#like? what if i go in first day and open up my laptop and they yell at me and then i explode

[multifandomgirl08]

Hey, Little Sister [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Mother!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: "You wanted this Max. You wanted her."

Warning(s): Christian Horner, Giving birth complications (Not from the Reader's POV)

A/N: Gender reveal idea taken from TikTok. The birthing complications mentions in the chapter is taken from a story that I read on Reddit. You'll notice that I told it from Max's POV as to not make it graphic but what the reader goes through in this chapter is very serious and still shouldn't be taken lightly.

Words: 9.9k

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March 27, 2028

It had been a relatively normal Tuesday morning so far, waking up early to feed the kids and then get ready to head into the office today. Y/N had been in the bathroom when a sudden wave of dizziness caused her to grip the sink before covering her mouth with her hand, and ran to empty her stomach into the toilet.

As she kept throwing up her morning coffee she heard footsteps coming from behind her, slowly pulling her hair away from her face, and the feeling of Max’s hand running over her back letting herself slump forward a little more. He stayed with her until she pulled herself away from the toilet, and moved back to the sink to brush her teeth.

“You should stay home.” Max was quick to say.

“I can’t stay home Max, we are having an investor meeting today and I have to be there.” As one of the top earners at the hedge fund that she worked at she couldn’t not show up for today’s meeting. “I’ll drop Nico off at school and go in, after the meeting ends, I’ll come straight home.”

This wasn’t the first time that she had been sick in the last two months, she had gotten a mild cold right before their anniversary and had been on antibiotics until she had finished off the 10 day prescription.

“Okay, but straight home after you pick up Nico?” He said, almost like he wanted to scold her for even thinking about spending time in the office around other people when she normally worked from home and was only around her co-works once a week unless something important happened.

“Yes, Max. I’ll even call my doctor and schedule something. Okay?” She asked.

Max gave her a nod and kissed her forehead. “You throw up again, I want you to come straight home.” He said. She nodded before moving to put on her makeup for the day, got dressed into a burgundy red blouse, black knee length pencil skirt and 3 inch heels and then made sure that Nico was ready to go.

Y/N and Nico got into her car, and as she was driving him to school she noticed that she didn’t feel nearly as nauseous as when she had woken up that morning.

“Bye Mama.” Nico said, sliding out of his seat with his backpack in his hands.

“Love you Neeks, I’ll pick you up at the end of the day.” Nico gave her a small wave and then closed the door. She waited until she saw him walk inside of the school building and then drove off to work.

The drive to the office that she worked at took another 20 minutes from Nico’s private school. She had pulled into the underground parking and found her normal spot where a plaque read; Specter Bouchaund Capital Employee Parking.

She had stopped her Bentley on the far right next to a few McLaren’s and Ferrari’s that some of her co-workers drove. She pulled her purse and laptop bag with her, locking the car and then took the elevator up to the 20th floor.

She had walked out of the elevator and into the large open concept office. There was a long black reception desk separated by a glass wall with the words Specter Bouchaund Capital in frosted lettering.

Y/N waved at the receptionist who was stationed at the front desk and got a small wave back before a younger woman came up to Y/N with a coffee cup and a small stack of white papers.

“Morning Y/N.” Monique; her assistant had said, giving her the cup. “You already have a few calls this morning. I moved them around so they wouldn't interfere with the meeting.”

“Thank you. Would you also be able to make an appointment with my doctor? I’m not feeling the best and I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Your OB or your primary?”

Y/N had never considered that her being sick this morning could mean that she was pregnant. She never had morning sickness with any of the boys.

“Let’s start with the OB, if it’s nothing I can call my primary.”

Monique gave her a nod and they walked to the far left side of the floor to Y/N’s office. 

Y/N’s name on the door read;

Y/N Verstappen Junior Portfolio Manager

Y/N sat down her cup and moved her laptop from her bag onto the glass top desk. It was mostly bare aside from a few picture frames, one was of Max with the boys, Nico and Niki on each side of Max and Nik sitting on Max’s lap. The one next to it was one of her and Max at their wedding with Nico standing in front of them.

There was a knock on her office door. Y/N looked up to Monique standing there, “The shareholder meeting is starting in 10 minutes. If you’re not early-”

Monique didn’t need to finish her sentence. She already knew what she was going to say. “Steven is going to yell that time is money.”

Steven was Y/N’s boss, a Portfolio Manager and her direct superior. He had been in the business for over 20 years and had more money to his name than her and Max combined. It was easy to say that he was good at his job.

Monique gave her a nod. Y/N collected her phone and laptop. She was sure that someone in that meeting was going to ask about market projections for the coming quarter.

The meeting felt like it took forever. Market projections for the next quarter were asked about as well as a new investor who wanted to start working with the company. It lasted a full hour and then she was back in her office looking over something for a client who wanted to put money into a company based in Beijing. She didn’t think it was a smart investment, too much risk for what he wanted and not enough of a reward in the long run.

There was a knock on her office door. She looked up to Monique walking through the door, “So I was able to schedule you for an appointment with your OB today at 1, if that doesn’t work I can call back and see if they have something in the next few weeks.”

Y/N was quick to open the calendar on her phone, she didn’t have a lunch meeting with anyone today.

“Yeah that should work out. Nico gets out at 4 so it’ll give me plenty of time to come back here before I have to pick him up.”

“Okay, I’ll call them back and let them know,” Monique said with a quick nod.

The rest of her morning went by rather slowly, instead of finishing the cup of coffee that had grown cold after her meeting, she had Monique make her a cup of tea and put in some honey hoping to settle her stomach before her appointment.

She had grabbed her bag and was out of the office by 12:20, her usual OBGYN was in Monte Carlo. She had parked her car with the valet, handed over her keys and made her way up to Dr. Casse office. Dr. Casse was the OB that she had while she was in Monaco, she had another OBGYN when she was back in Belgium who got recommended to her by Dr. Casse.

She walked into Dr. Casse’s office and greeted the receptionist, signing in and then took a seat in the waiting room. She saw a few other people scattered around in chairs around the room, before hearing a chipper voice call, “Y/N Verstappen?”

She stood up, and followed the nurse in the pink scrubs back into one of the exam rooms. She left her to change out of her clothes and into the thin sheet that made up the gown. She couldn’t help but curl her toes in against the cold tile flooring of the exam room.

The room was a little cold as she sat back on the exam table. “Y/N?” Dr. Casse said.

“Yes,” she answered.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in my office. How are the boys?”

“Doing well, Nikita’s finally learning that he can out run Max if he tries hard enough.”

“Ah yeah, he must be getting so big.”

“He looks more and more like Max every day.”

“I bet.” The doctor moved to sit back in the chair by the window with Y/N’s file in her hands. “So, not here for a check up, I assume.”

“I’m not really sure. I threw up this morning, and felt a little dizzy beforehand.”

“Have you been taking your birth control? We wouldn’t want what happened with Nikita to happen again.”

She had still been on birth control when she found out that she was pregnant with Nikita. It had also been the first time that she had been in Dr. Casse’s office. Dr. Casse had immediately taken her off the birth control, put her on prenatal supplements, and then had her schedule another appointment for the following week after the ultrasound. Niki looked healthy for 6 weeks along. It was starting to really dawn on her that she could be pregnant again.

“I was, but I was sick at the end of January.”

“Did they have you on medication?” The doctor asked checking her file.

“Yeah, a 10 day prescription.”

“There is a chance that it threw off your birth control. We’ll do an ultrasound and then if nothing comes up we’ll run a blood test after.” The folder was placed down by the sink in the room.

Y/N nodded back at the doctor before the ultrasound machine was rolled over towards her. Cold gel was placed on her abdomen and then Dr. Casse pressed the wand into her skin going to look for the signs of a baby growing in her belly for the third time.

It took a few moments before something showed up on the screen and the sound of a fast watch like tick came from the machine.

“And there it is...” Dr. Casse said. “The fetus looks healthy, and based on this I would say that you're around 8 weeks along. Making you due late November. If we’re lucky the next time that you're in here we can find out the gender.”

All she could do was look at the screen and count back the weeks. Her and Max had conceived a child on their anniversary. There was another child that she and Max had created, together. They hadn’t been trying for another baby, her and Max had talked about waiting the suggested 16 months this time around after Nik was born, but they still wanted the kids to be close in age. She never thought she would get pregnant this fast, again.

Y/N had thanked the doctor, and she had left to get her the sonogram pictures so she could share them with Max. Y/N was given a towel to wipe off the gel and was given a couple minutes to put her work clothes back on. She sat in the chair that Dr. Casse had occupied a few minutes ago, taking in a few deep breaths. This isn’t what I was expecting, she thought. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with the news… It’s just a lot right now. She forced her eyes open a little, took another deep breath before walking out of the exam room. She had been handed the small stack of photos and then made another appointment for 4 weeks later.

From there she walked back to the parking lot and sat in her car for a few moments just taking it in. Her hand somehow had dropped to her abdomen and she wanted to call Max right away and tell him the news. It was hard going back to work after that. Sitting in her office, being on the phone with a few of the traders that worked in the building with her. 4 o’clock couldn’t come fast enough before she was out of her office and into her car to pick up Nico from school.

She had pulled up to the school when she saw Nico leave the building his classroom was in. His backpack moved sloppily with his before he was in the car. “Hi, Mama!” He said slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Neeks. How was school?” Hearing the backseat door close.

Nico went on a rant about his day, talking about what he had learned in his classes and that if he kept doing well the rest of the year, he would be able to take on a second language class next school year. Nico’s teacher, Ms. Sazarrin said that he was ahead of the class and for a child that didn’t grow up speaking any French was taking to it like a fish to water.

“And what did you learn today? Anything that would surprise Uncle Charles?”

“No, not yet. We got to read through a menu in class. Escargot sounds gross.” Nico said with a disgusted look reaching his face.

“Yeah it does. Do you know what Escargot is?” Y/N asked, pulling away from the school.

“Snails. But I didn’t like the sound of Ratatouille when I thought it was made of rats.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. How did you feel when you found out that it’s made of vegetables?”

“Better, rat sounds gross to eat.” She agreed with Nico. Rat didn't sound appetizing. The idea made her start to feel a little queasy, damn the pregnancy hormones.

“I’m working from home tomorrow so if you want to try it, we can.” She said, swallowing down the need to puke.

“Really?” He asked, perking up in his seat.

“Yeah, we can even watch the movie that is named after the dish.”

“But doesn’t Nik need to go to bed early?”

“Not too early, I’ll make dinner a little early so we can stay up to watch it. And then when it’s over Papa and I will put Niki and Nik to bed.” She was happy that the younger kids were sleeping through the night. Sylvie would already have gone home by then so she and Max could spend some time with Nico before he needed to go to bed.

“You promise?” He asked hopefully.

“I promise.” She reached for her phone when they were at a stop light and put in a note in her reminders app to go get vegetables for tomorrow.

They eventually pulled up to the house, Nico moving out of the backseat with his backpack in his hand while she left her laptop bag in the car, instead taking her purse and digging out her keys so they could get into the house. There was sound coming from the living room with the TV on, the sound of what had to be Dutch cartoons playing in the background.

“Hi Papa!” Nico greeted Max dropping his bag under the console where she had placed her keys. Nik let out an audible scream as she walked closer to where the living room was gated off. She walked closer to the sound and saw Niki standing holding onto Max’s pant leg. He could fully walk by himself but still liked hanging onto Max.

Max reached out and kissed his wife on the cheek and then passed Nik over so he could hug Nico.

“How was school?” Max asked while opening the baby gate.

“Good, Ms. Sazarrin had us read a menu in French during class,” Nico started to explain to Max while Y/N went to sit on the couch and read to the younger boys. She had slipped her heels off and curled her toes in pleasure, the leather of her shoes no longer restricting her toes.

In some ways she couldn’t think about wanting anything more than what she already had, she was happy just being a mom to the boys but she also knew how much Max wanted a daughter. Maybe her being pregnant this time would finally give Max that.

Her eyes went up from the book that she was reading to Nik who found more joy in just turning the pages than her actually reading it when her eyes met Max’s.

“How are you feeling?” He had asked. Nico had run off to the cabinet where his coloring books were.

“Better than this morning, I have some news. Don’t want to tell the kids yet.”

Max looked at her a little concerned.

“It’s nothing bad Max, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” He asked before Nik shoved one of his plastic toys into Max’s face. Max was quick to move his face so he wouldn’t get hit.

“Nik,” She said. “Don’t hurt Papa.”

Nik looked up at her and then over to Max before scooting on the blue area rug away from them and then stuck his hand in the open box of toys.

“I’m fine Max, I’m not dying.” Just pregnant, she thought.

“Which doctor did you go see? The primary or-”There was a small crash, and pieces of Lego scattered on the floor. Nik started picking up the large Lego’s that had fallen all over the floor, getting the fallen Lego’s out from under the couch was going to be annoying.

“My OBGYN, she says everything is fine. She’s putting me on some vitamin supplements, and I can pick them up within the week.”

“Vitamin supplements,” Max said with a small pause. “But the only time you are on those is when-” He cut himself off.

Max took a look at her, a long good look. And then she saw his eyes go a little wide. “But you haven’t had, not with…”

Max sounded just as shocked as she felt right now. She didn’t need to say the word pregnant for him to know that she was. He seemed to know her body well enough to not have to say anything else.

“You can say it Max, morning sickness.”

“What’s morning sickness?” Nico asked as he looked up from his coloring book.

“Mommy wasn’t feeling good this morning.” She answered. "So my tummy was upset."

“Are you sick Mama?”

“No Nico, I’m not sick.”

Neither her or Max say anything else about it until the kids have all gone to bed. Niki and Nik are in their shared room fast asleep and Nico is in his room with Sassy asleep on the other pillow at the edge of his bed with Jimmy lounging in the cat tree in the corner of Nico's room.

Max went into his "office" after they had put Nico to bed. She walks to the next room over from Nico's room to see Max sitting in his sim rig but the computer screen is turned off and his legs are up in his seat. She'll never understand how he can find laying in there comfortable.

She pulls up the rolling desk chair up to him as he's just scrolling on his phone. She slightly peaks over his shoulder to see him looking at a picture of what looks like her sonogram picture from earlier in the day.

"Dr. Casse sent this to my email. Congratulations Max! It said." He leans his head further back to look at her.

She so badly wants to tell him that she thinks that they're having a girl this time. This pregnancy feels different even if she is only eight weeks along.

"Do you think it's a girl?" He slowly asks as if he's afraid she'll say no.

"Yeah Max, I think it is."

He reaches for her and presses a kiss to her forehead. She knows how much Max wants a daughter, and although her body has no say in that, it's a little reassuring to know that her body is giving her signs early on that this may very well be happening.

"Just don't get upset if it isn't." She tells him. She doesn't want to get his hopes up if it turns out to be another boy.

He doesn't say anything to that because they both know it'll be a lie. He moves out of the chair and takes her hand so they can walk out of the room together.

Max helps her out of her pencil skirt by undoing the zipper, the black fabric falls from her body. She moved to pull off the red blouse, and then remembers that she left her shoes by the couch when she came home. Oh well, she can put them back in her closet in the morning. She collects her clothes and puts them in the hamper in her closet and instead of reaching for a pair of sweats she goes to Max's closet and pulls out one of his t-shirts to sleep in.

When she steps out of the closet Max is sitting on the edge of the bed turning his wedding band around his finger. She steps closer to him and then moves her fingers into his hair. He drops his hands and then presses his head into her abdomen.

"I know we used to joke that we couldn't control what gender the baby was but I really want this. I want a little girl that looks like you running around the house, I want to paint a bedroom pink with my own two hands. I want…" He trails off dropping his arms around her thighs, pulling her in closer.

For all the children that they have, to Max; their family wasn't complete without them having a daughter.

"If we're lucky we'll be able to find out if it's a girl by my next appointment." She muttered.

“Which is in?” He pulled away slightly.

���Four weeks, but it could be a little longer.” Max gave her a nod and then pulled her into bed with him.

"I don't care if I have to miss races or something else, I'm going to be there when we find out what we're having." Max promised as he buried his face into her neck. She's going to hold him to it.

June 26, 2028

Today her and Max were going to her 20 week appointment.

The boys would be with Sylvie while her and Max were at the doctor and Max had made reservations for them to go to lunch afterwards, just the two of them. The last time her and Max went to her last appointment the baby wasn’t in the right position to see the gender, Max had been disappointed that he would have to wait a little longer to find out what they were having.

So Max was going to go with her again today to see if they could finally see the gender.

“I can drive.” She offered taking the keys as they walked to Max’s black Audi.

He just pulled them from her fingers and then opened the passenger side door waiting for her to get in. She gave him a smile and then stepped inside of the car.

The drive over to Dr. Casse’s office was quiet, there was the local pop station playing on the radio before pulling up to the building where the doctor’s office was.

Her and Max sat in the car for a few minutes, “We can wait to find out next time.” She said.

Max just shook his head no. “I have something planned for us after. When the doctor asks, we’ll just have them put the results in an envelope. I want to wait until we get home to find out.”

She nodded at Max. He was obviously more nervous about this than she was.

They had gone up to Dr. Casse’s office and waited to be called into the exam room. The nurse called them back into one of the exam rooms and then took Y/N’s blood pressure, and a few other basic tests to make sure that she was healthy.

“She’ll be right in.” The nurse said. “She’s just finishing up with another patient.”

She gave the nurse a nod, and then felt Max reach for her hand after the nurse stepped out of the room. For someone who could handle high pressure situations while he was at work, Y/N could tell how nervous Max was right now.

She gave his hand a firm squeeze back before the petite blonde doctor entered the room looking at both of them.

The doctor ran over a few things, said that her vitals look good and was in the clear for a lot of the risks that could occur in the early stages of being pregnant.

“You're still only in your second trimester but your tests appear normal so as of right now, I have no concerns, just keep to your vitamins, and keep off the caffeine."

Y/N nodded at the doctor and Max’s grip on her hand loosened a little bit.

“Now, ready to see if we can find out the gender today?”

Both her and Max nodded.

Dr. Casse wheeled over the ultrasound machine. “Now have you guys decided how you want to find out? Piece of paper, me just telling you?”

“The paper, we want to be home when we find out.”

The doctor nodded and placed some of the cool gel on the wand. Y/N did her best to not flinch from the cold feeling.

“Everything is looking good in there. I would say that the baby is about the size of a banana right now, and I can see the gender so I’ll write it down for you and put it in an envelope so you can find out when you get home.”

Max’s shoulders seemed to drop a little at the doctor's words.

“Do you want a few updated sonogram pictures?” Both her and Max nodded.

From there the doctor gave Y/N a towel to wipe off the gel and let her get re-dressed.

“Are you still up for food?” Max asked.

“Yeah,” Y/N’s nerves about the baby’s gender hadn’t gone down but Max seemed a little more calm so she knew that she could eat something.

“I made reservations at Miramar Plage, it’s a bit of a drive.”

“It’s perfect Max,” Miramar Plage was where she and Max went on a date the first time that she flew out to Monaco to see him. It was right on the beach and they had a great menu from what she could remember.

“I was thinking about maybe walking into a store or two, pick out something for the baby.” He said as she moved to put her dress and shoes back on. She tried to slide her feet in but couldn’t do up the straps so Max went down on his knees and did them up for her.

“Yeah we can, I can message Renaldo and maybe we can get something from baby Dior. I still need to send Daniel’s wife a gift since we couldn’t go to her baby shower.” Renaldo was the sales associate that worked at the Dior store in Cannes. They normally had a better selection of pieces during the summer months than at the store in Monaco.

“You’ll pick something nice that I’m sure they will love.” Daniel and his wife just had a son a few months ago and they couldn’t come to the baby shower because Niki had gotten a nasty cold that they didn’t want to spread to anyone else.

The doctor handed over the white envelope and let them know that the pictures were also inside.

From there she and Max made the 1 hour drive to Miramar Plage in Cannes. Y/N had messaged Renaldo through WhatsApp and let him know that she would be coming into the store today to look at some baby clothes.

He texted her back with a thumbs up emoji and a see you when you get here.

So she and Max went to lunch, Max had steak and she had eggplant pasta.

“This is the last one?” Max asked her after finishing the last bite of his steak.

She immediately looked down at her growing bump. “Yeah, I think this is that last one.”

Four kids in 8 years was enough.

“Now, why do you want to drag me shopping? You hate shopping.”

Max slightly shook his head. “I hate shopping for me, I like shopping for you.”

She just took a sip of her water. Max always did a good job when it came to shopping for her. All she had to do was look down at her engagement ring for the proof.

“Is that why we’re going to Dior? So you can pick something out for me?” She asked.

Max gave her a shrug and then caught the waiter's attention to ask for the check.

They were back in the car in the next half-an hour. Max had re-parked the car so they could end up walking into the stores along the Bd de la Croisette. They eventually made it into Dior after Max started to complain that his feet were hurting after she had him walk into a few other stores.

She let Max find a seat, and they were immediately offered water and some snakes before Y/N saw Renaldo come out of the back room. She gave the Spaniard sales associate a wave.

“I’ll be back.” she said to Max, noticing that he took the white envelope with the gender results out of her purse and stuffed them into the back pocket of his jeans.

She walked over to the section of the store where they had all of the baby Dior clothes for boys. She saw a pair of toddler size sneakers and a little zip up hoodie that she thought would be perfect for Daniel’s son David.

She wandered around the store for a few more minutes looking at the new limited edition Lady Dior bags that they had before going back to Max with the items that she had picked out for David.

Renaldo had just walked away from where Max had been sitting to see him now at the counter looking at the women’s accessories.

“Find anything?” She said walking up to him.

Max turned to look at her. “Yes, but it’s a surprise when we get home.”

What could Max’s surprise be? They still hadn’t opened the gender results for the baby.

Renaldo came back out of the back room with a white box that had a Dior ribbon around it. What did Max just spend money on? She thought.

“Pink if it’s a girl and blue if it’s a boy.” The sales associate said to them both. He was buying her a bag to find out the gender of the baby.

Max paid for her mystery bag and the clothes for David before they were back in the car on the way home. The 1 hour drive back to the house seemed to go by rather fast. They were pulling up to the driveway and the warm Monaco air seemed to finally hit her when they were walking inside of the house. Max had the bags in his hands.

The house was quiet, the only sound being the low hum of the air conditioner.

They looked into the living room to see toys spread over the large couch and the doors open to the backyard. Nico was running around kicking his soccer ball while it looked like Niki was trying and failing to chase after his older brother. Sylvie was sitting on her phone while it looked like Nik was taking a nap on the couch next to her.

Y/N walked out into the backyard and sat on the couch next to Nik. Sylvie looked up from her phone and then to her.

“How was your appointment?” She asked.

“It was good.” Y/N replied.

Max had come out a few moments later, changed out of his jeans into athletic shorts and walked towards Nico and Niki to play with them for a bit.

“Did you find out if it is a boy or a girl?”

“Not yet. Max took me to Dior to pick out a few things, and set it up so the color of the bag he got me matches the gender of the baby.”

“Aww that is very sweet.”

They had all stayed outside for a while longer before Nico started to complain that he was hungry. Max had carried Nik inside while Sylvie had taken the toys back inside and Y/N started making an early dinner.

“Are you staying for dinner Sylvie?” Y/N asked.

“No, I have plans with Pierre. He’s taking me out but let me know when you open up the box.”

“Of course.”

“Just don’t tell Pierre, there is a bet about the gender on the grid group chat.” Max replied before Sylvie reached for her bag and said goodbye to the kids.

“Does that mean that if I get a sister, her room is going to be where Papa’s office is?” Nico asked, watching as Y/N made dinner.

“Well, Nico. Probably not.” Y/N said before Max took over speaking.

“Your Mama and I were thinking that we would move all your furniture into the room that Oma stays in when she visits and the new baby could have your room.”

“But Oma’s room is so much bigger than mine and it’s not even on the same floor.”

“You are the oldest Nico, and the new baby will have to sleep on the same floor as Papa and I, we can’t just leave the baby anywhere.” Y/N was hoping that her and Max didn’t need to tell him that he was getting bigger and it may be a good idea for him to have a little more independence around the house. He was good about making his own bed, cleaning up after the cats, and playing with his brothers without being rough with them. He had earned it.

