WTAFFDTFYE WHAT IS GOIUNG ON HELLO user78 I HEARD THAT user12 smn pick me up im scared user82 bon appetite to sophia ig user94 AT LWAST END THE LIVE????? user73 am i interrupting sumn user93 freak ON user44 media training went out the window im crying theyre not even tryna hide it HELPPP user25 probably making out in my cellular phone i pay for every month??? diabolical work i feel targeted.

sophia had no idea how she’d ended up here—pressed into the middle of a drunken, swaying crowd, the bass thrumming so hard it rattled her ribs, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the kind of recklessness that came with too many shots and too little self-control.

this was not what you had promised.

"it'll be chill," you’d said, smiling so sweetly at her earlier, brushing your fingers through her hair as you reassured her that it was just a casual going-away party for your friend—nothing too wild. 

but now? some random guy had the audacity to press up against her, subtly—or not so subtly—trying to grind against her like she wouldn’t notice. like she’d let him.

with an irritated grunt, she shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare before weaving through the crowd, jaw clenched. she barely knew your friend, didn’t care to, really. she wouldn’t even be out of bed right now if it were up to her, more than happy to be curled up under the covers with you, watching mamma mia back to back before switching to your personal favorites—until the two of you inevitably dozed off.

but no.

you just had to have plans. just had to drag her to some bullshit party for a friend jetting off to europe to “find the woman of her life.”

sophia cursed under her breath, her usually calm composure cracking as frustration simmered beneath her skin. her hands itched—aching to grab ahold of you, to pull you against her and make sure every single person here knew you weren’t up for grabs.

the flashing, colorful lights of the room made everything simultaneously too bright and too dim, disorienting her as she searched. the pulse of the music did nothing to drown out the growing sense of urgency clawing up her spine.

she should’ve never let you out of her sight—oh, there you are.

sophia could feel it creeping in—the sharp, insidious burn of jealousy sinking its claws into her chest, wrapping tight around her ribs like a vice for the second time that week.

surrounded by a cluster of women, all too eager to lean in, to bat their lashes, to laugh a little too loudly at something you’d said—something that, knowing you, probably wasn’t even that funny. yet there they were, hanging onto every word, eyes lingering a little too long, bodies angled a little too close.

her jaw clenched.

her vision blurred at the edges, tinted green with something she refused to name, but it propelled her forward before she could think twice, her feet carrying her straight to you, drawn in like gravity itself had shifted. 

she slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, a mask of indifference settling over her features like second nature—calm, cool, unreadable. but beneath the surface? she was nothing but raw chaos.

without a word, her fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, tugging you back, away from them, to her. her hands moved instinctively, slipping over yours, guiding them down, redirecting—staking claim.

she flattened your palms against her waist, holding them there, her body pressing into yours like she needed you closer. always.

“want your two hands on me at all times, baby.” sophia's voice was a low murmur, silk-smooth and deliberate as she tilted her head back, lips just barely grazing your cheek before trailing toward your ear, a slow, teasing whisper meant for you—but performed for the lingering eyes around you.

“and if you let go, better put ‘em right back fast.” her grip on your hands tightened, guiding them to press firmer against her waist, as if daring you to even think about moving them away. her fingers curled around yours, possessive, a silent command to stay put. her heart pounded, a steady rhythm against your skin. 

"want your two hands on me.” like my life needs saving, she’d have dared utter if she wasn’t too lost in the way your breath hitched, fingers twitching against hers.

and maybe it did.

she leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, her breath warm and slow, sending shivers down your spine. “let ‘em all know.”

her hand ghosted back, fingers featherlight as they traced along your jaw before tilting your chin up just enough to meet her gaze, dark and unreadable.

“can you do it like that?”

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Cherry.

Synopsis - The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. steve's got an ego, but for good reason.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 2k

Author's Note - hi lovelies!! my first steve fic!! listen, I actually really didn't enjoy stranger things, but... I love this man. he's charming and he's a softie and he's such a good character to write. hope you enjoy this - it's got me all warm and fuzzy. please feel free to send me a christmas request if you fancy, I'm in the mood to write some seasonal fics. much love, always!! <3

as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! please, if you enjoyed, consider reblogging this so it gets further reach. comments and feedback are always appreciated!! thanks, angels. <3

Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Masterlist. Inbox. The Moodboard. Series Masterlist.

Three rocks ping off the panes of your bedroom window in quick succession.

You're applying your moisturiser in the mirror, winding down and almost ready for bed. Your reflection is illuminated by a faint glow from the fairy lights you've draped over the headboard for the festive season, warm and comforting. A soft, jazzy melody is drifting from the radio softly, a welcome noise to break up the silence.

Another rock hits your window.

You fly out of your seat and towards the source of the trouble, worried that he's going to throw one too hard one of these days.

