#maybe he wouldn't have changed so much that she wouldn't look him in the eye and see a stranger

[lxzy-bxby]

Sitting in a Tree

~ ♡ ~

Caleb thought that it would get better over years. You two had your fair share of anniversaries already—yet he still drooled over you.

Just like this morning.

When you descended downstairs, you found your husband at his usual place—by the stove. Might sound reverse-sexist, but it was true nonetheless. Caleb said that if you ever do as much as lift your finger, he owes you a divorce.

Frankly speaking, having househusband is nice. Having househusband who fucks your guts until you drool all over the bed is even nicer.

Just like last night.

You two went at it around four times, and you suppose you passed out right after his cock slipped out of your worn-out cunt. Usually Caleb would carry you to shower and bathe you himself, or at least wipe your body all over with a towel and change your clothes with bedsheets—but he was exhausted, too.

Hence dried-off sticky cum between your things this morning. You threw stained sheets in the laundry basket, hoping Caleb won't notice—since 'it's his duty to keep the house'. That's what he said next day after your wedding.

You move forward to the room, pressing kisses to the temples of your twins, settled in their high chairs. They babble something like greeting, making Caleb turn towards you to see why are they chattering.

You swear you notice his eyes widening a little. As if you was wearing a thong with no bra—but you was wearing his shirt, long enough to cover your knees.

Which is ways sexier, in his eyes.

You cast a glance towards carrier on his bare chest with your eight month babygirl in it. Caleb swore he has zero gender preferences when it comes to kids made with you, but it was so comically obvious he was happy to be a girl dad more than anything.

Caleb blinks a few times, finally snapping out of it. He felt like going through puberty all over again.

And his puberty was torture. He was sure it was inappropriate to get a boner caused by your childhood bestfriend.

Thank God now his childhood bestfriend is his wife. He still gets a hard-on every time he sees her, though.

Feeling blood from his brain rushing to his cock, Caleb groans internally. Great. Just great. A semi at 8 AM. Exactly what he wanted.

Ignoring relentless twitching of his dick in his sweatpants, he clears his throat, feeling suddenly so wrong for getting rock-hard with his children present in the same room. "Good morning, honey! Breakfast gonna be ready in a minute. Bacon, eggs... Want me to make you coffee?"

You want him to let you breathe, honestly. And putting a shirt on wouldn't hurt—he probably had no idea, but his back was painted with lines your nails left on it the night before.

But you nod, because coffee honestly would be excellent thing to have right now. He immediately moves to coffeemaker, managing to coddle little one on his chest, check on the eggs and pour your coffee.

"One latte for pretty Mommy, incoming right up." He grins smugly, carrying cup of coffee to you carefully.

You huff out a quiet chuckle, taking an opportunity to peck your infant's head. She looks extremely adorable today—Caleb dressed her up in a colorful green onesie with little red apples, and there for a fact is nothing cuter than adorable babywear. Especially when the baby wearing it is adorable as well. And babies made with Caleb can't be anything but adorable.

Caleb chuckles, but you see the way his eyes darken slightly from the feeling of neglect—he always makes sure you have nothing to care about so you can give himself your all. Seeing you showing affection to someone else, as much as his own kids, made him feel both warm and pained.

"Is there a kiss for me as well, ba-by?" He hums, leaning in way too close, taking all of your personal space.

Ah, right. You stopped having any upon marrying him.

"Maybe. Think you earned it?" You tease, stroking his bottom lip.

Caleb's eyes glint as he murmurs the words practically against your ear. "What's your pricelist, wifey? How many orgasms per kiss? Ah, nevermind. How many should I give you for a makeout session? ...Oh, then again, forget it. Just gonna keep makin' you come unless I get a discount for life."

"Caleb!" You hiss, gently swapping his forearm.

"Mhm. Exactly what you're gonna keep screamin'."

With a glance at your kids, who are blissfully unaware of his dirty talk, you sigh with relief.

Then his huge palm cups you chin, turning your head towards him, and when you part your lips to say something, he just latches on to them.

Caleb is PDA ambassador, actually.

And yeah, for you your kids count for public, too.

His lips caress yours reverently yet hungrily, his kisses always bordering on something in-between. You sigh, cupping his face and just giving in.

"...Mama and Dada sittin' in a twee!" One of the twins squeaks, clapping his small hands.

Of course. Beware of toddlers.

You pull away first, chuckling, "Were they?.." You mutter under your breath to yourself.

Caleb grins like a Cheshire cat, walking over to the twins, letting his hands brush against your hip while he's at it. "Yeah? Then what, buddy? Oh, wait. You can't even spell 'kissing'. Tough luck."

Caleb ruffles both boys' hair, making them giggle. You clear your throat indifferently, sipping on your coffee.

"Other than that, you're right. First came love... then came marriage. Then came Mommy with... actually two baby carriages. And then came Mommy with a baby carriage, again." Caleb snorted, his eyes glistening with amusement.

"And then again?" Twin brother of your little tease in the making piped in, giggling and grinning so hard his gums started to show.

"Oh shoot." You mutter under your breath. Kids and their tongues.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. "Dunno, buddy. Probably she will. Most likely, she will."

He glances at you with a devilish sparkle in his eyes, and you curse internally. Two under two would be wild. People gonna start talking.

Caleb eyes you up and down, his eyes lingering on your curves and smooth skin of your legs, his throat bobbing with a swallow. "You wanna know what, champ? One hundred percent she will."

Twins squeal with delight as if they both were the only children who had zero siblings to play with.

And Caleb looks at you so smoldering as if it's your first wedding night.

After all, maybe skipping Plan B just this once wouldn't hurt.

~ ♡ ~

[prcttyfairies]

LAST TIME: eve 'bam' moore (black fem!oc) x daniel kim (korean male!oc)

MINORS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT YOU WILL GET BLOCKED

SYNOPSIS: 🌑🩸   Eve Moore is the younger sister of the Smoke-Stack twins. Since her birth, they promised to take care of her and protect in a way that they were never protected from their fathers cruel intentions towards them. And when Smoke had finally had enough and put an end to the mans intentions, no one dared to touch Bam with the fear of her brothers to come knocking at their door. But when they returned from battle they were different. There was no doubt that they weren't still looking after Eve but she could see for herself that her brothers weren't the same. However, it became clear to her when they walked out and left her in Delta to go to work Al Capone in Chicago that they hadn't cared much about her after all. It was when she met Daniel Kim had her life really changed. A closed-off man, who came darkness and secrets yet she couldn't find herself staying away from him. Upon the revelation on what he did and how he survived in a world truly filled with demon's after all had she helped him.

For five years they hunted the undead along side each other, until it was time for them to call it quits, Daniel dreaming of a life to live with the women he had grown to love despite the judgement they faced racially. And for a year they had, the few that loved her the most accepting her happiness with who she loved. But upon her brothers return, a night of reunion had turned into a bloodbath. And as many battles they had won together, Eve didn't know if they were going to survive this one.

Table of Contents

WORD COUNT: 723

PROLOGUE:

Her two feet guided her home, Evangeline Moore, most calling her the nickname her brothers had given her when she was young, Bam, taking her time as she did. Although she didn't want the night to have completely taken over what was left of the light that allowed her to see where she was going, the emptiness of her home was what she resented.

They had been gone a week. Nothing but a letter was left, with a promise that they'd return back to her. Yet she didn't know exactly how true that was. Bam loved her brothers, they were the last family she had left and now they had vanished out of Delta and went on their way to Chicago. Although she had others around she still called family that could aid this lonely feeling she had, nothing was like her brother's company sadly.

Stack, he always made her laugh. That sense of humor he carried that would often get him in trouble, she was glad he hadn't lost when he came back from the war. She knew it was his way of not thinking about it, coping with what he had to go through without a choice. And he'd talk about it with her, Bam being the one person he felt he could be vulnerable with and wouldn't judge him and see him as weak.

And Smoke, he didn't talk much. He often allowed his eyes to do all the talking. But he did listen. When Bam wanted things to be taken seriously, and honest advice he was the one she'd go to. Whenever he had his moments of slipping back into the trenches and his hands would begin to shake, she'd grasp ahold of them with the assurance that he was no longer there. That he was now home, and he wasn't going back. But before his departure she began to see that it happened whenever he got agitated, scared, maybe even sad sometimes.

She always tried to be there for them in a way that they needed. So what did she do that made them realize that they didn't need her any more? That they didn't need their younger sister who they had never been apart from for longer than a couple of days, excluding the war.

Letters was what she wrote, but they didn't go anywhere. She didn't know where to send them off to . And everyday she checked her own mail with the hopes that they had sent her one. Bam always came up short, making her lose her faith. And with every passing day, her smile faltered as she lost the light that often leady her brothers out of their dark tunnel.

Releasing a small exhale, she got closer to her home dreading it. She attempted to make it a little more, like a home, making due with what she had. Flowers planted out front, bench she is still working on attempting to build but failing. It was a task she'd usually ask one of the boys to do, one she strived to achieve herself believing she could do it without their assistance but she was just proving herself wrong.

With her eyes lifting, observing her home from the small distance she noticed something out of place. Brows furrowed as she slowed her steps, hesitating to continue her approach. Without moving any further narrowed her eyes trying to make out what it was that she saw causing her to pause.

It took her a minute, but when she noticed it, she released a gasp, speeding up her pace, stopping just a few inches in front of her door gazing down at a limp body. A man whose chest rose and fell, but the blood seeped through his shirt made her realize that it wasn't going to be for long.

She dropped the carrier she had, filled with all she needed just so she didn't have to travel back into town for the next couple of days. Bam crouched down at the unknown man's side, his skin pale with beads of sweat having built up along his hairline.

Her hand reached out, gently pressing against his forehead to check his temperature. However, the minute the warmth of the back of her hand connected with his cold sweaty skin, a hand shot up and circled around her wrist.

AUTHORS NOTE: i know it's short, it's a prologue so i didn't want to give too much away, but it will continue where i left off in chapter one. i'm gonna try to have as many chapters as i can building their love before i get to the movie like i want for both of my fics. all i ask is that you guys bare with me, i do work but once i get off i do try to get some writing in, it just takes me a little while.

TAGLIST: @xoxshayy @briana-mishell24 @hamzahsf4vg1rl

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Hero Kidnaps Villain Part 20

Warnings: nasty panic attack, mind conditioning/brainwashing, forced obedience training, mentions of torture

After all, Hero hadn't given him any new rules yet. So it should be safe to assume that his old rules given to him by Superhero were still valid... right?

The whole room was silent aside from his shaky breaths, and it only made Villain squirm more not knowing what Hero was thinking right now. Why wasn't she saying anything?? Had he done it wrong?

Despite knowing better, he risked a glance up to look at her, because then maybe at least he could get a read on what she was feeling and adjust his behavior accordingly -- but he wasn't expecting what he saw in her.

Hero was standing stiff as a board, face pale and bloodless, twisted with a look of abject horror. Her eyes were wide and startled; she looked mortified by his display of submission, which Villain found deeply confusing. Because wouldn't she want someone who was obedient and easy to deal with? Who in their right mind wouldn't want that kind of power over a person?

"Villain, holy crap -- cut that out right now!" Hero finally sputtered, breaking her silence. “Why are you like this? What did Agency do to you??”

Villain deflated at her words. "I'm so sorry -- I was just following my training!" He blurted frantically, trying to explain himself without angering her. "I'm supposed to kneel whenever Superhero taps his cane and comes in to--"

"Wait -- Superhero?" Hero cut him off sharply. "Did he do this to you? Make you all... you know, broken?" She gestured to all of him with a hand.

Villain swallowed nervously, but gave her a stiff nod of confirmation.

Hero shook her head in disbelief. "That can't be right," she muttered. "I know Superhero, and he isn't a torturer."

"He's not!" Villain agreed vehemently. "He was just training me to be better!"

What am I saying?! He snarled at himself right after, cringing at the words leaving his own mouth. Superhero IS a torturer! Stop defending him! Argh, my mind is so scrambled…

Villain clutched his head with his uncuffed hand and groaned. “No, no, Superhero is bad. I’m conditioned to say he isn’t and to support him always, but he is. He… He’s done so much to me. He’s changed me in ways I can’t understand.”

“I… can see that,” Hero remarked awkwardly, gesturing to his kneeling position. “The Villain I knew would bow before no one, much less grovel at their feet and have a panic attack if someone so much as said the wrong word. You were only at Agency for two months. How did they do this much damage so quickly?!”

“Two… Months?” Villain echoed numbly. It had felt like years to him. “I was only there for two months?”

Hero winced, a flash of guilt darting through her features. “Yeah… sixty-one days to be precise. I had no idea Agency was doing this to their prisoners. No wonder they worked so hard to keep it from the public eye. No moral person would support them for what they’re doing if they knew the truth – they’d lose faith in the entire hero system.”

Villain didn’t have a response to that. But his muscles were weak and trembling, so he flopped back down onto the bed with a grunt, letting out a shaky breath as the initial adrenaline wore off, though the wariness lingered.

Hero frowned. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

“Course I am, idiot. You practically gave me a heart attack and took a few years off my life,” Villain quipped.

“Hey! I knocked before coming in!” Hero retorted indignantly. “I was trying not to startle you!”

“Fat load of good that did.” Villain regretted saying it when he saw Hero flinch, reminding him that she’d meant well by the gesture and he was unfairly giving her a hard time about it. He was just super skittish and easily spooked, that’s all.

“Sorry,” he mumbled half-heartedly. He lowered his gaze to his shirt, where he spotted some orange pet hair, which reminded him…

“Do you have a cat that lives here? I thought I saw a calico earlier–”

Hero’s face brightened, the expression tinged with relief at the change of topics. “Oh! You must have met Toffee. She’s my cat.”

As if on cue, Villain heard a friendly meow from the doorway, and a familiar calico cat came trotting in, ears perked attentively at the sound of her name. She bumped her head against Hero’s leg before taking a running leap onto Villain’s bed to greet him next.

“If you hurt her, you will suffer greatly for it,” Hero warned firmly.

Villain rolled his eyes at her, scratching the cat behind the ears. “Relax. I may be a villain, but I don’t harm animals. I’m not a monster.”

Hero scoffed. “Yeah right. You’ve done some pretty atrocious things in the past that indicate otherwise.”

Villain averted his gaze. “I’m not like that anymore,” mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I’m… fixed now. I’m a good dog.”

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @writing-with-olive

@f1sh-bone @basica11ywhumped

[arias-archive]

heyy!

can you write about the hawthornes and the girls finding out about/meeting alisa’s boyfriend and they are all shocked, please??

Thank you!!

a/n: okay i am deeply sorry for how long this took to come out but YES. i loved writing the last alisa fic so much so this is really exciting

warnings:

description: alisa has never been big on relationships. she'd been in one her entire life and it was comfortable. nice. but this? this was new.

part one | tig masterlist | masterlist

taredo y firecracker: II (an alisa x oc fic)

It was good to be back.

No, not just good. Brilliant.

As much as she missed Spain, she craved the normalcy of an actual work day. Lazing around the pool was not her idea of productivity.

But taking one look at the build-up of work she had left provoked a slew of several curse words. Damn you, Avery Kylie Grambs. Why had Alisa trusted her when she assured that the work would be taken care of? Total incompetency.

She pressed two fingers to her temple, using her other hand to take a sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste of the bitter slush. It wasn't comparable to any cocktail that she tasted on vacation, but it was familiar. Home. Somewhere she was useful, necessary.

She quickly drained the cup to its dregs, she tilted her head side-to-side, preparing herself to sit here all day.

Once her fingertips touched the cool metal of the keyboard, she lost herself into the world of work, the quiet tap-tap-tap of keys or the occasional printer spt-sput-sput filling the room.