“Can I get a new bed, or a hot wheels track on my walls like Greyson Archibald?” Nico started to ask while bring up one of the kids in his class.

“We’ll see. Papa and I still have to pay off the yacht, and we’re also building the guest house so Auntie Vic and Uncle Tom can stay when they visit.” Her and Max had a lot of money put into projects around the house.

“Okay,” Nico slowly said, “But can I at least choose the paint in my room. I don’t like the light blue anymore.”

“Sure!” Max answered before looking over at Y/N. What had they just done?

Everything was winding down for them. Nico was planning to watch a movie with Niki, they got into a fight about which one to watch.

“Woody!” Niki yelled, shoving the plush toy into his older brother's face.

“Nuhu, Star Wars. I want to see Luke take on Darth Vader!”

“Nico, can you let him watch Toy Story? He needs to go to bed before you.” Y/N asked.

“But Papa and I are watching them together.���

“I know, but he’ll fall asleep faster if you let him watch.” She looked at Niki and he was already rubbing his eyes. “After that you and Papa can watch Star Wars.”

Nico eventually relented. The kids were watching the movie and her and Max went into the kitchen to open the box that they had gotten at Dior.

“I think you should open it.” She said moving the box closer to Max.

“No, mijn leeuwin. It’s for you. You should open it.” He said moving the box closer to her.

Y/N moved to pull the ribbon from the box and saw a note on a white card,

Congratulations on your exciting news y/n!

- Love, The Dior Cannes Team

She let the ribbon fall away from the box and then opened it, the crisp white tissue paper against her fingers. She undid the sticker that held the tissue paper together and then started to move it away from the white dust bag in the box.

She moved her hand into the white bag and started to pull the handbag out when she saw the edge of a twilly peaking out in pastel purple and… pink. She lifted the bag out further to see a pink Lady Dior bag with its gold hardware giving off a nice shimmer in the low lighting of the kitchen.

“Max,” Is all she can say before he’s pulling her in closer to him. His lips are on hers within a few seconds and it feels like he’s trying to devour her. His hands on her hips and brushing over her hair.

“Thank you,” She hears him say when he starts to pull away from her. His hands go to her abdomen running over the growing bump. She moves her arms around his neck and presses a few quick kisses to his lips.

She shakes her head at his words. She didn’t do anything, this was all him. “You wanted this Max. You wanted her.”

She looks at him to see a few tears spilling from his eyes. He moves his head onto her shoulder.

“I did, I wanted our little girl.” He muttered into her hair.

Y/N let her own tears start to fall, she had been so concerned that if they didn’t have a girl Max would react horribly. But know that she knows they’re having a girl. She’s letting herself finally be happy with the result.

She pulls away from him just a bit and starts to laugh. “Be ready to have a lot more pink in your life.”

He lets out a quick breath, “Well, I did ask for this.” with a small shrug of his shoulders. She nods back at him and then he kisses her cheek with his hands settling on her hips.

She knows that they have more to talk about. Like a name, and who the baby’s god parents are going to be, maybe it’s time to fulfill Lando’s wish of being a god parent. But for now she’ll enjoy the moment.

Her and Max leave the unpacked box and bag on the counter and join their other children in the living room.

“Star Wars!” Nico yells as her and Max move to sit on the couch.

She knows that their family will be complete by the end of the year, she can feel it.

November 19 - 20, 2028

“Grandma GG!” Nico said, running up to Geri as her and Christian walked through the door of the house.

“Nico,” She greeted the boy, opening her arms for him. She hugged him and her eyes darted around the room for the other two boys that were in the house.

Geri had let Nico go and then he ran to Christian for a hug. “I missed you Grandpa.”

Christian gave Nico a hug back. “Missed you too,” Christian said even though he had seen Nico a couple weeks ago.

“Where are the other kids?” The redhead had asked you.

You had led Geri into the living room to see Niki playing with a set of building blocks, and Nik was taking a nap in his swing.

“Oh Y/N, they’re precious. Can’t believe that you're pregnant with one more.” She said taking a seat on the couch that was pressed against the windows.

“The last one,” After finding out that you and Max were having a girl, you had both agreed that four kids was enough.

“You excited to have a girl?” “A bit, Max seems more excited than me.”

“When are you due again?”

“Next week on Wednesday. The last race is on Sunday, three days after.”

“You guys always cut it close when the season ends or breaks happen.” Y/N was always grateful that her pregnancies seemed to find an off way of aligning with Max’s schedule somehow.

“I feel bad taking him away from you, Y/N.” Christian said, taking a seat on the couch. “Can always tell Max to stay home and we can call up one of the other drivers from the junior team? I’m sure Yuki wouldn’t mind having a go in Max’s car for the weekend.”

“Leave my wife out of this Christian, she’s too close to her due date.” Max said, handing Christain a beer.

“I’m just saying, in case something happens. We’ve already won another Constructors, I am more than happy for Oscar to take the Drivers Championship this year.”

It was odd to hear Christian be so content with Max not possibly winning this year's drivers championship.

“And let Red Bull’s arch nemesis Zac Brown win? Surprising,” Y/N said with a laugh.

“Well, we’ll see what happens.” It was only after 2024 that the McLaren and Red Bull rivalry on track started to heat up. Max was still friends with Oscar and Lando when there weren’t races going on.

“Grandpa, can you play cars with me?” Nico asked, holding out a little red Aston Martin.

“Sure, but just until your Mum has dinner ready.” Christian replied before following Nico into his “new” bedroom.

“Oh Y/N, can I see the baby's room now that it’s complete? I know you’ve sent me some pictures.”

“Yes, mijn leeuwin, you should show her,” Max suggested. Y/N knew how proud Max was of painting the walls and putting all of the furniture together by himself before the baby got here. “I can watch Nik and then take the food out when it deeps.”

Geri helped Y/N down the stairs before walking into the baby’s room.

Y/N moved to sit in the rocking chair that had been moved out of Niki and Nik’s room into here after Max had finished painting the walls a light pastel pink that went with the white furniture.

“I miss this stuff from when Bluebell was little,” Geri said, holding up a small pair of baby Christian Louboutin’s that had been gifted to them from one of Y/N’s colleges.

“You should have seen some of the things Max and I returned a few months ago.”

“Anything crazy?” Geri asked, straightening the blanket that was hung over the side of the crib.

“One of the traders that works on the same floor as me got us a fine china set from Hermés for her. That was an immediate return,” She knew all too well that it would be cute to have but would never get used and if it was would need to be hand washed.

“What? What do they think you're going to use that for?” Geri asked.

“No idea,” Y/N said with a laugh and then laid her hand over her bump to feel a kick from the baby.

“Max did a really good job in here. I can tell how excited he is.” Y/N took another look around the room to all of the baby clothes hung in the closet, the plush pink horse in the crib. Max took so much pride in the time that he got to spend here getting it ready for their daughter.

“Yeah, he’s really excited. I think he’s really thinking about not going to the race in case I go into labor early.”

Geri gave her a small hug. “These things happen when they need to. Don’t stress about it without a reason.”

Her and Geri walked back upstairs to Max pulling the lasagna out of the oven and setting it on the dining room table.

“Boys, food is ready!” Max yelled into the living room.

Nico and Niki came walking in. Christian was holding Nik who was sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

“Mama,” Niki said, reaching for her. “Want to sit with Papa.”

She helped Niki over to the table and settled him so he could sit in one of the chairs by himself. Everyone was starting to sit down while Max moved to get Nik’s food out of the fridge, it was pureed squash.

Nico and Niki were eating through the lasagna, Max would blow on a piece of the lasagna for Niki however more of it just ended up on his shirt then in his mouth. 

Geri had offered to go and change Niki out of his ruined clothes while Max cleared the table. Christian was showing Nico a video on his phone about the new kid who would be taking the F2 seat for Red Bull this year.

“Do you want coffee or something?” Y/N asked as if she was getting ready to move from her seat.

“I can put the kettle on, don’t worry Y/N” Geri said walking back into the kitchen with Niki already in his pajamas.

Y/N watched as Geri insisted on filling the kettle with water and set it to boil.

Max and Christian had disappeared downstairs and Geri had gone to the restroom. The kettle finally sang when it was boiling hot, Y/N had slowly moved from her chair and turned the stove off. She left the kettle where it was and reached for the brawer where all of the coffee and tea was.

She had just started to reach into the cabinet above to grab cups as the all too familiar pain filled her abdomen. Braxton Hicks, she knew the drill. She took a few deep breaths and it seemed to fade away.

She was able to get another two mugs down before Geri rejoined her in the kitchen.

“Sweetheart, you doing okay?” She asked as she moved closer to Y/N.

“Braxton Hicks, I’ll be fine.” Y/N replied, trying to shake the feeling off.

Eventually Geri filled her mug with some herbal tea and lemon from the trees in the backyard.

“I know, I just think that the times are off. When I go into the corner, I’m supposed to be able to go flat out and it’s not giving that.” Y/N heard Max telling Christian.

Her and Geri looked at each other and shared a smile.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve told GP.” Christian started to say. “See, so we’ll wait until we're at the track on Friday, I’m sure the team at the factory also saw the numbers and are working on a solution.”

“It just could be better is all I’m saying.”

“I know Max.” Christian said as they re-entered the kitchen.

Y/N had sat down and Niki had moved to rest his head against her thigh. Her and Geri both made it through a cup of tea before sitting up straight wasn’t comfortable anymore. Max was first to offer to help her go to the living room.

“Max, I'm fine.” she said, holding her back and took a few steps forward.

A few minutes later Geri had followed Y/N to the living room to see her standing in a puddle of amniotic fluid. Looks like her water just broke.

“I’ll get Max.” Geri had said after setting the cups down on the closest table.

About half an hour later Christian and Geri were still at the house saying that they would stay the night and put the boys to bed.

“We’ll come by the hospital in the morning,” Christian said as Max went to put Y/N’s bag in the car.

“We appreciate this.” Max said.

“It’s what family does Max. Now go be with your wife, because the moment your daughter is born, it’s going to change your whole world.” Christian patted Max on the back as Geri had helped Y/N into the car.

It was two hours later that they were already at the hospital still waiting to hear from a part of the medical staff and Y/N was squeezing his hand every minute or two.

“You doing okay?” Max asked

She shook her head no.

“Want me to get a nurse? I know they checked you over and they said you’re only a few centimeters dilated-" Max didn’t get to finish his sentence before Y/N let out a loud wimper. Max immediately moved out of his seat towards where the nurses desk was.

“I’ll be right back.” He said and kissed her sweaty forehead.

Max moved up to a nurse, “Hi, my wife is in labor and I was wondering if I could get an update on her epidural?”

The nurse gave him a questioning look before she looked to where Y/N was sitting. “Oh, umm let me go check if the anesthesiologist is ready to give it to her and if they are we’ll get her into a room for delivery prep.”

Max gave her a nod back and then walked back to Y/N.

“So?” She asked, looking up at him.

“They’re waiting for the anesthesiologist.” She nodded at him and then dropped her head to his shoulder.

It took another half an hour before they were ushered into a room and did another check.

“5 centimeters, halfway there. Looks like you’re ready for the epidural.” The anesthesiologist said and moved to reach for a needle. Max kept holding Y/N’s hand and saw her try to stop herself from moving forward from the needle going into her skin.

“Better?” He asked her. She still shook her head no.

“Give it about 10 to 15 minutes, it should start to dissipate." One of the nurses said.

Max kept an eye on his watch and 30 minutes had passed, Y/N had turned onto her side. A nurse had come in a few minutes ago and checked her and found out that she was fully dilated and ready to start pushing.

“Max,” he heard her whimper. She looked at him and reached for his hand. “Get a nurse.”

Max gave her a nod. He let go of her hand despite the fact that he felt like he shouldn’t.

“Can I get some help? My wife seems to be in pain.”

A nurse looked into the room, “Has she been given an epidural?”

“Yes, but she-” He had been cut off.

“Give it a bit more. She could just be experiencing some back pain.”

“It’s been 30 minutes since she got it, and she’s already in labor.”

Two nurses shared a look before one of them reached for a phone and started to talk to someone.

“Ahh!” Max heard coming from Y/N’s room before another nurse walked in to see her holding her stomach. The first thing a nurse did was look at a monitor to see the read out on a machine.

“SHIT!” The nurse said before pressing a button.

It was like a haze had set over Y/N’s room before he heard something that made his stomach drop and feel unbearably heavy.

“The baby’s heart rate is dropping!” He heard being yelled in the room.

WHAT? He thought. Her heart rate was dropping? They needed to do something, NOW!

“Get the father out of here, she needs to deliver now and get the baby out so the heart rate doesn’t drop anymore. Her contractions are putting her body under more stress.”

Max could only stand there before a nurse made him leave the room.

“Mr. Verstappen,” He heard muffled in his ears. “We’re going to do… everything that we can to make sure that they’re both healthy.” The nurse kept talking to him as he heard Y/N still yelling as he was led into the waiting room of the maternity ward.

Max tried his best to nod at the nurse before being left in the waiting room. 

It had been a long 5 hours after Max had been rushed out of Y/N’s delivery room after complaining to one of the nurses that something was wrong with his wife. Something had gone wrong while she had been trying to deliver the baby. The nurse had pulled Max out of the room trying to calm him down while he could hear Y/N in pain.

He had been standing in the hallway of the maternity ward in the light blue scrubs they had given to him, pacing, and occasionally checking his phone.

After 2 hours, he had called his mom asking her not to bring the boys to the hospital yet. He wanted to wait for the doctors to come out and tell him what was going on with his wife. Sophie, however, insisted that she be with him, and let Christian and Geri watch over the boys while she was with her son.

She showed up a few minutes ago and watched as Max wandered the hallway waiting to hear any news.

“Mr. Verstappen.” He heard in his native Dutch.

Max perked his head up to see Y/N’s doctor standing before him in what looked like relatively clean scrubs.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to let you know that your wife is fine.” The words made Max’s chest deflate letting out a big breath. “While the birth was going on, we found out that the epidural hadn’t worked on her, putting her under stress and making the baby’s heart rate drop. So, your wife had to deliver naturally.”

“They okay?” His mom asked.

Max couldn’t think. There had been a chance that he could have lost you and the baby. He couldn’t imagine it. Not just him losing you but the boys as well.

“Both mother and baby are doing well. We had a small scare, but they’re both healthy. I can take you back to see them.”

Max nodded before following the doctor down the hall. They ended up at a wooden door with a window that peaked into the room. Max could barely make out what you looked like.

“Max.” His mother said. He looked back at her before she gave him a hug to try to calm him down before he walked into the room. His mother spoke into his ear, “Try to remember that she’s okay, they both are.”

Max pulled the handle of the door slowly walking into the room. Y/N was slightly sitting up in bed with a bundle of blankets on her chest. He made slow tentative steps towards the bed, pulling the empty chair to your side so he could sit next to you.

He dropped his head next to your lap and could feel one of your hands start to run through his hair. Max took a few small, fast breaths taking in the sterile smell of detergent and soap on the sheets. He lifted his head up to see her holding a bundle of blankets with a small pink cap peeking out from the bundle.

“You’re so strong.” He stuttered out as he sat by your side. He reached out and laid his hand over yours that covered part of the baby‘s back.

“I wasn’t the first two times?” You joked. He did his best to chuckle along, pushing the fear of losing you away. He felt terrified hearing your screams in the hallway from the pain.

Max couldn’t help but marvel at the bundle of blankets against your chest. Every time that another child of his came into the world it felt surreal.

“Always, mijn leewin. You are always strong.” Moving to rest his head against your shoulder. He would have tried to climb into the hospital bed with you but didn’t want to move the baby in your arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” You asked him. He could see that you were making a move to pass her over.

Max was careful about taking the baby from you. He placed her into the crook of his arm, holding her head up with his hand. He had a daughter.

Max looked up at Sophie to see a tear run down her cheek.

“Finally a girl in the family?” She asked in English. You nodded at her before the sound of a knock came from outside of the door.

It was the doctor here to check on you. She went over the epidural scare that had happened, and said that you were lucky to still have the local anesthesia in your system.

“Your husband did a great job after you told him that you could feel that the epidural wasn’t working. Went straight to a nurse, we caught that your daughter’s heart rate was dropping and everything ran smoothly after. We were able to deliver her with no complications.” Max saw you reach over for his hand. He moved the baby down a bit, and then clasped your hands together. He could feel your wedding band on your finger, and ran one of his fingers over it. He had never been more grateful for the light almost biting feeling of the diamonds pressing into his skin more than he was now.

Max could feel his mother’s eyes on him but said nothing to her. He thanked the doctor for coming in to check on you.

“I’m just happy that you’re both okay.” He said holding the baby closer to his chest. “I was so worried when they told me that her heart rate had dropped.”

Max looked down at their daughter.

“She was worth it Max, all the pain made it worth it.”

Max leaned up and kissed Y/N on the lips muttering a silent Thank You.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys.” The doctor said taking the folder with her. “You have a fighter on your hands.” She motioned to the bundle in Max’s arms.

Max gave the doctor half a smile back. He saw Y/N leaning back into her pillow more with a small smile spreading over her lips.

“Mum?” Max asked. “Want to hold your granddaughter?"

Sophie shifted forward, standing a little straighter and then walked closer to Max.

“I would love to.” She said.

Max moved out of the chair, and then Sophie sat down in it before placing the baby in her waiting arms.

“Halo, schetje.” The little girl had seemed to find a way of moving her hand out of the bundle and Sophie’s hand brushed hers.

Max had been standing on the other side of the bed watching his mother and his daughter before placing his hand on Y/N’s shoulder. He was lucky to be surrounded by such strong women in his life.

“Max,” Y/N said.

“Hmm?” He hummed in question.

“I think you should pick her name.” Max’s eyebrows went up at her words. She wanted him to pick her name.

Max gave himself a few minutes trying to run through all of the possible names and combinations that they discussed, and there was one configuration that he kind of liked.

“Nicole?” He said with a slight question in his voice. “Nicole Victoria Sonja.” He got out a little clearer.

When they had talked about names originally Max had brought up the idea of having her be named after either his sister or his mum. It took looking at Nicole to know that he wanted to name her after both of them but knew that his mother would never accept it. She would say it was too much, so he would give his daughter the closest thing to it.

“I think it’s perfect.” He heard his wife say.

Max gave her a smile and moved to sit on the edge of her bed so he could watch his mother and daughter while holding his wife’s hand. Soon Nicole would be able to meet the rest of her family in her brothers, other grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins. For now, he was happy to just be sitting in the hospital room after the earlier stressful hours of this morning.

Mini Verstappen taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay, @minkyungseokie, @mynameisangeloflife, @ursforever129, @aundercover, @bborra, @mindless-rock, @cixrosie, @barcelonaloverf1life, @taylorslovesswifties13, @konsti081, @mellowarcadefun, @smnthnclj, @brekkers-whore, @lpab, @thedecalcomania-blog, @xoscar03, @em-gvf01, @haikyuen, @shelbyteller , @geniusalpaca, @princessria127, @mysticalnightenthusiast, @green-thots, @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp, @ellelabelle, @lilypat, @dreamercrowd

[dix0nspretty]

Mean Ol' Johnny

Summary: Simon's making you keep him nice and warm as punishment for Johnny's devious tricks.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, 1.1k words.

Era: MW2

TW: Cockwarming, the reader being teased to tears (dacryphilia), Soap is a dirty fucking dog and Ghost is his handler- are we surprised?

Day 15 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.

Day 15: Cockwarming with Ghost and Soap (kink)

It isn’t fucking fair.

You’re sitting in Simon’s lap the same way you have been for the past hour- stark naked, sweaty, and trembling as he keeps you stuffed to the brim. Simon’s large legs keep you spread open with one hand settled in the dip of your waist, ready to squeeze should you shift or get too loud for him and Johnny’s liking.

Johnny, for his part, is plastered to the right side of Ghost. Both men are fully dressed and cuddling, relaxed attentions focused on the movie on the laptop screen at the foot of the bed and not you. It’s bloody infuriating, especially since this is Johnny’s fault in the first place.

The younger of your two lovers woke up in a mischievous mood- which of course was taken out on you. Teasing pinches on your ass, pokes in your ribs and dirty words whispered whenever Simon wasn’t looking to get you hot and riled. Flirting and trying to get you to snap, whether it was intentional or not. It’s always intentional.

The bastard finally got you to yell at him by tugging the edge of your ponytail, the kind of wind and yank saved for the bedroom… in front of a group of rookies and Simon. Of course, Johnny’s hand was absent from your hair by the time your boyfriend locked eyes on the two of you.

Simon was (rightfully) pissed that his two lovers were acting like children in front of recruits, but he only saw you rise to Soap’s bait. So naturally, you got the punishment.

“Sit still,” Simon squeezes your waist in his nth warning when you try to grind and get some kind of friction. “Can’t see if you’re squirming like a slag. I told you to stay.”

It’s so unfair. Your entire body is trembling with the force of staying still, breaths shaky and shallow as your cunt continues to gush around him. He’s been nestled right up against your G-spot for over an hour now while Johnny watches gleefully and it’s not fair.

“Aye, sit still,” Johnny has to tack on, earning a slap upside his head for the unnecessary comment. “Dinnae have tae take her impatience out on me, Si, steamin’ Jesus.”

Simon keeps his eyes on the TV but his gaze on Johnny is a palpable thing, nearly making the young Scotsman squirm. “Watch your mouth unless you want to take her place.”

When he adjusts his hips several minutes later, giving just the tiniest bit of friction against your G-spot, you break. Sweaty shoulders that have been tight with tension drop as sobs start to rip from your trembling body. Shaking with each heaving breath as tears pour from your cheeks and babbled, nonsensical pleas slip from your lips.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Simon mutters as if this is what he’s wanted all along, large hands holding you still even as your thighs quiver violently and you gasp for breath through your breakdown. “Look at those gorgeous tears. Learned your lesson yet, lovie?”

His voice is softer than it’s been the entire time, drawing a wet whimper while you nod along. You can feel rather than see Johnny awaiting instructions, waiting to see if Simon is going to handle this on his own or if he’ll be playing a part.

“Ple-e-ease,” You sob, broken down by the pure, unadulterated need running through your bloodstream. There’s undoubtedly a pool of arousal built up in Simon’s lap and it’s a miracle he’s been so calm throughout. No, that’s just Simon. Calm and cool and endlessly patient when any other man would have long ago fucked you into oblivion. Lord knows Johnny doesn’t have the patience for this kind of punishment. “Johnny.”

The man perks up like an eager puppy, blue eyes locking on Simon’s amber. “Aye, LT?”

Both you and Johnny are rewarded with the next gruff words. “Clean her up.”

Johnny shifts his positioning on the bed, abandoning Simon’s side to crawl between the man’s thighs and face you with a happy grin. The movie is forgotten when warm hands capture your cheeks to hold you still, cooing almost mockingly at you. “What a sweet bonnie.”

His tongue laps at your hot cheeks, licking away your tears like the dirty dog of a man he is. When it draws a whine and more salty streaks, he only seems to get more into it until Simon lets go of your waist with one hand to pull Johnny back by the mohawk. “Enough.”

“Aw c’mon Si, I wasnae bothering her,” Johnny whines similarly to your previous noise but settles back down, which you think is yet another unfair moment. He got you this biased punishment and gets to watch while you suffer for his teasing? Bastard. It’s enough to draw more tears to your eyes, something that Simon notices instantly with a gentle rearranging of your limbs and a quiet sob of overstimulation and need as he twists you to face him. One hand holds your chin as a gentle, calloused thumb brushes away the new tears. “Is mean ol’ Johnny upsetting you, lovie?”

The words are gentle, maybe just a touch demeaning but it’s difficult to catch in your hazy state so you just nod and hiccup. “Y-yeah. ‘S not fair.”

Simon hums placatingly before squeezing your jaw, a warning in the firm grip. “You think I’m treating you unfairly, birdie? That you don’t deserve to be punished?’

You recognize the mistake immediately and try to backtrack. “N-No, I just meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Simon cuts you off as Johnny nips the back of your shoulder, something you would’ve swatted at him for if you weren’t so busy trying to avoid further punishment. “You think you get to choose who takes what punishment in this relationship, do you, sweetheart?”

Any further babbling is silenced when those dark brown eyes lock onto yours, the denial caught in your throat. “Johnny’ll be getting his punishment for riling you up, pet, but you chose to react. He’s done worse to you before and you handled it. Now finish the movie.”

