#its my baby and i love that someone loves it enough to keep it in their mind after reading

[landoughnut]

Puppy Plans - CL16

masterlist - request

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: leo somehow escaped charles' apartment in monaco, and when a girl who lives nearby finds him, charles decides he needs to know you

w/c & a/n: smau | send in ideas for charles I beg 😩

yourusername

liked by friend1, bestfriend, friend2, user1, and 896 others yourusername I found this cute puppy in my yard, I'm going to kidnap him 🎀

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friend1 HELP ME

bestfriend GIRL YOU CAN'T KIDNAP A DOG 😭

yourusername if it's cute then yes I can

friend2 girl that is definitely someone's dog... maybe you should go knock on doors 🙂

yourusername but hes happy here eating a pup cup 🤧

friend2 yourusername what if his owner sues you

yourusername friend2 I'd win in court for animal abandonment 💪

friend3 AWH HE LOOKS SO SOFTTTT ♥︎ by author

yourusername update: I'm going to return him, he ate my favorite pair of shoes 😔

friend4 NOOOO I NEED TO MEET HIM FIRST

yourusername friend3 BUT HES A MENACE

friend4 yourusername ... a cute one 🥹 ♥︎ by author

user1 I'm getting puppy fever omg

user2 am I tripping or is that leo leclerc

user3 I WAS THINKING THAT

yourusername who is leo 🥸

user3 yourusername GIRL??? charles leclercs puppy....

yourusername user3 you say that like I'm supposed to know who that is

bestfriend user3 excuse her... she lives under a rock

yourusername oh I looked him up and he's so fine holy 😍 

bestfriend charles_leclerc

friend1 charles_leclerc

friend3 charles_leclerc

user2 charles_leclerc

user5 charles_leclerc

arthur_leclerc charles_leclerc

friend4 ARTHUR???

yourusername OH MY GOSH YALL SHUT UPPPPP

charles_leclerc yourusername I see leo's in good hands 😉

yourusername I'm going to kill myself.

yourusername charles_leclerc HOW DO I KNOW YOU'RE NOT LYING ABOUT HIM BEING YOURS

charles_leclerc yourusername why would I lie about this 🤨

charles_leclerc why am I arguing over my dog yourusername dm me so I can pick him up please 🙏

yourusername charles_leclerc fine...

user6 WHY ARE WE SO CASUAL ABOUT CHARLES LECLERC BEING IN YOUR COMMENTS???!!!??!

yourusername Idk man I live in monaco so I suppose this isn't that crazy

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, lando, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, and 1,952,170 others charles_leclerc reunited 💪🐾

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bestfriend yourusername BROOO WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU MET UP ?!?!?!?!?!?!??!

yourusername IM SORRY ILL TELL YOU LATER

arthur_leclerc yourusername  can I gossip with you guys too 🥰 charles keeps going on about you and it's getting annoying

charles_leclerc arthur_leclerc WHY ARE YOU TELLING THEM THAT ⁉️

carlossainz55 hermano do you have a crush? 😏

charles_leclerc MON DIEU NO ‼️

carlossainz55 charles_leclerc it's okay to admit it, talking about feelings is important 🙂‍↕️

charles_leclerc carlossainz55 PLEASE ENOUGH THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING

lando why are we making fun of charles

lando can I join

arthur_leclerc lando leo escaped his apartment and ended up at some girls place who lives near by and he found her through insta and then they met up to return leo and now charles is obsessed with her

charles_leclerc pass me the gun.

yourusername charles_leclerc so you think I'm pretty 😍 I like my men obsessed

charles_leclerc yourusername whattttt haha who said that 😅

lando charles_leclerc and yourusername sitting in a tree, k i s s i n g

charles_leclerc oh my gosh.

lando first comes love, then comes marriage

charles_leclerc lando die.

lando then comes the baby in a baby carriage

carlossainz55 UNBLOCK ME PLEASE ITS LANDO IM SORRY

yourusername justice for lando ✊

carlossainz55 yourusername thank you. I like you

charles_leclerc carlossainz55 just for that you are staying blocked 🥰

carlossainz55 charles_leclerc NOOOO IM SORRY

user7 dang this was chaotic af

user8 charles made himself look extra good for this post to impress a certain someone 😏

user9 he doesn't have to even try though

yourusername user9 exactly

arthur_leclerc yourusername now hes blushing

charles_leclerc arthur_leclerc LEAVE ME ALONE

yourusername I'm not doing anything tomorrow 😊 in case you want to do something

charles_leclerc YES PLEASE

charles_leclerc I mean, yeah sure

georgerussell63 🍿🍿

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc, f1, and 2,873,611 others charles_leclerc merci beaucoup leo ❤️

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yourusername 💗 ♥︎ by author

charles_leclerc ❤️

carlossainz55 congrats hermano 🥳 ♥︎ by author

lando YAY IM BACKKKKK

lando 🙂

user10 why are you being so dry

lando user10 im scared to say anything cause he will block me again

charles_leclerc lando im glad you're intimidated

arthur_leclerc YAYY A NEW BESTIE

yourusername you know it 😎

charles_leclerc shoo.

scuderiaferrari bella coppia ♥︎ by author

yourusername grazie mille 🫶

lewishamilton now we just need leo and roscoe to meet 🐶 ♥︎ by author

maxverstappen1 why is she with you

charles_leclerc because I'm just, well, better 😈

georgerussell63 carmen wants me to pass on the message that she's dying to meet your girlfriend

yourusername YESSSSS I'LL COME TO MERCEDES NEXT RACE

mercedesamg yourusername oh yeahhhh 😎

scuderiaferrari mercedesamg back tf off 😤 she's ours 😒

yourusername wow I've never felt so wanted 🥹 #teammclaren

mclaren yourusername HELL YEAHHHH PAPAYA FOR THE WIN

charles_leclerc yourusername MON AMOUR??? HOW DARE YOU 😨

yourusername charles_leclerc sorry love, I've been learning about f1 and so the only thing on my feed is videos of people making fun of ferrari's strategies

scuderiaferrari yourusername next year will be our year 🥲

bestfriend REMEMBER I HAD HER FIRST 😒

charles_leclerc well I have her now so 🫵🏼😂

yourusername ladies ladies there's enough of me to go around

charles_leclerc yourusername im not sharing though 🤺

oscarpiastri so like... what did I miss...

oscarpiastri MY DAD HAS A GIRLFRIEND NOW????

[orangepeelknives]

ms. orangepeelknives you’ve got me completely crazy abt that mack-will-leno post

bcoz i love the thought of leno being very supportive and teasing of will’s huge crush on mack like yada yada i’ve been hearing abt macklin celebrini from the hockey community, from the media forever. But no ones ever talks about that kid’s smile or his floppy hair quite like will 🙄 still, he’ll tolerate will’s lovesick musings but he won’t tolerate celebrini thats for sure

and mack has no reason to hate dislike leno, he just doesnt like that theres history between him and will. There’s a version of will only gabe and leno know, theres inside jokes he’ll never get, theres a version of will that isn’t his. But he’ll tolerate leonard if he has to, strong emphasis on tolerate

now i need to know what will feels in between of all of this !!!!!

suddenly his friendship with leno and gabe isn’t living in each others pockets but fleeting texts on off days between games and random insta stories of congrats… but also now he has mack !!

mack who’s been on his radar forever and now he has him, he learns this guy is just as crazy as him, just as intense about hockey.

will is such a sentimental guy who holds all he loves close to his heart but hes still just a kid, just a guy, and his whole world now revolves around hockey and being good enough to help carry this franchise and mack, and he’s sorry he couldnt keep up with the BC boys, its just been hectic

So what’s will now 😃 part of him misses the simplicity of BC and he maybe that includes the people related to those memories, but another part of him loves the new energy of being in the big leagues with mack and theres no simplicity anymore but at least theres mack

sorry for rambling, will smith hockey is just my special little guy and i hope he achieves as much as he wants huhu and i’d hate for him to be caught in between his two lives two friends’ weird jealousy

-🐚

shell anon NEVER apologize for your beautiful mind!!!!!! every message in my inbox is a GIFT!!!!!

and this one is just. such a perfect messy little love triangle that isn’t a love triangle. i’m kissing it on the forehead and telling it it’s my favorite.

because YES. will smith, little golden retriever golden boy will smith, is the center of this orbit and it is so quietly painful for him. because it’s not just about past vs present. it’s about what version of himself he gets to be with who.

with leno and gabe, it was the before. it was college dorms and dumb pranks and watching film on the floor with empty gatorade bottles and too much popcorn. it was comfort and inside jokes and someone else understanding what the usntdp did to your brain without needing to explain it. it was easy. until it wasn’t. until will pulled away.

and he did pull away. that’s the thing that makes me craaaazy. he chose to. he chose to leave boston when everyone wouldve understood him staying to play another year. indirectly, he chose mack, before even really knowing him.

and then. THEN. there’s mack. who’s intense and annoying and weird and always there. who asks for everything with his whole chest and doesn’t even notice that he’s doing it. who doesn’t make will feel like he has to compete with some ghost of his own softer past—because mack doesn’t know that version of will. will gets to be new again.

but the kicker. the KICKER. is that mack also has no idea what leno meant to will. he doesn’t know the soft parts. the things that were just theirs. the inside jokes that still make will smile when he sees leno’s number flash on his phone. and that drives mack insane. not jealous in a possessive way, but in the way that someone who’s always trying to be enough gets when they realize someone else got there first.

and will? sweet baby will? he’s just in the middle of it trying to keep the peace and be okay for everyone while slowly unraveling under the pressure of being the emotional glue for two people who are NAWT friends. do we know the true extent? no. do they hate each other, or find each other annoying? we dont know!!! that is the beauty of the web.

anyway. thank you for letting me scream with you. will smith hockey is the most normal guy alive and he’s being psychologically dismantled by his own need to hold everything close to his heart like it won’t burn through his chest. let him rest. let him cry in a target parking lot. let him be loved back the way he loves.