Busying herself with the endless list of tasks meant she wouldn't have the mental capacity to reminisce on her short break. Or the certain someone she met there. They had spoken almost every remaining day in the country, and he insisted on dropping her off to the airport. Whatever had bloomed between them was new, unspoken, but there was something.

An even crazier coincidence was that Hot-Spanish-Guy was going to be moving to Texas. At first, Alisa was convinced he was just saying it to tease her, pretend he was moving for her.

Turns out Mr. Cardenas had a new job in Texas at his father's charity. He had traveled to Spain as a last act of freedom before he really started to work at a company that would belong to him someday. He had seemed pretty passionate about the causes they supported, going into great extent about what exactly their plans were.

When Alisa (reluctantly and very much begrudgingly) admitted she worked as a lawyer for a 'well-known' charity, he swore they were soulmates. Alisa had rolled her eyes. A lot.

But she couldn't stop thinking about him. About them. About the part of her traitorous heart that surrendered itself to the taredo who practically stalked her on the streets of Spain.

-----------------

Eventually Alisa had single-handedly, and with many coffees, tackled the vast bulk of the list, crossing off each complete item with far too much energy.

Every joint in her body cracked as she pushed herself out of her chair, crossing the room to assess the remainder of her planner. She had pre-written the impending tasks about a week before she left. She liked to stay ahead of the game after all.

A quick skim of the page told her that the board of the Hannah The Same Backwards as Forwards Foundation had one final meeting with the Cardenas Charity company in an hour. Perfect, she thought as she turned to go back to her laptop. Yes she missed her job, but she also missed the sandals she freely wore in Spain. She couldn't wait to go home and toss these tight stilettos far away from her-

Wait.

What?

She almost got whiplash from how fast she turned back around, marching up to the planner. She blinked once, twice, leaned in closer but the writing hadn't changed. There it was, in Alisa's perfect print, a 'meeting with the Cardenas Charity' written on the page.

What... the... hell?

No freaking way. Not at all. Maybe it wouldn't be him representing the company. Maybe his father would come in. Whywouldyouwanttomeethisfather?

Glaring the planner into submission didn't change the writing either. Neither did checking her digital planner. Nope.

What were the chances? Clearly the universe couldn't stand their temporary distance anymore than she could.

-----------------

If Mateo Cardenas shot one more flirtatious smirk in her direction, she would actually throttle him. She was having a hard time keeping herself together as it was and his distractingly stupidly handsome face wasn't helping.

Alisa Ortega was on the verge of blushing like some besotted schoolgirl, in front of the entire room. Oh how she wished this meeting was over so she could talk to him. To scold. Definitely scold.

She didn't even realise she was dreaming about their potential interaction until she felt a small nudge to her arm. She looked up to see the entire room staring. Nice.

She brushed off the look of concern in Avery's eyes, and the smug smile on Mr. Cardenas face, clearing her throat to regain her senses. Dear Lord. Damn it, what were they talking about?

She opened her mouth to ask Avery to repeat her prior statement when Mateo opened his mouth, a cocky glint in his eyes.

"After some consideration, Ms Grambs," Mateo said, schooling his features into a serious professional, "I believe we could come to a partnership deal."

Alisa nodded briskly, pulling out the necessary documentation for him to sign as representative as Grayson Hawthorne started his speech about finances which had Alisa fighting to pay attention. She watched as Mr Cardenas signed the stack of documents, noting the way the light reflected off his watch. He looked comfortable like this, like a natural.

He must've felt her gaze like a brush of her fingers against him because she chose that moment to look over, giving her a once-over. "Gorgeous," he mouthed with a smirk, winking at her before returning to the papers.

Alisa's eyes widened as her stomach fluttered. Her gaze darted around nervously, hoping nobody saw that small interaction. Grayson was too busy engaged in a verbal sparring match with the Cardenas company's other representative, while Avery and Jameson were not-so-subtly making eyes at each other. More so Jameson than Avery. That boy has always been trouble.

Thank goodness nobody saw-

Oh.

Oren raised an eyebrow in slight amusement before letting the stoic mask fall back on. Dear Lord, was there nothing the man didn't see? Alisa didn't even remember he was standing in the shadows, his posture erect and ready.

A slight prickle of heat painted her face as she ducked her head down, wishing she could take her hair out of her signature bun to shield her face.

She just had to make it through this meeting.

------------------

Alisa Ortega was a professional. She had rigid rules about demeanour inside the workplace and how one should carry themselves. It was a matter of decency.

Alisa Ortega was also just a woman. A breathless woman whose smudged lipstick was evidently all over the flushed face of a very smug man.

As soon as the meeting ended she intended to speak to Mateo. Professionally. About everything that had happened, was happening.

However, it was clear he had other ideas when he had all but yanked her into another room and pushed her against the wall.

Alisa had protested. Several times. But when he slid his sinful lips over her mouth for the third time, there's only so much someone can resist.

She glares at him as she pushes him off, scolding him for being so reckless. He just pulled her in again, looking at her with a reverence reserved for goddesses. He leant his forehead against hers, pressing a kiss to her nose. "I assume that explains what stage we are at?"

"You cannot just-"

Her words were cut off by the sound of a door being pushed open, three faces staring back her. Grayson had his eyebrows raised, blinking slowly. Avery's jaw was slack, eyes wide as she clutched her boyfriend's arm, who was grinner wider than the Cheshire Cat.

It took Alisa longer than it should've to jump back from Mateo, her face hot like she'd been slapped by a skillet. She futilely attempted to smooth down her clothes, rubbing a finger around her lips to clean up the smudged colour. "Did you need something?" Alisa asked in her iciest voice, crossing her arms sternly, ignoring Mateo's chuckle.

"Uhm... I did knock?" Avery replied instead, still processing what the hell she just walked into. Jameson's full-blown laugh forced her out of her stupor. "Oh, we- I can get it later. Enjoy?"

With that she turned around, dragging a wolf-whistling Jameson away while Grayson followed, muttering something about self-restraint in a work place.

Alisa turned the full force of her glower onto Mateo Cardenas who threw his hands up in self-defence. Before Alisa could get a singular grumble out, her phone started buzzing rapidly, tickling her thigh. She yanked it out of her pantsuit pocket, horrified to find her messages filled. Xander, Thea, Max, even Rebecca had messaged.

Word of Hawthorne hook-ups spread fast indeed.

But it was the last message that had her heart stuttering slightly. Nash.

[exquisitexagony]

He bites his lip, hugging his middle quietly when she tells him to stop. His nails scratch gently at his arm, staring at her with a hard frown as she speaks. He swallows hard, lets her say her piece and maybe even hopes she can change his mind on this... Lips purse.

I'm not married to you, and it's none of Eric's business.

"Just having me around is a damn risk to that, Lee, and you know it," xe interjects sharply. Xyr nose twitches when she says she'd kill xem before xe could hurt Ellie. A curl of xyr lip anad xe clicks xyr tongue with a scoff, rolling xyr eyes and turning xyr head away now. Xe shakes xyr head. What a stupid excuse. The false security of a mother's instincts. Just because she wouldn't let xem, doesn't mean something couldn't happen. Even just something small...She didn't know how any of this works, didn't know what xe was capable of when xe was hungry.

A flash of red in their vision has them flinching. They close their eyes and suck in a slow, deep breath, nose wrinkling with disgust at their own memories. Now, they're turning away entirely, refusing to face her as they close their eyes and try to clear their head.

It won't let me not be around you.

And that's the other problem. That thing, that creature inside her wanted to be around them so much...They had to wonder if Leo actually felt anything for them at all. What if it was all just...the wolf. She's drawn to them and that pull is clearly linked to her dog, so...Who's to say that isn't the only reason? Would she even know the difference?

I'm willing to try. Aren't you?

Silence follows that question. His teeth worry away at his bottom lip. Fingertips crawl up his arm to scratch at his skin.

Aren't you?

That silence weighs far too heavy for far too long. His back stays facing her, still except for the nervous shaking of his leg. Eventually, he shifts his weight on his feet, thumbs at the edge of his pink-tipped nose. A sniff as he turns to look at her sideways over his shoulder.

"I don't know," he finally admits in a breathless whisper. It was the truth. He didn't know if he was ready to try. He'd never been very good with complicated. His life was complicated enough as it was, wasn't it? What about hers? She had so much going on...so much that he'd be taking on by default if he stepped into this thing with her...And who's to say he wouldn't end up killing Eric? That would hurt Leo's daughter. Whether it was direct or not, he would hurt them both. He clears his throat and rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I just...I just..." He swallows. "Leo." Finally, they manage to turn around and face her revealing the faint sheen of tears in their own eyes as well. "Leo, you don't even know me," they point out, their voice a choked whisper. Their head is ducked low like an ashamed dog, a guilty, apologetic creature. Slowly, they shake their head, lips pressing into a thin line. Their leg continues to bounce. Hands squeeze their arms lightly in attempted self comfort.

"I'm a--" Xyr voice breaks. Xe swallows, looking away again. "I'm a bad person, Lee...I'm not...I'm not good for...f'r family a- and- and- and..." Xe waves xyr hands as xe tries to find the right words to explain. "A normal life! Hell, you've got a life closer to normal than I'll-- than I'll ever have! If I-- I mean, if we..." He coughs, pushes his fringe back from his eyes roughly.

"I'm always gonna hurt you. Hurt her. It's gonna happen! One way or another, I-- That's what I do! I hurt people! I destroy things! I can't-- I can't escape that! I'll never get ta have a family 'f my own! I--" A tear drips down his cheek and he quickly turns away again. Hands are tossed to his sides. He heaves out an exasperated sigh, trying to catch his breath as his body tries to force out more tears.

"You do..." His voice quivers when he says it. He doesn't turn around to face her again, trying to hide the tears catching his eyelashes. He reaches up to wipe them away roughly with the heels of his hands. "You do, Lee." He sniffs, finally turns to look at her again. "Don't...Don't fucking squander that. Especially not f'r-- Not because'a me..."

A tilt of her head when xe brushes her hair back. Blinking, she looks away and huffs a sigh before staring back down at her feet. She hadn’t really put much thought into what something might look like between them. Their anxiety was valid even if she’s itching to shoot it all down.

“Stop, stop-” Her hand reaches out but stops short of touching. “Look, I don’t know! I don’t know. It’s not like, it’s not like we have to rush into anything. You don’t have to settle down with me or change the way you live. We can – we can make something work.”

“And why would you have anything to do with me getting custody of her? I’m not married to you, and it’s none of Eric’s business. You’re not gonna hurt Ellie. We both know I’d kill you before you got the chance.” It’s meant to be reassuring but what an odd way to go about it. “I don’t know, Arthur. I want to be with you, it won’t let me not be around you. I can’t – I don’t know. I just want you. I know Ellie will love you, I know you’ll love her. We can figure it out.”

Looking down again, she mumbles something and huffs a sigh. Starts chewing on her cheek until she wipes at her face and looks up again. Teary eyed.

“It’ll be complicated but I’m willing to try. Aren’t you?”  

[kdranime]

.

[windownextdoor]

THE NEIGHBOR NEXT DOOR

plot + sfw + nsfw + slightly!insecure!reader wc: 925 reader has never had a reliable man in her life, so she's learned to do stuff on her own, until simon. pt. 3

"jesus fuckin' christ, these are good." simon's mouth is stuffed full of a cookie you and him got done baking a couple minutes ago.

"simon, i told you to wait, they might still be hot-"

he's already shoving another cookie down his throat.

────୨ৎ────

after that day, and the touch that you can't stop thinking about, you decide to tell yourself, every morning; "he's a good neighbor. he's going to stay being a good neighbor." a mantra that you so desperately need to get through your head.

it's not like you have a chance, though, right?

he's way out of your league.

he can't like you.

he doesn't want such a boring girl-

"y'going to get out of your car anytime soon?"

you almost jumped out of your fucking drivers seat. you looked at simon and then realized, yes, you are still sitting in your car right in front of your apartment.

you rolled the window down, "don't scare me like that, simon." your voice slightly shaky from the jumpscare, a hand over your own heart.

"sorry, but i was just wondering, what the hell the woman that lives across from me is still doing in her damn car. y'been out here for almost 30 minutes, wastin' gas."

you mumbled something under your breath.

but before you could say something he'd actually understand, he opened your door. he unbuckled you, "c'mon, get out. if you want to waste gas and time in your car, at least let me take you somewhere that's worth it."

you were already out of your car and walking around to the passenger seat.

────୨ৎ────

maybe you should think with your head.

you gave simon your keys in a heartbeat when you didn't even know him, now, you're letting him drive your car somewhere?

you mentally smacked your forehead. no, he was nice. a nice neighbor.

a nice neighbor.

"could you tell me where we're going?" you asked, looking over at simon, who's body was definitely not made to fit into your nissan rouge.

"milkshakes, then somewhere else."

"where's 'somewhere else-'"

"secret."

you huffed a small breath and rolled your eyes. the city was passing by in a flurry of lights and tall buildings. god. so pretty.

"god, this is so pretty." you say, pointing to the city.

"yeah, you are."

────୨ৎ────

you got to this old, shifty diner that looked like a local spot in the middle of the city. very, retro and nostalgic.

simon turned your car off, and you were about to open your door before a warm, rough hand was placed on your knee.

"i open doors, not you, hold on,"

you blinked a couple times, before closing your door, letting him walk around. no guys open doors anymore. that level of chivalry doesn't exist anymore; or does it? don't be so easy. you can't swoon over a guy that opens your fucking car door-

"y'going to get out or would you rather me carry you?" simon rasps, your door open.

"no- no, i'm getting out." you squeaked. he wouldn't be able to carry you. you got out and simon closed the door behind you, the same warm, rough hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the diner.

the diner was a splash of vibrant colors, old stools against the bar, metal signs, and 'nothing can change this love' by sam cooke playing lowly, but the diner was so quiet, you could hear the music just fine.

simon asked for a booth and you and him sat down, close enough to where your knees were touching.

as a waitress comes up, you order a chocolate shake. and so does simon.

knew he had a secret sweettooth.

as comfortable silence washes over you and him, you realize how much he's just- injected himself into your daily life.

you smile for no reason.

"what's tha' pretty smile for?"

warmness creeps up on your neck, "no reason." he, somehow, always puts compliments in his sentences.

the corners of his mouth twitch up too, a small genuine smile.

────୨ৎ────

after getting the milkshakes, you and him leave the diner to go back to your car, him opening your car door for you to get in.

he starts driving, again, sipping on his milkshake after listening to you threaten him about- 'simon, you better not drop any of that milkshake in my car-' before you notice the old, dirt road you're on.

it's almost seven when he's driving up some moderate hills, not too steep but definitely rocky, before you look up from messing with the hem of your shirt-

a perfect view of the sunset and city.

the car slows to a stop, your eyes widen, not registering that simon was already out of your car and walking to your side.

your mouth is agape and you swear you've never seen anything prettier. anything quite like the landscape in front of you. simon opens your door, and you get out, letting him lead you to the front of your car.

"jesus christ, simon, i've never seen anything like this." you say, pure shock and fascination in your voice as your ass leans up against the hood of your car, simon following your stance.

the same, small genuine smile shows again as you look up at him. "thought you could waste y'time here instead."

you let out a soft laugh, your shoulders bumping, no one daring to move. "the view is indescribable, simon." your head falling onto his shoulder.

he looks down at you, "i know."

────୨ৎ────

pt. 4

[apatheticsunday]

Fatherless Behavior

AKA "Danny Fenton is actually Batman and Catwoman's son. He likes his bio mother a lot more than his billionaire furry bio father, and Bruce is just trying to be a good dad to another surprise kid" prompt idea!