Your jaw is released and your body turned back around, whimpering at the very brief stimulation before you’re back to trembling and watching the laptop through hazy eyes, unable to focus on anything accept being split in half by the thick girth of Simon.

“Johnny,” Simon snaps at your boyfriend who’s still nipping at your soft flesh, neck and jaw and tits. Johnny rolls his eyes, giving you one more mean nip to your breast to pull a mewl and fresh tears before retreating. He knows he has a punishment on the way. “Ach, I ken…”

The only thing that keeps you from losing your mind during the next 45 minutes is the retribution you’re going to get when Johnny gets his punishment.

[hotchnerwrites]

Hi hi hi my babyy🤍🤍

First I want to apologize for appearing until now, life has become severely difficult :( How have you been? How is everything going?🫂

So now I'm someone's controversial young girlfriend🙇🏻‍♀️(it's not as many years difference as it sounds) and that gave me an idea with my favorite man🫠

What if Hotch and the reader have this mutual desire but Hotch doesn't approach the reader because her's younger and the reader doesn't approach him because her's afraid of rejection But one night maybe they share a kiss or a light touch that makes Hotch close himself off more and discourages the reader:( and finally when they go on a case the one from the head office who is Hotch's age flirts with the reader and she reciprocates first because she is single and second because she really loves that her couples are older 😮‍💨 and Aaron gets really jealous because he 'thought he was the only one' and that tension finally falls apart when he confronts her and she simply tells him that the head of the department is some kind of distraction about her crush on Hotch 🫠

The truth is that in the end I didn't know how to develop the idea, I'm sure you can do it better, I hope it was understood. 😭🙏🏻

As always take it only if you feel comfortable (and understand it) I send you all my love, I'm excited to be here again I'm not going to lie about it!!🥹💗💗

xoxoxo

-👩🏻‍🦰

Unspoken

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: SFW, jealous!hotch, mutual pining, angst, sort of happy ending, making out, no use of (y/n),

A/N: HIIII LOVELY, missed seeing you in my requests. things have been crazy on my end ngl 😭 moved cities, broke my teeth, med exams etc. god is testing me rn smhhhh. and congratulations on your new relationship!!!! so happy for you <3 (totally not jealous 😔/s) anyways, kind of went crazy on this request, LOOOOVED the idea so much. i wanted this man suffering in the fic lmaooo. anyways, here you go!!! hope you like it, and it's what you wanted!!! sending u all my love 💚

PS. Let me know if the formatting is off. It's wonky on my laptop but not my phone for whatever reasons.

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

There had always been something there.

Unacknowledged, simmering beneath longing glances and fleeting touches. An almost magnetic pull between you and Aaron— felt by both, acted on by neither. It existed in the quiet spaces between conversations, the way he positioned himself beside you during briefings, in the way his hand would almost touch the small of your back before withdrawing at the last second.

But that something was fated to remain unspoken. Unmentioned.

And that had been Aaron’s choice, not yours.

You never pushed him. Not when you caught his gaze lingering, not when he brought you coffee and no one else, not when he gave you his coat on cold nights without a word, not even when— after a particularly hard case— you had found yourself in the dimly lit hallway of a motel, wrapped up in his arms, listening to his uneven heartbeat like he was battling something within himself. 

For a second, you had let yourself hope. This had to be it. His breaking point.

But then he had pulled away. 

And the next day? He shut you out completely.  He didn’t meet your eyes in the briefing. He stopped those wordless gestures you had learned to find comfort in. His usual attentiveness toward you, the way he always ensured you were comfortable… was gone. He was probably more attentive towards Reid.

So, it became obvious. You adapted like you always did. You drew the line in the sand and stuck to your side. The conversations became strictly professional, words clipped but polite. You stopped bringing him a cup of coffee if he lingered in the bullpen late at night. On long flights home, he stopped offering you the seat next to him.

Even the team noticed.

Rossi had given Hotch a Look more than once, his stare heavy with disappointment. JJ asked if you were okay, and even Morgan had thrown out a casual, “What’s going on with you two?”

You vehemently denied everything. Everything was fine. Everything was normal.

What else could you have said? That you wanted Aaron? That you had spent months convincing yourself he had wanted you, too? That, in the end, he had rejected it— no, he had denied you— not even with words, but with distance?

You knew you deserved better. You deserved someone who would be proud to love you. Someone who wasn’t scared of the possibility of a relationship.

So, you moved on.

———

Then came Baltimore. 

Michael Keating was confident, charismatic, and older. He was the Chief of the Baltimore Division, respected and soft-spoken. He carried himself with ease, joked about the growing silver streak in his hair, and greeted everyone by name. He made people laugh and asked about their day.

And he noticed you. 

It started small. A compliment on your profiling. Deferring to you when asked about the unsub. 

You hadn’t meant to encourage it. But then again— why refuse yourself? You had spent too long pining for something that wasn’t meant to happen. You were single, and you wanted a change. And Michael was perfect.

Keating was different. He was direct in a way Hotch never was. He didn’t hesitate to place a hand on your lower back as he showed you around the precinct. He leaned in when he spoke to you, close enough that you could smell his cologne. He smelled like the ocean— sea salt and sandalwood.

But there was something about Michael that reminded you of Aaron. The little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name. The way he listened— giving you his rapt attention, something Hotch always did, but only ever with you.

Nevertheless, Keating wasn’t Hotch. And you weren’t going to let yourself draw baseless comparisons. So you let him flirt with you. It felt good to be seen. When he brought you your morning coffee, you accepted gratefully, smiling up at him. When he leaned in and said something low and teasing, you laughed.

That was when you felt it.

A prickle at the back of your neck. Someone watching.

You didn’t deign to turn, but you knew. 

Aaron.

For a second you felt suffocated. But the feeling was gone as swiftly as it had come. When you finally joined your team, Hotch was talking with García, and he didn’t even spare you a glance.

For the rest of the day, you pretended that it hadn’t affected you as much as it did. You maintained your professional façade, breaking only once when Michael slid you a sticky note with a silly doodle on it. Everything went well. Or so you thought.

Hotch brushed past you with nothing more than a curt “Excuse me” as he entered the meeting room. His voice held a subtle undercurrent of knowing, but you brushed it off. It just wasn’t your problem any longer.

But when Keating pulled out your chair for you, you felt it again— the prickling.

Hotch walked out of the room.

Emily noticed. 

“Whatever it is,” she muttered as you watched Hotch’s back disappear down the hallway, “you two need to sort it out before it affects the case.”

You know she’s right. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. What was there to say?

Aaron had no right to feel this way. He had his chance. If he wanted you, he should have said so. But he didn’t, instead, he turned tail and ran.

And you weren’t going to sit around waiting for him to come to.

————

The bar had emptied, the rest of the team long since in their rooms. You had stayed a bit longer, letting the bite of your drink settle into your bones. You needed it after the week you’d had. Michael had apologised profusely when you’d invited him; he had to meet with the prosecutor. After the initial sting of disappointment, you were glad that he wasn’t here. You needed some space from it all. You let your mind disconnect from the world, letting the faint hum of the music take over.

Which is why you weren’t prepared when Aaron cornered you. 

“Keating?” His tone was level as if asking you about the weather. But the way his hands were clenched tight told you a different story. “That’s who you want?”

Your stomach twisted, almost painfully.

Not this. Not this conversation, not after months of silent torture, months of being ignored, months of being treated like nothing.

“What does it matter to you?” You retorted, rolling your eyes. Fatigue seeped into your voice that had nothing to do with the case. “You don’t get to ask me that, Aaron.”

Something flickered in his eyes when you said his name. Maybe it reminded him of how you used to say it with warmth.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “Didn’t think he was your type.”

A short, humourless laugh escaped you. “My type?” You shook your head vigorously. “I didn’t realise I needed your opinion on that. You’ve barely acknowledged my existence this month.”

Hotch’s shoulders tensed. “That’s not—”

“Not what? Not fair?” Your eyes burned, “You pushed me away. You didn’t even ask how I felt. You chose for both of us and now you’re— what? Upset I’ve moved on?”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Enlighten me, then,” you snap, anger hiding the fact that you were begging for an answer, one you knew he’d never give.

Nothing. As expected. The silence between you stretched on. You didn’t know what you had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. All of a sudden, the atmosphere of the bar became a little too much. The stench of stale beer overpowered your nose and the tinny audio from the jukebox irked you. You slid off the barstool and threw a couple of crumpled bills on the counter.

Then, barely above a whisper, you heard him rasp, “I thought I was the only one.”

A punch to your chest might have hurt less. 

Your breath stuttered, heart aching at the confession that settled in the space between you. He was falling apart, and you could see it—the way his brows drew together, the way his throat bobbed as he tried to force out something he wasn’t ready to say.

And for the first time, you saw the truth for what it was.

Aaron Hotchner was a man who carried too much. Who loved too hard and too quietly. Who convinced himself that his feelings were a burden he couldn’t afford, even when he was faced with the enormity of it.

But he wanted.

God, he wanted.

And it terrified him.

A bitter laugh escaped you. How could he? No, how dare he expect you to hold on to the idea that you were his when he kept you at a distance further than the rest of the team? That no one else could want you the way he did?

“You could have been, Aaron,” you responded, the weight of the world suddenly crushing you. “But you were the one who made sure you weren’t.”

Something in him shattered. You could tell. The way he flexed his hand, the way his posture stiffened like he was dealing with a blow he wasn’t ready to receive.

“Why are you doing this, to me?” Hotch’s voice was hoarse, thick with emotion— anger, regret, longing and want all tangled together.

“I’m doing this to you?” Your voice wavered, and you hated yourself for it, “Hotch, do you even hear yourself right now?”

He stepped closer, crowding your space, eyes dark with something desperate. “I tried—” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, “ I tried to stay away. I thought it was the right thing.”

“Right thing for who? It sure as hell wasn’t right for me,” you jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest, ignoring the slight tremble, “You shut me out. You acted like nothing was there, like I had imagined everything.” Your voice cracked, “And now I get to deal with you being jealous because Michael actually sees me? Because he’s not afraid to show me wants me?”

A muscle in Aaron’s jaw fluttered as he repeated, “I told you, it’s not about that.”

“Oh, wasn’t it?” you cried, anger building, “You wanted me to wait for you? To exile myself in the dark and hope that maybe one day you’d stop being afraid of us? That’s not fair, Aaron. I can’t do that to myself. I deserve better.”

“I know.” His voice cracked on the words, and for the first time, you saw the raw emotion on his face— all of it. The weight of it, the struggle in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he had the right.

The anger ebbs out of you, replaced with something numb.

“Then why? Why didn’t you—”

Aaron moved then. He reached for you before he could stop himself, finger ghosting over your wrist before settling there, gripping gently. The heat of his fingers burned, like something he had been starving for but denied himself for too long.

“Because… I wanted you. Too much,” he admitted, voice grating like it pained him. His grip tightened on your wrist, thumb tracing the delicate skin. “I was afraid that if I let myself have this— you— I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

It was cruel, really. How he could unravel you with his words, make you forget about the months of pain and anger and hurt you’d endured. Even the way he looked at you like you were someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Aaron—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed up by his lips on yours. 

It wasn’t anything like the countless times you’d imagined it. You had always figured he’d be gentle, taking his time.

But this wasn’t soft, nor was it careful. This was desperate.

Like he was a man at his breaking point, like someone who had wasted time denying everything, only to give in all at once. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing across your cheeks as he tilted your head, deepening the kiss. He was pressed flush against you, sandwiching you between the barstool and his body like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers like sand. In the back of your mind, you faintly registered the whir of the jukebox as it changed the track.

You gasped against Aaron, and that tiny sound undid him. He groaned softly, tilting his head to chase you, to taste more, to lose himself in a way he had always wanted but never permitted.

You breathed in his scent, bourbon and coffee, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You were anchoring yourself because this was everything you had been waiting for. 

The kiss lingered, months of tension evaporating between you, the space that had existed suddenly gone, replaced by something breathless and real. You pushed back against him, ready to get your heart’s desire. Aaron didn’t stop; he was kissing you as if it was the last thing he would ever do. He tasted heavenly, much better than you’d ever imagined. Every thought eddied out of your mind as you let the feeling of his lips against yours wash over you. Even before the moment was over, you knew that this memory would be branded into your soul. 

When Aaron finally pulled away, he didn’t go too far. You sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed your eyes closed as he rested his forehead against yours. His breathing was uneven too, and you could feel the warmth of it against your lips. Then, slowly, his hands dropped from your face. He took a step back— reluctantly— just enough to reach up and loosen his tie. 

His fingers scrabbled at the knot for a moment before he wrenched it down forcefully. He then ran his hands through his hair again, mussing it in a way you’d never seen before, and let out a breathless laugh. For a split second, memories of the night when he had held you close flashed before your eyes. He had loosened his tie then, too, before enveloping you in his embrace. 

“I don’t want to be the one who let you get away,” Aaron whispered, his voice bringing you back to the present. 

The pain in your chest throbbed. At how broken and hopeful he sounded, all at once.

“Aaron,” you murmured, letting his name rest on your tongue for a moment too long.

“I—” he stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. This wasn’t where he had thought the night would go. You watched Aaron carefully, his chest still rising and falling too quickly. You reached for his hand, squeezing it once. 

“Aaron,” you uttered his name again, tone firmer, hoping to bring him back to you.

He looked at you then, chocolate brown eyes hardening with resolve. He started, “This… us…”

You cut him off, then. 

“Aaron,” you repeat, brushing your fingers over his jaw, “You need to choose. Me, us. Everything. You have to choose to stay.”

He glanced off to the side somewhere. Then, a slow exhale. A quiet moment of realisation.

He met your gaze again, almost bashfully this time, “If you’ll still have me.”

You laughed then, disbelieving because, of course, Aaron would say that, as if your heart hadn’t been his since the first time you saw him.

Neither of you spoke then. The past, the hurt, the hesitation— but also the possibility— swam through the charged atmosphere.

The choice.

“Okay,” you said simply.

When Aaron pulled you into his chest, you let him.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[martzahhh]

pretty little birds - pt. 1

hamzah x youtuber!reader smau

a/n: guys pls cut me some slack i am an ass at this cause i havent written shit in months! im out of the uhhh fuckin whatever it's xalled I don't remember what i wanted to say anyway i hope you enjoy it <3 mwahhhh

yourusername

liked by hamzahthefantastic, mandys_iphone and 4.382.229 others

yourusername collab video con slushynoobz posted on youtube :3 go watch or ill fuck yo mama

user1 ok funniest people on the earth united

user2 GIRL how did i not know she was friends with them

> user3 hamzah was on one of her streams i think!

hamzahthefantastic The real gigi hadid pasta • liked by author

user4 the way her and hamzah are looking at eachother okayyyyy

> user5 omg each time he is posed up w a girl yall do this. give him a break

mandys_iphone my angel!!! • liked by author

> yourusername i love you

user6 i love her and mandy together omg • liked by autor

30 minutes later, hamzah knocked on y/n's door, a small backpack slung over his shoulder, impatiently waiting for her to let him in. hearing the doorbell, she hopped off the couch almost immediately, having been waiting for him. after doing a quick double take in the mirror, she rushed to open the door and greeted him with a smile on her face.

"hey you", she said, giving him a hug that lingered for a little bit too long. they stood in the doorway like that, looking a little stupid, until she realised how stupid it really was, the breaking of the contact accompanied by an awkward chuckle from both sides as they went further into the room.

"i've missed you", he admitted with a big smile on his face. "no you didn't! we saw each other 3 days ago". a shared laugh, somehow a testament of their friendship. "come sit, i made some food."

instead of sitting, he walked into the kitchen with her. his hand lingered delicately on her waist as she picked up the plates filled with pasta. "looks delicious", he whispered. she felt his touch, which felt like feathers and fireworks simultaneously. "i got the weed by the way. forgot the food though so its good that you made some", they exchange loud laughs, her hand jokingly slapping his shoulder.

"well that's great", they sat on the sofa, her laptop on the coffee table. "wanna light up first? then we'd eat and you could help me with the video..."

"that's actually a great idea. prerolled them already for you since you still can't do shit", he laughed softly at her incompetence.

"wow okay little miss independent"

taglist: @moshuka @felixsbrat @rafesgurl

[snoopyana]

crushcrushcrush.

p.js smut a little dubious. ji is a loser and you’re his only friend.

nothing compares to a quite evening alone, but that never happens. i guess you’re dreaming again.

note — this is a little darker than the last few things i’ve posted. so please be warned, there’s no verbal agreement. but it is consensual. i will say that you DO agree, nothing is technically against your will. you nod your head to signal a yes. jisung is weird. he admits to fucked up fantasies. the things he says and does can and most likely will be considered creepy, okay? okay.

a nap was calling your name, but park jisung was calling your phone.

eyes heavy with sleep, your body ached as you searched for the buzzing device buried deep within your blankets. fingers grazing over the cold glass screen, you’d finally be able to grip the phone — being met with ten missed calls and a few hundred more missed texts.

to say you were annoyed, would be an understatement. it was hard to find a single ounce of free time, as the work piled and buried your body. but it was even harder to get away from jisung. it was almost as if he knew when you has found a few hours of downtime. doing everything in his power to make sure you never found peace, or a good nap.

resting your body onto the headboard, a hand slid under your shirt and the other pressed on one of the many missed calls. it rang for a moment, the ringing being replaced with the soft sound of breathing on the other end. and it was silent, so silent that your already heavy eyes started to flutter close.

“hello?” oh yeah, he’s still there.

“hello.” you answered, voice low and scratchy. clear signs of sleep deprivation laced within your tone.

completely ignoring your tired voice, jisung started to ramble. and for a boy who barely said a word in class, he sure had a lot to say when it was just you. letting his voice fade out, the grip on your phone slipped and the device was resting on your lap. humming whenever he said someone that sounded remotely like a question, you allowed yourself to slowly succumb to the urge to sleep. but he wasn’t going to let you, not yet.

“can i come over?”

“why? you can just tell me over the phone.” you couldn’t roll your eyes, with all the energy you had was put into talking. but if you could’ve, you would’ve.

“well i’m kind of already on my way.”

of course he was, boundaries don’t exist with this kid.

it was long before the door of your apartment was swinging open and jisung was making himself at home. the sound of your refrigerator opening echoed through the apartment, giving you the energy you needed to get up.

as your feet dragged, your head pounded. and park surely wasn’t a help. turning on every light, every device, he was a walking headache. throwing yourself onto the couch, which has surely seen better days, jisung yelled something from the kitchen. though his usual quite voice was turned up a few decibels, you still couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. the brain fog still heavy, surely he wanted to make sure you heard was nonsense anyway.

it was going to be a long night.

slouched on your couch, jisung was seated next to you. laptop, on the verge of overheating, sat on his lap as he forcefully informed you on his latest biology assignment. it was boring, painfully boring — but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to leave. it was enduring at first, a boy who was too good-looking for his own good — with close to no social skills to take him anywhere. it was you who introduced yourself, taking a seat by the nerd during freshman week. it was you who invited him to study with you after school, hang-out from time to time, late-night movie nights that turned into 3AM sleepovers.

but it was jisung who got too comfortable. inviting himself over unannounced, under the guise that he needed help with his homework. forcing you to cancel on others to hang out with him, he just wanted to spend some time with his best friend after all. hovering over you as you went from class to class.

your friends started to call him a creep.

and to some degree, they were right. it wasn’t until he started to drop little secrets of his, that you finally agreed with their negative title on park. it started with simple secrets, innocent ones really. he didn’t have friends, yeah you figured. he’d never been to a party before — again, something anyone could figure out after one conversation with him. he’s never had a girlfriend, how sad.

he’s a virgin, he wants your help — okay that’s weird, no jisung. he only likes himself when he’s with you — okay, stop..

but you could never bring yourself to push him away completely, instead opting to ignore his odd behavior. maybe even embrace it at times. his need to be with you at all times gave you a little ego boost. jisung wanting you to help him with more, personal matters, made your lips twitch into a small smile.

so for now, it was just a quirk of his. an unsettling one, but a quirk nonetheless.

“are you even listening?” snapping your head up, jisung had migrated from his spot on the couch. his seat on the far right, left abandoned — his knee nearly knocked against yours. he had an odd tendency to get really close, uncomfortably close at times

“yeah, yeah i am.” rubbing your eyes, you shifted your body further away. putting a comfortable distance between the two of you again, it was hard to miss when jisung rolled his eyes. at your actions or at whatever he was explaining at the moment?

that you’ll never know.

as jisung continued to type and talk, his words didn’t register in your mind. not that you would understand it anyway. watching as his lips moved, words mushing together in an incoherent blabber, it again started to become ever more difficult to stay awake.

the sharp features of his face blurring together — glasses perched low on his nose, his lips would form a tight line whenever he wasn’t talking — causing the frames to slip down just a little more every time.

for as weird as he was, park was unfortunately just as attractive. even through his strange biology talk, and strange tendencies to be as close as possible — park was hot.

watching as his lips move, it was only a matter of time before you were gone. letting yourself fall asleep for what felt like the first time in decades, the image of jisung was one that appeared in your dream as you slept.

but unfortunately, you wouldn’t be able to sleep for long.

it was simple touches at first, what one would think is a knee grazing against yours. maybe an arm leaning against your own. then it turned into fingers tracing along your face, down your neck — reach would quickly stop when you’d stir and shiver. a warm palm brushing against the exposed skin of your thigh. the feeling of your shirt shifting and lifting.

another hand on your stomach.

it all made your eyes slightly twitch and eventually pop open. being face to face with the boy who was just working away on this laptop — though now his laptop was long abandoned on the coffee table and his hands found interest in exploring the exposed parts of your body.

knelt down in front of you, his body still hovered over your seated one. “don’t scream, please?” his lips so close to yours, you could practically feel them as he spoke. deep voice sending shivers down your spine, your lips parted to speak — but his hand was quicker.

clasping over the bottom half of your face, it made your pupils dilate and your breath get caught in the back of your throat.

“nod if you won’t.” resting his forehead against yours, he stared into your eyes. waiting, hoping that you would agree. just this once, he wanted you to give him what he wanted.

what he needed.

breathing heavy behind his palm, your head nodded slightly. enough for him to quickly move his hands to the sides of your face. bringing his lips closer, park gave your lips a short, nervous kiss. testing the waters before going back for more.

using his hands to tilt your head back, there was clear hesitation to touch you, a stark contrast to when you were asleep. jisungs’ fingers gently pressed through your hair as his lips explored yours — licking the bottom to be allowed in.

and you’d give him entry.

his inexperience clear through the way you were able to effortlessly shift and grasp the control of the kiss. bringing your own hands up to hold onto his neck, you applied just enough force to bring his face closer.

something about the whole thing felt all too natural, all too right. with the way his plush lips felt so good against yours, the way his skin heated up under your fingertips — the way he’d shudder when your nails pressed into the pale skin. all paired with how his hands traveled smoothly along your body. as if you weren’t uncharted territory, but something that he’s studied over and over again. as if park took notes and analyzed your entire being.

as if you were another bio project, all for him.

letting his hands settle above your hips, his grip tightened when your teeth sank into the skin of his bottom lip before you’d eventually pull away. though the distance was minimal, still feeling each other’s unsteady breathing.

“park, you’re a creep..” the once tired tone, being joined with something a slight disgust, intrigue, and maybe even lighthearted in a sense. though his nose still scrunched at the words.

park and creep in the same sentence, he would never hear the end of it.

because jisung knew what he was, he knew the way he acted wasn’t normal. but he hated to he reminded of it, and he hated it even more when you reminded him of that fact. park knew the lingering touches were too much, but it was never enough for him. he knew the stalking was odd, lurking around you even if he wasn’t invited. showing up to your house on his own accord, as if he owned the place.

he knew it was creepy, and quite frankly — he couldn’t bring himself to care.

he loved that you let him be creepy. anyone else probably would have pushed him away, forced him to stop. but you didn’t, which lead him to go as far as he did. groping, rubbing, and caressing your skin as you lie idle. blissfully unaware of the things he thought, the words he had mumbled, the pictures he had the urge to take.