[bookinit02]

hi!! i was just wondering if you had any buddie fic recs? i've read all of yours, and i tried to sort through your bookmarks afterwards but it ended up really overwhelming me for some reason 😞 so i was just curious if there were any you'd recommend, like specifically? love your fics btw hope you have a great day/night 🫶

hi!! 1) thank you so much and 2) yes, definitely! i have too many buddie fics that i absolutely love tbh, which is probably why my bookmarks are overwhelming—i think i have almost 150 by now😭 but here are the ones on my god tier list, in no particular order!

failing up by derryfacts2 (10.7k): eddie confesses his love and buck is insane about it. i ADORE the writing of this, especially the dialogue. they are Best Friends For Real.

forwards beckon rebound by hyruling (9.7k): eddie’s coma dreams after a car accident en route to texas. an absolute gut-punch in the best way possible.

hope is the thing with feathers by effervescentwolf (29.5k): this one makes me CRAZYYYY!!!!! magical realism, buck gets turned into his kid self and eddie takes care of him. i remember crying so much at this one because. baby buck. ohhhhhhh he needs a hug so bad. and he gets them! thank god. need to reread this one again asap actually.

should we talk about the weather by trysetmeonfire (20k): basically takes the idea of drift compatibility from pacific rim (which is one of my all-time favorite tropes, despite never having seen a single minute of pacific rim), and brings it to the real, non-au world. buck and eddie are Linked. good shit.

the going water and the gone by trysetmeonfire (31.5k): eddie presumed dead fic where buck takes care of chris. these are my favoriteeeeeee angst fics of all time, but especially this one. they hurt so good.

theoretical corpses, laughing by amiril (25k): this is actually just one of my favorite fics like. Ever. (and its predecessor, which you should probably read first). it’s about the Aftermath of eddie getting stuck in a time loop, from buck’s perspective. if that doesn’t make you want to read it, i don’t know what will. also, this fic has, to date, the MOST ACCURATE depiction of adhd that i have ever seen in my life, as someone with very likely undiagnosed adhd. literally love this so bad like it’s not even funnyyyyyy.

no place like by clytemnestra (51.6k): buddie platonic hookup fic w/ angst. delicious. i loveeeee this trope and this one especially is just so well done. infinite kudos!!

good pretender by likeshipsonthesea (85k): THIS ONE OKAY. THIS IS MY RAVI FIC OF ALL TIME. basically starts as buckravi fwb (non-explicit), then turns to buddie. split povs between buck, ravi, and eddie. this is THEEEE depiction of canon ravi to me. it explores his family and his culture and his personality and his childhood like. so fucking well. every time i miss ravi i come back to this fic. on top of that, though, it explores buck and eddie just as well (including buck’s traumas/hang-ups about casual sex). just incrediblyyyyy well done like i cannot give this fic enough praise. please read it if you have not🙏🏼

let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts (54.4k): buck and eddie work through buck’s bucket list after the lightning strike. soooooo sweet like genuinely heartwarming. i love this one a lot.

burn the straw house down by rarakiplin (40.2k): this is THE time loop fic to me. along with the amiril one. like these two fics together could actually keep me going for the rest of my life with nothing else to read. desert island shit. i am obsessed with this fic to the degree that i read it six (SIX) times in a row when i first discovered it. all 40k. like literally for days on end i did nothing but read this fic. in fact i think i will go read it again Right Now.

that’s not all the fics in my god tier list (and certainly not all the ones i’ve ever loved and/or bookmarked), but hopefully it gives you a good idea of where to start! i really recommend looking around for yourself, finding authors you love, and reading all their work. i wholeheartedly love every single author on this list, and many many more! happy reading💗💗💗

[kezervised95]

The Kingdom, The Power, The Glory.

chap2 draft kings????

ps. its not as devastating as i wanted it to be so I will probs change the whole thing in the final draft. so treat this as a snippet. as breadcrumbs. as baby powder. idk anway thank you anon for asking me to post even tho I technically forced u to ask me to post. lmao enjoy!!

Max keeps discovering Charles in pieces.

Little moments, misaligned. Like someone dropped a jigsaw puzzle of the person he loves and walked away before finishing it. Max is the one trying to put it back together. But the edges are soft. Some pieces are missing. Some pieces look like they’ve been through fire.

It’s not that Charles is a stranger now. It’s worse. It’s that he’s almost the same.

He still hums when he stirs his tea. Still folds napkins into little rectangles. Still says “bless you” when the dog sneezes. Still wears three layers when it’s cold out because “Max, my bones are delicate.”

But sometimes he skips meals like it’s second nature. Sometimes he runs till he nearly collapses, shirt soaked, heart clawing at his ribs, lips cracked from wind and silence. Sometimes he drives like death is something he could outrun if he’s just fast enough.

And none of it is in his notes app.

That’s how Max knows it’s old. Not from the memory loss. Not from the accident. It came before.

Charles forgot it all—but his body remembers. The rituals of hurt. The practiced choreography of self-destruction.

Max doesn’t know when it started.

Because Max wasn’t there.

Max had left.

Abu Dhabi 2021 had blown their friendship into dust and ash and regret. Charles had taken him out in the final race—maybe an accident, maybe a mistake, maybe some deep, subconscious act of rebellion—and Max had walked away like the wreckage didn’t matter. Like he could afford to.

He thought he was punishing Charles by cutting him off. Now he wonders if he just abandoned him.

He wonders—when did it start?

The skipping meals. The 2 a.m. street sprints. The hunger that wasn’t hunger. The ache behind Charles’ ribs that Max couldn’t see until it was too late?

He wants to ask. But Charles doesn’t remember.

They’ve been dating for four months now. Four months of Max trying to trace love into muscle memory. Four months of Charles waking up confused and Max saying, softly, patiently, “You’re home. You’re safe. I’m Max, and I love you.”

Max never thought he’d have this again. He never thought he deserved it.

Because maybe he wasn’t there when Charles needed someone. Maybe Charles reached out in the dark, and Max had already turned away.

He catches it one night. The tail end of a dream. Charles flinching in his sleep, face twisted in something awful, and murmuring a name Max doesn’t recognize. Not Max. Not even close.

Max holds him through it. Doesn’t sleep. Traces the freckles on Charles’ shoulder like they might give him clues. The next morning, Charles doesn’t remember the dream. Just stretches and says, “Did I talk in my sleep again?”

Max nods. Smiles. Lies. “Just some mumbling.”

He doesn’t say, You cried. You said ‘I didn’t mean to.’ You sounded so fucking lost.

Max keeps collecting the puzzle pieces.

He notices how Charles avoids mirrors. How he flinches when a plate drops. How he never asks about the years between them, like he knows something there is sharp and dangerous and better left untouched.

Max finds an old article one night. From early 2023. Buried in the archives.

Leclerc skips another media session. Ferrari release vague statement about ‘mental health and personal circumstances.’ Multiple sources confirm Charles has relocated to a private facility for recovery. No comments from family or friends.

Max stares at it until the screen burns his eyes.

He clicks the tab closed. Doesn’t bring it up. Just adds another page to his private notebook. His Charles Survival Manual.

Max should ask someone. Joris. Arthur. Even Carlos. But the idea of saying it aloud makes his lungs lock up.

Because what if they say, He needed you. And you weren’t there.

Max makes it his mission now. A quiet, invisible one. To be there.

He watches Charles brush his teeth and reminds him gently when he forgets where the towels are.

He stocks the fridge with his favourite things, even though Charles barely touches them.

He talks to Leo, the miniature dachshund, like Leo might remember what Charles can’t.

He counts calories in his head. Pretends he’s not doing it. Pretends he’s not watching how hollow Charles’ collarbones look when he changes.

He starts keeping a chart. A secret one. On paper. Not the Notes app. He calls it Days When Charles Eats + Smiles + Asks Me To Stay.

Some days he gets all three. Some days just one. Some days none.

He never blames Charles. He never gets angry. But some nights he sits on the edge of the bathtub, lights off, forehead pressed to the tile, and just breathes until he doesn’t feel like crying anymore.

He still loves him. He always has. Even when it hurt. Even when they weren’t speaking. Even when Max swore he was done.

He never stopped.

That’s the problem. That’s the entire problem.

Because now Charles is his. And Charles doesn’t remember being his. And Max keeps having to earn it over and over again. With every day. Every small gesture. Every act of love disguised as breakfast, or forehead kisses, or whispering “it’s okay” when Charles forgets who he is in the dark.