I like the idea of Madeline and Jack Fenton being good parents who love their kids so much. Maybe Danny still got zapped by the ecto-portal and died, but he immediately went to his parents and they helped him adjust to being Half-Dead. So, obviously, if he's old enough to die, he's old enough to be told the truth. Maddy and Jack adopted Danny from a woman named Selina Kyle, who's contact information state she's in Gotham City and willing to re-connect with Danny when/if he's comfortable.

Maybe Danny says he's okay, doesn't need to know who his biological parents are, because Maddy and Jack are enough for him. But it's also okay to be curious, right? He's like... seventeen or eighteen at this point. So, he says he's going to tour Gotham-U and maybe, possibly hunt down his birth mother if he has some extra time.

Fast forward to him standing in front of a very posh apartment complex, the doorman refusing to let him in, and he's incredibly embarrassed. There's an older couple coming out the doors. The older man looks like he's going to walk over, possibly intervene, so Danny just begs asks the doorman, "Can you please just call Selina Kyle? I'm her son."

And Bruce, who's having date-night with Selina, nearly passes out. Because under the bright lights of Selina's apartment lobby, this kid looks exactly like the perfect mix of Bruce and Selina. He's got his father's unruly black hair, Selina's catlike blue eyes, and has several dark freckles on his neck like Damian. So... this is a Not Great situation because Selina had a kid behind his back?? Selina's gripping his wrist like a panther with an antelope's jugular and says, "Not in front of the child, Bruce." And if there's one thing Batman is good at, it's keeping his cool (or pretending to).

They all end up in Batburger with Selina and Bruce looking comically overdressed while Danny's in ripped jeans and a NASA hoodie.

Selina is kind. She got pregnant and then Bruce was presumed dead (Batman's Time Stream incident lasted how long?? I feel like 9 months is reasonable, right?), and she wasn't prepared to be a single mother. She also hadn't wanted Danny to have a criminal for a mother ("Wait, what??"), but didn't feel comfortable aborting.

"Our relationship can be whatever you want it to be, Danny. I'm not trying to replace your mom. I'm just here to help if you want." She doesn't try to touch him, doesn't treat him like a kid, just speaks calmly and respectfully to him.

Bruce, unfortunately, isn't as tactful. He begins with: "And I have an extra room in the Wayne Manor. I can pay for your tuition at Gotham-U, get you a job at Wayne Enterprise, and introduce you to my kids. Tim would like you, you're about the same age-" before Selina shoves an elbow into his side. The damage is already done, though. Danny practically shoves from the table (after slipping two Batburgers into his hoodie pocket since clearly Mr. Money-Bags can afford it, the presumptuous asshole).

"I came here to talk with my mother, Mr. Wayne. I don't want your money or to be a nepo baby at your company." Danny snarls a sarcastic little thanks before hauling ass to his hotel, muttering about rude-ass rich folk.

(Selina, still at the diner with Bruce: Look at what you've done! You've scared our son off!

Bruce: Maybe if you told me I had a son, I could've been more prepared for a surprise visit!

Selina: Maybe if you stayed dead like everybody thought you were, you wouldn't be surprised that I had a son. You weren't there!

A squeaky noise can be heard. It's a waitress trying to quietly write on a whiteboard that says "Days Without a Wayne Argument". The tally is changed from 4 to 0.)

Anyway, I want Selina to be more like a Cool Aunt instead of a mom. She gets that Danny already has a maternal figure in his life, doesn't really want someone Mother Henning him, so she becomes a safe space for him to let go. Watches the Neil deGrasse Tyson docuseries, offers him wine during girl's nights, lets him rant about how unsure he is of the future without giving unsolicited advice.

Danny pretty much sees Bruce and is like, it's on sight, old man. Bruce sends an expensive telescope to his house. It gets sent back with a book that says "How to Know When to Give Up: For Dummies". Bruce tries to catch Danny while going to Selina's apartment and Danny screams stranger danger so loudly that Bruce is momentarily worried he accidentally accosted the wrong teenager. Danny makes a comment about "another billionaire frootloop wanting to keep me in his basement" and Bruce is even more concerned now. He responds with, "Daniel, I would not keep you in my basement." Yeah... that definitely didn't help.

Oddly enough, Danny is now also being harassed by Batman and his Bat Cult.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP idea: To Be Human Again

Danny had not been human for a long time. His home dimension had long since fallen. He lost his friends and family to old age, watched their descendants rise and fall in the same way, and witnessed his Earth come to an end.

When the cosmos erupted and took the solar system he knew and loved, Danny was oddly at peace with the end. He was no longer a Halfa but a full Spirit of the Stars. Solar flares ran through his veins rather than blood, stardust decorated his skin in gently kissed freckles, and his eyes held the swirling clouds of the cosmos.

Danny had not become a ghost. He had transformed into an Ancient, commanding the prophecies, fates, and endless opportunities that all living beings could experience in their lifetimes.

He flouted through his domain, witnessing battles between Lords of Choas and Order. Planets gain life and break apart. Endless time stretching from the graveities he weaves to flouting stones.

As time passes, his name begins to fade into legends and myths, and even the ghosts that once battled with him forget their time together. They, too, can age at a much slower rate, but change comes for them. He is present for Box Lunch's birth, but when he leaves to create light in the darkness, he misses her growing up. When he returns, Box Lunch does not know him, trembling in place as she bows low like her parents.

He stares at her, wondering what he found wrong with her, until he realizes she is a young adult. Were it not for his once evil timeline, he wouldn't have known her child form. He had missed it.

His gaze falls onto the much older pair of ghosts who call him by his new title. Neither Box Ghost nor Lunch Lady show any signs of remembering his name. They greet him with his title, and act as if though that is his identifier.

How many eons had it been since he last heard someone call him Phantom? Or even Danny?

"Lord Star Weaver?" Box Lunch stammers when the giant being only continues to stare. "Is something the matter?"

"Hmm," he considers her question, wondering if his realizations upset him. It's not that he was lonely or that he missed the sound of his name. But he has spent eons in a haze focusing on his work, and now it's almost as if he was waking from a dream.

Dreams....what did those feel like again?

"Tell me, Box Lunch, are there any portals to any living Earths?" His voice booms over the Realms, echoing as if they were a part of him. Maybe they were.

Danny had not sat on his throne since his elder sister breathed her last, but he still remembered the way the Infinite Realms changed on his whims. It's where he learned to weave stars. The young woman's ghost looked startled before she gestured vaguely to a path behind her.

"Yes, sir. I regularly use the anchored portal to visit the local Earth. It's where my father was born before his death."

Danny looks down at Box Ghost before leaning toward Box Lunch's height. She is no bigger than his pupils, and she seems frozen in terror as his eyes glow with hunger. "Show me," he says.

Her parents make strangling noises, but they wouldn't dare speak against the King and Ancient of creation. They send their daughter worried tight smiles but encourage her to lead the Star Waver to the portal.

She flights for a solid hour, his large form sending every ghost into hiding as he passes. Despite not having a living heart, he knows that it beats a mile a minute within her chest as her glow flickers in uncertainty.

They arrive at the portal, a swirling green pool resting in the open mouth of a mechanical jester. Danny thinks it looks like the building of an amusement park. He remember going to one once with Sam. This had been the Funhouse, filled to the brim with trick mirrors.

The memory causes him to smile.

Lunch Box nervously moves her hands one after another, bowing at the waist and stepping to the side so Danny can consider the portal. He is much larger than the building and doubts his foot would fit inside the portal.

He should change his form.

"Here it is, Lord Star Weaver, the portal to the human-AGHHHH!" Box Lunch's words fade into a scream as two bright rings of light form around the Ancient. Fearing she had offended the being and he was planning on retaliating, she flings herself to the ground before the portal, begging for her existence.

"I will do anything!" She cries, head pressing against the glowing green stone underneath her. "Mercy, please, Lord Star Weaver."

"Anything? Then you shall be my guide in the new Earth, " a human voice says. Shocked, she raises her head only to see that the Ancient has vanished and that a human teenager with soft fluffy hair, big baby blue eyes, and the most innocent demeanor is staring back at her.

Were it not for the soul she could feel carefully folded up inside him, she would have thought him a human who stumbled through the portal.

"My....Lord?" she dares to ask, and she's rewarded with a soft smile. Honestly, the human body the Star Weaver has chosen is an odd one. It looks like a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"Yes. Where does this portal lead?"

"Gotham," She shutters out, "The city within the United States of Earth. This portal is in te middle of a human outlaw named Joker, but humans there aren't able to see us very well so he never bothers me."

"Gotham" Danny rolls the name on his human tongue, tasting it as the sound vibrates through his bones and his heart. It's been so long since he last felt this alive, and if that was what the name could do, who knows what the city could bring him. "What a wonderful place to get lost in, don't you agree, big sister?"

"Um...I beg your pardon?" Lunch Box blinks, but he shifts her fate with a snap of his fingers. Since she had never been alive, having been a Realms born, Danny has control of her guiding star. He moved it for one that belonged to a version of herself born in the human world.

Lunch Box's body shifts into flesh and blood. Her draw drops as she stares at her human hands. Danny grins. "I'm Danny Fenotn, moving to Gotham with my older sister. Adopted, of course. Who might you be?"

She looks at him with horror and heartbreak, but what leaves her mouth is only three words: "I'm Della Fenton."

"Della." He repeats the name, nodding his head and smiling. "It's lovely."

"It was my mother's Earth name before her death, " she says in a daze, and Danny smiles, striding into the portal without a second glance.

"Come on, Della, I want to see our new home."

He steps into the portal, while she can only look out over the Realms that no longer whisper and speak to her. How could it? She was no longer a ghost. She silently apologizes to her parents, who would likely be waiting at their haunt for her, and turns away from the only home she's ever known.

She can not afford to anger the Star Weaver. If he can breathe life into her with a mere snap of her fingers, she fears what he can do to take it away.

On the other side of the portal Della finds that her King has been caught by humans, who have tied him up to a chair and a snickering clown waved a knife in his face.

His gentle smile did not leave his face even as the Joker sliced two thin lines on his cheek.

"Della" Danny calls never taking his eyes off the clown. "Is this the outlaw you spoke of?"

Human goons swarm her. She is shocked to find that they can touch her as she is thrown on the ground, only to remember she is now human. The dull ache in her chin is her new reality.

"Yes. That's the Joker," She says after getting her wits about her. One of the goons presses the heel of his foot on top of her head, slamming her back to the ground and breaking her nose. A scatter of snickers echoes through the room as Joker loudly cackles.

"That's right, little boy. I'm the Joker, and this is my Fun House. What were you two doing sneaking about here uninvited?"

There are teeth in the Star Weaver's answer, and she shivers in place, wondering how she will survive him. "Oh, I just felt like star gazing. Say, did you know your guiding star is becoming dim?"

[leclarifies]

letters (MV33)

꒰ max verstappen x childhoodbestfriend! reader ꒱

synopsis┊it was confusing, even though you were continents apart, you never understood why max never responded to your letters, until you attend the belgium gp to finally get the answers you were looking for. inspired by the prompt, "why did you never reply to my letters?" "you wrote me letters?"

genre┊ fluffy, the fluffiest fluff i've ever fluffed.

word count┊ 4.4k

aria yaps┊ i have worked on this non-stop for two days, and i loved the way it turned out, maybe one of my favorite works. enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing this!!

SECOND PART

she was always around max, either from the sidelines or the first person max ran to when he won a race, it was always her. not even his father, even though he held his father to the highest regard, but it was always her.

the little wrinkles on the edge of her eyes when she smiled at him, the way her lips would curl up, or the way she would giggle every. single. time. that he would come and hug her after every race finish. he remembers it all. and the way he would snuggle his face in the crook of her neck and asked her softly after he would win a race, 'did you see me win, schatje?'

she would always smile back with a laugh, 'of course i did maxie.'

it was always about max, her life revolved around him, whether he liked it or not. she adored him and maybe he adored her a little bit more. they were childhood friends, they were inseparable since they were little babies, their mothers being friends made it even harder for the both of them to not be attached at the hip.

she loved being in his presence and he loved her.

the divorce between jos and sophie was hard on max, he blamed himself and his career but she was always there to tell him that it's not his fault. that their decision was their own and she never forgot to tell max that it wasn't his fault, no matter how much they told him that it was.

she saw the way jos had pushed max to his limits, get physical with his own son and his way of escaping that life was run to her arms, she was there tending to every bruise, every wound whether physical or emotional. she was his rock and it was final. nothing anyone could ever say or do would change his name.

"schatje," max had gently woken her up from her slumber, and she stirred awake from his soft voice, she noticed where she was and finally remembered what happened.

max had finished lower than expected and jos had thrown hurtful things about max, she was there on his mother's couch, comforting him and had fallen asleep that way, with max on her lap, "are you sleepy?"

she shook her head, not wanting to admit that yes, indeed she was sleepy, but if max needed comfort then that wasn't a big deal to her, "what's wrong maxie?"

"nothing, you can sleep on my bed if you're tired. i can sleep here," max had brushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear but she refused, she hated taking his bed because she knew how uncomfortable the couch was, she wanted him to sleep well.

but he wouldn't allow her to take the couch, so they both slept on sophie's couch almost cuddled with eachother because they were both stubborn.

max was necessarily content with how he was living his life right now, but she made it better and that's all he could ask for. was it her smile? maybe her presence? max didn't care. the first memory he could remember from his early childhood was her, and it was etched into his memory like stone.

she was content with being max's rock, she was there to keep him grounded and she too only had memories of him from her early childhood. she wouldn't replace him for the world, he was too precious for anything in this earthly world.

but there was one day, it felt like a bomb dropped on her. her father had told her that he would have to move to korea to continue work, and she didn't know how to break the news to max until a few days before she had to leave.

she knew it was wrong to keep something this big away from max, but she was so stricken with anxiety that she never got the chance to until max came over to her house and saw all the packed boxes with their belongings.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?" max was angry, she could tell, by the way he was pacing around her room, looking at the packed boxes around. max thought he meant more to her than just a measly friend, he felt frustrated— betrayed almost. why wouldn't she tell him? why would she keep something as big as this away from him?

"why didn't you say something before? why now? why before you could see me race this weekend?" max was raising his voice now, and she didn't know what to do. her eyes turned glassy and those doe eyes max loved so much just looked so sad.

she stayed quiet, a guilty look on her face. she knew max would break from the news, and she knew that it would affect his performance, but she didn't know how to stay, how to convince her father that she didn't want to go, so yet again, she stayed silent in important moments of her life.

"schatje, can you say something? say anything?!" max yelled and she flinches, she didn't know what to say or what to do, she wanted to say something, say anything. but nothing would come to her lips. it was so hard for her when he was angry like this, it reminded her of his father and his father was deathly scary when angry.

a sigh escapes max's lips when he sees her flinch, coming close to her to wrap her in a hug. tears escaped from her eyes as she held onto max tight, "i didn't know how to tell you," she whispers into max's ear but max didn't say anything to that, just held her even tighter and he did not want to let go.

"it's okay schatje, i'm not mad at you. i could never get mad at you, i'm sorry for raising my voice. i just don't want you to go," tears started to escape max's eyes too, he didn't want to see her go. he wanted her to stay, and she did too. but the universe was pulling them apart and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

the ride to the airport was tough, being only fifteen and sixteen respectively. max held her hand the entire time, not wanting to let go, he didn't want her to leave, she was his biggest support system and he couldn't imagine her gone like that.

she was the most scared of the two of them, what if her father never returned to belgium? what if she was stuck there in korea forever? what if she never got to see his pretty blue eyes anymore?

max was the one to ground her, no longer lost in her thoughts, "can you promise me we'll keep in touch? or maybe visit from time to time?" max was holding onto her hands tightly, she felt like they would bruise, she could only smile and nod.

her mother had called her over, it was time to go. she looked at max for what it felt like the last time and left her life in belgium.

dear schatje,

hi, this is the first week that you're gone and it's bene been so hard without you here with me. i forgot that you weren't here anymore and i was expecting to see your face, but when i didn't, i may or may not have almost cried.

i miss you so much. tell me how it is in korea, is it cold? do they have bears there? what about the food? is it good? can you eat it? i heard there's a lot of spiy spicy food there? honestly i don't care about what they have there, i just care about you.

when can you visit again? can you tell me if you're ever coming back? i'm so worried about you there, i miss you... so much schatje.

written with a lot of love, your maxie.

max always handed off his letters to his father, telling his father to hand it off to his mother because apparently they kept in contact and wanted to send it off to the post office on behalf of him.

he just wondered how she was doing there.

it's been months and countless of letters max had sent, and none of them replied. he was starting to lose hope, he didn't want to think that his best friend would forget about him so easily like that, but he held out hope. he knew that she wouldn't magically forget about him now that she was there.

jealousy bubbled within him when he realized that she would be meeting new people, what if she met someone like him? who enjoyed karting and wanted to steal her attention?

no, he couldn't be thinking like that. he loved her and he knew she loved him as much as he did, so he told himself to just be patient, maybe letters to korea took months to reach?

the naviety was almost laughable but he was fine with it. he just wanted to hear back from his pretty girl.

"i do not understand why you keep writing letters to that stupid girl, she doesn't reply to you and all it does is distract you," jos had reprimanded his son, but max was stubborn. he didn't care what his father had to say, he loved all of her, even when she was thousands of kilometers away. he wanted to talk, even when she never replied.

max was in the process of writing another letter, but he never listened to his father, not about her. not about how much of a distraction she's been to his career, he didn't care. he used it as motivation to get better on the track, so the next time she saw him, he would be a world champion, that's what he silently promised to her.

it had been two years, and he hadn't heard a peep back. slowly, he was starting to lose hope but he couldn't lose hope, every single time he would send off the letters, he told himself that maybe it got lost in the mail.

max kept writing though.

max's debut in f1 was explosive to say the least, his interviews would absolutely go viral by the things he was saying in them. he didn't understand why, he just said what was on his mind.

what was truly on his mind was her.

was he not good enough for her? was him being in f1 not enough to impress her? why wouldn't she write back?

oh god how he missed her.

he still wrote to her weekly, it was religious at this point. he never forgot and he always told his father to send them off to his mother and the week after that was always disappointment because he wouldn't hear anything back.

little did he know, she never received those letters.

max had slowly stopped writing letters as he got into f1, he didn't see a point in it anymore. she never replied. she didn't care. letters didn't take years to reach korea, and he finally lost hope.

winning his first championship felt empty, the pretty girl who used to be waiting for him wasn't there for him anymore. of course, he was happy to win such an impressive feat, who wouldn't? but it just... lacked her.

max indeed lost hope that she would ever write back, but never lost hope that she was out there, somewhere, watching him race every single week and beat the shit out of his rivals. she loved watching him race and that's what he intended to do until the day he died, he wanted to impress her, maybe that was his ulterior motive to becoming a formula one driver.

all just to impress his best friend who had lost contact with him for a decade now.

"you need to stop figdeting so much," her mother had scolded her, she could only laugh nervously and stop fidgeting around. she wondered why max never wrote back to her, she had written him letters. did he hate her for moving out to korea and not coming to visit belgium?

she shook the thoughts out of her head, she was here now. for his home race, and for the rest of her life. her father had now decided to move back to belgium, because and i quote, 'i don't want my daughter to lose touch with her culture'.

she was 26 now, and she had guessed that he turned 27 not too long ago. it's been so long since she talked to him and she hoped that the spark that she had been yearning for had not been lost to the passages of time.

getting the paddock passes was not easy, it was a war and a half but she managed to snag some for herself and a friend that wanted to visit belgium and would arrive later on in the week.

"how did you even manage to get paddock passes for us?" heejin, her friend that wanted to visit had asked, she could only laugh and explain how she got them, it was a war and a half. heejin laughed along with her as they both arrived and scanned their passes at the entrance.

"i'm gonna meet my best friend here— well it's complicated. i don't think he considers me a best friend anymore, but i still do," she had softly told heejin who was a big formula one fan even before meeting her, heejin raised her eyebrow when she said that.

the both of them were walking down the paddock, passing all of the different team's hospitalities. heejin raised her eyebrow at her friend, who shrugged.

"who's your best friend?" heejin had asked as they pass by the red bull hospitality, she stopped which signalled heejin to stop as well, she looked at the redbull in awe. she hadn't been to a formula one race yet, the closest she'd been was to karting but that didn't bring on the feelings she felt when standing in front of this red bull building.

"well, he's driving the number one car."

"YOUR BEST FRIEND IS MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

"YOUR BEST FRIEND IS MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

max had heard a girl yell, he slowly turned his head. he was confused, he didn't have a best friend— well not anymore. she had moved to korea, all memories of her stuck in his head being replayed all over and over again.

that's all he had left of her.

the other girl shushed the girl who yelled, and that's when it dawned on max. the other girl looked awfully familiar, he couldn't quite place why she looked so familiar but she looked like her, like his best friend.

"shh! you can't just yell that out in public," she clamped a hand on her friend's mouth, "they're gonna think i'm insane!" then the both of them giggled, it did sound ridiculous but now he was curious.

was she back? was that her? who was she with? is that her new best friend? is that her?

as they both walked away, max wanted to run up to them, to ask that one particular girl what her name was. what she was doing here and who she was with but all of that died when he got approached by his race engineer.

then he forgot all about that familiar girl that he saw in front of the red bull hospitality.

max would only get another glimpse of her when it was race day, they were walking through the paddock in a similar fashion, but max promised to himself that he would approach them, that he would ask but there was doubt in his heart.

what if she forgot about him?

she couldn't, right?

and so approach them he did, tapping the girl that he felt was so familiar to on the shoulder, she had turned around and they had locked eyes.

it was as if she never left.

the sparks, they all came rushing back and then his heart started beating out of his chest, he wanted to ask so many questions, why she was here, who she was with, when she came back— why she came back, why she never wrote him back.

but the only thing that left his lips were a simple, "hi."

heejin was freaking out, she could tell. she knew that heejin was a big red bull fan too, always talking about how the team was dominating and they had the better car. she had heard all about it. but the little dutchboy she left all those years ago was standing in front of her and not-so little anymore and all those thoughts about her girlfriend was forgotten.

he looked the same, but grown and decked out in red bull merch. she wanted to laugh at how innocent he looked when he tapped her on the shoulder to get her to turn around, he looked stupid, stupidly cute.

all of those feelings from when she was back in belgium came back, she almost forgot what it felt like to be around max— her max. he looked like he was going to cry when he got a good look at her, that he finally realized that yes, it's her. the one that left him in belgium all those years ago.

and maybe she could cry too.

"maxie?" a familiar nickname slipped from her lips and she didn't get a response back, but a bear hug in return.

god, her scent. it was everything to him. he fucking missed it— miss her.

"i thought... i thought you forgot about me," max buried his face into the crook of her neck, she too wrapped her arms around max and buried her face into his chest. his voice was so vulnerable, all she wanted to do was curl around him and tell him that she would never.

she shook her head as she sank into the hug, "i could never forget my maxie," she mumbled into his chest, he held onto her tighter. he never wanted to let go, not now, not ever. she was where she was finally supposed to be, right in his arms.

once they got time alone after his race, max had stolen her away from her friend and dragged her into his driver's room, locking the door and pushing her against the wall, slamming his lips onto hers. he had been dreaming about this for so long, his lips on hers.

he didn't want to so sexual with her, no not yet. being in the small driver's room where they couldn't be free out of the public eye wasn't a good place. he just wanted to touch her, hold her, love her, make sure that she knew how much he had missed this.

missed them being together.

her hands instinctively went up to hold onto his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he kissed her softly. the feelings going through him were a mix of nostalgia, longing and love. he loved her for so long and it was so like her to show up when it mattered the most.

he won it for her today, to show her, that the little max she knew still had it in him to win and to impress her even with a world championship under his belt.

she felt the softness and the gentleness that max was touching her with, she knew how much he loved her. how much he care, how much he longed for her touch and she did too, only so much more.

she had so many questions in her, on why he never replied to the letters she sent or why he never sent any himself, not knowing what happened with her letters and why they never arrived properly.

but she didn't care at the moment, all she cared about was that she was safely in his arms, never to be let go ever again.

safe to say, her lips were to the point of bruising that night. max had forbade her to go back home, or to be away from his sight. he had kissed her silly, not wanting to let her go and there she was, settled nicely in his arms.

it's not like she wanted to go anywhere anyway.

the movie in the background was long forgotten, max's lips felt like they were molded for hers. he had waited for her for so long, waited to feel her skin after so long and this just felt right, it felt right when he was with her.

"maxie— mmhh— my love, stop," she had to talk in between kisses, max didn't want to let her go, his fingers were basically imprinted onto her waist. she was straddling max as he sat upright and kissed her, so softly. like she would break if he was any harder, even though he absolutely did want to kiss her harder.

max released her from the kiss with a pout, his pretty lips were red and swollen from all the kissing they did. everything in the world just seemed to fade into the background when they were together, like everyone else in this world was so insignificant for their time and they were the only people worthy of each other's time.

"but why? i wanna kiss you, i miss you. i have waited for you for ten years, the least you can do is let me kiss you until you're sick of me," max mumbled against her lips and all she could do was giggle.

god, her laugh, he loved it.

she shook her head and left a final peck on his lips, "because i want to talk maxie, we can't just kiss whatever questions we have for eachother away," she told him but he seemed to think otherwise, she had moved back to put a bit of distance in between them, to make sure max didn't go in to kiss her again.

"oh yes we can, i don't care about the questions, schatje. i just wanna be with you, just like old days, but now it's so different because in those ten years without you, i finally realized what i felt and how i felt for you and i can't wait any damn longer to finally kiss those pretty lips of yours, so please. just let me do this for another three hours and we can talk," max begged as he pulled her closer.

she couldn't imagine kissing for another three hours as they spent the last hour doing it, but with him? she would do it for another life-time if she could.

the both of them later had the serious talk when they were done kissing each other, now wanting answers from eachother. their legs were tangled and intertwined with each other's, not wanting to let go from their skin to skin contact.

"first off, why did you never reply to my letters? i wrote you so many. so many that i lost count, i would always write to you but you never replied, why?" max's voice came out strained, all of the painful feelings from the last ten years of his life were coming out, her doe eyes looked up from where she was, laying against his chest.

"you wrote me letters? i wrote you letters, you never replied. i thought you got too busy with your karting career to reply—"

"i could never get too busy to reply to you, but i never got any of your letters, schatje," max murmured against her forehead, kissing it gently after he spoke. she hummed a response before it dawned on her, she had always sent the letters to his father's address and she knew that his father wasn't fond of her, even offering her a huge lump sum of cash just for her to stay away from his son but she never accepted it, always choosing to be beside max, no matter what happened.

she looked up and sighed, she knew what happened now, she connected the pieces, "did you send your letters off to your dad?" she asked, and max nodded before it dawned on him too.

"that fucker hid the letters from you and never sent mine..."

she could only nod sadly, but it didn't matter now. all that mattered was that they were reconnected now.

scattered around them were the countless of letters max had written to her and all of the letters from her that he never received, the years of pining, longing— all of them tucked neatly away into these little envelopes that held all of those unsaid feelings.

a soft sigh escapes her lips, she looked at all of them, there were hundreds maybe. all of them posted to where she stayed in korea but never sent, always kept in a big box where all of his letters were and hers were stuffed in there in a similar fashion.

her heart clenched when she saw how many there were, there were far more many than whatever she sent, even though she did send quite a big sum.

when max had found out, he stormed into jos' house and demanded to ask why he never sent out the letters that he wrote and a big fight broke out, she had to hold of max from physically harming his own father. then they left after given the big box filled with letters.

"there's so many..." she watched in awe as all of them were sorted by date, from the latest to the earliest, max looked up at her with those big blue icy eyes of his, he looked really sad. stuck in his feelings almost, not understand why his father would do whatever he did in the past.

max held her hand gently, pulling her into his embrace, "i have always loved you, even when i was a little kid. i just didn't understand what those feelings were, i just acted on how i felt and being away from you... i just couldn't. so i sent you my love in the form of these letters."

she left a lingering kiss on his cheek, she felt sorry for having to leave all those years ago. she should've fought, should've stood her ground on how much she wanted to stay but she was just a 16 year old kid who didn't know how to, "i know. i'm sorry i had to leave all those years ago."

"don't apologize, schatje. i have never blamed you for leaving me. i have always held love for you in my heart, even if you didn't know it."

"i always knew max, and i still do."

very willing to do a part 2 to this btw, will only do it when requested tho. not proofread, excuse grammar mistakes.

[amazinglyashy]

Hello, can you do LADS men's reaction to MC/reader working too hard, to the point that she looks tired and drained? She also easily gets sick because of stress. And yes, it's based on me; right now, I'm so tired because of work, and I have dance practice almost every day for our departmental performance while I'm sick with the flu. Thank you 💜

Sorry for the delay, but I wanted to do this one justice as best as I could, because oh man did I feel this personally! Not the same at all, but I get heavy duty chronic pain, and I overwork myself often by choice or not, all the time. Feel better anon <3 I hope you enjoy, and make sure to get some Pedialyte or sports drinks, and rest whenever you can. Your health is extremely important!

Love and Deepspace Li's reactions to you being overworked and sick

Zayne -

He's a doctor, you can't even get into the realm of hoping to hide it from him for long, and you'll want to hide it from him if you're actually wanting to be doing whatever it is that's causing you to be overworked to the point of illness.

He will take a single look at you the first time he sees you once you've reached this point- routine examination, stopping by work to see you or vice versa, running something by your place he borrowed, even just you making the mistake of taking an offered ride home from him due to how tired you are. It was a lapse in judgement on your part in trying to keep this from him, but your beyond exhausted brain didn't process it at the time.

But you sure are processing it now that you've been 'kidnapped' and taken back to his place.

He has already filled out a formal doctors note- benefits of being your primary physician- and sent it over to your bosses and managers. There's no arguing.

"Zayne, I'm-" "If you are about to try a weak attempt at convincing me you are alright, I will accept it as you insulting my intelligence as a doctor."

You're in his bed, under his blankets, probably in his pajamas since he wouldn't let you escape home, and drinking the warm drink he made for you to have after taking medicine he had given you to help with your illness. He'll order food that will be good for you to eat as well, and if it's too late for takeout, he'll definitely be cooking for you as well.

Once you're done eating, he'll make sure you're properly cared for by massaging any tired or pained muscles. If that's your entire body, then so be it. Close your eyes, tilt hour head back, and relax even though it hurts in a good way sometimes, because he's not letting up.

Not until you feel better. No matter how long that takes.

Rafayel -

Genuinely, he's offended and hurt that you've overworked yourself this hard and haven't told him. And boy, is he going to let you know it.

He's carrying you gently from wherever he had found you looking so tired- no it does not matter if you were in the middle of working- while actively scolding you in his arms.

"Maybe I should just leave you there all day, come see you in the evening when you get a bad case of amnesia. Would you like that? Huh? No? Well, then stop being stupid."

He doesn't even want to dare set foot in your place right now. He's not in the mood to clean, and he knows if this is the state you're in, your apartment is probably so much worse due to just how busy and exhausted you've been.

He'll go clean it later, but right now he's just grumpy.

There is something about the fresh, oceanside air that helps your headache though- or maybe it's the light linen on his bed that he would have dropped you on had you not looked like the most frail thing he had seen all week.

He's muttering snarky remarks to you, but they're devoid of any bite due to his actions as he speaks them-

Getting you a fluffy robe to change into, putting something simple in the oven while you get comfortable, working special lotion into your muscles, making you lemon and honey tea, making it more humid so any sinus problems clear and help you breathe- he's being vocal through it all, but spoiling you as much as he can nonetheless.

"I don't care if you have a lot to do. Just- ask for help next time. And if I can't help with your work, at least let me help you relax once you're home. I don't mind you staying over either, so that I can make you feel better. Just promise me you'll do better next time, so I can help you before you get this bad."

Xavier -

He probably stopped by your apartment to return something he borrowed, and you made the mistake of answering the door directly after coming home. You were at your peak of tired, and your head had started pounding for some reason... and didn't you feel a bit hot...?

"Oh- You look- You don't look very good. Is everything alright?"

You can't even answer before he's reaching out a hand to hover in front of you, trying to decide between touching you and not, before deciding on the former. He can feel you're just the slightest bit unsteady from working so you're being scooped up in an instant and taken to the bed you had already been planning to go to.

"What have they been having you do...? Never mind. That's- not important right now."

Takes off your shoes and socks, murmurs something about giving you a massage in a bit, before tugging blankets and plushies around you. He'll leave to let you change into pajamas or something more comfortable, and he'll keep himself busy by making you something to eat or clean up your apartment for you.

He tries to cook you something, he really does try. But he definitely has more talent at talking on the phone to the restaurant he's ordering you takeout from. The pan he tried to use does not survive the attempt.

The takeout is good when it comes, though, and it helps that he gave you some medicine prior to help keep it down. Even if you're not currently nauseous, he's pretty worried about your state worsening quickly.

You won't notice until it's too late, but he's already finding out how to transfer some of your workload to himself. By 'some', it's definitely 'all'.

"No, I won't change my mind. Not until you're better. You're so tired, let me do this for you. You can make it up to me by getting me something in the claw machine later."

Sylus -

"I'm just going to go-"

"Go where, kitten?"

You had made the mistake of nearly falling over under the watchful gaze of Mephisto, who had decided it would be absolutely wonderful to relay the information about it and your current state back to Sylus as quickly as he could.

Which is how you had ended up stuck in the hallway the led to your apartment, practically pinned to the wall with Sylus's hands on either side of you.

That is also how you ended up slung over Sylus's shoulder as he unlocked your apartment door for you and went inside, carrying you like it was nothing.

To be fair, you couldn't do much to fight him off this time except utilize a few choice words. You were so beyond exhausted, and starting to feel pretty ill, to boot.

He's got you to bed as soon as the door is shut. You're allowed a hot shower if you promise him a few dozen times that you'll get straight to bed after. He makes sure to promise you that he'll come and make you get in bed if you go against that promise. For once, you don't want to call his bluff.

You're in bed soon enough, with a cool rag pressed on your forehead, some pain medication long since down your throat, and food already on the way courtesy of Luke and Kieran's special henchmen delivery service.

Lying in bed is like heaven on your sore muscles and aching joints, not to mention the pounding headache you've had since starting to feel sick and missing out on sleep. But what somehow feels even better is Sylus's hands on you.

They're just gentle touches, his fingertips ghosting over your skin to leave goosebumps at how nice it feels, and sometimes his whole hands moving slowly and lightly across your body. He'll massage your muscles later, but for now, he's just focused on getting you to sleep, even if just for a little bit until the food gets here.

He knows you need it.

[nicholasgoodgirl]

sin? maybe - father charlie

summary: your priest takes you home and it leads to other things

warning: p in v, oral (m receiving), face fucking, after care, virginity loss.

a/n: chat idk how to feel abt this at all and am too scared to read it back. i swear if i spelling his name wrong the whole time. im deleting this acc off the face of the earth

3:23pm

you were waiting in the rain; unbothered than anything. but there was no denying the tempeture change as the rain continued it was beginning to become unbearable. five minutes turning to ten, ten turning to fifteen. your mom still never came

you walked back into the church drenched from all the rain. your white dress sticking to you, it was still cold in the church nonetheless.

"y/n?" you turn around to your name being called "what are you still doing here?" father charlie asked.

"oh my mom never came to get me" she probably drank to much and passed out somewhere, it was embarrassing to admit but thats the only reason you went to church, so you can be far from her and to be nothing like her.

"you're all wet. how long have you been out there?" you shrug at his question. he tilted his head in observation looking you up and down; his eyes lingering longer on your breast.

that would have normally made you uncomfortable if it were anyone else, but it was father charlie and everyone knew him as the 'hot priest' and they weren't wrong either.

he clears his throat "uh I'll give you a ride home" he gave you a quick smile then grabbed his keys off the alter and on the way out grabbing his umbrella.

he put his hand on your lower back guiding you under the umbrella. he gave you the keys so you can unlock the car "why don't you start the car up while you're at it"

"oh i dunno how" you declined the offer politely but he insisted that you did it anyways so he can hold the umbrella for you.

you open the car door and bend over putting the upper half of your body inside the car and trying to start it up like that instead of actually sitting down. the key wouldn't really turn so you put your knee on the seat getting into the car more. while doing this you could gradually feel your dress raise. something in you just knew he was looking up your dress

you give up "i can't get it to start" he lets out a low chuckle and takes the keys from you and gestures for you to get out the car. you hold the umbrella while he gets in the car to start it up. the engine cuts on and he takes the umbrella from you and walks you to the passanger side and shuts the door behind you.

--

3:34 pm

in the car everything he did and had in his car intrigued you. the way he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other hand rested on his leg. the blankets he had in the backseat, the rosemary cross that was hanging from the rearview mirror

"whats your house adress?" he questioned parking at the stop sign, waiting for your answer.

you shrug again "you don't know where you live?" he probed. you did but it was embarrassing to think about how if your moms boyfriend saw you with a guy he would beat you.

"do you wanna come to my house instead" his question was almost hesitant but i accepted the offer with a smile.

--

4:01 pm

his house was nothing fancy, the aura of the place was comforting. he started a fire in the fireplace and it set a more warm tone in the room.

"you can use my shower. just walk down the hall, it's to your right. I'll bring you a warm towel and clothes"

you walk down the hall and take a turn to the right and find his bathroom. it was definitely not like the bathroom at your house. it was clean the, the scent of father charlie lingered.

you undress then walk over to the shower putting it on hot. a couple minutes into the warm water hitting your body changing your body temperature from cold to warm there was knocks at the door.

"It's unlocked!" i yelled from the shower. and the door opens "i have no actual clothes that you would probably wear to bed but you can wear one of my shirts" ,,don't even worry about it" you reassure

it didn't matter to you, you actually liked the idea of prancing around in that mans shirt. you couldn't forgive yourself for how bad you wanted him to fuck you in the shower.

"well call me if you need anything" he opens the door to leave out. "wait!- wait.. father charlie"

"you can just call me charlie" he corrects. "could you maybe talk to me about your day or anything i don't wanna be alone right now"

you could hear father charlie chuckle at the question "sure. why not"

he began talking about his day while i cleaned myself off. he went into detail about how he made his breakfast and how precise everything had to be. meanwhile i just couldn't get the thought of him talking me through sex.

"you're doing so well"

"how does that feel"

"you need me to slow down" the thought didn't stop it felt so wrong but you needed him. you were giving him hums to let him know you were still listening.

you turn the water off "can you hand me my towel" your hand reaches out of the curtain and you can feel the towel being placed in your hand "thank you"

"can i-" he was cut off by you walking out the shower with just your towel on. he cleared his throat "I'm gonna go" he reached for the door but you grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"will you stop it" he snaps. both his hands grab your arm "stop! im trying so hard not to sin but for fucks sake you're making it nearly impossible"his words comes flying out faster than you could process

"oh.." you mumbled. "y'know we can do something about your little problem" you look down at the buldge in his pants.

he wasnt wearing his vestmant anymore he was just in a black button up with some black formal pants making it more noticeable.

"fucking hell" he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "such a slut. i thought you would have been good. looked so pure" he spat almost like it wasn an insult. "guess not"

"have you ever touched youreslf?" the question wasnt one you would like to answer cause you always felt shame afterwards but nodded anyways avoiding eyes contact; not proud of your doings.

"of course you do" he breathed out "on your knees" ,,what?" you question unsure if you heard him right

"baby you have been so sweet to me so far and I'd hate it if i have to repeat myself"

you drop to your knees and he unbuckles his belt not breaking eye contact with you once. father charlie pulls his pants down and his underwear.

you grab his dick and put it in your mouth. hallowing your cheeks out "look at you taking me so well" he tangles his hand in your hair, grabbing ahold of it and pushing your head forward causing you to gag; you could feel him touching the back of your throat.

"lord please forgive me" he whispered so low it's a suprise you even heard the words come out his mouth

at this point he was just fucking your face, he was watching as his cock disappeared into your mouth. after a while your eyes began to water.

he pulls you away from him "stand up" ,,did i do something wrong?" you ask, letting your towel drop, standing to your feet. wanting to fix any mistake you made along the way. "no sweetheart, you did just fine i just wanna be inside you instead"

he turns you over but you weren't as thrilled about this as he probably was. you were a virgin and too scared to tell him.

he bends you over the counter and you grab ahold of it for support. he lines himself up with you and pushes in

"so fucking tight" he groaned. "wait-" you hit the counter top with your hand "please just wait" you whine

he stops what he's doing and waits for your signal to go "you can move.." my words come out sounding almost strangled.

he pushed in and out of you and for a second you can hear his breath hitch "are you on your period?"

"what!? no" you look behind you and see his lips slowly curl into a smirk "you're a virgin aren't you?" ,,mhm" you nod "even better" he gloated

you could feel his dick hit a spot that made your toes curl. the burning sensation goes away with each rut. you let a few whimpers slip and a grunt with every thrust; your body jolting forward.

he gripped your hips tightly to allow himself to pound into you. you could have sworn you felt his tip hit your cervix.

the sounds of skin slapping against eachother flooded the bathroom "you're such a slut. letting your priest fuck you over a bathroom counter"

he pulled your hair back putting you into a deeper arch, to hit your sweet spot. a guttural moan leaves your lips "oh fuck" you moan.

father charlies hand goes down to your clit rubbing firm circles, sharp uneven breaths pulled through you as you could feel your orgasm approching.

with no warning his warm seed coats your insides, as he rides out his high. his fingers continues to rub in circular motion which makes you finish next; unfolding right there.

you hold his hand to stop him. "im done i can't take anymore" you whisper.

"im sure" he pulls out letting a hiss escape, then walks over to the shower and letting the water run again. the both of you get in and shower together.

he got done before you and while you were still getting clean he made you a snack.

--

5:59 pm

you two were laid in bed. your head resting on father charlies chest while he traces light shapes on your skin.

"what do i tell my mom" you ask. "whatever you want sweet girl" he kissed your head. what were you gonna tell your mom, you were with another man in his shirt. and overall he's the priest of the church you go to.

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: it's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more

Guys I lied it will have three parts actually

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

Y/N sighed deeply, holding Tommy's hand as he carefully stepped over the threshold to Polly's house.

”He better not find out that we're here,” She warned, glancing around the house to make sure they were alone.

”He won't” The older woman replied, as her eyes remained on the toddlers who reminded her so much of her nephew around that age. Keeping her mouth shut on the matter, Polly opened the curtains in the living room, offering Y/N some tea.

”No, thank you, but do you have maybe some…”

“Juice!” Nick cheered, causing Tommy to immediately do the same, despite not knowing what for. Seeing it, Polly couldn't help but chuckle, scooping up the boy into his arms.

“What juice would you like, little man?” She offered, smiling brightly. Nick mumbled something to himself, looking back at his mum instead.

“I believe Nick would appreciate apple juice” Y/N answered, already knowing what he meant.

“Apple juice it is then” Polly replied, nodding to the maid with a light smile. It took no longer than a couple minutes before she returned, holding the glass. “So…” The older woman started out, her eyes finally meeting Y/N’s “He doesn't know, does he?”

“About what?” Y/N responded, her voice immediately changing into one of defensive undertones subconsciously which didn't go unnoticed by Polly.

“About them”

“Who says they're his?” She asks, keeping her cool, despite heart thumping in her chest faster than usual. Hearing it, Polly just chuckled, rolling her eyes as she turned Nick on her lap, making him face his mum.

“Their faces give it away, darling. I'm not stupid.” Her voice became sharper, as she didn't like being lied to, and Y/N was fully aware of it.

The younger woman sighed deeply, sitting Tommy on the couch as she began pacing back and forth.

“He can't find out” She insisted, clearly stressed out by the circumstances. “I've spent almost three years doing everything so he wouldn't find out, Polly. You can't tell on me.” Her gaze was fierce but clearly scared, which made Polly's heart squeeze in her chest. She wondered how Thomas must have been treating her to cause such a strong reaction.

“He turned all of England upside down looking for you.” She confessed, shaking her head lightly. “It's been a bloody nightmare. As soon as we got him off the opium, everything… changed.”

“I don't care” Y/N hissed back, pointing towards the woman she was once so close with. “These are my kids, and I won't let him get near them. He lost the privilege the moment he chose her over us… over me.” Her hands were shaking and only then did she look to the side, hearing Tommy scooting closer to her on the couch which made her let out a deep breath as she sat back down. Taking him in her lap and rubbing his back. “I just can't.” She added in a calmer tone.

Polly nodded along, lighting a cigarette and inhaling the smoke then slowly letting it out.

“Y/N, all I can promise is that I won't say anything, but… you know how he is. You haven't seen him after the… change. He's stubborn, and even if it takes walking to hell and back, he will eventually find out.” She warned in a gentle tone, wanting to give Y/N some reassurance but also keeping it real.

“Tommy stubborn? Doesn’t sound like much of a change to me” Y/N snorted, helping Tommy take a sip out of the glass. Polly watched closely at how she interacted with her son.

“He's the quieter one, isn't he?” Y/N immediately understood, smiling down at Tommy and nodding.

“He has a more sensitive spirit. He’s never too far from my side” She pointed out.

“A mummy's boy.” The older woman giggled, her eyes shining at the lively memories in her head. “He was exactly the same at that age. Arthur couldn't force him to go play, all he wanted to do was sit in his mum's lap, no matter whether she was cooking or knitting.” Her voice was lighthearted, causing Y/N to subconsciously smile looking at her baby.

“Let’s agree on something” Polly suggested, setting Nick on his feet, and the boy immediately started exploring the house, assisted by one of the maids. “I won't say a word about this to anyone, but you will let me see them once a week, and accept financial help from me. After all, I know how it is to be a single mother. “ She offered, but the tone of her voice showed that… she already decided.

“I can't take money from you” Y/N insisted but Polly stopped her with her hand.

“It's that, or I will have to tell him. You can't survive off on scraps raising little Shelby's.”

…and with that, she shut Y/N’s mouth. Sighing deeply, she agreed. “...and one last thing. Does.. anyone know that they're his?” Her tone turned serious as she looked into Y/N's eyes to make sure she wasn't lying.

“No, nobody knows.” She replied, shaking her head.

Polly exhaled with relief.

“Good”

***

A couple weeks went by and Y/N really felt her living situation improving. She could stay home with the children, getting to stop working every night which made her heart much lighter. Mrs. Wilson kept coming over every now and then after being told she would no longer have to babysit boys at night. The routine quickly set into their life, and the day of seeing Polly became Y/N's favourite.

Back in Birmingham Thomas was sitting in his office, leaning back in the armchair as his brows furrowed in confusion. Recently the figures in the accounting documents and the cheques and cash balance didn't quite match which got him paying attention throughout the weeks. Seeing the pattern and being sure. Going through the company documentation, the first file that fell out of the shelf was surprisingly Polly's.

After grabbing it, Thomas displayed every page on the desk and put on his glasses. Going over dates, another pattern caught his eye. Before, she was working five to six times a week, depending on the amount of work and circumstances but recently her schedule was limited to four days a week, every Thursday off.

His eyes narrowed as the nagging feeling on the back of his head told him something wasn't right. Glancing on the calendar, he decided what to do before getting up, and picking up the phone.

Later that day, Y/N found herself sitting on Polly's couch while boys played on the carpet with their wooden toys as the women spoke about their whereabouts.

In the meantime a black car parked by the building, turning off the engine before it made too much noise or got too much attention. Pulling the cap lower on his forehead, he glanced towards the right window, noticing the smoke coming out of it. Polly was home.

Climbing the stairs, he reached into the pocket, pulling out a spare key to her house. As Tommy was fitting the key in the lock, he heard the sound of a squealing child inside.

Did Ada visit with Karl? Thomas wondered, furrowing his eyebrows in suspicion. Why would Polly hide that from him?

Thomas opened the door and stepped into the entryway. He could hear Polly and the voice of another woman - a familiar voice, but cloudy enough to not be able to recognize. Thomas followed the sounds leading to the sitting room. As soon as he stood in the doorway, his eyes widened in disbelief, fixated on the woman he saw for the first time in three years.

There sitting on the couch facing the doorway was Y/N. She met his eyes and Thomas could see the blood drain from her face, causing her to go completely pale as the words died on her tongue.

Polly must have noticed the shift as she turned to where Y/N was staring and an audible gasp left her lips.

“Thomas” Polly said as she straightened in her seat. “I knew this would happen eventually. I noticed you were double counting. You’ve always been too inquisitive to keep secrets from.”

Tommy stared at Polly, unable to comprehend the situation as his heart pounded in his chest for the first time in years.

Polly stood and slowly approached him, stretching out her hand.

“I think it would be best if you and I had a word first.” She said, looking at him and silently pleading to listen this time. His expression was completely blank, but internally he was going through every possible emotion from happiness through grief all the way to anger.

“Not now.” He responded in a husky voice, and when she tried to interject again, he raised his hand slightly, completely silencing her. “I said not now,”

Hearing it Polly looked back at Y/N, giving her a sign to stay calm, before walking to the bedroom to check on the boys.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed as her whole body tensed, raising to her feet.

“Where have you been?” He immediately demanded to know, taking a step forward. As in instinctively, Y/N responded with a step back causing his brows to furrow in confusion, seeing this reaction. “Y/N?” He added, but she cut him off.

“I don't owe you any explanations.” She put all her strength into keeping up the façade of being unfazed by his presence. Her facial expression hardened, and her voice kept completely steady.

“Three years. I spent three fucking years looking for you!” He said, slightly raising his voice as he pointed towards her, yet not daring to close the distance between them.

“What for? Are the maids and prostitutes not doing enough? Why would you need me for?” She hissed with anger, the old pain she used to carry around with her everywhere slowly seeping back.

Right when Thomas was about to open his mouth to respond, they heard small footsteps quickly entering the room. Small arms wrapped around Y/N’s legs, little face snuggling into her thigh, immediately catching Y/N's attention. Once her gaze dropped, Thomas’ followed and his eyes widened, mouth fell slightly open.

“It's okay, baby” She cooed quietly, lightly caressing the boy’s head. Before Thomas could react in any way, another kid ran in, standing mere inches from his lookalike.

“Come on, Tommy!” The little boy whined, causing the other one to shake his head. “We play!” He squealed, shoving the wooden car into his brother's face.

The tension in the room immediately grew, Thomas’ face turning completely white as he connected the dots.

“We need to talk,” He said in a breathless voice.

“It's enough” Polly suddenly interjected, quickly coming up. “Don't you see he's scared?” She scolded the man standing by her side as she picked up the boy. Walking towards the kitchen, she grabbed Nick’s chubby little hand, leaving the adults in the living room.

Thomas couldn't stop himself from looking back, unexpectedly looking into the same eyes he sees every day in the mirror.

Not a minute passed by before the older woman returned.

“It’s time for you to leave. I'll see you in the office in fifteen minutes.” She decided, standing between him and Y/N as she pointed towards the entrance.

Tommy felt his mind going into overdrive with the amount of new, unexpected information that caused his temperature to significantly increase. Feeling the need to get a breath of fresh air, he steals the last glance of Y/N before walking out of the house. The documents he held in his hand, long forgotten, left on the shelf in his aunt's house.

***

“How dare you.” He said calmly at first, slowly raising from his armchair as the door fell shut behind his aunt. The calm tone was a signal of the coming storm. “How fucking dare you hide her from me when you saw what I was going through!” His voice boomed through the office, echoing off the walls.

Polly wasn't easily intimidated, taking a step forward as her jaw tensed.

“After all she's done for you, you discarded her like bloody garbage!” She screamed, pointing at him, as she tossed her purse on the chair. “Every single ounce of pity I held for you left my body the second I saw her empty eyes.” She added, taking another step forward. “I told you that you'd regret it, and that I wouldn't forgive you. I won't be yelled at for the foolish choices you made.”

Standing eye to eye with him, she saw the unwinded storm of emotions he felt. His right eye twitched just like his jaw, before he turned around running a hand through his hair. Huffing with rage he turned to face her again.

“Have you considered what kind of danger you could have put her in?” He hissed with barely contained anger. “or were you too dedicated to go against me to think about the consequences?” He turned around, grabbing the white envelope from his desk and tossing it into her hands.”The Changretta’s just declared vendetta on the Shelby family, and you took her into your bloody house!” He paced back and forth through the office, nervously grasping his jaw as the thought settled. “...and the kids. My bloody kids that you intentionally kept away from me.”

Polly's heart stopped for a second and her eyes widened as the realisation dawned on her.

“We need to protect them” She whispered, looking at him.

Wordlessly Thomas turned around, grabbing a phone and dialling the right number.

***

Over the next couple days, Y/N felt completely scattered. Fear soaked into her body, sticking tight like a second skin and restricting her movement. She felt stuck. How could he possibly find a way to walk back into her life?

Y/N was scared, not just for herself but for the perfect little humans she raised on her own. She kept them away from the violence and destruction that Thomas was the embodiment of.

They were good. They were kind.

Spending time with her babies and taking care of the house, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of… being watched. Once an empty street seemed to never be fully silent, always at least two men standing around. She kept her cool, watching out for signs of being followed and on the third day she noticed a familiar car, one too expensive to be driven by normal people. Y/N knew exactly who those shiny black Bentleys must belong to - the Peaky Blinders. Her blood boiled as she realised her instincts were right - she and her sons were being watched.

How dare he interfere in her affairs after everything she went through because of him. The audacity was so great that only a man with the surname Shelby could be involved. His words swirled around her mind, mixing with the memories she held in her broken heart creating an absolute chaos.

Y/N didn't know what made her hate him more, the mistreatment in the past or the sudden forceful entering her life with the lively gaze, one that used to make her feel so beautiful many years ago.

Holding tightly onto her boys at night, she allowed herself to sink into the pain just one last time; drowning in the sorrow of being replaced by the man she saw the world in. She lived in the shadow of a ghost, walking through the corridors of a house that once was a sign of their undying love, only to be turned into a graveyard for all her dreams and future that would never come. Day by day she felt as if she was never enough. Her dying soul only recovered after giving birth to two perfect little boys that looked at her with those blue eyes and undying love she so desperately needed.

Opening her eyes, Y/N let the tears flow freely as she delicately caressed her son's cheek. Smiling lightly she noticed how soundly they both slept, and one thought came to her mind.

Since she managed to raise and take care of such wonderful boys, it must have meant that she wasn't worthless, after all.

Neither life or Thomas Shelby managed to break her.

***

The next day, Y/N made sure that Mrs. Wilson would babysit the boys while she went to Birmingham. Allowing herself only one night of weakness, she woke up with newly found fierceness and a will to fight for her peace and children.

As soon as she got out of the train, the familiar smell of smoke and mud came to her nostrils, making her a little dizzy. Huffing she walked through the street, feeling frustration growing as the distance between her and his office decreased.

The last thing Tommy expected to hear at eight in the morning on Monday was screaming coming from outside of his office. Cocking an eyebrow he got up, going to see what was causing the commotion. Standing in the doorway he saw Lizzie explaining to Y/N that she couldn't go into his office to no success, as the fire in Y/N’s eyes told him loud and clear that her patience wore thin. Moving quickly before the situation would escalate, he intervened.

“Enough!” He said, causing both of them to look at him. Glancing at Lizzie, he told her to sit down and take care of the documents while inviting Y/N to his office.

Y/N rolled her eyes, walking past him as adrenaline thumped in her veins.

As soon as Thomas closed the doors of his office, she started her attack.

“Why in God’s name are there men on the street and in your fancy cars following me and my sons around day and night? Why are you spying on me?” she shouted at him, anger growing even further as he calmly walked past her. Without another thought Y/N shoved him to the side. “Don't ignore me, you bastard!”

Only then did he stop and turn around with a sigh.

“Our sons” He corrected her, “I'm just trying to keep you all safe” Tommy added, finally looking at her.

Y/N felt like she was about to explode, but then an idea came to her mind. Her lips stretched into a subtle grin.

“Who said they were yours?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow with a mocking smile. Thomas looked at her for a couple moments with a serious expression before snorting loudly as he took a step forward.

“Do you think I'm a fool, Y/N?” He asked, mirroring her grin. “Everyone who has eyes can clearly fucking tell who the father is.” His voice was confident, not a hint of doubt, taking another step forward. Y/N narrowed her eyes seeing the proximity. “I'm the father.” Thomas couldn't help but add. He didn't want to make her even angrier, but the temptation to be even remotely closer was too strong, and if pissing her off was distracting her enough to allow it, so be it.

“‘Father’ is the last thing you should ever call yourself. You don't deserve to be around them, because they're everything you're not. They're good, kind and… have tender hearts.” She hissed, each word cutting deep into his skin and Y/N clearly saw it, because the pain was reflected in his eyes like in a mirror. Seeing it felt… good. Too good even, like finally gaining back control. Taking a step forward, the distance between them was barely there, as she bravely looked into his eyes. “He's nothing like you, and never will be.” She finished, the lump in her throat suddenly forming as his jaw twitched, any possible response dying on his tongue as she mentioned one of the boys, one with eyes exactly his own.

Tilting her chin up, she let out a shaky breath, turning around to leave when he spoke up in a low, quiet voice.

“If you hated me so much, why did you name him after me?” he asked but in a voice that did not expect an answer. Holding onto the small scrap of hope in his heart.

Without another word, she left the office slamming the door behind her.

***

“Y/N! Thank God you're back!” Mrs Wilson called out in a shaky voice, looking around the corridor to make sure she was alone before shutting the door. “You can't go to your flat! It's not safe, we need to call the police!” She whispered, fear in her voice so prominent she could barely speak.

“What? What happened? Where are the boys?!” She immediately demanded to know, walking into the living room.

“They're–They’re okay, thank God we were here! These men… they barged into your home, destroyed everything! We hid in the closet and now they're sleeping, but… Oh God, I was so scared that you'd come back and they’d done something to you!” She squeezed her hand tightly.

“A–Are they gone?” Y/N whispered glancing towards her apartment but the older woman just shrugged, tugging on her hand.

“Don't go there! We can't be sure!” She pleaded, but Y/N knew she had to look around before anyone else would. At least grab the necessities.

“Please, wait here. I'll be back in a second.” She quietly made her way to her flat, not expecting to see the degree to which her home was destroyed. She quietly made her way to her flat, not expecting to see the degree to which her home was destroyed. Tears appeared in her eyes at the sight of all the demolished furniture she worked so hard to buy, all the items absolutely ruined. But tears spilled on her cheeks only when she found an envelope.

One with her name on it, and as she opened it, her heart stopped for a moment at the sight of the black hand.

“Oh God” she whispered. Loud footsteps echoed behind her, making her freeze in fear before familiar arms wrapped around her arms.

“We were so scared. Where are the boys?” Polly asked in a weak voice, her face covered in tears.

“They're… they're safe. My neighbour took care of them.” She replied, closing her eyes until she felt the familiar heavy scent. Looking behind her she noticed Thomas pacing back and forth, kneeling down as he found a photo in a broken frame, plucking it out as he breathed deeply. A couple moments later he found the black hand, and the frustration on his face was clear as a day.

“Fuck!” He yelled, leaning forward as his legs almost gave out under the weight of issues he was facing now.

Y/N couldn't help but feel relief seeing him, which made her even more angry. She hated every positive emotion that she held towards him.

“It's your fault!” She said, quickly walking up as she punched him in the chest. “Your fucking fault! How dare you walk back into my life and bring danger to my children!” She cried, terrified tears streaming down her face as she tried to unload it on him. “I hate you! You bring nothing but pain and bloody destruction! I wish I never met you!” Thomas closed his eyes, not defending himself even once. She was kicking and screaming like a wounded animal. Only when she felt like her body was giving out, he grabbed her, pulling her closer and making sure she wouldn't fall.

“Let me go!” She yelled in complete frenzy, and the only thing he could think of was pulling her into a hug. One so tight she couldn't get away. “I hate you so much” she eventually mumbled out as the last bits of strength wore out, and she simply fainted in his arms.

Seeing them, Polly just shook her head and wiped her tears away as she looked around the apartment.

“Pack their things. The ones that survived. I'll go get the boys” She commanded one of the Blinders, before speaking up again. “Don't forget the wooden horse.”

~~

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @garrison-girl-08 @chaimaarouaine11 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta

[harrysfolklore]

yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”

the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios

read little bitch here

"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"

"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."

"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."

From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."

"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."

"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.

"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"

"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"

"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"

"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"

Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."

You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"

"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"

"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.

"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.

"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."

"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."

You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.

"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."

You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."

Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."

"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.

"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."

"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."

As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.

"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."

"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."

Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."

"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."

Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.

Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."

Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"

Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."

"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"

"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"

"YN, no!"

[morbidapples]

i never forgot you

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝖽𝗂𝗏𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽!𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝖽𝗎𝗇𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝖾��𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝗈. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 𝟧,𝟨𝟣𝟧 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌; 𝟥𝟢,𝟨𝟣𝟢 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺, 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅 (𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄), 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾, 𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗏 𝗌𝖾𝗑 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 (𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅), 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝗮/𝗻: 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌. 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇. 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁, 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗒, 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.

"Did you hear Art Donaldson's coming?"

That's all anyone could talk about, Art this, Art that. So what if he was coming? You didn't give a shit. (You did, you always did when it came to him.)

Logically, you knew you might see him here, but emotionally, you were really hoping you wouldn't have to, especially considering there were hundreds of people at the Standford alumni gathering.

Once you'd graduated, you'd left all traces of him behind. Or at least, you tried. His name still popped into your head, his face sometimes even appeared in your dreams at night.

Even worse, promotion for him and Tashi Duncan's book was plastered over half the city of New Jersey. It certainly didn't help that one was on the billboard that you so unfortunately had a view of from the window of your apartment.

Your friendship with him had never been clear, but it had been everything but simple. You had felt there was always something more, with the lingering glances, and the gentle touches.

But all of that had changed when she showed up. Tashi fucking Duncan. You felt robbed, stolen from. As soon as she'd stepped into the picture, Art's attention was solely on her.

So you left. Erased yourself out of his life completely. Distanced your life from his until you both graduated, and never looked back. Well, mostly.

Looking back, maybe it was selfish. But all you knew is that you couldn't bear to watch him fawn over her like a lost puppy. Not when you felt so deeply for him.

You shake your head, trying to break yourself out of your stupor. There's too many people here, and you hate it. You already know everyone will want to ask you about your life, your career.

Once you'd left Stanford, you'd made a name for yourself in the tennis world. You loved winning, but you despised the attention. But you knew it was the price to pay for success. So, you tried to keep as much of your private life out of the headlines as possible.

You needed to clear your head, get some fresh air. And figure out what the hell you were doing here, and why you thought it was a good idea to show up.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else had the same idea, as you're hit with the smell of smoke as soon as you step outside.

"Needed to get away, too?"

Your heart plummets at the familiar, yet unmistakable voice. The one person you'd prayed you wouldn't have to see. Art Donaldson.

You turn to see him leaning against the rail, taking a drag from his cigarette. You'd almost forgotten how utterly gorgeous he was until you laid your eyes on him, and it seemed like he'd only gotten better with age.

The smoke from the cigarette wafts off into the air, and your eyes lock with his. A moment of silence goes by. You want to greet him briefly and then walk off, but he speaks before you do.

"Long time, no see."

You mentally curse yourself for not being quick enough to have the first word, and nod slightly, an indifferent expression on your face.

"Art Donaldson. Has been a long time, hasn't it?"

He blows out another puff of smoke, eyeing you. He'd be lying if he said he'd forgotten about you. You were someone who had haunted him for years, through his entire marriage with Tashi. He could never forget about you, no matter how much time had passed.

"You haven't changed a bit."

You don't say anything, not quite sure how to respond. It's true, it had been years since you and him had last spoken. But what you didn't know is that he had made an effort to keep up with you. He'd been keeping tabs on how you were doing with your tennis career. He'd never admit it, but he was guilty of googling you, to find only headlines of your tennis wins, and barely anything about your personal life.

It seemed like when you weren't playing tennis, you basically ceased to exist, which he suspected was your choice entirely. Despite the years of zero contact, Art couldn't pretend like he didn't care for you. That he didn't still love you, even if he'd been so incredibly blind to it back in your college days.

"Congratulations, by the way." Art says, alluring to your recent conquest in the tennis world. "Winning gold at the Rio Games is no small feat." He can see in your expression that winning that medal wasn't completely satisfying. Your face tells him that you haven't felt a sense of contentment in a very long time.

He wants to ask you why you disappeared. He'd wanted to for years. But all that comes out is, "How's your family?" Stupid question with an even stupider answer. He wanted to slap himself in the face. He knew your family was a sore topic for you. And yet, he was still coming up with mindless small talk to try to fill the unbearable tension between you.

You sigh. "Fine, minus my bitch of a mother. She passed a couple years ago." Art internally winces. He knew you'd had it bad at home, only living with your mother for most of your life after your father had left when you were nine. You'd moved to California to attended Stanford the moment you'd become a legal age to be on your own.

He sucks in a sharp breath and frowns softly as you talk about your mother's passing. There was no love lost in between you and her, but he didn't want to be cruel and completely insensitive.

"Sorry about that." Art says, taking another hit off his cigarette. He looks at you, taking you in with a sense of wonderment. You had grown into such an incredible woman, and somehow, it seemed like you'd gotten even more beautiful. Your deep colored eyes and sun-kissed skin make his heart best faster. How he's missed you.

You shrug, trying not to show any hint of emotion on your face as you speak. "Eh, don't be. You know she was always a shit mother anyways."

If he was being honest, he'd say your mother was a lot of things- manipulative, selfish, abusive- but he would've been lying if Art said that he didn't want to protect you back then.

Looking back at it now, there's so many things he could've done differently back then, like be a better friend. Maybe even a better boyfriend, if he'd had the chance. His mouth opens as if he's going to say something stupid, but Art closes it and instead says, "Why'd you disappear? Why don't we talk?"

Your eyebrows raise slightly, at his inquiry. Truth be told, he knows what you don't talk anymore. He knows he fucked up, majorly. But he's relieved when you don't immediately snap at him, or worse. You always did have a short fuse.

"And how do you know I disappeared? Have you been keeping tabs on me?"

He looks at you, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "Are you serious?" Art raises his brows, "You're not seriously asking me that. You're one of the best tennis players out there. You went radio silent." He pauses, before saying in a slightly teasing way, "You're the one who should've been keeping tabs on me."

You scoff, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. "I don't have to. You and Tashi are plastered over half the buildings and billboards in Jersey." Jersey. Jersey? He was surprised you moved there out of all places. You'd always expressed a dislike for it back then.

Art chuckles at your response. "What, don't you like Jersey?" He jokes, flicking the cigarette away. He turns his body to look at you, studying your expression. "But seriously. Why did you drop off the face of the earth?" He's not going to tell you that he'd looked for you, even though he had. It was a few searches on Google, a few emails. You'd just vanished.

His mouth opens again, this time not backing down from what he really wanted to say. "And don't give me some bullshit excuse either." It sounds more like a command to you than anything. Art is really trying to keep himself from saying all the things he's wanted to say for years.

The thinly veiled frustration lining his voice sends a rush of anger through you. Who does he think he is, ordering you around?

"Don't speak to me that way. Like you have some type of control over me."

It's then Art knows he's screwed up, letting that irritation seep into his tone. He knows he doesn't have any control over you. He never has, and never will. He doesn't want to control you. He just wants you again.

"I'm not. I know I don't have control over you. But did you forget that I was once your friend?" Friend. It pains him to even call you that. You were always more, even though he was completely sucked into Tashi's orbit, like she was the sun. She wasn't. Art stands taller, his broad shoulders straight, his eyes never pulling away from yours.

"Were we, though? You dropped me for Tashi the second she showed up, and you wonder why I haven't reached out?"

Art's teeth grind in his mouth. "That's not fair." He says gruffly, even though he's lying through his teeth. "I didn't drop you. If I remember correctly, you were the one who left." He's getting agitated, his heart starting to race, his hands starting to clench into fists.

But not towards you. God, never you. He'd rather die than ever cause you harm. But the thing is, you weren't wrong. That's exactly what he did.

"I left because I knew if I stuck around, it would never stop hurting me."

That's when Art knows, getting involved with Tashi was the worst thing he ever did. It cost him his friendship with Patrick, his love for tennis. It cost him you.

He knew that your words were laced with truth, that he truly was the root of the heartache that you felt. And he'd do anything to take it back. But he couldn't. The only thing be could do now it try to make it right.

As for his feelings, that's another can of worms Art doesn't even want to open. He'd always had feelings for you, feelings that he thought would go away. But no, years later, they were still as present as ever. He wished he hadn't been so blind.

"I've always been second to Tashi. I couldn't ever compete with her, Art."

He swallows hard. Deep down, he knows it's true. Back in your college days, he was so focused on Tashi that he'd failed to notice what was right in front of him.

Art's heart hurt for you. But even though he knew how much he'd hurt you, how selfish he'd been, he couldn't help but get upset at your words.

"You could never complete?" He huffs through clenched teeth, shaking his head. "God, you just don't get it, do you?" Art steps forward, his body almost towering over you.

Rationally, he knows this isn't the right time or place, and maybe there won't ever be a right time or place. But you're here, now, and he won't lose you again without telling you how he feels.

A sudden heat washes over your body as he steps closer, his breath hitting your face.

"You could never, ever compete with Tashi, but not because you aren't good enough." His hand shoots up to touch your cheek, a soft touch to your skin. His thumb runs against your bottom lip, gently.

Everything in you screams for you to back away, go before you get hurt again. But you find yourself mesmerized by those same eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

Art's voice is low and deep as he continues, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could never compete with her because I was stupid, I was stupid enough to fall in love with you first. But I pushed you away."

The confession is whispered, and you can hardly believe what he's said. What is going on? Art Donaldson is standing in front of you, declaring his love after years of no contact and a failed marriage to another.

"Art, I..." You don't know what to say. Your brain is mush, your head filled with a million thoughts, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest. You're missed, you're resented, you're loved, and now all you want to do is kiss him.

His hand cupping your cheek begins to slide down to your neck and his other hand slips around your waist, softly tugging you against him. His fingers slide through your hair and Art's eyes are on you, watching you, taking you in.

"I have loved you since we were kids. I was so stupid to not notice it before." He whispers, his breath hitching and his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. "And I have never been able to get you out of my head or my heart. And I am sick and tired of pretending like you aren't the love of my goddamn life."

There isn't any hint of malice, or treachery in his eyes, and he hopes to God that you know that. He knows he can't ever take back the pain he caused you, but he wants to try even if it kills him.

With that, Art kisses you. It's hot, it's needy, and it's passionate as all hell. Your body is responding to him in ways you didn't even know was possible. As he continues to pour all his love for you into that kiss, it picks up in pace, until you feel Art's teeth biting your lip. Your mouth opens to respond, but his tongue slips inside your mouth, causing a low moan to hum out of you. Your tongues slide against each other, your bodies pressed together tightly.

Art can't help himself as his hands explore every inch of your body. One hand is buried in your hair, but the other is traveling down, exploring the bare skin of your back. You arch into him, your fingers digging into his shirt.

You taste like nicotine and beer, you taste like home, a flavor that makes him all that much hungrier for you. He lets out a low groan as he slips his hands into the back of your pants, causing you to moan into his mouth.

Art is starting to lose control and knows that if he doesn't stop this now, he'll take you right here in the grass outside the reunion. He doesn't want your first time to be like this. Not when there's been so much grief getting here, so much pain he's caused to you.

Reluctantly, he rips his mouth off of yours, pulling away slightly. Both of you are panting heavy, your cheeks flushed.

Art doesn't say anything at first. His eyes rake over your disheveled appearance, your lips swollen, your hair out of place. He's sure he looks just as bad. Clearing his throat, he mutters a soft apology. "This isn't happening here. Can I..." He's about to say that he wants to take you back to his hotel.

You nod quickly, eyes blown wide with desire, but with love, too. "Y-yeah. Yeah." After all this time, not seeing him, you'll be damned if you let him slip through your fingers again.

That's all Art needs to hear. He grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers before leading the way to his car. Thank god the reunion was being hosted at a hotel, or Art wouldn't have been able to control himself.

After getting into the car, Art speeds out of the parking lot, his hand never letting go of yours. The drive back is a bit of a blur, his focus solely on you.

When you arrive at his hotel, Art is pulling you down the hallway, your lips connected like two magnets, unable to stay away from each other. Every step is like a challenge as you make your way to the room. All the while, you both stumble over your own feet until you feel your back against the door. You moan into his mouth once more, pulling at Art's shirt, before your kiss is broken by a panting Art.

"Wait," Art whispers, his voice soft. His eyes look at you in the dark of the hallway, his breath coming in hard pants. He's about to ask you if you want this, but your lips meeting his, your hands exploring his bare chest underneath the shirt, is all the answer he needs. He fumbles around for the handle of the door, trying to put the key card in, and it seems like an eternity until you stumble into the room.

Once inside the bedroom, Art is pulling you on top of him on the bed, his body desperate for you to be closer. You shift in his lap, pressing yourself against him, his hardness against your thigh. You gasp, hands running down his chest. Your lips remain locked as your fingers explore each other. Art is running his hands under your shirt, exploring your waist and sides eagerly.

And that's when Art's brain is hit with a sudden realization. He pulls back, breathing heavily, "Wait. We need to stop." He says, his voice firm. Art's eyes find you, and your brow is furrowed as you look at him with confusion and desire.

"What is it?" You ask, your breathing shallow. Art's hands on your sides make you shiver, his touch awakening every inch of your body. "Do you..." You pause, watching his face, "Do you not want this?" Your voice is soft and questioning.

His hands on your sides grip tighter as he answers, "God no, I want this. I want you. I just..." Art can feel the words catch in his throat, but then the question slips out, "Do you love me? I just... I don't want this to be just a causal thing, you know? I finally have you, and I don't want to lose you again." He waits for you to answer, the words hanging in the air. Your breath hitches in his ears.

The anxiety coursing through your veins deflates at his response, and you laugh quietly. "Are you dense? Of course. I've loved you since we were sixteen."

And that is what he's been waiting for. Art can feel a smile spread across his lips, his heart swelling as he pulls you in for a kiss. It's not a kiss filled with the same desire as before. It's filled with love and joy, full of passion and promise.

His hand moves to your back, gently caressing your back, before he flips the two of you so that he's leaning over you, his body still pressed against yours.

His mouth moves down to your neck, pressing wet kisses along your skin, while his hands slide up your sides to tease the waistband of your jeans. He can feel your fingers burying themselves in his hair, your back arching just slightly.

Art can feel the neediness as your touch urges him closer and closer. You're tugging at his shirt, your breath coming out in short stutters. He feels your mouth trail down his neck and Art's hands fumble with your jeans, desperately working on the zipper and pushing them off.

As soon as your jeans are off, he presses his body against you again, his hips rocking into yours. A low moan slips out of Art's mouth as your bodies grind into each other, his mouth finding yours, hungry and hot.

Art can feel your nails dig into his shoulders. He's gripping your thigh, his hand slipping under your shirt to touch your bare skin, feeling his need rise like a raising fire in his stomach.

You gasp out, fingers pushing at his shirt, desperate to see more. More of him. "Off- off. I wanna see you."

Your gasp makes his heart flutter and Art can't help but groan into your mouth as you say those words. "Yeah..." He mutters against your lips, his body hot and needy against yours.

Art lets go of you and lifts his shirt off, tossing it to the floor, revealing his hard, toned abdomen and built chest. His eyes search your face, watching you take in sight of him and waiting for approval.

God, he's beautiful. Like a damn sculpture in a museum. You lean up to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his chest, taking a moment to gently tug on his nipple with your teeth. If that isn't a sign of your approval, then he doesn't know what is.

Art bites the inside of his lip to muffle his moan. The feeling of your teeth on him is like electricity on his skin and he can't help the whimper that slips out of his mouth. His own teeth graze the skin of your neck, sucking slightly.

He wants you, needs you. And you are making it painfully obvious that the feeling is mutual. He moans into your mouth as Art pushes you gently back into the mattress as he slides between your thighs.

And then his body is pressing against you again, and you're both back to grinding against each other, the friction making you both moan. It's hot and sweat-inducing, passionate and fast. Art's hands are reaching for your bra and tugging it off, needing to feel your skin on his.

The minute the bra hits the floor, he's touching you again, his hands trailing down from your chest to your hips. His mouth finds yours again, your kiss a needy, hard, hungry mess of tongue and teeth.

Art is painfully hard, desperate for you. His hips are rocking, his breath coming hot and needy as you grind together. The pleasure is starting to build, and he can feel your own neediness growing.

He's got to be inside you. Every part of his body is screaming with that need, but he's so desperately trying to hold back. It's not just Art, though. You're needy, as well, your moans and whines telling him exactly what you want.

Art's hand slides down your body, and pauses just above the band of your panties, looking at you in a silent question of consent. When you nod, his hand slip into your underwear, his fingers touching your wetness. He can feel you gasp against his mouth, and Art's fingers rub teasing circles against your cunt. "You're so beautiful." He whispers against your mouth, desperate and needy, "And you're all mine." He's never sounded so possessive before and it shocks him.

But you can't get enough of it. After years of longing, years of pining, he's finally looking at you. He loves you. You moan in his ear, hips canting into his touch.

And then Art's fingers are slipping inside you, pumping slowly as you kiss and press into each other. The way you moan, the way your body reacts, makes Art moan with you, unable to keep himself quiet. He's drowning in your scent and your skin, everything in this room is you.

One of your arms wraps around his neck, as you gasp, moan, and pant into his ear. You're squeezing around his fingers, as his name falls from your lips like a vow. "Oh, oh, God- Art- fuck, don't stop-"

Art's fingers are pumping harder and faster, driven by the sound of his name spilling from your lips. Your moans fill his ears, the sounds and the way you're saying your name makes his neediness all the more desperate. He's desperate to make you cum, to see you come undone because of him.

It isn't long before you feel that familiar coil building in your stomach. "I'm gon- fuck-" You're so close, he can feel it.

He moans into your mouth, shifting down as his fingers work harder, his thumb finding your cunt. "Yeah?" He whispers, his mouth trailing down your neck. "You gonna come for me, baby?"

You gasp out hoarsely, muscles tightening. "Yes! Fuck, mhm-" Your eyes threaten to roll back back, as your jaw goes slack at your upcoming orgasm.

Art can feel you trembling against him, your body shaking as his hands work. This is the effect he has in you and it's driving him crazy. He's panting with his own neediness, but watching and hearing you is what's doing him in. "Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me." He whispers, feeling you clench around his fingers.

"I'm-" You cut yourself off as Art's fingers hit just the right spot. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you're gasping out into his shoulder, mostly incoherent swears as your muscles clench and your orgasm washes over you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- so good, so good-" The sight of you is something he never wants to forget. Eyes fluttering, mouth agape, your moans rising in pitch.

Art can feel a groan escape as he watches you orgasm, his fingers still working to bring you over the edge. You're a perfect picture of ecstasy, flushed pink and trembling against him. "God, you're gorgeous." He moans out, feeling your thighs tremble.

A moment later, he's pulling his hands away from your body, his own neediness growing more desperate. He kisses you, deep and hard, before murmuring in her ear. "Turn over for me, sweetheart."

You're a little shaky as you let him shift and roll you over on your stomach, but you're all too willing. Art's hands are sliding up your soft thighs, his touch gentle with so much love. He's pressed against you again, his mouth leaving kisses up your spine, before he's pulling a cushion under your hips.

His teeth sink into the soft skin of your shoulder as he grinds against you again, moaning into your shoulder; the friction and neediness is driving him insane. "I need you." He whispers, his voice thick with need.

You can feel him pressing against you, his desperate need all too apparent. You moan into the pillow in response, pushing back slightly against him. You whine softly as his teeth bite your shoulder, a low shudder running through your body. "Then take me." You moan, arching your back to press firmly against him.

You're driving him absolutely mad. Art's hands grip your hips, fingers pressing into the delicate skin before pulling you up against him. He's panting in your ear, "Yeah? You want me, baby? Tell me his much you need me." His own neediness is making him desperate.

Your hand reaches back to tangle your fingers in his hair, gasping into his ear. "Please, please, Art- need you to fill me up- need you so bad-"

Art's brain doesn't have time to register your words because he's moaning against your skin and rocking needily against you. His teeth bite your shoulder again as he pants out, desperate, "Yeah, honey, anything- anything you want- I'm yours." He whispers, almost incoherent in his desire for you.

His head dips down to your ear, panting into it and shifting slightly. "Do I need a condom, sweetheart?" He moans, his voice huskier than before. His hands are running down your sides again, the touch almost like a soothing caress before they settle on your waist.

You gasp out, hips still rolling back against his, desperate for friction. "No- I'm on birth control-"

Art nearly sags in relief. He would've used a condom if he needed to, but the thought of going raw inside you makes him to absolutely feral.

"God, you're perfect." He moans, one of his hands trailing back down to your hips and gripping them tightly. He's still moaning needily, your words only driving him further towards the edge. His forehead presses to the back of your neck, his breath hit and needy on your skin. "Gonna make you feel good, sweetheart."

When he finally slides into you, his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're so warm, so soft, so perfect. And the way you're gripping into his hair as he enters you is so goddamn good. You're tugging on locks of his blonde hair, as his body is draped over your back, skin to skin, and it takes effort not to cum then and there.

Art is panting into your neck, his body draped over yours like a living blanket. Your body is perfect under his, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you back into him, as he pants out, "You feel so good, sweetheart. God- can you-" His words are cut off as he bites the nape of your neck, and he's moaning, needy and incoherent.

He's pressed fully into you, surrounded by heat and pleasure. It's driving him crazy, but then you're pulling his hair and he's moaning against your skin, shuddering slightly. You're perfect, all of you, and Art's lost in you.

One of your hands stays tangled in his hair, and the other is curled tightly into the sheets as he thrusts into you, your body rocking forward with each one. Your breasts are bouncing slightly as he fucks you, and you're gasping and moaning pleas of his name, incoherent swears, and begging him not to stop.

And Art is thrusting into you, moaning and panting like a wild animal. His hands are gripping your hips, his own breaths coming out hot and needy against your shoulder. His own moans are spilling out, broken up by his words. "God, baby- you feel so good- so perfect-" He's practically whimpering with need, his face buried in your shoulder. "Want you so bad- honey- God-"

You're driving him insane with your gasps and moans, and Art's words are losing syllables, become more incoherent and slurred with his thrusts. You're perfect, and he can feel a pressure building low in his stomach. He's shaking, the pleasure becoming too much as he gasps out, "Sweetheart, I'm close- gonna-"

He's close, the pressure growing, and he's babbling mindlessly now, his words broken up by moans and gasps. "God- gonna come- don't stop-" He's whimpering into your shoulder, his hand traveling down to your waist and holding you like a vice.

He's pulling you back as he thrusts forward into you, and the pressure and pleasure are too much. His fingers dig into your waist, and Art can feel himself fall over the edge. He's moaning, gasping out your name as his nails dig into your skin, his breath hit against your shoulder.

It's only a moment before he's reaching down to rub figure eights against your cunt, desperate to make you cum.

And he's barely coming down from his own climax, still shuddering and gasping, yet his hands are moving already. He's touching you, fingers rubbing circles against your cunt, desperate to bring you over the edge with him. "Come on, baby. Come on-" He's whining, breath hot against your skin, as he continues his efforts, desperate for your peak.

You're close, he can feel it. You're trembling under his touch and Art's fingers are working faster and faster, begging you, "Please- please- come on- please-" And then you're arching your back against him, shuddering and gasping as you cum under his touch.

Art's eyes roll back into his skull as you come under his fingers and on his cock, a desperate whine slipping out of his mouth. He'd almost forgotten how wonderful your orgasms are. You're ethereal. "God- sweetheart-" He's moaning, pulling you closer, desperate to keep touching you and feel you shaking against him.

He's panting, his forehead pressing to the nape of your neck. His head us spinning from the onslaught of pleasure, his body trembling slightly. He's panting and shivering and still buried deep in you, and all he can think about is still you. Your skin, your scent, your body. His brain can't catch up.

It takes a few minutes before he's come down enough to pull away from you, slipping out of you slowly yet reluctantly. He's still whimpering in your ear, kissing your shoulder reverently. There's a gentle smile pulling at his lips as his arms wrap around you and pull you closer, wanting to feel more skin to skin contact.

Everything else slips away as his body is pressed against yours, legs tangled and skin on skin. Art's body is still buzzing from his orgasm, but right now, you're his one and only focus. He's whispering in your ear, mindless praise and sweet words he wouldn't dare say to anyone else. "God, baby- you're perfect. You're everything- I could drown in you and die happy."

You giggle softly, basking in the afterglow. After so long, you're here, with him. And he loves you. By God, does he love you. He reaches out to tuck a sweat soaked piece of hair behind your ear, pausing to gently run his thumb over your cheekbone. "I love you."

You can't help the exhausted grin that creeps onto your face when you hear that. "I love you, too."

He contains to murmur gentle words and praises, although his words are broken up by soft kisses to your shoulder. It's been years since he's felt this kind of pleasure. Years since he felt so content, so at home. Art hadn't realized how much he'd missed it- missed you. Right now, his only desire is to hold onto you, keep you as close as possible, and never let you go again.

Not that you'd even dream of leaving him again.

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.3

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable-the whole world knows that, now-but you've become so much more than just his engineer and they should know that too.

a/n: i just...max verstappen...and thank you guys sm for the love you've shown this series! here is the last part <3

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・��⸝

The moment you step out of the storage room-you figured that out when Max shoved you against a nice metal rack and some probably important things crashed to the ground-reality crashes down on you like a tidal wave.

You just kissed Max Verstappen.

Max Verstappen just kissed you.

You don't know how it can get worse, but it will. He looks completely at ease, like he didn't just change the trajectory of your entire life in the span of a few heated seconds. Meanwhile, you feel like you're about to combust. Your lips are still tingling, your mind racing, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the noise outside: the team is still celebrating, the media is still circling, and maybe you're being a little dramatic but people will want answers that you can't give.

Max notices your panic before you can even say anything. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "Breathe."

You shoot him a glare that lacks any real venom. "Don't tell me what to do."

His lips twitch. "Then don't look like you’re about to pass out." Which is ironic, because if he hadn't kissed you senseless, you probably wouldn't look like...whatever you look like right now. You need a mirror. Your hair is all messed up from the frenzy-his is too, though it suits his post-race look-and you straighten the collar of your shirt.

Damn you. You shove past him, desperate for space, for air, for something that isn't Max Verstappen and his infuriating ability to act like everything is fine. Your body betrays you, though, because even as you move, you feel his warmth lingering, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

And then, as if the universe is determined to make your life a nightmare, Christian Horner appears. The devil himself.

You barely manage to school your expression into something neutral as he approaches, eyes sharp, mouth set in a line that promises nothing good.

"Max." He nods at Red Bull's star driver before turning to you. "We need to talk."

Max doesn't move. "She's busy," he quips.

You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. "Max."

Christian doesn't look amused. "Now."

You sigh, throwing Max one last look before following Christian into one of the back offices. The second the door closes, he lets out a heavy breath and pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to will away a migraine.

"You know why we're here."

You cross your arms, steeling yourself. "If this is about that stupid interview-"

"Stupid?" Christian cuts you off and his eyes narrow quickly. "Do you have any idea what you just walked into? The media is losing it. The fans are in a frenzy. And now I have PR breathing down my neck asking if Max Verstappen is in a relationship with one of his engineers."

This isn't good. No, not at all. Today is not a good day to have Christian Horner mad at you. "It's not-"

"It doesn't matter what it is," Christian interrupts. "Believe me. The only thing I care about is what it looks like."

You don't have an argument for that. Because he's right. Perception is everything in this sport, and right now, the perception is that you are tangled up in something that no team principal wants to deal with.

Christian sighs and it's like all his fury is evaporating. "Look. I really don't care what you do in your personal life. I don't even care what Max does, as long as he keeps winning. But I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

You hesitate. "Define 'a problem.'"

Christian levels you with a look. "Are you going to be a distraction? To him? To yourself?"

Your mind flashes back to the kiss, to the way Max looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. Your heart stutters.

"No," you say, more firmly than you feel. "This doesn't affect my work."

Christian watches you for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Then handle it."

You swallow. "Handle it?"

"Either shut it down or control the narrative," he says. "But I don't want any more surprises."

You nod, even though you don't know what exactly you're affirming with that nod. The problem is, you don't know if you can shut it down. You don't know if you even want to.

When you leave the office, Max is leaning against the wall, waiting. Of course he is.

He leaps up when he sees you. "What did he say?"

"That I need to handle it," you explain.

Max’s expression doesn’t change. "And are you going to?

"I don’t know."

There it is again. You can't read Max Verstappen. He asks, "Do you want me to?"

All your problems come from the same thing-you should say yes, no, whatever it takes to shut down all this that's happening. You should make him go on some press circuit and laugh it off as a misunderstanding, to make sure your name isn't attached to his ever again. You should be walking away from this mess because it's not part of your job description and getting involved with an athlete never seems to end well. Even if it's Max Verstappen.

But you don't.

You never do, it seems.

Instead, you look at him: the way his jaw is clenched, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you but won't unless you let him, and you keep making the same choice.

"I think," you say carefully, "we should talk."

Max’s lips curve slightly. "Dinner?"

You groan, shoving his shoulder. "Not helping."

His laugh is soft, but there's something else in his eyes now. Something serious. "Then let’s talk."

It's been a long time coming, but right there, you realize you're past the point of no return.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The ride back to the hotel is suffocating. Not the air-no, the air-conditioning in Max's car is great, thankfully, because it sure cost a lot-but because Max is sitting next to you, silent, his fingers drumming against his thigh so close to you if he shifts just a little his hands will be on yours. You push that thought aside. Now's not a good time to get worked up over him. Not now.

You should say something. You should clear the air. But every time you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Instead, you replay everything in your head: the kiss, the way he looked at you after, Christian's warning, and the way Max had asked if you wanted him to handle it. Like it was his responsibility. Like he was willing to do whatever you asked, even if it meant pretending none of this ever happened.

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

"You're thinking too much."

You blink, snapping out of your spiral. Max is watching you instead of the road. Stupid, stupid.

You roll your eyes. "And you’re not thinking at all."

He smirks, eyes darting back forward for a moment before they rest on your face. "That’s not true. I'm thinking about dinner."

"Max, this isn't a joke." You let out a frustrated sigh, turning to face him.

"I know." He's suddenly serious, his voice quieter. "That's why we should talk. Properly. Without Christian breathing down your neck."

You hesitate. You know he's right. You can't keep avoiding this, can't pretend that what happened in the storage room didn't just flip your world upside down. But you also don't know how to have this conversation without risking everything.

Max waits patiently, letting you come to your own conclusion. He always does that. He gives you space, but never too much. Always just enough to make sure you don’t run.

"Fine," you mutter. "But not dinner. We saw how that went."

He raises a brow. "Drinks?"

"No."

"A walk, then."

You sigh, but you don't argue. You suppose a walk is neutral territory. You can talk without the pressure of sitting across from him at a table, without the weight of eye contact that lasts too long.

When you arrive at the hotel, you don't give yourself time to hesitate. You step out, waiting for him, and he follows without question after tossing his keys at the valet. There's a cool breeze, and you focus on that instead of the way your fingers still tingle from where they brushed against Max's earlier.

You walk side by side, the silence stretching, but it isn't uncomfortable. It never is. That’s part of the problem, isn't it? It's always been too easy with him.

"I meant what I said," Max finally says. "I don't want this to be a problem for you."

"It's not that simple, Max."

"It could be."

You huff out a short laugh. "For you, maybe."

He stops walking, and you do too, turning to face him. There's something in his expression that makes your breath catch.

"I like you," he says, and your heart stutters. "And I think you like me too."

You swallow hard. "Max-"

"I know it's complicated. I know Christian is watching us like a hawk. I know you're worried about your job, your reputation." His voice is steady, unwavering. "But I'm not going to pretend this isn't happening just because it's inconvenient."

Your mouth feels dry. It does sound simple when he's saying it.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this is nothing, and I'll walk away."

You hate him for that. Hate him for putting the choice in your hands, for making you responsible for whatever happens next.

But you don't tell him to stop. You don't say anything at all. You look at him clearly: this man you've watched grow up from a boy. You've seen him destroy things in fits of rage after bad races, you've seen him beam like the sun, and you've seen the way his eyes turn stormy oceans when they look at you. He sees you too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

bahrain 2025 post-race interview

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

y/n 🌎 gee, max, you're going to get to my ego

y/n 🌎 first "my everything," then "the constant"

y/n 🌎 and what's that about always? i don't believe that.

my mashed potato Are you referring to us or you being the constant? Because I don't believe in that either, but you have me as long as you want

y/n 🌎 are you SERIOUSLY CHECKING YOUR PHONE DURING AN INTERVIEW

y/n 🌎 sorry for all caps i just like it a lot when you get all romantic

my mashed potato i know ❤️

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: max verstappen and 3-post series are very special to me