“i know.” mumbling the words into the crook of your neck, jisung nibbled on the skin before following them with short licks. sliding his hands under your shirt to pinch at your waist.

as he worked his way down, you simply let him. because you enjoyed it. gripping onto his jet black strands at every bite, a labored sigh following every lick of his tongue.

removing his head from your neck, jisung tugged at the hem of your shirt. pulling it out and off your body, giving himself access to the rest of your torso. placing small kisses against the skin, he stopped just before the band of your sleep shorts.

“i waited, so long.” whispering to himself, his fingers slipped under the waistband, silently pleading for you to lift your hips. allowing for him to tug down the material and discard of it onto the floor.

draping your legs over his shoulders, park wasted no time — flattening his tongue against your still clothed cunt. moaning against the fabric, the vibrations caused your hips to buck up. using his hands to keep you in place, jisung rested his head against your thigh.

“i was so patient you know. considered just making you give it up to me, but this is so much better.” mumbling against your skin, the moment would have been considered sweet if it weren’t for the words that came from his mouth.

it was a gross scene in retrospect, but you could think about that later as he gave you no time to truly balance the weight of his words. pushing your panties to the side, and attaching his lips to your clit. sucking and licking as if he was the most experienced man in the world.

the action of course caused your body to violently react — harshly holding onto his hair as he got to work. uncontrollably, and honestly embarrassing, moans mixed with the obscenely loud slurping noises that park made. as your toes curled and back arched, he pulled your hips closer to his face. humping the edge of your couch cushions, jisung was slowly losing himself between your legs.

and it made you quickly lose your mind. with the sleepy haze, and intense pleasure that pulsed through your body, it wasn’t an easy feat to stay present and alert. head lolling to the side, all your senses are heightened, yet nonexistent at the same time. a particularly powerful thrust of his fingers rocketing you back into reality, only for his tongue to ease you back into a delirious state. 

giving you one more long lick, he lifted himself up. eagerly tugging at his own pants, park pulled his sweats and boxers down to his knees — freeing his aching and alarmingly red cock from it’s confinements.

dazed and unaware, jisung gripped onto your chin. connecting your lips. as his lips ravished yours, he could only hope and pray you don’t realize that he didn’t have a condom, and had no plans on retrieving one either.

kissing the corners of your lips, he lifted your hips and gently rubbed the skin. lining himself up, he slowly pushed himself inside. throwing his head back, your higher moana again mixed and mingled with his lower groans.

“i love you so much, oh my god.” mostly speaking to himself, jisung wasn’t slow with his thrusts. his hips meeting yours every few seconds, he wasn’t bound to last.

he was a virgin after-all.

hunching over your body, park continued to mumble i love yous into your hair. hips freezing up for a second when your arms wrapped around his neck — pulling him down into yet another kiss. moaning into your mouth, his body tensed before he knew it. emptying out inside, you were quick to follow. your cum mixing before trickling down your leg and onto the old couch.

nothing compares to a quite evening alone, but that never happens. not with jisung present. in the end, he took whatever peace you could have, all away from you.

after the fact — hey guys!! i actually hope you enjoyed this just as much as i enjoyed writing it. i don’t know if it’s obvious, but ptv and paramore really inspired me to write this. if you couldn’t tell from the title and lyric usage throughout the whole thing. i tried to add a little story, i hope it makes sense😞 pls dont tell me if it doesn’t actually.

[cyberqueenpatrol]

VIEWER!GHOST X YOUTUBER!READER

cw!: fem!reader, a bit of objectification, bit of perverse and creep behaviour

As the day winds up in the military barracks, Simon opens up his laptop, sitting with a Marlboro twirling between his index and ring finger. After all, even he needed some rest but his insomnia-drenched sleep won't let him doze off. So he just let his time be spent in this way.

But what is he watching? Million dollar question for a guy like him, right?

A petite, pretty girl's vlogs and gaming videos?!? (that's how he describes the girl)

YOUR YOUTUBE VIDEOS?!?

Man, he just loved the way you moved in front of the camera. He was entranced by the movement of your tits and swaying hips. His dick throbbed He was head over heels for you whenever you smiled. He had head in a mess of ecstasy, his ears sucking in every syllable of your voice. Whether it was your travel vlogs or GRWM videos, Simon had watched it all.

Simon was not very much bothered if any of the boys entered his room while he was watching your videos. Once, Price caught him jerking off vigorously, to you in the livestream (coz the thought of him directly being able to see you right at the moment drove him crazy).

"She still ain't ya birdie, L.T.", Price poked teasingly.

"But ain't far from 'hat", Simon replied, all while having a smirk on his scarred lips.

Once in a while, you would keep a quiz for anyone who wanted to gift you something. It was an easy one, the viewers just had to answer a question about your likes correctly and at the earliest.

"Okaaaaaay, so the the question is........" you say joyfully, your plush lips hypnotising Simon.

"What is my favourite colour? Very easy this time, isn't it?", you winked while reading the answers.

"Awww, many of you are commenting 'red'. You are so close to the answer! Just find the correct one in the shelves of your brain!", you say as you fake a pouty frown. You were never excessively trying to be cute in a cringe way, you were always fun to listen to.

Simon chuckled at your words, and typed out the answer with ease, hitting the send button.

"Wine"

Your excited eyes quickly catch the word in the ocean of comments under the livestream. You make a happy sound and clasp your hands together with a sparkle in your eyes.

"Aha! There it is! Wait, wait, where is username of winner, huh???", you exclaimed, scrolling through vast sea of comments under your livestream.

Simon wasn't a man of many words, in fact Johnny was the one who told him about you. He just typed out,

"Here"

"Oh yes! I found it guys, I found it. So it's #ghostriley. Pretty unique name, isn't it? Hello Riley! Well, first congrats on winning the quiz! Looks you paid a lot of attention to hidden clues in my previous videos. Hehehe! So, I m now...........sending.......", you win his heart with his words with these simple sentences as you type your post address to his account.

Simon almost cums at the way you said 'Oh yes'. He cannot look away, with you just biting your lower, plush lip as you write out your post address. God, he was so out of his mind. All that Simon could of was the numerous ways to make you satisfied and happy. He would anything for you. A.N.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

"Sent! Did you receive the message, Riley? Maybe it'll take some time. Don't worry, if you don't get it. You can ask me anytime, happy to help, ya know", your bubbly smile threw Simon in a mess and your soothing words cured his deepest wounds for the time being, if not entirely.

"Received. Thank you. Will recieve your gift in your gift in a few days,hm?", Simon typed out, as his other window was already in the process of shipping out the gift to your address.

"That's great, Riley! I will definitely look forward to your gift. I ma sure to must be having something good!", you radiantly smiled, earning lust-filled groan from Simon. Not to mention he also smirked as fucked the life out in his fist.

"Ok people, now it's........very late. So we need go to sleep, don't we? We don't want any eye bags,hmmmm? Ok so, I am turning it off now. Bye everyone! Good night! Sweet dreams! Stay tuned for what's Riley gonna gift me!", you beamed as you wrapped up the livestream. Soon you went to bed, waiting for the surprise in the few days.

A few days later

The Sunday morning went very cozy and satisfyingly slow, with you completing the household chores, feeding your cat Ron and listening to some music. Later, the sharp sound of the doorbell pierced through the tranquility of your flat. It must be the gift, you thought to yourself.

You open the door, just to see a young lad struggling with a cardboard box large enough to make a cathouse for Ron. You smoothly took the box from him, assuring him that it was fine for you to carry the box. He gave you a sheet to sign, but something struck you as odd. Usually there would a name of the sender with the city name. Here it was only Manchester written in the block on the sheet.

You just shrug it off, as you close the door with your pyjama-clad leg, thinking that there might be an error from the courier services. As soon as you put down the box, you realise it was REALLY heavy. But a chuckle came from your mouth, seeing Ron already establishing the cardboard box as his territory.

You decide to begin the livestream in the evening, but you needed to first inform your followers. You click on the app icon, not expecting much notifications. It's a Sunday morning, who would even bother to wake up and miss on their beautiful sleep.

"1 unread message"

Wow, maybe someone has really woken up. Anyways, it's gonna be just a reel from your friends just having free-

"Got the gift, sweetheart?"

You almost choke on your homemade strawberry milkshake, as your brain reels into a mess. Your finger nearly physically stammer as your message was being typed out.

"Yes,Riley! The parcel's here, all safe and sound. I just opened this thing to inform yall that livestream's gonna be in the evening"

"Good to hear that. Thank you :)"

"That's my pleasure! I m really happy to get the gift, and I hope that you'll like the livestream. Stay tuned at 19:00!!!

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, love"

You nearly feel the temperature and blush rising up in your cheeks. Boy, they were such simple words, yet they had so much influence on you. Just imagine if someone said that to you in real life.......................

The evening rolls around, with you setting up the necessary preparations for the livestream. You hit the start button with much anticipation, excited to see your followers again.

"Heyyyyyyyyyy luvvies!! I am back here to bring something delicious for you sweeties to chew on! As you know from earlier livestream, we had picked out a winner- #ghostriley! And today's the day to check their gifts. Anddddddd.......is everyone excited??", your bubbly voice boomed through Simon's headphones, who had already kept a box of tissues beside him.

"So, Riley, can we start the unboxing with your command?", you leaned towards the camera, your eyes sparkly and the curve of your pretty tits conspicuous to Simon's eyes. Your honey-laden voice was enough to open his zipper.

"Sure,love", Simon typed out, the fist of his calloused hands already wrapped around his cock. He knew that it was very immoral to do something like that behind the screen, but he couldn't help but thik your pussy would feel instead of his rough hands.

You were a little flushed, being all new to someone calling you pretty nicknames. And that face of yours was not escaping Simon's eyes by any chance. He was already turned on, and this face just aggravated it.

"OK then, let's open the big boy up! I really didn't expect it to be this big", you exclaim as you dig the cardboard knife through the its thickness. But to Simon, all dark and primal thoughts lurked in his mind no matter how much he tried to banish them. He was enticed by the way your tongue stuck out while you focused on opening the box, wanting to strike those pretty lips with his own.

"Ha! Here it is!", you say as the box was being opened by your curious hands. The first that you got hold of was a big glass box, carefully wrapped to avoid damage. No way, you thought.

IT WAS A LIFETIME SUPPLY OF YOUR FAVOURITE SHADES OF LIP GLOSSES??!??

Boy, that must hella expensive now. Your jaw was visible open, your lips parted onto an O as you looked down at the lip glosses. You glanced at the camera and back to box.

"OK,OK, now lemme get this straight. This. Must. Be. Very. Expensive. Like man, you people DON'T need to gift such costly things and empty your bank account, please, like really", your voice was reflected shock clearly.

But to Simon, it was nothing. You were the only pretty thing in his life. So why not spend money on it? He loved the way your eyes widened, it would a lie to say that Simon didn't enjoy the view.

"But I've to say it, Riley, like- damn, thank you. So much and so bad. Never felt so damn special in my life.", you giggled at the end and held them lip glosses close to your chest, as the box made its outline in your plush tits something that Simon wanted to grab so bad

"Anything for the lady", Simon typed out with generous amount of love in his heart, causing you to evidently blush at this comment.

"Hehe, thank you very much, Riley. That's very much of a gentleman whom I would like to meet one day. Yes, definitely!", your words perked up Simon's ears, at which he satisfyingly smirked under his balaclava. His thick, girthy cock had no less chubbed up

"OK,there's like more gifts in here!", your voice chirped up, as you dug through the bubble wrap that secured it. There was long, red box at the bottom, but the bubble wrap was your favourite thing to pop since childhood. It was kind of a therapy for you.

"Hey people, look at this. I bet there's no one in this world who has never popped this thing. This is my therapy, you know, because I am too broke to afford the real one. Anyways, there's this red box here though.........", you say as your hands dig towards the bottom of box.

Simon chuckled deeply at your humour, enamoured by your ability to keep people hooked with your thoughts. But right now, his gift might keep your mind hooked for days and nights especially.

"Can pay for anything you want, sweetheart.", Simon hit the send button, just to see how it would claw at your heartstrings.

Mentally, your jaw was on the floor. Physically, your mouth was actually gaping. You fingers subconsciously traveled to your lips, and Simon was nothing new to body language. He knew that it was something that you did when your mind was thoroughly engrossed and curious.

"Oh-oh no, Riley, I am definitely not a pick me, hehe. Don't spoil me like that.", your words did sound nervous, and definitely Simon loved that he could make you flustered even though he was just behind a screen.

"Anyways, Riley, let's see what's your last gift of the day! I think it's a bottle of wine, maybe.", Simon grinned darkly at your completely wrong guess, only waiting for you to open the box.

"And here we go!", you say with much excitement and anticipation, as your hand slowly lifts off the lid, with Simon's eyes as curious as yours, but he desired your reaction more than ever. Your hopeful eyes sparkled as your brain analysed the image captured by your eyes.

No way. No fucking goddammit way, you thought.

A dark purple vibrator. Sitting in all its glory in the red silky set of thin,red lingerie underneath it. BUT A GODDAMN VIBRATOR LIKE FOR REAL-

A piece of paper fell out from the underside of the lid, with your face providing a perfectly pathetic look for the dark, grimy mind of Simon. Definitely something was scrawled on it-

"A mould of mine, lovie"

[maryjanewatsonparkers]

"Well then, I'll be sure to invite you to happy hour some time soon. I'm eager to see what your skit would be," Irene said mischievously. Irene knew it was delusional to think that she was important to this company. She may own it, but she never ran it nor did she even know the first thing about running it. It had only come up during the divorce when they were combing through their assets that the company popped up. Still, it was exciting for Irene having all the bells and whistles of being a CEO. "Perfect," she said eagerly and clapped her hands. Thanking the driver when he opened the door for her, Irene got inside and waited for Cristina to join her. "I do have a question though," she started and placed her hand on her lap. "When is the next team meeting?" she asked. "I noticed earlier that you were meeting with the team, I would like to have a team meeting to introduce myself to the people I'll be working with," she stated, pulling out her phone and going through her texts. "Oh! I'm going to need a company phone and secretary or an assistant to manage my day to day," Irene listed off acting as if she were some busy person. She then waved it off. "I'll just use my assistant now. Can I get a desk for her and a company laptop? Make it a fancy macbook or an iMac. Like the ones you see on TV," she said, treating Cristina as if she were her assistant and not the woman who was running her company for her. "You know what, I want an iMac too. Do I need approval for that or can I just buy my own? I want it in purple." Irene then gasped and looked over at Cristina with a grin. "Do you want a purple one? Or a blue one?" she asked. "We could be matching. CEO and CFO... what's your title again?"

Irene was a fascinating woman. Cristina had always thought her boss to be rather fascinating, but that was more in a judgmental outside viewpoint sort of way. To meet her in person like this, it was different. The grandeur that she possessed was more grand than Cristina had anticipated, but in a more endearing way. Which the thought alone surprised her. She was a lot. And working this close with her was going to be a lot. Luckily for the two of them, Cristina was not only good at her job, but she also loved this job. So she would do whatever it took to make sure that this company did their job to the best of their ability. Beyond so, even. That included dealing with her out of touch boss who, out of nowhere, decided to finally be a part of a company she owned. Arching an eyebrow when Irene asked her if she had made a joke, Cristina chuckled lowly and glanced away. “It’s known to happen from time to time. Get a couple of martinis in me and I might do some stand up,” she said, watching as Irene paid for the bill without even acknowledging the cost. Must be nice to have that sort of money, Cristina thought. When the waiter returned with Irene’s card, Cristina stood up to get ready to leave, following Irene’s lead basically. “Uh, yeah. The office that I had previously showed you before we left. That’ll be yours. It does have an extension because it had been previously known, so me and the rest of the staff know it. I’ll make sure to have it written down for you in case you need to give it out. I’ll make sure our receptionist has all the details ready for you,” she explained as they began to walk out of the restaurant. “Any questions you have, you can ask any one of us. Most of us have been working there since the beginning, so we all know the company well.”

[elprupneerg]

oh damn, the terrors have kicked in

[paetalks]

nanami kento, very serious looking guy working in the finance department, having a little crush for the new girl who just got hired by the creative team.

you didn’t even know him, not until the christmas dinner party at the office. you were fairly new, only been working there for four months. working for a big company had not always been your goal, but when you got offered the position freshly out of college you couldn’t say no. it was well paid, in the city center, and allowed you to put your degree to use - which was a big plus, since finding a good job lately seemed to be stressful for people with an art degree (or so you were told by basically everybody).

when you first saw him, your heart skipped a bit. he looked insanely good, with his white shirt hugging a toned chest and short blonde hair falling slightly on his forehead. he was talking with your creative project manager, big hands gesturing softly while speaking and a light smile on his face. it was the first time you ever laid eyes on this beautiful man, and as soon as you realized you were staring a bit too hard, he had already made eye contact. eyebrows slightly furrowed, his eyes met yours. before you even knew, you were walking up to him.

“hi” you said, breathily. you felt your hands sweat and damned yourself mentally for behaving like a girl seeing a cute boy for the first time. up close, you realized he must have been a little older. not too much but the confidence he exuded was clearly not the one of someone in his early twenties - nothing like a guy your age. your manager looked around, confused on why you were intruding in their conversation, and eventually asked “hi, y/n. did you need something?”

you blushed immediately, looking away from the beautiful man, realizing there was no good reason to justify your sudden intrusion. you just saw a good looking man and walked up to him as if nothing else was going on. “oh…” your mouth slightly open, your mind racing to find something appropriate to say.

“i think we have not been introduced yet.” his voice was deep and you felt it in your stomach, like music at a concert. your eyes darted up to the unknown man, nodding shyly. “right. my name is nanami kento, pleased to meet you.”

you felt your insides melt while shaking his big hand, mumbling your name and smiling softly. five seconds later, you pretended like someone was calling your name from somewhere where your other colleagues were and excused yourself, quickly leaving just like you did arriving.

watching you walk away, nanami let out a soft smile, hoping the man in front of him was not going to pay much mind to it. “oh, don’t worry about y/n. she’s young, and new. she’s still trying to find her way around here, you know?” your project manager laughed awkwardly, still wondering what was all that about. kento shrugged, watching you from afar. your cheeks were red and the grip on the glass you had in your hands looked incredibly stiff.

what neither you or your protect manager knew was that nanami kento did know who you were. he had noticed you, maybe on your first or second day, when you got lost and popped up in the finance department. your colorful sweater and laptop full of stickers looked very out of place and when one of his colleagues approached you, letting you know that maybe you had walked in the wrong office, you did turn another color from embarrassment and started profoundly apologize. he thought you were cute, and funny, but the more he got a glimpse of you in the hallways, the more he noticed you wherever he were.

the break room, the coffee shop in front of the office building, the elevator. he found you in every room, even if you didn’t even know he was there. it was like he couldn’t get enough of you, like looking at you from afar was something he had grown addicted to in such a short time.

he wouldn’t have called it a crush, but whenever he needed to print something he would carefully choose the printer on the same floor your office was on - hoping that, when walking by, your door would be open and that he could catch a glimpse of you. okay, maybe thinking back, there had been a few moments in which he felt very infatuated by the idea of you…

looking at you from across the room, while zoning out on the conversation he was in, and noticing how sometimes you would look back too, he told himself that yes, that was definitely a crush.

idk i love the dynamics of stoic boyfriend x artsy girlfriend. wtv??? i’m done .

[phantomrose96]

So my mom's birthday was this week and I flew down with Patches to visit her for a few days. Patches, while a verified hater of the airport, really loves my mom's place because there are so many more closets to explore and birds to watch and cobwebs to dust with her stupid little face.

My mom also goes to bed earlier than anyone I know, so for the evenings it was on me to monitor Patches' activity. And she's very good. She's 99% good. She's 1% "could use improvement" good and the 1%, which I'd forgotten about, is tomatoes.

Patches will leave most things alone. (And by "alone" I mean she'll absolutely bitch slap them onto the floor, but they will leave the ordeal with just as many or few surface punctures as they had before the encounter started.) Not tomatoes. Patches has it the fuck out for tomatoes.

So when I noticed her batting something around on the ground I realized that my mom had left a sole, roma tomato in the fruit basket on the counter and it was now experiencing the life cycle of a pingpong ball between Patches' paws.

I take it away from her, like a fucking evil woman, and now I'm like "okay actually, where do I hide this." See at home I have an anti-Patches cabinet, which is for things that have no business living in a cabinet but which WILL have business dying at Patches' hands if left accessible. And this is WEIRD to have such a cabinet but it's my own home.

I'm scanning my mother's cabinets going "is this weird here? can the tomato go in my mother's dish cabinet?" And I briefly consider sticking it in the fridge, as a normal location, but the audacity of altering this tomato's ripening process is an audacity I do not possess. So I go with cabinet. I go with the first eye-level cabinet, which is the coffee mug cabinet, which is perfect because the tomato will not be lost to cabinet purgatory there, since my mom opens it every morning for her coffee. I will simply tell her in the morning that the tomato is there.

Next morning. Seeing as my mother goes to bed at the butt-crack of dusk she ALSO gets up at the ass-crack of dawn. This means I trail down like 2 hours after her with my work laptop and Patches. This is also now her birthday. I'm sharing the sofa with her for a good 15 minutes when I think to myself I'd like some coffee, and I remember I put a tomato in the cabinet. I tell my mom as much. I put the tomato in her coffee mug cabinet.

And the look I get is one I can't really figure out on spot. But she says "Chrissy this is the best birthday present you could have given me" which is a very weird response to the already weird statement "Oh you probably saw, but I hid the tomato in the coffee mug cabinet because Patches has it out for tomatoes."

So I do not at all know how this makes for a good birthday gift. My mom tells me how a week or two ago, she came home unloading groceries. At the end of putting everything away she could not for the life of her find her phone. Absolutely nowhere. She pinged it from her iPad and it started singing. From the fridge. She opened her fridge. Her phone was in the fridge.

A couple days later she lost Ash's collar. Spent three days looking for it. Couldn't remember where she'd taken it off or what she did with it. Showed up in the grass when she remembered she took it off to let him play fetch in the lake.

And then this morning, her birthday morning, she came into the kitchen, made her pot of coffee, opened the cabinet to fetch her coffee mug, and found... tomato. Singular. Tomato in the cabinet. Tomato she had no memory of placing in a cabinet. Tomato she could not possibly fathom having a reason for being in the cabinet.

She was like Chrissy I cried. She was like this is it, time to send her to pasture. She's a harebrained old lady now and there is no coming back from this. She's the lady who accidentally puts tomatoes in the cabinet. Awake before God, standing in the kitchen, signing her life away over this tiny roma tomato. (Roma tomato with little cat vampire teeth marks in it).

I was like oh. No. I put it there. Because Patches was going to commit war crimes against it. I put it there because I did not stop to consider "Will finding a single tomato in the coffee mug cabinet somehow be the very specific thing that undoes my mother this morning?" I put it there out of careful consideration for the life of this tomato, and with no consideration for the extremely esoteric way that a tomato in the cabinet could be received like a horse head in the bed, Godfather style.

We made a salad with the tomato. Happy birthday Mom.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[drgnflyteabox]

ghost x fem!reader

simon finds a reason to live // stalking, depression, disassociation, simons past child abuse, body horror imagery, you're a single mom, minor sexism-kindaish

Simon's humanity is an external thing, amorphous and disconnected. He might've had a tether as a child, a distinct human softness necessary for survival, but it's since been deadened.

It's not so much a lack as it is a shrinkage. Empathy, emotional intelligence, they come natural at first but terrorize someone, neglect them? They'll turn black and rot as any limb without oxygen.

His father is long dead, he knows this, has read the obituary (full of lies) and pissed on his grave (twice).

And yet his father has the power to strike lightening through the only soft part of him left on any given day, at any given time, at any given place–

His father lives in the way that his heart nearly stops at the shop when the child beside him knocks down a full display of four cheese tomato sauce, glass and red slop crashing to the floor.

Run.

He freezes but his eyes snap to the sound, startlingly loud, mind racing and yet thinking of nothing at all as he feels the fear of god race through him.

Dad's gonna fucking kill you, Tommy laughs raucously.

Simon's never really blamed Tommy, but his voice echoes in his head sometimes too. It does again now, dad's got two tickets for the weekend.

The child takes two steps back, shocked at themselves and the mess and the loud loud sound that has quieted the rest of the store.