They’re lying in bed one night. Charles curled against Max, half-asleep, warm and soft and blinking slowly like a cat.

And out of nowhere, Charles says, “Do you think I was happy before?”

Max feels it like a slap.

Before what? The crash? The memory loss? The years they didn’t speak? Max doesn’t know which version of before Charles means. But it doesn’t matter. None of the answers are easy.

He swallows. “I think you were trying.”

Charles nods like that makes sense. “Were we… in love then too?”

Max closes his eyes. Breathes in. “Not yet.”

Charles tilts his head. “Why?”

Max thinks of 2021. The crash. The headlines. The cold war. The silence.

“I think I wasn’t ready,” Max whispers.

Charles smiles sleepily. “You’re ready now.”

Max wants to cry.

Instead, he presses a kiss to Charles’ temple and says, “Yeah, baby. I’m here now.”

He doesn’t say: And I’m never leaving again. He doesn’t say: Even if you forget me a thousand more times.

Because love, real love, is showing up even when no one remembers you were invited.

And Max? He’s staying.

He says it in the silence of his chest. He says it in the way he presses the hospital door open for Charles, lets the morning spill warm and gold across the pavement like it might disinfect something ancient. The third appointment. More scans, more progress, more hope threaded through jargon—post-concussive neurocognitive recovery, episodic memory lag, mild disinhibition, residual attentional deficits. Fancy ways of saying: his brain is still learning how to be his again.

And Max watches him, carefully. Always. Watches the small fidget Charles does with his hoodie string. The way he squints at the light like it’s something unfamiliar. The barely-there tremble in his fingers when the neurologist talked about executive dysfunction and possible long-term gaps.

But Charles still smiles. Still swings his legs over the curb like a child and says, with a bright, too-casual grin, “Can I drive your Porsche?”

Max blinks.

And that’s the thing—Charles asks with no idea that it’s the first time in years he’s asked for something like that to Max. The last time was before Abu Dhabi. Something simple like that. Joyful. Normal. It’s not food. It’s not medicine. It’s not Max’s name in the dark, half-remembered. It’s the fucking Porsche.

Max doesn’t answer right away.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the protein bar he’d stuffed there before they left the house. Chocolate and nuts. Not a meal. But something.

“Eat this first,” Max says, quiet but firm.

Charles raises an eyebrow, suspicious. “What if I don’t?”

Max shrugs, flicking the key fob lazily against his palm. “Then I drive.”

Charles groans. “That’s blackmail.”

“It’s care,” Max says. “The threatening kind.”

Charles stares at him. Stares at the bar. Then mutters something in French that definitely translates to drama queen before ripping it open with his teeth.

Max watches him chew. Watches him swallow. Watches the stubborn set of Charles’ jaw loosen when the sugar hits his bloodstream and his whole body eases like it’s relieved he fed it something.

Only then does Max hand over the keys.

“Drive slow,” Max says, deliberately. “I mean it. Slow.”

Charles flashes him a grin that is not slow. It’s reckless and charming and familiar in a way that makes Max’s heart somersault. “Of course.”

Of course.

Of course, Charles drives like he’s qualifying for Monaco.

Max’s head hits the backrest as the Porsche peels out of the hospital parking lot with all the tenderness of a ballistic missile. He watches the speedometer inch, then leap, then sprint.

“Slow,” Max says through gritted teeth.

Charles is smiling. Wide. Bright. Alive. “This is slow.”

“You took that roundabout like you were defending from Lewis in Hungary.”

Charles laughs. Not politely. Not demurely. It’s wild, stupid laughter that fills the car like sunshine with a knife in it. “I remember driving like this on a bike.”

Max’s entire body stills.

Because that’s new. That’s a memory. Not in the notes app. Not something he pieced together. Something Charles felt.

“You don’t own a bike,” Max says, slowly, carefully. “You’ve never owned a bike.”

Charles shifts gears with terrifying confidence. “I do. A Ducati. Red. Very fast. Fred stole it.”

Max closes his eyes briefly. Breathes. “Why did Fred steal your Ducati, Charles?”

“I don’t remember,” Charles says, which is even worse.

Max doesn’t respond. Just calmly reaches over and shifts the gear himself using the dual clutch. Forces the car to a less homicidal speed. Charles protests, but Max just gives him a look. The kind that says, I have loved you through worse, but I will not die in this fucking car.

The ride the rest of the way is quieter. Not slow, but bearable. Max keeps one eye on Charles, the other on his phone, fingers already typing out a text.

Max: did charles used to have a bike

Fred: Max what the fuck He is never getting that bike back Don’t even ask

Max: what happened

Fred: He rode it like a man possessed High speed In the RAIN AT NIGHT In fucking 2022 It was right after the car started being shit midseason He didn’t sleep for like 3 days Was completely dead behind the eyes I took the keys He tried to fight me I told him if he got on it again I’d call his mother He backed off Do NOT give that boy wheels

Max stares at the message. Blinks.

Charles pulls into the driveway. His hand lingers on the gearshift like it’s a trigger. Like he could go again. Faster. If no one stopped him.

Max doesn’t move. Just studies the lines of Charles’ face. The flush of wind on his cheeks. The shine of joy and something far darker still flickering at the edges.

“Fred said you rode the Ducati in the rain.”

Charles blinks. “I did?”

“At night. Alone. After Ferrari started losing in 2022.”

Charles shrugs, but his mouth twists. “Sounds like something I’d do.”

Max wants to scream.

Not at Charles. Not even at Fred.

At himself.

Because he wasn’t there. He didn’t see it. Didn’t stop it. Didn’t know until now, years later, through a fucking text.

He wonders what else he missed. What other parts of Charles were burning while Max was building walls.

He unbuckles slowly. Reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind Charles’ ear. Charles leans into the touch instinctively.

It makes Max ache—how soft Charles looks when he does that. How safe. And Max lets himself stay in that stillness for just a second longer, forehead to temple, pretending the world won’t unravel the second he lets go.

But it always does.

Because when he wakes up at three in the morning to the sound of the front door clicking shut, he already knows.

Max throws off the blanket. The bed’s cold on the side where Charles had curled up earlier, legs tucked tight like he was trying to make himself smaller than the weight of his own head.

He grabs a hoodie, socks barely on, and finds him on the street just outside the house—dressed in a fitted thermal top and leggings, trainers laced too tight, pacing slightly like the road itself owes him something.

It’s cold. Max exhales and sees his own breath.

“Charles,” Max says softly.

Charles turns.

His face is bathed in the amber spill of the streetlamp, soft and clean and wide-eyed. He’s too still.

And Max knows that look. Max knows that stare.

It’s the one Charles uses when he’s searching—when his brain is rifling through memories like loose paper, trying to find the one with Max’s face in it. The one with meaning. It’s a glance that lasts just a beat too long, just a second too clinical, like Max might be a stranger he’s bluffing familiarity with.

Max swallows.

“Where are you going?”

Charles shifts slightly, eyes darting away. “Just for a run.”

“At three in the morning?”

Charles shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Max nods, stepping down from the porch. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Charles says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s okay. I… I don’t wanna bother you.”

Max looks at him. At the gentle slope of his shoulders. At the way his hands are tucked into his sleeves like he’s hiding from something invisible.

“You’re not bothering me.”

Charles hesitates, fidgeting with the seam of his top.

Max watches him. Watches the way his eyes flicker—not like he’s lying, but like he’s trying to navigate fog. Like some part of him knows Max’s voice, Max’s presence, but the lines aren’t connecting right.

“I just didn’t wanna wake you,” Charles says after a long pause. “You’re my husband, you should rest.”

Max stops breathing.

It’s the third time this week.

The third time Charles has said it. Casually. Like it’s fact. Like it’s muscle memory his brain never quite unlearned. My husband. Like they’re something, like they’ve been everything, and somehow it makes Max’s ribs contract and expand all at once.

Max doesn’t correct him.

Can’t.

Because maybe it’s not true, not in paper, not in public, not in whatever timeline Charles thinks he’s living in—but something about the way Charles says it always makes Max wish it had been.

That in all the months lost to the void in Charles’ head, Max was still there. Maybe not fully formed. Maybe not complete. But present. Familiar. A name stitched in the lining of something warm.

“Alright,” Max says quietly. “Lead the way.”

Charles flashes a small smile, barely more than a twitch, and turns on his heel, jogging down the path. Max follows.

And it starts okay. A light pace, cool air brushing their cheeks, shoes scuffing softly against the pavement.

But then—

Charles speeds up.

Not gradually. Not normally. Like his body remembers how to leave everything behind in a blur. He runs like he’s training. Like he’s qualifying. Like if he stops, something bad will catch him.

Max frowns. Picks up his own pace to match.

“Charles,” he calls. “Slow down.”

Charles doesn’t answer.

So Max pushes harder. Catches up. Draws even beside him. Sees the sweat on his temples, the wildness in his eyes, the clenched jaw.

“Hey,” Max says, softer now, like he’s trying not to spook a deer. “You don’t have to run like that.”

Charles breathes hard. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Max says. “You’re sprinting. In the cold. At 3:18 a.m.”

Charles doesn’t look at him. Just keeps running like his brain is burning fuel and refusing to cool.