"Steve," you hiss as you yank it open. "Cut it out. Just come through the door."

"Where's the fun in that?" he chuckles, eyes rife with mischief.

You roll your eyes but step back anyway, making room for him to climb the tree and dive through the window into your room.

"Hi, sugar."

"Hi, Steven."

He grins at you, bright and awake despite the late hour.

"Don't you have better plans on a Friday night, King Steve?"

"And miss out on seeing you in your little pink pyjamas? Absolutely not."

You shove at his chest, smacking him upside the head for good measure. He feigns pain and wraps his arms around your middle, picking you up off the ground and spinning you in circles. You shriek, and the sound makes him laugh.

"Okay, okay! I'm dizzy! Put me down!"

He obliges by throwing you unceremoniously onto your bed, smirking when you almost bounce off it.

"So," he begins, sitting down across from you. "How was it? Do you feel like a whole new woman?"

You scoff.

"What? That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad. We didn't even do it."

He quirks a brow in curiosity, tilting his head to look at you.

"I thought tonight was the big night?"

"Yeah, it was supposed to be. But he was kissing me, and it just didn't feel... right? He started grabbing at me and I realised that you can only lose your virginity once - and that definitely wasn't how I wanted to lose mine."

You shrug, trying to play indifference, but Steve can see the hurt in your eyes.

"You always deserved so much better than him."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Come on, Cherry. The guy is an asshole who happens to be attractive. His face is the only thing he's got going for him."

The mention of your childhood nickname has memories of fruit flavoured popsicles on summer days flooding back. Laughter by the pool, pushing Steve in and screeching when he dragged you with him, staying out in the sun until you were both exhausted. Cherry. You've always been Steve's Cherry, for as long as you can remember. You still wear the lip balm he bought you last year, fitting for your moniker.

"You didn't like him from the start. Actually, you've never liked any guy that has ever liked me."

"Because they're not good enough for you."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And you're the boss of me and my love life now?"

"I'm the person that knows you better than anyone in the entire world. I think I have a pretty good view on things."

You huff, but accept your defeat in knowing that he's right. No one knows you like him. Steve always does this. He pisses you off, but makes you love him a tiny bit more each time.

He grabs your foot from the bed, pressing his thumbs into your sole. You relax instantly, tired of half arguing with him.

"I give up."

"With what?"

"Dating. Fuck it."

He chuckles, rubbing soothing patterns into your ankle gently.

"You've barely even started."

"Ooo, sorry Mr Womaniser."

"Stop it," he chides, pinching your calf. "Maybe The One for you just isn't in Hawkins. This place has always been too small for us anyway."

"Yeah, maybe. It'll all change when we go to college, hopefully."

"Exactly. It'll be a whole different ball game. There'll be tonnes of hot guys begging for your attention."

"And you'll be fighting them off."

"Yes I will."

You laugh, poking him in the chest with your foot teasingly.

"And maybe the college guys will actually know what they're doing in bed."

"Hey, some of us do know!"

"Yeah yeah, Steve's good in bed. I've heard it all before."

"Don't be jealous, Cherry baby."

"Jealous isn't quite the word I'd use."

"No?"

He drops your foot and scoots closer, settling in between your parted legs.

"You're not even a little bit curious what all the rumours are about?"

"Steve," you laugh. "I think they're probably just exactly that. Rumours."

He inches in towards you, so his forehead is almost touching yours. Running his fingers up and down the outside of your thigh, he takes a deep breath in.

"You should let me show you just how much I know. We're not all clueless, Cherry. I'm confident I could make you feel good."

You exhale with a shudder.

"I'm not letting you take my virginity, Steve."

"I don't want to. There's a thousand ways I can make your legs shake without fucking you, baby."

You stare into his big doe eyes, admiring the way a single strand of hair has fallen across his forehead. You look for a shred of doubt, or amusement, but all you see is love. Admiration. Trust. Sincerity.

"Okay," you breathe, before your mind has truly processed what you're saying. "Show me what you got, Harrington."

He grins, slow and saccharine, like the cat who got the cream.

"Steve?" you whisper.

"Yeah?"

"This isn't going to fuck things up between us, is it?"

He smiles, big and bright.

"Never. Nothing is ever going to fuck things up between us. It's you and me forever, Cherry Pie."

You chuckle at the nickname, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

"Well, then what are you waiting for?"

He shakes his head and grabs your ankle, pulling you across the bed and into his body. Wrapping a hand around the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

"If at any point this gets weird, or you don't like it... Just say the words, okay?"

"Okay," you breathe, inhaling the scent of mint from his tongue. "Promise."

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't usually ask," you tease.

It's no secret that you and Steve have kissed a few times. Once after prom, once at a party here and there, once when you were cuddled in bed comforting him after a break up. But it's never led to anything more. Which is probably why this feels a little different.

"I know, but this is a little more... intense, than usual."

You try to ignore the way your heart swells at his consideration for you, and nod your head gently.

"Kiss me. Please."

Steve wastes no time, leaning in to press his lips to yours. He tastes like spearmint and soda, with a hint of the cherry lipbalm he steals from your nightstand. You instinctively shuffle closer to him, straddling his lap as his arms bracket themselves around you. It's like he can't decide where to put his hands - they're roaming up your back, squeezing your ass, kneading your thighs. He's antsy and impatient, eager to feel you.

"Lie back," he whispers against your mouth, tipping you onto the bed.

Your head hits your pillows and you crane your neck to watch him as he crawls down your body, eyes never leaving yours.

"Steve-"

"Stop thinking so hard, Cherry. I can practically hear your thoughts."

You huff but can't keep the smile off your face, willing your mind to stop racing.

"Let me quiet things down, hmm?"

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up and up until he reaches your hip. He licks across your hipbone before nipping it with his teeth, smirking when you gasp.

Grasping the waistband of your pyjama shorts, he asks for permission with his eyes, no words needed. You nod and lift your hips, letting him slide them down your body.

You've never been so exposed, which is causing a sudden realisation that the two of you are crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. As if he can read your mind, Steve presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, tender and full of love.

"Babe, if you want to stop..."

"I don't, I promise. I'm just nervous. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," he murmurs, resting his head on your thigh and looking up at you. "Never apologise. You're doing so good, Cherry. I love you."

You didn't know what you were expecting, but it wasn't I love you. You've both said it to each other a million times, but something about saying it in this exact moment makes it feel... weighted. You'll talk about it later. You'll make sure of it.

"I love you too. So much."

You're whispering, scared to ruin the peace you've created. Steve kisses your skin again gently, gazing at you like you've hung the stars just for him.

"Let me make you feel good, okay?"

When you nod, Steve nudges your core with his nose, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you anchored in place.

"So pretty," he's mumbling. "Prettiest fuckin' girl I've ever seen."

He starts slow, easing you in carefully. Kitten licks and gentle nips, testing the waters. When you tangle a hand into his hair and tug, Steve gets the message.

"You want more, pretty baby?"

"Yes," you confirm, more breathless than intended. "Please."

He dives back in, this time with more intention. His nose keeps nudging your clit, the friction licking up your spine deliciously. It's like he can't get enough, eating you out like a man starved.

He groans into your heat, the vibrations making you whine. When he curls his tongue just right, you keen, the sounds leaving your mouth foreign to the both of you.

"Fuck, you sound so beautiful. You're perfect. God, you're perfect."

"Stevie," you pant. "So close."

"I got you. Atta girl, I got you. That's my girl, give it to me."

Maybe it's the my girl, or maybe it's the way he's slipped two fingers into you, but the coil snaps. Your back arches off the bed as white heat engulfs your body, vision going black for a moment. You can hear him talking you through it, loving and encouraging. Eventually, your grip on his hair loosens as you go lax, collapsing back against the comforter.

Steve grins at you as he licks his fingers clean, crawling up your body to kiss you. You groan when you taste yourself, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close. Resting his head on your chest, you run your fingers through his hair, humming gently when he relaxes.

"You okay?"

"Never better," you laugh. "You're good with your mouth, Harrington. I'll give you that."

"Told you the rumours were true."

You shake your head and reach over, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a sip. You offer it to Steve without a second thought, rolling your eyes when he downs the rest.

He plucks your cherry lipbalm from the drawer and applies it to himself, before leaning up to carefully do the same to you. He pecks your lips sweetly before returning it to its rightful place.

"You replace it, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

"The chapstick. I've had it for a whole year, and I've never even come close to reaching the end."

He blushes as he looks at you, suddenly bashful.

"It's special," he murmurs. "It's our thing, you know? And it smells good. I like knowing that I'm the only one who knows you taste like cherries."

You want to poke fun at him, say something to make him laugh. But you can't. He's rendered you speechless, for the second time in one night.

"I like knowing the reason you taste like spearmint is because I've been slipping pieces of gum into the pockets of your jeans for ten years."

"I knew it," he laughs, leaning up to kiss you firmly. "I can't tell you the last time I bought gum."

"You're welcome."

Steve shucks off his jeans and his shirt, climbing into your bed with just his boxers on. You slip your underwear up your legs before getting under the comforter with him, tangling your limbs with his.

The tunes from the radio still hum gently as the fairy lights flicker.

The room is unchanged.

The people in it are not.

read Part Two here. Part Three here. Part Four here.

@lillian-gallows @bookish-embroidery-witch @sweetdazequeen @fruityforcocoapuffs @steviespookie @livsters @diffrent-spokes @violet2022 @mrsjoequinn @valerievortex @chrrymunson

[star--stilinski]

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