He thinks of all the ways he'll step in when the father rounds the corner. Then it's you and his breath goes thin.

"Awe, honey," you say softly. Kindly.

"Oops," the kid says, not a trace of fear in their face.

"Did'ja knock these over, Bram?" you crouch down, careful of the glass, and gently move the boy to the side, "that's okay. Do you remember what we do when we break a glass?"

Simon is still frozen– dumfounded, really. Your patience throws him off.

Fucking moron, his father screams in his head, useless! before he hurts Simon so bad the memory loops and loops, restarting just to torture him.

Fucking moron, fucking moron, useless, fucking moron–

And then you smile sheepishly up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, and that soft human part of him eternally drifting sticks back to his skin and spreads like a rash.

They don't make you pay for any of the jars, nor do they make you clean up the mess. Still, you crouch again beside your son and explain to him again what to do when he breaks a glass.

Make sure you have shoes on. Don't use your bare hands. Call a grownup.

He's addicted to the sound of your voice. The softness of it, how gently you make sure to speak so that the message is taken in without any kind of fear.

Simon follows your car like the sound of your voice is the warm smell of pie on the windowsill and he's Mickey Mouse floating after it.

Awe, honey, loops through his head. Awe, honey. Awe, honey.

He doesn't make himself known just yet. All he does is note down your address for the next time he's on leave, tells John he's met someone and she's a sweetheart.

When he's back on leave he watches you struggle, and it tears at the new growth of softness.

You work, dropping Bram at school and then spending the day at the office. Then, when Bram is asleep and you've cleaned the house, you open your laptop back up and work a second job.

That just won't do. It takes everything in him not to kick your door down at the weak spot and have you whisper in his ear for a living.

Not yet. Not yet. He tries to loop that, but all he can hear is your sweet voice pleading with the electricity company and it becomes harder and harder.

Please, you say through the bug, I just need four more days. Then I get my paycheck.

Simon thinks about putting his hands around the answering voice's neck when they deny you–

But that's a bandaid solution.

It'll be better to eliminate the problem altogether.

Not the piling bills on your kitchen table that you tuck away when the child goes to school, nor the boss who shouts at you 'til he's red in the face.

No, he'll eliminate the real problem. The way he's seen John do, the way he's seen Gaz take example.

He'll be the man in your life, soon.

[pucksandpower]

#ExposeFIA

Max Verstappen x forensic accountant!Reader

Summary: when the FIA keeps targeting your boyfriend, you decide to do something about it by digging into their financials and learning what skeletons they have hidden in the closet … nothing could have prepared you for what you unearth or the domino effect that follows

Warnings: corruption, kidnapping, violence, and murder

Based on this request

Max slams the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the hotel room. His jaw is tight, his hands balled into fists as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the back of the couch. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor with your laptop open, spreadsheets and case files scattered around you.

At first, you don’t look up — this is just Max being Max after a bad day — but then you hear him muttering in Dutch, sharp and venomous under his breath.

“What now?” You ask, closing the laptop with a quiet sigh.

Max rakes a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “The FIA fined me again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “For what?”

“For cursing!” His voice rises, and he gestures wildly, his frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. “In the press conference. They called it inappropriate. Inappropriate! It wasn’t even that bad — just one word!”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh, but he catches it.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” He stops pacing, leveling you with an incredulous look.

“Max,” you say slowly, rising to your feet, “you do curse like a sailor in every other sentence.”

“Not every other sentence,” he protests, crossing his arms.

You arch a brow.

“Okay, fine. But that’s not the point!” He starts pacing again. “They only do this to me! I swear, it’s like they’re waiting for me to screw up so they can slap me with another fine.”

You fold your arms, leaning against the couch. “How much this time?”

“Fifty thousand euros,” he says bitterly, kicking the edge of the rug.

“Fifty thousand?” Your jaw drops. “For cursing?”

“Exactly! It’s ridiculous!” Max looks at you, his blue eyes blazing with anger and just a hint of something more vulnerable underneath. “Lando swears all the time, and no one says anything to him. This is personal, I know it is.”

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Because, honestly, he’s not wrong.

Max keeps going, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’ve been on my case all season. The penalties, the warnings — it’s like they can’t stand the thought of me winning again. They want to knock me down, and they don’t care how they do it.”

You let out a long breath, watching him as he paces. He’s like a storm contained in human form, all fire and fury and relentless energy.

“They can’t keep getting away with this,” you say finally, your voice low but firm.

Max pauses mid-step, turning to face you. “What am I supposed to do? Complain? They’ll just call me a sore loser and fine me for that too.”

“No, not you,” you say, a sly smile creeping onto your face. “Me.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the FIA,” you say, your mind already racing. “You said it yourself — they’re out to get you. So, let’s find out why.”

Max blinks, caught off guard. “You want to investigate them?”

“I’m a forensic accountant,” you remind him. “Digging into shady organizations is literally my job. If there’s something fishy going on with their finances, I’ll find it.”

“And then what?” He asks, skeptical but intrigued.

“And then we use it against them,” you say simply.

He stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re serious about this.”

“Dead serious.”

Max exhales, running a hand through his hair again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not your fight.”

“Of course, it’s my fight,” you say, stepping closer. “They’re targeting you. And that means they’re targeting me.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. “You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s a trace of affection in his voice.

“Crazy for you,” you shoot back, grabbing your laptop and plopping down on the couch.

He groans. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.”

Max flops onto the couch beside you, resting his head against the back of it. “What are you even looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t add up,” you say, your fingers flying across the keyboard. “Expenses that don’t make sense, hidden accounts, payments to people who shouldn’t be getting paid. Everyone leaves a paper trail. Even the FIA.”

He watches you in silence for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “You really think they’re dirty?”

“I think it’s worth finding out,” you say. “Worst case, I waste a few hours and we’re no worse off. Best case …”

“Best case?” He prompts.

“Best case, we blow this whole thing wide open,” you say, grinning.

Max leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Compliments won’t get you out of trouble, Verstappen,” you say without looking up.

He smirks. “Didn’t say I was trying.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is the soft clatter of your keyboard and the occasional frustrated sigh from Max as he scrolls through his phone.

“What if they come after you?” He asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Why would they?”

“Because they’re the FIA,” he says bluntly. “They don’t play fair. If they find out you’re digging into their finances, they’ll find a way to shut you up.”

You pause, considering his words. “Let them try,” you say finally. “I’m not scared of a bunch of bureaucrats.”

Max looks at you like he wants to argue, but then he just shakes his head and mutters something in Dutch.

“What was that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“Max.”

“I said you’re stubborn,” he admits, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, your eyes already back on your screen.

He laughs, the sound low and warm and surprisingly light given the circumstances. For the first time all evening, he looks like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on his shoulders.

“You really think you can take them on?” He asks after a while.

You glance up, meeting his gaze. “I know I can.”

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then do it,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

You smile, a little spark of determination igniting in your chest. “Damn right it is.”

For the next hour, you work in companionable silence, Max occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a half-hearted complaint about how long this might take. But underneath it all, there’s a quiet sense of solidarity, a shared purpose that feels unshakable.

By the time you close your laptop for the night, you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re looking for. But you’ve got a starting point, and that’s enough.

“You coming to bed?” Max asks, standing and stretching.

“In a minute,” you say, glancing at your notes.

He hesitates, then leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Don’t stay up too late, detective.”

You smile, your fingers already back on the keyboard. “Goodnight, Verstappen.”

As he disappears down the hall, you feel a surge of determination. If the FIA thinks they can push Max around, they’ve got another thing coming. Because they’re not just dealing with him anymore. They’re dealing with you.

***

The apartment is dark and silent, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night. Max is fast asleep, his breaths soft and steady, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. You’re lying beside him under the covers, your laptop propped on your knees, the faint glow from the screen illuminating your face.

You should have gone to sleep hours ago. You told yourself you’d close the laptop after one more file — just one more. But then there was another, and another, and now it’s nearly 4 AM, and you’re running on pure caffeine and spite.

Max shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent in Dutch. You glance at him, your heart softening for a moment. He looks so peaceful, so unaware of the storm you’re wading through just inches away from him.

“Soon,” you whisper, your fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just a little longer.”

You’ve been combing through every financial record you can find, hacking into databases and piecing together spreadsheets like a forensic puzzle. And then, finally, you see it — a string of payments that makes your stomach turn.

The account is buried deep, hidden behind layers of shell companies and off-the-books transfers. But the numbers don’t lie. Over the past three years, millions of euros have been funneled out of the FIA’s discretionary budget and into a series of private accounts.

At first, it’s just suspicious. Then it’s horrifying.

You zoom in on the details, your pulse racing. The money trails lead to names — government officials in multiple countries, shady contractors with histories of fraud, and even one account linked to a known arms dealer.

“What the hell …” you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you open another file.

It gets worse.

The payments aren’t just bribes or kickbacks. They’re tied to contracts for military-grade surveillance technology and riot control equipment. The kind of things no racing organization should have any business buying.

“Why would the FIA need …” Your voice trails off, your thoughts spiraling.

And then it hits you. They don’t need it. Someone within the FIA is using their funds as a cover to funnel resources for something darker — something illegal.

You feel a chill creep up your spine as you uncover more details. The timing of the payments coincides with major FIA controversies, including rulings that massively benefited certain teams or drivers. It’s almost as if the penalties and decisions were distractions, designed to shift the focus away from what was really happening behind the scenes.

Your throat tightens. This isn’t just corruption. This is criminal conspiracy on an international scale.

You close the file and lean back against the headboard, staring at the screen in disbelief. Your mind is racing, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together faster than you can process them.

The FIA isn’t just targeting Max. They’re using their position as a global governing body to launder money and traffic illegal goods. And if you’re right, they’ve been doing it for years.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Beside you, Max stirs, his hand brushing against your arm. “What time is it?” He mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Uh …” You glance at the clock. “Four thirty.”

His eyes crack open, and he frowns. “You’re still awake?”

You hesitate, your mind still reeling. “I found something.”

He rubs his face, sitting up slightly. “What kind of something?”

You turn the laptop toward him, your hands shaking as you scroll through the files. “Look at this. These payments — they’re using FIA accounts to fund illegal activities. Weapons, surveillance tech, bribes. It’s all here.”

Max blinks, trying to wake himself up. “Wait — what? The FIA is buying weapons?”

“Not for themselves,” you explain, your voice trembling. “They’re covering for someone else. Someone higher up, maybe even multiple people. It’s a money-laundering operation disguised as legitimate spending. And the worst part?” You click on another document. “They’re timing these payments to coincide with penalties and controversies. Like yours.”

He stares at the screen, his jaw tightening. “They’re creating distractions.”

“Exactly.” You meet his gaze, your chest tight with anger. “They’re using you — using all of you — to keep people from noticing what’s really going on.”

Max is silent for a moment, his expression darkening. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” you say firmly. “I’ve traced the accounts. I’ve seen the contracts. It’s all there.”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “This is insane. How are they getting away with this?”

“Because no one’s looking,” you say bitterly. “They’ve built a system where no one questions their authority. They hand out fines, penalties, rulings — it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

Max shakes his head, his anger simmering just below the surface. “So what do we do?”

“We expose them,” you say without hesitation. “We take this to the press, to the authorities — whoever will listen. We make sure everyone knows what they’ve been doing.”

He looks at you, his eyes blazing with determination. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, your voice steady. “They’ve messed with you for the last time, Max. I’m not letting them get away with this.”

Max leans back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “You know this won’t be easy. They’ll come after you.”

“Let them,” you say fiercely. “They’re not invincible, Max. They think they are, but they’re not. And now we have the proof.”

He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and grounding. “We do this together, okay?”

You nod, your resolve hardening. “Together.”

For the first time in hours, you close the laptop. The fight isn’t over — not even close. But for now, you have what you need.

The FIA has no idea what’s coming for them.

***

The findings sit like a live grenade between you and Max for weeks. Every time you try to talk about it, the conversation spirals into an argument that feels more like a desperate plea than a disagreement.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table one morning, coffee in hand, staring at the spreadsheet open on your laptop. Max leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you’re about to pull the pin and toss the grenade straight into his life.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s trying not to spook you. “You can’t post this. It’s too dangerous.”

You glance up, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Max, we’ve been over this. Dangerous for who? The FIA? Because it sure as hell isn’t safe for anyone else if they keep getting away with this.”

He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No. Dangerous for you.”

You sigh, shutting the laptop and leaning back in your chair. “And we’ve been over this too. If it’s tied to me, and they come after me, it only makes them look worse. They’d be shooting themselves in the foot.”

Max pushes off the counter, pacing across the small kitchen. “You think they care about how it looks? These people are untouchable. They’ve been untouchable for decades. What if they don’t care about subtlety? What if they decide to make an example out of you?”

“Then they’ll prove my point,” you counter, setting your mug down harder than you meant to. “Max, they’re laundering money. Funding illegal operations. Covering up fraud. This isn’t just about you or me anymore. This is about them and what they’re doing to-”

“To you,” he cuts in, spinning to face you. “This is about you, schatje. You think I can just sit back and watch them destroy your life? Watch them drag you through the mud — or worse?” His voice cracks on the last word, and it stops you in your tracks.

“Max …”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can take the fines. The penalties. Whatever bullshit they throw at me, I don’t care. But I can’t …” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t lose you over this.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

You stand, crossing the room to him. “Max.” You reach for his hands, pulling them away from where they’re clenched at his sides. He looks up at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a storm of worry and frustration.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly. “But you can’t ask me to do nothing. Not when I have this.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hands tightening. “There has to be another way. Something that doesn’t put you in the crosshairs.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to cover their tracks. This needs to come from me. Not you, not a journalist. Me.”

Max pulls his hands away, pacing again. “Why does it have to be you? Why not anonymously? Why not through someone else?”

“Because,” you say, your voice rising just enough to make him stop and look at you, “if it’s anonymous, it’s easier for them to discredit. If it’s me — someone with a background in forensic accounting, someone who has proof — it’s harder for them to bury.”

He stares at you, his jaw working, his frustration palpable. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re worth it,” you shoot back, your words cutting through his anger like a blade.

Max looks at you, his expression crumbling. “This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s bigger than that now.”

“I know,” you say, stepping closer to him. “That’s why I have to do this.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Max sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If you do this … if you put this out there …” He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know the risks,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But we can’t let them keep doing this. If I don’t say something, who will?”

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “I hate this.”

“I know,” you whisper.

The next few days are a blur of preparation. You draft the post, meticulously double-checking every link, every piece of evidence. Max hovers in the background, equal parts supportive and terrified, his tension radiating through the apartment.

Finally, the day comes. You’re sitting at your desk, your phone in your hand, the post ready to go. Max stands behind you, silent but solid, his presence grounding you.

“You sure about this?” He asks, his voice low.

You nod, your finger hovering over the “post” button. “It’s time.”

He exhales, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Then do it.”

With a deep breath, you hit the button.

The tweet goes live:

The FIA has been hiding more than bad calls and unfair penalties. They’ve been laundering money and funding illegal operations for years. Here’s the proof #ExposeFIA

The moment it’s posted, your phone buzzes with notifications, the retweets and replies piling up faster than you can process.

You lean back in your chair, your heart racing as the reality of what you’ve done sinks in. Max squeezes your shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring.

“It’s out there now,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

“Yeah,” Max says, his voice steady. “And they’ll never see it coming.”

***

The world ignites within hours of your tweet.

Your phone buzzes nonstop, the notifications climbing into the thousands. News outlets pick up the story almost immediately. By mid-morning, your name is trending worldwide, alongside “#ExposeFIA” and a slew of related hashtags.

Every major publication, from The Guardian to The New York Times, runs with the story. Formula 1 Twitter is a battlefield, with fans, journalists, and even ex-drivers weighing in. Some praise you as a whistleblower, others call you reckless, but everyone is talking.

Max, watching it all unfold from the sofa, looks like he’s about to break the remote he’s gripping too tightly. “This is madness,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scrolls through his phone.

“Madness is putting it lightly,” you say, typing out a message to your lawyer, who’s already fielding calls from investigative agencies and reporters.

By noon, the FIA releases a statement calling your accusations “unfounded” and “a gross misunderstanding of internal operations.” They promise transparency, cooperation with audits, and a full investigation. It’s almost laughable how carefully worded it is, especially given how many people have already found red flags in the documents you posted.

“They’re scrambling,” Max says, glancing over at you.

“Good,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “They should be.”

By the evening, things escalate even further. International agencies — Interpol, Europol, and financial crime units from multiple countries — announce that they’ve opened formal investigations into the FIA’s financial practices. Max reads the headline aloud from his phone, his tone a mix of shock and vindication.

“‘Interpol launches probe into FIA money-laundering allegations.’” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve set the whole world on fire, haven’t you?”

You shrug, though your heart pounds in your chest. “Someone had to.”

But the sense of triumph doesn’t last long. By the next morning, the darker side of the storm begins to roll in.

Your email inbox floods with threats, your social media accounts are bombarded with harassment, and reporters camp outside the apartment building, cameras ready to capture every move. A particularly ominous email arrives from an anonymous account, promising that “justice will come” for what you’ve done.

Max reads it over your shoulder and immediately storms out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back, phone pressed to his ear as he paces the length of the living room. You catch snippets of his conversation. “Former military … no, only the best … round-the-clock.”

When he finally hangs up, you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Bodyguards,” he says flatly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Max says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve hired a team. They’ll be here tonight.”

“Max, that’s-”

“Not negotiable,” he interrupts, his eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care if it feels over the top. If they’re sending you threats, you’re not walking around without protection.”

You let out a slow breath, recognizing the sheer fear underlying his anger. “What kind of bodyguards are we talking about?”

“Ex-special forces,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “They’re the best. Trained for high-risk situations. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, they’ll handle it.”

You can’t help but laugh, though the sound is hollow. “Max Verstappen, hiring a private army. Who would’ve thought?”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps closer, his expression softening. “I mean it, liefje. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I know.”

By nightfall, your new security team arrives. Four men and two women, all dressed in plain but professional attire, introduce themselves with clipped, no-nonsense precision. They’re intimidating, to say the least, but Max seems relieved the moment they walk through the door.

The leader of the team, a former SAS operative named Sam, lays out the plan in a low, calm voice. “Two of us will be stationed outside the apartment at all times. Another two will rotate shifts inside. We’ll also have someone following you whenever you leave the building. Discreet, but close enough to act.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. “Thanks, Sam. Really.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he says with a curt nod.

Max hovers nearby, watching the exchange with hawk-like focus. Once the bodyguards take their positions, he pulls you aside, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Feel safer?”

“Honestly?” You say, glancing toward the door where Sam is stationed. “It feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Max cracks a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Better a spy movie than a tragedy.”

The following days are surreal. The FIA is in complete disarray, with high-ranking officials resigning or being placed on administrative leave as the investigations intensify. Every news cycle seems to bring another bombshell revelation: hidden accounts, off-the-record meetings, connections to corrupt government officials.

Even Formula 1 teams begin distancing themselves from the governing body. Drivers are asked about it in every interview, and while most offer diplomatic responses, a few — like Lewis and Charles — publicly voice their support for you.

Through it all, Max stays glued to your side, protective in a way you’ve never seen before. Whenever you leave the apartment, he insists on going with you, even if it’s just to grab groceries.

One evening, as you’re scrolling through Twitter, you stumble upon a post from a well-known journalist.

@yourusername’s bravery has set off one of the biggest scandals in motorsport history. But the question remains: how deep does the corruption go? #ExposeFIA

You show the tweet to Max, who nods grimly. “They’re right,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

You lean back against the couch, exhaustion weighing on you. “Yeah. And the FIA is going to do everything they can to bury me before it gets worse for them.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “They can try,” he says quietly. “But they’ll have to go through me first.”

You smile faintly, resting your head against his chest. The fight is far from over, but with Max by your side — and a small army of bodyguards watching your back — you feel ready for whatever comes next.

***

Max’s voice cuts through the quiet of the apartment. “Don’t go to Austin, please.”

You look up from your laptop, brows furrowing. He’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, but his expression is dry — serious, almost pleading.

“I already told you,” you say, your tone firm but calm. “I’m not hiding.”

“It’s not hiding,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “It’s being smart. Let them think whatever they want. You don’t have to prove anything by being there.”

You push your chair back, turning fully to face him. “If I don’t go, they’ll think they’ve won. That I’m scared of them. I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”

Max exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about pride, Y/N. It’s about your safety. They’ve already made it clear they’re willing to play dirty.”

“They’re already under investigation by half the agencies on the planet,” you counter. “They wouldn’t dare try anything now. Not in front of the entire world.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. “You’re underestimating them.”

“And you’re underestimating me,” you say softly, standing up. You walk over to him, resting your hands on his forearms. “I’m not cowering in fear. I refuse to let them intimidate me.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his hands twitching as if he wants to pull you into him but can’t quite let himself. “I can’t …” He pauses, his voice dropping. “I can’t focus on the race if I’m worried about you the whole time.”

You tilt your head, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Then don’t worry. I’ll be in the garage, surrounded by your team and my guards. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the conflict in his eyes almost unbearable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Promise me you’ll stay close to the guards. No wandering off, no risks.”

You nod, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”

***

The Circuit of the Americas is buzzing with energy as you and Max arrive for free practice. Fans line the paddock entrance, waving flags and shouting his name as you walk toward the Red Bull garage, flanked by two of your bodyguards. Max’s hand hovers protectively at the small of your back, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

“You don’t leave the garage,” he says as you reach the entrance, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not for food, not for interviews. Nothing.”

“I know,” you say, trying to soothe him with a gentle smile.

Max leans down, his voice low and fierce. “I mean it, schatje.”

“I know,” you repeat, softer this time.

Satisfied, though still visibly uneasy, Max kisses your forehead before heading off to change into his race suit. You settle into a chair near the engineers, watching the monitors as the mechanics fuss over his car. Sam stands just a few feet away, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

Max appears in full gear, his helmet tucked under his arm. He glances at you one last time before stepping toward the car. “Stay here,” he says firmly.

“Go drive, Verstappen,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods and climbs into the car.

The first twenty minutes of the session pass uneventfully. Max is quick on track, his name lighting up the timing screens. The garage is busy but calm, the sound of the commentators droning faintly in the background.

And then, chaos.

A car bursts into flames on the back straight, smoke billowing into the air. The screens in the garage flicker to a red flag, and people jump into action, radios buzzing with updates.

“Car 23, it’s Albon!” Someone shouts. “He’s out, but the car’s on fire-”

Everyone’s attention is glued to the monitors, watching the marshals scramble to extinguish the flames. The smell of burning rubber seems to seep into the garage, and the noise level spikes as mechanics, engineers, and team officials bark orders and updates.

You glance at Sam, who nods reassuringly. “Stay put,” he says.

But in the chaos, no one notices the shadow slipping through the crowd behind you.

A hand clamps over your mouth, and something sharp pricks the side of your neck. Your vision blurs instantly, the world tilting sideways as your body goes limp. You feel yourself being dragged, but your limbs won’t cooperate, won’t fight back.

Sam’s voice echoes dimly in the background. “Where’s Y/N?”

You try to shout, to move, but the darkness swallows you whole.

And then, nothing.

***

When you wake, it’s like surfacing from a deep, suffocating void. Your head throbs, and your limbs feel heavy, almost disconnected. The first thing you notice is the faint hum of fluorescent lights above you. Then the sharp sting in your wrists and ankles — tight bonds cutting into your skin.

You’re tied to a chair, the cold metal frame unforgiving against your back. The air smells faintly of damp concrete, and the room is dimly lit, industrial — like the basement of a forgotten building.

Panic blooms in your chest as you struggle against the restraints, the rope biting into your skin with every movement. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to think, to focus. You remember the race, the chaos in the garage, and then — nothing.

Footsteps echo down a hallway. Steady, deliberate.

Your heart pounds in your chest as a figure steps into the room. The man is immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back, his face a mask of cold disdain.

The FIA president.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says smoothly, closing the door behind him. He walks toward you, his polished leather shoes clicking against the floor. “I was beginning to worry the dosage was too much. I’d hate to have overdone it.”

You glare at him, your voice hoarse as you manage to croak out, “What the hell … is this?”

He stops a few feet from you, clasping his hands behind his back. “This,” he says, his tone almost casual, “is what happens when you ruin someone’s life, Miss L/N.”