Max angles into him, nudges his elbow gently, slows his own pace by half a step—just enough that Charles has to adjust or fall out of sync. It works. Barely. Charles stumbles, glances at him sharply, then exhales, the fight leaking out of him.

They slow. Just a bit.

Max watches his breath come out ragged, watched his fingers flex open like they were clinging to something invisible.

“Do you always run like that?” Max asks, casual.

“I don’t know,” Charles admits.

He sounds young when he says it. Not twenty-six. Not world-weary. Just a boy with empty drawers where his memories used to be.

“I think I used to,” he adds, “When things felt too heavy.”

Max nods. Quiet. “You always said the faster you ran, the quieter your head got.”

Charles glances at him.

“You remember that?”

Max doesn’t answer. Just runs beside him. Step for step.

Because the truth is: Max remembers everything.

He remembers the first time Charles had run like that—after Silverstone. After the strategy call that cost him everything. He remembers Charles lacing up his shoes like they were armor, leaving at midnight, and not coming back until the sun cracked open the sky.

He remembers standing at the door with a towel and a bottle of water, pretending not to cry.

Now, Charles is beside him again. Running too hard. Breathing too sharp. Skin pinked with the cold. But Max is here this time. Not standing at a door. Not helpless.

He’s here.

And when they slow to a walk, when Charles finally presses his hands to his knees and pants for air, Max just puts a hand on his back. Steady. Firm. There.

“You don’t need to outrun anything tonight,” Max says, voice low.

Charles nods, not looking up.

“I just… sometimes I feel like if I don’t move, I’ll break.”

“You won’t,” Max says, certainty threading through his exhaustion. “Not with me here.”

Charles finally looks at him. Really looks. The confusion is still there. The faint edges of unknowing. But it’s softened now. Colored by something warmer. Trust, maybe. Recognition, even if it’s misplaced.

Max lets himself believe in it for one breath.

Then another.

Then, slowly, they walk the last stretch home under a sky that is just beginning to consider dawn.

[overtake]

Hi!!!! I can't get over how much I love this fic and I was thinking about the first time they meet in the locker room at the practice rink. You wrote "Max looks up, cheeks flushing in surprise to find someone else in there. His eyes go big at seeing Daniel." and I was wondering if there's a chance we can read about Max's point of view sometime in the future ♥️ I would really love to read anything you want to share with us about this fic algjkshd ♥️

So late on answering this but I’d love to provide you with Max’s POV!

The first time Max talked to Daniel Ricciardo, Daniel was commanding attention in a cluster of hockey players at Max’s rookie season All-Star Game. To date, Max isn’t sure if his ears are just innately tuned to the frequency of his bright, honking laugh, or if his joy was truly louder than the announcement and subsequent crowd cheers for the start of the hardest shot competition.

Daniel’s helmet and gloves were carelessly abandoned somewhere. He was leaning his chin on the butt of his carelessly taped stick, and his curls were toeing the line between handsomly tousled and unruly. He was giving everyone who spoke his undivided attention, the bags under his warm brown eyes gently crinkling in time with his smiles. Max didn’t care that some annoying reporter kept trying to grab him over to the side for an interview. He had just wanted to know what it felt like to be in Daniel’s orbit.

Between Daniel and Lewis Hamilton was a space big enough for Max to worm his way into, and he didn’t care that he was crashing the conversation. Daniel wouldn’t care either, probably. Max knew lots of people who played with him, and everyone said the same gushing things about Daniel’s kindness.

Most of the guys just nodded at him and didn’t break their side conversations, but Daniel had flashed his bright white teeth at him. “Max Verstappen,” he said. He said Max’s name funny, more like Maksh Vershtappen, and grinned a little wider after Max scrunched his face up at it. “Nice of you to join us, but aren’t you in this competition?”

He nodded over at where Sebastian Vettel was lining up a shot. Max just shrugged. “Maybe if I hide in this circle, they won’t be able to find me.”

“Aw,” Daniel said. “Shucks, Verstappen. Too nice to show up Seb?”

“I could’ve been on a beach,” Max said mournfully. “And instead I am here.”

Daniel laughed again. He doled them out as easily as breathing, but Max still let himself glow at the reward of being its cause. “Normally people wait until at least year two to start complaining about the All Star Game.”

“Well, they keep saying I’m ahead of my peers, first overall pick and everythint,” Max joked. Daniel opened his mouth to respond — some chirp about Max being cocky, Max would’ve bet — but his name was being announced as the next competitor, and he was forced out of the circle to perform like a show pony for the crowd.

“Save my spot,” he told Daniel, who winked.

“Only if you win.”

Max had won, and by a solid few miles per hour over Seb’s previous record. By the time he returned to the circle, Daniel had been warbling some terrible version of the American anthem, and Lewis had kindly explained the Fergie backstory to him, and then Daniel darted off toward Sebastian before Max could grab his attention back and make the joke he’d been trying to formulate about winning.

Up until the day Daniel walked into the Leafs practice facilities, Max never spoke to Daniel again, but he’d remembered the way Daniel’s attention had made him feel.

He’d mentally separated sex and hockey long ago. It wasn’t even a conscious choice he needed to make. He was in the locker room to win, and attraction was a distraction. He’d always known that he was into guys, as easily as he recognized that his name was Max and his eyes were blue, but that had nothing to do with hockey.

Hockey players weren’t a dating pool. A hockey team was an ecosystem so delicate that one chirp gone too far could throw off the entire chemistry of the team and lose them the season. The opponents were the guys trying to stop them from winning, and Max would be damned before he let there be a single earthly chance that he fucks one of them and they somehow use it against him to win. Thus, hockey and sex did not co-exist. It wasn’t even a consideration. Like his name, and his eyes, and being gay, it was a fact of life that Max never had to consciously think about.

Daniel was the first time his stomach flipped being nearby a hockey player, and he’d allowed himself the guilty pleasure of a youtube deep dive when it hit two weeks after the All Star Game and Daniel hadn’t left his mind. It resulted in a shame-ridden jerkoff session over bad commercial acting and an orgasm over a compilation of Ricciardo game-winners.

Daniel wasn’t even in the Leafs conference, Max had told himself after that first time. Max could have this. It wasn’t actually combining sex and hockey, and he’d still smash Daniel against the boards if he ever tried to get near Max’s puck.

Then Daniel was in Edmonton, still the other conference but in Max’s country, and everyone was calling it lights out on Daniel’s career. In the faceoff circle, face framed in orange fabric and dark circles, Max saw that all the free joy Daniel had once doled out had soured into pungent melancholy.

Max only had a few games against Daniel as an Oiler, but one stood out. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks before Daniel entered the assistance program, but there was a steely scrap of fight in his eyes that Max hadn’t seen in the past year and a half.

Max had won the only faceoff he had against Daniel that game, but Daniel stole the puck from him five seconds later in a motion so smooth that it slotted perfectly in the highlight reels Max had rabidly consumed and that everyone claimed were a ghost of Daniel past. He was focused on racing Daniel down the ice to try and prevent the breakaway, but his first thought when he heaved himself over the boards at the end of his shift was that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could consider Daniel done after a move like that.

He only understood when he heard their dipshit coach ream out Daniel a second later. It was a strain to hear from their bench, even with Zak’s loud-ass voice, but he was lecturing Daniel for attempting the shot. Zak was stabbing his stubby pointer at a whiteboard and screaming himself red to argue that Daniel should’ve passed to a guy that had been covered by two defencemen. The useless rookie he was referencing hadn’t even caught the rebound of Daniel’s shot on net, but fucking genius idea: don’t let your open guy go for the goal that Esteban had stopped only by the luckiest glance off his goalie stick.

Max understood, then. Daniel’s talent wasn’t gone. It’d just been suffocated. He was trying to change his game to conform to a system of hockey that constrained him to a set of plays. They weren’t allowing him to trust his gut, to capitalize on unexpected chances and make the right plays. Daniel would leave, or they would trade him, and Max knew he’d be better for it.

And then it was June, and Max had a surprise call from Cyril and a contact card for Daniel Ricciardo saved into his phone. He let himself be excited instead of apprehensive, even though letting himself combine hockey and sexual desire, all by using the desperate justification that the guy was a conference away, was clearly Max daring the universe to make this happen.

Max is here in his locker room in the heart of summer, and Daniel Ricciardo walks in with a slight stumble of hesitancy that betrays his uncertainty at finding Max in his new surroundings.

He looks back to the guy that keeps the sun a willing hostage in his smile. His curls are long and shiny, his under eyes no longer hollowed, and Max can see muscle on his body where there was once only bone. Max is struck dumb with the reckoning that his stomach still churns the same way at the sight of Daniel, even when he’s picking at his cuticles and looking the closest to nervous that he’ll probably let himself show.

This, Max grimly considers, could maybe be a problem.

[the-patrex]

I have seen a LOT of discourse about the finale so here is my final opinion on it: I Liked it I thought it was Very Bad

[lazaruspiss]

my sibling is starting to write fic and it's so. like they've been drawing for forever and never seem insecure about art. but writing is still new to them! so the fic isn't working how they want it to. i got to point at their pile of like, 20 something filled full size sketchbooks and go, look, you've made all this art, practiced all this time to be good. and how many things have you written? 3? you keep going! you keep doing it and it will be countless one day!

[chloecorvid]

My D&D character Norphanus is having a looooot of feelings as of late. Some good, some bad, mostly confused and uncertain. And I needed a new portrait of him for my... 9th playlist based on him and this game he's in. So! Here that is!

[phagodyke]

back in my matt berninger era...... this will have no long term effects on my mental wellbeing

[bighitfics]

jeon jungkook fanfics that deserve to be turned into kdramas and selling books.

(a recommendation you badly need) ⭑.ᐟ

Sauvage ౨ৎ by @tljunglebook

— grumpy x sunshine, cold and detached jungkook (who turns into a whipped puppy later on) office romance, slow burn.

(starting off strong! this book’s got the most delicious slow burn to ever exist! screaming at how sexy, dirty minded, down bad & protective for oc jungkook’s in this fic ugh the wattpad girlies already know that they’re my adopted parents)

10 Seconds ᥫ᭡ by @deepdarkdelights

— yandere jungkook, abduction, stalking, stockholm syndrome.

(this series is my first love, i would do anything to read this for the first time again!)

Penpal 𓍯𓂃 by @laughing-with-god

— yandere prisoner jungkook, stalking, breaking in.

(gotta contact some directors and producers to turn this into a drama! it would slay so hard with its refreshing plot line! and tbh no words are enough to describe her writing abilities, she’s a pro✨)

Risqué ✧˖° by @mercurygguk

— age gap, forbidden romance, smut, angst.

(the time stamps and drabbles are the essence of this fic, the smut is so well written! ALSO THE SEGSUAL TENSION AND OVERALL YEARNING MA’AM!? can someone already turn this into a mini netflix series please!?)

About Time ִ࣪𖤐 by @yoonia

— time travel au, major angst, second chances, smut, fluff.

(if i had the chance to devour a book, i’d eat this one (obviously) it’s one of the best books of my life, i would die to see a live version of this)

I Want You To Stay ʚɞ ⁺˖ by @ahundredtimesover

— ceo jungkook, strangers to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut.

(no slow burn ever slow burned the way this story slow burned! lemme warn ya’ll this fic will keep getting better as you read it!)

Bride Of Devil ♰ 𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ by @jasminefanfics

— dark romance, gangster au, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, age gap, kinda yandere husband jungkook.

(my youtube fanfic girlies assemble! this is the best mafia jungkook fic i can recommend for ya’ll! the bgm is so addictive and perfect)

An Abundance Of Luck And A Sprinkle Of Fate 𐙚 by @borathae

— strangers to lovers, romance, found family, smut, angst, healing.

(I remember being unhealthily obsessed with this lord, aaol!kook & oc will forever be my babies TT this book tugs at your heart in a way that’s inexplainable)

ps — have a good read girlies <3

follow for more.

[candy-ing]

you don't really know where the seed of insecurity took place in your brain but it's roots are so in deep you can't do anything about them. it's not that you can't moan, you want to but you also don't want to ruin your boyfriend's mood. everything about your relationship is new and you don't really have much of an experience in bed so you hold back the sounds of pleasure that try to escape your throat everytime because you're scared, so scared that he'll not like how you sound. you never initiate things in the fear of being too needy. what you don't know is that it's driving your boyfriend crazy. you're the love of his life, someone he's willing to die and kill for and not hearing your voice while he's pleasuring you makes him think he's.. not enough. that doesn't stop him from giving it his all.

it's a normal evening, you and him cuddling on the couch. though now you don't remember how you're on your back with his face between your legs, lapping at your cl¡t like he needs it more than you do. you're holding your voice back, biting every whimper and moan instead of focusing on the pleasure. "you okay baby? want me to continue?" he asks because he's unsure now, you want it right? he doesn't want to hurt or force you and the nod you give isn't enough for him. "use your words, pretty". if you speak now you might let a whimper slip so you take deep breaths, "yes, please, don't stop" you manage to squeak out. with the verbal consent he's back at it with urgency this time. his longest finger rubs around your slit causing you to writhe and bite your bottom lip so hard you think you taste blood. "can I?" he rumbles between his licks, and you know better than to just nod "please, ..please" you beg and he slowly enters his digit in your warm heat leaving you to arch under his ministrations. his tongue swirling around your puffed clit as he curls his finger in, its too much but not enough, your fingers grasp his hair to ground yourself though you don't get a chance to breath as he enters another, cooing sweet nothings, you're overwhelmed as he keeps a steady pace, he's desperate to hear you, to know he's doing good. your grip on his hair causes him to moan around you and you let a whimper slip, he freezes, you freeze too. just when you're about to spiral, he kisses you so hard it's like teeth clashing, you don't get to overthink as you taste yourself on his tongue and he starts to curl his fingers in you again. he keeps his pace steady though all he wants rn is to hear you moan because goddamn that whimper leaving your pretty little mouth had him cum in his pants if he hadn't controlled himself. he trails kisses along your thighs, then makes you hold them as he adds the pleasure of his tongue on your bud to the pleasure his fingers are giving you and all you can do is writhe and gasp as he knocks the breath out of you by finding the spot that drives you insane. "I'm so close" you gasp out and the way he growls in response around your clit has you arching. his constant movements push you to the edge and as your vision whitens, you gush out around his fingers moaning his name and he helps you ride it out. the after effect is that you're shaking, rightfully so. once you've calmed down you realise simon hasn't lifted his face, you gather last bits of strength to lift his face up to see he's.. embarrassed? and when you ask if he's okay, he confesses, "i.. came, you moaned my name for the first time and it made me-" you don't know how to process his words, they somehow heal your insecurity and drive you crazy with arousal at the same time.

here's a plate of smut y'all requested, it's rushed and not my best but yes snjdj, not proofread and also if there are any mistakes please hmu bc english isn't my first language. likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

@lauratang @honethatty12 @sir-heichou-smith @kentuckyhobbit @acoopsahoy @tysukier @robinfeldt98 @nexthyperfix @cryingoverafictionalcharacter2 @hajixmee

@mvstercvrd

[achillesvslz]

HI I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!!! IF ITS POSSIBLE, CAN YOU PLEASE MAKE A MARK FIC WHERE HE GETS JEALOUS OF THE ATTENTION THE READER GIVES TO THE OTHER MSRK VARIANTS

"Jealousy Jealousy"

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Mark Grayson Variants x GN! Reader

Featuring: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, Full Mask Mark, Shiesty Mark, Prisoner Mark, Viltrumite Mark, No Mask Mark

Synopsis: You find yourself caught between Mark's many very desperate variants.

The sky above the prison cracked and churned, smoke and screams threading through the thick, choking air. Around you, the ground was littered with rubble and fallen inmates, some groaning, some eerily still. You barely registered it anymore, too focused on dragging an injured guard to safety behind a broken wall.

Above, he was fighting.

Mark. Your Mark

His fists flew in vicious arcs, trading blows with a wilder, meaner version of himself — one with a mohawk and a wicked, wolfish grin that made your stomach turn. Each punch sounded like a thunderclap, shockwaves blasting the debris outward. Mark slammed Mohawk Mark into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, and for a second, everything seemed like it was under control. You exhaled, steadying yourself against the wall— And then a screaming rush of wind nearly knocked you off your feet. Before you could react, another Mark — this one maskless, his hair a little longer, his face desperate — barreled straight into you. You gasped as his arms wrapped around you in a crushing hug, lifting you clear off the ground

"Oh my god," he breathed against your ear, his voice trembling. "I finally found you. You're even more beautiful than I remembered. I thought I lost you... I thought—" He pulled back just enough to cradle your face in his hands, staring at you like you were some kind of miracle he barely dared to touch. You opened your mouth to speak — "Wait—" — but the words stuck in your throat.

The moment shattered like glass

.

From behind, Sinister Mark appeared like a black storm, his expression twisted into something feral. Without a word, he grabbed you by the waist, ripping you bodily out of Maskless Mark’s arms with a brutal yank. "Back off!" Sinister Mark snapped, holding you so tightly against him you could feel the shudder of restrained violence under his skin.

Maskless Mark stumbled forward, face contorting in fury. "You son of a—!" He lunged — but Sinister Mark backhanded him so hard Maskless Mark went skidding across the rubble. "I said," Sinister Mark growled, voice dripping with venom, "back off!"

You barely had time to process the shock when another figure crash-landed nearby — Full Mask Mark, his dark visor flashing as he immediately stepped between you and Sinister Mark. "Release them," Full Mask Mark ordered coldly. "They're safer with me."

Then — as if the gates of hell had opened — more figures started descending one after another. Shiesty Mark vaulted over a wall with a cocky grin, landing next to Full Mask Mark and immediately trying to tug you free. "Come on, baby — you know you wanna get outta here with me."

Another Mark crashed down — Prisoner Mark, still in his grey jumpsuit, bruised and bloodied but smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. "Tch. You're all pathetic. They want someone real. Someone like me."

And then Viltrumite Mark floated down gracefully, arms crossed, looking eerily composed as he assessed the scene. "Clearly," he said mildly, "they’re overwhelmed. I'll take custody of them."

It was like a bomb went off.

Suddenly every single Mark was grabbing at you, shoving each other, snarling, punching — they swarmed over you like feral animals fighting over a single toy, claws out, snarling and snapping. You were jostled from one to the other — Sinister Mark’s brutal grip, Full Mask Mark’s iron hold, Shiesty Mark’s arms sneaking around your waist — each yanking you back and forth like you were the only thing keeping them alive. You could barely even get a word in — your mouth kept opening, but all that came out were tiny choked sounds as hands grabbed and pulled and voices screamed over each other:

"Let go!"

"They're mine!"

"You’ll just get them hurt!"

"They don’t want you, they want me!"

"Enough — or I’ll kill you all right here."

The prison yard was falling apart — debris raining from the sky, concrete cracked like broken glass under Mark's boots. He drove his fist into Mohawk Mark’s gut, sending the variant crumpling with a grunt of pain. Another hit, another grunt — just like every other fight before it. Mark pulled back, ready to finish it —but something caught his eye. Across the battlefield — past the smoke, past the rubble —

you.

You were struggling, trapped between a mob of familiar faces — faces that wore his own features twisted in desperation. His blood went cold. You stumbled back as Sinister Mark yanked you toward him, one gloved hand firm around your wrist. Maskless Mark barreled into him a second later, prying you free and holding you like you were something fragile. Then Full Mask Mark ripped you from Maskless, dragging you close with tense, gloved fingers. Shiesty Mark laughed and twirled you around into his arms, only to be tackled by Prisoner Mark a heartbeat later.

They were fighting over you like feral animals.

Like he wasn't even there. Mark froze, breathing hard, a deep roar clawing its way up his throat. Then he launched into the sky, fists clenched, heart pounding so hard it hurt.

"I'm coming—!"

He blasted toward you, faster than a bullet—

—but halfway there, a blur of motion smashed into him. Viltrumite Mark. He grabbed Mark by the collar and yanked him sideways mid-flight, spinning him out of control. "Stay out of this!" Viltrumite barked, shoving him hard. Mark growled and threw a punch, knocking Viltrumite back — only for Mohawk Mark to slam into his back next, driving them both into a spiraling dive. Before he could recover, Full Mask Mark was there, throwing a fist at his face. Shiesty tackled him around the waist, laughing.

"Welcome to the party, loser!"

Mark twisted free with a furious snarl, throwing them off — but by the time he looked up again, you were even further away, trapped between four desperate variants clawing and dragging at you. He could see you — wide-eyed, overwhelmed — getting pulled one way by Maskless, then the other by Sinister, then another as Prisoner Mark ripped you free. Mark roared and blasted forward again, elbowing through the chaos, getting grabbed and yanked every direction. Hands — all his hands — shoved and clawed and punched. Each Mark screaming over the other:

"They're safer with me!"

"You can't protect them like I can!"

"They don't love you the way I do!"

Mark finally got a hand on you — pulling you close — only for Shiesty to tackle him low, sending both of you tumbling. He barely kept you in his grasp, spinning midair, his arms locking tight around you. "I got you—!" he gasped — only for Sinister to crash into him next, ripping you from his arms with brutal force.

It was a mess. A storm.

Everywhere he turned, another version of himself was grappling, shouting, grabbing at you like you were the last star left in the sky. Mark groaned, shoving Full Mask Mark off his back, ducking under Shiesty's swinging punch, grabbing you again and getting yanked right back into the chaos by Maskless and Prisoner Mark clawing at his arms. You flailed, trying to keep your footing, groaning as you got pulled back and forth like a living tug-of-war rope. Mark gritted his teeth, chest heaving, blood pounding in his ears. This wasn’t going to be a clean save. This wasn’t going to be fast. He tightened his grip on you, glaring at the sea of versions clawing for you with wild eyes.

And through gritted teeth, he muttered: "This is gonna be a long fight."

[hy6erion]

i keep reading jayce and his stupid big dick pleaseee write more if you can its so hot🧎🧎🧎 i don't see enough of dom jayce🙏🏻

(no pressure if you don't feel like it!!!♡ i love the way you write btw!♡♡♡♡♡)

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬)

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞(𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬), 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞, 𝐝𝐨𝐦/𝐬𝐮𝐛 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐜𝐮𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

Jayce had been fuming all night.

You had seen the way his jaw locked, the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides, the way his golden-brown eyes darkened every time someone looked at you for too long.

It didn't matter that you had done nothing wrong.

It didn't matter that you weren't flirting.

To Jayce, it was enough.

So now?

Now you're face-down on the mattress, legs spread wide, your ass up in the air, completely at his mercy.

And fuck- he wasn’t being gentle.

His thick cock slams into you from behind, stretching you open, his hands digging into your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you. The wet slap of his skin against yours fills the room, filthy and obscene, your slick dripping down your thighs, making a mess of the sheets.

"You think this pussy belongs to anyone but me?" he growls against your ear, his voice low, rough, vibrating with jealousy.

"T-thought you could just bat your pretty little lashes and have every guy in the room eating out of your fucking hand?"

You sob, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your body rocking forward with every brutal thrust, every stroke hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck—"

"Yeah? You like that, baby?" he mocks, his grip tightening, forcing you to take him deeper, harder.

"Like being reminded exactly who this pussy belongs to?"

You can't even speak, can't even breathe, your mouth hanging open, your moans breaking into breathless sobs as he pounds into you, fucking you like he's trying to fuck the memory of every other man out of your head.

"You're so fucking tight, baby-fuck-squeezing my cock like you were made for me," he groans, his fingers bruising into your skin, his pace relentless.

"This is mine. This pretty little cunt? Fucking mine."

You're completely wrecked, your body shaking, your thighs trembling violently, your pussy soaked, fluttering around his cock, dragging him deeper with every thrust.

"Ohhh, fuck-Jayce-s'too much-s'too deep-"

"Too deep?" he laughs breathlessly, mocking, pressing a big hand between your shoulder blades, shoving your face down into the mattress, pinning you down.

"Nah, baby. You can take it."

His cock drives into you, filling you to the brim, stretching you so fucking wide you can't even think.

"This is what you wanted, huh?" he grunts, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles against your swollen, aching clit.

"Wanted me to get jealous so l'd fuck you stupid, make you feel me?"

You wail, your whole body clenching, your nails digging into the sheets as the pleasure piles up too fast, too hard, too much

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck-g-gonna cum—"

"Yeah, baby?" he grins, grinding his cock deeper, dragging out your pleasure, making it impossible to hold back.

"Then do it. Fucking cum for me. Let me feel it."

And fuck-

Your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave, your pussy clamping down so tight around him that Jayce groans, his own thrusts faltering.

Your body shakes, convulses, pleasure surging through you like a fucking current, your walls milking his cock, squeezing him so tight he nearly collapses on top of you.

"Ohhh, f-fuck-shit, baby—"

Jayce snarls, slamming into you one last time, his hips grinding deep as he spills inside you, filling you up, stuffing you full of thick, hot cum.

"Take it, sweetheart," he grunts, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his hands still gripping your hips, holding you still.

"Take all of it."

His cock throbs inside you, pulse after pulse of heat flooding your already wrecked pussy, dripping out around his shaft.

He stays there, panting, wrecked, his body still trembling against yours. His fingers stroke lazily down your spine, warm, possessive.

Then, finally, he pulls out, watching as his cum spills out of you, thick and messy, pooling between your thighs.

Jayce groans, his fingers spreading your folds, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, watching you shudder.

"Mmm, can't have you wasting it, baby," he murmurs, grinning against your shoulder, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss there.

You whimper, your body still shaking, still sensitive, still completely spent.

"I wasn't even flirting, Jayce-"

He just chuckles, grabbing your ass, giving it a sharp smack that makes you yelp.

"Doesn't matter," he hums, his breath hot against your ear.

"This pussy still needed a fucking reminder of who it belongs to."

Jayce should be done.

He should be satisfied, spent, exhausted-he just came so fucking hard inside you, stuffing you full, filling you up, marking you in every way possible.

But fuck— One look at the mess he made of you, his cum leaking out of your swollen, wrecked pussy, and he's already hard again.

You're still face-down on the mattress, your legs trembling, your body twitching with aftershocks, your pussy still fluttering from how hard he fucked you.

And Jayce?

Jayce just grins, pressing slow, possessive kisses along the backs of your thighs.

"Mmm, baby, you look so fucking good like this," he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the cum dripping out of you, spreading it along your inner thighs.

"So messy. So fucking pretty."

You whimper, still too sensitive, your body still shaking, but Jayce doesn't give you time to recover.

Instead, he grabs your hips, flips you onto your back, and dives in.

The first drag of his tongue over your overstimulated pussy makes you scream.

"Ohhh-fuck, Jayce-s'too much-"

"Shhh, baby," he hums, his big hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing them flat against the mattress.

"You can take it."

You sob, your back arching off the sheets as his tongue laps up the mess he made of you, slow and lazy at first, just enough to make you twitch, whimper, gasp.

"Mmm, fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your soaked, throbbing cunt, his tongue teasing along your folds, swirling around your sensitive clit.

"Tasting myself on you? Fucking filthy."

You can barely breathe, barely think, your hands tangling in his messy brown hair, trying to push him away, pull him closer-you don't even fucking know.

"J-Jayce-ohhh, f-fuck—please-"

"Please what, baby?" he murmurs, grinning against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you spread wide for him.

"You want me to stop?"

"N-no-fuck-don't stop, don't stop”

Jayce just chuckles, burying his face between your thighs, his tongue flicking out, dragging a slow, messy lick up your slit.

"Mmm, that's my girl," he hums, lapping at the slick, drinking down the taste of you mixed with his cum, groaning at how fucking good it is.

"So fucking sweet. Soaked for me."

He's starving for it.

His tongue works you open, licking up every drop, lapping at the mess between your legs, sucking on your swollen clit just to hear you sob.

Your thighs shake around his head, your hands gripping his hair, pulling, tugging, your body rocking against his mouth.

"Ohhh-fuck, fuck-Jayce—"

"That's it, baby," he groans, his voice muffled, breath heavy, hot, desperate.

"Grind that pretty little pussy against my face. Use me."

You whimper, your legs twitching, your back arching off the bed, your body so overstimulated it hurts, but it feels so fucking good you can't stop.

"O-ohhh-fuck-s'too much-I can't”

"Yes, you can," he growls, shoving his tongue deeper, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my tongue."

The second he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, your whole body snaps.

Your thighs squeeze his head, your nails claw at his scalp, your breath shatters into a scream as your orgasm slams into you, harder than before, overwhelming, drowning you in white-hot pleasure.

"F-fuck-fuck-Jayce, ohhh-ohhh, god-JAYCE-"

Jayce just moans against your pussy, his tongue still flicking, lapping, milking every drop out of you, swallowing it down like he's fucking addicted.

By the time he finally pulls away, panting, his chin soaked, his lips swollen, his eyes glazed over with hunger-

You're wrecked.

Your body is shaking, your legs twitching, your breath still uneven, your pussy still throbbing.

And Jayce?

Jayce just grins, licking his lips, dragging two thick fingers through the cum and slick still dripping from your pussy.

"Mmm, look at that, baby," he murmurs, pressing his fingers inside you, curling them deep just to hear you whimper.

"Still so messy for me."

You whimper, your body too sensitive, too overstimulated, still trembling.

"J-Jayce-fuck, I c-can't—"

"Shhh, baby," he hums, dragging his fingers out, sucking them into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

"You can."

He smirks, crawling back up your body, pressing his cock-already hard again-against your soaked, ruined cunt.

"And you will."

You know he's not letting you sleep anytime soon.

[moonstruckme]

Hiii Mae!!

I'm literally on my hands and knees worshipping your work everyday🫶🏽

Was wondering if you'd consider Poly!Marauders, or any one of them, x Reader who's house is being broken into and they phone one of them or if Reader is walking home alone from a night out with her friends and someone starts following her?

Thanks a lot!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: man (eek!) (no but actually in the scary way), reader being followed at night. modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 870 words

Anxiety crackles in your fingertips as you dial Sirius’ number. Every ring feels like a year off your life. 

Sirius picks up on the third. “Beautiful,” he says in greeting. 

“Hey.” Your voice is light automatically, reluctant to make things seem dire when they might not be. “Are you busy?” 

“Never too busy for you.” You can hear him moving away from some noise. A television, maybe, or a group of people talking. “You headed home already?” 

“Mhm, yeah. Are you…where are you?” 

“At the pub on King Street. You should come join, James is buying.” 

You hear some playful protest, presumably from down the table. ‘James is buying,’ he says—just invite the whole bloody town, why don’t you? You stop listening as Sirius makes some jibe back. 

Kings Street isn’t far from you. You turn a corner and pick up your pace. 

“Yeah, I’ll come,” you say. “Maybe, um, would you want to meet me halfway?” 

It’s an odd request, coming from you. You practically hear Sirius register this, his chair audibly scraping back and the voices in the background growing quieter as he moves away from them. His tone says it, too. “Yeah, baby, ‘course. What’s up?” 

“I’m okay,” you say swiftly, though you don’t know if that’s strictly true. You don’t feel very okay. But it seems a silly thing to act that way when nothing has happened. “I’m just, I’m…” You lower your voice a tad. “I think maybe this guy is following me? I don’t know.” 

“Following you?” Sirius sounds outside, now, the crowd noise dying away entirely. “Where are you coming from?”

“I’m coming down Dalling now,” you reply, loud enough that the man about twenty feet behind might be able to hear. “Passing Blythe.” 

“Okay, I’m coming. Is he walking close to you?” 

“Not very. It’s probably fine, I’m just…” 

“I’m coming,” Sirius says again. “Stay on with me, yeah?” 

You do, though neither of you speak after that. Sirius’ speaker fills with the rushing of air, like movement, and you suspect if he was listening all he’d hear was your controlled breathing down the line. You’re afraid to look behind you any more than you already have. Occasionally, though, you catch a glance in a storefront window angled just right. You convince yourself your pursuer is gaining. 

You turn the corner onto Kings Street, about to update Sirius over the phone when a figure crashes into you. 

You take in a panicky breath, throat tightening on a scream, as hands land on your shoulders to steady you. Sirius has an odd look on his face, alarm fading to relief in the second before he hauls you to his chest. 

“Sorry.” He sounds breathless, like he’s been running. “I’m sorry. Hi, baby.” 

“Hi.” You clutch at him. You wonder if you might be shaking. “Do you—do you see him? Blue shirt.”

“I see him.” Sirius’ hand splays protectively over your mid back. He keeps you pressed close to him, staring your pursuer down over your shoulder. You know the power of a Sirius Black glare. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a real one, thankfully, but you’ve seen it do its work on occasion. You don’t envy the other man. 

“I don’t know for sure if he was following me,” you murmur. “He’s just been there for a long time. It was making me nervous.” 

“I think he was.” Sirius’ tone is also quiet, though not infirm. “He’s seen us, though, I think he’s about to turn. Just a second, lovely.” He kisses your forehead, his grip never loosening. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, though your hold isn’t easing either. 

Sirius kisses your head again. You feel the breath he lets out fan warmly over your skin. “He turned. He’s gone.” 

You squeeze him impossibly tighter, frantic with relief. You’re definitely shaking. 

“He’s gone.” Sirius gives you a good press before adjusting his hold, keeping his arm around your shoulders but pointing you toward the pub. “It’s okay. Fuck, I’m glad you called. I was scared I wouldn’t get to you in time, but you were moving faster than I gave you credit for.” He rubs the flat of your chest where you’d collided with him. “Sorry for ramming into you.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you chide, keeping practically melded to his side as you walk. “Thank you for coming. Really.” 

Your boyfriend tsks. “Course, sweetness. How’d you end up walking home by yourself, anyways?” His tone turns a bit chiding, the sort you suspect would be worse if Sirius weren’t still feeling sorry for you. “You can always call me, you know that.” 

Sirius doesn’t like when you walk anywhere alone, especially at night. You do it more often than he knows. You might do it a tad less often for a while, though. 

“I know,” you say, contritely enough that he kisses your head again, a truce bestowed. “Just, thank you.” 

“Stop with that.” He pulls you closer to his side playfully. “You don’t have to thank me, you freak. I hope you are ready to tell tales of my heroism, though. I just got up and ran out without saying anything; James is going to have lots of questions.”

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── hyunjin messes up and kkami helps him apologize

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff (might be the cutest thing i wrote recently)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: this is definitely inspired by the new book i'm obsessing over right now so pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! <33

“Well, well, look who finally remembered he has a loving partner missing him at home.”

You hear Hyunjin sigh on the other end, sheepish, obviously expecting you’d cut him some slack for disappearing for days, like talking to him wasn’t the best part of your day. Touring was hard, and he’s been insanely busy from day one – you get it. That’s why, your tone’s more playful than intended, only being able to let the phone ring for two heartbeats before rushing to answer and let his velvety voice bring sunshine back into your dull life.

“Hello, the absolute love of my life I think about daily.” He clears his throat, brushing over your comment in hopes you’re not truly upset he hasn’t called in so long. Two days weren’t a big deal, but for clingy people like you and him, going 48 hours without hearing what the other has been up to was torture. It was just enough time for insecurity to creep in, feeding you lies upon lies about how he’d forgotten your relationship and was currently in the process of replacing you with someone else, someone better and more worthy of owning his heart.

Your heart flutters, a grin finding its way onto features despite your attempts at stopping it. “Hello, Hyunjin.”

“Who the fuck is Hyunjin?”

No longer able to keep the happiness at bay, you burst out laughing, the aggravation clear as day in the absence of his usual pet name. Hyunjin was your baby, nothing else. His name only ever left your pretty lips you couldn’t wait to press against his only when the situation called for seriousness.

Settling down, you ignore his displeased huffing. “The guy who hasn’t called me in a week. You might know him.”

You’re teasing. You both know it, just like he knows that behind your words, the only genuine thing is the longing and the wish to have him close again, missing the steady beat of his heart and his familiar warmth that usually lulled you to sleep, badly. Hyunjin has always been great at reading between the lines, figuring you out easily, like you were nothing more than an unchallenging puzzle he could solve with his eyes closed.

