#normally it's like a set or two a month but this has just been like

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas.* Fluff, sweetness, flirting, crushes, reader's meddling bestie. Summary: Waking up beside your soulmate the morning after your wedding, you reflect on the meetings that brought you here. Notes: Welcome to a new story, friends! We're using date stamps as we tell this story, as scenes may appear out of chronological order. Enjoy!

Saturday, April 6, 2024

Normally waking up is hard for Javi. Too used to having his own schedule, late nights and lazy mornings. Things have changed over the past few years, the loss of his family fortune and business. Not that he minded no longer being the face of an arms dealer family, even if he wasn’t the one selling the weapons. That was his now incarcerated cousin, Lucas’s doing.

No, now waking up meant an alarm instead of the fragrant smell coffee being brought by a servant, he had to get up and make it himself if he wants.

This morning, this morning his eyes are open before the sun even thinks about peeking over the horizon. The early morning lighting up gradually as he watches your face, so peaceful in sleep. His soulmate. His wife.

Sunrise isn't normally your wakeup call. The mornings are always an early start for you because you like to get as much out of your day as you possibly can. It's been so many years of it now that you even wake up early on the weekends – but not today.

A rare morning of sleeping in means that the bright sun streaming through the windows penetrates your sleep to warm your dreams and drift you closer to reality. Although really, the thing that wakes you is the shifting of the mattress. The last time you shared a bed with anyone before last night was...a year ago? More?

But when you open your eyes, knowing it's your soulmate next to you is so exhilarating.

“Good morning.” Javi’s smile is bright, radiant like the sun as he reaches out and caresses your cheek. “How did you sleep? I think I only slept for two hours but it was the best two hours of my life.”

"Good morning." Like a magnet, you slide towards him on the mattress to tuck yourself into his side. "It's a whole new day. What did you want to do with it?" Neither of you have to work, so it's just...going to be beautiful all on its own.

“I should treat you today, no?” He asks with a grin. “It is technically our honeymoon?” The ring on your finger is just barely ten hours old, the excitement of that fact still humming through his system and coming off as nervous energy.

"We've got a whole weekend to do whatever we want." Honeymoon. It's your honeymoon. The last twenty-four hours have been a complete whirlwind. This time yesterday you were already at work. "I feel silly asking but...what do you like to do for fun?"

“Watching movies.” Javi admits shamelessly, although he no longer has the movie theatre he once did. “What is your favorite movie?”

"Oh gosh, that's such a hard question." Shamelessly happy that you can do so, you lay a kiss on his shoulder and gaze up at him.

Your soulmate is so fucking handsome. How did you get so lucky?

"Maybe..." You laugh at how ridiculously hard it is to choose. "I think I have more like a top three. And they rotate depending on what kind of mood I'm in. But one of the top three is always The Princess Bride."

“That is a good one.” He grins, happy that you seem to light up and have a hard time choosing. “I always liked Wesley.” He admits shamelessly and winks at you. “As you wish.”

"Hush." Even though you nudge him a little, your warm cheeks have nothing to do with the morning sun. It's all mixed in with the dreamy expression on your face as you talk with him. Your husband. Your soulmate. "What's your favourite movie?"

“You must promise not to laugh.” He tells you seriously, although there is humor twinkling in the depths of his dark eyes as he gazes into your hauntingly beautiful ones. “Paddington 2.” He admits, his tone flat and honest.

“Why would I laugh? That’s such a sweet movie!” Daring to reach up to brush a curl out of his eyes, you end up smiling all over again. “I…actually really love watching kids’ movies. They’re great for comfort and cheering me up when I don’t feel too good.”

“They teach us lessons we could all use.” He agrees, capturing your hand and kissing the back of it. “We can watch them together. Snuggled up.”

“That sounds perfect.” Practically everything he suggests sounds perfect, and it’s not just the gorgeous purr of his accent. “It can be a sweet way of unwinding at night.”

“You would not mind?” He asks, brows raised and a hopefully look on his face. “I wish I had my old movie theatre, but we can turn the second bedroom into a viewing room?”

"You..." Confusion makes your eyebrows draw in. "Used to have your own movie theater?"

He tilts his head. “Of course.” He nods. “I will have to build one again. It will not be as big as the one in Spain, but the house will be much smaller too.” He sighs softly, feeling a little bit like a failure for not being able to give you the things he once had. Before he ever knew you carried his marks. “But maybe one day, no?”

"If it will make you happy, then we will absolutely do that." There are plenty of things that you don't know about each other yet, but you have every confidence that you'll be able to settle into things together well. You're soulmates, after all. You're meant to be together. "I just...I've never known anyone who had their own movie theater before. That sounds so fancy."

“It was a large house.” He admits, frowning slightly. He loved the house, hated the bad memories of some of the things that happened there. Although it was never all bad. “You know, Nic Cage came to my birthday party there?” He asks. “It’s how we met.”

"Is it really?" He had told you that they were friends -- hell, the Cages had come to your wedding last night -- but it was still something that you were wrapping your head around.

“Yes.” He chuckles. “I paid him one million dollars to come to my birthday, and somehow, we became friends.”

Your eyes widen, catching on a breath of disbelief. "So that's how you get a movie star to come to your birthday? Color me impressed."

He hums. “Back then, yes.” He admits, leaning in and kissing your shoulder gently. “Now, they are starting to want to come on their own. Not because I pay them.” He doesn’t have the money to do that anymore.

"You're an amazing writer. I'm sure you're just at the start of something really grand." The two movies he has had made so far have both been fantastic. You went home and watched them back-to-back after the first time he told you he was a screenwriter. "I consider myself very lucky that I'll get to be beside you during all of it."

“Really?” His eyes widen, as if he had never really considered that you would be happy to have him as your soulmate. “You want to be beside me?”

It almost makes you laugh, but the wonder on his face is so genuinely sweet that it sort of comes out as a sound of disbelief. "Of course," you promise him, and take his hand to hold both his and your left hands in his view. The hands bearing your brand new wedding rings. "That's what this means."

“Married.” The word is whispered, almost reverently, as if he is still in disbelief that it was ever possible. For him, it had started to look that way. He had loved Gabriella and had been determined to be a good partner no matter if they had not shared marks, but she had left him. He had floundered slightly, bemoaning love and at the encouragement of Nic to start working on his next screen play, he had stumbled upon the soulmate he had always yearned for.

******

Tuesday, February 14, 2023 Valentine's Day

The slowest pay of the week for the museum seems punctuated with particularly melancholy moments today. There was a private tour this morning with a proposal, and the squealing bride-and-groom-to-be had been allowed to take photos together on the grand staircase before regular visitors began arriving for the day. Their family and friends had been hiding in the house, waiting for the moment, all ready to burst out and shout with joy after the question was asked and answered. It had left you with a migraine.

Another lover had popped their question to her beloved out in the gardens while you were trying to get some fresh air on your short morning break. You'd fled back to the breakroom and hung your head in your hands for the rest of your fifteen minutes of quiet.

Now, in the middle of the afternoon, there are so many couples on dates strolling through the halls of Hazelwood House that it felt like an intentional taunt. Being fresh off a breakup at Valentine's Day is no one's idea of a good time. So you just pace your area, walking through the three rooms of the house museum that are under your care for this hour, and hope that the floor just opens up to swallow you whole.

Which is how you accidentally walked straight into a guest.

"Oh! Excuse me! I'm so sorry, that was entirely my fault."

Javi Gutierrez manages to keep himself from stumbling but immediately reaches out to steady you. “No, no, I was wandering around.” He shakes his head, ready to take the blame himself as his eyes meet yours and he swears that his heart skips a beat. He straightens slightly, still holding your arms. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, as if you had been injured by the minor collision.

"I'm totally fine." Shaken, sure, but only because of your own clumsiness and the fact that you just had to bump into the hottest guy you've ever seen in your entire life. "I—I'm sorry." Come on, get it together. "I was distracted." Lie, for fuck's sake. "I just noticed a little detail in the flooring that I had never seen before."

“The floor?” Javi frowns as he looks down at the intricate tiles beneath both of your feet. “What about the floor?” He asks curiously, wondering if it is something special.

"Well..." It's nerdy. It's so nerdy. But there actually is something special about the mosaic tile in this particular room of the house. "The billiard room is covered in mosaic, but I've never paid much attention to the grain of the marble before." An utter lie, you stare at it every day. "Do you see the swirls of blue and gray here? It's the same marble as the fireplace."

Instead of looking at you like you are crazy, Javi squats down and brushes his fingers over the glazed tiles, staring at the colorful patterns for a long moment, memorizing them. Then he lifts his head to stare at the fireplace. “So they tiled the mosaic with marble instead of regular tiles?” He asks, trying to follow.

"It looks like it." He gets excited easily, this incredibly handsome man, and it relaxes you a little. Guests who get excited about little details are one of the things you love most about working in a museum. "Now I'm thinking about taking a photo of the different colors and comparing them to the other fireplaces in the house."

“Can you backtrack through the house?” He looks around worried for a moment and then back at you. “The guides won’t get mad?”

"You're only a few rooms in, I can walk you back to the first fireplace if you'd like?" That would be the breakfast room, which is an easy stroll backward from where you are now and you point it out to him on the map that is printed on the packet of information in his hand. It seems he opted not to download the audio tour as so many do.

He tilts his head, contemplating it seriously. “Then we should do it, no?” He asks. “See if it matches? It should, or no? Maybe it depends on the style of the room?”

"Let's find out, if you're curious. We can check the three fireplaces in this section of the house and you can compare the pictures you take here to the others as you keep moving through the house." You would walk with him, guide him yourself, because it's just so nice to stumble upon someone nice and not on a date today...but abandoning your area of the house would get you in a hell of a lot of trouble.

“Okay.” He smiles at you and wonders if you are waiting for your partner to arrive. It’s Valentine’s Day after all and he had thought to distract himself with work. “The house is very, um, nice.” He says as you start to steer him back towards the other rooms. Small talk can be awkward and he’s not as good as it as he would like at times. Nervous about making a negative impression.

"The whole place is gorgeous." The grounds are a popular tourist attraction, with plenty of weddings and other parties happening on the grounds in addition to the mansion being a museum. "Have you ever visited Hazelwood Park before?"

“This is my first time.” Javi confesses. “I have heard of it, but woke up this morning and decided today was the day.” He had honestly figured there wouldn’t be a lot of couples here. He had been wrong.

"Well, welcome." Back in the breakfast room, you turn to face the soft green marble fireplace. "This does look like the same green of the turtle in the mosaic," you admit. The shades are remarkably similar.

“So they matched the edging of this floor to the fireplace.” The entire floor isn’t a mosaic, but the banding around the edges is. “This fireplace is larger.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps they did not have enough of the leftovers to use, hm?”

"If they only used the pieces that were considered scrap during the carving of the fireplaces, then it would make sense that they wouldn’t have any large pieces." The thin tile line around the otherwise parquet flooring has always charmed you unexpectedly. You had never seen anything like it before.

“It is a good way to use up all the materials.” He agrees. “Because I’m assuming the marble was imported?” It’s nothing he’s ever considered before but your enthusiasm for the details excites him.

"Oh yes, absolutely." In fact, you had had to memorize where all of it came from as part of your knowledge test to be a full-fledged docent. "This particular stone comes from Italy."

“You know a lot about this.” He smiles. “Is the house a favorite place to visit for you?”

"Oh!" You break out into a nervous laugh and realize that this entire time, the nametag and lapel pin that you wear on your cardigan marking you as an employee haven't been visible. "No, I--I work here. I've been here about a year now."

“Oh…oh I am sorry.” He bites his lip as he tries to hide the embarrassed grin. “I didn’t realize. I thought you were just an enthusiast.”

"Being an enthusiast is sort of how I got the job," you admit. Shrugging your shoulders, you straighten out your cardigan again and do up one button to make sure both pins stay visible. "It turns out that I really love it. Beyond just thinking the place is beautiful."

“That explains your comment about this section of the house.” He chuckles, wiping his hands on his pants and shoving them in his pockets. “I had assumed you were waiting on someone. Now I know that’s it’s other tour groups.

"Have to stay in my section." A light, awkward laugh travels between you but even that little sound from him sounds angelic. "But if you like these first few rooms, then you'll love the rest of the house."

“Which is your favorite room?” He asks, looking down at his map.

"Today?" You laugh a little, emboldened by the way he seems to smile with his whole face. Like he really doesn't mind talking to you. Like he might even enjoy it. "I love them all, but I think the library might be the best part of the whole house."

“Do you like to read?” He asks, charmed by your laugh and the way you seem to light up at the question. As if you aren’t normally asked a personal question. “The library was always where I was chided, but then it was also where I could escape into different worlds when I couldn’t do other things.”

"That's the beauty of books." Something you believe unabashedly. Stories are an escape -- whether that is books or movies or plays, or whatever else. "Being able to run away into a different world is powerful. It's freeing." Warmth creeps up your neck and into your cheeks and you nearly feel embarrassed for getting so excited about it except that he's still smiling. "The library in this house? I would curl up in front of that fireplace with a stack of books beside me on the chaise lounge and one of those little table all covered in the blue China from the butler's pantry and a whole plate of scones. I would just stay there all day and night."

“That sounds perfect.” He hums. “With the fire built up?”

“Oh, of course.” The scenario has played out in your head a thousand times, and one day you might just have to go antiquing for your own chaise so you can fulfill it. Of course…you’ll also need a home legitimate enough to have a fireplace. Not your shitty little studio apartment.

“Storm beating against the windows?” It would be a miracle in California, but he could imagine it in the setting of his latest screenplay. “Or snow?”

"Oh, it's been years since I saw a good snowstorm. I used to hate them, but I sort of miss it."

“I have not ever lived somewhere where there was snow.” He admits with a small shrug. “It is beautiful in pictures but I do not think it would be fun to have every day.”

"Oh, it's definitely not." Not even a little, and your immediate answer elicits laughs from both of you. "My favorite was when I was going to college in Boston and the college dug out our sidewalks for us. All the beauty of snow with none of the work."

“That is probably the best way to have the snow.” He admits with a laugh.

"Well..." Realizing you've probably monopolized enough of this extremely handsome, extremely charming man's time, you offer him a smile and try to smother the butterflies accumulating in the pit of your stomach. He has the most beautiful, soulful eyes you've ever seen. "Enjoy the rest of the museum. Take an extra look at the library when you pass through the south wing and you'll see what I mean about it being comfy."

He’s entirely disappointed to realize that he’s being dismissed. Enjoying the way you banter with him, he wishes he could ask you to give him the tour of the entire house so he could continue talking. Feeling more at ease with you than he has with anyone ever. “Thank you.” He hums softly. “I hope you have a wonderful day, full of beauty.”

"You too." You flounder for a few seconds, but you know you'll get in trouble if your supervisor sees you on the surveillance cameras talking to the same guest for too long, so you gently extract yourself to stroll as casually as possible back into the corner of the great hall that is included in your area of the house right now.

Javi watches you walk off and he sighs before he looks down at the map and pulls out his phone to take pictures of the rooms. Your attention to detail will have to be included in the film.

******

Saturday, December 23, 2023

It's the Christmas season the next time you see him, when the house is all done up in twinkling lights and wreaths with trimmed trees in almost every room. Bowls of chestnuts and pine cones and cherries replace the usual decorative hazelnuts and oranges. Pine boughs and poinsettias instead of big, beautiful flower arrangements. It's a nice change of pace, honestly, and on the weekends guests can buy tickets to the after-hours light display on the grounds. Out in the garden there are even refreshments and music plays from the trees that drip with even more lights.

Javier tucks into his light jacket. It’s not completely necessary, but it helps the spirit of the season. The lights are beautiful and he’s heard that the decorations are truly a sight to see.

The music outside just reminds you of the years that you worked in retail -- repetitive and sickly sweet Christmas songs pouring through speakers, but you dole out cups of cocoa and coffee at one of the refreshment tables outside with good enough spirits. There's bits of broken cookie to sneak every now and then, and the little gingerbread men are tasty morsels when you and the other docent working at the table can grab them.

“You were right about the library.” He hadn’t been looking for you. At least that’s what he tells himself, although he lights up for some reason when he recognizes you. “It’s perfect for a cozy day reading.”

"You..." It takes all you've got not to grab your friend's hand beside you, as the specter of the random guest you've had a crush on for almost a year materializes in front of you. "You remembered?" The full sentence is 'You remembered me?' but you don't say that.

He grins bashfully as he steps up to the table and looks down at the cookies and paper cups, trying to keep from staring at how pretty you are. Javi’s been around gorgeous women, but there’s something about the naked honest in your eyes that makes him feel almost feverish. “Of course I did.” He chuckles. “I went back through to find you that day, but you must have already gone home.”

“We move around the house every hour. To keep on our toes and so we don’t stare at the same set of walls the whole day.” Did he get even more attractive since last time? That would be so unfair. Criminally unfair, actually. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Enough to come back, even.”

“I had to see it during Christmas.” It also got him out of the tiny cottage he lives in. Around other people. Hopefully to distract from the loneliness of the holiday. “I don’t know if this might not be the best look for this place. Although I see it with candles lit all around.”

“It’s perfect in spring,” you tell him all too quickly, and end up flustering yourself so you have to tear your eyes away from his to look down at the grounds gather your damn wits back. “I mean…in early spring is when all the orange and hazelnut trees blossom. That’s how the property got its name. Hazelwood Park.”

“Is that so? I will have to check it out.” He looks suitably impressed and then motions to the table. “So, um, how much for a cookie and a cup of coffee?” He asks, not sure what else to say, but wanting to continue the conversation.

"Oh, they're free for guests. Help yourself." Your coworker offers helpfully, seeing you fluster and thoroughly enjoying the level of teasing that is going to happen after work tonight. "Why don't you take your break while we have a lull?" She suggests, practically batting her eyelashes with glee over the suggestion.

"Thanks, Moira," you hum with a tone that suggests you're going to kill her later. Then again? She has a point. These days that there are special events at work can be long. You've been on your feet for hours.

Javi is disappointed, sure that you will disappear on him since you have a chance to get off your feet and possibly get something to eat or drink yourself. “Oh, um, okay.” He takes a cup of be coffee and a cookie. “Thanks.”

"Make sure to show him your bench!" Moira suggests, far too loudly and excitedly to not be obvious, as she thrusts a cup of cocoa and a gingerbread man into your hands.

“Your bench?” He could kiss your friend for giving him something to grasp on to in order to keep the conversation going. “What is your bench?”

"It's...it's over on the west side of the property." You gesture to the left of were you're both standing and try to suppress the giddy and awkward shivers running up and down your spine. "Do you...would you want to walk?"

“Are you sure you want to?” He asks seriously, happy about spending time with you but it’s your break. “You don’t want to rest?”

"Benches are made for resting." Now that the chance has presented itself, you would actually be pretty bummed to miss out on the chance to chat with him again. And, in all honesty, you're pretty sure it's not your break at all. Moira just threw you out of the nest like a mama bird.

“Okay.” He agree to that easily and shifts to move the cookie into the same hand as his coffee to offer you his arm. “Lead the way.”

The chivalrous gesture damn near makes your knees buckle, and you follow suit. Shifting your snack into one hand lets you take his arm to lead him toward the ocean. "It's just...where I like to come sit." Of course it is. You groan at yourself internally. What else would you do at a bench but sit? "I take my lunch out here sometimes and things like that."

“So it’s your special place.” He likes the sound of that. Showing him something that you might not show every guest.

"I suppose you could say that." It's only a touch chilly tonight and the breeze coming off the ocean is welcoming. "It's a nice place to sit and think. To just watch the ocean and...dream."

“Hopefully the dreams are nice ones.” He offers, wondering what you might dream about. “Having a quiet place to think is always a good thing. I used to sit out at the cliffs and dream, plot, plan.”

"Cliffs?" Hazelwood Park is more or less on a cliffside, and you motion out toward the ocean again. "Like this one?"

“A little larger than this one.” He smiles as he thinks back to jumping off the cliff with Nic. “Mallorca has cliffs that go hundreds of meters in the air.” He tells you. “Some so steep you would be terrified to slip off the edge.”

“Mallorca?” Spanish. Damn. They really do make hotter men in Europe. “I’ve heard it’s beautiful there. You…traded one beautiful place to live for another?”

He shrugs slightly. “Hard to write movies anywhere else but Hollywood, no?”

“Hard, but not impossible.”

So there it is. Even the screenwriters in Hollywood are sexy. Maybe you should be grateful to live so close by, then? Southern California does have some fun things that back home didn’t. Rather than fawn over him — that’s never been your style — you just smile. “So you like libraries and you’re a writer. Stories run through your veins.”

“I would live in them if I could.” He admits wistfully. The little bench is drawing closer and he can see from the view from this point why you would like it. It’s a stunning place to look out over the water. The wind just a touch brisk as it ruffles his hair. The smell of the saltwater taking over.

“Me too.” And for reasons you can’t quite discern, you just keep talking. “That’s why I like history so much. It’s all just stories. Especially in big houses like this. Somebody’s whole life — their whole story — is wrapped up in that house.”

“And do you sometimes pretend you are the lady of the house?” He asks, imagining you in the skirts from that time.

"It would be sort of a shame to dream about the place and not dream the grand, elegant things. Wouldn't it?" When you reach the bench together, he seems to set you down first, letting you settle, and then sits beside you. "I think it's romantic. Curtis Hollingsworth built the place as a birthday gift for his wife. They were outgrowing their home because they were pregnant again, and he'd made millions helping to turn Santa Barbara into a spa town." The soft smile on your face is whimsical, but you can't help it. "Apparently, she loved oranges and hazelnuts. Which is why the trees are everywhere."

“He brought those to her.” He looks out over the water and takes a sip of the rich coffee. At least they had served a strong brew instead of something heartbreakingly weak. “To build a house for someone you love is a perfect way to show it.” He frowns slightly, remembering that he has a building site that was halted before the foundation was ever poured.

“It’s certainly a grand gesture.” Something in his tone and manner makes you hesitate, but you don’t know this man nearly well enough to ask a single personal question so you try to just press past it. “Of course, grand gestures aren’t the only way of showing love. Not by any means. But they do make wonderful stories.”

“Sometimes it’s just listening.” He agrees, thinking about how things between him and Gabriella had turned after moving to L.A. two years ago. She had been uninterested in the future he envisions and started working towards. Stopped talking to him about anything that wasn’t part of her own interests. He had tried to course correct, but it had ultimately not meant to be.

“I couldn’t agree more.” This time you do chance to look at him — sharp jaw and soft cheeks outlined against the night sky like a fully grown cherub, golden brown curls neatly and artfully tousled and waving in the breeze. He looks like a Romantic painting. “Lots of people talk about communication but not enough realize listening is included in that.”

His eyes find yours again, seeing the softness and understanding swimming in their depths and he feels like bearing his soul to you. “Is it probably the most important part.” He admits. “The world would be better if people understood that.”

“Again…” you swallow hard, feeling your mouth has run dry and chest fairly ripped open with the feeling of familiarity. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The silence falls between you. It’s not unpleasant, it’s almost hesitant. As if both of you are afraid of disturbing the uncluttered beauty of the moment as the waves crash against the coast at the wind batters playfully against your cheeks. Javi breaks off a piece of the cookie and dips it onto the coffee.

“You chose a beautiful night to come visit.” It’s clear and typically warm despite the ocean breeze, and even in the end of December, Southern California is a beautiful place to be. He could have gone to any of a thousand places but he chose to come here, and a small voice in the back of your head wonders — hopes — that maybe you had a part in making this place happy for him.

“I was compelled to come back.” He admits softly, looking over at you for a moment before breaking off the gaze to look out at the sea again.

“The house is like that.” When he looks away, you do too. “It draws people in.”

It’s not the house, but it would sound crazy to say that he wanted to see you again. Instead he hums. “I don’t think it’s just the house.”

“Well…” If you wanted to take that to heart, you feel like you could. It wouldn’t be difficult to give yourself that little bit of hope. But despite being easy, it would probably be very foolish. “I hope it helps you miss home a little less to sit on these cliffs, instead.”

“I think it does.” He takes the bite of the cookie and groans happily. “These are good.”

“Gingerbread is highly underrated,” you agree, and take a bite of your own after dipping it into your cup of cocoa. “I get why they’re seasonal but I wish I could find them so easily all year long.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “They would be good anytime.”

“What’s your favourite kind of cookie?” The question is innocuous enough, but you find yourself curious anyway. Curious to know about anything he feels like telling you.

He chuckles and lifts a shoulder innocently. “A good chocolate chip cookie is always a comfort.” He admits. “Sometimes the simple things are the best.” He twists his head and looks over to you. “What is yours?”

“Have you ever heard of a hermit cookie?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, and grinning in amusement when he looks confused. “It’s a soft, spice cookie. Like gingerbread. Sometimes with raisins and nuts in it. They’re a bit old fashioned, but wonderful with coffee.”

“They sound like I should try some.” He would try anything you recommend right now, a fact that should scare him but it doesn’t. “How old are the cookies?” He asks, thinking about his screenplay.

“They’re from the 1880s or 90s, I think?” It does not escape your amusement or notice that this is the same time that the house you work in was built. “I don’t know if they’ve ever been popular outside of New England, but we do love them there.”

He hums and takes note of that. Deciding he will research it. “Hermit cookies.” He repeats. “Are there recipes for this? Online?”

"Probably." His entire attention has now focused in on this just because you said it was your favorite cookie and that makes you smile in a way you can't quite explain.

“Then I will have to look it up.” He smiles as he takes another sip of his coffee. “I like researching things. It is very interesting. Like your marble mosaic tiles.”

"You researched the tiles?" It's the sort of thing that you would only think of you or your coworkers doing, but hearing that he has enjoyed his time in the house -- and possibly with you -- so much warms your heart.

“It was interesting to learn how they chose the marbles.” He nods. “I never imagined a trip to Europe to pick out building materials.”

"It's a heck of a reason for a vacation," you agree, laughing slightly at the opulence of it all.

“Yes. And trips would take months.” He chuckles.

"I can't even imagine." To take a vacation at all would be a miracle. But one that was months long? It sounds positively absurd to your ear.

“Do you think they ever got bored?” He asks curiously. “Or tired of being away from home?”

"I have to imagine that they did." It's a question you've thought on more than you want to admit, but the stories in your head are always about everyday things. Wondering what the mundane things were like. "If I had a home like this I can't imagine ever wanting to be away from it. But I suppose the right person can make anything worthwhile."

“Were they soulmates?” He asks softly, having avoided the personal backgrounds of the homeowners when taking the tour. He had tried to keep his own characters in mind.

“They were. And when they left the house to their daughter, she married her soulmate here. And then her daughter married her soulmate here, as well. The house has a history of lifelong loves.”

“That is nice.” His tone is wistful. “I don’t know if I will ever meet my soulmate.” Javi confides, normally keeping that information to himself but he blurts it out. “I worry about it sometimes.”

“I don’t know a single person who hasn’t worried about it at some point.” Even your sister, who said she didn’t mind not marrying her soulmate as long as the woman she found was a loving partner, had been thoroughly overjoyed when she had found her now wife on Mate Marks. Everyone thinks about it — worries about it — even if they don’t want to admit it. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you.” You offer him a smile, knowing you’ve gone over your fifteen minutes for your break and not wanting to be caught flirting with a guest on company time. “Whoever you do find is going to be very lucky to have you.”

He smiles again. “Have you found yours?” He figures you probably have, you are beautiful and captivating.

"Not yet." Even though you'd rather not, you stand from the bench. "I don't know if I ever will. Only time will tell."

“I know you have to go back to work.” Javi leaps off the bench and shuffles, wishing he could ask you to stay. “Thank you for showing me this place.” He bites his lip. “Uh, can I walk you back?”

The warmth rushes back to your cheeks, and you practically squirm with delight. "Thank you. I'd like that."

He offers his arm again, taking your empty hot cocoa cup from you to hold with his own trash. “Imagine the parties they used to hold here.” He breathes out as the two of you turn back towards the house.

"We're setting up an exhibit with some of the gowns. It's meant to open in about six weeks." You light up with that fact, excited to see all the swishing gowns and glimmering jewels for yourself. "Descendents of the family donated a large collection of clothing, shoes, and jewelry to the museum this part year."

“Wow.” He chuckles, thinking about the parties he would throw when he was pretending to be an olive oil exporter. He’s much happier being a screen writer, even if he can’t afford those parties and bought friends anymore. “That was generous of them.”

"They say the most spectacular pieces are still privately owned by the family, but the things I've seen so far have been absolutely gorgeous." If you're a little dreamy-eyed at the prospect, he doesn't seem to mind.

“It sounds like you would have loved to live during that time.” He smiles, knowing that he will have to insist the movie be filmed here.

"I'm probably overly romanticizing it," you admit. But the tent is in view already and you hate the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that wonders if he'll ever come back again. "I hope—" Biting back what you really hope, you go for a polite encouragement instead, "That the things you've found in your research have given you plenty to think about. And maybe romanticized it for you, too."

“It has.” Even if you have no interest in him, you’ve given him a focal point for his movie. “Thank you. This is a magical place.”

"Then I hope you'll come back again." At least in that you can be honest. There is nothing you would like more than to see him again.

“Really?” He’s surprised by your comment. Unless you are just being polite.

"Really." You promise him, but at the edge of the refreshments tent, you have to let his arm go.

He’s disappointed by the loss of your fingers on his jacket. “Well. I hope the rest of your night is magical.” He offers, bowing slightly and smiling at you.

"I can all but guarantee it now." One more smile. One more lingering, dopey smile, and you know you have to tear yourself away. "Have a good night..." Oh no. Have you really gone and sat and flirted with this man for your whole break and not even learned his name?

He nods and turns away, sure that it would be rude to try to extend the conversation. He will just have to go home and write about this, working it into the plot of his movie somehow.

******

Monday, June 10, 2024

The email went out before opening time, when only your bosses were up in the offices and the docent core hadn’t gotten to work yet. You’d nearly crashed your car in excitement while CarPlay read the email out to you on the highway.

A movie. An actual Hollywood movie is coming to film at the museum!

The second you clocked in and sprinted to the break room to put your things away, you almost clobbered Moira with squealed, giddy glee.

“Did you hear?? Did you see Leslie’s email?!”

“Oh my god, yesssss.” She lights up and nods quickly. “It’s a movie by that guy who did the Nic Cage movie a couple of years ago.” She informs you. “The one that won an Oscar and restarted that man’s career?” After a long slump of bad movies, the older actor had exploded back on the scene, apparently full of new life and motivation for his trade.

“I can’t wait until we find out more!” Being able to hug your friend and squeal together is such a rush. The two of you have become joined-at-the-hip work friends to the point where the friendship has bled into everyday life. “A name, a plot, any of the stars?”

“Actors.” She sighs dreamily. “Imagine if your soulmate or mine, is an actor who comes to film?” She loves the glitz and glam of Hollywood and always secretly imagined being an actress herself, although she’s realistic enough to understand that it would be impossible to have happen.

“Maybe yours will be.” You laugh, hugging her again before you have to break away to pull your radio headset out of your bag. There is still work to do today, desire the excitement. “You’ll have to make sure you always wear your hair up so your tattoo is visible.” The little raven behind her ear would be a hell of a lot easier to show off than the tarot card on her though, anyway. Moira’s tattoos are gorgeous and just unique enough that you would bet there was no duplicate in the works besides her soulmate.

“Oh I’m planning on it.” She licks her lips and waggles her brows suggestively. “What about you? Yours aren’t so visible.” She knows how much you secretly want to meet your soulmate and be with them. It was a drunken girl’s night confession but she had never teased you over it.

“There’s no reason to go around showing everyone my marks.” You shrug a little and busy yourself with plugging into a walkie-talkie and adjusting your headset in your ear. “A lot of people have ankle scars, don’t they? And I can’t exactly show off my butterfly.” Exposing that much skin is definitely against dress code.

“Is it your scar or his?” You had never mentioned that, just that you had a scar.

“It’s theirs.” However your soulmate is, you’ve tried very hard not to make assumptions about them. The person you hope for might not be the person you get, and that wouldn’t be fair to them. “I was nine when it appeared, so my best guess has always been they fell out of a tree or play sports.”

“And the tattoo is yours?” She knows, she’s just chatting because it’s better than actually getting ready to work right now.

“Twenty-first birthday.” You nod, knowing that she knows but that Moira likes a slower start to her day than you usually do. “I did the opposite of most people. I got the tattoo and then went out to get drunk.”

“Which is a very valid and smart thing to do.” She praises. “That way you don’t bleed too much and it’s a nice way to numb the pain after.” Her own walkie comes out to begrudgingly clip to her waist. “But this movie, it has to be a period piece, right? No way a modern millionaire would live in a house like this.”

“It has to be. There’s no point in renting out a historical house museum for four entire months unless you’re going to use it all.” Not that you know too much about the filming process, but it just makes logical sense. “And besides, they’re here in spring and summer, which is usually our busy season. So I’m sure Leslie charged them a fortune. But HBO can afford it, I guess.”

“What if they let us be extras?” Her eyes widen at the sudden thought. “Oh god, we could wear our work!” She giggles happily at the thought.

“I assume there will have to be extras somehow.” Truthfully, you’d let your Hollywood dreams die out a long time ago. Moira’s were much more present. It would be amazing to see her to be able to fulfill them with even just a morsel like being an extra. “I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

“When it gets closer you will be just as excited as I am.” She predicts with a knowing grin.

“I’m plenty excited,” you promise, happily hugging her to your side as the two of you head out into the house together. “I just think you belong in front of a camera much more than I do.”

“You’ll change your mind.” She teases. “When you see what gorgeous actors and actresses they bring, you will be begging to flirt with them. On and off camera.”

“Maybe.” Her confidence is catching, and you laugh again at the thought of it. Hollywood has come knocking on your door and it’s already making work a hell of a lot more fun.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[queerdeans]

Five Acres on an Unnamed Road

Summary:

Cas buys a five-acre lot on the outskirts of Lebanon. Dean builds a house. For @destielvalentineszine2025 organized by the lovely @disabled-dean and @butch--dean — there are still three days to submit your work for the zine! 💚💙

The bunker walls are too close and its darkness too absolute for Castiel to live there comfortably anymore. Everything reminds him of the Empty, though it’s been five months since Jack pulled him out. It’d only taken Jack a few days to decide he didn’t want to play the role of Absent God from some miserable corner of the universe, but instead, he wanted to let the universe keep trucking while he lived as normal a life as possible in Lebanon, Kansas, where his family was.

Five months since Dean had opened the bunker door to see Cas standing there. Five months since the bone-crushing hug that had threatened to break Cas’s body, newly sewn back together.

Four months and twenty-nine days since the first tentative, uncertain kiss.

But who needs to count when you have a lifetime at your fingertips?

Cas insists on driving to the store one bright and bitter-cold day, and Dean lets him take the wheel, which is one of the many ways Cas has learned that Dean Winchester says I love you. When Cas diverts from their well-trod route into town, Dean’s quiet; he likes when they do new things, even if it’s just driving on a road they haven’t been down before. He loves to stretch into their newfound free will, to explore the infinite paths forward that they have available to them now. But when Cas slows down next to a wooden sign, whose careful FOR SALE lettering has been plastered over with a SOLD sticker, Dean frowns.

The land is blanketed with heavy snow and is mostly flat. There’s a half-hearted, drooping wooden fence that travels the full perimeter of the five acre lot. Cas knows this because he’d walked the entire thing the week before, the snow soaking through his shoes, the cold whipping at his face. But he hadn’t needed to; he’d known from the second he saw the for sale sign that he would buy it.

Dean’s been pretty set on living an honest life lately, so Cas forewent asking Jack to work a small-scale miracle or getting Charlie, whose Apocalypse World counterpart is every bit as savvy as the Charlie Dean and Sam had met a decade earlier, to forge some loan documents. Instead, he made a few calls, spread the word about what he wanted to do, and the money came pouring into his newly-created checking account at the Kansas Federal Credit Union, courtesy of their network of friends both near and far.

Now, as Dean hesitantly gets out of the car, Cas pulls the title from the glove compartment. He rounds the Impala and hands it to him wordlessly. Dean peers at the paper and then up at the land in front of him, and slowly, a smile spreads on his face.

“Who’d you have to bribe?” he asks.

Cas shrugs. “A lot of people love you, Dean, and were happy to pitch in. All they ask is that we host a housewarming party.”

Dean laughs in half-shock. “A housewarming party? There’s no house here.”

“Not yet.”

The land stretches out in front of them, curving away with the horizon. The lot is quiet, settled beneath the wide prairie sky, and is nestled in between two family farms. The earth is fertile and ready for planting deep roots, ones that might stay awhile.

It takes a year for there to be a house. The earth is still mostly frozen when they break ground. Dean’s wearing a hard hat and grinning ear to ear, and when he digs the shovel into the dirt, he lets out a loud whoop of joy. Jack takes a picture and Sam shakes his head and Eileen consults yet again Dean’s questionably-sound building plans. Cas just watches Dean, hands shoved in the pockets of his winter coat, amazed to be alive, to be standing here, to be with his family on a cold day.

Used to be, the entire world was his to watch over, and he’d grown bored with the millennia. Now, entire centuries worth of joy pass between his eyes and Dean’s as they stand on the little patch of dirt that they call their own.

Over the next year, Dean insists that his brief experience working construction while living with Lisa is sufficient. And in the end, it proves to be, though the construction is not without significant hiccups. Dean nearly dies several times of perfectly normal, stupid, and preventable causes, which, after the danger has passed, seems to somewhat delight him. He falls from a ladder but only breaks his tibia; he nearly shoots himself in the head with a nail gun, but doesn’t; and there’s an incident involving a territorial opossum that he refuses to speak about.

Cas has never seen him so happy.

Dean won’t let Jack or Cas use any of their God-or-angel mojo on the house, and for awhile he doesn’t even want Sam helping out. But as summer begins to stretch itself out and Cas’s anxiety to get out of the bunker increases, Dean capitulates and lets Sam, Jack, Eileen, and Cas help out more frequently. Jack turns out to be a natural with power tools, though Cas catches him cheating with his God-powers every now and then when he thinks no one is looking. Eileen reveals herself to have roofing experience (“What? Can’t a woman have a life?”) which comes in handy. Sam and Dean bicker about stupid things that have nothing to do with Lucifer, Michael, Hell, or the world ending, but rather building codes, railing lengths, and types of wood — and they both enjoy it immensely.

When the year mark on the project approaches and the house is nearly ready, Dean starts to be secretive, telling Cas not to come over, that he wants to keep a few things a surprise. Cas takes to spending more time at the local farmer’s co-op, where he’s been picking up a few regular hours of work each week, learning everything there is to know about simple and beautiful things like fertilizer and chicken care and seeds. Everyone seems to like him, and though Dean’s nervous the first few times he drops by during one of Cas’s shifts, his new coworkers welcome him as Cas’s partner with open arms.

Finally, the place is ready, according to Dean, and he and Cas pack up the last of their belongings and load them into the back of Cas’s truck. Sam and Eileen have found a place in Topeka and will be moving there in a few weeks, though Sam’s still planning on coming back to the bunker regularly to check in on the hunters who will be moving in to take over the bunker’s care; Jack’s got some grand plans to backpack the world for a couple of months, after which who knows what he’ll do?

It feels more like a beginning than an end as Cas drives the loaded-up pickup down the unnamed dirt road that leads to their new house. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, Dean peers at him sideways, nervous, and Cas squeezes his hand.

“As long as you didn’t paint a mural of Steven Tyler on our bedroom ceiling, I’ll love it,” he promises Dean before they get out of the car and approach the house.

It’s a craftsman with a wide front porch and is painted a soft yellow. There are two rocking chairs on the porch which they’d found at a flea market in Kansas City. Dean’s painted them up and applied some wood glue in key places to make them sturdier, and he made a little table to go between them, which he says is key — it’s where they’ll put their beer when they sit out here at night.

Inside, it’s warm, as Dean came by earlier that morning to load up the wood-burning furnace in the living room. The downstairs is made up of three large rooms: a living room with a worn, comfortable couch, a big mounted TV, and the two plaid armchairs from the ‘Dean Cave’; a dining room with a long wooden table and plenty of chairs; and a kitchen filled with natural light and a solid butcher’s block counter. Most of the elements that furnish the home were found at flea markets or thrift stores, all of them used and coming with a story, such as the couch, which had been loaded very precariously into Cas’s truck bed and most certainly would not have actually fit and remained steady for the long drive back to Lebanon without some divine intervention from Jack, who had denied his involvement.

Upstairs there are two rooms. First is the main bedroom with a walk-in closet and a large bathroom, complete with a detached tub big enough for both of them. The picture window behind their bed faces out onto the backyard and lets in plenty of natural light. Next to their room is what is technically the guest room, but is really Jack’s, for whenever he wishes to stay. Next to the bed is the IKEA bookshelf that Cas and Kelly had built in the days prior to Jack’s birth; it had been intended to hold baby books and stuffed animals, though now Jack has filled it with figurines of some of his favorite movie characters, along with books about dragons and sprawling histories of ancient civilizations.

Because Dean’s a hunter, and because they’ve lived the lives they’ve lived, the house has a few special qualities. First, there’s warding throughout the foundation and beneath the paint jobs in each room, done by Cas, checked by Sam, checked again by Eileen, and so on. There’s warding on the fence posts that ring the property, as well, newly built and sturdy. In the bedroom closet is a false door hiding the gun safe, though it holds far more weapons than just guns. Though both Dean and Cas have mostly retired from hunting since saving the world this last time, neither is naive enough to think that there may not be a time they’ll want to follow up on a strange newspaper headline or help out some fresh hunters with a difficult case. And Cas isn’t sure Dean would sleep as well without knowing the weapons are there, anyway.

Dean takes Cas’s hand now pulls him through the first level to the back door. “Don’t expect too much,” he says, and Cas wants to tell him that everything about this place already surpasses his wildest expectations, the most outlandish dreams he could have ever had.

When Dean opens the door, Cas sees that the backyard has been transformed. They had spoken briefly about putting a patio and a grill back here, but really, Dean has done far more than that. There is indeed a patio and grill, with string lights draped between poles all around it, making it perfect for entertaining whenever folks come through town and stay awhile. But beyond that, Dean’s built several long garden beds, next to which is a newly constructed chicken coop. There’s a freshly-painted shed, a wooden beehive box, and a fenced-in area with a small barn. Cas gapes at all of this, unsure what to say.

“Thought we might raise some chickens, bees, maybe some goats,” Dean says, his hands shoved into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels nervously.

This time, it’s Cas’s turn to smile, just as Dean had done when Cas gave him the land deed. “It’s perfect,” he says, taking Dean in his arms and kissing him. “Just perfect."

The guests arrive sporadically throughout the day, depending on their distance and how much they want to help Dean and Cas prepare for the party. Jody and Donna, for instance, arrive three hours before the start time, with Claire, Kaia, Patience, and Alex in tow. Dean makes fun of the minivan they all arrive in for a solid fifteen minutes. Charlie arrives an hour after that with Stevie, and Bobby and Rowena surprise each other by showing up at the same time, the former from where he’s been carving out a life in South Dakota and the latter from her throne in Hell. Garth arrives closer to on time with Bess, Gertie, Sam, and Castiel, which gives Dean something to grumble about for the twentieth time (“why wouldn’t he name him after me?”). A few other hunters join the mix, and when Cas gets a text from his new friends from the co-op that they’re on the way, he has to make an announcement to everyone to “act normal” and if they have to talk about monsters, to do it quietly.

In the entryway of the house, they’ve hung up a big poster board with progress photos tacked onto it, starting with the empty lot. 5 acres of nothing; trees dotted here and there and a little stream that ran through the northwest corner, wild grass growing untamed, the family of opossums which Dean conceded a half an acre to. There are progress photos, including one of Dean at the urgent care, grinning ear-to-ear, high on painkillers, arm in a splint after his fall from the ladder. The photo of Eileen leaning over the edge of the roof while Sam panics below gets a laugh from everyone, though Sam is less-than-amused by it.

The party is in full swing with Dean’s carefully-curated playlist cranking out through the speakers in the living room and the food dishes spread out on the table. Cas comes and finds Dean in the midst of an argument with Charlie over a video game character. He taps him on the shoulder and beckons with his finger; Dean, whipped until the very end, follows Cas upstairs obediently.

When they get to the bedroom, Cas closes the door and orders Dean to sit on the bed. Dean does so with a smirk and a “With all the guests around, you kinky bastard?”

But Cas doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself onto one knee and produces a small box from his pocket.

Dean’s struck dumb, staring at him with his mouth slightly open. “Are you…” he starts.

“Yes,” Cas says, opening the box and holding it out. The ring is silver, a thick band similar to the ring that Dean used to wear. “I think I’ve made enough… speeches for a lifetime,” he says, never eager to remember that moment of happiness he’d allowed himself before the Empty had swallowed him up. He’d assumed it was his last — and he’s been counting every happy moment since as a blessing.

“You know how I feel about you, Dean. About our life. It’s… it’s in everything around us.” He casts a glance about the room. One of his sweaters is tossed over a chair, a flannel shirt of Dean’s haphazardly laying on top of it. A book lies open on his pillow while Dean’s reading glasses — the ones he makes Cas swear to never tell anyone about — rest on the bedside table. It’s a life. A real life, a good one. Simple in all the ways they’d never thought they could have.

“I didn’t want to do this publicly,” Cas says, “but I want to use this moment, with everyone around us… all of the people we love… they’re all here, we’re here, because of you, Dean. And I’d be honored if you’d—”

Dean can’t wait anymore, and he’s on his knees too, pulling Cas in by the shoulders for a kiss. His hand tangles in Cas’s hair and he breathes into Cas’s mouth. “Yes. Fuck yes, I’ll marry you, Cas. Of course.”

“Do you think this is what your father would have pictured for you?” Cas asks that night as they sit on the porch. The party has wound down but many of the guests remain, lingering in the house or the yard. The crickets are loud tonight, scoring the evening. The living room’s warm glow is cast onto the porch, over the two of them, but the surroundings are still dark enough that the sky’s bounty is easily visible. Dean had gotten Cas a telescope for Christmas so that he could see all the cosmos, the infinite worlds that still existed, framing this one world, theirs. Cas can name most of what he sees in the sky tonight, and he cherishes the sight of it, the way infinity looks from this five acre patch of grass.

“No,” Dean says with a shake of his head. The ice in his whiskey clinks gently in his glass. “Yours?”

Cas lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Thankfully, no.”

Some small part of him, the part that may never be able to forget the Empty and all that it had meant for so long in his life, hanging over his head for years before pulling him away from Dean, waits for himself to be swallowed up once more. But Dean reaches out a hand and finds Cas’s, and he squeezes it tight. From inside comes Jack’s voice, loudly recounting some story from his travels, and Claire’s laugh replies.

No darkness rushes forth to grab him. There is only this: a patch of grass; the bleating of goats; the clucking of chickens; and the sound of family, just inside.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

graph

bonus:

[milo-is-rambling]

Most of the time I think life is so so good and then I have one minuscule moment of pain again and it’s like nvm I need to die

[ourceliumnetwork]

i did the biggest and scariest of the things on my list (the last thign on my list in fact) and it took like. MAYBE 5 minutes total including login time navigation and page loading.

now i get to have fancy Oreo Poptarts because i'm a big strong boy whose knee is slightly dislocated (it's fine i just went too hard and i'll wrap it up here in a minute) and did a big scary thing and also now gets to fully devote brain power to anxiety about the (potential) hole between two of my heart chambers and the accompanying doctor's appointment tomorrow morning.

[whateveriwant]

I just read your pregnant wife with 141 but that got me thinking. What about horny pregnant wife with 141

Feel free to ignore this if you feel uncomfortable writing it 

-🍱 (if it’s not taken)

I haven't written smut in ages so forgive me if I'm a little rusty. 18+ only pls and thx (vaginal sex, cunnilingus)

Soap

Hooo boy! Alrighty, here we go

So for starters, that man is PENT UP. Like seriously, he's so backed up, he thinks he can feel it all the way to his esophagus

Since you first got pregnant, it's been nothing but morning sickness, aches and pains, and a total and utter lack of desire on your part

Trust him, he's tried taking care of himself in the meantime, but it's never really gotten the job done since it wasn't with you

But once you enter your second trimester and the desire has come back, it takes everything in him not to ravage you the moment you give him the green light

Why? Well, truth be told, he's scared about potentially hurting you or the baby

You know how he can get in the sack. What if he dents the wee bairn’s poor head? He's knocking (more like pounding) right on the little one’s door after all

You have to assure him that he's not going to hurt you or the baby (and please, never refer to your cervix as a door again)

So he'll start slow and gentle at first, not wanting to be too harsh, but it won't take much to get him back to fucking you hard and rough like you're used to

He's got your knees up by your chest (or, as close as they can get) while he’s drilling into you from above, snarling like an animal

When he finally finishes, it's loudddd, slamming the headboard against the wall, and he pushes his hips as far forward as they'll go while he empties four months worth of cum inside you

Ghost

I'm so sorry to have to be the one to inform you, but you're not getting that man's cock while you're pregnant

It's not because he's overly rough when you make love normally; it's just that he's not willing to take any chances when you're in such a delicate state

However, the man is inherently a giver, so with just enough whining and begging and pleading from you, he'll oblige you to some degree

He'll stick mostly to his fingers or his mouth, maybe a toy or two if you're really needy, but he's generally going to rely solely on his own skill to get you where you want to be

He'll have you recline against a mountain of pillows while he settles himself between your legs, his arms looping around your hips to hold you still for him while he works

But he doesn't just dive right in, oh no siree. The man loves to tease you – kissing your thighs, the inside of your knee, the bottom of your belly first

He'll turn you into a pathetic little thing squirming desperately for his touch, before finally granting you mercy by giving you his tongue

He'll make you cum so hard with just his mouth alone that you'll temporarily lose all thought of that gorgeous dick of his

But afterwards, if you want to return the favor, you certainly won't hear him complaining about it

Oh but trust that the moment the doctor gives the okay after you’ve given birth, he's gonna be all over you, making sure you walk funny the next morning (and the following week after that)

Gaz

Like the other two, Gaz is concerned with potentially putting you and the baby in a dangerous position

But the man is a sucker for your puppy dog eyes, so it doesn't take much convincing to get him to take you to bed

But he still wants to be safe about it, so he researches the best positions for couples to have sex while pregnant

That's how you find yourself in his lap, naked back to his chest, as he sits in one of the chairs he dragged in from the dining room

You're bouncing on his dick, hands braced on his thighs, ass smacking off the hard plane of his lower stomach as you lift up and down

His hands on your hips are more of a placeholder than a guide as he lets you set the pace, just sitting back while you take what you need from him

It doesn't even matter if he cums or not, that's honestly the farthest thing from his mind. All he cares about is making sure you're satisfied in the end

Need him to snake his hand forward, tracing the curve of your belly down, until he's circling your clit in fast, tight motions? Gladly, love.

Your thighs may burn and your eyes may water, but there's something about this position that makes him hit so deep that it leaves you gasping for more

Ultimately, your orgasm will trigger his own (nothing gets him there faster than the sound of you cumming), and afterwards he'll help you into the bath where he'll clean and massage your aching muscles better

Price

Unlike the other three men, Price is eager to fuck you the moment you show even the smallest inkling of want

What's that? His poor baby needs him to fuck her right now? Say no more, sweetheart. Hubby's come to the rescue

That man is dicking you down anytime, anywhere he can

Just got done shopping? He'll find a deserted road to pull over on. Just stepped into the shower? Might as well kills two birds with one stone

Really, it becomes a challenge to find where in your house he hasn't had you in these last few months. The kitchen, the garage, the back porch. You name it, he's done it (multiple times, in fact)

But his favorite – oh boy, his favorite without a shadow of a doubt – is when he takes you in front of your bedroom’s full length mirror

He'll hold you up from behind, standing you both on your feet, and just watch as he fucks you nice and slow

Seeing it in profile is fun when he wants to watch his dick slide in and out of you, but he's especially fond of having you directly face the mirror

There's just something about getting to watch you – that pretty face, those juicy tits, that fucking delectable rounded belly – that makes him blow his load faster than a damn rocket launch

With the number of times he's had you like this, you swear, that man of yours is trying to knock you up a second time (But shhhh. Quiet now. Don't go giving him any bright ideas, sweetheart.)

[mywritersmind]

DO NOT DISTURB - LN4

summary : In which an early morning surprise comes in the form of Max Verstappen staring at his little sister in his rivals jacket.

listen up : swearing! maxverstappenssister!reader

words : 982

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The constant banging on the door woke me up with a groan. I didn’t think before slipping out of bed, rubbing my eyes and slumping my way to the door to see dare bother me so early. I put the do not disturb on last night!

I twisted the handle, running a hand through my hair and peak my head out. Now, you know that feeling when your stomach drops on a rollarcoater? When you’re driving a little too fast and slam your foot on the break because you are not going to make that light? That feeling that you get when you get caught.

I immediately regret it.

I immediately regret it because my brother is staring at me, his mouth open and his eyes wide. I try to slam the door shut because in my groggy haze, I forgot that i’m not in my room.

The feeling of Lando’s jacket on me suddenly takes over as I scream and push my back against the door. Max fights back instantly, not letting it close as I struggle to hold him off.

“What the fuck!?” He bangs on the door, “Y/n!?”

My eyes go to the bed where a lazy figure sits up, clearly confused until Max pushes the door open, my heels dragging on the floor in a last ditch attempt to stop him.

“Shit.” Is all Lando says, practically falling out of bed and standing up. He’s in pajama pants only and normally I would grin stupidly at his naked chest but i’m pretty sure i’m about to be murdered.

“Yeah, Shit!” Max slams the door behind him as I back away quickly, “Someone better start talking!”

See, I didn’t mean to start hooking up with my brother's rival/friend! But Lando Norris had his eyes set on me and even though at the time I thought it was just for bragging rights or a one night stand, he kept coming back.

“Um…” Lando’s voice is still scratchy from sleep as he looks at me, panicked.

“We’re dating!” I say quickly as Lando’s eyes get wide and he takes a step back. Max steps forward, something new that i’ve never seen on his face. He seems to try to find words, opening and closing his mouth a hundred times with hand gestures to match.

He stops, slapping his hand against his mouth, “I told you to stay away you little-” He screams at Lando and I suddenly wonder if he’s woken up the whole floor.

“I tried but your sisters hot, mate…” This gets Lando slammed up against the wall with a bloody grin on his face.

“Lando!” I scream, not because I'm scared for him, but because he’s being a little shit about it.

He’s wanted to tell Max for months and at times, I did too! Most of our friends our suspicious or completely know but Max is my brother. And a very protective one at that.

Hence, my boyfriend slammed against a wall.

“I will fucking destroy you, Norris.”

“Go ahead, Max. But when you do I want you to imagine me coming home to a Verstappen who really likes and pittys me.” Fucking hell he’s a complete cunt and I have to pretend it’s not hot as hell.

“Will you two stop!?” Is all I say when I see Max genuinely raise a fist! He backs away from Lando and starts pacing. I look at my curly haired who has a cheeky grin on his face. “Shut it.” I mumble and come closer to my brother.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” He looks at me and it’s the first time I realize he might be genuinely hurt.

“I knew you’d react like this.” I cross my arms, getting embarrassed that my big brother is disappointed in me.

“No, I reacted like this because I came to my friend's hotel room only to find my baby sister in his clothes!” Okay so maybe I should have told him earlier…

“It’s my fault, I didn’t want to tell.” Lando cuts in.

“No, don’t.” I groan, hating taking responsibility for my own actions, “Lando wanted to tell you. He did, actually! You both may have been piss drunk but still, he really wanted to.”

“Like me more now?” I can hear the smile in Lando’s voice as my brother blinks.

“No.”

“Anyway!” I eye Lando, “We’re dating. And I know I should have told you and you’re probably pissed-”

“Definitely pissed!” Max cuts in.

“But, I really like him.” I'm actually in love with him but I think that would make Max have a heart attack.

“You.” Max points to Lando who’s eyes widen, “You ever hurt her, Please remember that we have the same job, with the same danger, except i’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I can play anything off as a track accident.”

Lando’s face drops as he looks to me, “Did he just threaten to kill me?” I smile and nod, “You Verstappens…”

“You threaten him before?”

I nod, “All the time.”

“Good.” Max lets out a dry laugh, walking towards the door. “I’m still pissed so don’t get any ideas about PDA around me, ever!” He pointedly says to Lando. “Ugh ew, I hate you both.”

“Love you too, Maxie.” I say with a smile and a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Max.” Lando walks up behind me and I'm already worried. My brother turns, his hand on the door, “While we’re here… we have another surprise.” Lando slips his hands over his jacket, holding my stomach. I slam my foot on his as he laughs and my brother looks at us with murder in his eyes.

I can’t help but laugh, leaning back into Lando as he holds me tighter. “Go back to your room, he’s a dick, I know!”

Then, Max does something I completely didn’t expect. He smiles.

[pucksandpower]

Pro Bono

mafia boss!Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen could never be called a bleeding heart, he’s head of the mafia for crying out loud, but when his sister begs him to help her friend escape from an abusive marriage, he can’t help but be drawn to you … and do whatever’s necessary to keep you safe

Warnings: domestic violence, murder, and mentions of Jos Verstappen

The restaurant is loud, filled with the hum of conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby tables. You sit across from Victoria, watching her tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear as she stirs her drink with the thin straw. The monthly dinner — the one you never miss — has always been a comfort. It’s the one place you can pretend, even if for just an hour or two, that everything in your life is … normal.

But tonight, Victoria’s eyes narrow as she looks at you. She sets the drink down, barely touched. “What’s that on your arm?”

You glance down quickly, tugging your sleeve further down. “What?” You say, trying to sound casual. Too casual. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” She leans forward, her voice lowering. “I saw it earlier when you were reaching for the breadbasket. Bruises.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You reach for the glass of water, but your hand trembles. You pull it back, trying to hide the shake. “V, I told you. It’s nothing. I-I’m just clumsy, you know?”

Her eyes lock onto yours, and the silence stretches between you both. The noise of the restaurant fades into the background, muffled by the blood rushing in your ears. She’s not buying it. She never has.

“You’re not clumsy,” Victoria says quietly, her voice cutting through the noise. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t break eye contact. “You’ve never been clumsy. Not like that.”

You swallow hard, feeling the lump form in your throat, the one you’ve been pushing down for months, years, who knows how long now. You try to smile, but it falters. “It’s really-”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “Please don’t lie to me.”

And that’s when it happens. The floodgates open. Your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, a tear slips down your cheek. You don’t even have the strength to wipe it away. You just sit there, trembling, while Victoria watches, her expression filled with concern and something like anger. But it’s not at you.

“He-” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your hands, twisting them together in your lap. “He hits me, Victoria.”

The words hang there, suspended in the air between you, before they drop like stones into the pit of your stomach. You regret saying them the moment they leave your mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.

Victoria’s breath hitches. “Oh my God.”

You shake your head quickly, regretting it all, wishing you could pull it all back, pretend you never said anything. “No, no. It’s not — it’s not like that all the time. It’s just — sometimes he gets angry. You know how things can get.”

Victoria’s face hardens. “No, I don’t know. And don’t do that. Don’t downplay it.”

You bite your lip, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from your chest. You can’t look at her. Not when her eyes are filled with that mixture of pity and anger. It makes you feel small, weak. But you can’t stop now. It’s all coming out, spilling over like a dam that’s cracked.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “I can’t leave him, Victoria. I have nothing. I don’t have my own money. I don’t even have my own credit card. Everything is in his name. Everything.”

Victoria’s hand reaches across the table, grabbing yours. Her grip is firm, warm, grounding. “You don’t need money to leave him. You just need to get out.”

You blink away the tears, shaking your head, your throat tight. “I don’t even have enough for a lawyer. He’s smart, Vic. He’s careful. He makes sure I can’t-”

“I know a lawyer.” Victoria’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, steady and calm. “And he’ll take you on for free. Pro bono. No questions asked.”

You stare at her, your brain struggling to catch up with her words. For a moment, it feels like the world shifts, tilting on its axis. “A lawyer?” Your voice sounds foreign, like it’s coming from someone else. “For free?”

Victoria squeezes your hand tighter, her eyes sharp, determined. “Yes. For free. You don’t have to pay a dime. You just have to let me help you.”

“I-” You shake your head again, overwhelmed, the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I can’t. I can’t just leave. What if-”

“What if what?” Victoria’s voice rises slightly, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if he kills you? What if next time, it’s worse? You don’t have to live like this. You shouldn’t live like this.”

You pull your hand back, pressing it against your forehead, trying to stop the panic building inside you. “You don’t understand, Vic. It’s not that simple. He’ll know I’m planning something. He’s always watching, always checking up on me. And if I mess up, if I try to leave-”

Victoria interrupts, her voice fierce. “Then we’ll get you somewhere safe. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The tears come harder now, faster, as you sit there, your body shaking with the force of them. “I don’t know how I got here,” you manage between sobs. “I don’t know how it got this bad.”

Victoria gets up, sliding into the seat next to you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. She pulls you close, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel something other than fear. You feel the warmth of her friendship, the safety of her presence.

“You don’t have to stay, you hear me?” She whispers, her voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”

You shake your head, still clinging to that last thread of fear, of doubt. “He’ll come after me. He’ll find me.”

“No, he won’t.” Her voice is firm, stronger than you’ve ever heard it. “You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

There’s a long silence between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling, trying to catch your breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” you finally admit, your voice small, exhausted.

Victoria pulls back slightly, looking at you with those fierce eyes of hers. “You don’t have to know what to do right now. You just have to let me help you. One step at a time.”

You nod, but it’s more out of exhaustion than agreement. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by everything — by the bruises, the fear, the hopelessness. But there’s something else there too. Something small but growing. Hope.

Victoria squeezes your hand again, as if reading your thoughts. “We’ll get you out. I promise.”

You don’t say anything, because you’re not sure you believe her. But in this moment, sitting here in this crowded restaurant with your best friend by your side, it’s the first time in a long time you feel like maybe, just maybe, you have a way out.

***

Victoria doesn’t waste a second after dinner. The moment you part ways outside the restaurant, her mind is already racing, fingers scrolling through her phone for a contact she hasn’t dialed in months.

Max.

She knows exactly where he’ll be. He’s always at the penthouse late into the night — never sleeping until the early hours, always up to something. It’s been that way since their father passed. Even now, years after he took control of everything.

Her heels click sharply on the marble floors as she walks into the sleek, modern lobby of his building. The doorman gives her a polite nod — he knows who she is — but doesn’t stop her from heading straight for the private elevator.

The ride up is quick, the air tense. Victoria’s fingers twitch with nerves. She’s not scared of Max, not really, but talking to him about this — about you — feels different. She hasn’t brought him anything this personal in years. Ever since he took over their father’s operation, Max has become a closed book. Hard. Calculated. Cold, even.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and she steps into the hallway, making her way to the penthouse door. She doesn’t bother knocking. Max expects her by now.

The penthouse is a reflection of him — clean, sharp lines, monochrome tones, everything in its place. Expensive. Impenetrable. Just like him.

Max stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his back to her. The city lights cast shadows over his broad frame. He’s in a tailored suit, as always. Even at home, he’s never out of uniform, always dressed for business.

“Vic,” he says without turning around. He doesn’t need to see her to know it’s her. He always knows. “What brings you here at this hour? You usually text before showing up.”

Victoria exhales, trying to steady her nerves. “I need a favor.”

That gets his attention. Max turns, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they meet hers. He doesn’t say anything, just waits. That’s the thing about him — he never rushes, never speaks before thinking. It’s why he’s so dangerous. And effective.

“It’s not for me,” she adds quickly, stepping further into the room. “It’s for a friend.”

Max raises an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “A friend?”

She nods, hesitating for a moment. “It’s … complicated.”

He walks over to the bar, refilling his glass, then gestures toward it with a tilt of his head. “Drink?”

Victoria shakes her head. “No. I need you to listen.”

Max leans back against the bar, his eyes fixed on her. “I’m listening.”

She takes a deep breath, plunging in. “You remember Y/N? My friend from university?”

There’s the slightest flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment. He just waits for her to continue.

“She’s in trouble,” Victoria says, her voice lower now, as if speaking the words makes it more real. “Her husband — he hits her. She’s … she’s trapped. She can’t leave. He controls everything. All the money, the house, everything. She doesn’t have a way out.”

Max doesn’t react immediately, his face unreadable as always. But Victoria can tell he’s listening closely. He’s always been good at that, hearing what isn’t said.

“I told her you could help,” Victoria says, biting her lip. “I told her you’d represent her. Pro bono.”

Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Pro bono?”

“You’re a lawyer, Max. And you’re the best I know.”

He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t practiced law in years, Vic. You know that.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Victoria steps forward, her voice firm. “You’re still licensed, and you still know more than anyone else. She doesn’t have time to find another lawyer. She needs someone who can handle her husband — and he’s not just some random guy. He’s smart, careful. He knows exactly how to keep her under control.”

Max takes a slow sip of his whiskey, eyes flickering to the window before settling back on her. “And why should I get involved in this?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice hardens. “And because … you know what it’s like.”

Max’s jaw tightens, the first crack in his stoic exterior. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” Victoria crosses her arms, stepping closer. “Dad used to beat the hell out of Mom. And you saw it, just like I did. You know what that does to someone. You know how trapped she must feel.”

Max’s eyes darken, but he stays silent, his grip tightening around the glass.

“She can’t do this alone, Max,” Victoria presses. “And I know you — if you get involved, you can get her out. You have the resources, the power. Hell, you’ve been running the goddamn mafia for the last six years. I’m pretty sure you can handle one abusive husband.”

Max’s expression hardens at the mention of the mafia. It’s a subject Victoria rarely brings up. But tonight, there’s no avoiding it.

Their father was a force of nature, larger than life, ruthless. A man who ruled with an iron fist both at home and in the underworld. But for all his power, for all his control, he had one weakness — his temper. And when he lost it, their mother bore the brunt of it. It’s a memory that neither Victoria nor Max can erase, no matter how many years have passed.

Their father insisted on education, though. “A smart leader is a dangerous leader,” he used to say. He forced both Max and Victoria to get degrees — real ones. Victoria went into business. Max chose law, not because he ever wanted to practice, but because he knew the value of understanding the system from the inside. It was a tool, a weapon he could wield in both worlds — the legitimate and the illegitimate.

When their father died, Max took over. It wasn’t a choice. It was an obligation. And he’s been running the empire ever since, using his legal expertise as just one more weapon in his arsenal.

But now, Victoria is asking him to use it for something different.

Max sets the glass down with a soft clink, walking over to the window. He looks out over the city, his hands in his pockets, the silence stretching between them.

“She’s scared, Max,” Victoria says quietly, her voice softer now. “She’s terrified, and she doesn’t know how to get out. I can’t just sit by and watch her go through this. And I know you won’t either.”

Max doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is distant, like he’s seeing something far beyond the city lights. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he turns back to her.

“What’s the husband’s name?” He asks, his voice low but sharp.

Victoria exhales, relief flooding her chest. She knew he wouldn’t turn her away. He never does. “Jonathan Harper.”

Max nods once, his expression unreadable. “I’ll look into him.”

“Thank you,” Victoria says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Max walks over to her, his eyes meeting hers with that intensity that always unnerves people. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation.

“Good,” he says, turning away again, already moving toward his desk. “Tell her I’ll take the case. But she needs to be ready. Once this starts, there’s no going back.”

Victoria nods, even though he’s not looking at her. “I’ll tell her.”

“And, Vic,” Max adds, his voice colder now, sharper, “you know what happens if this goes sideways. He’s not just some guy. I’m not going to pull punches if things get messy.”

Victoria swallows hard, but she doesn’t flinch. “I know.”

Max’s eyes flicker back to hers, and for the first time tonight, his expression softens, just slightly. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Victoria smiles, though it’s a sad smile. “I know you will.”

She turns to leave, her heart still racing, but lighter now. Max is involved. You’ll be safe. She’s sure of it.

Just as she reaches the elevator, Max’s voice stops her. “You’re a good friend, Vic.”

She turns, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes that she can’t quite place — something softer than usual.

“So are you,” she says quietly.

The elevator doors close behind her, and for the first time that night, she allows herself to breathe.

***

It’s a quiet evening when you walk into Victoria’s house, your hands trembling slightly as you push the door open. The warm air from inside greets you, the faint scent of vanilla candles lingering in the air. But you can’t take any comfort in it. Your nerves are shot, and your heart hammers against your ribs with every step you take.

Victoria’s house is familiar, but tonight, it feels like foreign territory. You haven’t been here in months — haven’t been anywhere that felt safe in what feels like years. Your lips are swollen, your eye still tender to the touch, though the worst of the bruising has started to fade into ugly shades of green and yellow. You can feel the pulse of it beneath your skin with every beat of your heart, a constant reminder of what happened.

You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone to see you like this, especially not Victoria. And especially not her brother.

Victoria meets you at the door, her expression soft but concerned, her eyes immediately darting to your face. She’s trying not to show how horrified she is, but you can see it in the way her lips press together, in the tightening of her shoulders.

“Hey,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. Her arms are warm, firm around you, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into her.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, even though you know she doesn’t believe it.

She pulls back just slightly, looking at your face with a quiet sadness. “You don’t have to say that. Not with me.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Is … is he here?”

“Max?” She asks, glancing over her shoulder toward the living room. “Yeah. He’s waiting inside. Don’t worry, he’s — he’s good at this kind of thing.”

Your stomach twists. You’ve never met Max properly. You’ve heard about him, of course. Victoria used to mention him all the time in university, back when he was in law school, back before he took over everything. But you’ve never been in the same room with him. And now? Now, it feels overwhelming.

You can’t stop thinking about how you look. How awful you must seem. A mess of bruises and broken pieces.

Victoria must sense your hesitation because she touches your arm lightly. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. But Max … he’ll help you. I swear.”

“I know,” you say, but your voice is small. “I just — I don’t want to waste his time. I can’t even pay him. I don’t have-”

“He knows,” Victoria interrupts, her voice firm. “I told him everything. He doesn’t care about the money, trust me.”

You glance toward the living room, anxiety tightening in your chest. “Okay.”

Victoria leads you inside, and you feel every step like it’s too heavy, like your body is made of stone. When you finally step into the living room, you see him — Max — sitting on the couch, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, assessing. He’s dressed in a black suit, the jacket hanging open, his tie loosened just slightly at the collar. His hair is slicked back, and his features are sharp, chiseled in a way that makes him look both intimidating and somehow … calm.

He stands when he sees you, but the moment his eyes land on your face, something changes in his expression. The cold calculation that had been there melts away, replaced by something much darker — something that looks a lot like fury.

For a moment, you think he’s angry at you, but then you realize it’s not you. It’s what’s been done to you.

“Jesus Christ,” Max mutters under his breath, his voice low, dangerous. He steps forward, but then stops himself, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “He did this to you?”

You don’t answer at first. You can’t. Your throat is too tight, the shame curling around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

Max looks at Victoria, and then back at you. His voice softens, though it’s still edged with that same cold anger. “Sit down. Please.”

You nod, moving to the couch opposite him, your body stiff, awkward. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want anyone looking at you. But there’s no going back now.

Victoria sits beside you, her hand resting on your knee, offering silent support.

Max doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he stays standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice gruff. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

You try to smile, but it’s weak, and your lip twinges with pain. “It’s … it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Max says, his voice sharper now, cutting through the air like a knife. “And it’s not going to happen again.”

You blink, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “I can’t — I can’t pay you, Max. I-I don’t have anything. Everything’s in his name. The house, the accounts … everything. I don’t even have a credit card.”

Max shakes his head, stepping closer. “You don’t need to pay me. That’s not why I’m doing this.”

Your throat tightens. “But I don’t want to-”

“Don’t,” he cuts in, his tone softer but still firm. “Don’t apologize. You don’t owe me anything. I’m going to help you, and I don’t need your money to do it.”

“But-”

“Listen to me,” Max says, sitting down across from you, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours, intense and unwavering. “I’ve seen this before. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. My father … he was the same way. He beat my mother for years, and she stayed because she thought she didn’t have a choice. But you do. You have a choice.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you. “I just don’t know how to — how to leave. He controls everything. He’ll find me if I try to go. He always finds me.”

Max’s expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “Not this time. I promise you, once we start this, he won’t get near you again. We’ll make sure of it.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the hope you’ve tried to bury for so long flickering faintly in the back of your mind. “But how? He’s … he’s smart. He’s careful. He’ll know if I try to leave.”

Max’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and deliberate. “He might be smart, but he’s not smarter than me. I’ll make sure we take him for everything he’s worth. You’ll get what’s yours, and he’ll have nothing.”

You stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he’s saying. It doesn’t feel real. The idea of being free, of having something — anything — of your own seems impossible. But the way Max says it, the confidence in his voice, makes it seem … possible.

Victoria squeezes your knee gently, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’ll take it one step at a time. But Max … he’s got this.”

You nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears you’ve been holding back slip down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max leans back, his expression softening for the first time since you walked in. “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t have to be anything but ready to fight back. And I’ll be right there with you.”

There’s a long silence in the room, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like you’re carrying it alone. Max’s presence is steady, strong, and somehow … comforting. You’re not sure how or why, but you feel like you can trust him. Like he’ll keep his word.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this.

***

The city lights flicker below, casting shadows on the polished floors of Max’s penthouse as he stands at the window, phone in hand. He’s never been the type to hesitate, but this call — it’s personal now. His jaw tightens as he stares out over the skyline, the weight of what he’s about to do settling in his chest.

You’re staying at Victoria’s tonight, safe for now. It’s been hours since Max left you there, but your face — the bruises, the haunted look in your eyes — still lingers in his mind. He can't shake it. The rage he felt earlier, seeing you like that, bubbles back up to the surface, but he channels it into cold calculation.

He dials the number Victoria had given him, the one listed under your husband’s name, Jonathan Harper. Max’s fingers are steady, even though his blood simmers beneath the surface. He presses the phone to his ear, waiting.

One ring.

Two rings.

On the third ring, the line clicks open, and a voice comes through, sharp and annoyed.

“Who the hell is this?” Jonathan’s voice is biting, laced with impatience. “It’s late. What do you want?”

Max takes a slow breath, his voice low, smooth as steel. “This is Max Verstappen. Y/N’s lawyer.”

There’s a pause, a brief one, and then Jonathan lets out a derisive snort. “Lawyer? She’s got a lawyer now? You’re joking, right? She can’t even afford to pay for groceries, let alone a lawyer.”

Max’s grip on the phone tightens. “She doesn’t need to worry about that. I’m representing her pro bono.”

Jonathan scoffs, the sound thick with disdain. “Pro bono? Let me guess, you’re one of those bleeding-heart types, huh? Think you’re gonna save the poor damsel in distress? She doesn’t need saving, you idiot. She knows her place.”

Max’s chest tightens, but his voice remains eerily calm. “Her place? The only place she’ll be is as far away from you as possible.”

Jonathan laughs, cold and condescending. “You think you can just take her away from me? She’s nothing without me. She doesn’t have a dime. She’s got no friends, no family that gives a damn. She’s worthless. The only reason she’s got a roof over her head is because of me.”

Max’s jaw clenches. “She’s filing for divorce.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, followed by a harsh, barking laugh. “Divorce? Is that what she told you? You must be even dumber than you sound. She can’t divorce me. She doesn’t have the guts. Besides, what’s she gonna get in the divorce? The clothes on her back? I own everything. And trust me, I’ll make sure she leaves with nothing.”

“You’re mistaken,” Max says, voice hardening. “She’s not walking away with nothing. You’re going to pay, and you’re going to pay big.”

“Pay?” Jonathan’s voice rises, anger seeping through now. “For what? For putting a roof over her head? For putting food in her mouth? I’ve been supporting her pathetic ass for years, and now she’s pulling this stunt? She’s nothing but an ungrateful little-”

Max cuts him off, his voice like ice. “Watch your mouth.”

The venom in Jonathan’s voice deepens. “I’ll say whatever the hell I want about her. She’s mine. She’ll always be mine. And you can’t change that, no matter what you do. You think a lawyer’s gonna scare me? I’ve seen your type before. You show up, throw around a few legal threats, and then crawl back under your rock when it doesn’t work out. But guess what? I’ve got a lawyer, too. And he’s ten times better than whatever pro bono hack you are.”

Max doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rise to the bait. He’s heard men like Jonathan before. Hell, he’s dealt with men far worse. But something about this — about the way Jonathan talks about you — makes his blood boil in a way it hasn’t in years.

“You’re going to bring your lawyer,” Max says, his tone calm but laced with menace. “And you’re going to meet me. We’ll settle this properly. Or I’ll take you to court, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”

Jonathan spits another laugh. “You’re bluffing. You can’t take me to court. I’ll bury you, and I’ll bury her, too. You’ve got no case.”

Max’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “You’d be surprised what I can do. I’m not just some lawyer. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

Jonathan’s tone shifts, unease creeping in for the first time. “Yeah? And who the hell are you?”

Max doesn’t answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, lets the weight of the question hang in the air. Then, quietly, but with the full force of his reputation behind it, he says, “I’m the man who’s going to destroy you.”

There’s a pause. Max can almost hear the gears turning in Jonathan’s head, the realization dawning. Jonathan doesn’t know the full story yet, but he’s starting to understand that Max isn’t just some random lawyer off the street.

“You think you’re tough?” Jonathan spits, but his voice falters, just slightly. “You think you can intimidate me? You’ve got no idea what I’m capable of. I’ve got connections, money-”

“I don’t care about your money,” Max interrupts, his voice deadly calm. “And your connections? They mean nothing. Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to meet me in person. Tomorrow. Noon. I’ll send you the location. Bring your lawyer. This isn’t a negotiation. It’s a formality.”

Jonathan is silent for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is colder, more calculated. “You think you can push me around? Fine. I’ll meet you. But don’t think for a second this is over. When I’m done, she’ll be crawling back to me, and you? You’ll wish you’d never gotten involved.”

Max’s lips curl into a grim smile, but there’s no humor in it. “We’ll see.”

With that, Max hangs up, the sound of the call ending echoing in the quiet room. He stares at the phone in his hand, his mind already working through the next steps, the strategies. But the rage — cold and burning at the same time — still simmers just beneath the surface.

He walks over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. The burn of the alcohol does little to dull the edge of his anger, but it sharpens his focus. He thinks of you, your bruised face, the way you flinched when you talked about Jonathan.

Max doesn’t care about the money or the case. This isn’t about winning a legal battle. This is about something much bigger. Jonathan Harper is the kind of man Max despises — the kind of man who thinks he can take what he wants, hurt who he wants, without consequence.

Max has dealt with men like Jonathan his whole life. His father was one of them. He remembers the nights his mother spent hiding in their bedroom, her face swollen, her eyes red from crying. He remembers standing outside the door, helpless, listening to the sound of his father’s rage. He swore, even as a boy, that he would never be like his father. And now, he’s making sure men like him pay.

He takes another sip of whiskey, his thoughts hardening into resolve. Jonathan Harper has no idea what’s coming for him.

Max pulls out his phone again, sending a quick message with the meeting details: the time, the place. It’s an upscale restaurant, neutral ground. He doesn’t need to lure Jonathan into a dark alley. No, Max is going to do this the right way — through the law. And if the law isn’t enough, he has other means at his disposal.

He glances at the clock. It’s late, but he knows sleep won’t come tonight. Not with everything spinning in his head.

Max looks out at the city again, the skyline glittering like a sea of possibilities. Tomorrow, Jonathan Harper will realize just how outmatched he is. And by the time Max is done, he’ll make sure you’re safe. Completely safe.

And Jonathan Harper? He won’t have a damn thing left.

***

The restaurant is quiet, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware against plates. You sit next to Max at a polished wooden table in a private room, tucked away from the rest of the patrons. It’s fancy — more than you’re used to — but everything feels off. Like you don’t belong here. You’ve been fidgeting with your hands for the past half hour, unable to sit still, as the minutes tick by.

Jonathan isn’t here yet.

His lawyer arrived on time, a sharp-looking man in a suit so clean it practically sparkles, sitting across from you and Max. He’s polite, overly so, but you can tell there’s no kindness behind his carefully measured smiles. The way he eyes you — it’s like you’re something beneath him, something he’s already decided isn’t worth much.

But it’s not the lawyer that’s making your stomach twist into knots. It’s Jonathan.

The lawyer checks his watch again, sighing lightly as if to signal his own annoyance. “I apologize for Jonathan’s delay. He’s … a busy man.”

Max doesn’t even glance at the lawyer. He’s been staring at the door for the last forty-five minutes, jaw clenched so tightly you think he might crack a tooth. His hand rests on the table in front of him, fingers drumming a slow, tense rhythm against the wood. Every second that passes, you can feel his anger growing — radiating off him like a storm about to break.

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” Max mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. “He thinks he can just waltz in whenever he wants.”

The lawyer opens his mouth, but Max cuts him off without even turning his head. “He’s late. That’s disrespectful. To me. To her.” His voice is low, controlled, but the edge is unmistakable.

You lower your eyes to your lap, where your fingers twist nervously in the fabric of your dress. You hadn’t wanted to come to this meeting in the first place. Being here, waiting for Jonathan — it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you’re about to fall. The anxiety is suffocating.

“Hey,” Max’s voice softens, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, meeting his gaze. “You’re doing fine. He’s the one who should be nervous.”

You try to smile, but it’s weak, and Max sees through it immediately. His expression hardens, but not at you — at the situation. At Jonathan.

“I won’t let him do anything,” Max adds, his voice steady. “You’re safe.”

You nod, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease. You’re not afraid of Jonathan in the same way you used to be. Not exactly. It’s more the dread — the weight of knowing he’s going to walk in and say things that’ll hurt, that’ll drag you back down into the hell you’ve fought so hard to escape.

The door opens then, and you flinch, your breath catching in your throat. For a second, you think it’s Jonathan, but it’s just the server, bringing water to the table. Max watches you carefully, his eyes sharp, protective. You can feel him tense beside you, every muscle in his body on edge.

“Where the hell is he?” Max mutters under his breath, his patience clearly running thin. He checks his watch again, his hand tightening into a fist on the table.

The lawyer clears his throat, an attempt to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Jonathan has a lot on his plate. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Max shoots him a look, the kind that silences any further excuses. “He’s almost an hour late. If he wanted to show any respect for this process — for her — he would’ve been here on time.”

You glance at the door again, half hoping Jonathan won’t show. That maybe he’ll just stay gone, and you can pretend for a little while longer that this is all over. But you know better than that. Jonathan always shows up, eventually.

And he does.

Nearly an hour after the scheduled meeting time, the door swings open, and there he is — Jonathan Harper, in all his smug, arrogant glory. He strolls in like he owns the place, not even glancing at you as he makes his way to the table. No apology, no acknowledgment of how late he is. Nothing. Just that same cold indifference you’ve seen so many times before.

You shrink back instinctively, your heart pounding, your hands twisting tighter in your lap.

“Well, well,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with mockery as he pulls out the chair across from you. He doesn’t sit right away. Instead, he stands there, looking down at you with that familiar sneer. “I see you finally found yourself a babysitter, huh?”

You flinch, the words hitting you like a slap. You can feel Max’s anger beside you, simmering just below the surface.

Jonathan sits down, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Didn’t think you had it in you to hire a lawyer. But then again, you’ve always needed someone to take care of you, haven’t you?”

The air in the room grows thick with tension, Max’s silence growing heavier by the second. His fists clench on the table, knuckles white, but he doesn’t move — yet.

Jonathan doesn’t even look at Max. He’s too busy reveling in his own cruelty. “I mean, come on. You couldn’t even manage to keep the house clean, let alone figure out how to divorce me. It’s cute, really. This whole act. Like you think you’re suddenly strong enough to stand up to me.”

Your chest tightens, shame flooding you, and you can’t bring yourself to meet Jonathan’s eyes. He’s always known how to hit where it hurts most.

Max’s voice cuts through the air, low and dangerous. “That’s enough.”

Jonathan’s eyes flick to Max for the first time, his smirk widening. “Oh, this must be the lawyer. What’s your angle, huh? You think you’re gonna play hero and save her from the big bad husband?”

Max leans forward, his voice cold. “I said that’s enough.”

Jonathan just laughs, leaning back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You’re not scaring anyone, buddy. You think I care about your little threats? I’ve got more money and more power than you can even imagine. And her? She’s nothing. She’s been nothing for years. You’re wasting your time.”

Before you can even process what’s happening, Max stands, his chair scraping back with a loud screech. His hands slam onto the table with a force that makes the glasses shake, his body leaning over the table, looming over Jonathan.

The sudden movement sends a jolt through you, and you glance up at Max, heart pounding. His face is inches from Jonathan’s, his eyes blazing with barely controlled fury.

“You’re going to shut your mouth,” Max says, his voice low, lethal. “Or I’m going to shut it for you.”

Jonathan blinks, his smirk faltering for the first time. But then, as if to mask his own fear, he laughs again, though it sounds more forced this time. “Oh, tough guy, huh? You think you’re going to intimidate me?”

Max leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sends chills down your spine. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you lose everything.”

Jonathan’s smile returns, but there’s something colder behind it now. “You’re bluffing. She’s got nothing. And when this is all over, neither will you.”

Max straightens, his hands still planted firmly on the table, his eyes locked onto Jonathan’s. “Meet me at noon tomorrow. Bring your lawyer. Or don’t — it won’t make a difference. But I’m telling you now, you’re done. You’ll never hurt her again.”

Jonathan sneers, pushing his chair back and standing. He adjusts his jacket, glancing at his lawyer with a bored expression. “We’ll see.”

He turns without another word, walking out of the room like he’s already won.

You sit there, frozen, your heart still racing as the door clicks shut behind him. Max stays standing for a moment, his fists still clenched, his breathing heavy. Then, slowly, he relaxes, his shoulders dropping as he exhales a long, controlled breath.

You don’t say anything at first. You don’t know what to say. Everything feels raw, exposed.

Max turns to you, his eyes softening when they meet yours. “He’s not going to win. You hear me?”

You nod, though your body still feels tense, the weight of Jonathan’s words pressing down on you.

“I promise you,” Max says, his voice quiet but firm, “he’s not going to get away with this. Not this time.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him.

***

Jonathan grips the steering wheel with one hand, his phone pressed to his ear with the other. His friend on the other end of the call is laughing at something Jonathan said, some offhand comment about how pathetic you are — how you’ve always been pathetic.

“Can you believe she actually thinks she’s gonna win?” Jonathan says, his voice dripping with disdain. “I swear to God, it’s like she’s forgotten who’s in control. I’ve got everything — everything — and she’s sitting there with nothing, thinking some low-rent lawyer’s gonna save her.”

His friend’s laughter crackles through the speaker, fueling Jonathan’s ego. He glances at the dashboard clock — he’s late, but who cares? It’s not like Max and his little damsel in distress can do a thing without him. They need him there. They’re at his mercy. And that’s how it’s always been.

“Max, though,” Jonathan continues, “that guy’s a real piece of work. Acting like he’s some knight in shining armor. Bet he’s got his own skeletons. Probably looking to get a taste of what I had.”

He laughs cruelly, switching the phone to his other ear as he maneuvers through traffic. He barely pays attention to the road. He never does. There’s an ease to his movements, like the world bends to his will, like there’s no need to care about anything or anyone. Not you, not Max, and certainly not whoever might be in his way.

“Yeah, she was always weak,” Jonathan adds. “Clingy, needy … hell, even if she manages to win, she’ll still be nothing without me. Just a broken little girl playing house.”

The friend on the other line chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying the tirade. Jonathan feeds off it, leaning into his own bitterness, his own inflated sense of superiority.

“She’s nothing without me,” he repeats, as if saying it out loud makes it more true, as if it cements his control over you. The idea that you might actually be moving on — finding freedom from him — twists inside his chest, but he shoves the thought away. No, you’ll never be free of him. He won’t let you.

Jonathan shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wheel, the city blurring past as he approaches the meeting point. He’s already imagining the look on your face when he walks in, late and unapologetic, just to remind you who’s really in charge. He smiles to himself, his lips curling into a sneer.

“She's probably trembling right now,” Jonathan scoffs into the phone. “Waiting for me to show up, like a good little-”

Suddenly, something feels off.

He presses the brake pedal out of habit as the traffic ahead begins to slow — but nothing happens. His foot sinks down to the floor, the pedal soft and useless beneath his foot. Jonathan’s heart skips a beat.

He tries again. Harder this time. But still, nothing.

“Shit,” he mutters, his eyes darting to the dashboard, hands tightening around the wheel. He presses the brake repeatedly, panic beginning to creep into his chest as the car continues to speed forward.

“Hold on,” he says to his friend on the phone, his voice sharp now. “Something’s wrong with the damn car.”

The brake doesn’t respond at all. The car picks up speed as it rolls downhill, buildings flashing by in a blur of glass and steel. Jonathan’s breath quickens. He yanks the steering wheel, swerving between lanes, his tires screeching as the car narrowly misses another vehicle.

“What the hell …” Jonathan’s voice is a strained whisper now. He slams his foot on the brake again, harder, and his whole body tenses. Nothing. No response.

His friend’s voice crackles through the speaker, confused. “What’s going on?”

“The brakes …” Jonathan mutters, his voice strained. “The goddamn brakes aren’t working!”

The friend says something else, but Jonathan barely hears it. His mind races, adrenaline surging through his veins. He yanks the wheel again, veering off the main road, trying to avoid the cars ahead, but the car is moving too fast. Way too fast.

Jonathan curses under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Panic claws at his throat, but he forces it down, refusing to let fear take over.

He’s not going to crash. He can’t crash.

He’s Jonathan Harper. He doesn’t lose.

His phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the passenger seat as he struggles to regain control. The buildings are coming closer, faster. His breath comes in shallow, rapid bursts as he wrestles with the wheel, trying to steer toward an empty alleyway. But the speed, the force of the car — it’s too much.

The last thing he sees before impact is a flash of brick and glass.

The sound of the crash is deafening. Metal crumples, glass shatters, the front of the car folding like paper as it collides with the side of a building. Jonathan is thrown forward, his seatbelt jerking him back just as his head slams into the steering wheel.

Pain explodes in his skull, his vision blurring as the world spins around him. The car is still now, steam hissing from the hood, the engine making a pitiful whine before going silent.

For a moment, Jonathan doesn’t move. His ears ring, his head swimming, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue. He tries to breathe, but his chest feels tight, constricted, like there’s something inside him squeezing the air out of his lungs.

Slowly, he lifts his hand to his face, touching his forehead. His fingers come away wet, sticky with blood. His own blood.

“Shit …” he groans, his voice weak, barely a whisper. He tries to move, to reach for the door, but something stops him. A sharp, searing pain in his chest. He gasps, choking on the breath, and a wave of dizziness washes over him.

The taste of blood is stronger now. It fills his mouth, thick and metallic, and when he coughs, crimson sprays across the shattered windshield.

Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.

He tries to lift his head, but it’s too heavy. His hands shake as he grips the steering wheel, trying to steady himself, but his vision is fading, the edges going dark. He coughs again, harder this time, and more blood pours from his mouth, thick and viscous, staining his shirt, pooling in his lap.

No. No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Jonathan struggles, panic surging through him now. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves, but no air comes in, just the taste of blood and the sharp, stabbing pain that’s getting worse with every second.

He tries to call for help, but his voice is lost, buried beneath the gurgling, choking sound coming from his throat.

He’s dying.

The realization hits him like a freight train. He’s dying, right here, in the driver’s seat of his own car, choking on his own blood. And no one’s coming to help him.

His fingers slip off the wheel, falling limp at his sides as his vision narrows to a pinprick of light. He gasps, trying to suck in one last breath, but all he gets is more blood, flooding his lungs, choking him from the inside.

As the darkness closes in, Jonathan’s last thought is of you.

You, standing in that restaurant yesterday, small and afraid, but maybe — just maybe — stronger than he ever gave you credit for.

***

The clock ticks loudly in the otherwise silent room. Each minute that passes only seems to grow heavier, the tension building with every tick. You sit in the same chair you did yesterday, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, stealing glances at the door every few seconds.

Max sits across from you, his expression unreadable but his fingers drumming lightly against the table. Jonathan’s lawyer is seated at the far end, flipping through some documents with a detached boredom that doesn’t match the mounting frustration you feel swelling in the room.

It’s been almost two hours. Jonathan was late yesterday, but this … this is ridiculous.

Max finally speaks, his voice calm but edged with annoyance. “Two hours. How much longer are we supposed to wait?”

The lawyer doesn’t look up, just shrugs. “I’ve been Jonathan’s lawyer long enough to know he’s rarely on time. You’ll get used to it.”

Max’s jaw tightens. You can tell he’s fighting to keep his anger in check. “This isn't a casual lunch meeting. It’s a legal matter.”

“Legal or not,” the lawyer replies, turning a page, “Jonathan Harper moves at his own pace.”

You bite your lip, feeling the weight of their words hang in the air. You want to speak up, to suggest maybe you should leave and try again another day, but your voice feels trapped. Instead, you clasp your hands together tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in your stomach.

Max glances over at you, his expression softening for just a moment. He sees how tense you are, how uncomfortable you’ve been this entire time. He leans back in his chair, looking like he’s ready to explode but holding it together, probably for your sake.

“He’s deliberately wasting our time,” Max mutters, almost to himself, though the frustration is clear in his voice. His eyes flick back to the door, then back to you. “We’ll give him five more minutes. If he’s not here by then, we leave.”

You nod, grateful for the out, but before you can say anything, your phone buzzes on the table. The sound is jarring in the quiet room. For a moment, you freeze, staring at the screen as an unfamiliar number flashes across it.

Max’s eyes are on you immediately. “You gonna get that?”

You hesitate, but something tells you to answer. You slide the phone off the table and hold it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Harper?” A woman’s voice, calm but urgent, crackles through the line.

Your heart skips a beat. You feel Max and Jonathan’s lawyer watching you, but their gazes blur as a cold shiver runs down your spine.

“Yes, this is she,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This is Mercy General Hospital. I’m afraid I have some difficult news. Your husband, Jonathan Harper, was brought in around an hour and a half ago after a car accident.” The voice on the other end pauses as if giving you space to process.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Car accident? Your mind races, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.

“An accident?” You repeat, your voice shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman continues, her tone softening, “but unfortunately, he didn’t make it. He passed away on the ambulance ride over.”

The phone slips from your fingers. You don’t even feel it hit the floor. Everything around you blurs, the room spinning out of focus as your body goes cold. For a second, all you hear is the ringing in your ears, drowning out everything else.

Max is out of his chair in an instant. He’s at your side before you even realize what’s happening, his arms wrapping around you just as your knees give out. You’re not crying. You’re just … empty. Hollow. The world feels like it’s closing in, suffocating, but Max is holding you up, his voice low in your ear.

“Hey, hey — easy. I’ve got you.” His words are steady, but you can hear the concern threaded through them. He lowers you into the chair gently, keeping his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

You blink, trying to make sense of it. Jonathan is dead? He’s … gone?

Max crouches in front of you, his face level with yours now, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’re still there, still processing. “What happened? What did they say?”

Your lips move, but no sound comes out at first. You have to swallow, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Jonathan … he’s dead. There was an accident.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change. He stays perfectly still, but you see something flicker in his eyes, something unreadable. He’s quiet for a moment, then he glances at the phone lying on the floor before looking back at you. “When did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaky. “They said … they said he didn’t make it to the hospital. It happened over an hour ago.”

The lawyer finally looks up from his papers, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jonathan’s … dead?”

Max straightens, his hand still resting on your shoulder as he turns toward the other man, his voice suddenly all business. “Yes, it seems there’s been an accident. He didn’t survive.”

Jonathan’s lawyer stands slowly, his face pale. He opens his mouth, then closes it, as if the gravity of the situation is just sinking in. “I … I’ll need to contact his estate. This complicates things.”

Max ignores him. He’s still focused on you, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder, grounding you, keeping you tethered as your world spins out of control.

You feel numb. The words echo in your mind: Jonathan is dead. Jonathan is dead. But you don’t know what to feel. Relief? Guilt? Fear?

Max crouches back down, his eyes never leaving yours. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low and gentle but firm. “You’re safe now. Do you hear me? He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You nod, though the words feel distant, like they’re meant for someone else. You’re still struggling to catch up with the reality of what’s happened.

“I need you to breathe, okay?” Max continues, his hands still steady on your arms. “In and out. Nice and slow.”

You do as he says, inhaling shakily, then exhaling, trying to pull yourself back to the present, to this room, to the fact that you’re still here, even if Jonathan isn’t.

Max watches you closely, waiting until you’ve steadied yourself before speaking again. “We’ll go to the hospital. We’ll take care of everything. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here.”

His words are solid, something to hold onto as the world tilts around you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just breathing, letting the weight of everything settle. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours.

Eventually, you nod again. “Okay.”

Max stands and helps you to your feet, his hand steady at your back as you move toward the door. He picks up your phone from the floor, handing it to you without a word. You take it, but your fingers tremble so much that you can barely grip it.

As you walk toward the exit, Max’s presence is a constant comfort beside you. You glance at him, and for a fleeting moment, you see something in his eyes — something deeper than concern, something more intense. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the calm, steady confidence that he always exudes.

You don’t know what’s waiting for you at the hospital. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about Jonathan’s death, or what it means for your future.

But for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe — just maybe — you’re going to be okay.

And that’s when you realize: you’re not alone anymore. Max is here. And for reasons you don’t fully understand, that thought makes all the difference.

***

The car hums beneath you, the soft rumble of the engine the only sound breaking the silence between you and Max. The city lights blur past the window, smudged streaks of white and yellow against the inky night sky. You barely notice the streets you're passing, barely hear the distant honk of horns or the murmur of the radio playing low in the background. Everything feels distant, like you’re watching your own life from somewhere outside of your body.

Max sits beside you, one hand gripping the steering wheel with calm certainty. His posture is relaxed, almost too relaxed for what’s just happened. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression. His face is as calm as ever, his jaw set, eyes focused on the road ahead.

But then you catch it — a flash of something. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk. It’s there for just a second, curling at the corner of his mouth before vanishing like it was never there. But you saw it.

And in that moment, something clicks.

You sit up straighter, your heart thudding in your chest as a realization settles over you like a heavy weight.

He knows.

He’s known for a while.

You blink, turning to face him fully now, your pulse quickening. “Max.”

He glances at you, his expression still steady, but something in his eyes shifts. “What is it?”

You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. It takes everything in you to push them out. “Did … did you have something to do with Jonathan’s accident?”

There’s a beat of silence. Max doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his gaze on the road, his hand steady on the wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against the leather. But you can feel the air change between you, thickening with something unsaid.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and calm. “What makes you ask that?”

Your chest tightens. You can’t look away from him now, the truth pulling at you like gravity. “I saw your face. That little smile. You’re not … you’re not surprised that he’s dead, are you?”

Max doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush to deny it. He just sighs, like he’s been waiting for this conversation, like he knew you’d figure it out eventually. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he lets go of a breath.

“No,” he says simply, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not surprised.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air in the car feels suddenly heavier, pressing down on your chest. You wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He lets the silence hang there, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Max,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “Did you … did you kill him?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw tightens, and he glances at you briefly, as if gauging your reaction. And then, after a long pause, he says it.

“Yes.”

The word hits you like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of you. Your hands clench in your lap, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to process what you’re feeling. Shock? Fear? Relief?

“Why?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, your throat tight. “Why would you …”

Max keeps his eyes on the road, his voice low but steady. “Because he hurt you. Because he would have kept hurting you if I hadn’t done something.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no remorse in his voice, no hesitation. He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like killing Jonathan was just another necessary task, something he had to cross off a list.

“You didn’t have to …” you start, but the words die in your throat. Because part of you knows he’s right. Jonathan would have kept hurting you. And no one else was going to stop him.

Max glances at you again, this time his expression softening, though there’s still a cold edge to his eyes. “He didn’t deserve to live after what he did to you. I wasn’t going to let him walk away from that. Not after everything.”

There’s something dark in his voice, something you’ve never heard before. It sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time, you feel a strange sense of comfort in it. Max did this for you. He killed Jonathan because he thought it was the only way to protect you.

You swallow hard, your mind reeling. You should feel horrified, you should be angry or scared or disgusted. But you’re not. You’re not any of those things. Instead, you feel something else entirely — a strange, overwhelming sense of … relief.

Jonathan is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore. And Max … Max made sure of that.

You take a shaky breath, the tension in your chest slowly easing. “You killed him for me,” you say, your voice soft but steady.

Max nods, his eyes still fixed on the road. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His words hang in the air, and for a long moment, you don’t say anything. You let them settle, let them sink into your bones. He’s not ashamed. He’s not regretful. And somehow, that makes it easier to accept.

Finally, you exhale, the weight of everything lifting off your shoulders. “Thank you.”

Max glances at you, clearly surprised by your words. His brows furrow slightly, and for the first time since the conversation started, he seems uncertain. “For what?”

“For protecting me,” you say, your voice firmer now, more certain. “For doing what no one else would have.”

Max’s expression softens again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t seem to realize he was holding. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand moves from the steering wheel, reaching across the small space between you. His fingers brush against yours, and then he gently takes your hand in his, squeezing it softly.

You look down at your intertwined fingers, the warmth of his hand grounding you in a way you didn’t expect. You squeeze back, letting him know that you’re okay. That you understand.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable anymore. It’s calm. Steady.

You lean back in your seat, your gaze shifting back to the city lights outside the window. Jonathan is dead. The nightmare is over. And somehow, despite everything, you feel like you’re finally free.

Max’s thumb rubs lightly over the back of your hand, and you turn to look at him again. His face is still calm, but there’s something softer in his eyes now, something almost tender.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

You feel your chest tighten at his words, but not in the way it did before. This time, it’s different. This time, it feels like something is shifting between you, something you hadn’t noticed before but now feels impossible to ignore.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there, holding his hand, feeling the steady pulse of the city outside the car, and the steady pulse of Max beside you.

***

The hospital parking lot is almost empty, the few scattered cars gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. You and Max sit in silence, the weight of what’s just happened hanging heavy in the air. The hum of the engine dies as Max turns the key, and for a moment, neither of you moves. You stare at the hospital entrance, your heart pounding, your palms damp with nervous sweat.

It hits you — this is really happening. Jonathan is dead, and now you’re supposed to walk in there and pretend to be devastated. To mourn him, to cry for him.

Max shifts in his seat, turning toward you, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He’s been calm the whole drive, unshaken, and now he leans forward, eyes locked on yours, his voice low and measured.

“Listen,” he says, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is light, but his tone is firm. “When we walk in there, you need to act the part. They’re going to expect tears, shock — grief.”

You swallow hard, the idea of playing the grieving widow making your stomach turn. “I don’t know if I can do this, Max.”

His hand lingers near your face, fingers ghosting against your cheek. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice softening. “You’re stronger than you think. Just focus on what you need to do. No one can know that you’re relieved. You loved him, remember?”

A bitter laugh escapes you, but it dies quickly in the back of your throat. The irony isn’t lost on you, pretending to be a devoted wife to the man who tormented you. But Max is right. No one can know.

You nod, taking a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I can do it. I’ll … I’ll cry if I have to.”

Max’s hand moves from your face to your hand, squeezing gently. “Good. And don’t worry about the rest. I’ll handle any questions, any details. Just play your part.”

You bite your lip, nodding again, your heart still racing but your mind clearing. You’ve played so many roles before — dutiful wife, obedient woman, silent sufferer. This is just another role to get through. Just another mask to wear.

Max releases your hand and pushes open the car door. “Ready?”

No, you think. You’re not ready. But you don’t have a choice. You force a smile, though it feels like it might crack your face. “Ready.”

The two of you walk toward the entrance, the automatic doors whooshing open to the sterile, cold smell of disinfectant and hospital walls. Your breath quickens as you step inside, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a tidal wave. Nurses bustle past, clipboards in hand, murmuring to one another, while the soft beep of machines hums in the background.

You feel exposed, like every person here can see straight through you, can see that the grief you’re about to display isn’t real.

Max leads you to the front desk, his hand resting lightly on your back in a gesture of support. He leans in toward the nurse on duty, his voice low and authoritative.

“We’re here to see Jonathan Harper,” he says. “He’s my … sister’s husband. We got a call.”

The nurse looks up, her expression softening with sympathy as she glances at you. “Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says gently. “If you’ll just have a seat, I’ll call someone to come speak with you.”

You nod, not trusting your voice just yet. Instead, you let Max guide you to the waiting area, where you sit down in one of the stiff plastic chairs. Your hands are shaking, so you fold them in your lap, gripping your fingers tightly together.

Max sits beside you, his hand resting on your knee for just a moment, grounding you. His presence is reassuring, a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“Remember,” he says under his breath, leaning close enough that only you can hear. “You loved him. Show them that.”

You nod again, taking a shaky breath. You focus on your hands, on the feel of the cold plastic chair beneath you. You need to let the reality of the situation sink in — Jonathan is dead. He’s really gone. The man who hurt you is gone.

And you’re supposed to be devastated.

The thought makes your stomach churn, but you force yourself to push it aside. This isn’t about what you feel. This is about survival. About making sure no one suspects the truth.

A few minutes pass before a doctor approaches, a man in his mid-forties with graying hair and kind eyes. He kneels in front of you, his expression full of the kind of sympathy you don’t deserve.

“Mrs. Harper,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but … your husband didn’t make it.”

And just like that, you snap into character.

Your breath catches in your throat, your eyes widening as the weight of the words hits you. “No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “No, that can’t be … there must be some mistake.”

The doctor shakes his head gently, placing a hand on your arm. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake. We did everything we could, but the injuries were just too severe.”

You feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You’ve always been good at crying on cue. It’s something Jonathan hated about you, your ability to turn on the waterworks whenever you needed to. But now, it’s a weapon, a tool to make everyone believe the lie.

You cover your mouth with your hand, your body shaking with sobs that come more naturally than you expected. It’s almost too easy to cry for the life you lost, for the years of pain, for the woman you used to be before Jonathan destroyed her.

“I don’t understand,” you gasp, your voice breaking. “How … how did this happen?”

The doctor sighs, his face etched with regret. “It was a car accident. The paramedics did everything they could, but he passed away before he reached the hospital.”

You let out a soft, broken cry, your shoulders trembling as the grief pours out of you. You don’t have to fake that part. The relief feels like grief in a way, like a release of something you’ve been holding onto for far too long.

Max leans in, his hand on your back again, his voice low and soothing. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The doctor stands, giving you a moment to compose yourself. “We’ll need you to come with us to identify the body, Mrs. Harper,” he says gently.

You nod, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I … I can do that.”

The doctor gives you a small, understanding nod and turns to lead the way down the sterile white corridor. Max stays close by your side, his hand never leaving your back. As you walk, you focus on your breathing, on keeping the tears flowing just enough to sell the part.

You feel Max lean in slightly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re doing great. Just a little longer.”

You nod, sniffling as you walk, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You’re not just playing the part of a grieving widow — you’re erasing the evidence, erasing the truth. You’re erasing Jonathan Harper from your life, once and for all.

When you reach the morgue, the doctor stops in front of a pair of heavy metal doors. He pauses, turning to you with that same sympathetic expression. “Are you ready?”

No. You’re not ready. You’ll never be ready for this. But you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

Max squeezes your shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’ve got this.”

The doctor opens the door, and the cold air hits you like a wave. The room is dimly lit, the fluorescent lights flickering slightly as the doctor leads you toward a covered body on a steel table. You feel your heart hammering in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as you take each step.

This is it. The final act.

The doctor gently pulls back the sheet, revealing Jonathan’s pale, lifeless face. His features are slack, his skin bruised and bloodied from the accident. For a moment, you can’t breathe. The sight of him — so still, so powerless — it’s like seeing a ghost. The man who held so much control over your life now lies broken in front of you.

You force a sob, your hand flying to your mouth as you step back, tears streaming down your face. “Oh God … Jonathan …”

The doctor watches you, his eyes full of pity, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. You’ve done your job. You’ve played your part.

Max steps in, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close as you turn away from the body. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get out of here.”

You nod, still crying, still playing the part.

***

The car ride back is heavy with silence, the hum of the engine filling the void between you and Max. You stare out the window, watching the city blur by in shades of gray, your mind still reeling from the night’s events. Jonathan is dead. The words feel surreal in your head, like a distant truth you’re not quite ready to touch.

Max drives with one hand on the steering wheel, his other resting on his lap, fingers tapping lightly as though he’s thinking. His face is calm, focused, but there’s something different in the air now — an ease in his posture that wasn’t there before. He’s done what he set out to do. Jonathan is gone, and now it’s just a matter of cleaning up the aftermath.

After what feels like an eternity, Max breaks the silence, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something darker. “I had someone look into Jonathan’s will.”

Your gaze snaps to him, your heart skipping a beat. The words rattle in your brain, bringing with them a new layer of uncertainty. “What do you mean?”

Max glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the dashboard. “Jonathan never updated it. He didn’t add you.”

The breath you’ve been holding releases in a sharp exhale, anxiety knotting in your stomach. Of course he didn’t. Of course, even in death, Jonathan would find a way to hurt you. You sink back into the seat, your head leaning against the cold window. “So … what does that mean? I don’t get anything?”

Max is quiet for a moment, but then his lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Not quite. The legal system will treat it like a case of forgetfulness. You were married, and he didn’t update his will, so you’ll still be the main beneficiary. It’s a loophole.”

You frown, trying to process his words. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles softly, his voice dripping with confidence. “I’m a lawyer, remember? Trust me. It won’t be a problem.”

You stare at him, your mind buzzing. Max always seems to have the answers, always one step ahead of everyone else. You’ve barely had time to think about what Jonathan’s death means for you — financially, legally, emotionally — but Max has already covered all the bases.

“It feels wrong,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Like … taking his money after everything.”

Max raises an eyebrow, glancing at you with a look of mild amusement. “After everything he put you through, I’d say it’s more than fair. You deserve every cent.”

The bitterness in his tone is palpable, and for a moment, you see flashes of the man who took control of the situation with such ease. He doesn’t just see this as a legal matter, there’s something personal about it for him. Something about Jonathan’s abuse struck a nerve, and you realize again just how far Max is willing to go to protect you.

“But what if people start asking questions?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anyone to think I-”

“Stop.” Max’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, firm but not harsh. He reaches over, placing his hand on yours. The warmth of his touch calms you, steadying the racing thoughts in your mind. “No one is going to question anything. You were his wife. You’re entitled to everything. No one’s going to think twice.”

You stare at your intertwined hands, the weight of his assurance sinking in. Max always seems so certain, so sure of himself. He makes everything sound simple, even when it’s not. Even when you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “It just feels so … complicated.”

Max squeezes your hand, his voice softening. “I know it does. But I’ll make sure it’s not. You won’t have to worry about any of this.”

His words are like a balm to your nerves, but there’s still a flicker of doubt gnawing at you. You’ve been living under Jonathan’s thumb for so long, every part of your life controlled by him, that the idea of having any freedom — especially financial freedom — feels foreign. You’re not used to having power, and the thought of inheriting everything Jonathan left behind feels like stepping into unfamiliar territory.

“What did he leave behind?” You ask after a moment, your voice quiet.

Max’s eyes flicker with something — an unreadable emotion — but his tone stays steady. “More than enough to ensure you’re taken care of. He wasn’t exactly a modest man.”

You nod, biting your lip as your mind runs through the possibilities. Jonathan was always secretive about his finances, never letting you see the full picture. But you knew he had money — more than enough to maintain the lavish lifestyle he forced you into, the one that felt like a cage. Now, that money is yours, and the thought leaves a strange taste in your mouth.

“I don’t want it to feel like … blood money,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Max’s grip tightens on your hand, his voice firm. “It’s not blood money. It’s justice. He took so much from you. Now, it’s time you take something back.”

You look at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but there’s none. Max’s conviction is unwavering, his belief in what he’s done — and what he’s doing — absolute. It’s both comforting and unsettling, this realization that Max sees the world in such clear-cut terms. Right and wrong. Justice and vengeance.

And somehow, you’ve fallen right into the center of it all.

As the city lights flicker by, you let out a soft sigh, resting your head against the seat. “I don’t know what to do with it all. The money. The house. Everything.”

Max’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to decide right now. One step at a time. The most important thing is that you’re free.”

The word ‘free’ hangs in the air, and for a moment, it feels like a foreign concept. You’ve spent so long living in fear, tiptoeing around Jonathan’s moods, that the idea of being free — truly free — seems almost impossible.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice small. “I’ve never been on my own before.”

Max is silent for a moment, then he reaches over, brushing a thumb across your knuckles. “You’re not on your own. You have me. You have Victoria.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The truth is, you don’t feel alone. Not with Max sitting beside you, guiding you through every step of this mess. But the idea of relying on someone else again — especially after everything with Jonathan — it makes your stomach twist with uncertainty.

“Thank you,” you whisper, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Max’s lips curl into a soft smile, but there’s something deeper in his eyes — something you can’t quite place. “You don’t have to repay me. You’ve been through enough. Let me take care of this.”

The car slows as you approach Victoria’s house, the familiar sight of her front porch coming into view. Your heart clenches as you realize that this — this strange, messy situation — is your new reality. Jonathan is gone, and with him, the life you once knew.

Max pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, the silence between you thick and charged. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then Max turns to you, his expression softer than before, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I promise.”

You nod, though you’re not entirely sure you believe it yet. But there’s something about the way Max says it — something about the certainty in his voice — that makes you want to believe.

As you reach for the door handle, Max’s hand brushes yours, stopping you for a moment. “And if you ever need anything — anything at all — you come to me. Understand?”

You look into his eyes, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. “I understand.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, Max lets you go, and you step out of the car, the cool night air hitting your skin. You walk up to Victoria’s front door, the weight of everything pressing down on you. But as you turn back to see Max watching you from the driver’s seat, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

For the first time in a long time, you’re free. And maybe, just maybe, you’re strong enough to figure out what that means.

***

The restaurant is one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and a quiet hum of conversation, the kind of place that feels almost too polished for the three of you to have anything resembling a casual lunch. You sit across from Max, watching him, trying to get a read on him the way you’ve been doing ever since everything happened. It’s hard to tell with Max. He always seems so composed, like everything is part of a plan that only he knows.

Victoria, sitting next to you, has been doing most of the talking, catching Max up on the little things that have been going on — her job, mutual friends, things that feel oddly normal considering how not normal your life has been lately. You pick at your salad, your appetite still shaky after everything that’s happened.

“So,” Victoria says, after taking a sip of her wine. “What’s the plan with the house?”

The question catches you off guard, though you’ve been thinking about it non-stop. Jonathan’s house. The house you lived in with him. The house that still feels like it’s haunted by his presence, his cruelty, the fights that rattled through its walls. You look down at your plate, avoiding Max’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I can’t … I can’t stay there.”

Victoria reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Of course not. You shouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re still welcome to stay with me as long as you need. My home is always open for you.”

You glance up at her, gratitude warming your chest. Victoria has been nothing but supportive through all of this, offering you a safe place to land when everything felt like it was crumbling. But even though you’ve appreciated every second of her kindness, the truth is … you feel like a burden.

“I don’t want to impose,” you say softly. “I’ve already stayed longer than I should have.”

Victoria waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not imposing at all.”

“I don’t know,” you continue, fidgeting with the napkin in your lap. “I just … I feel bad. It’s your space. I don’t want to be in your way.”

Before Victoria can respond, Max clears his throat, drawing both of your attention to him. He’s been quiet for most of the lunch, observing, listening. Now, he sets his fork down, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

“You could move in with me,” he says, so casually that it takes a moment for his words to register.

Your head snaps toward him, eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”

Even Victoria looks taken aback, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Wait — what?”

Max shrugs, his expression calm, as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell on the table. “I’ve got plenty of space. The penthouse is way too big for just me anyway.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up with what he’s saying. Move in with him? Into his penthouse? You’re not sure how to respond, your mind immediately filling with reasons why that’s a bad idea.

“Max, I-I can’t just move in with you,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s … I mean, it’s your home. I don’t want to-”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Max cuts in smoothly, as if he’s already anticipated every one of your protests. “Like I said, it’s way too big for one person. You’d actually be doing me a favor.”

Victoria blinks, looking between the two of you, her surprise turning into a curious smirk. “I mean, it’s not the worst idea,” she says, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become. “Max does have that ridiculous apartment. It’s like living in a luxury hotel.”

You shake your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the suggestion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone again, especially not after …”

Your voice trails off, but Max knows exactly what you’re thinking. He leans forward slightly, his gaze intent. “You wouldn’t be dependent on me. This isn’t about control, it’s about giving you a safe space to figure things out.”

His words hang in the air, their weight settling over you. Max always knows how to say the right thing, how to make it sound like everything is under control. And maybe it is, in his world. But in your world, everything still feels like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.

“I don’t know …” you murmur, your fingers twisting the napkin in your lap.

Max reaches across the table, his hand resting on top of yours. His touch is firm, grounding. “I’m not asking you to decide right now. Just think about it. You don’t have to figure everything out at once.”

You glance at Victoria, hoping she’ll have some kind of advice, but she just grins, leaning back in her chair as if she’s thoroughly entertained by the entire conversation. “Honestly? I think it’s a good idea. You’d have more space to yourself, and you wouldn’t feel like you’re cramping my style.”

“I don’t feel like I’m cramping your style,” you mutter, giving her a playful glare.

She laughs, but there’s a softness in her eyes as she looks at you. “Look, you’ve been through hell, and I think the last thing you need right now is to worry about where you’re staying. Max is offering you a chance to take some of that stress off your plate. You should take it.”

You swallow hard, your gaze flicking back to Max. He’s watching you intently, waiting for your response. And while every instinct in you is screaming to refuse — to keep your independence, to not get too close — the truth is, you’re tired. Tired of fighting, tired of being afraid, tired of not knowing what’s going to happen next.

Max’s offer feels like a lifeline, and as much as you hate to admit it … you need one.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max nods, his expression softening. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The conversation shifts after that, Victoria taking over with a story about a disastrous date she had earlier in the week, but your mind stays stuck on Max’s offer. Move in with him? The idea feels foreign, like stepping into a life that’s not your own. But then again, everything about your life has felt foreign since Jonathan died.

Later, as the three of you finish your meals and the waiter clears the plates, Victoria leans over and whispers in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. “You should say yes.”

You glance at her, your eyes widening. “To what?”

“To moving in with Max,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I mean, come on. A penthouse? You’d be living the dream.”

You roll your eyes, though her words stir something in your chest. “It’s not about the penthouse.”

“Right,” she says with a knowing smirk. “It’s about Max.”

Your face heats up, and you quickly look away, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush creeping up your neck. But of course, Victoria notices everything.

“You like him, don’t you?” She teases, nudging you with her elbow.

You shoot her a glare, though it’s more out of embarrassment than anger. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you for a second. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the chair. “Can we not do this right now?”

Victoria laughs, but she doesn’t push it further. Instead, she just gives you a soft smile, the kind that says she knows exactly what’s going on, even if you’re not ready to admit it to yourself.

By the time lunch is over and the three of you are standing outside the restaurant, the sun warm on your skin, you still haven’t made up your mind. Max’s offer feels too good to be true, like stepping into a different world, a world where you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

But as Max pulls you into a quick hug, his strong arms wrapping around you for just a second too long, you start to wonder if maybe … maybe it’s not too good to be true.

Maybe it’s exactly what you need.

***

The late afternoon sun casts golden light over the city as you stand at the entrance of Max’s penthouse building, staring up at the sleek, glass structure. It still feels surreal. A part of you wonders how you got here — how your life has shifted so quickly from the nightmare of Jonathan to this strange, uncertain new chapter.

Max stands beside you, keys in hand, effortlessly calm like always. He glances over, his dark eyes warm. “Ready?”

You nod, gripping the handle of the box you're holding a little tighter, though your nerves buzz underneath your skin. “Yeah. Ready.”

The moving truck is parked a few feet away, filled with your belongings. You don’t have much, just some clothes, books, a few personal items, and the memories that you’ve tried to leave behind. Victoria offered to help today, but Max insisted that he could handle it. You’re still not sure how you feel about that — about Max doing so much for you — but you’ve stopped protesting. Every time you try, he brushes it off like it’s nothing.

Max leads you into the lobby, the doorman greeting him by name. You follow him into the elevator, clutching the box to your chest. The ride up is silent, save for the low hum of the elevator. When the doors open, Max steps out first, turning back to give you a reassuring smile.

“Let's get these up to the apartment,” he says, his voice steady, like moving you in is just another ordinary task for him.

You step out of the elevator and into his penthouse. The doors open into a sprawling, open-plan living room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of the city. The space is sleek, modern, but somehow still comfortable — just like Max himself.

He sets his box down and glances over at you. “We can start setting things in your room if you'd like. The spare bedroom is down the hall.”

You try to hide the way your breath catches in your throat as you nod. “Sure. Thanks.”

As you begin moving boxes from the truck to the penthouse, you find yourself increasingly distracted by Max. Every time he bends to lift a box, his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt, the sinewy strength in his arms drawing your attention. His movements are fluid, effortless, as though this is nothing for him.

And it's not just that he’s strong — it's the ease with which he carries himself. There’s no posturing, no arrogance. He’s doing this because he wants to help, because he sees you struggling and wants to make things easier.

You try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to notice the way his shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders or the way his biceps flex when he lifts heavier boxes with one hand, like they weigh nothing at all. He catches you glancing once or twice, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.

After a couple of trips back and forth from the truck, you’re standing in the living room, trying to decide where to start unpacking. Max steps beside you, brushing a bit of dust from his jeans, and glances around the space.

“Where do you want this stuff?” He asks, motioning to the remaining boxes.

“I guess I’ll start with the bedroom.” You bite your lip, glancing toward the hallway. “It’s not a lot, really. I don’t want to take up too much space.”

Max shakes his head. “You’re not taking up space. Like I said, this place is too big for one person. Besides,” his voice softens, “you deserve to feel comfortable. Make it yours.”

Something about the way he says that, like he genuinely cares, makes your heart skip a beat. You nod, feeling your throat tighten as you head down the hall with him. The spare bedroom is just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows and more space than you’ve ever had in any room you’ve lived in.

Max sets the box down near the door, watching as you take in the room. “What do you think?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, shaking your head. “It’s … beautiful. It’s too much, Max.”

He steps closer, his presence warm and solid next to you. “It’s not too much. It’s exactly what you need. And besides, I want you here.”

You swallow, trying to process the weight of his words. He wants you here. Max has always been protective of you, ever since you met him through Victoria, but this is something else. It’s not just protection — it’s … something more. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

As the day wears on and more boxes make their way into the penthouse, you start unpacking, trying to make sense of this new chapter. Max works alongside you, quietly helping without ever making you feel like you owe him anything. Every time you glance over at him, he’s there, steady and calm, grounding you in a way you never expected.

After a while, Max heads back to the truck to grab the last few items, leaving you in the apartment alone. You take a moment to breathe, running your fingers over the smooth surface of the kitchen counter. It still doesn’t feel real, being here, surrounded by luxury and safety. You’ve spent so long being afraid, walking on eggshells around Jonathan, that this feels almost … too easy. Too good.

Max’s voice calls out from the hallway as he returns, carrying the final box. “That’s the last of it.”

You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”

He sets the box down with a quiet thud, then turns to face you, his dark eyes steady. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do, though.” You cross your arms, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something else — something heavier. “I don’t even know how to start repaying you for all of this.”

Max steps closer, the air between you shifting, heavy with unspoken tension. He tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk on his lips, though his eyes are serious. “I’m not doing this because I expect anything in return.”

“I know,” you whisper, looking up at him. “But still.”

He reaches out, brushing his thumb across your cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes your chest ache. “You’ve been through enough, okay? You don’t owe me anything. All I want is for you to feel safe.”

The warmth of his touch lingers even after he pulls his hand away. You nod, though your throat feels tight, overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, like he actually means it. Like he’s the one person in your life who doesn’t expect you to give something back.

The two of you stand there for a moment, the weight of everything that’s happened settling between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize that maybe — just maybe — you’re finally safe.

Max’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence. He glances down at the screen, his expression shifting back to that calm, collected demeanor you’ve come to know. “I need to take this call. Are you okay unpacking the rest by yourself?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, waving him off. “Go ahead. I’ve got this.”

He nods, already heading for the door. But before he leaves, he pauses, turning back to give you one last look.

“If you need anything,” he says, his voice low, “I’m here.”

You nod again, watching him leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway as he disappears. Once he’s gone, you let out a long breath, sinking down onto the couch.

This is your life now. And somehow, despite everything, it doesn’t feel as scary as it used to.

***

The scent of simmering tomatoes and garlic fills the air as you stand in Max’s kitchen, stirring the pot of sauce slowly. The space around you feels both intimate and strangely unfamiliar, a far cry from the cold, silent kitchens of your past. Here, in Max’s penthouse, everything feels alive, warm.

Max leans against the counter beside you, watching the sauce bubble. He’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, his sleeves rolled up and his tie long discarded. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before — domestic, almost casual. You’re still getting used to it, the idea of Max being more than just the quiet force of nature who’s been protecting you. Here, in the soft glow of his kitchen lights, he seems … human.

“Are you sure it needs more basil?” Max asks, raising an eyebrow at the pile of fresh leaves you’ve already tossed into the pot.

“Trust me,” you say with a smile, turning the spoon in your hand. “It does.”

Max chuckles under his breath and takes the spoon from you, dipping it into the sauce for a taste. He blows on it gently, then takes a slow, thoughtful sip. His eyes narrow as he considers the flavor, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Not bad,” he admits. “But I think you’re overestimating the power of basil.”

“Basil makes everything better,” you say playfully, nudging him with your elbow.

He smirks, setting the spoon down on the counter before leaning back against the cabinets, his arms folding across his chest. “We’ll see. I’ll let you have this one.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you go back to stirring the sauce. Max watches you quietly, his eyes lingering on you in a way that sends a strange warmth through your chest. You’ve been in his penthouse for a few days now, and things between you have settled into an easy routine. It’s nice — this strange sense of normalcy.

But every now and then, when you catch him looking at you like that, you’re reminded that there’s nothing entirely normal about this.

“So,” you start, trying to focus on the sauce instead of the way Max is watching you. “Do you cook often?”

Max shrugs, still leaning back lazily against the counter. “Not really. Usually, I have someone come in to do it, but … I don’t mind doing it myself sometimes.”

You nod, stirring the sauce in silence for a moment. There’s a calmness between you, a quiet comfort that has become a regular part of being around Max. But there’s also something else. Something unspoken.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself with the question.

Max tilts his head, watching you for a moment before a small smile creeps onto his lips. “You know, you ask a lot of questions.”

“I do,” you admit, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “And you never answer them.”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Alright. Let me think.”

There’s a pause as Max considers his answer. Then, after a moment, he leans in a little closer, his voice dropping just slightly.

“When I was in law school, I almost dropped out. My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, to have something legitimate on the side. But halfway through, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the honesty. “Really? But you stuck with it.”

“Yeah,” Max nods, his expression thoughtful. “I stayed because of Victoria. She said I was too stubborn to quit.”

You smile softly, stirring the sauce as you consider his words. There’s something oddly comforting about hearing that — even Max, the man who always seems so sure of himself, had his moments of doubt.

Before you can respond, Max reaches for the spoon again, dipping it into the sauce for another taste. This time, he doesn’t blow on it first, and the heat catches him off guard. He winces slightly, pulling the spoon away from his lips quickly.

“Too hot?” You ask with a grin, watching his reaction.

“Just a little,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. But as he does, a small streak of sauce remains on the corner of his lip, bright red against his skin.

You chuckle softly, pointing at his face. “You’ve got something right … there.”

Max pauses, his hand hovering near his mouth as he tries to find the spot. But before he can clean it off, something inside you stirs — a sudden impulse you don’t fully understand. Without thinking, you take a step closer, reaching out to him.

His eyes meet yours as you lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. The space between you shrinks, and before you can second-guess yourself, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, tasting the faint hint of tomato and basil.

The moment is quick, fleeting, but the electricity in the air lingers long after you pull away.

Max freezes, his dark eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The kitchen is quiet except for the low simmer of the sauce on the stove.

You swallow hard, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. “I — sorry. You had … some sauce.”

Max blinks, his gaze softening as the corner of his mouth lifts into a small, almost amused smile. “I noticed.”

Your heart races as the weight of the moment hangs between you, and you wonder if you’ve crossed a line. But then Max steps closer, his presence warm and steady, his voice low.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly, his eyes searching yours.

“I … I know,” you murmur, your breath catching in your throat as he inches even closer. “But I wanted to.”

For a moment, Max just looks at you, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine. And then, slowly, he reaches up, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, “you’re full of surprises.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your skin tingling under his touch. “Is that a bad thing?”

His thumb grazes your cheekbone, his touch gentle but firm. “No,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not at all.”

The tension between you crackles in the air, thick and charged, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you standing in the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce and garlic surrounding you like a haze.

Max’s hand lingers on your face for just a second longer before he pulls away, clearing his throat and stepping back. The distance between you returns, but the weight of what just happened still hangs in the air, unspoken.

“I should, uh …” He glances at the pot, his voice a little hoarse. “We should finish dinner.”

“Yeah,” you agree quickly, trying to ignore the way your heart is still racing in your chest. “Dinner.”

Max turns back to the stove, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sauce again as though nothing happened. But you can’t shake the feeling that something did happen — that something between you shifted in that moment, even if neither of you is ready to acknowledge it yet.

As you move around the kitchen together, preparing the rest of the meal, the atmosphere is lighter, but there’s an undeniable tension simmering beneath the surface — something neither of you can ignore, no matter how hard you try. Every time your hands brush, every time your eyes meet, it’s there, lingering just out of reach.

And though neither of you says it out loud, you both know that whatever this is between you … it’s far from over.

***

The clink of dishes fills the kitchen, a peaceful rhythm as you and Max stand side by side at the sink. The scent of the meal you cooked together still lingers in the air — garlic, basil, and rich tomato sauce — its warmth a comforting backdrop to the easy silence that has settled between you.

You rinse the plates, passing them to Max, who dries them with a towel and places them in neat stacks. It’s strange how domestic this feels, how normal. After everything that’s happened, after all the chaos and tension, this moment feels almost surreal in its simplicity. The steam from the hot water rises, blurring the edges of your thoughts as you hand him the next plate.

There’s a calm between you, but also something unspoken. A simmering energy that’s been lingering ever since that brief, impulsive kiss earlier. Every time your hands brush, every glance you exchange — it’s there, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch.

You try to focus on the task in front of you, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate with a sponge, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the way Max’s lips felt when they grazed yours. The way his eyes darkened when he looked at you afterward. And how, even though neither of you has mentioned it since, you know he hasn’t forgotten either.

Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly squeeze the bottle of soap a little too hard, and a burst of bubbles shoots out, landing on Max’s arm. You blink, startled, then burst into laughter as you see the suds clinging to his sleeve.

“Whoops,” you say, biting back more laughter as Max looks down at his arm, then back at you with raised eyebrows.

“Whoops?” He repeats, his tone dry but with a playful glint in his eyes. “You did that on purpose.”

You shake your head, still giggling. “I swear I didn’t! You just-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Max reaches out, swiping a finger through the bubbles on his arm and flicking them back at you. You gasp as the soapy foam splashes your face, catching you completely off guard.

“Max!” You protest, laughing even harder now as you wipe the bubbles from your cheek. “That was not fair!”

Max smirks, leaning casually against the counter with the towel still in his hand. “Payback.”

You narrow your eyes playfully, but you can’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to dissolve in the laughter, replaced by something light and easy. For a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into a different reality — one where the two of you can just be like this. Normal. Happy.

But then, as the laughter fades, the silence between you shifts again, the air thickening with something else. Something heavier.

Max is watching you, his eyes dark and intense, the playful smirk fading into something far more serious. His gaze lingers on your face, tracing the curve of your lips, the way your chest rises and falls as your breath quickens.

The mood changes so fast it almost knocks the air from your lungs. One second, you’re laughing, and the next, the tension between you is back, sharper and more urgent than before.

You can feel it — the pull between you. It’s like a magnetic force, drawing you closer together, even though neither of you has moved. The bubbles, the dishes, everything else fades into the background as Max takes a slow step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Max …” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. But you don’t know what else to say. You don’t know what this is, this charged energy building between you, but it’s impossible to ignore.

Max takes another step, closing the distance between you, his hand still holding the towel loosely at his side. His eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of you. Just this moment.

You’re not sure who moves first. Maybe it’s both of you at once. But suddenly, Max’s hand is on your waist, pulling you toward him, and his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is hard, almost desperate, like all the tension that’s been building between you has finally snapped. His other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, pressing you back against the counter.

You gasp against his lips, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. The cool surface of the cabinets presses into your back, but you hardly notice it. All you can focus on is Max — on the heat of his body against yours, the way his lips move with a hunger that makes your knees go weak.

For a split second, you can’t think. Can’t breathe. All you know is that you want more — need more. Max’s kiss is consuming, overwhelming, and you find yourself lost in it, lost in him.

His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb brushing against the bare skin just under the hem of your shirt. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft, involuntary moan against his lips.

That sound seems to snap something in Max. He breaks the kiss suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged. His eyes are wild, dark with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, his voice rough, low. His thumb still strokes your skin, a gentle reminder of the fire burning between you.

You nod, your heart racing. You can barely find your voice, but when you do, it’s filled with certainty. “Yes.”

That’s all it takes.

Max crashes his lips against yours again, harder this time, more intense. His hand slips under your shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist as he presses you further into the cabinets. The towel he was holding drops to the floor, forgotten, as both of his hands find their way to your body.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. His kiss is rough, insistent, and you can feel the barely restrained desire in the way his hands roam your body, the way his mouth claims yours like he can’t get enough.

The kiss deepens, growing more heated by the second, and you lose yourself in the sensation of it all — the taste of him, the feel of his hands on you, the way his body fits so perfectly against yours. It’s like nothing else matters in this moment, like the world outside this kitchen doesn’t even exist.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, Max pulls away again, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

You’re both silent for a moment, the only sound in the kitchen the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your hearts. Max’s hands are still on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, as if he’s afraid to let go.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re softer now, the wild intensity from earlier replaced by something deeper. Something more vulnerable.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, your heart swelling at his words. “Me too.”

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips — this one slower, more tender, like he’s savoring the moment. When he pulls back, there’s a small smile on his face, and you can’t help but smile back.

There’s a calm between you now, a quiet understanding. Whatever this is between you, it’s real. It’s undeniable. And as you stand there, wrapped in Max’s arms, you know that things between you will never be the same again.

***

“Is that …” One of the men, Gregory, squints toward the entrance of the exclusive restaurant, pausing in the middle of a flirtatious exchange with the hostess. His words trail off, confusion clouding his features.

“What?” Brian, the stockier of the group, follows his gaze, annoyed that Gregory stopped mid-conversation. “What’s up, man?”

Gregory gestures with a tilt of his chin toward the door, where a woman has just stepped in. The place is dimly lit, but something about her seems familiar, though they can't quite place her.

“Do I know her from somewhere?” Gregory mutters, his brow furrowed as he leans back in his chair. The hostess, sensing their distraction, uses the opportunity to walk away, leaving them with menus but no promises of a table anytime soon.

Brian cranes his neck to get a better look. “Wait … yeah, she looks familiar.” His eyes narrow, trying to make out her face in the low light as she stands by the coat check with a man. The guy is tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He’s effortlessly helping her out of her coat, revealing a very obvious baby bump underneath her fitted dress.

“That can’t be …” Gregory’s voice drops, his eyes widening. He leans forward abruptly, his voice incredulous now. “No way. It can’t be her.”

Brian is staring hard now too, the realization dawning on him slowly. “Holy shit. Is that …”

“It’s Y/N,” Gregory finishes, his tone a mix of disbelief and amazement. “No fucking way.”

Both men stare openly now, their jaws slack. This can’t be the same Y/N they remember. The meek, quiet wife of their old friend, Jonathan Harper. The one who always seemed so timid, always a little on edge, looking small beside Jonathan's larger-than-life personality.

“Didn’t she …” Brian begins, but the sentence dies in his throat as you turns, facing their direction for a brief second. There’s no mistaking it now. It’s definitely you.

“But she looks …” Gregory is still fumbling for words. Different is an understatement. The woman they remember had been quiet, always fading into the background whenever Jonathan had his friends over. The Y/N they’re looking at now is glowing, confident, carrying yourself in a way they’ve never seen before.

“Jesus, man,” Brian mutters under his breath, eyes still locked on her. “She’s pregnant.”

Gregory snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. “And with someone else? This quick after Jonathan? What the hell?”

Brian leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his tone taking on a gossipy edge. “Guess the widow moved on real fast, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Gregory's expression darkens. “She sure doesn’t look like she's grieving anymore.”

The two of them exchange knowing looks, already jumping to conclusions. In their minds, the version of Y/N they remember wouldn’t have been able to survive without Jonathan — without a man to take care of her. But here you are, very much alive, very much pregnant, and very much with someone else.

Brian’s eyes flicker back to your new partner. “Who the hell is the guy?”

“Beats me.” Gregory leans forward, intrigued. The man looks polished, strong, and carries himself like he’s someone important. He’s not standing too close, but his body language is protective, subtle but noticeable. He’s keeping an eye on you, as if ready to act if needed.

Gregory turns back to Brian, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Should we go say something?”

Brian looks at him, eyes gleaming with the kind of self-satisfied anticipation of someone about to stir trouble. “Hell yeah, we should.”

They exchange smirks, feeling a sudden surge of superiority. After all, you had been part of their circle by extension of Jonathan. You were Jonathan’s wife — emphasis on were — and to them, this move you pulled, getting knocked up by someone else and flaunting it in public, doesn’t sit right.

“Let’s see what she has to say for herself,” Gregory mutters, already starting to rise from his seat.

But as the two men stand up, ready to saunter over, something makes them pause.

The man at your side reaches up to adjust his suit jacket, and as he does, the fabric pulls back just enough to reveal something. Tucked into a holster at his side is a sleek, black gun, the metal gleaming subtly under the restaurant's dim lights.

Gregory stops mid-step, eyes widening. “Holy shit.”

Brian notices it at the same time. The two exchange glances, the smugness draining from their faces, replaced with a mix of uncertainty and alarm.

“Did you see that?” Brian hisses, his voice dropping several octaves.

Gregory nods, frozen in place, his gaze locked on the gun. He looks back at you, now laughing softly as the man beside you places a protective hand on the small of your back. You have no idea they’re watching you, no idea they were even thinking about approaching you. But your partner? He’s fully aware.

Max turns his head just enough to catch their eyes, and though he doesn’t say a word, his message is clear. The slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth says everything. Don’t even think about it.

Brian swallows hard. “Who the hell is this guy?”

Gregory shakes his head, suddenly regretting the entire idea. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around to find out.”

They both sit back down, their bravado evaporating as quickly as it had come. They exchange another uneasy glance, neither of them willing to admit they’ve just been scared off by a single look, but both fully aware that they want nothing to do with whatever’s going on here.

“Maybe she’s not our business anymore,” Brian mutters, grabbing his glass of whiskey and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Gregory nods, his eyes flickering back to you one last time. You’re completely engrossed in your conversation with the man, your hand resting on your belly as you smile softly up at him. Whoever this guy is, he’s clearly important to you. And as much as they hate to admit it, you don’t look like the fragile, breakable woman they remember.

In fact, you look happier than you ever did when you were with Jonathan.

“Yeah,” Gregory agrees, his voice subdued. “Maybe she never was.”

The two men settle back into their seats, the waitress bringing over a basket of bread and menus they’d long since forgotten about. They exchange a few more words, but the energy has shifted. The gossip that once seemed so juicy has lost its appeal.

As they half-heartedly resume their conversation, their eyes drift back to you and Max every so often. They can’t help it. There’s something captivating about the way you hold herself now — something different from the woman they once knew.

Brian, ever the more curious of the two, finally leans back in his chair and lets out a low whistle. “She really moved on, huh?”

Gregory shrugs, pushing his bread around on the plate in front of him. “Guess so.”

But as the night wears on, neither of them can shake the image of you and your new life. The woman who was once a shadow in the background of their lives is now someone they barely recognize. And for the first time, they realize that maybe — just maybe — they never really knew you at all.

Across the room, you and Max remain unaware of their scrutiny, wrapped in your own world, where the past no longer has a hold on either of you.

[elitisim]

so, i hit 1k sometime in the beginning of June ✨🥳. Which means my incessant yapping about absolutely nothing on every post I make and multiple months-long unannounced hiatuses didn't scare all of you off yet, so thanks for that y'all.

No, but for real tho, I genuinely want to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for putting up with me and all my BS, so my 1k+ gift exclusively consists of hairs requested by YOU!  Which is totally about giving back to the community that has supported me and NOT just an excuse to dump all the requests that have been sitting here piling up for months.

there are only 7 hairs in the preview image but a bunch of these are from sets, so all-in-all you're getting 17 female hairs!

INFORMATION:

None of this is my original work! All mesh credit goes to @sheabuttyr, @ebonixsims, @daylifesims, @simstrouble!

Set contains 17 hairs for for Teen ➤ Elder Females

due to how the meshes where made the Poloma Passion Twists and Monae Beads don't have root/tip controls so they’re only 2 channels the rest are 4 like normal.

credits, preview pictures, links to originals, poly counts and individual download links for every hair is under the cut.

polycounts are ALL over the place. Lowest hair is +10k, Highest one is +32k. Please reference the list under the cut before downloading!

Files comes in two flavors: Merged and Unmerged

Both types contain the exact same type of stuff (package file and preview images) except version one is one big merged file and the version has individual files.

[DOWNLOAD MERGED]

[DOWNLOAD UNMERGED]

[PICK AND CHOOSE]

Tagging list: @pis3update, @naturalhair-sims3, @xto3conversionsfinds, @kpccfinds

@simstrouble Adeline Braids//22.2k poly// requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: London Locs // 16.2k Poly //requested by @thesirensims

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims: Honey Sun Clover Dreadlocks v1// 10.8K Poly //requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims: Honey Sun Clover Dreadlocks v2// 10.9K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@ebonixsims: Monae Beadset V1//32.7K Poly! // Under hats // Recolorable beads 4 channels//no tips or root controls due to mesh//requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@ebonixsims: Monae Beadset V2//30.5K Poly! // Under hats // Recolorable// 4 channels//no tips or root controls due to mesh//requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims :Honey Sun Alfalfa Braids v1// 10.1K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims :Honey Sun Alfalfa Braids v2// 10.1K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Daija Dreads V1 // 28.6k Poly //requested by anon.

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Daija Dreads V2 // 30.8k Poly! //requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Paloma Passion Twist V1// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V2// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

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@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V3// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

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@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V4// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

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@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V5// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

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@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V6// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

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@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V7// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V8/ /25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

[galariangengar]

Submitted a prerequisite form for one school for one class and currently doing an online orientation for this same school. Still gotta set up my account, email and send another prerequisite form to a second school for a second class I gotta take.

Idk if I’ll get around to doing all that today for the second school/class cuz I gotta go with my dad soon to take Frida to the vet for her vomiting and ask a couple other things like how she shakes her head a lot from time to time to scratch her ear, not sure if it’s like an ear infection or just something she does…

[bwat5-blog]

"Clearly, Caitlyn Kiramman Should’ve Known Better at 23: A Masterclass in Ignoring Trauma and Believing War Criminals"

**Spoilers for all of Arcane**

Recently I made the mistake of delving into the comments of an otherwise excellent post regarding Caitlyn Kiramman and the aftermath of her time as "dictator", specifically in terms of were there enough consequences? did she do enough to make it right? should more have been done to her? that sort of thing. In the festering cesspool of those comments, I saw a variation of the following statement:

"if we were doing things based on what was fair and just, Caitlyn should have been executed on behalf of the two cities for peace"

It was more crude but you get the point. This person alleged that Caitlyn deserved death for what happened during those few months. Before we move forward lets review what we know about all of this. I have quite recently covered a lot of Caitlyn's arc so I'm not doing a deep dive here. Just enough to address this particular bit of idiocy.

How It Starts:

Like I said we aren't doing a deep dive here, so just for a quick reminder as to where twenty-three year old Caitlyn is mentally at this point(regardless of fault or nuance, just the facts):

Has been almost killed by Jinx three times

Almost killed by Sheriff of Piltover

Abducted naked from her childhood home, forced to dress in Enforcer uniform, bound, gagged, and forced to attend Jinx's tea party where Jinx tries to get Vi to murder Caitlyn

Violently knocked out

Shows Jinx mercy at Vi's request

Jinx kills her mother

Trying to become head of house Kiramman

Undercity attacks the memorial

Survives strike team operations

Brutal fight with Sevika

Vi stops her from shooting again

Very emotional split from Vi after hitting her and leaving her alone

So, with all of that under consideration, a Noxian warlord in her fifties who has commanded troops on various continents across Runeterra, calls her up and says trust me, i have your back, we will get justice for your mother. And Caitlyn folds... Le Gasp?!

Guys I know this is a little more snarky than my usual approach, but this really is just not that complicated. This is not even subtle. We literally see the flash back of Ambessa orchestrating the memorial attack to get us to this point. Caitlyn is an open wound mentally and emotionally, she never stood a chance. Lets take a moment to review some important points here by the way:

Ambessa came to Piltover for Hex-Tech. She doesn't hide this from Mel and is quite clear in her goals.

"If there is a chance hextech can be weaponized, we must have it". Mel responds "Piltover isn't your testing ground... I can't believe you'd start a war just to cover your ass" And Ambessa responds "i would set the world ablaze to protect our family". And the conversation ends with Ambessa ordering her daughter to "let the war unfold".

2. She executes her plan to make Caitlyn her scape-goat in front of:

Councilor Salo

Councilor Shoola

Large group of enforcers

Group of twenty plus people who make up as Ambessa states "every house and family with a modicum of influence"

Not a single, solitary person says a word when Ambessa brings a twenty-three year old grieving young woman with, if we're being generous two months of combat experience though probably less, and says She is in charge now! They let Caitlyn be walked right into the jaws of the wolf herself.

The Great And Terrible Rule Of Caitlyn The Creepy! WHAHAHAHA!:

What she gives her okay on:

Occupation of Zaun

Lawful (under martial law not normal law) arrests of those who cause problems

Yep... there it is folks. There is the great list of terrible crimes against humanity committed by the she-devil of Piltover herself. Checkpoints and arrests. Which by the way I am not justifying. People being arrested subjects them to Ambessa's brutality once they are inside. And as we clearly see Rictus uses the right to arrest to brutalize a Jinxer, and to break up the rally. And Caitlyn absolutely shares some portion of the blame for that. But um.. the way people reacted I was really expecting more public hangings and and labor camps.

**Not really a good place to put this but just fyi, despotic mad-women don't usually have to get up early to please a craftsman guild over supply complaints... just saying..."

"But OP! Sexy Zangief was beating people up and breaking up peaceful rallies!"

Well fortunately we talk about that!

"Was it for my encouragement that your man Rictus was instigating violence?"

How does Ambessa respond? Not with anger, or rage. First with guilt "You don't trust me", then with approval when Caitlyn responds the blade cuts both ways "fearless child, you never shy",

Ambessa is a master manipulator. Caitlyn is and was grieving her mother, and her whirlwind extremely intense romantic relationship with Vi. She had a gargantuan hole in her heart and a woman with decades leading and commanding soldiers and learning strategy slid right in. Recall that in bed with Maddie Caitlyn almost is defending Ambessa, talking about learning so much from her and the lives Ambessa saved with her assistance getting control of Zaun, so they could hunt for Jinx. Caitlyn has legitimately come to care for Ambessa at least on some level. I even believe that on some level Ambessa has come to care for Caitlyn.

2. "Arrests require cause"

When Ambessa is suggesting someone in Zaun knows where Jinx is, this is how Caitlyn responds. Not with orders to start dragging people out into the street. Not executing children in the street or burning down buildings. And when Ambessa tries to justify it "What greater cause is there than returning peace to the city?" Caitlyn responds:

3. "Why is peace always the justification for violence".. (Note Ambessa laying comforting hand on Caitlyn's shoulder during conversation)

Ambessa gives her this speech: "we've lost so many.. the anger, the sorrow.. it's tiring. Gods, I know it's tiring.. But you will never rest knowing that she's out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not.. to forgive.. and trust in tomorrow.. the decision is yours commander.."

"I know you are so tired, I know you are exhausted. I know you want this to be over. But you can't feel safe with her out there. I know you can't. Unless of course you can do what even I can't. Forgive your mothers FUCKING MURDERER. But ya know, up to you"-

If you truly cannot see the insidiousness of how Caitlyn is being twisted and manipulated, I envy you the charmed life you have lead. But be weary my friend, "you're off the edge of the map, here there be monsters." (POC 1)

"But OP! Ambessa was experimenting with Hex-Tech and committing brutal interrogations!"

I will admit the show does not explicitly state that Caitlyn did not know about this. Explicitly. However, given our context clues I feel quite confidant suggesting she did not:

See literally everything she said above

Every time we see them doing this she is not present

It seems like they are in some deep and away part of the prison when they are doing this

In private after the failed hex-tech experiment, Ambessa laments that they didn't secure the scientists before seizing control of Piltover. She is openly discussing that they are the actual ruling power. I seriously doubt she would be doing that anywhere Caitlyn may come knocking.

She Could Have Stopped At Any Time! Maddie Even Say So:

You mean that Maddie? The Noxian spy who keeps an eye on Caitlyn from her fucking bed, taking advantage of Caitlyn's grief and guilt over how things ended with Vi? Caitlyn is reminded she has a choice twice. The first time by the spy in her bed, and the second time by Ambessa herself. Her loyalty is being tested. Not her conscious. Ambessa literally put eyes and ears in her bed, and some of yall wanna argue Caitlyn wasn't being controlled. Ambessa assumed the role of Caitlyn's mother, and had her spy take on the role of Vi. And I will say this. Sure. Caitlyn could have gone to Ambessa and called it all off. No more war, no more martial law, the council is in charge again so no more imprisonment and hex-tech experiments. And maybe.. just maybe Ambessa would have row-row-row your boated her homicidal ass home. I rather doubt it. I suspect that conversation would have ended with Caitlyn getting this treatment:

We have been over this already but for a reminder:

Ambessa came here for hex-tech to fight the blackrose. She instigated the memorial attack for her cause.

"I would set the world ablaze to protect our family"

As we will come to see later, her last living child begs her to stop the bloodshed, even offering to go back with her, and all Ambessa can see is weakness.

Other indicators of how she is doing with everything:

"I never expected this to go on so long.. I thought.. I don't know what I thought.."

"Up again?" Maddie tells us Caitlyn hasn't been sleeping

Forbids the use of the cells Vi was kept in

REWIND BACK TO HELLFIRE:

I recently just did an in-depth doc on the strike team, the use of the grey, and what all of this means in story. So I will keep this brief here. but I do want to discuss it as "SHE WAS GASSING KIDS!" is still being vomited up by every double-digit iq booger eater with a keyboard.

Ambessa orchestrated the memorial attack to force Piltover retaliation

The strike team is an alternative to a full-scale invasion by Piltover.

They are hunting dangerous drug lords, destroying shimmer, and hunting Jinx. All three seem fairly reasonable. The issue is not if they are doing something wrong, it's the reason Caitlyn has them doing it. All you have to do is refer to the handy dandy song lyrics they use as Arcane always does to understand this:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow" (Hellfire Fever 333)

4. Using a crowd dispersal agent that incapacitates bad guys with no documented fatal effects (see multiple characters exposed who are all alive and seemingly well, those images of the people with health issues were from the unfiltered, unaltered smog the Undercity used to live with)to hunt a target who likes to blow shit up seems fair. Also the fact that it knocks people out means they don't have to kill them.

Caitlyn's Remorse And Attempts To Make Things Right:

Literally starts a war with Ambessa to save Vander

Saves a hurt Vi with Jinx's back exposed to her when she is armed

Takes care of injured Vi in her own bed and postpones any judgement of Jinx until Vi wakes

"I Know!"

"We can't erase our mistakes.. none of us"- Equates herself with Jinx

"No amount of good deed can undo our crimes"- Equates herself with Jinx

"Hating you.. I've hated myself.. I just don't have the energy for it any longer.."

Tender moment showing IMMENSE regret during she and Vi's big scene.

The Cost:

One statement I saw opined that there is a difference between remorse and punishment, and that Caitlyn should have been punished. That giving up her seat and losing an eye hardly qualified. Well! Boy oh boy do I have good news for you. Let's take a gander at the physical "not punishment" she acquires willingly leading from the front lines against Ambessa:

Cracked in the head with rifle stock, twice: Skull fractures anyone? how about a lovely concussion?

Stabbed in the stomach: Internal bleeding, bile leaks, intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, bowel perforation, the list goes on.

Kicked in the midsection while still stabbed: potential to drive knife deeper lacerating organs and such, just massive pain, potential catastrophic bleeding if a blood vessel was hit, potential rupturing of stomach, kidneys or liver releasing harmful fluids into abdominal cavity, potential for long term chronic pain or permanent organ damage

Leg sweep by Ambessa driving Caitlyn's head into the ground: potential tbi, brain hemorrhage, or further skull fracture, potential vertebral fractures, potential long term cognitive impairment or loss of motor control if spine is damaged

Kicked again: We covered this. Knife is still there.

Ankle pinned/Leg kick/backhand: All sorts of fun things happening to ligaments and tendons. Potential permanent disability. Potential concussion and bruising as well as a whole host of lacerations.

Headbutt with War mask on: Concussion, skull fracture, brain bleed

KICKED OFF OF HER FEET

Pulls knife out of her own body: Potential fatal bleeding, massive pain, possible peritonitis and respiratory distress depending on what all was damaged during the fight with the knife still in her body.

Sacrifices her own eye

Now lets take a quick look at some reasonable assertions for the mental "not punishment" she will likely suffer from after all of this:

Massive potential for PTSD just from the wounds alone

Losing an eye impacts her shooting which is a huge part of who she is and a link to her mother

A woman she shared a bed with levelled a rifle at her neck and pulled the trigger. Caitlyn thought she was going to die.. that doesn't just go away..

look at her face...

She is twenty four people....

4. Guilt over death toll of war

5. Guilt over Vi's possible death from downward spiral

6. Guilt over Vi's possible death from explosion in commune all born from Noxian;s arriving there

7. Guilt over everything done to the Undercity

8. Guilt over perversion of her families ventilation system

9. The fact that from season 1 Act 2 til now, she only ages a year and probably not even a whole one. Refer to my list in the beginning. She has not a single fucking second to breathe or heal from any of that shit

RESTITUTION:

So aside from willingly leading the battle that most of the undercity walked away from until Jinx shows up and almost dying for it, how does Caitlyn start to make things right you may ask? (because it is a start, for those who don't get that. This is the beginning of a story not an end). For the first time in what we understand to be the history of the twin cities, Zaun has a seat at the table. People are REALLLLYYYYY underselling this. I guess because they wanted a whole political treaty signed and to watch Caitlyn get shame-nunned through the street or something. IDK. But what I do know, is that Caitlyn gave away the ancestral seat of house Kiramman, and all the power and authority that came with it, and it now belongs to someone from the undercity. An equal voice. And it's just the beginning. It's not perfect. It's not all wrapped up in a big shiny bow, it feels real. Change isn't instant. It never has been and it never will be, and if you need that to feel fulfilled I understand, but this show was never going to be that for you.

Caitlyn Should Be Executed?:

So back to the original statement. Caitlyn should be executed in the name of peace between the cities. Well, I'll say this. if you see a 24 year old woman who inside of a year had her entire reality imploded, fell prey to the manipulations of a violent war monger close to 30 years her senior if not more, yet found her way back to herself and shed her own blood as a war hero TO SAVE HUMANITY, and your answer is she should be executed. Sure! So long as you admit you have the humanity of a toaster oven you fucking idiot.

To those of you who have continued to read, and share your thoughts, and been open to kind debate and discourse in good faith. You all mean the world to me. As I have said many times, opening myself up to this community has really happed my "real" life in a lot of ways and I love getting on here to appreciate and celebrate this story with all of you. That being said, this particular issue is so god damn irritating to me I am done being nice about it. Have a wonderful day!

[the-flaneur]

the worst attempt of nnn ever

pairing: f1 grid x gn!reader [headcanon]

ft. the whole 2024 grid

summary: technically everyone wins, aka who's most likely to fail nnn the quickest

warnings: shitpost/crack, very suggestive content and some 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut

[masterlist] [requests]

fail first

lewis

this man has zero discipline when it comes to you

absolute zero, zip, zilch, nada

normally he's on you 24/7

but when it comes to the end of the season and most things have been tied up and he dgaf, what better way to end each week than by fucking your brains out

aka 25/8 times a week

so when you attempt to propose to do nnn "for fun" on the 31st, he glares at you, calls you dumb before fucking you silly overnight (until the 1st) so that you never suggest it again that month/year

(he also bribes other drivers and wags to make sure that you are NOT included in their nnn plans)

zhou

shockingly in second place

but only cause he loves you too much, finds nnn a weird tradition (when you explained the basics) and just wants to snuggle with you and sweetcorn in bed

like why make yourself unconfortable and horny when he could just be happy and satisfied (and still horny) with you :D

lando

man is so fired up about the championship battle that he doesn't entertain the notion and just fucks you the minute november starts just to make sure you know not to fuck with him

he only manages to hang onto longer than lewis and zhou cause he was tired and forgot what time it was

carlos

had planned on competing with lando, since they had done it the year before, and the year before that (aka when they were teamates)

but when he found out from you (who found out from lando's partner) that they had already failed, he said to try for a few days

you said you didn't want to

"but it might be good for us" carlos had complained, saying something no one had ever said

and so you just like seduced him like five days later then BAM WHAM, he's back to blowing your back out

not that he needed that much encouragement

pierre

just wanted to fuck you in peace for halloween after you showed up in a very hot outfit

but then charles was like oohhhh we should try this

(f u charles)

but then almost cried in the shower when he realised he couldn't jerk off either

you heard him whimpering, laughed about it and then sucked him off

he tried to hide it, but charles found out anyways

max

is usually too busy to fuck you during race weekends so, he just failed when he like normally fucked you

cause he wanted to fuck you

cause yeah...

so....yeah...

oscar

likes to pretend he's disciplined and has lots of mental restraint

(he doesn't have restraint when it comes to you)

tried to keep some distance, aka by not arriving together at the paddock

but then failed after he saw you with franco, got jealous, said f this shit and then took you in his driver's room

checo

didn't give two flying fucks

only got interested cause evens was talking about it

but throws the challenge out the windoow the minute you insinuate that he seems "weak" about you

kmag

thinks its childish but still wanted to try it

got actually comfortable with it, until you made a sexy joke

hulk

lasts longer cause kmag found it childish

but still wanted to try it too after kmag told him about it

ocon

just wanted to beat gasly

lance

wanted to fuck you

so he complained to his father about the challenge and how you were going give him a reward at the end

so evil stepmum kdrama style, lawerence comes in and tries to give you envelopes of cash to get you to fuck stroll

you gleefully refuse

you manage to negotiate three ashton martins, a ferrari laferrari, and more, before still teasing him

to which he just gives up, and waits for you

george

for those actually dedicated to doing it, he set up the betting pool and "official" rules

(no charles...touching and edging yourself is not "illegal" but you're running the sPIrIt of the challenge)

but like lost out in the second week, when he saw you were having an amazing hair day

said ok i wanna pull on it *with grabby hands* and then gave up

(everyone mocked him relentlessly afterwards)

valterri

super chill about it

tried it only cause you wanted to try it for fun

actually found it hard to be away from you (only cause you love him so much too)

but you managed to reach the third week before simply saying

"that's enough"

franco

had never heard of it

but defs wanted to try after he learnt a about it

got really pissed off by the second week cause you were also teasing him sooooo much

but you kept refusing

basically had to beg his way into convincing you "near" it, and only seeing him get really pouty did you give in

yuki

swears and glares daggers at you the entire three weeks

but he's gotta prove that big things come in small packages

and actually makes it almost to week four before passing out from sheer horniness

fernando

actually lasts longer than most people thought he would

(liam spitefully calls out that he thought nando's blue balls would fall off)

is happy he is technically the best wdc at nnn (even moreso that lewis lost first)

makes it to like the last couple of days

you get bored and tired

so now fernando is bored and tired and just fucks you

alex

certified genz brainrotter

ofc know what it is, and is demandin to win it and prove he's at least NOT a lost in one area (his words not yours)

makes it to the last few days, before you trick into letting you give him a handjob

tries to argue technicalities with george

but by then nov its over and he just gives up

charles

used all his ferrari training in patience to last this long

wanted to tell you to kys when you suggested it

but eventually he got soooo into doing it, he was policing you

however he losses cause he was stupid

you're on his jet

he forgets time zones exist

thought he won

sent a gloating text message to the gc

and [redacted] beats him on the technicality

liam

this man is going all in no regrets, gambling style 😎

even if he didn't propose it, he's definetly the most eager to prove himself (especially to fernando and checo)

he's setting up strict rules to ensure that his dick does not get anywhere near you when sleeping, eating or breathing

(in the last few days he desperately asks you to sleep in the guest bedroom cause he's this close 🤏 to caving in)

however, he resists and gets bragging rights over everyone for the rest of the year.

fail last/succeed

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[chingyu1023vick]

Patch 1.108

🧡 I finished checking my mods for the patch and the new Lovestruck pack. Today comes with many mod updates so please check my Google spreadsheet to ensure you get all necessary updates.

~

🧡In case you missed it, a new mod has already been available to the public this month! 😊

NEW: Activity Lot Challenges

~

July 28, 2024:

📌First Round of Mod Updates for patch 1.108:

Balanced Life {Merged Edition} V20

Updated for patch 1.108

Blue Fear V5

Updated to add Fears from EP16 Lovestruck Pack

Bye Bye Eye Ring (Better CAS Randomization) V3

Updated for patch 1.108

Custom Traits in Club Filter V25

Updated to include traits and turn on/ offs from EP16 Lovestruck Pack

Updated to include more traits from llazyneiph's Royalty mod

Higher CAS Story Skills V3

Updated to include Romance Skill from EP16 Lovestruck Pack

Introduction Hider / No Autonomy V6

Updated all introductions for patch 1.108

Added Romantic Introduction from EP16 Lovestruck Pack

Lot Traits Turned Challenges V2

Updated to include Singles Hangout from EP16 Lovestruck Pack

Massage Socials Fix V3

Updated for patch 1.108

More / Less Skill Boost from Moods V4

Updated for patch 1.108

Occult Fanatic Trait V4

Updated OccultInteractionsForFanaticOnly packages for patch 1.108

Walk Normally V5

Updated !chingyu_SleepyWalk and !chingyu_SleepyWalk_Dazed for patch 1.108

~

🔨All my Custom Preferences Sets now require Zerbu's The Custom Preferences Mod to work!!! 🚨Get this required mod by @zerbu or else you will stuck with the loading screen and can't see my custom preferences in the game!!!🚨

FYI: Preferences with custom categories after patch 1.108 must be added to a common list shared with modders just like the venue list. Therefore, chingyu_ExtraCharacteristics from Sim Characteristics Overhaul and chingyu_addon_HolidayPreferences from Holiday Tradition Override are unaffected by the patch because they are not in a custom category.

~

🔽 List of my Custom Preferences with this new mod requirement:

Age Group Custom Preferences

Character Value Custom Preferences

Instant CAS Story Preferences

Lunar Custom Preferences

Mood Custom Preferences

Motive Custom Preferences

Sims Qualities

Strength and Weakness Preferences

~

❌Broken Mods Not Yet Updated for Patch 1.108:

Less Obsession

Smarter Self-Care

I'm going to update them as soon as possible. 💪 So many of the tunings in these two mods were edited so I have to re-do the mods.

I tagged some mods as required updates for adding compatibilities to traits/ skills/ minor features of the new pack on my spreadsheet but they are safe to be used in the game. My other mods and traits are compatible with the current patch. 

After fixing the rest of the broken mods, I will playtest with the pack more to see what extra features I can add to my mods with the new attraction system.

You may view the full changelog and patch note on my Mod Status on Google spreadsheet.

🔆 Changelog in July 2024 HERE

🔹 Links to ALL My Traits, Game Mods, and CCs

🔹List of IDs for creators who want to refer my traits to their own mods 

🔹 List of Chingyu’s CC Traits Name and Descriptions for mod users

🔹 Check Mod Status after a patch & Compatibilities

👁‍🗨 Learn how to install a mod & FAQs

👁‍🗨 Terms of Use

👁‍🗨 Ask Questions/ Suggestions/ Bug Reports on Discord

▶ I need to see a screenshot or LE report to help you figure out what’s wrong!

👁‍🗨 Download on my Patreon

👁‍🗨 Follow me on Twitter

[wandasaura]

BENT RIGHT TO YOUR WINDS

summary — visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, consensual free use, established safeword (it’s not used), public play, office sex, groping, nipple stimulation, choking, teasing, semi brat!reader, oral fixation, fingers as a gag, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, slight degradation, making out, nearly getting caught, alludes to aftercare, wanda in a lab coat deserves a warning, men/minors dni

authors note — happy happy happy birthday to @godhatesgoodgirls !!

kinktober

The day had felt askew since you’d rolled out of bed, something amiss in the routine you’d settled yourself into since moving to the small beach town Wanda had secured a promotion in just seven months prior; when the weather had been warmer and the leaves had been vibrant with hues of green. You bristled at the breeze that swept off the shore the closer you got to central town, able to see the rippling high tides if you craned your neck just slightly to the left and peered through the shrubbery that framed an old ice cream parlor named ‘Sprinkles’, but your gaze was fixed on the large brownstone building that you’d initially sought out, your thoughts spiraling as you considered the misleading appearance. The work that was done inside was prestigious, innovative, a true slice of the future right at the fingertips of those that had access to the futuristic laboratories inside, but the outside fit the quaint white picket fence aesthetic of Westview seamlessly. Had you never been inside before, had you not been married to Wanda who left each morning in a wrinkleless white coat, you’d have thought it was just another Mom and Pop shop for tourists to ogle at, but you weren’t blinded by ignorance – for once you were liberated with knowledge and effortless love. 

You smiled softly at Darcy as you stepped inside, finally away from the chill that October had brought with it. The warm nights and blisteringly hot days of September were long behind you, replaced by the unforgiving assault that fall brought upon you and the other residents of Westview. The thick burnt orange and brown flannel around your shoulders did little to keep you warm, but at the very least it provided a sanctuary for your hands to hide away in as you walked the short mile from your two story house to the identifiable brownstone with ‘Romanoff Industries’ pinned to the front. There was a styrofoam jack-o-lantern on the front desk, and a string of harvest leaves behind the counter as well. The touches of decor were soft, delicate, but enough to revive the spirits of those that trekked into work each day; a thoughtful addition that didn’t make the routine of life feel so mindless. 

“Wanda’s in her office.” Darcy’s smile was sweet as she nodded her head toward the elevator despite knowing that you preferred to take the stairs. You wouldn’t call her a friend, but she was always a comfortable face to see when you made the journey into town to visit Wanda during her lunch break. Since April when you’d come to help set up the office space despite Wanda keeping her decor minimal and devoid of heavy personal connection, she’d picked up on your habits, and it had become something of a running bet to see how long it would take for you to give into her quiet pestering. You’d yet to take the elevator, and Darcy huffed quietly from behind the desk as you pointedly avoided the silver plaque with glimmering white buttons to instead enter the stairwell, which was decorated with a wooden pumpkin sign hanging from a single clear command strip. 

Natasha was definitely the one who had decorated, that much was obvious as you glanced at the decorations hung up within the interior of the stairwell. She was a very business oriented woman, that much you’d come to know since getting acquainted with Wanda’s coworkers and all of their unique relationships, and every story she retold of Natasha’s behavior throughout the day led you to believe that while she maintained a no bullshit attitude, there were soft, fleeting moments of tender care hidden beneath her stoic actions and expressions. She always pushed for Wanda to take a full hour lunch break, even though she preferred to eat as quickly as possible before returning to the lab, and on her birthday, which she hadn’t told anyone about, there had been a present sitting on her desk that was admittedly not very personal, but still touching because it meant that Natasha had remembered reading it on her transfer application. The touches of halloween decor was minimal, and honestly, somewhat laughable, but there was a softer message beneath the taped up scarecrow and the wonkily hung jack-o-lanterns. Even if the holidays were of no relevance to Natasha, who you knew worked every holiday that she could because Wanda was always prattling on about her data being changed during the few days off they received for things like Christmas and Easter, she knew that it mattered to her staff, and she tried her best to put some effort into boosting moral around the office. 

When you entered Wanda’s office, the meticulously clean room being just beside the stairwell door, you noticed her lack of presence, which was odd. Wanda was always around when she knew you were coming, not wanting any of her other co-workers to get the chance to report back to Natasha claiming you were snooping through classified files. It had never happened, but the people at her old placement had started that rumor anyways, and Yelena, her boss that had become something of a close friend to you even if you rarely spoke with her grueling work schedule and your lack of genuinely trying, had merely rolled her eyes, but had still been required to scold Wanda for her negligence. Natasha’s hand would be forced the same way if anyone began those rumors again, so Wanda, bless her, had tried to nip them in the butt before they could even truly begin, which brought you right back to your confusion as you looked around the office. The salad she’d made before leaving was sat on her desk, picked through and beginning to wilt, signaling that she’d either forgotten to put the ice pack in her lunch box again despite the pink sticky note you left on the freezer door, or she’d taken lunch early by Natasha’s forcing. You hoped you weren’t interrupting anything important, not aware of your plans being subject to change, but before you could dwell on what she could possibly be doing somewhere misplaced in the large office building, you felt hands wrapping around your body and pulling you backward. 

A soft gasp fell off of your lips when the door was kicked closed, and then you realized what was happening. A breathy whine fell off your lips when fingers pinched at your nipples through the thick material of your shirt, the unbuttoned flannel thrown over your shoulders allowing your attacker to feel the way they pebbled without a bra to conceal them. The flash of white as one hand reached up to hold onto your neck had you melting against her chest, somewhat out of breath from the shock that had rattled you initially. 

“Wanda.” You sighed softly, head lulling to the side when teeth nipped at your neck before passionate kisses were pressed into your skin and trialed downward toward the collar of your shirt. “Wanda, you’re at work.” You tried again, face growing flush as you stared ahead at the open blinds. If anyone was standing across the street, if they craned their head just the slightest bit upward, they’d undoubtedly be able to make out the silhouette of your body being groped. A whine fell off of your lips when a curious hand pinched at your nipples once more, relishing in the way they hardened beneath harsh pressure. 

“Shh, baby. Just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.” She’d have stopped if you really wanted her to. All that you had to do was say a single word, and her hands would be off of you faster than they’d grabbed you to begin with, but the rush of excitement that had your clit pulsating against the seam of your leggings deterred you from making that choice. Wanda clearly knew that her office was safe enough to touch you in this way, and not so secretly, you yearned for the thrill of somebody knocking on the door, forcing the both of you to spring apart and attempt to collect yourself in time for them to not grow concerned beyond the threshold. Another added bonus was the dominance in which she touched you with, leaving nothing up for your consideration, merely taking what she wanted and giving what she wanted you to have. There was something so tantalizing about being at her disposal whenever and however she pleased, and you’d both gone to great lengths to ensure that this element of your sexual relationship was both consensual and comfortable for the both of you, not just her. She wasn’t doing anything that you hadn’t previously agreed to, in fact, you wish she’d do more. You wished her hands would stop toying with the collar of your shirt and wrap around your neck the way that you adored, that her hands would stop fiddling with your nipples overtop of your shirt and seek the price you hid beneath the thick cotton. You wished she’d travel lower, exploit that sensitive nerve between your legs that she knew how to manipulate until you were merely putty in her hands begging for release that she had every right to deny you. You wished she’d stop handling you so softly. 

“If we’re going to do this, you need to at least make it worth my while, Maximoff.” You rushed out, eyes closed as pleasure seized your thoughts, pinning you in place as she twisted your nipple sadistically, enjoying the way every muscle in your body tightened before it melted away into bliss that you couldn’t fight. She chuckled darkly against your neck, her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear. 

“Trying to tell me what to do, pretty girl?” She quizzed, pulling you back against her chest with a firm grip around your midsection, her fingers that weren’t taunting your sensitive nipples fiddling with the waistband of your leggings that begged to be slipped down lower until your cunt was exposed to the heat circulating through the spacious office. “When has that ever worked out well for you?” 

“Never.” You gritted through clenched teeth, taking in a large breath when the first instance of getting what you wanted from her presented itself, but you were foolish to think she’d cave to your bratting so easily, and just as easily as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings to pull at the hem of your delicate panties, they were gone and trailed back up your body until they found a comfortable home against your neck. Her fingers squeezed tightly, and the sudden change in air going to your lungs had your eyes fluttering closed as you slumped against her chest, writhing in pleasurable pain as she again pulled at your taut nipples and chuckled whimsically. 

“I applaud your efforts, detka, but you’re not here to make demands.” You gasped when teeth sank into your neck, right above where her thumb rested along the column of your skin, practically burning you with its possessive grip. A deep sense of pleasure rolled through your body when her knee pushed between your legs, her toned thigh sitting around against your clit, further driving the seam of your pants into your intimacy, giving you just an ounce of friction, which you took eagerly, rocking against her clothed thigh as you felt the impression of her pens in the breast pocket of her lab coat digging into you shoulder blade. “So easy, malyshka. Would you let anyone touch you like this? Have you wherever they wanted?” She knows that answer is a firm no, but still she likes to taunt your desperation for her touch, and it only adds to the humiliation that's beginning to pile up on you as you become desperate enough to rock against the thigh between your legs, desperate sounds falling off your lips as you attempt to silence your need. “So noisy, we’re gonna have to do something about that.” 

You’re shoved away from her body like merely touching your skin is enough to burn her, and you can’t help but meekly whimper at the loss of contant. It lasts for merely a handful of seconds, her hungry eyes undressing you as you found your footing and steadied yourself. “Pants around your ankles. I don’t have time for you to look at me like a deer in headlights.” She grumbles, already beginning to move around the office and ensure that the blinds are properly drawn as you push down your leggings and fold yourself over the desk in the way that you know she wants. Your ass sticks out just enough for your glistening cunt to be visible, and a sadistic chuckle warms your skin as she sets her eyes on you already dripping for her. “You like when I take advantage of you, baby? When I tell you to come meet me for lunch just so I can play with your cunt?” It all makes sense now, and you can’t help but cry out in surprise when her palm comes down on the globe of your ass and leaves a stinging sensation in its wake. Another hit follows, this time harder and directed at your lower thighs, but there’s not time for you to respond before she’s pushing two fingers into your folds and setting a brutal pace as she works to have you coming undone. 

She’d nearly been late to work that morning, too focused on obsessing over you to a degree that should’ve made her plans for the afternoon obvious. She’d asked you a few hundred questions, about how you were doing mentally, how you felt being in Westview now that it wasn’t so new, if you were still getting caught between feelings of sadness and longing in moments that you couldn’t have predicted such a strong overcoming of emotion. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now, but as you gathered the full picture, you can see that she was checking in, ensuring that none of this would affect you in any way other than positively. If her hand wasn’t holding your back firmly against her desk, you would’ve spun around to kiss her, but all that you could do now was whine as her fingers hammered into you, curling upward if only to graze that sensitive spot within your walls minimally. She was toying with you, teasing you, seeing how long she could prolong your pleasure until you begged for her to give you more. 

It came quickly, because the overwhelming assault of your love for her only multiplied the pleasure that her fingers were provoking within your core, and the small movements of your hips pushing back against her fingers only gained you so much. “Please! Please! I need more!” You begged, tears blurring in your vision as your moans and whines became too loud, and were quickly silenced by her fingers forcing themselves into your mouth. She pressed down on your tongue cynically, chuckling to herself as you gagged and moaned around her now sodden digits. 

She didn’t try to deny you though, working faster, pressing against that sweet spot within you with purpose now, dragging out every ounce of pleasure you allowed her to take, her thumb falling onto your clit as she guided you towards an orgasm that had to be silent, the sounds of footsteps just beyond the office door reminding you of where you are. 

“Cum for me, detka. It’s okay, you can let go.” She cooed as she felt your walls begin to squeeze her fingers, fluttering and pulsating with each ounce of pleasure she drew out of you. That was all it took for you to fall apart, her fingers in your mouth silencing the whines and moans that attempted to fall into the air, but became muffled and soft sounding as her digits prevented them from fully forming on your tongue. Your thighs trembled as she withdrew her fingers, your brain a jumbled mess of pleasure and submission as you reached for your pants and worked them up your legs. 

You smiled softly as she turned you around in her arms, laying a kiss to your lips that was soft and tender like she always was. “Did you eat?” She checked in, no longer radiating dominance that had your mind whirling with pleasurable incoherence, and just barely did you manage to nod your head before the door swung upon and one of her colleges that you’d heard about stood in the doorway with a beam of pride on her lips, entirely unaware of what she’d almost barged in on. 

“We made a development! Like, a big development!” Kate rambled with excitement, taking off down the hallway and back toward the lab before Wanda even had a chance to reply. 

You batted at the woman's chest, your hand landing right against her breast pocket where three black pens were meticulously pinned, your cheeks flush in mortification. “You didn’t lock the door?!” 

“Whoops?” She grinned bashfully, stealing one last kiss before she was racing out of the office and in the direction that Kate had fled to. “I’ll see you at home, baby! Love you!”

[orcasoul]

The Plus One

Summery: You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?

Warnings: swearing, angst (because I liiive for it!), mental health issues, low self esteem from reader, caring Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.

This is inspired by the video of Pedro dancing his arse off at Sarah Paulsons 50th birthday party. God bless this man for randomly inspiring us when he's not even trying to lol.

Word Count: 3,516

It's a quiet evening at home. The living room fireplace is softy blazing, the crackling red and orange flames along with the Christmas tree lights and low lamp light bathes the room in a reposeful ambience. You're snuggled up on the settee in your favourite fluffy Oodie, sipping a hot chocolate as you finish reading a Christmas rom com by one of your favourite authors. And while this is something that usually helps you to unwind at the end of the day, you can't seem to shift that gutting feeling deep down in your stomach. You should have been with Pedro tonight at Sarah's party instead of here alone. With the book finished you're about to check Kindle for your next read but before opening the app, you'd decided to check your notifications on facebook.

Now you wish you hadn't. Of course the first thing to pop up would be a video of Pedro having the time of his life at the party. Not that that is the real issue here. You're not the controlling or possessive type who wants to keep their partner all for yourself and deny them any kind of social life; quite the opposit, in fact. The thing that really hurts, that makes your heart physically ache is that you're never included in Pedro's social events anymore. You would have loved to have been his date to Sarah's party and make memories with him like normal couples do. You've met Sarah on several occasions and the two of you had always got along really well, so why would he rather go alone than bring you?

You've been together for six months now, so it's not like you're in the early stages where you're both yet to meet the others' family and friends. It just doesn't make sense. You had attended a few ceremonies and promotional events for Pedro's movies with him before now and even though they had been quite intense environments to be in, you were just thrilled to be there with him, to support him and show the world how proud you are of him. And you'd like to think that you were adept at hiding the effects that your social anxiety had on you during these occasions. You'd smile, engage in chit chat and if it became too overwhelming you'd always secretly resort to your special coping technique to calm your nerves; stroking slow circles on the palm of your hand.

But it had been months since you'd last attended any events with him and as time goes on it just hurts more and more. You'd hoped time would have made it easier to accept, but truthfully it makes you feel abandoned, insignificant, like you don't belong in his world. Is that it? Is he embarrassed by you? It's true you're both from very different worlds, having met through friends of friends and not through working together in the film industry. Sometimes you still can't understand why he'd chose to be with a nobody like you when he could literally have any woman he wanted. As your mind continues to spiral, taking you to dark places, tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

To love him so much, only to feel it's not enough for him to want you around is... soul crushing. You'd been trying for so long to ignore that niggling little voice in the back of your mind; the one telling you that you aren't good enough for him and there has been times when you'd been able to mute it, especially when you're together and he looks at you with pure adoration in his eyes, or the times he would come home to LA between filming, even if it was just for a couple of days to see you or if he couldn't make it he'd fly you out to the set. No matter what he always made time for your relationship, but only out of the public eye. Pedro has always been a private person, especially when it comes to romantic involvements, but it feels like he's trying to hide you.

And now, this latest video has turned that niggling little voice into a full on megaphone, screaming an endless barrage of ugly truths at you; you're not enough for him. He's bored of you. You're an embarrassment, a stone around his neck. It was only a matter of time. You clutch at your chest as your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sobs wracking your body. It's over! How could you have not seen it sooner?! He doesn't need you in his life. He's bloody Pedro Pascal for heavens' sake.

You were a delusional fool to ever believe you had anything to offer him. Maybe this is his way of subtly telling you it wasn't working for him anymore. Maybe he'd hoped showing you the stark differences between you both would have made you realise it couldn't continue, and being the kind and gentle man he is, he didn't want to outright dump you and hurt you, so this was the best strategy.

Now your sorrow is tinged with anger. If he wanted to end it all this time he damn well should have had the balls to tell you instead of dragging it out. So, it's down to you now; if he won't do it, you'll have to. Your tablet screen is now shining with your tears. You wipe it dry with your sleeve and throw it down beside you, Knidle well and truly forgotton. Fluffing up a cushion, you curl up on the settee while your broken heart mourns and weeps.

As the party came to an end Pedro couldn't help but feel a little relieved. He'd had a great time and wouldn't have missed one of his best friends' milestone birthdays for the world, but he missed you like hell tonight. He especially felt the sting of your absence when he would see couples dancing or sitting together, hand in hand or snuggling up. He feels selfish, but he wishes you could have been here tonight. And not just tonight, but to all his recent public appearances like the premiers for The Wild Robot and Gladiator 2, but he won't put you through that again.

The guilt still eats away at him when he casts his mind back to the last couple of times you'd attended high profile events with him, even low key and private ones where there isn't a constant blinding flash of cameras. He knows of your struggles with your mental health, in particular with social anxiety (something he can absolutely relate to) and even through your obvious facade he could see what the pressure was doing to you, often feeling a slight tremble in your hand while laced with his. He could see the difference between your forced smile and your genuine smile; the one that would make your eyes sparkle and he could lose himself in them completely.

But the worst thing was when you start rubbing the palm of your hand over and over when you'd thought he wasn't watching. He knew then it was all becoming too much for you and that's when he'd decided that he won't be selfish anymore, that he had to prioritise your well being and comfort before his own and if that meant attending ceremonies and large gatherings alone, so be it. Of course, he always felt incomplete without you at his side, but your needs far outweigh his own as far as he's concerned. Knowing he can shield you from even a fraction of discomfort makes the sacrifice worth it.

After slipping into his jacket, Pedro found Sarah at the front door of her house, waving some guests off. Wrapping her in a big hug, he said, "Happy birthday again, sweetie and thanks for inviting me." Sarah returned the hug. "I'm so glad you came, but I missed seeing Y/N tonight. How is she?" Pedro couldn't hold back the grin that broke out across his face at the mention of your name. "She's great. I wanted to bring her tonight, but I think the crowd would have been too much for her." Sarah smiled endearingly at her friend. "You really do love her, don't you?" Pedro chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh no reason..." she smirked. " Only that I've never seen you so smitten and protective over any other woman in all the years I've known you. You've got it bad." Pedro rolled his eyes, playfully. "Yeah, I guess I do." "So, what are you waiting for?" Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about?" Pedro asked, knowing exactly what she meant. "You've been carrying that ring around with you for weeks now and still haven't asked her. What's holding you back?" Pedro shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Just worried about her, that's all. The moment word gets out of an engagement, paparazzi will be circling like vultures. I don't just want her overwhelmed." "I think you underestimate her," Sarah began, "I don't think she'd ever let her anxiety get in the way of being with you. It's obvious how much she loves you. In fact when I'm around you two for too long, the sweetness gives me temporary diabetes." Pedro let out a deep belly laugh at that, drawing one from Sarah in return.

"Just do it..." she urged, gently. "You know she'll say yes." Pedro smiled and nodded, "I know." "Well..." Sarah yawned, "Get out of here. I'm fifty now and need my beauty sleep." She gave Pedro another hug. "So, I'll see you and Y/N for lunch next week?" "Sure," Pedro replied, "Goodnight, sweetie." He waved as he walked to his car. "Night," Sarah called out before closing the door.

Settling in his car, Pedro connected his phone to the car speaker and rang your phone. He promised he'd call after the party to say goodnight and couldn't wait to hear your voice. But as soon as you answered, he knew something was wrong. "Hey baby, everything okay?" he asked, worridly. His worry only increased when you cleared your throat, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. "Yeah um... I'm fine." You most definitely aren't fine! "You're a shit liar, you know that?" Pedro says, lightheartedly to help put you at ease. Now his tone turns more serious. "Tell me what's wrong." Silence... "Y/N? You're starting to scare me now." "I told you I'm fine. I'm just... tired." You tried to sound convincing but failed, spectacularly.

"I'm coming over -" "No!" Your abrupt outburst silenced Pedro. You've never turned him away in all the months you've been together. "It's... uh... it's late. You should just get home safe." Pedro sighed. "I know something's wrong and if you won't tell me on the phone I'm coming over." At that, you burst into tears. A pang shot straight through Pedro's heart at the sound of you crying. "Hey, baby, talk to me!" he pled. "What happened?" In between the the sniffling your voice became strained. "I didn't want to do this over the phone." Pedro suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut, not liking the tone of this conversation. "Do what?" he asked, hesitantly. "Its..." sniffle, "It's over."

If Pedro hadn't already been sitting in the car his legs would have given out on him! "W- what?!" he stuttered in disbelief. "What do you mean it's over?!" His hands gripped the steering wheel for support. Where the fuck did this come from all of a sudden?! "Please..." you whispered, sounding mentally drained. "Don't pretend you didn't know this was coming. If you don't want me anymore you should have said something sooner." Pdero jerked his head back, blinking in shock. "What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?" You are full on sobbing now, your words just an unintelligible jumble. "I'm coming over, right now!" "No, please-" "I'm coming over!" he cut you off bluntly and hung up the phone.

His hands shook as he started up the engine and it took all of his willpower to not floor it to your house. Getting pulled over for speeding is the last thing he needs right now. The whole way over, his mind was a frantic mess. What could have happened between the last time he saw you (which was only yesterday) and now? Did he say something? Do something? When he got to your house, he practically flew from the car, his fist pounding on your front door almost as hard as his heart was pounding behind his ribs. "Baby open up, please. I'm not leaving until you talk to me." A few moments later the door cracked open and there you stood, puffy eyed and blotchy faced. Your lips had swollen and your nose shone red from crying.

Pedro could have cried himself from the state you're in. Without a second thought he pushed his way through the door and swept you into his arms, cupping the back of your head to his chest. To his relief, instead of pushing him away, you encircled your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He reached back to close the door behind him, then guided you to the setee, sitting beside you. "Now, what's all this about, hmm? I know this isn't what you really want." You shook your head, a small humourless laugh escaping you. "Of course it's not, but deep down I think it's what you want."

Pedro's forefinger gently tipped your chin up so you were looking into his eyes; big puppy dog eyes filled hurt, confusion and fear. "What I want?" His bottom lip twitched as if he was lost for words. You nod, wiping your cheeks. "W- why would you ever think something like that, sweetheart?" Pedro's shocked expression now has you doubting yourself. Were you wrong? But how could you be? For a while, you've been trying to ignore the feeling that he was slipping away but looking at him now... It's like he'd never even entertained the idea of leaving you. All this uncertainty is giving you whiplash and you can't hold it in anymore. You need to get everything off your chest.

"I..." you trail off as you feel more tears gathering, ready to pour out along with all your insecurities. "...I feel like you don't want me around anymore..." you begin, chest shuddering with nerves and hiccups. "You never invite me to anything, whether it's to do with your public life or even your social life. I'm never included like a partner should be. I need you to be honest... Are you ashamed of me? Because sometimes I feel like you don't want to be seen with me and that you've been pulling away..." You're rambling now, but you just can't stop. "I know I'm not on the same level as you and there are so many beautiful women out there throwing themselves at your feet. Maybe I don't belong in your world. Maybe I'm not enough for you-" Pedro's hands on either side of your face stops your self deprecating tirade.

"Baby, don't you ever put yourself down like that again, you hear me?" You're shocked to see Pedro's cheeks are now wet too. "I'm sorry. Fucking hell! I'm so sorry I made you feel that way. I thought I was protecting you this whole time." "Protecting me?" you ask in bewilderment. Pedro gave you a sad smile. "I Know from years of experience that being in the spotlight is tough. It can be draining and I could see how hard it was for you." Pedro took one of your hands and turned it over, rubbing slow circles into your palm. When you realised what he meant by that action, he nodded and kissed your forehead.

"I know you tried to hide it from me, but I noticed every time." "I'm sorry," you mumbled, shame burning your cheeks. "No." Pedro squeezed your hand. "You never apologise for that. I'm the one who's sorry. I was afraid if I mentioned it, you deny it for my sake, so I stopped asking you to come with me thinking it was the best thing for you." Pedro exhaled and your heart ached for him, seeing the guilt and remorse crushing him. "I didn't think it would have looked like I never want you around, 'cause the truth is I miss you, EVERY GODDAMN TIME I have to attend these things without you. I want you with me, now and forever. I'll tell you what..." he looked to be carefully considering his next words. "if you feel up for it, come with me to the next event and if you feel overwhelmed at any point, you tell me and we'll take some time out or even leave."

More tears fall, but this time from sheer relief. You hadn't realised you'd dropped your head again until Pedro, once again, lifted your chin. He looked into your eyes with a fierce and passionate determination. "Now, I'll say this only once; I'm not ashamed of you, we are on the same level, you are more than enough for me and you ARE my world. I love you, so much!" You couldn't fight the beaming smile that practically split your face and you grabbed Pedro by the collar of his jacket, crashing your lips against his.

A surprised "Oomph!" came from his throat and you felt him smile against your mouth. His hands slid to your waist and he pulled you flush to his upper body. His tongue licked your lips and you opened them, allowing him to deepen then kiss; a kiss filled with love, reassurance and a promise of forever. Pedro then broke the kiss, pulling you into a hug. "I love you too," you whispered into his ear. "And I'm sorry, I should have told you how I was feeling instead of keeping it from you." Pedro cupped your cheek, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry too, for making that decision for you instead of talking to you."

You let out a lighthearted chuckle, Pedro's frown softening at the sound. "I guess it was just bad communication on both our parts." "Yeah..." he agreed. "Let's make a promise to each other, right now; that we'll always be open and honest with each other and not keep things bottled up." "I promise," you smile and kiss the tip of his nose. "And I promise, too," he returned the kiss. With all the tension drained from your body, you suddenly feel exhausted and can't stop the big yawn taking over you. Pedro smiled at you, adoringly. "I think we should get you to bed, sweetheart." He stood up, picking you up off the setee and made his way to your bedroom.

"Will you stay tonight?" You whisper as you snuggle into his neck, inhaling the scent you love so much. "Of course I will." He kissed the crown of your head. While you used the bathroom, pedro changed into a pair of PJ bottoms and an old T-shirt he'd left here for when he'd stay over. He used the bathroom after you, rushing through brushing his teeth just so he could return to you sooner. Walking into the bedroom, he laughed to himself when all could see was your eyes peeking at him from the edge of the quilt, which was pulled up to cover your nose. God, you look adorable. Your eyes creased in the corners as you laughed under the cover, then pulled it away for him to settle in next to you.

Pedro laid on his back, lifting his arm for you to snuggle into him. Sighing happily, you lay your head on his broad chest and lace a leg over his hips, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the warmth of his body soothing you instantly. "I love you." You tipped your head up to kiss him softly on his lips. "I love you too," he purred, tightening his arms around you. It didn't take you more than ten minutes to drop off, judging by your slow breaths. Pedro, on the other hand, stayed awake long after you'd dropped off, just relishing the feeling of holding you in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how close he came to losing you tonight, and all because of a misunderstanding.

He thinks of the ring he's been carrying around, how he almost lost the opportunity to give it to you. Well, he won't wait any longer. If tonight has taught him anything, it's that nothing is guaranteed in life and, even though he never once doubted you'd say yes, just your devastated reaction to believing you'd lost him proves that you love and need him as much as he does you. Tomorrow he'll ask you; He'll wine and dine you at your favourite restaurant, take you on a stroll along the beach and then, he'll get down on one knee and invite you to share the rest of your life with him.

@greenwitchfromthewoods @picketniffler @liciafonseca @misscornelia13 @missadangel @southernbe

[iinthehexcore]

little mouse

Silco saved you in the bar a while ago. It was only fitting that you returned that favor.

content: SLIGHTLY suggestive toward the end, talk of weapons, sequel to 'the last drop', tagging a few of the people who asked for a p2, 1825 words

an: happy christmas to all who celebrate! hope you guys like this, enjoy!

⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

"Hey, Mouse."

You stood up from your crouching position, placing a glass on the bar top. Sevika came in, a lit cigarette on the corner of her mouth as she let out a sigh, plopping down on one of the seats. Over the months, the two of you had became some sort of friends. Now, Sevika was a closed off person to begin with, not trusting you even one bit, but after seeing you work and defend your people, she warmed up to you. Ever since that one moment where you sneaked behind a man to steal back the bottle of booze that he had taken from the bar, she called you Mouse. Silent, but gets the job done.

"Rough day?"

The woman in front of you hummed, inhaling the smoke before turning her head, blowing it back out. Her favorite liquor was already set in a place where it was easy for you to grab. You dropped an ice cube into the glass, filling it up before pushing it her way. She thanked you, downing the entire thing as she groaned.

"Finn wants to meet with Silco today."

You raised an eyebrow, topping up her glass again before screwing the cap back on, placing it on the shelf right beside you. Some of the droplets that had spilled got neatly wiped up with your rag as you tossed it on the counter.

"What does Finn want with him?"

Sevika knew you didn't like the man either. It was something you bonded over. His exaggerated confidence annoyed the both of you, together with his lame attempts on trying to get Sevika on his side, and trying to get you in his bed. You knew not to fully piss the man off though. At least, not without Silco knowing first.

"Can trust you, can't I, Mouse?"

"Sevika," you sigh, "I quite literally cleaned blood off of the tables just so Silco wouldn't know that you beat that drunk guy up. Yes, you can."

She raised an eyebrow, the slightest smirk on her face as she sipped from her cup.

"Heard something about him wanting to overthrow Silco. Wants to be the most powerful Chembaron in Zaun."

It made you roll your eyes.

"He always bites off more than he can chew. He came to you?"

She hummed and nodded, swirling the ice cube in the glass. It made you chuckle as you glanced at the door, seeing the rest of the pub still empty.

"So he is still stupid enough to think you will betray Silco," you sighed, "Finn needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Not only better for us, but also better for him."

"I just hope he stays away from here. I can't be here tonight - Silco has me out on a job."

You grimaced, squinting your eyes before pouring yourself a glass of water. Silco had told you that you could drink as long as you knew how to handle yourself, but you felt much more confident in being completely sober. You never knew what could happen, not in the Zaun now.

A week ago, Silco gifted you something. He said that it was because you were so good at your job, but little did you know the real reason. The man, though not doubting your skills or confidence, was… scared. With nothing but some glass bottles and a tea towel to defend yourself, he knew you needed something. Thieram had a gun, Sevika had her whole arm, so, for you, he found another weapon. A knife, small and thin, hidden away on your belt. You wouldn't even need to kill someone, no. That was not what he wanted. It simply gave him some peace of mind to know that if something were to happen, you would have something to defend yourself with.

"Thieram and I can keep an eye out," you winked, sipping your water, "Highly doubt you will miss anything."

The small clock next to you made you realize it was already later than you thought. Normally, Silco would have been downstairs right now, sipping a drink before the crowd would get big before disappearing into his office.

"Well, I will see you later, then. Time for Silco's drink."

"Hmm," Sevika threw her head back, gulping down the rest of her drink before wiping her mouth, "See you later, Mouse."

With a glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, you walked up the stairs, knocking on the door before you heard a 'come in'. Behind the door sat Silco, annoyed look on his face. On his desk laid a map and a lit cigar rested on the dish that Jinx had painted for him.

"Care for a drink?"

"Gladly," he groaned.

You quietly closed the door behind you, placing the gold-rimmed glass on his desk. Neither of you exchanged words, but it didn't feel necessary. The liquor splattered against the glass as you filled it up, closing the bottle again and stepping back.

"Expecting any guests?"

"Thankfully not."

"Well… If you need another drink, let me know."

He hummed in return, raising the glass to his lips as you left again. It seemed that in the few minutes that you were gone, the bar had filled up, and Thieram had arrived. He was busy making drinks as you greeted him with a smile, placing Silco's bottle back before pouring glasses.

Half an hour. That was how long you were able to just simply do your job. An odd character here and there trying to flirt with you before drunkenly walking off, drinks spilled, Thieram having to scold some idiots. You smiled at the woman in front of you as you handed her the drink, your gaze falling to the door behind her that opened and closed. In walked Finn, his golden jaw shimmering in the dim light. It made you raise an eyebrow - Silco wasn't expecting anyone today.

Instinctively, you looked to the booth to your left before remembering that Sevika wasn't here for the evening. But, what in the hell was Finn doing here? On his own, too. The man was nothing without at least one person by his side. You wiped the counter, your eyes following the figure as Finn walked up the stairs, disappearing from your sight.

"Thieram, I will be right back."

Your hand reached for Silco's bottle, the other one patting your hip to make sure that you had the knife with you. Maybe Finn was just there being harmless, but when has he not tried to pull some tricks? Worst case you have to pour both of them a drink. And so, after pushing yourself through the crowd, you sneaked up the stairs. No trace of Finn.

Stopping in front of the door, you paused. It was hard to hear if anything was being said as the crowd was rather loud, but you could hear the low humming of Silco's voice. Then, a louder voice, one dripping in forced confidence. You slowly opened the door, bottle held in your hands as if a weapon, before peeking in. There, Finn with a blade in his hand, standing right in front of Silco. Your boss must have been sitting down as you only saw his legs peek out from under the desk, but with Finn puffing his chest, it was hard to see anything.

Softly, you closed the door behind again, sneaking closer and closer.

"Today is the day you die, Silco."

You peeked past Finn's legs, seeing Silco sigh before putting his hand on his head. It seemed like neither men had noticed you. Finn tightened the grip on the blade, a sly smirk on his face.

"That's a risk I've known all my life."

With that, you jumped up, raising the bottle high above your head before smashing it down on Finn's cheek. He let out a surprised gasp as he stumbled to the floor, blood trickling down his eye as you slipped your knife out of the holster, holding it against Finn's neck.

"Day you die, Finn?"

Silco, who already had his hand on the holster of his pistol, looked at you confused, though he knew now was not the time. He cocked it, aiming it at Finn. The loud thuds and breaking glass seemed to catch quite some attention as Sevika burst in, metal arm nearly breaking off the door. She had just finished her job, wanting to let Silco know it was all done, stains still on her metal arm.

There, you on top of Finn with a knife to his throat, Silco with a gun aimed at the very same man, and a blade laying too far away for Finn to reach.

"Sevika, perfect moment," Silco pushed back his hair, his shoulders dropping before pointing to the man on the floor, "Surely you can take care of him?"

It seemed like all her dreams came true as she grinned. Oh, she can. She grabbed him by the neck as you stepped off of him, huffing as Sevika dragged him away. To where? You had no idea, but you did not doubt Sevika's skills.

"Well, well, well, little Mouse."

You averted your gaze back to Silco who only looked at you with what seemed to be an amused grin. He placed his gun back on his desk, one hand on his hip before gesturing.

"Quite a spectacle there. Care to explain?"

He moved one of the chairs back for you before sinking down on his own, taking a hit of his cigar. You sat on the chair in front of him, placing the blade right next to his pistol.

"I wasn't going to kill him. Don't think I could, no matter how annoying he is," you sighed, "I just… You said that there were no meetings today, and Finn showing up when Sevika wasn't supposed to be here seemed like much more than a mere coincidence. I didn't mean to come in without knocking, Silco."

"No," he tutted, "No apologies. I believe in loyalty more than a closed door, Mouse."

He swirled the ice around in his cup, looking at the broken glass and spilled liquor on the wooden floor.

"Such a shame we wasted this on an... idiot like Finn."

You snorted, shaking your head.

"Sorry. If it turned out he was here to make peace, then at least I could have poured you both a drink."

"You know, Mouse," Silco hummed, his fingers tracing the rim of the glass, "I never understood why you were called that. Mouse."

He placed emphasis on your nickname, glancing up at you.

"Sevika called you Mouse, and so did I. Surely there had to have been a reason for it. But now, I have seen it first hand," he nodded, "Didn't even see you sneak in. Finn surely didn't expect it."

You looked up at him, tilting your head.

"I can be quiet if I wish to."

"A handy skill indeed," hummed Silco, placing his glass on his desk, "Care to see how quiet we can be, little Mouse?"

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tags: @nottherealamber @sevikashimmerstrap