Your heart sinks, but you keep your expression steady. “You kidnapped me?”

“I prefer to think of it as … leveling the playing field,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “After all, you didn’t hesitate to destroy my reputation, my career — everything I’ve built over the last three decades. Surely you didn’t expect there to be no consequences?”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and unsteady. “You destroyed your own career by being corrupt. All I did was expose the truth.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm façade. “The truth,” he repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The FIA is in shambles. Investigators are tearing through every document, every bank account. Major sponsors are pulling out. Drivers are threatening to boycott. All because of you.”

“Good,” you snap, your voice gaining strength. “You deserve it. Every single one of you who let this happen deserves it.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Do you think the world will thank you for this? For dragging motorsport into the mud? You’ve made enemies far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you spit, though your heart is racing.

He smiles, but it’s cold and cruel. “You should be.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“You ruined my life,” he says softly, his tone icy and deliberate. “So the least I could do is ruin yours.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Do whatever you want to me. It won’t change anything. The truth is out. You can’t bury it now.”

He straightens, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps not,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “But I can make you wish you’d never posted that little tweet.”

You don’t respond, your breath hitching as he turns and walks toward the door.

Before he leaves, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Enjoy your stay, Miss L/N. It’ll be your last taste of freedom for a very long time.”

The door slams shut, and you’re left alone in the dim, silent room, your heart pounding and your mind racing. You tug at the ropes again, desperation clawing at you, but they hold firm.

You have no idea how much time you have — or if anyone even knows where you are. But one thing is clear: you’re not giving up without a fight.

***

The moment Max hears the words, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

“She’s gone.”

The voice comes from Sam who’s pale and shaking despite his years of military training. The garage is chaos, but Max doesn’t register any of it. The team radios, the mechanics shouting about the car, the fans outside the paddock — it all fades into a dull hum.

“What do you mean, gone?” Max’s voice is low, dangerous, the calm before an eruption.

Sam hesitates, and that hesitation is enough to snap Max’s restraint. He takes two steps forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt.

“What. Happened?” Max snarls, his grip tightening.

“She — someone — must have used the chaos to grab her,” Sam stammers, his voice faltering under Max’s fury. “I was right there. I don’t-”

“You were right there?” Max shouts, his voice echoing in the garage. His mechanics freeze, everyone suddenly aware of the storm brewing in the middle of their space. “Then how the hell is she gone?”

“I-I don’t know,” Sam admits, looking down, shame written across his face. “It was fast. We didn’t see-”

Max releases him with a shove, his hands trembling with rage. He feels like he’s going to explode, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe.

“Find her,” Max spits, his voice low and filled with venom. “Or I swear, you’ll regret ever taking this job.”

Sam nods quickly, already pulling out his phone, barking orders to the rest of the security team. But Max doesn’t wait to hear more.

He storms out of the garage, shoving past anyone who dares step in his path. His vision is a blur of fury, his ears ringing. People call his name — Christian, his press officer, even a few reporters — but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The first FIA official he sees is standing just outside the paddock offices, talking to a group of staff. Max doesn’t even pause to think. He closes the distance in seconds, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Max!” Someone yells behind him, but he doesn’t care.

“Where is she?” Max growls, his face inches from the man’s.

The official — a younger man with wide eyes and a trembling mouth — raises his hands in surrender. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Max shouts, his voice raw and unhinged. He tightens his grip, the fabric of the man’s shirt bunching in his fists. “If even one hair on her head is hurt, everyone involved will wish they were dead. Do you understand me?”

“Max, let him go!” Christian’s voice cuts through the chaos as Red Bull staff rush toward him, trying to pull him back.

“Stay out of this!” Max snaps without looking, his eyes locked on the trembling FIA official. “You know something. You all do.”

“I don’t!” The man insists, his voice cracking. “I swear, I don’t-”

“You’re all complicit,” Max growls, his voice low and menacing. “You’re all covering for each other, just like always. But if anything happens to her, I will burn this entire sport to the ground.”

“Max!” Christian’s hands are on his shoulders now, trying to pull him back. “This isn’t helping. We’ll find her. You’re just making it worse!”

For a moment, Max hesitates, his breathing ragged. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he shoves the man away, releasing his grip. The official stumbles, gasping for air, but Max doesn’t even look at him as he turns to Christian.

“They took her,” Max says, his voice breaking for the first time. “She’s gone, Christian.”

Christian’s face softens, his usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “We’ll find her, Max. I promise.”

But Max shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Promises don’t mean anything if she’s hurt.”

He storms off again, ignoring the cameras and the whispers that follow him. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. Who has you? Why? How?

And then the worst thought of all … what if he’s too late?

***

The shed is suffocatingly small, barely more than a wooden box. Its peeling paint and sagging roof make it look like it’s been abandoned for years, forgotten in the middle of rural Texas farmland.

The search had stretched for days, involving everyone from local sheriffs to federal agents to Interpol. Max hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d barely spoken, except to bark orders and demand updates. And now, standing in front of the shed, his heart feels like it might stop altogether.

“Max,” Christian says, his voice a low murmur from behind. “Let them go in first.”

But Max shakes his head, already moving forward. A Texas Ranger tries to stop him, but Max glares, and the man steps aside, the air between them crackling with unspoken understanding.

The door creaks as Max pushes it open, the sound loud in the eerie stillness.

Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The dim light from the open door spills into the room, illuminating the figure slumped against the far wall.

You.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

You’re tied to a chair, the ropes biting into your skin, your wrists and ankles raw from the restraints. Your head is slumped forward, but at the sound of the door, you stir, lifting your face ever so slightly.

Bruises bloom across your cheekbone, your arms, the pale skin of your neck. Dried blood streaks your temple, and your lips are cracked, split in places. But it’s your eyes — glassier than he’s ever seen them, unfocused yet somehow still searching — that shatter him completely.

“Liefje,” Max breathes, his voice breaking.

You blink slowly, struggling to process. And then, somehow, against all odds, your eyes focus on him. Recognition flares, faint but unmistakable, and your lips move, though no sound comes out.

Max falls to his knees.

The world blurs around him — voices shouting, footsteps rushing in, hands grabbing for you. But all he can see is you. He crawls forward, his knees scraping against the rough floor, until he’s right in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time, his voice shaking. “I’m here. It’s me. It’s Max.”

Your head tilts slightly, your lips parting as if to say something.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his hands trembling as he reaches for you. He hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid of causing more pain. “Don’t try to talk. Just … just stay with me.”

Tears blur his vision as he takes in the state of you. Every bruise, every cut feels like a dagger to his chest. He wants to scream, to rage, to destroy whoever did this to you, but he pushes it all down, forces himself to focus on you.

You manage a weak sound — barely more than a rasp — but your eyes never leave his.

“I’m here,” Max repeats, his voice fierce now, as if sheer force of will can keep you tethered to him. “You’re safe. I swear to God, you’re safe now.”

“Max …” you whisper, your voice so faint it’s almost lost in the chaos around you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ve got you, schatje. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

Behind him, medics and agents flood the shed, their voices urgent as they assess the scene. Someone touches Max’s shoulder, but he shrugs them off violently.

“Not yet,” he snaps, his tone deadly. “Give me a second.”

The medic hesitates, then backs away.

“Max,” you say again, a little louder this time, your voice raw and broken. Your eyes fill with tears, spilling over as you look at him.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

For the first time, the faintest flicker of a smile ghosts across your lips. It’s fragile, barely there, but it’s enough to make Max’s chest tighten.

He leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his hands finally settling on your knees as he grounds himself in your presence.

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmurs, his voice dark and unyielding. “Every single one of them. I promise you.”

Your head tips forward, leaning against him as the medics finally step in, their voices careful and quiet. Max doesn’t let go, not until they’re lifting you onto a stretcher, not until they’re absolutely sure you’re stable.

Even then, he doesn’t leave your side.

***

Max sits in the darkness of your shared apartment, his fingers steepled, his eyes fixed on the glow of his laptop screen. The names are all there. Every single one of them.

The investigation, spearheaded by law enforcement and fueled by global outrage, had revealed the tangled web of corruption that led to your kidnapping. At the center of it: the FIA president and a handful of high-ranking officials who had conspired to silence you for what you’d uncovered.

Max stares at their faces, the headshots lined up on the screen like a hit list. And in his mind, that’s exactly what it is.

There are many things about his childhood that Max tries not to think about. His father’s cold, unrelenting discipline. The constant berating. The punishments for anything less than perfection. Jos Verstappen hadn’t raised a son … he’d forged a weapon.

For years, Max had hated him for it. But now, for the first time, he feels a grim sense of gratitude. Because Jos had taught him something important: how to be cruel.

Max isn’t naïve enough to think the justice system will fix this. No prison sentence, no public disgrace will ever feel like enough for what they did to you — for the bruises that painted your skin, for the fear in your eyes when they finally found you.

These people had tried to destroy you. Max is going to destroy them first.

***

The first one falls within days. A minor official, the logistics director who had helped orchestrate your transport to the shed. He’s found in his sprawling Paris apartment, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The police call it a robbery gone wrong, but Max knows better.

The second is a middle manager in finance who’d helped funnel bribes through FIA accounts. He vanishes without a trace, his car abandoned on a lonely stretch of highway.

Each one is different. A tragic accident. A sudden disappearance. A stroke of bad luck. But the common thread is unmistakable. The officials complicit in your kidnapping are dropping like flies, one by one, their fates tied to their betrayal.

Max doesn’t get his hands dirty — not directly. He doesn’t have to. Money buys silence, loyalty, and an army of people willing to do what he can’t.

He watches it all unfold from a careful distance, his heart cold and steady. The guilt, if it comes, is fleeting. These people made their choices. Now they’re paying for them.

***

The FIA president is last.

Max makes him wait.

For weeks, the man is forced to watch as his associates vanish, as the walls close in around him. The investigation has left him disgraced, stripped of his title, his assets frozen. He’s a man on the run, hiding in the shadows of his former power.

But Max knows where he is. He’s known from the beginning.

It happens in the dead of night, in the decaying mansion the president had fled to somewhere in the French countryside.

Max doesn’t send someone else this time. This one, he wants to see for himself.

***

The president is sitting at a desk, the room lit by a single dim lamp. He’s aged years in a matter of months, his face gaunt, his hands trembling as he rifles through papers. He doesn’t hear Max until it’s too late.

The sound of the door closing makes him freeze.

When he looks up, Max is already there, standing in the doorway, his face blank but his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal fury.

“Hello,” Max says, his voice calm.

The president’s face goes pale. He stumbles to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. “W-what are you doing here? You have no right-”

“Sit,” Max says sharply.

The man stops mid-sentence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He sinks back into the chair, his movements stiff and jerky.

“You ruined your own life,” Max says, stepping closer. His voice is measured, even, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air in the room feel heavier. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to try to ruin hers too.”

The president’s hands shake as he grips the edge of the desk. “I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Max interrupts, his tone icy.

The man flinches, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. But there’s nowhere to go.

“You didn’t just hurt her,” Max continues, his voice low. “You left her tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere, beaten and bleeding. You thought no one would find her. You wanted her to disappear.”

The president tries to speak, but the words die in his throat.

Max leans forward, his hands resting on the desk. “I’ve let you live longer than you deserve. But this ends tonight.”

The president shakes his head frantically, panic overtaking him. “You can’t do this! I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Max asks, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Run to the police? Tell them what you did? They’d love to hear about it.”

The president’s breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving as he realizes there’s no way out.

Max straightens, his gaze cold and unrelenting. “You took her because you thought I’d let it go. Because you thought I’d be too afraid to fight back. But you were wrong.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Max’s words settling over them like a storm.

When it’s over, the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind outside.

Max walks out of the mansion, his hands steady, his heart unyielding.

The world will never know what happened to the former FIA president. But Max doesn’t care.

All that matters is that it’s done. You’re safe. And no one will ever hurt you again.

***

You wake with a jolt, the scream clawing at your throat but never making it out. Your chest heaves, your skin slick with sweat, the remnants of the nightmare still vivid behind your eyelids. The ropes, the shed, the bruising grip of strangers. You can still feel it, can still hear the taunts of the man who orchestrated it all.

For a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your hands tremble as you clutch the sheets, the darkness of the room suffocating. But then you feel him.

“Schatje,” Max whispers, his voice thick with sleep and concern. His arms are around you instantly, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your breathing erratic as you cling to him like a lifeline. His scent, his warmth, his steady heartbeat — these are the things that tether you back to reality.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs, his hand running up and down your back. “Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.”

You don’t say anything, but the way your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt tells him enough.

Max tightens his hold, his lips pressing to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I let you down. I should’ve protected you. I-”

“Stop,” you croak, your voice hoarse from disuse. You pull back slightly, enough to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are raw, rimmed with red, his guilt carved into every line of his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yes, it was,” he says, his voice rough. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. If I had-”

“Max,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm.

He finally looks at you, and the weight of his guilt makes your chest ache.

“You didn’t let me down,” you say, your hand cupping his cheek. “What happened was their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he says, his voice trembling. “And I didn’t. I failed.”

“Max.” You sit up straighter, your other hand framing his face. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me. You found me. You’ve been here for me every second since. That’s what matters.”

He tries to argue, his lips parting, but you don’t let him.

You lean forward and kiss him, cutting off whatever protest he was about to make. It’s gentle at first, a soft reassurance, but then it deepens, your hands slipping into his hair as you pour everything into it — all your gratitude, your love, your need to make him understand.

When you pull back, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “And you didn’t let me down. You’ll never let me down.”

Max’s eyes close, a shuddering breath escaping him as his hands settle on your waist. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he murmurs. “I swear. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I trust you.”

The room falls quiet again, the tension melting into something softer as Max holds you close. The nightmare still lingers at the edges of your mind, but with him here, it feels manageable.

You close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you back toward sleep, your head tucked under his chin.

***

The world looks different now. Formula 1 has been turned inside out and rebuilt piece by piece, its foundation gutted, its walls scrubbed clean of rot. The FIA, once untouchable, now stands as a phoenix reborn — smaller, humbler, and watched under a microscope by a public that no longer trusts blindly.

And the man standing at its helm?

Sebastian Vettel.

His appointment shocked everyone, though in hindsight, maybe it shouldn’t have. A four-time world champion with a reputation for integrity, sharp wit, and an inexplicable love of bees, Sebastian had been the last person anyone expected to re-enter the fold. Yet here he was: a symbol of hope and accountability.

And now, sitting in your living room.

You stare at him, still trying to reconcile the fact that Sebastian Vettel is perched on your sofa, a cup of tea balanced in his hand, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. He wears a suit, though the top button is undone and his shoes scuff slightly on your rug — small signs that, for all his new authority, he’s still Sebastian.

Max, seated across the room with his arms crossed, is visibly tense. He hasn’t said much since Sebastian arrived, choosing instead to lean back in his chair and observe. Protectively.

“Just to be clear,” you say, leaning forward, “you want to hire me?”

Sebastian smiles faintly, setting his tea down on the table. “Yes. You.”

“As a forensic accountant?”

“Yes.”

“To audit the FIA?”

Sebastian leans back slightly, his expression soft but serious. “To make sure nothing like what happened ever happens again. To hold us accountable, to make sure every financial and ethical line is crystal clear. You’ve proven yourself, Y/N. The FIA needs someone sharp, honest, and relentless. You’re all three.”

You blink, thrown off balance. You’d been bracing for congratulations or polite pleasantries — not this.

“Why me?” You ask finally.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Because you’re the only person I trust to do it right.”

That knocks the air from your lungs.

Across the room, Max shifts, his brows furrowing. “You’re asking her to put herself in the middle of it again,” he says, his voice low, edged with a protectiveness Sebastian doesn’t miss. “After everything.”

Sebastian turns to Max. “I’m asking her to fix it. If anyone can make sure the FIA stays clean, it’s Y/N.”

Max’s jaw tightens, and you can feel the storm brewing inside him. He’s fought so hard to keep you away from anything that even smells like danger. You know he hates the idea of you stepping back into this mess, even from a position of safety.

But you also know he won’t stop you if this is what you want.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to Sebastian. “You understand what you’re asking, right? I’ll find everything — everything. Even the things you don’t want me to.”

Sebastian nods. “That’s the point.”

You study him for a moment. There’s no hesitation in his face, no flicker of doubt. He means it. He’s really here to clean house, and he’s offering you a key role in ensuring that it happens.

Your fingers twist in your lap as you weigh the choice. You could walk away from it all, leave the FIA in someone else’s hands, and never think about its corruption again.

But then you think about the shed. The ropes. The bruises. The quiet corruption that enabled people like the former president to go unchecked for so long. You think about how close they came to breaking you — and how they’ll never get the chance to do it again.

Because you won’t let them.

You straighten in your seat, your voice clear. “If I do this, I want total autonomy. No limits on what I can investigate, no oversight. If I smell anything remotely off, I follow it wherever it leads.”

Sebastian smiles faintly, like he expected nothing less. “Done.”

“And if I say something needs to change, it changes. No delays, no excuses.”

“Done,” he says again.

Max exhales sharply, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Y/N …”

You glance at him, softening. “It’s my decision.”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t want you anywhere near them again. I don’t care who’s in charge.”

Sebastian clears his throat, respectful but firm. “This is her choice, Max.”

Max shoots him a withering glare but doesn’t argue further. Instead, he looks at you, his expression raw. “You just got out of this. Why would you go back?”

You reach across the space between you and take his hand. “Because if I don’t, someone else will. And they won’t be as careful, or as ruthless.” You squeeze his fingers gently. “You don’t have to like it, but you know I’m right.”

Max doesn’t reply immediately. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

“I don’t like it,” he says quietly, “but I’ll stand by you.”

You smile faintly, your chest warming as you meet his eyes. “I know.”

Sebastian, ever perceptive, chooses that moment to stand. “I’ll give you some time to think it over,” he says. “But … I hope you say yes.”

You nod, your decision already made. “I’ll think about it.”

Sebastian gives you both a small smile before making his way to the door. “Take care of each other,” he says as he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and Max alone in the quiet.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Max groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sebastian Vettel as president of the FIA? I didn’t see that one coming.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Me neither.”

His hand drops, and he looks at you, his expression serious again. “If you’re really going to do this, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Bodyguards, security — whatever you need.”

“I’m not going to war,” you tease gently.

“You say that now,” he mutters, his voice darkening. “But I know how this world works. You’re making enemies the second you start digging again.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you to protect me, isn’t it?”

Max exhales, his arms looping around you as he pulls you close. “Always.”

You nestle into his chest, letting his heartbeat steady you, the weight of the decision settling over you. You know what you’re walking into. You know the risks.

But you also know you can’t look away — not now, not after everything.

The FIA has been reborn. And you’re going to make sure it stays that way.

[gloomyluvr]

NEEDY

in which rafe just wants to nap

fem!reader x rafe cameron

fluff

warnings!: bit of sarah shade. cameron siblings getting along (iktr 🙂‍↕️), reader is from the cut and kind of a pogue idk,

a/n: hiii ! first rafe fic ever and first fic since 2023 (oops...) to my spiderverse readers i will write when they give us content and when the fandom is alive. hope this fic is good and people like it. it's not the best but i'm working on other fics so give me a chance please 😣. this ones pretty short. pls let me know if you enjoyed this or if there are any spelling errors. requests are open !

masterlist

summer in the outer banks was nothing short of fun. spending most days at the beach taking in the warm sun, relaxing and cooling down in the cold water, all while hanging out with the people you love most. but fuck, did it get so hot sometimes. unbearably hot. it wasn’t enough to cool down in the water, the intense sun on skin overpowering the coolness of the ocean. it was worse at the chateau, or anywhere on the cut. only a lucky few could afford the luxury of air conditioning. fortunately, you had a super awesome hot rich boyfriend with a mansion with air conditioning that ran 24/7. 

you laid in bed with the youngest cameron sibling, helping her with online shopping for the upcoming school year. having been with rafe for just a couple months, you had become close with his sisters. you saw sarah at the chateau with john b more than you had ever really seen her at tannyhill. therefore, when you spent time at the mansion, you typically spent time with wheezie when you got bored with rafe. 

“wait, that one’s cute,” you pointed to a crop top on wheezie’s laptop which rested on her knees.

“i think i already have that one though.” she looked around her room to see if the top was among the clothes on the floor before giving up and continued scrolling through the catalogue, “i feel like these clothes are too revealing.”

“cmon wheeze! this is nothing, you just gotta get out of your shell. it’s just clothes, try something new and i don’t know, maybe you’ll like it.” you tried convincing the younger girl. over the past few months you had become like an older sister to her, as sarah spent more time with john b and the other pogues.

“my dad would never let me buy these,” she turned her head to look at you. 

“just put it on rafe’s card,” you whispered, “i won’t tell.” you stuck your pinky out and wheezie quickly wrapped her pinky around yours, giggling. 

as wheezie finalized her cart a familiar voice began to call out for you, “babeee! babeee where are you!”

wheezie rolled her eyes, “speak of the devil,” she muttered. 

“summon him and he shall come,” you smiled at her which she returned, “i’m in wheezie’s room!” you called back. on queue, you heard obnoxiously loud stomps coming up the stairs. “he is so dramatic and for what?”

rafe stood in the doorway looking at you and his younger sister, “why’d you steal my girlfriend, wheeze?” 

 it was your turn to roll your eyes, “she didn’t steal me, dipshit. you were too busy ignoring me for topper and kelce and your stupid game so i came up here where i am truly loved.” you sighed, wrapping yourself around wheezie who stuck her tongue out at her older brother. in return, rafe picked up one of the shirts laying on the floor and chucked it at wheezie. 

“douchebag!” she yelled.

“cmon y/n, i wanna go take a nap.” 

“but i’m so comfy here!” you whined cuddling wheezie tighter. 

rafe walked over to your side and quickly got on the bed, spooning you and throwing one of his long legs over your body, reaching wheezie. rafe wasn’t an affectionate brother by any means, but when he was with you he definitely softened up with everyone around you guys. 

wheezie kicked her brother’s calf, “ew get your nasty dogs away from me!” but rafe didn’t budge.

“what’re you guys doing?” he mumbled looking at the laptop screen. 

“y/n’s helping me shop for school.” 

“why? you have enough clothes. you don’t need none of those crop tops. no boyfriends till you’re 30.” rafe stated as he viewed the clothes on the screen.

you gently smacked the leg that was on top of your own, “don’t be rude! wheezie’s not little anymore.”

 “hm, whatever.” he grumbled, nuzzling his face against your neck, eyes shut as he fully enveloped you leaving no space between your bodies. his hands found yours, wasting no time to intertwine your fingers. 

“get off me, fatty!” you feigned disgust, as if you weren’t enjoying every second of rafe’s neediness to cuddle.

rafe grumbled, “only if you come take a nap with me in my room.” 

“fineeee, get up then,” you reached behind to gently smack his butt and he quickly got up, no effort to hide his big smile, “sorry wheeze, duty calls.” you sighed, getting up following rafe as he walked to wheezie’s door.

before walking out he turned back to wheezie and stuck his tongue out as she had done earlier. with no hesitation, wheezie returned the gesture as you smacked rafe’s head and shoved him out the door. 

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: boyfriend Katsuki's strange guilty pleasure, harassment, nasty online comments, noncon ideations, online pervs

♡ FEM reader

“I’m borrowing your laptop, Kats!” you call. 

He’s in the bath, so you’re not sure he heard you, but also, you don’t think it’s any big deal. You’ve been a couple for years now, and living together has only brought you closer. Besides, it’s not as if you’re going to snoop or anything—you’re just going to check something real quick while you charge yours.

You rethink it when you have to write in his password. Maybe it would be better to just wait for your own machine to get ready—it’s not as if you’re in a hurry or anything. But then again, at the same time, it doesn’t hurt to give it your best guess.

Right on the first try—your name and birthday. Though you appreciate the gesture, he really should see into getting something stronger than that. The information he is privy to through his work is quite sensitive, after all.

But anyway. Onto the task at hand. You click into the browser. It’s already got some tabs open. 

You don’t mean to let your eyes wander, but it just can’t be helped. Katsuki sits before this thing, sometimes for hours during the day. Of course, most of it is surely work-related, writing incident rapports and profiles and the like. But this page right here… you don’t know… something about it seems strange.