“A week? I know I messed up, love, but it’s only been two days. Not even, just about 45 hours.” You hear sheets rustling on the other end, helping you picture him lounging about in the hotel bed, hair most likely still damp from his previous shower. For once, the time difference was not absurd, allowing you to stare wistfully at the moon with certainty the other was doing the same, sharing stories of your love and trusting she’ll keep them safe.

“You counted?” You giggle, making yourself more comfortable on the couch, right next to Kkami who is sleeping soundly.

“I’ve been counting the hours until I can see you again the second I stepped outside our apartment.” He confesses, voice suddenly heavy with emotion before he gasps, ruining what could have been a sweet moment. “You’re telling me you haven’t?”

Of course, you have. Time seemed to go by incredibly slowly whenever he wasn’t near, the increasing distance causing his magnetic pull to grow weaker each day, but never diminishing, never losing its hold on you. That was impossible.

“No.” You lie blatantly, leaning back against the couch casually, one hand moving to slowly pet Kkami’s head whose slumber gave him the perfect excuse to ignore you.

“Liar.”

For the first time in your life, the fact that he knew you like the back of his hand was annoying.

“Don’t change the subject! You’re still not in the clear for forgetting about me for two whole days, Hyunjin.” You’re not actually mad, just feeling a little bit neglected. Hyunjin has never gone MIA like that, without even texting you brief updates throughout the day just so you’ll know he was still alive and kicking. Your boyfriend was thoughtful, sweet, and considerate – the radio silence you got for the past two days was very unlike him.

“I didn’t forget.” He counters, and you’re sure he’s shaking his head vehemently, denying all of your accusations. “I could never forget, not in this lifetime or any others.”

“Liar.” You mock him, making a face he can’t see and tease you about like he’d usually do. “You could have texted, at least. Let me know you’d be busy.”

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice is soft, apology genuine as can be when he doesn’t try to justify himself or find excuses. Hyunjin is aware that if the roles were reversed, he’d feel the same way you’re feeling right now, the anxiety and worry eating at him from the inside and leaving behind a restlessness he couldn’t shake off no matter how hard he tried to. And he does, to an extent. Not being able to contact you drove him on the brink of insanity, making him moodier and more difficult to work it, which was so unlike him.

“Can I talk to Kkami?” He adds, trying to make it up to you in his own, creative way you’ve come to love.

“What?” You can’t help but laugh, not sure you heard him right.

“Pass the phone to Kkami for a moment, please?”

Now you’re curious, wondering what that beautiful mind had in store for you this time. You’ve been dog-sitting Kkami since he left, sending him regular updates in hopes of brightening up his day and keeping the homesickness at bay. Your camera roll has been full of pictures and videos of Kkami - walking him, playing together and being cute just for Hyunjin’s delight. A small price to ensure your boyfriend’s everlasting happiness.

“Should I leave you two alone? Give you some privacy?”

He laughs, and you hear the sound of a bag zipping up. “Yes. This is just between us boys, sorry baby.”

Shaking your head with a smile, you do as he asks, lowering the phone close to Kkami’s ear like the pup could actually catch Hyunjin up on what’s been happening around the house since he left. At the sound of his owner’s voice, Kkami’s eyes open as his ears perk up, visibly excited to hear him after so long. With his tail waggling, Kkami listens attentively to whatever Hyunjin is telling him, sleep long forgotten as you start giggling next to him, not believing your eyes.

Kkami was not an affectionate dog, often biting or growling at your lover like he was sick of him. Hyunjin’s presence and fussing were a bore, the dog quickly growing tired of his excited nature, even though your boyfriend was the person he loved most in the world.

That’s exactly why, you’re taken aback when he sprints off the couch, running a lap around the living room before returning to jump at your feet, barking and licking the hand closest to him excitedly.

Dumbfounded, you bring the phone back to your ear laughing. “What did you say to him? He’s suddenly so happy to see me.”

“He’s groveling in my stead. I told him to show you how much I miss you.”

Your heart melts, and suddenly he’s all forgiven as tears well up in your eyes. “Hyun…”

“Actually, I asked him if he wanted a treat.” Your tears get absorbed right back as a laugh bubbles out of the both of you, with Kkami jumping into your lap to beg properly. “I guess he figured I wasn’t there to give him some, so now he expects them from you.”

“You set me up.” You say, voice laced with playfulness as you stand up, scooping Kkami with one hand to fulfill his request. A true glutton, he’d never forgive you if you denied him his beloved snacks.

“Maybe. But my words had the desired effect.” His tone is softer now, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re laughing.”

Yet, the joy didn’t reach its full potential, and never will with hundreds of miles between you. Happiness in its truest form found you in a handful of moments, and for most of them, Hyunjin was right by your side, fueling you with the love and devotion he held for you and you alone. He made you happy like nobody else, helping you see color even on the darkest days. Your beloved loved painting, that’s what he did, you just never thought he could bring forth his talent and make you see beauty in everything, guiding you to see the world through his eyes that always sparkled like he held the entire galaxy in them.

“Baby.”

Hyunjin gasps so loudly, almost like he is on the verge of bursting with happiness, matching Kkami’s energy to a T, ready to jump through the phone to feel your love and affection again.

“Can we facetime? I miss your beautiful face.” You add once Kkami is back on his own paws, devouring the stinky treat in your hand as you crouch to his level.

“Facetime? Love, I’ll literally catch the earliest flight and be there in record time! This little screen isn’t cutting it anymore, I need to see you with my own eyes before I get so desperate I start walking back just to be in your arms!”

And that is your cue to get on a plane first and finally visit your boyfriend before he keeps his word and ends up at your doorsteps with nothing but a duffle bag and a sob story about how much he missed you to justify his careless actions.

[caleignii]

Caleb Fluff Headcanons

a/n: can't get enough of my sweet boy calebyy, so here are some headcanons that I think about him sometimes. My requests are open btww! Have fun reading dolls. (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Caleb who's love speaks softly—never with grand declarations, but in the quiet consistency of care. A warm drink materializes on your counter, perfectly timed to your worst days. The bulb that flickered last night? Fixed before morning. When the frost settles on the windows, your coat and gloves are already waiting by the door, touched by hands that never ask for thanks. He never says, “I did this for you.” But when you catch his eye after noticing, there’s a flicker of a smile there—like he’s trying not to glow too much. Like loving you is something sacred he’s choosing to keep humble.

Caleb after his missions, when the adrenaline fades and silence stretches thin, he drives—somewhere quiet, somewhere star-swept. He doesn’t speak much on the way, only reaches for your hand as though that’s all the grounding he needs. You lie beside him under the cosmos, shoulder to shoulder, listening to the universe breathe. Sometimes he whispers things—not to the stars, but to you. “When the stars get loud, I look at you, and they get quiet again.” You don’t always answer. You just squeeze his hand and let the silence cradle you both. Stars don’t speak, but Caleb does.

Caleb who secretly has an interest in riding a big bike. Okay here me out, with him as a pilot whenever he's flying in a small/open-cockpit plane—sends of freedom, thrill, and wind-in-your-face exhilaration that he may miss when flying sealed aircraft. Just like when riding a bike, the breeze during a fast ride contributes to that immersive, high-energy feeling, similar to low-altitude flying. The rush of wind on a fast-moving bike closely mimics the sensory experience of flying in an open cockpit or glider. Both activities provide an adrenaline rush and it attracted him who enjoy controlled risk and excitement.

Caleb's insomnia visits often, but so does he. He settles beside you, opens a worn book, and starts to read—not to pass the time, but to share space with you. His voice is low, smooth, like waves against the hull of a ship. You rest your head on his chest, feeling every word more than hearing them. When your breathing slows, he doesn’t stop. He keeps reading—quietly, carefully—as if the story might guard your dreams better than silence ever could.

Caleb has a photo of you he keeps hidden, tucked in the lining of his helmet like a secret prayer. Every mission, just before the launch seals him away, he looks at it. Only for a second. No one else sees. No one needs to. Once, you asked him why. He said, “Because there are places out there that want to strip the human out of you. But when I look at this... I remember who I am. And who I’m coming back to.”

Caleb doesn’t talk about his soft side. But you see it in the way a stray dog curls up at his feet, or how a kitten somehow finds its way into his arms, even on a space station. Once, you caught him crouched beside a baby bird, gently feeding it crumbs. He didn’t know you were watching. He just murmured, “You’re cold, aren’t you?” He looked up, startled, and gave the smallest shrug. “Someone had to help.” You didn’t tell him, but in that moment, your heart broke a little wider for him.

Caleb when someone flirts with you, doesn’t get angry, just quiet. A subtle shift. A glance. His fingers graze yours, almost like a question. Are you still with me? You smile at him—really smile—and that’s all it takes. The tension slides off his shoulders like water off armor. He presses a soft kiss to your temple, says nothing, but holds your hand just a bit tighter. The message is clear: I don’t need to fight for you. You’ve already chosen me.

Caleb even when the world freezes around you, hands stay warm. On distant moons, in frostbitten ships, when your bones ache from the cold, he reaches for you. Always. His palms are steady, wrapping yours like a promise. No words—just touch. Gentle, grounding, there. It’s not just about warmth. It’s about reminding you: You are not drifting. You are not alone. I’m here.