“Some type of forum…” you mutter to no one but yourself. Katsuki had never struck you as the type to neither read nor partake in other people’s banter. Again, you’d promised yourself you weren’t going to pry, but it only takes a few seconds to read the comments—it’s over before you can stop yourself.

I bet she’s a squealer, like a really cute squealer

I wanna tie her up in an abandoned building somewhere no one will hear her scream

Same, but not on the bed though, on the floor and take her like a bitch

I‘m sure dynamight fucks her every day, i know i would! 

Dynamight’s such a lucky guy I hate him

You blink reading through the comments—completely having forgotten what you were doing in the first place. Who are these people? What are these comments about? You keep scrolling, eyebrows knit, and then you see it—your name. 

She looks like the type of girl that lets her man fuck her anywhere he wants whenever he wants

I’d literally kill for an hour of having her alone. And I’d make good use of that hour. Make her dump that blond asshat to be with me.

If she were my girlfriend, I’d keep her leashed to the bed with a collar. Can’t have other guys looking at her when she’s mine.

I’d only feed her cum. Trust me, she wouldn’t go hungry.

You’re eyes are fully wide now. Are all these chats about you? What’s Katsuki doing in a place like this? Reading all these sick comments as if he isn’t your boyfriend.

“Hey!” A shout knocks you out of your trance—and startles you enough that it very nearly even knocked you off balance.

“What’re you doin’ on my computer?” he asks in accusation while taking hurried and thundering steps toward you—still wet from his shower, wearing nothing but a white towel around his lower half.

“Uh,” you struggle to find your voice, heart hammering in your chest, head spinning—feeling both caught red-handed and the exact opposite. “Uhm, nothing—I just—”

He rips the laptop off the desk, angry eyes staring at the screen—then quickly going round.

His face pales. You can practically see the goosebumps as they rise in a rush across his skin. 

He swallows thickly, jaw-locked—doesn’t even dare look at you as he asks the question, “Did you read?”

You almost consider saying no but decide against it. This wasn’t something you could just ignore. No, you needed an explanation. Who knows? It might be completely innocent.

“Some of it…” you confess.

He shudders, and then he places the laptop down again, slowly, soundless. He rests his hands on the table and leans his weight on them, head bowed, voice small.

“I just… I… It’s, well…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking for the words.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Katsuki is nervous. But you suppose it’s for good reason.

“It’s not what you think, okay?” he declares, finally looking at you. 

His face is something unfamiliar—riddled with this guilty anxiety you’ve never pictured before—frazzled. It’s completely odd.

“Okay,” you say calmly. You don’t know if you’re angry or not yet. You know you probably should be, but the look on the man’s face is making you feel sorry for him.

“I don’t agree with any of this,” he insists, gesturing to the laptop. 

“Well, yeah, I sure hope so,” you say, although the question still remains, “But why are you on there then?”

“It…” He’s blushing—profusely—bright vermillion-tipped ears and apple-red cheeks. He looks away again. “I don’t know…”

I don’t know is an excuse you’ve never heard come out of his mouth. In fact, excuse or not, it’s a phrase you didn’t think him capable of. But look at him now, using it the same childish way a kid would after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You better not lie to me, Katsuki Bakugou—or I know someone who’s sleeping on the couch,” you finally find your strict tone. He’s crazy if he thinks this is something you’ll just forget about.

He sighs and then he falls into his desk chair, back hunched, hiding his face, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you close, nuzzling his head against you, mumbling under his breath, “It’s sick, and it makes me sick…”

You wait, giving him the time to figure it out.

“But it…” he continues. You feel his hands tremble just a bit before he confesses, “It makes me feel good.”

You’re not sure you understand, and so you ask for clarification, “What makes you feel good?”

He sighs again, and this time, his voice comes out dark and lusty, leaving no room for confusion, “To know that I have something everybody else wants.”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist ♡ ALL masterlists

[amkyor]

Hey! I'm a big fan, annnd I have a bakugou x y/n idea... where bakugou hasn't been paying attention to y/n his girlfriend lately and it's been lonely.... so y/n is watching a romance anime with Mina and y/n says... "I wish I had that"....and then Mina ask if she loves bakugou and she says ...."hes okay"..... but the whole time bakugou and his friend kirishima were listening....and bakugou his mind is like "I'm a bad boyfriend? Does she love me? Im...okay?"

K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY

Synopsis: Bakugo has been distant toward his girlfriend (you), and she realizes how much it is actually affecting her while watching a romance movie that includes the love that she wishes she had.

Short note: Chapter 23 of my Bakugo x Reader Fanfiction is out now! If you like my stories on here, I'm sure you'll like my fanfiction, so go check it out! The link is at the end of this post!!

Distance Between Us:

It all started slowly, too slow for you to realize.

The day you started to notice it was when it was late in the evening, and you were sitting on the couch, waiting for Bakugo to come home.

He had promised to spend the evening with you after work, but as the hours ticked by, your excitement turned into frustration. Finally, you heard the front door open.

Bakugo walked in, still in his hero uniform, his face tired and serious. "Sorry, I got held up at work. Some idiot caused a mess in the city," he muttered, tossing his gloves onto the table.

You smiled, trying to be understanding. "It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home now. Want me to heat up the dinner I made for us?"

"Not hungry," he replied shortly, already pulling out his phone. "I need to check the patrol schedule for tomorrow. There’s a lot going on."

You sighed, your shoulders dropping. "Katsuki, can’t it wait? You’ve been working all day. We barely get time together."

But he didn’t seem to hear you, his eyes glued to the screen. "Huh? Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

The evening dragged on, and though he was physically present, his mind remained consumed by hero work.

You ended up eating dinner alone while he sat at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop.

---

Another time was when he had made plans out of nowhere to hang out with his friends and ditch out on the two of you had planned.

It was a rare weekend when Bakugo didn’t have patrol or missions lined up.

You had planned a quiet day together—something simple, just the two of you.

But as you were setting up breakfast, his phone buzzed on the counter.

Bakugo glanced at the screen and smirked. "It’s Kirishima. He wants to hit the gym and grab lunch afterward. I’ll be back later."

Your stomach sank. "I thought today was for us? We haven’t had a day off together in weeks, Katsuki."

He blinked as if realizing for the first time that you might have feelings about this. "We can hang out later. It’s not like I’m gone all day. Plus, I haven’t seen the guys in a while."

You bit your lip, trying to keep your disappointment in check. "But we haven’t seen each other in a while either."

He paused for a second, then ruffled your hair in a halfhearted gesture. "Come on, it’s not a big deal. I’ll see you tonight." Before you could argue further, he was already grabbing his gym bag and heading out the door.

---

Another day came, and he did the same.

Bakugo’s dedication to his work often left him exhausted, and his sleep schedule was all over the place.

One night, you stayed up late, waiting for him to come to bed.

You had something important to talk about, but he was still in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, catching up on sleep.

"Katsuki," you called softly, standing in the doorway.

He grunted, barely lifting his head. "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s been on my mind for a while."

He groaned, sitting up slightly. "Can it wait? I just got back from a double shift, and I’m dead tired."

"But it’s important," you insisted, stepping closer.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Y/n, I can’t deal with anything serious right now. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?"

The next day came and went, and so did the conversation. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the timing right.

---

Then, of course, came another.

One evening, Bakugo was in the backyard, practicing his explosions while you watched from the patio.

You had been waiting for him to finish so you could spend some quality time together, but he was completely absorbed in his training.

"Hey, Katsuki," you called out, waving at him. "How much longer are you going to be out here?"

"Not now, babe," he shouted back, his voice carrying over the sound of crackling explosions. "I’m almost done!"

Almost turned into an hour, and by the time he came inside, you were curled up on the couch, half-asleep.

He walked past you, grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," he said, but there was no apology in his tone.

You gave him a small smile, too tired to argue. "It’s okay," you mumbled, though deep down, you wondered if he even realized how much you had been waiting for him.

---

In each of these scenarios, Bakugo’s priorities—whether work, friends, or personal routines—seemed to overshadow his time with you. While his intentions might not be malicious, his actions often left you feeling overlooked and craving the attention he gave to everything else in his life.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The evening was calm, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow across the counters.

You stood at the stove, carefully stirring the simmering pot of stew. The gentle aroma of sautéed vegetables, rich broth, and spices filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft hum of the overhead fan.

Tonight, you had decided to prepare something special—something hearty and comforting, like the conversation you hoped to have with Bakugo.

It had been a while since the two of you had truly spent time together.

His hero work had consumed most of his days, leaving you with fleeting moments of his presence.

You understood, of course, the weight of his responsibilities, but that didn’t make the distance any easier.

So, as a gesture of love and an attempt to reconnect, you had spent the better part of the evening preparing this meal.

The kitchen was cozy, lit by the soft glow of under-cabinet lights.

Plates were set neatly on the table, silverware arranged perfectly beside them.

A bottle of chilled sparkling water stood in the center, and the faint crackle of the stovetop added a soothing rhythm to the room.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. He should be home any minute now.

You adjusted the flame under the pot, letting the stew bubble gently, and moved to check on the freshly baked bread cooling on the counter.

The sound of the front door opening broke the quiet, followed by the rustling of heavy boots on the doormat.

Your heart gave a small flutter at the familiar noise.

He was home.

You didn’t look up from your task, your focus fixed on the pot as you gave it one last stir.

Toward the front door, the faint creak of the door closing reached your ears, followed by the soft thud of a duffle bag hitting the floor.

Bakugo’s presence filled the space immediately, even without a word.

The faint scent of smoke and ash mingled with the aroma of dinner, a signature of his return after a long day on patrol.

You heard the stretch of leather as he raised his arms high above his head, likely working out the stiffness from hours of action.

His footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as he made his way down the hall.

You could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his hair likely a mess from the day’s exertion.

The sound of his approach grew louder, each step deliberate yet unhurried, as if he were easing back into the calm of home.

You stayed at the stove, stirring slowly, waiting for him to join you in the kitchen, the moment of connection hanging in the air like the steam rising from the pot.

The clatter of the wooden spoon against the pot ceased as you set it down gently on the counter.

Wiping your hands on the apron tied snugly around your waist, you turned toward the kitchen's pillared entrance.

The soft shuffle of Bakugo’s steps nearing the kitchen tugged at your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but abandon your task momentarily.

You stepped around the corner, leaning casually against the frame of the kitchen entrance.

Resting your hand lightly on the wall, you peeked out toward him.

The sight of Bakugo, mid-stretch with his arms behind his head, immediately brought a fond smile to your lips.

His usual scowl was softened by a tiredness that clung to him, his messy ash-blond hair catching the dim light of the hallway.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck, likely sore from a long day.

His broad shoulders rolled slightly as he worked out the tension, the faint sound of his knuckles popping filling the quiet space.

The corners of your lips curled further upward as you admired him in his element—worn out yet still exuding the confidence and strength you loved about him.

Before you could say anything, his crimson gaze lifted, finally catching sight of you standing there.

His expression didn’t shift much—just a subtle raise of his brows as if to acknowledge your presence.

You straightened slightly, your smile warm and inviting as you prepared to greet him.

But before you could utter a word, he spoke first, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.

“I’m going upstairs to shower. Gotta get this grime off my body.” His tone was matter-of-fact, and he started walking toward you without breaking stride, cracking his knuckles as he moved.

Your smile didn’t falter as he approached, though the hurriedness of his words made you hesitate. “Oh, well, that’s great,” you began, your voice light and teasing. “But don’t take too long becau—”

“Oh yeah, by the way, before I forget,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through yours without a hint of malice, just his usual bluntness. “The gang and I are gonna hang out later, so I won’t be home for long.”

The abruptness of his words hit you like a splash of cold water. Your mouth hung slightly open mid-sentence, the rest of your words caught in your throat.

Bakugo’s gaze didn’t linger long, already focused ahead as though his announcement was nothing out of the ordinary.

Bakugo’s heavy boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he approached you, his expression unreadable but relaxed.

He stopped just in front of you, his tall frame towering slightly over yours.

The familiar scent of ash and sweat lingered faintly, a testament to his grueling day.

Without a word, his hand reached out, rough but warm, and landed gently on your head.

His fingers ruffled through your hair in a way that was both playful and dismissive, tousling it slightly.

A light smirk played on his lips as he pulled his hand back, his crimson eyes meeting yours briefly.

“I know you can handle things here, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, his voice low and casual, like he hadn’t just brushed past the idea of spending time with you.

As you stood out in front of him, the confidence and courage you had gathered from cooking in the kitchen had disappeared.

Now that you felt this way, there was no way you were going to bring up spending time with him over dinner.

Even though you had spent all evening preparing this relaxing for the both of you to enjoy, you couldn’t bring yourself to to tell him.

You were scared that if you had opened up, he might have gotten angry and dismissed all your worries with his furrowed brows.

Your heart sank a little at his words, but you forced a small smile, not wanting to let it show.

He turned on his heel without a second glance, his footsteps carrying him toward the staircase that led to the second floor of your shared home.

As he walked, his broad shoulders swayed slightly, his relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that suddenly gripped your chest.

You stood frozen for a moment, your mouth hanging slightly open, the words you wanted to say stuck somewhere in your throat.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You hated how they burned, how they threatened to spill over.

This wasn’t the first time Bakugo had brushed things off, but tonight, with the effort you’d put into dinner and the mounting distance you felt between you two, it stung more than usual.

He reached the first step of the staircase, his hand brushing against the railing as he prepared to ascend.

At you stood, something inside you snapped—a small but resolute voice urging you not to let the moment slip by.

Swallowing hard, you gathered the courage you had left, your voice trembling slightly but steady enough to cut through the air.

“Can I go too?”

Bakugo paused mid-step, his back still facing you, as the silence stretched between you both.

For a moment, you wondered if he had even heard you or if he’d continue up the stairs without a response.

Then, he turned his head slightly, revealing his side profile, his crimson eyes glancing at you.

“You wanna come?” he asked, his tone even and unreadable, a single brow raised in surprise.

Your hands instinctively came together, fidgeting as you avoided his gaze.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Gathering a bit more courage, you glanced up at him, noticing his blank expression.

It only lasted a second before you looked down again, unsure how your request would be received. “I mean, if that’s okay…”

Bakugo stared at you for a beat longer, his brow still raised as if trying to gauge your seriousness.

Then, his features softened, his raised brow lowering as he gave a small, nonchalant nod.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” he said, his voice carrying a casualness that made it hard to tell how he really felt.

Without another word, he turned back toward the stairs.

Relief washed over you, and a small smile crept onto your face as you followed his movements with your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but his agreement made you feel a little better, a small step toward closing the gap that had been forming between you two.

As Bakugo reached the first step of the staircase, he stopped again, his hand on the railing.

He turned his head just enough to look back at you, his expression neutral but firm.

“I’m leaving by 6, so get ready,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Then, without waiting for a response, he ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

You stood there in the kitchen, your smile slowly fading as his words sank in.

Glancing at the half-finished dinner you’d worked so hard on, your arms dropped to your sides, mirroring the exhaustion settling in your chest.

The kitchen felt colder now, emptier, as you stood there alone, staring at the plans you’d made that now felt insignificant.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake off the weight of disappointment, forcing yourself to move and tidy up the counter.

But no matter how much you willed yourself to focus on the task at hand, the sting of his casual dismissal lingered, leaving a quiet ache in its wake.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The soft hum of the Porsche's engine filled the quiet evening air as Bakugo sat in the driver’s seat, his hand drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

His gaze occasionally flicked toward the house, his sharp crimson eyes scanning for any sign of you.

The minutes ticked by, and though he didn’t say it out loud, he was growing impatient.

But there was a part of him that understood why you were taking your time—he had sprung this last-minute outing on you, and you deserved a moment to get ready properly.

Inside, you were slipping on your white Converse, carefully tying the laces with precision.

The finishing touch to your outfit had just been added—a chic combination of blue jeans, a navy blue tank top, and a white cardigan that fell perfectly against your frame.

You smoothed down the fabric, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror by the door.

Your navy blue purse rested comfortably on your shoulder, and the messy bun you’d styled earlier sat perfectly atop your head, with the white headband completing the look.

Satisfied, you grabbed your keys and reached for the door handle.

As you stepped outside, the soft glow of the porch light illuminated your figure.

The evening air was cool against your skin, and the faint scent of freshly cut grass lingered.

You glanced toward the sleek black Porsche parked in the driveway, where Bakugo sat waiting for you.

Inside the car, Bakugo looked up as the light from the open door seeped out, drawing his attention.

His sharp gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his breath hitched.

You looked stunning—effortlessly chic yet understated, the kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard.

The way the soft curls framed your face, the navy blue of your tank top complementing your skin, and the casual elegance of your outfit made his heart skip a beat.

He blinked, trying to maintain his usual composure, but the faintest tint of pink crept onto his cheeks, betraying him.

It was subtle, just enough to hint at the effect you had on him, but it was there.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he tore his eyes away for a brief second, trying to recover.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the dashboard as if it could somehow distract him.

But his gaze inevitably drifted back to you, his expression softening in a way only you could bring out in him.

He didn't say anything just yet—he wasn’t the type to gush—but the way his cheeks betrayed a rare blush spoke volumes.

The soft hum of the Porsche’s engine was steady as Bakugo sat, his hand draped nonchalantly over the steering wheel while the other rested against his mouth.

His sharp crimson eyes flicked away from you as you descended the steps toward the car, trying to keep his focus elsewhere.

The blush that had crept onto his cheeks earlier lingered faintly, and though he wouldn’t admit it, seeing you like this had thrown him off his usual composure.

You opened the passenger door with care, stepping into the car and adjusting yourself in the plush seat.

The faint scent of Bakugo’s cologne mingled with the new-car smell, giving the cabin a warmth that was uniquely him.

As you closed the door gently behind you, you glanced up to see him leaning against the driver’s side, his elbow propped on the car door and his hand casually gripping the wheel.

His relaxed posture was natural, but the way his eyes darted toward you from the corners of his vision betrayed a subtle curiosity.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said softly, brushing a loose curl behind your ear.

Your voice broke the quiet tension, and you weren’t sure if you imagined his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his tone gruff yet calm, as he adjusted himself in the seat and placed both hands on the wheel.

Hearing the simplicity of his response made you smile, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

You carefully removed your bag from your shoulder, placing it neatly on your lap.

Bakugo, meanwhile, shifted the car into reverse, the soft rumble of the engine vibrating beneath you as he backed out of the driveway with precision.

You stole a quick glance at him from the corners of your eyes.

The streetlights outside cast a warm, golden hue that framed his sharp jawline and stern features as he focused on maneuvering the car.

He looked so effortlessly confident, so in control—it was hard not to admire him.

Reaching up, you flipped open the vanity mirror above your head, giving yourself a quick once-over.

You smoothed down a stray curl and checked your lipstick, making sure everything was still in place.

Satisfied, you closed the mirror with a soft click and adjusted in your seat, letting your gaze wander back to him.

The quiet of the ride was broken only by the sound of the tires rolling over asphalt and the faint hum of the radio playing low in the background.

You bit your lip lightly, debating whether or not to say what had been on your mind.

Finally, you took a small breath, your fingers beginning to fidget nervously with the strap of your bag.

“Sooo…” you began, your voice tentative as you glanced out the window, gathering your thoughts.

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his focus remaining on the road ahead. His silence urged you to continue, so you did.

“How do I look?” you asked, your tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

Your gaze flickered toward him briefly before quickly looking back down at your lap, where your fingers continued to toy with your bag strap.

The quiet hum of the car filled the space between you and Bakugo, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes were fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, while the other rested lazily on the gear shift.

You waited patiently, watching him through your peripheral vision, hoping for some kind of reaction to your question.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze momentarily darting toward you before returning to the street ahead.

The streetlights flickered as they passed, casting warm, golden hues across his sharp features.

His silence stretched on, and for a moment, you wondered if he hadn’t heard you.

Finally, Bakugo turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering toward you.

His gaze traveled up and down, taking in the effort you’d put into your outfit—the way your cardigan fell over your tank top, the way your jeans fit perfectly, and the way you’d styled your hair just so.

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes lingered just a beat longer than usual before he turned back to the road.

“You look,” he began, his voice even though there was a slight edge of hesitation.

He glanced at you again, briefly meeting your expectant gaze before focusing back on the street.

You could see his jaw tighten slightly, as if he were searching for the right words. “Good.”

That was it. Just one single, lackluster word.

Your shoulders sank immediately, the corners of your mouth pulling down as disappointment washed over you.

You slumped back into the passenger seat, crossing your arms loosely over your chest and shifting your gaze out the window.

You had spent so much time getting ready, hoping that maybe this time, he’d notice—really notice—and say something that would make you feel special.

But “good” was all you got.

Bakugo, on the other hand, was far from unaffected, though he certainly didn’t show it.

His mind was racing, replaying the moment he’d glanced at you and the way your face had lit up with hope.

His knuckles tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and a bead of sweat formed at his temple as frustration with himself began to build.

His brows furrowed as he stole another glance at you.

You were staring out the window now, your expression unreadable but your body language screaming disappointment.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter.

You remained quiet, sinking further into your seat as the car rolled through the neighborhood streets.

Your fingers toyed with the edge of your cardigan, your mind replaying the moment over and over.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for disappointment.

Maybe this was just who he was—gruff, blunt, and not the type to shower you with compliments.

Still, you couldn’t help the small ache in your chest.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched as he continued to drive, the silence between you both growing heavier with each passing second.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The drive to Kirishima’s house was silent, the tension lingering like an unspoken weight between you and Bakugo.

He didn’t try to make conversation, and honestly, you weren’t sure you’d be able to respond even if he did.

Your disappointment sat heavy in your chest, though you were doing your best to push it down and keep your composure.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Kirishima’s house, Bakugo shifted into park and stepped out without a word, slamming his door behind him.

You sighed softly, your fingers gripping the strap of your purse as you reached for the handle of the passenger door.

Opening it, you slid out of the car, closing it gently behind you.

Bakugo was already several steps ahead, his strong strides carrying him toward the house without so much as a glance back at you.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight as you followed behind him, your fingers nervously playing with the strap of your purse.

You felt small and distant, the space between you and Bakugo feeling far more than just physical.

As Bakugo reached the front porch, the sound of laughter and chatter drifted through the air, spilling out from behind the closed door.

The lively atmosphere of the gathering inside only seemed to amplify the quiet distance you felt from him.

Bakugo raised a hand and knocked on the door firmly, stepping back slightly as he waited.

You stopped a few paces behind him, your hands gripping your purse strap tightly as your mind raced.

You were determined to stand tall, to keep your emotions in check and not let anyone see how you were feeling.

The door swung open after a few seconds, revealing Kirishima’s grinning face.

His red hair was as wild as ever, and his cheerful energy was almost infectious.

“Yo, man! You made it!” Kirishima greeted Bakugo with a hearty slap on the shoulder before turning his attention to you. “Hey! Good to see you too!”

“Hey, Kiri,” you said softly, forcing a small smile as you stepped closer to the door.

“Come on in! Everyone’s already here,” Kirishima said, stepping aside to let the two of you in.

You followed Bakugo inside, the warmth and energy of the room enveloping you immediately.

Mina, Jirou, Denki, and Sero were sprawled out in the living room, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

Mina was the first to notice your arrival, her eyes lighting up as she waved enthusiastically.

“Hey, you two!” Mina called out, jumping up from her seat and rushing over to you.

She wrapped you in a quick hug, her bubbly personality as bright as always. “You look so cute tonight! I love your outfit!”

“Thanks, Mina,” you replied, your smile faltering slightly as you glanced toward Bakugo.

He was already making his way toward the group, offering a brief nod of acknowledgment before settling into a seat near Sero.

Denki grinned, leaning back on the couch and tossing a chip into his mouth. “Look who finally decided to show up. We thought you might’ve bailed on us, Bakugo.”

“Shut it, Sparky,” Bakugo shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.

As the group erupted into laughter, you found yourself lingering near the edge of the room, unsure where to place yourself.

Mina noticed your hesitation and grabbed your arm gently.

“Come sit with us! You can’t just stand there looking all pretty and quiet,” she teased, leading you toward the group.

You let her guide you, settling into a spot on the couch beside Jirou.

The lively conversation around you was a stark contrast to the swirling emotions in your chest, but you did your best to blend in, laughing when it felt appropriate and nodding along to the banter.

All the while, your eyes occasionally flicked toward Bakugo.

He was laughing with Sero and Denki, his usual gruff demeanor softened slightly by the presence of his friends.

But not once did he look your way, and that small detail gnawed at you more than you wanted to admit.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to focus on the moment and not the ache in your chest.

Tonight was about being with friends, and you were determined to make the most of it, even if things with Bakugo felt more complicated than ever.

You sat on the couch, nestled between Jirou and Mina, trying to focus on their lively conversation.

Bakugo was across the room, laughing with Sero and Denki as if the weight of the world didn’t exist.

You glanced at him briefly, your chest tightening before quickly averting your eyes back to Mina, who was animatedly recounting a story about a recent date with Kirishima.

“So, get this,” Mina said, her face lit with excitement. “Kiri and I went to this new arcade last week, right? And they had this claw machine he swore he could beat. It was filled with these little red dragon plushies—totally his thing, you know?”

Jirou smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Let me guess. He spent way too much money trying to win one?”

“Way too much!” Mina exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “But he finally got it, and he was so proud of himself. It was adorable.” She giggled, her expression softening.

“Honestly, though, it’s not even about the claw machine. Kiri and I just… we have fun, you know? We go out, we talk about everything.”

Jirou nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s exactly how it is with me and Denki. He’s a dork, but he’s my dork. We go to concerts, hang out at record stores, and just… talk. Like, really talk. He tells me about his day, his dreams, even the dumb stuff that happens during patrols. It’s nice, being so connected.”

The warmth in their voices as they spoke about their relationships was palpable, and it made you feel like a shadow in their light.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the tightness in your throat.

“And you,” Mina said, turning her bright eyes toward you. “How are things with you and Bakugo?”

Jirou tilted her head, her expression curious but kind. “Yeah, how’s it going? You two seem solid.”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your cardigan, and you forced a smile, even as your chest felt like it was caving in.

“Oh, we’re fine,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to steady yourself. “Everything’s good. Really good.”

Mina beamed. “That’s great! You two are like, the power couple. I mean, he’s Bakugo—grumpy as hell but so in love with you. It’s obvious.”

“Totally,” Jirou added, nodding. “You balance each other out, right? He’s all intensity, and you’re like this calming presence. It works.”

You laughed softly, the sound hollow to your own ears. “Yeah, it works,” you echoed.

They bought it, smiling warmly at you before diving back into their own banter.

But inside, you felt like you were crumbling.

The truth was, things weren’t fine.

They hadn’t been for a while. Bakugo’s constant focus on work, his friends, and his own world had left you feeling like an afterthought.

You glanced at him again.

He was leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Denki said, his sharp features softened by the rare smile on his face.

It was a side of him you loved, but right now, it only made the ache in your chest worse.

Forcing yourself to stay present, you turned back to Mina and Jirou, nodding along to their conversation.

You couldn’t let them see the truth—not here, not now.

So you plastered on your smile and pretended everything was fine, even as the weight of your unspoken feelings threatened to crush you.

---

An hour passed as you, Mina, and Jirou chatted away about everything under the sun—relationships, patrol stories, and even a hilarious moment when Denki shocked himself trying to fix a broken lamp.

Despite the warmth of their company, a small part of you still felt detached, your earlier feelings lingering like a shadow.

Mina, ever the bubbly one, suddenly perked up. “Hey, I just thought of something! Let’s go to the other room and watch a movie! I’ve been dying to see that new romance everyone’s talking about. What do you think?”

Jirou shrugged, a hint of a smile on her face. “Sounds good to me. I could use a break from all the noise out there.”

You hesitated, but the thought of getting away from the others, even for a little while, seemed appealing. “Yeah, sure,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The three of you made your way to a quieter room down the hall.

It was cozier than the bustling main area, with soft lighting and a plush couch that wrapped around most of the room.

The atmosphere immediately felt more intimate and calm, a perfect escape.

Mina grabbed the remote and flopped onto one side of the couch. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!”

Jirou settled next to her, her legs tucked beneath her while you took the other end of the couch.

The movie started, its opening scenes filled with charming banter and budding romance.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the story drawing you in.

As the movie progressed, the lighthearted moments gave way to more emotional scenes.

The characters faced challenges, their love tested by misunderstandings and miscommunications.

Then, the pivotal scene arrived.

The male lead stood in the rain, his face etched with regret as he argued with the female lead.

Her voice broke as she shouted, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t get it! I feel invisible to you!” she cried, her words hitting too close to home for your comfort.

Your chest tightened as you watched her crumble, her emotions raw and unfiltered.

The male lead, realizing his mistake, stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest.

Your heart ached, the scene striking a chord that you couldn’t ignore.

The floodgates opened, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face.

Your breathing grew shallow, and your palms began to sweat as you clutched the couch cushion beside you.

Mina and Jirou, engrossed in the movie, didn’t seem to notice your reaction at first.

But as you sniffled quietly, Jirou glanced over, her expression softening. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You quickly wiped your cheeks, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… really emotional,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

Mina turned her head, concern flickering in her eyes. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Scenes like this get me every time,” she said, offering you a reassuring smile.

You nodded, appreciating their kindness but feeling exposed nonetheless.

The movie continued, but your mind was elsewhere.

The female lead’s words echoed in your head, intertwining with your own unspoken feelings.

“I feel invisible to you.”

The weight of those words settled in your chest, and though you tried to focus on the screen, the tears wouldn’t stop.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep it together, but the truth was, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

The tears came harder, no longer quiet sniffles but soft, trembling sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

The scene on the screen blurred as your vision clouded with tears, and your chest felt impossibly heavy.

Mina and Jirou both turned toward you, their expressions shifting from casual concern to alarm.

“Whoa, hey… are you okay?” Jirou asked, leaning closer, her voice gentle but tinged with worry.

Mina’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She grabbed the remote and paused the movie, the room falling into silence except for your shaky breaths.

She scooted closer to you, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

“Alright,” Mina said firmly, her tone serious but warm. “What’s going on? This isn’t just about the movie, is it?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to wipe the tears away with the back of your hand, but they just kept coming.

“It’s nothing,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jirou gave you a skeptical look. “Come on, don’t do that. You’re obviously upset.”

Mina nodded, her grip on your arm tightening just slightly in encouragement. “Yeah, we’re here for you. So whatever it is, just say it.”

For a moment, you hesitated.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and you didn’t want to burden them with your feelings.

But the way they looked at you, genuinely concerned and ready to listen, broke down the last of your defenses.

“It’s… it’s Bakugo,” you finally admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “I just… I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

Mina’s eyes softened, and Jirou tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Mina asked, leaning forward, her tone gentle now.

You took a shaky breath, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. “I don’t know… it’s like he’s always so busy, and when he’s home, it’s like I’m not even there. He doesn’t notice when I try to do things for him. I cooked dinner tonight, hoping we could eat together and talk, but he just brushed it off and left to hang out with you guys.”

Mina’s face fell, a pang of guilt crossing her features. Jirou’s lips pressed together, her brow furrowing.

“I know he’s a hero, and I know his job is demanding, but… I just feel so invisible to him sometimes. Like I’m not a priority,” you continued, your voice trembling. “And I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, but it’s just… it’s hard.”

Mina reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize things were like this.”

Jirou nodded, her gaze serious. “That sounds really tough. You shouldn’t have to feel like that, especially not with someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

You sniffled, grateful for their support, but still feeling the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I love him, but… it feels like he’s slipping away.”

Mina wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting hug. “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ll figure it out. And honestly, Bakugo needs to hear this too. He probably doesn’t even realize how much he’s hurting you.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s not exactly the most emotionally aware guy, but he cares about you. You just have to tell him how you feel.”

Their words brought a small measure of comfort, but the thought of confronting Bakugo about your feelings still terrified you.

You knew they were right, though. Something had to change.

You sat there in Mina’s embrace, your tears slowly subsiding, though your chest still felt tight.

The weight of their words lingered, and you knew they were right.

As terrifying as it seemed, you had to talk to Bakugo.

But how? He wasn’t exactly the type to sit down and have a heart-to-heart.

Mina pulled back slightly, her warm hands resting on your shoulders as she looked you in the eye. “You have to tell him,” she said firmly.

“And not in a ‘hinting’ kind of way. Lay it all out. He’s not good at picking up subtle stuff.”

Jirou nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, Bakugo’s not gonna magically figure it out. But if you’re honest with him, I think he’ll listen. He’s stubborn, but he’s not heartless.”

You sniffled, wiping your face with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I just… I don’t want to come off as needy or like I don’t support him. I know how hard he works.”

Mina sighed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. This isn’t about being needy. This is about being in a relationship where you feel seen and loved. You’re allowed to have needs, too.”

Jirou added, “And honestly? If he doesn’t get that, then that’s on him. Relationships are about both people putting in effort. It’s not all on you.”

You nodded slowly, their words sinking in.

It wasn’t easy to hear, but deep down, you knew they were right.

You couldn’t keep bottling everything up and hoping things would magically improve.

Mina smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Look, Bakugo might be a hothead, but he’s not a bad guy. If he knew you were feeling this way, I think he’d do something about it. But you’ve got to give him the chance to step up.”

You sighed, fiddling with the strap of your purse. “I guess I’ll try talking to him later… when we’re alone.”

“Good,” Mina said with a nod, her tone encouraging. “And if you need backup, you know where to find us.”

Jirou smirked slightly. “Yeah, we’ll set him straight if he doesn’t get the message.”

The three of you shared a small laugh, the tension easing just a bit.

Mina grabbed the remote and turned the movie off completely, standing up and stretching.

“Alright, let’s get back to the others before they start wondering what we’re up to.”

You nodded, standing up and smoothing out your clothes.

As the three of you made your way back to the main living room, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Anxiety, hope, and determination all competed for space in your heart.

As you stepped into the room, Bakugo was standing near the corner with Kirishima, laughing at something Sero had said.

His usual sharp smirk was etched on his face, but there was something different in the way his eyes flickered toward you, a hint of something unreadable beneath his confident exterior.

For a moment, you just watched him, debating how you’d navigate the rest of the evening while the conversation with Mina and Jirou still echoed in your mind.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Bakugo had heard everything.

It wasn’t intentional.

On his way to the bathroom earlier, he had walked past the closed door of the cozy room where you and the girls had been talking.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it—just chatter from Mina and Jirou, nothing unusual.

But then he caught the sound of your voice, trembling slightly, and his feet had stopped.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really, he hadn’t.

But something in your tone made him pause, leaning against the hallway wall just out of sight.

He listened as Mina and Jirou pressed you about how things were going between the two of you.

He heard the way your voice wavered when you said everything was fine—so unconvincing that even he could tell it was a lie.

And then came the confession.

You weren’t happy.

You felt ignored, neglected.

You felt like he didn’t see you anymore.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

You, the person he cared about most, felt like you were slipping away, and he hadn’t even noticed.

His knuckles clenched, and his jaw tightened as he leaned his head back against the wall.

Guilt surged through him, hot and unrelenting. He wasn’t great with emotions; he knew that.

But hearing you spill your heart out to your friends, feeling like he didn’t care enough—it stung more than he wanted to admit.

When Mina and Jirou encouraged you to talk to him, he heard the hesitation in your voice, the fear of being seen as needy or overbearing.

It made his chest ache. You should never feel like that—not with him.

He had walked away before you left the room, needing a moment to collect himself.

By the time he rejoined the group, his mind was racing.

As you stepped into the living room, Mina nudged you gently with her elbow. “You’ve got this,” she whispered before heading to the group, leaving you to take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

Bakugo, standing near the corner, glanced your way.

His sharp smirk remained, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual, softening for the briefest second before he turned back to Kirishima and the others.

He didn’t say anything, but in the back of his mind, he was already planning.

He wouldn’t let you feel like this again. Not if he could help it.

---

The night had wound down, and one by one, everyone began saying their goodbyes.

Mina and Kirishima gave you tight hugs, Mina giving you a reassuring smile as if to silently remind you of the conversation you’d had.

Jirou patted your arm, her subtle way of showing she was rooting for you.

Bakugo, meanwhile, was his usual self—casual nods, a few gruff “See ya’s,” and a fist bump for Kirishima.

His energy seemed as steady as ever, though you noticed the way his eyes flickered toward you more than once, a slight crease in his brow that he didn’t quite hide.

As the two of you made your way to his car, the quietness of the night enveloped you.

The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and the sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel filled the silence.

You felt Bakugo’s presence ahead of you, his confident stride unchanging, though he occasionally glanced back to make sure you were keeping up.

When you reached the car, he pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the doors, and slid into the driver’s seat.

You followed, gently closing the passenger door behind you and placing your bag on the floor by your feet.

The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the space, a scent you usually found comforting.

Without a word, Bakugo started the engine.

The low rumble of the car filled the stillness as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

His hands rested on the wheel, firm but relaxed, his eyes trained on the road ahead.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, trying to read his expression, but it was the same stoic mask he always wore.

The weight of the evening felt heavy in your chest, and despite the warmth of the car, you felt a chill run through you.

The drive was quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in your throat.

You fidgeted with your fingers, your gaze shifting between the passing streetlights outside and Bakugo’s profile.

He hadn’t said much since you left Kirishima’s house, and it left you wondering if he’d noticed the distance between you—or if it even mattered to him at all.

Bakugo’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel as he drove, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was working through something in his mind.

His gaze remained steady, but every now and then, you noticed his eyes flicker toward you, though he said nothing.

The silence was deafening, and with every passing second, it felt like the space between you grew larger.

Finally, unable to take the tension anymore, you shifted in your seat and let out a soft sigh, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks for driving,” you said, your tone polite but distant.

He grunted in response, a low “Yeah,” his focus still on the road.

The quiet settled again, heavier this time, and you found yourself staring out the window, the lights of the city blurring past.

You wanted to say more, to breach the gap between you, but something held you back.

Bakugo, meanwhile, stole another glance at you, his expression unreadable.

He wanted to speak, to address the weight in the air, but the words felt foreign to him.

For now, he just drove, the road stretching ahead, both of you caught in your own thoughts.

The car hummed softly as the city lights flickered past, but the silence between you and Bakugo felt louder than anything else.

You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, your eyes fixed on the blurred scenery.

Your hand rested on your lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with your nails as your thoughts raced.

What had started as disappointment had now spiraled into uncertainty.

You couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation with Mina and Jirou, nor the growing chasm between you and Bakugo.

You’d tried so hard to keep it together, but being here, so close yet feeling so far, made it even harder.

Bakugo kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel firm.

Inside, he was battling a storm of emotions.

The echoes of your words from earlier replayed in his mind, mingling with the snippets of the conversation he’d overheard at Kirishima’s.

“I just… I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He wasn’t good with words.

Hell, he wasn’t even good at feelings most of the time. But he wasn’t stupid—he could feel the distance, and it frustrated him because he didn’t know how to close it.

His crimson eyes flickered to you briefly.

The way you sat there, so quiet and withdrawn, tugged at something deep in his chest.

He hated seeing you like this, especially knowing he’d been the one to make you feel this way.

After what felt like forever, Bakugo’s resolve finally cracked.

His hand hesitated on the wheel, fingers tightening for a moment before he let out a sharp breath.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reached over.

His hand covered yours, warm and slightly rough, the weight of it grounding you.

You blinked, startled by the sudden contact, and turned your head to look at him.

Bakugo didn’t meet your gaze right away.

His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, his jaw tight, like he was bracing himself for something.

His thumb shifted slightly, brushing against your fingers in an awkward but earnest gesture.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “Stop doin’ that.”

You stared at him, confused. “Doing what?”

“Fidgetin’ like that,” he muttered, finally glancing at you for a split second before looking back at the road. “You’ll mess up your nails or somethin’.”

His words were gruff, almost dismissive, but the way his hand stayed on yours told you there was more to it.

He wasn’t just talking about your fidgeting—he was trying, in his own clumsy way, to tell you he cared.

Your chest tightened as you looked down at your joined hands.

The warmth of his touch, the slight awkwardness of the gesture—it all made your emotions bubble up again, but this time, they weren’t as heavy.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. “Don’t say it. Not here, not like this.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and leaned back against the seat.

For the first time that evening, the silence between you didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

The car came to an abrupt stop at a red light, but the tension in the car felt like it had slammed into a wall at full speed.

Bakugo’s hand hovered over the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped it.

His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, but your anger was a storm now, and it couldn’t be contained.

“Seriously?” you demanded, your voice sharp and trembling. “If not here, then where? If not now, then when?”

Your hand yanked away from his, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold sting of frustration. “You always say that, Bakugo. You always brush our problems away. You… you brush me off like I’m some kind of bug.”

His eyes darted to you, his lips parting as if to defend himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You treat me like I’m not worth your time,” you continued, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you even know what I was doing before you came home? I was cooking dinner. For you. For us.”

Your hands shook as you gestured toward him, your words pouring out in a rush. “I did all of that so we could talk, so we could try to fix this. Just so I could know—know for sure—that I mean something to you.”

The light turned green, and Bakugo hit the gas with a little more force than necessary, his jaw tight as he stayed silent.

But you couldn’t stop now.

“But of course,” you spat, your voice rising, “your friends are more important! Work, training, hangouts—all of it is more important than me!”

The car swerved slightly as Bakugo’s grip faltered, and he shot you a glance, his brows furrowed in frustration and guilt. “But they’re not! You’re more important—”

“Don’t give me that crap!” you cut him off, your voice almost a shout now. “If I’m so important, then why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you make time for everyone and everything else but not for me? Huh? Answer me!”

Bakugo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His silence was deafening, and it only stoked the fire inside you.

“Why, Katsuki?” you pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Why do I have to fight so hard to feel like I matter to you?”

The car pulled into your driveway, and Bakugo threw it into park, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly it looked like he might snap it in two.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the engine.

Finally, Bakugo exhaled sharply and turned to you, his crimson eyes filled with a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something else—something softer, something that looked a lot like regret.

“You do matter,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You mean everything to me, damn it. I just… I don’t know how to show it.”

But you shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “That’s not enough, Katsuki. It’s not enough to just say it. I need to feel it. And right now, I don’t.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable, as Bakugo stared at you, his expression unreadable.

For once, the explosive hero had no words, and the silence between you felt like it could split the world in two.

Your chest heaved as the emotions you’d been holding in for so long spilled over.

Tears streamed down your face, your voice trembling and raw as you finally let everything out.

“Why couldn’t you have just spent time with me?” you cried, your voice breaking as your gaze locked on Bakugo.

He flinched at the pain in your voice but said nothing, his hands clenching into tight fists on his lap.

“Why couldn’t you see that while you were having fun, I was feeling miserable?!” you continued, your words cutting through the silence like shards of glass.

Bakugo’s eyes darted toward you, filled with a mix of guilt and helplessness, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Listen, Katsuki...” you began, your voice softer but no less intense. “I love you. So much it hurts.” Your words hung in the air, trembling with sincerity. “But it’s starting to feel like... like you don’t feel the same.”

His head snapped up at that, his crimson eyes wide and frantic. “That’s not true!” he blurted, his voice rough and unsteady. “Don’t—don’t say that, alright?”

But you shook your head, your tears falling harder now. “Then why does it feel like I’m always fighting for your attention? Fighting for a moment of your time?”

Your voice cracked, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together.

Bakugo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze fell to his lap, his fingers gripping his knees so hard it looked painful.

You could see the frustration, the guilt, the turmoil swirling in his expression, but it wasn’t enough.

It didn’t fix the ache in your heart.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Like I’m not enough for you. Like I’m not your priority.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up again, his eyes blazing with emotion. “You are my priority!” he insisted, his voice desperate now.

“You’re everything to me, alright? I just... I just don’t know how to handle all this shit sometimes!”

His voice cracked at the end, and for the first time, you saw something in him you rarely did—vulnerability.

He looked at you like he wanted to say a million things but didn’t know where to start.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Then show me, Katsuki,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “If I mean so much to you, then show me. Because words aren’t enough anymore.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the faint hum of the engine.

Bakugo looked at you, really looked at you, and for once, the explosive hero seemed completely lost.

Bakugo’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths as he stared at you, his crimson eyes shadowed with guilt and frustration.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to die in his throat.

His hands clenched tighter on his lap, and he turned his gaze to the steering wheel, as if looking at you was too much to bear.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again as you watched him struggle to say something—anything—that could make it better.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his voice low and strained. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”

The admission startled you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked through your tears as you waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been so focused on everything else—work, training, trying to keep up with everyone—that I didn’t realize what it was doing to you. To us.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion rough and frustrated. “And that’s on me.”

His voice trembled slightly, and he slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sharp thud breaking the tense quiet. “Dammit, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. Like you don’t matter.”

You watched him, your tears still falling, but something in his voice tugged at your heart.

It wasn’t just guilt; it was desperation.

“But you do, alright?” he said, turning to face you fully now. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, raw and unguarded.

“You matter more than anything else in my life. I just... I don’t know how to balance it all without screwing it up.”

His hands trembled as they rested on his thighs, and you realized how much it was costing him to admit this.

Bakugo Katsuki, the man who always seemed so sure of himself, so strong and unshakable, was unraveling in front of you.

“You’re not the problem, alright? I am,” he continued, his voice softer now. “And I swear to you, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us. Just... don’t give up on me yet.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but the pain you’d been carrying for so long still lingered.

You looked at him, your tears blurring your vision, and took a shaky breath.

“Katsuki, I’m not asking for perfection,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m asking for you to try. To make me feel like I’m worth it. Like we’re worth it.”

He nodded, his jaw tight as he swallowed hard.

“I will,” he said, his voice firm despite the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be better. For you.”

You stared at him, searching his face for sincerity, and what you saw there made something in your chest loosen.

He looked at you like you were his whole world—like he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

For the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Bakugo nodded again, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can.”

The car fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy or suffocating.

It was filled with unspoken promises, with the beginnings of something better.

And for now, that was enough.

---

Bakugo’s hand enveloped yours, firm yet gentle, as if he was anchoring himself to you.

The warmth of his grasp communicated what his words had struggled to convey earlier—a need, a desire to hold on to you no matter what.

The silence in the car was filled with unspoken understanding as you both sat there, the weight of the evening settling between you.

When the car finally pulled into your driveway, you barely had time to move before Bakugo was already out of the driver’s seat.

He strode purposefully around the car, his movements sharp yet filled with intent.

You blinked in surprise as he opened the passenger door, crouching down to your level.

His crimson eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. “You mean a lot to me,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

“So much... and I’m sorry for not showing you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words tumbled out, each one more heartfelt than the last.

“I’m sorry for not replying. I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry for not showing up,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he leaned closer.

“I promise, though, from now on... everything I do, I’ll do it with you on my mind.”

His hands found their way to your thighs, a touch so gentle and deliberate it sent a shiver through you.

It wasn’t just an apology—it was a plea, a vow.

“I promise you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “that from now on, I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel loved. So please, don’t give up on me. Please, don’t lose hope.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his tone, the rawness of his confession.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small, wavering smile as you placed your hand over his.

“You swear?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly, his crimson eyes boring into yours with unwavering determination.

“I promise,” he said, his voice firm yet soft.

That was all you needed to hear.

A small, genuine smile spread across your lips as you nodded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight lifting off your chest.

After a moment, Bakugo stepped back slightly, holding out his hand to you.

You placed your hand in his, and he helped you out of the car with a gentleness that contrasted his usual brash demeanor.

Once you were both standing, he didn’t hesitate—he pulled you into a tight, almost desperate hug.

His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

His head rested against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers threading gently through his spiky blonde hair.

“I missed you more,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice low and filled with emotion.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the world around you fading into insignificance.

It was as if time had paused, giving you both a chance to reconnect, to heal.

When he finally pulled back, his hands still rested on your waist, and his gaze locked onto yours.

The intensity in his eyes took your breath away, and before you could say anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an apology, a promise, a declaration.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if to ground himself.

You responded just as passionately, pouring every ounce of love, frustration, and hope into the kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

His crimson eyes softened as he looked at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

You smiled back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

He chuckled softly, his voice lighter than it had been all evening. “I won’t. I swear.”

In that moment, standing together in the driveway under the soft glow of the porch light, you felt something shift between you.

A new beginning, built on honesty and love. And for the first time in a long time, you believed things could truly get better.

ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION