#poor reader is so confused

[katewibberlystan]

Rafe don’t be a lovesick disaster of a man challenge level impossible

[lorelune]

That post of the most fucked up relationship of all time x the most vanilla sex is architect Blade 2 me

oh anon so right so true... blade and architect reader are so fucked. literally woven together by kafka's scheming and some unseen script... but when they finally fuck its gonna be the most vanilla yearning awful thing

[robin-obsessed]

oh… my god… never in my life did i imagine i’d need a rockstar haechan fic so bad…

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 1 of 3

wc: 22k (!!!!!!!) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: loss of virginity, very soft sex (hand-holding during sex), lots of kissing, protected sex, haechan fucks...a lot, fingering, oral (f receiving), very faint corruption kink, JEALOUSY, possessiveness (marking, signing on your body), handjob, car sex, cumplay, spit, exhibitionism (!), slight dumbification, slight degradation, titty-sucking etc, sweet aftercare a/n: i worked a lot on this and i really hope u like it.... i really hope it's hot... i hope u like rockstar haechan...please let me know what u think... (fic playlists) | browse the fic tag :)

he's been staring at you all night.

the bass thrums insistent in your chest, overriding your heartbeat, as you cling onto the barrier between the stage and the crowd. lights flash before your eyes, almost blinding you with how fast they blinked, and you can barely make out the faces of the boys onstage as they play their last song of the night. the air is damp, excitement riding high over the crowd in waves of endless screams that never seem to stop. 

and the boy on the far right, fingers moving deftly over the strings of his electric guitar, hasn't taken his eyes off you for the last five minutes. 

a sharp smile tugs at his lips, smokey makeup making his gaze ever more piercing as he looks down at you through his overgrown bangs, hairs at the nape of his neck unruly and wild. the lights throw the features of his face into high contrast, the tattoos curling on his neck and hip screaming for attention, as do the glint of jewelry scattered everywhere on his body. you feel smaller and smaller under his gaze, something lewd about the way he runs his tongue over his lips, eyes practically undressing you. he never seemed to stop moving his body as he played, bouncing on his toes or letting his body lean away from the sound, the music fuelling and becoming one with his movements as if he were a dancer.

as the music crashes and swells towards the end of his solo, his eyes slide over to yours with a practiced precision, as if he had memorized your position in the crowd. swaying his hips from side to side, his eyelids droop just slightly into a half-lidded stare, as he ruts his hips playfully against his guitar. 

the screams of the other fans are deafening, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of your heartbeat in your own ears.

haechan finally looks away, a small smile on his face as he signals to his bandmates towards the song's ending. you feel almost empty as the weight of his attention lifts off of you, pressing yourself up against the railing on tip-toe to try and catch his eye again before sinking down and feeling like an idiot. 

he was just doing fanservice for an audience member, nothing more. you try not to find his actions endearing as he slings his arm around the lead singer, mark, his surprisingly boyish laugh making your heart flutter in your chest as he waves towards his fans one more time. 

people are leaving the venue, the sounds of their excitement getting further and further away, but you stand there, reeling, clutching onto the metal barrier, sure that if you took your hands off it you would fall. finally, glancing up at the stage one last time, you're just about to leave to find your friend, the only reason you were even here, when –

"leaving so soon?" 

the boy is sitting on the stage right in front of you, leaning forward so you can see his face clearly. up close, he's even prettier than before, delicate almost doll-like legs wrapped under ripped skinny jeans, leading up to thick and toned thighs, his slender waist shadowed under his large leather jacket ridden with buckles and straps. without the bright stage lights, you can see the moles on his skin, tracing a dangerous path under the collar of his shirt. 

at your lack of response, he raises his eyebrows. "i asked if you were leaving, princess." 

"i have to find my friend," the words come out rushed. "um…jaemin? your band hired him tonight as the photographer." 

"i remember," he nods. "so…you're not a fan?" 

"no." he nods, silence filling the space between the both of you. you can see him start to formulate a goodbye, his heart-shaped lips parting, but you don't want the conversation to end, you don't want him to stop looking at you. "- but…i really enjoyed your show." 

he looks a little surprised, and a genuine smile spreads sweetly across his face. "why?" he challenges. 

"what?" 

"what did you like about our show?" his eyes glint, and you know he's teasing you. 

"the songs were good," you mumble. 

"yeah?" he licks his lips, a slight hint of nervousness showing on his face as he clears his throat. "who was your favorite member?" 

"huh?" 

"your favorite band member," he repeats, tilting his head to the side. "jeno, he's our drummer, mark's the lead singer, jisung plays bass and i…" he waves his hand absentmindedly towards his guitar, on the stand, still onstage behind him. "i'm haechan," he adds. 

if you wanted to get to know him, it wouldn't hurt to show a little of exactly how much you liked him, would it? "you were my favorite," you admit. "you…you have really good stage presence," you blurt out. 

"stage presence?" 

"yeah. when i'm in the crowd…i can't really pay attention to anything else. and you…" you swallow, heat burning up your cheeks, but the way his eyes were looking at you with curiosity making you finish your thought. "you make the audience feel like they want to please you." the unspoken truth, that you, as part of the audience, wanted to please him, hangs in the air. 

your embarrassment, at saying something so suggestive and raw, is quickly washed away by the smile tugging at the corner of his lip, a smirk that quickly spreads across his face into a grin. you're so mesmerized by it, that you're taken aback by the way he suddenly shifts, hopping down the stage lightly and standing in front of you. 

"princess," he says, softly, placing his hands on the railing next to yours so the sides of your fingers barely brush. "do you want to come to a party?" 

you resist the urge to immediately say yes. "what party?" 

"there's one after every show. jaemin will have been invited, he can take you." the venue has emptied out, even his bandmates have left the stage. and yet, his voice is pitched low as he leans in, body warmth radiating off of him, and you are so close, you can see the smudged eyeliner on his lower lash line, can make out the grey of his colored contact lenses. "you can find me there." 

"but…" you feel lost. "why can't you just take me?" 

"if we show up together, it'll seem a little like we're dating, no?" his voice is quiet, but firm. 

hurt and confusion blossoms in your chest. was it really that serious? keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible, you ask, "would that be so bad? for…for us to date?”

but you know it's the wrong thing to say. 

he exhales slowly, a brief look of pain flitting over his features. he hated doing this, hated reaching the point in conversations where rules and boundaries had to be discussed. nights where he found his girls at the party were the easiest, letting body language and long glances do the talking, as few strings attached as possible. 

but today he couldn't stop looking at you, in the front row, couldn't help sliding his eyes over and checking to see if you were watching him, a pleased thrum burning in his chest every time his gaze found yours. it seemed logical, to spend his time with you tonight. but if he'd known you'd felt like this, he never would have waited onstage. 

"what's your name, princess?" 

"y/n."

"y/n, i'm not making you my girlfriend," he states, bluntly. "i can't, and i don't want to. you can meet me at the party later, but we'll just fuck – nothing else." 

his words make you feel small, his tone harsh compared to his previous meandering way of speaking. even then, the thought of letting him walk away, to never see him again, to end this story on this moment, made you feel worse than anything.  

at the look on your face, he softens slightly. 

"i'm sorry if you thought this was going to be more," he says, quietly. "you don't have to do anything you don't want to." 

"i do," you correct him. frustrated, he sighs, and you rush to clarify. "i'll meet you at the party. just…nothing else." your end off hesitantly, unwilling to echo his crude words.

"are you sure?" you think you see his gaze darken, the tension suddenly heightening as he places one of his large hands over your own. his guitar-calloused fingertips are rough as they slide against the back of your hand, drawing shapes that burn into your skin like tattoos. you nod, but he shakes his head — slowly, sweetly patient. "i need to hear you say it," he murmurs, and the words go straight to your gut. 

"i'm sure." your voice comes out as a whisper, but he doesn't seem to mind. he leans in, and just when you think your lips are going to meet, your mouth parting expectantly, he tilts his head and kisses you softly on your cheek. 

"make sure no one sees you, princess," he murmurs, low in your ear, before straightening up. "don't make me wait too long, hm?" 

—

"did anyone follow you up here?" 

haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word. 

"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so." 

he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out. 

"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?" 

feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop. 

he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. it's only because your body is pressed up against his, his hands are roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips. 

"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.

you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit. 

his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?" 

you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-" 

"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his touch. 

"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you. 

he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes. 

"y/n…i can't be your first time." 

"but i want –" 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold, and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show." 

you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his. 

"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly. 

"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle. 

"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers moving across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen. he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts his phone down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.

"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?" 

and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down. 

—

the feeling of embarrassment curdles in your stomach, and leaves a sour taste in your mouth every time you look in the mirror. it's what leads you to skip the next show, making an excuse to jaemin about 'having other plans'. and then the other, and then the other. and then it's been a week, and your friend has finally managed to drag you to one of their after-parties, pushing you through the door with a little too much enthusiasm. he knows something is bothering you, and he wants nothing more than to help take your mind off of it — but he has no idea that the something is currently leaning against the archway leading off into the living room, nursing a bottle of beer in his hands, and brushing his hands around some girl's waist in a way that made you feel sick. 

jaemin introduces you to mark, out on the balcony. mark is sweet, and friendly, a regular boy-next-door who happens to have face gems twinkling next to his eyes and leather pants tight around his thighs. he asks you about college, and work. he talks about the songs he's writing on his guitar. he catches your drink when you almost drop it over the railing, an easy smile on his face when his fingers brush yours passing it back to you, and a shy grin when he reaches out to lace his fingers with yours properly.

"i'm really busy, but i'd love to talk to you more," he says, sincerely, as he takes your phone from your hands to key in his number. he texts himself so his contact is at the top of your messages, making you promise to text him when you get back. he looks at you meaningfully, squeezing your hand before dropping it to go back to his party. 

there's a moment, where you think to follow. 

but then all of it – every touch, every glance, every speck of light you counted reflected in marks' wide eyes, — all of it is wiped clean the moment you hear a familiar low voice.

"trying to get with my friends now, princess?" 

when the light illuminates his silhouette, hurt registers before anything else. 

hickeys bloom across the side of haechan's neck, trailing down to his chest. only a simple mesh top lies underneath his leather jacket, and you can see the shadows of a few more bruises on his torso when his arm shifts, tugging the jacket open just slightly. his hair is a mess, tugged this way and that by desperate hands, and you think there may be a smear of bright pink lipstick at the corner of his lips. you can smell the reek of flowery perfume, cloyingly sweet, all over his clothes, as he leans back against the railing, eyes turned towards the party happening behind the sliding glass doors.

"i thought you said i was your favorite band member," he murmurs, a mock expression of sadness on his face. "mark's nothing like me." 

"why do you care?" you will yourself to sound more confident, letting the hurt dissolve into defiance. 

"i don't." the pout has melted off his face, a burning intensity now in the way he stares at you, making you shift uncomfortably. a moment passes, where he studies your face, eyes flicking across your features almost methodically. "so am i?" 

"what?" 

"am i still your favorite?" his voice is bitter, as if he knows the answer before asking and he doesn't like it. 

"are you seriously asking me that?" 

"princess –"

he's interrupted by a chime from your phone. the both of you glance down at it at the same time, the text and the sender unmistakeable on your otherwise empty lockscreen. 

mark <3 : thanks for talking to me today :) let me know when you get home safe! 

there's a pause. 

"mark has a girlfriend," haechan blurts out, his voice coarse. 

"what?" you look up at him, trying to figure out if this was a joke, but his face is impassive. 

"he cheats on her all the time with girls from his parties. it's his thing." haechan's still looking at your screen even though your phone has turned off, resolutely not meeting your eyes. 

it takes you a moment to gather yourself, every one of mark‘s actions and words suddenly flashing before you like a flipbook, sweet memories crumpling into dust. "are you lying?" you ask, shakily. 

"why would i?" he finishes his beer, veins shifting on the back of his hand as he crushes the empty can, the crunch of metal dissonant against the warm summer night. his next words are just as rough. "whether or not you get with mark means nothing to me. i don't care. i don't even know you." 

his words ring true, as he pushes off from the railing, leaving you alone on the balcony without another word. the abrupt end to the conversation has you turning, eyes following him as he steps back into the party, looking away a little too late as you see him gesture someone over with a flick of his fingers, her long hair covering both their faces when their lips meet. 

jaemin finds you crying on the balcony, but he can't figure out the reason. you delete mark's contact off your phone the moment you get home, and jaemin promises you he's never taking you to any other show or party with the band ever again. 

—

"there should be an empty room somewhere." the man lets go of your hand, at the foot of the stairs. "can you wait for me inside one? i'll find you in a minute." 

it's only when you're halfway upstairs, when you realise that you're really about to give yourself to a stranger for your first time. 

he has a bright smile, sweet dimples showing each time his lips turn upwards, each time he calls you baby. he's not much older than you, but there's an easy authority in the way he takes your cup from your hands and tells you to stop drinking, getting you glasses of water instead. his body dwarfs yours in size, and when you put your hand on his thigh, you see something shift in his expression that tells you he may not be as gentle as he seems. 

and when you tell him he'll be your first time, his throat bobs as he swallows, eyes dragging up and down your body with a newfound hunger. 

you've never really cared about who you lost your virginity to, not considering it a big occassion or anything to make a fuss over. your mind flits back to two weeks ago, when some boy had cared way more about it than you did. 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." 

anger flares in your chest at the thought of it, as you climb up the stairs two steps at a time, and it's just when you're just reaching the first landing, when you suddenly coming to a crashing halt because —

the sound of microphone feedback makes you put your hands over your ears, instinctively, the shrill sound piercing the air. 

a loud bass suddenly starts up, vibrating under your feet. did they hire a live band? the song that booms from downstairs is familiar, and with a jolt, you realise that you know it a little too well. 

that honey-sweet voice, the bitter bite to his words soothed over by the sweetest of tones – drifts up from the speaker, a haunting melody that echoes up the empty staircase, punctuated by a screaming crowd.

as if to further prove it was him, he lets out a laugh at the end of his line, the tone of it dark and sarcastic, the crowd going wild at the sound of it. 

was it a studio recording? it must be, because there was no way this band was downstairs, performing live at this random birthday party, there was no chance…

… except now mark is speaking into the microphone, greeting the audience, asking for the birthday girl. unease stirs in your stomach as you trace your steps back down, a dread that fills you up as the makeshift stage comes back into view, where the DJ had been just a moment ago. 

to where haechan stood, guitar on its stand, eyes already trained on yours, an expression of white hot anger on his face. 

—

"him? really?" 

you can still feel his touch on your arm, from how he dragged you into the bedroom. 

you're frozen on the steps. 

haechan signals to mark, ignoring the questioning looks from the members and protests from the boy as he steps off the platform, making a beeline for the stairs. his brows are furrowed, his teeth gritted as he glares at you. 

"you wanna go upstairs that bad?" he murmurs. "lead the fucking way, princess." 

he starts towards you, and you take a step back, body colliding with the door. the sound seems to ground him, and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, finally turning away to sit on the bed, the space allowing you to relax just slightly.

"i thought," he starts, patiently, swallowing hard. "i thought i told you to find someone to take care of you, for your first time."  

the reminder of his words feels like a stab in your chest. "i thought you didn't care," you shoot back. 

he ignores you. "did you come here with your friends? where's jaemin?" 

what the fuck was wrong with him? "who are you to tell me what to do?" 

his lips part, but no words come out. sighing, he rubs his face with his hands, still trying to calm down. "y/n," he starts again, voice pained. "i don't want to see you get hurt."

"how do you know he would've hurt me?" 

his eyes meet yours. "did you tell him?" he asks, quietly. 

"tell him i was a virgin? yes." anger seeps into your tone, as you glare at him. "he reacted very differently from you." 

"y/n that's not a good thing!" he stands up, his voice raised. "are you that desperate to get fucked?" 

you step back in alarm, tears forming in your eyes. fear, of the situation you almost put yourself in, of the boy in front of you, makes your throat close up, and you can't help the way your body tenses. the cruelness of his words settles in a little too late, an acidic burn in your chest. 

haechan feels the tips of his fingers go numb as you start to cry, guilt flooding his mind in a way he rarely felt. his face crumples, and he does't know what to do when you curl in on yourself, every sound you make feeling like a punch to his ribs.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, reaching for you tentatively. when you don't pull away, his arms circle around you, and he makes sure to leave enough space for you to breathe or break free if you wanted to. "i'm sorry," he repeats again, as you sink into his chest, needing his warmth as much as you hated his presence. 

"take it back," you mumble. "take it back right now."

"i take it back," he says, immediately. "i didn't mean any of it. i'm sorry." 

"you don't get to reject me," you start, voice shaky, "and control who i choose to be with."

he sucks in a breath, gripping onto you a little tighter. "y/n –" 

"it's…it's fucked up," you hiccup, fisting at the fabric of his shirt, crumpling it in your fists in frustration.

"i know," he breathes. "i know." 

his hand comes up to stroke your hair, and you hate how it really does manage to comfort you, your breaths steadying as he pats your back clumsily. when you think you've calmed down enough, you place your hands on his chest, and he backs away instinctively, looking down at his feet. never meeting your eyes.

"i'm tired, haechan," you whisper. "i don't want to play whatever game you're playing." he doesn't respond, so you continue. "you don't want to fuck me, but you don't want anyone else to." 

"i do." his response is so quiet, you barely catch it.

"you want other people to fuck me?" 

"no, i don't." he lifts his head, his expression conflicted. "i…i want to be your first time." 

"what?" 

when he doesn't respond, you sigh, agitated. "haechan, i already told you i don't want to play your games anymore –" 

"not a game," he cuts you off, softly. "i'll take care of you." the gentleness of his voice makes you feel small. it's almost overwhelming, the way he looks into your eyes, without his usual apathy and bitterness. 

"i thought you said you don't do that?" it takes you all your willpower to not give in. 

"i don't," he breathes. "but with you i will." he's starting to think he has no choice – that there's no one else in the world who's going to take care of you the way he knows you need. he doesn't know when he decided to give in, in between watching you place your hand on that man's thigh, and you standing in front of him now. all he knows is that he either had to do this, or make you disappear from his life entirely. 

the words hang in the air. even now, feeling so torn and hurt and tired, your body can't help how much you want him, hyper-attuned to the little details in his appearance: the messy black nail polish scrawled on his nails, smoky eye make-up that makes his gaze all the more intense and devouring. there's a heady smell hanging onto his skin and clothes, rich and indulgent vanilla and musk, filling up your senses with a giddy desire. long legs in a pair of ripped skinny jeans, his thighs stretching out the fabric in a way that almost looked like it hurt. 

"okay," you mumble. his lips part, but you answer him before he has a chance to ask. "please take care of me." your voice is small, yet each word seems to catch fire, incinerating the air between you. 

his tongue darts out, wetting his lip. "yeah?" 

you nod. finally giving in to the pull of your body, you take a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. 

"i'm sorry…about all of it." he murmurs. "thank you for trusting me, still." 

you can't think of anything to say, so you nod again. it feels like your heart is in your throat. 

he swallows. "do you…you shouldn't…" his eyes dart around the room. "we shouldn't do it here. in…in some strangers bedroom." gently, he touches your arm, looking at you hesitantly. "would you feel comfortable if we did it in your apartment? or i could bring you to my shared apartment with the band…they wouldn't be back yet. but we might have to be quick…"

your head feels like it's spinning. 

at your lack of response, he rambles on, eyes focused on yours, trying to discern your thoughts. "w-what do you think? or…if you really want to get comfortable i don't mind booking a hotel, it's a little last minute but-" he bites his lip. "do you want to meet somewhere else or i could take you in my car? i haven't drank much, i swear, but if you don't trust me-" 

"stop," you blurt out. 

he freezes, the hand grazing your arm dropping to his side, fingers playing with the rips in his jeans. 

"i'm sorry," he says, softly.

"no, i mean…stop asking me questions." you exhale. "i trust you," you repeat, softly. every word of it was true — despite everything, you were still the same person sitting on his lap up on the rooftop. "just…take care of me, however you want." 

he swallows. "you sound…" exhaling, he shakes his head to clear it. "okay. is your apartment empty?" 

"yes," you whisper. "jaemin's away for tonight." 

"i'll drive," he murmurs. and now he takes a step closer to you, until he's all you can see, the room melting away. "but before that…can i kiss you first, princess?" you nod, transfixed by him, as he leans in. 

haechan kisses soft. 

his lips are plush, and soft, taking your bottom lip between his own sweetly. he tilts his head slowly as if he's afraid he'll overwhelm you by moving too fast, his lips parting as he invites you to do the same, his hands going to the back of your head to guide you. a soft sigh escapes the back of his throat when your lips part and he can taste you, and you can taste him — vanilla like how he smells, with the slight bite of alcohol. your hand comes up to touch his round cheeks, surprisingly soft too, and he smiles into this kiss. 

he's the one to break apart from you, with a patience that feels rehearsed. he's taking care of you, as he leans in so your noses brush, your breaths mingling. 

"haechan…" he hums, encouragingly. "i…you know this isn't…my first kiss, right?" 

a pause. "i know," he murmurs. 

"so… so you don't have to be gentle." you squirm slightly as his touch grows heavier, eyes darkening at the implications behind your words. 

he backs away from you, hands pulling you with him as he sits down on the bed. his eyes flick down to his lap as he lowers his gaze, before dragging them painstakingly up to yours again. 

"sit, princess." 

this time, when he feels you tremble against him, your knees caging in his hips as you straddle him, all he does is lean in and kiss you — just as sweet as he did the first time. 

"i'm gentle with you because i want to be," another kiss, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip. "not because i have to." his fingers guide your chin upwards, baring your neck to him as he leans in and leaves a kiss on a spot under your jaw. and then a longer, more lingering kiss. and now he's making his way down your neck, each press of his lips on your skin longer and rougher than the last, and now you're sure he's sucking marks onto your neck, especially when you feel a slight sting of teeth. 

you're shifting against him restlessly, body hardly your own as you fall under his touch. you don't know how long you spend there, in his lap, as he works on your neck, taking breaks to kiss you on the lips, his sighs echoing into the cavern of your mouth as it falls open with need. it's when he sucks lightly on your tongue, almost boyish in the way he backs away with a small smile, when a soft sound escapes your lips. 

"yeah?" he murmurs, leaning in again, letting the tip of his tongue brush against yours gently. "you like that?" 

you nod. 

"you sound so pretty," he breathes, as he slots his lips with yours again, humming against yours as you let out another small whimper. 

"haechan-" you mumble, and he draws away, looking at you expectantly. "i think i'm ready." 

"really?" his hands on your waist give you a light squeeze. "you want me to take you home now?" 

you're still giddy from the heat radiating off his skin, your lips craving his contact again now he's stopped kissing you. you nod, and he smiles, gently guiding you off his lap as he unlocks the door. 

he's gentle the whole way down – as he leads you away from the main staircase so you wouldn't be seen, the crowd still distracted by the band. he cradles you carefully against his side all the way out of the back gates and into his car, and when your breath catches as he leans over to buckle your seatbelt for you, he's gentle even as he presses into you for a spur of the moment kiss, tongue licking into your mouth with more fervor. 

it's not a song that plays in the car as he drives and you try to remember the way to your apartment, but rather it's a low and sultry beat — bluesy harmonies stretched out over pulses. part of you wonders if he played it on purpose, because imagining his voice set against it already had you melting against the leather seats.

it would all be rather sweet – how gentle he's being, the soft way he smiles at you in the dim lights of your lift lobby, the way he holds your hand and lets you lean against him as you head higher and higher, the space around you feeling like a vacuum of trapped adrenaline and lust.��

but there was also no denying the fact that he jolted at the slightest sound, his grip on you tight and slack all at once, the tenderness in his eyes here one second and gone the next. a hurt you could almost taste on your tongue, that you were holding onto something so fragile, and that to him it seemed the worst thing that could happen would be if he were found with you.

—

but all of it changes, when you're alone in your room. the weight of his attention, that you'd felt even as one person amidst a screaming crowd, seems to intensify tenfold as he lets his jacket slide to the floor, eyes on you. 

he reads the apprehension in your body, the way you hover near your bed, waiting for him to guide you. 

"let me know if it's too much, okay?" he murmurs, as he pulls you in for a hug first, feeling you warm against him as you cling on to his embrace. "you can tell me to stop whenever, and i will." his hands rub circles up your waist, teasing on the silver of skin between your top and your skirt. 

you nod, but he shakes his head – a thumb brushing across your cheek. 

"use your words," he murmurs. "so i know you mean it." 

"okay," you breathe, now guiding him to the bed yourself, curiosity getting the better of you. you had almost forgotten, in the midst of everything, why exactly you went to the party, and the familiar need sparks back to life in you. 

haechan sits down against the headboard, pulling you into his lap, the movement feeling even more natural now. he can see that you're nervous and eager at the same time, hands fumbling with the soft material of his shirt, unsure what to do as you shift around on top of him. 

"can i kiss you?" in the soft lamp light of the room, the sharp-cut edges of his face seem to blur, large doe-eyes looking up at you kindly. it makes you want to lean in, so you do — slotting your lips with his boldly, kissing him the way you wanted from him. it surprises him, the way you press your lips against him harshly, the gentle graze of your teeth against his plush lip. 

he lets out a small laugh, and kisses you back just as fiercely, the atmosphere in the room melting as temperature skyrockets, until it's almost unbearable to be separated from you by layers of fabric. 

"may i-" he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, and when your voice chokes out an affirmative, he's quick to yank it over his head, movements rough, exposing beautiful skin, his body warm and solid under your palms as you lean into him. 

your cheeks warm, and he notices – a small smile on his face as his hands cup your cheeks, and he gives you a sweet kiss, abruptly different from the others. suddenly, it's almost too tender, the way he looks up at you with endearment in his eyes, kissing you chastely, and you sink into it a little guiltily, enjoying the innocence of it. 

when you feel your heart reach its boiling point, your own hands go to the hem of your shirt, and you pull it over your head. you don't mean to slow down your movements, not meaning to tease or entice, but the way his eyes darken looking at your body made you wish you did it on purpose. 

"pretty," he praises, head dipping to press a kiss between your collarbones. and another one, lower done, almost reaching your cleavage. the bra you had chosen mindlessly that morning was a thin bralette, and it did little to hide how aroused you were, your nipples poking stiff peaks through the fabric. 

but still, he doesn't make any move to remove it, peppering kisses on your bare chest, over the slope of your breasts, almost slobbering at your skin, lips dewy and wet. his arms are firm around you, meeting each one of your movements and steadying you, helping you rock your hips into him as desire surges in your body. 

"haechan, –" his name had never sounded so breathless falling from your lips.   

"yes, baby?" 

the term of endearment makes you feel smaller in his lap, the only thing making you feel better was the way he was just as heated as you, his breaths coming hard and fast. he wanted everything to be perfect, he never wanted to rush you into anything you weren't comfortable with, his hands staying firm on your lower back. 

you tug at the bralette covering your chest impatiently, the fabric never feeling more uncomfortable on your skin. 

"you want me to take it off?" he asks, head nuzzling into your neck as his fingers wander up your back. you feel it loosen around you, his finger expertly fiddling the clasp open, dragging it down and accidentally brushing against your hard nipples, making you hiss.

"i'll make you feel good," he promises, softly, lowering his head, kissing down the slope of your breasts. he makes eye contact with you, searching your eyes for any form of discomfort.

"be gentle," you murmur, nodding for him to continue. "they feel sensitive." 

"of course," he mumbles, before starting to lightly kitten-lick at your nipple, the feeling all at once new and arousing, making you pulse against him in his lap. he circles his tongue around your areola, being as gentle as possible, opting not to flick at your nipples but rather suck one into his mouth, heart-shaped full lips sinful against your chest. the heat between your legs is overwhelming, as he switches to your other side, his hand coming up to knead your breast, warm palms moving over skin and making you giddy. 

"please," you whimper, as he laps at you. "please, i need you, please –" 

"you have me," he murmurs, one of his hands reaching out for yours blindly, scrabbling against the back of your hand from where it's pressed against his chest, flipping it over and interlocking your fingers. "i'll take care of you. lie down for me?"

he moves you off his lap, guiding you onto your back, propping up pillows you can rest against. the familiar feeling of your bed is only faintly there, your senses filled with the sweet heady smell of haechan, from the perfume and lotion clinging onto his skin, as you watch him remove the numerous rings on his fingers, placing them carefully on your bedside table. 

haechan kisses his way down your body, suckling on your skin, leaving longer, lingering bruises on your hips, finally reaching your thighs as he lowers himself down. he guides your hips up with a heavy hand, sliding a cushion carefully under as he situates himself between your legs. you're so sensitive, that the feeling of his long hair against your skin has your thighs sliding together, squeezing around his head accidentally. 

"you okay?" he murmurs, as he kisses your thighs again, patiently easing your thighs open. 

you suddenly feel shy, knowing he was about to see you so intimately. even when you had agreed to let him take care of you, even as you trusted him completely, you had never imagined seeing him in between your spread legs like this, somewhere you hadn't even explored much yourself. would he be disappointed or disgusted? what if he didn't like what he saw or felt? 

"baby…." he rubs a hand carefully on your thigh, tips of his fingers slipping just under the hem of your skirt. "is this okay? do you want to stop?" 

"i don't want to stop," you admit, and you find that its true. 

haechan looks at you, studying your face. after a moment, he crawls back up your body, brushing the hair out of your eyes before he brushes his lips against yours softly, as if asking for permission. you grant it, lips parting as his warm mouth meets yours, a welcome taste in your mouth that's become familiar. you kiss for a while, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets and intertwining your fingers, until you feel confident enough to slip your other hand to the zipper of your skirt. 

you tug it off your legs, haechan breaking away from the kiss to help you, moving down your body. 

"i'll take care of you," he whispers, his hand never letting go of yours. "these are so pretty, baby," he whispers, a finger tracing over the lacy pattern on the front of your panties. you've never been more aware of your own arousal seeping out of you, as he places a kiss low on your hip, and then another just on the waistband of your panties, and suddenly, you want nothing more than for them to come off. 

your fingers tug at them impatiently, and he takes hold of your hand, kissing your fingertips lightly. "let me," he murmurs, and you hear something low and raw in his voice, something that maybe wasn't there before. sitting up slightly, he pulls your panties down your legs, assuming his position as quickly as he'd left it once the fabric was out of the way, rearranging your legs so they're spread open for him. 

the tension in the room fills your lungs up like smoke. you barely mumble his name, beg him to do something, before you feel a soft touch against your clit, making your hips jolt and you let out a sharp exhale. 

"let me hear you," he encourages, gently, as he starts to rub circles into your sensitive nub, dipping down to your entrance and spreading your wetness all over your cunt. your hips keep shifting around, so he pulls his arm around to press down into you, keeping you still for him as he slowly pleasures you.

"t-this feels…" you start, lost in your own head. you've touched yourself before, but the sensitivity seemed to be heightened to an exaggerated amount once it was someone else touching you. he looks up at you, face still wickedly beautiful, the gentlest look in his eyes laced with something like desperation.

"can't believe i got so lucky," he murmurs, suckling a kiss close to your heat, high on the soft skin of your thigh. your legs clamp around his head, and it makes him groan, breath heavy against your cunt. "you're pretty everywhere, baby. can't believe i'm the only one." 

the words flood your veins with a dark thrill, the idea of being his, of him taking all your firsts. "hypocrite," you mumble, cutting yourself off with a moan as he applies more pressure to your clit. 

"maybe a little," he admits, shyly, as he dips his head back down and flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, his fingers sliding down to your entrance instead. 

you cry out at the foreign feeling, the wet muscle of his tongue stroking your clit expertly while his slender finger slips past your entrance. his name, strung along by curses, echoes from your mouth as he teases his finger in and out of your entrance, tongue lying flat and wide as he laps at your clit in a way that made you feel like you were already close. 

stiffening his tongue, his flicks your clit with the tip, humming into you just as he curls his finger against your walls in a come-hither motion. he knows when you cum — back arching as you seemed to chase for stimulation above you, your walls sucking tightly around his finger and kneading it eagerly, making him groan as he imagines the feeling of you tight around his cock. he lets you ride out your orgasm on his face, his nose bumping your clit and eliciting another drawn out whimper, tongue teasing your entrance. 

when your hands push at his head, he backs away easily, once again making his way up your body to check on you, the warmth of his bare chest against yours making you feel safe. 

"good?" he kisses you, tongue moving against yours, inviting you to take a taste. "did you like that, sweetheart?" 

you nod, gasping. "haechan…"

"you did perfect for me, baby." his hands run up and down your sides as he kisses down your neck, enjoying the way your body wraps yourself around him, arms pulling his weight down into you. 

"i still need you," you murmur. the pleasure from before had only satiated you for a little bit, and the feeling of his hard length poking at your thigh was making your head spin with a whole different level of desire, as you grapple for his belt. "please, i've been good-" 

"you're perfect." he comforts you with a kiss. 

he guides your hand away from him gently, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants slide onto the bed as you lie back down on your pillows. tugging his underwear down, you swallow as he squeezes his thick length, the pink tip leaking clear liquid. he watches you watch him spread it on his length, pumping himself slowly, drawing out the pleasure as he moans, a sweet tenor sound that rings lewdly in the air. you watch, mesmerized, as he thrusts his hips forward a few times, stroking himself with a slight twist of his wrist before letting go abruptly, letting his cock slap up against his lower stomach. 

fishing around in the pocket of his discarded jeans, he takes out a condom wrapper, opening it quickly and rolling it onto his cock. you're sure you're making a mess of the sheets, you can feel your arousal and his saliva on your thighs, can feel another gush of wetness seep out of you as he lowers himself over your body and slides his cock against your folds. 

he grinds himself on you, hoping to get you wetter so it may be less painful when he enters you. his fingers find your clit again, this time he rubs it urgently, with just the correct amount of pressure to have you shaking and lifting your hips into him. 

"stop me anytime," he reminds you, as he lines himself up to your fluttering entrance. "you have to relax for me, baby." he pitches his voice lower now, and you can't tell if he's comforting you or if he's slowly being pulled under by lust too. he makes soft shushing noises, nipping at your lips with gentle kisses as you whimper, feeling the bulbous tip of his cock slowly stretch you open, his fingers resuming his movements. the head of his cock still feels shallow inside you, when it suddenly brushes against a sensitive spot, and his fingers on your clit glide just right, making you cum, hard. he feels you clamp down tightly around his tip, and he hisses, eyes squeezed shut. his mind wiped clean for just a second as pleasure thrums through his entire body, an aching pain that makes his mouth hang open.

"'m sorry," you whimper, tears prickling to your eyes as you interpret his expression as annoyance. "i'm so sorry, it just felt so good —" 

"baby…" he looks at you, his face morphing into panic when he sees the tears in your eyes. "don't apologise, please, you have nothing to be sorry for." 

you still look unconvinced, so he reaches for one of your hands, holding it in his and kissing your fingertips. "you are so pretty when you cum," the filthy words sound sacred the way he says them. "and you felt so fucking good around my cock," he murmurs, voice sinking low again.

you begin to relax again, sniffling slightly as you adjust your legs around his waist, feeling him slide a little deeper into you. he coaxes you into taking more of him, kissing you sweetly as he slips in further and further, until finally the both of you are groaning, his body shuddering slightly against yours as he feels your warm gummy walls tight around him. 

"so tight," he groans, cursing again under his breath as he circles his hips, drawing a moan from you as your thighs tense. "how are you so tight?," he panted, tone still teasing despite him trying desperately not to buck his hips into you. "has no one ever fucked you before or something?" 

you don't have it within you to tease back. 

"only you, haechan." the words are reverent, hushed. it strips him of any of his cockiness, his teasing, his boldness — his features softening at the way you look up at him, trying to maintain eye contact even as the ache between your legs drove you insane, not wanting to waste a single moment of this, in case it never happened again. 

"haechan…" your nails rake against his back, drawing him out of his daze. "please fuck me." 

"fuck," he breathes, as he slowly starts to move in you, obsessed with the way the words sound in your voice. his thick length drags against your walls, heavy inside you, the wet sounds of your arousal seeping into the room. you feel full and stretched out, sated by having him so close to you, it feels like you can feel him deep in your gut the way he's thrusting into you, especially when he hikes your legs higher on his waist, drawing a long moan from you as he manages to stimulate a spot inside you that has you seeing stars. 

he changes his pace, now barely pulling himself out of you as he nudges the head of his cock against your sweet spot. licking a long stripe from your neck up to your ear, one hand tangles itself with yours, while the other ghosts over your sensitive nipples. 

"i'm cumming," the words come out rushed as you barely hold onto your senses, cumming harshly for the third time, your body thrown into pleasure as your muscles tense. he succumbs to the feeling of your walls kneading his length and squeezing tight around him, eyes going unfocused and hazy as his lips part, a moan drawn out from his lungs without conscious thought. he's aware of the way your muscles tense as he fucks both of you through your highs, relishing in the sting of your fingernails on his back as he slows down his movements. he draws out both your highs by leaning in and sucking on the mark he'd left behind earlier that evening, letting his moan buzz and fizzle on your skin. 

you feel dazed and tired, arms never letting go of him, legs unwilling to unwrap from his waist as you cling to him. he rolls you both onto your sides, caressing your body sweetly and stroking your hair, mumbling questions and concerns that you can't register, nodding to everything in a blur. the weight of him feels good, his body warm and solid against your back, and once again that feeling of safety, that feeling of complete trust, washes over you. it makes you feel whole even as he pulls out of you with a wince, discarding the condom in the trash by your bedside. 

you cling to him, and he knows you need it — so he doesn't let you go, heavy hands patting your back clumsily, slightly rough and out of rhythm, just like the way your heart beats against your ribcage.

when he feels your arms loosen, relaxing finally after the high of hormones and adrenaline, he slips away quickly to the bathroom, putting on his underwear as he goes. he grabs a towel, turning your tap on to warm water and checking the temperature with his wrist as he washes his hands, his face, cleaning himself up. running the towel under the water and squeezing it dry in the sink. his movements methodical, as he slips out of your room and into the kitchen, looking around for a glass of water. 

he immediately races back the moment he hears a sound from your bedroom, shutting the door behind him just as you sit up, your expression clearing once you see him again. pulling his shirt from where it's discarded on the floor, he slides into bed, kissing you on the cheek. 

he cleans you up with soft strokes, the warm towel soothing on your skin even though he hadn't really been rough. he makes you drink from the glass of water, watching you drain it carefully. finally, slipping his large shirt over your frame, swallowing at the way it envelopes your body, a feeling stirring in his gut that he ignores. 

"y/n? are you with me?" when you don't respond, wide eyes looking up at him, he touches his fingers to your cheek. "baby?" 

each brush of his skin against yours felt like trails of fire, lingering warmth even after he pulls away. every look he gave you through his lashes, the slight pout to his lips when he broke away from a kiss, made you feel like you were caught in a riptide, your pulse out of your control. you wanted to crawl into him and make a home in his chest. you never wanted him to look at you again with his shuttered eyes, to have to dream yourself into the skin of someone else as he touched them. 

you had to tell him. "haechan…haechan i…" you reach for him, and he pulls you into his embrace, shushing you softly. you try to speak again, lips parting, but he envelopes your lips in a gentle kiss, nipping at your mouth each time you part, swallowing all your sounds with the sweep of his tongue. 

"princess…" his voice sounds raw, and coarse. "don't say anything you don't mean." 

"but-" 

"you don't know me." was it regret in his voice, or your wishful thinking? "you don't know me at all. what you're feeling right now…" he touches a hand to your chest, brushing a kiss on your cheek. "it's because of the sex, alright?" 

you shake your head. 

your next words come out slurred, your eyelids starting to droop as sleep begins to tug at your mind, threatening to pull you under. "but…why can't i know you?"  

he takes a deep breath. "i don't want you to."

"but i don't want this to end." 

he holds you tighter against his chest at your words. 

"this?" he questions, quietly. he keeps his voice light, but it still pierces your heart like a shard of glass. "there isn't a 'this' princess. this isn't happening again." 

"why?" 

"i don't want you to get attached." he cradles you even more carefully against him, freckling mellow kisses onto your forehead, the contrast between his words and his actions ringing dissonant in your ears. "besides… why would i spend the night with the same girl twice, hm?"

sleep softens the hurt from the words he's saying. his voice fades slightly, his touch against your skin roaring ever louder in your ears. "you know i won't be here when you wake up, right?" his fingers brush against your forehead lightly, pushing hair away from your eyes. 

you knew. 

but you still cried in the morning all the same — the golden-orange sunrise beautiful and terribly cruel, just like the boy you were perhaps falling in love with. 

—

you spend the weekend alone. 

you spend the weekend wondering if haechan thought of you at all, after he left. thinking if what he said was real, and it was just adrenaline and lust, then why did your heart ache at the thought of him? at his face on posters outside the small concert venue, inviting you to a show next week? why did you always turn at the slightest hint of his voice? 

you try to forget him. you try to tell yourself he wasn't worth it. but deep down all of it, a part of you still hopes, which is perhaps why you were letting jaemin drag you past the poster of haechan, into the alleyway that led backstage.

"are you sure you need me there?" you pull at jaemin's sleeve, your other hand holding onto his spare camera carefully as he guides you into the venue.  

"i do," he insists, pushing through a set of doors leading to the stage. "mark wants extra photos for their social media page and i can't be doing all of that at once." 

you can hear the boys talking just around one of the curtains, sprawled out onstage, a cacophany of sounds as they absentmindedly plucked at their instruments. you were going to see haechan again. you can't tell if it makes you want to run towards them, or go back home. that familiar sense of hope, the kind you experienced in the crowd that first night, on the balcony, in the bedroom and in the moonlight, fills you up slowly, sweet and light. maybe, if he just saw you again…

"y/n-" jaemin puts a hand on your arm, stopping you gently before you could rush onto stage. 

"yes?" you prompt. 

"i know i dragged you here, but if you're feeling uncomfortable," he starts, and you start to slip away, but he only tightens his grip. "let me finish — if you're feeling uncomfortable, or if any of them are hurting you, let me know okay?" 

you hadn't told him about haechan, something close to shame seeming to rise up and choke you whenever you tried to bring it up. all jaemin knew was that the last two times you had come into contact with the band it had upset you badly, and as your best friend and roommate he never wanted to see you crying on the balcony again. 

"what would you do? beat them up?" 

"i would leave." his serious tone doesn't change, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the mood. 

"but the money –" 

"no job is more important than you being okay," he insists. "i don't want to work for them if they hurt you. okay?" 

"okay." 

even though he looks unconvinced, his grip on your arm loosens and he takes your hand instead, pulling back the curtain with his other. 

you can hear him say something to mark about today's shoot, hear him greet the rest of the members. you guess that mark is rising to greet him, hear something like jisung and jeno standing too, but everything fades to white noise when the sight you're looking at clicks in your mind, the one member of the band who's voice you hadn't heard, who hadn't bothered to turn around at jaemin's arrival.

or rather, the one boy who was too pre-occupied to — considering he had his tongue in a pretty girl's mouth. 

haechan was facing away from you, away from the rest of his bandmates, you could really only see his broad back under his denim jacket, but the careful tilt of his head as he kissed her was all too familiar, as was the movement of his arms around her waist. and when she shifted in his lap, his hands pulling her hips down unto his, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a sharp pain searing at your chest in emotions you couldn't pinpoint. 

"fuck, sorry about that –" mark's voice is flustered, and now a tall boy, the bassist, jisung, is stepping in front of you, blocking your view of him. 

"sorry," he echoes, and you're momentarily caught off guard by how deep his voice is - husky and quiet. you blink up at him, fog slowly clearing in your mind, and he smiles shyly. "he doesn't usually do that." 

"who?" 

"um, haechan…" he looks back briefly, and you see haechan helping the girl to her feet, her body crumpled into his like she couldn't bear to be separated from his touch. you feel a wave of second-hand shame again – was that what you had looked like? 

and then jisung turns back to you, towering over you again and blocking everything from view. "he usually only does this after the show, but today…" 

"it's fine," you say, faintly. 

jisung looks at you, carefully. "you're jaemin's friend y/n, right?" 

you nod, half your mind still on what could be going on right now. behind jisung, you see mark pull haechan, now alone, towards a corner of the stage, whispering angrily at him. haechan is slouched lazily, picking at his nails with all the look of someone who couldn't care less about what was going on. 

"i saw you at our last show," jisung continues. "i was going to…i was going…" he breaks off, a little embarrassed, fumbling with his words. "are you sure you're okay?" 

"i'm fine, jisung." you repeat, your voice a little more firm, as you finally look back at him.

he blinks. "you know me?" 

jisung still looked worried, but there was something sweet about the way he shrunk a little under your attention, eyes darting all over your face and around his surroundings, blush tinging his cheeks.

this you were comfortable with – something completely different from the way haechan's eyes always tried to drink you in, or the way your vision would go blurry at the edges when he would stand in front of you. talking with jisung was easy, the confidence that haechan drained from you seeping back and settling in. 

he had meant it, when he said you shouldn't get attached. you just had to learn it before it brought you more hurt you couldn't justify.

"jisung," you emphasise. "of course i know you. you play bass, right?" 

"y-yeah," he stammers, pointing unecessarily at his dark blue bass guitar on its stand. "i don't know, i guess i always thought people didn't really know me even if they knew the band." he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, black hair falling over his eyes. "people usually choose to stand where haechan or mark are." 

"you usually stand on the left?" 

he nods, bashfully, and a smile tugs at your lips. 

"i'll make sure to stand there, later during the show." 

"wow, okay." he pauses for a moment, steeling himself. "how about after?" 

"what do you mean?" 

"would you want to meet…after the show?" he hesitates, voice soft. 

your brow furrows slightly. "do you mean the party?" 

"we don't have to go," he blurts out. "i don't mean…i don't mean like what haechan usually does after the show."  

his name is an unwelcome sting, but the way jisung sneaks glances up at you from where he looks down at his feet makes it a little easier to forget. "then what do you want to do?" 

"w-we can get something to eat." he says it like he just suggested robbing a bank. 

oh. "like a date?" 

mortified, his lips part, and you can tell that he's frantically trying to read your tone, trying to figure out if the idea of it made you uncomfortable, whether you were suggesting because you wanted it. it's so endearing, watching him start his sentences and stop them, the hem of his shirt crumpled and worn out by his nervous fingers. 

eventually, he takes a deep breath, and settles for a question. "d-do you mind if it's a date?" 

did you? 

was there any hope in waiting for haechan, when he had made it so clear that you would never have him again?

jisung is still looking at you like you have all the power in the world to hurt him. 

"i don't mind," you say, softly, feeling a hum of satisfaction in your chest at the way it makes his lips part in blissful surprise. a beat. "do you want it to be…?" 

"yes," he blurts out. "please," he adds, shyly. 

the awkward silence between the two of you feels good, the lightness of it familiar and giddy, like a schoolgirl crush. jisung can't stop smiling, biting his lips slightly as he turns to face mark, who's crossed to the front of the stage to speak to them. 

" — jisung, jaemin will start with your photos first. we'll just be shooting the rehearsal process today, so there's no need to-" he breaks off, brow furrowing. "jisung why are you so red?" 

"i-it's w-warm in here." 

"well you should cool off before jaemin takes your photos." jisung nods, flustered, and he walks offstage with jaemin to prepare. jeno too, strolls away with a wave to mark, leaving him alone at the front of the stage. 

with you. 

mark glances over at you, his eyes darting over your face, trying to read your expression. you can almost hear haechan's voice from that night, the ghost of the hurt still palpable in your bones. but the moment you take a step back, thinking that you should find jaemin and jisung, mark seems to have made up his mind — his face set, he starts to walk over to you, and you find your own footsteps falter.

"um, y/n, can i speak to you for a second?" 

you take a deep breath. "is this about the photos for later?" 

"no…not exactly." he clears his throat. there's a pause, as he seems to pick his words. "y/n, did i do something wrong?" 

you blink at him. "what do you mean?"

"i mean, i know it was a while ago, but i thought we were getting along fine at the party," it feels like he's rehearsed this to some capacity, or perhaps it was just the confidence of being a lead singer. "but then since then every time i saw you…i feel like you've been avoiding me." 

"i haven't been avoiding you." you take a deep breath. "mark, do you have a girlfriend?" 

his eyes widen. "are you…are you asking me out?"

"what?" you balk. "no!" 

"oh." his face falls. "i mean…i just thought…"

"that's just too bad, markie." 

it’s practically deja vu.

haechan stands behind you, his body radiating warmth, and you inhale sharply. surprisingly, he doesn't smell saccharine, the way he always does with the girls he chooses — his skin smells like baby powder and fresh linen. your body is doing that thing again – where you hone in on his presence and the whole world dissolves, and you're hyper attuned to the way his arm hovers near yours, his breath on the back of your neck. anything you were about to say to mark completely lost in your brain. 

exasperated, mark runs his hand through his hair. "haechan…don't be difficult." 

"i'm not." you feel almost numb when his hand touches your elbow, sliding down to hold your hand tight in his grip. "y/n and i have to talk about something." 

"can't it wait?" 

"it's urgent," haechan says, sarcastically, giving you a sharp tug towards him. your feet stumble as haechan starts to walk off, and you turn one last time to see mark standing there, looking a little forlorn, suddenly small under the bright lights of the stage. 

"sorry, –" you mumble out. mark frowns, starting towards you. 

but now haechan really pulls you along, yanking curtains aside and accessing a short flight of stairs. you can feel the intensity of his emotions radiating off him in waves, making it a little hard to breathe as you try to keep up, afraid of what he'll say if your hand slips from his grasp. 

he guides you along a corridor and through a doorway, stepping into the warm light of a dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you as haechan pulls you in. 

you're almost afraid to look at him, but you do anyway. 

he's slightly breathless from the walk down, stooping slightly to lock the door with careful hands. when he straightens and steps towards you, the lights hitting his features, you can see that he's covered up the hickeys on his neck with makeup. something mark made him do, no doubt. 

"haechan -" 

"park jisung? really?" he sneers, backing you into the dressing table. 

 "what?" 

"don't lie to me," he demands. "i saw you." 

"really?" you fold your arms across your chest as he moves in closer, planting both hands on the table on either side of your hips, caging you in. "you looked busy. where did she go, hm? did mark send her away, or did you?" 

haechan rolls his eyes. "that's none of your business." 

"jisung said you don't usually bring girls to the rehearsal," you continue, watching the way his tongue pokes into his cheek in annoyance. "what happened?" 

"you two talked about me?" he demands. "what else did you do? make plans to fuck after the show?" 

"i'm not a virgin anymore," you remind him, your voice laced with a warning. "i thought you only cared about my first time." 

haechan groans. seeing you talk to jisung out of the corner of his eye, seeing your hands brush and his friend's head duck shyly to the side, gave him a weight on his chest which grew heavier each time he took a breath, each time he had to hear one of jisung's small laughs. 

"if you want to have mediocre sex then i couldn't care less," he snaps. "just know that you're going to have to fuck a lot of people before you forget me." 

you can see that you're losing him, the familiar closed-off look coming back to his face, anger dissapating into indifference. 

"what is there to forget?" you ask, hurt and anger making your voice shake. 

haechan is staring at you, his face now so close to yours if you leaned in just slightly your lips would brush. 

"you don't mean that," he says, quietly. 

and just like that, all the fight drains out of you. 

"haechan, jisung just wants to take me out on a date." his features tense, and he bites his lower lip harshly. "would you ever ask me out on a date, haechan?" 

he doesn't respond.

"would you?" 

"i told you," he breathes. "i don't do that." 

"you told me you didn't want to be my first time, and you took it back," you remind him, quietly. 

"that's different." you can't help the disappointment that wells up inside you, and you know he can see it from the way his face falls too. 

"don't look at me like that, princess." he sinks into your touch easily, warmth once again circling your body.  

you don't know if you wished haechan was a liar, or if you wished he wasn't. if he was telling the truth about everything, it would be easier to let go of him, to walk away from someone who could only cause you pain, from someone who played with you over and over again. 

but maybe if he was lying it would all make sense – the way he said he didn't want you and yet kept showing up, the jealousy and the conflict in his voice, all of it would have some sort of plausible reason, one that would mean that maybe he cared for you. 

"i don't want to do this anymore," you mumble, hands placed on his chest. you only push at him lightly, but he backs off all the way to the opposite wall, your words feeling like salt in his wounds. "i can't do this with you, haechan."

"y/n-"

"you have a show soon," you mumble, turning around to look in the mirror. you comb your hair with your fingers, trying to calm yourself down. behind you, haechan's eyes flash with frustration, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together as he looks up at your reflection. 

"i'm trying to talk to you." 

"are you?" it's a genuine question, and it makes him falter, a response half-formed on his lips. when it's clear he won't finish his thought, you close your eyes. 

"you need to go," you say again, quietly.  

"will you be there?" 

you don’t respond, and he repeats himself, urgently. 

"will you be there? at the show?" 

"i will," you say, hesitantly. 

"i'll see you then." his voice is controlled, and steady. somehow it feels like the calm before the storm. 

but before you can turn around to try to talk to him, persuade him to calm down, ask him what's wrong, he's already left the room, the sound of his heeled boots echoing down the hall. 

—

"is everything okay?" 

"why are they taking so long?" 

"are they late?" 

unease settles in the pit of your stomach as you stand in the crowd, the voices all around you whispering anxiously. it had been 15 minutes since the show was scheduled to start — but the lights on the stage were dim, and the pre-show playlist had just restarted for the second time. you had situated yourself on the left side of the stage, where jisung usually stood, and you bounced on your toes, hoping that everything was alright backstage so jisung could come out and see that you had kept your promise. 

and then there's a low rumble, as lights finally flood the venue, the crowd sighing with relief as jeno and mark appear – jeno waving at the crowd, his drumsticks in one hand, while mark smiles reassuringly, walking over to the mic and checking that it's at the correct height. he apologizes lightly for the delay, looking to the side of the stage nervously as he murmurs a quick introduction of the band into the mic.

haechan strides onto stage, electric guitar slung around his neck, as the crowd's screams reach an all-time high. he stops abruptly at the left side of the stage, right in front of where you stood, nodding at the crowd and cocking his head from side to side, as if preparing for a fight. he keeps his face level as his eyes find yours, that same burning intensity you felt in the dressing room unwavering as he held your gaze.

and then jisung appears, footsteps faltering where haechan stood, the grip on his bass going slack.

"haechan." jisung's voice is soft, you can barely hear it from where you stand so close to the stage. you can tell that the crowd behind has no clue what's going on, but some fans are looking at each other confusedly, pointing at the two boys, and the position on mark's left where haechan usually stood, now empty. 

"yes?" haechan's not looking at jisung, fingers running phantom chords up and down the fret board. 

"w-why are you standing here?" jisung whispered, embarrassment evident in his tone. "aren't you supposed to be on mark's left?" 

haechan's eyes briefly flick up to yours. "not today." 

distressed, jisung makes a sound. "haechan." guilt fills up your lungs like smoke, making it difficult to breathe, a twist in your chest as jisung looks over at you, lost. 

"run along, jisung," haechan murmurs, softly. "don't want to keep the fans waiting." 

mark, not wanting to draw attention to them, keeps smiling at the crowd, starting to ask them a few questions. jisung only tries a few more times, haechan resolutely ignoring him, before finally accepting defeat, casting his eyes over to you — his gaze wounded and confused, as he walks off with his bass. he assumes haechan's position, and the crowd cheers encouragingly. the boy manages a smile. 

when mark starts to introduce the first song, haechan finally looks up, a faint smile playing on his lips as his eyes lock with yours again. just like the day you met. 

and just like the day you met, you felt yourself fall under his spell, yet again. 

—

"haechan, i think we —" you gasp out, in between the kisses that haechan is pressing to your lips. 

he gives a non-committal hum, his legs framing your body as he holds you close to his chest. his lips are warm and soft, tasting slightly of cherries, as he opens you up little by little, chaste kisses turning into open-mouthed ones, his tongue darting out and gently licking into your mouth in a way that was intoxicating. 

you grip onto his arm harshly, trying to ground yourself, and he inhales sharply, breaking away. 

"haechan –" you pant. "we should-" 

but then he's kissing you again, smothering your words with his lips and his tongue. his hands rub at your lower back, guiding your movements as you shift against him, his hips grinding upwards almost lazily. 

"jisung, –" you start, but now he gives a groan, rumbling through his chest almost like a roar. slumped back against the car door, he glares at you, touching the corner of his wet mouth with his thumb.

"you did not just fucking say my bandmates name while you're on me." 

"we should apologize to jisung," your words come out in a rush. 

"for?" he catches the look on your face, and rolls his eyes. "fine," he mumbles. "i'll talk to him." leaning up towards you, he starts to pepper kisses down your jaw, sucking a little harder on the mark he had left before. "kiss me?" he mumbles, and you have to stop yourself from caving in. 

"haechan," you press on, as haechan licks boldly at your collarbone. "haechan –"

"keep saying my name," he murmurs, hands roaming up your shirt, teasing over the clasp of your bra. 

"mark, —" 

"fuck." breaking away agian, haechan tips his head back, lips stretched out and puffy as he tongued his cheek. "you want me jealous princess? is that it? because it's fucking working –" 

"haechan, we keep hurting people." you place both hands on his chest, trying to calm him down. 

"what?" 

"today we hurt mark too. although, i don't really know why–" you break off, thinking about how he looked as he tried to follow after you and haechan. how jisung's cheeks burned red as he walked across the stage. "haechan, they're your friends." 

"you wanna hurt jeno too?" he raises his eyebrows, his own hands now mindlessly scraping against yours. "you can lead him on, and then we can fuck while he watches. although he'll probably like that –" 

again, he takes in the way you frown. "fine. sorry. jeez." 

"i don't want to hurt people because of us," you say, softly. 

"well," he exhales. "they're only hurt because they can't have you, princess." he tucks your hair behind your ear from where its come loose. "there's nothing we can do, hm?"

you shake your head. "you're not being fair," you whisper. 

"how so?" his hands slide down. there's something possessive in the drag of his palms, the way he squeezes your waist. 

"you don't call me yours…but you also don't let them near me." your voice is small, but it rings loud in the silence of the car all the same. the streets outside were empty and deserted, and you think you can hear your heart beating in the still air as your palms stay pressed on his firm chest. "haechan…i need you to choose."  

it's a long time before haechan responds. he's tired from the show and all the adrenaline, you can feel it in his slow breathing, in the way his eyes blink slowly up at you like an afterthought. but his eyes are what give it away – his gaze is sharp and calculative as his eyes roam your body, his touches not quite as drowsy as he appears, fingers tingling against skin. 

you wait, your heart in your throat. you wait and you hope. 

his full lips part, his eyes meeting yours. 

"so…this is our last time together?" 

of course that's his choice. the disappointment spreads like cold, an ache deep in your bones. "if that's what you choose." your voice is flimsy. "haechan, —" but nothing leaves your mouth, just a wounded sound. everything rushing up inside you like a waves breaking over the shore, memories flooding your senses. 

the hurt on mark's face. haechan's hands on your skin. the blush that burned at jisung's skin as he watched haechan pull you to his car, his figure growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. haechan's lips against your ear as he held you. 

"shhh," his arms hold you against his chest, smoothing down your spine as he comforts you as if you were a baby, you clinging on tight to him as if he were going to disappear. "it's okay," he murmurs. "we'll just have to make it count, hm?" gently, he guides your face out of his chest, relieved when he realizes that you're not crying yet, at least. kissing your cheek gently, he brushes his thumb against the apples of your cheeks. "are you alright? do you want me to take you home?" 

"s-stop it." you manage to steady your breathing enough to repeat yourself. "stop being gentle with me, haechan. stop leading me on." 

"stop getting hurt," he replies, a little teasing, but his tone aches. 

"kiss me?" 

this time you do, letting him guide your movements, as he pulls you down into his body as if he were trying to pull you all the way through him. 

his kisses are slow and sweet, tilting his head almost shyly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as he leans up into you. his tongue carefully slides over your bottom lip, before he's nudging your lips apart with his own again, tongue gently moving over yours, pulling away with a small smile when you chase after him, tongue stuck out slightly, chasing the warmth of his mouth. 

"cute," he mumbles, and you pull your shirt up over your head just so he won't see the way your cheeks burn in the dark. 

his movements become a little more urgent as he unclasps your bra, letting it slide to the floor of his car as he surges towards you. his lips begin to suck marks onto your chest, hands now squeezing your soft breasts, mapping your body indulgently. his tongue licks slowly around your right nipple, before giving it a gentle flick with his tongue, your body shifting restlessly against him as it sends a wave of arousal down to your core. he hugs you against him to steady your movements, lapping at your nipples and guiding each roll of your hips down into his. 

your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him away from you. before you can tell him to stop teasing, he's kissed you again — placating. sweet like he knew everything you were about to say, before you even said it. 

you raise your hips as his hands smooth over the pleats of your skirt, before flipping the soft material upwards. you hadn't worn anything special, not having the courage to, but the way he looked at your simple white panties, thumb running carefully over the pink bow in the middle of the waistband, made you feel warm all over. you hurry to pull them off, just to break the moment, but he catches them right before you tug them off your ankle. 

"can i keep these?" his doe-eyes blink up at you. you can see the brown in his irises, almost gold in the light. you nod, and he lets out a laugh, kissing you through his smile as his fingers wander up your thighs. 

he starts with slow circles on your clit, stroking the nub gently, feeling the way your hips shift at the feeling. when he speeds up his motions, fingers teasing along your slit and catching at your entrance a few times, your hips begin to pick up a steady rhythm, rocking into his hand. 

"do you just want to cum like this?" he asks kindly, placing a bit more pressure on the tips of his fingers. he wants to be inside you badly, his erection almost painful from the lack of contact, but he knew that it might do more for him than it did for you.

this was how he wanted you to be taken care of for your first time, for your second time — this is why he didn't want you to slip away from him into rooms with men who wouldn't know what you needed, wouldn't care what you wanted.

or at least — it's what he tells himself to keep him sane. 

"'m close," you mumble, your movements uncoordinated, neediness driving your hips into his hand, pleasure that you didn't quite know how to handle. "feels so empty, haechan, please –" 

he slows down his movements, a hand sliding over your waist to rub at your lower back, eliciting a warm sound from you that radiates into his chest. he slides a finger into your tight entrance, feeling the way you tense around him, slowly slipping the finger in and out, curling against your walls carefully. his thumb comes up to press your clit, and you inhale sharply as the pressure in your abdomen builds. 

"more…" 

"baby, you're doing so well," he praises. freckling careful kisses on your neck to distract you, you feel another finger catch against your entrance, his hand breaking its rhythm to carefully slide in, stretching your hole out even more. with a lewd suck on the base of your neck, he curls both fingers against your walls, a slick finger slipping on your clit, and you feel yourself crash headfirst into your high, thighs clamping around his hand in sensitivity as you moan. he murmurs praises against your ear, kissing your jaw sweetly between each one. 

he removes his hand from your core with a wet sound, and you drop down into his lap, feeling weak at the knees even though you weren't standing. he lets out a groan, feeling your wetness and warmth through his jeans, and he can feel his cock twitch under the fabric. but still, he waits until your breathing evens out, using his cleaner hand to stroke at your sides, humming lightly under his breath, the reassuring sound filling the car. his breaths sync with yours as you come down from your high, and together you let out a shaky exhale. 

"do you mind?" he asks, quietly, hands going to his belt slowly, trying not to startle you. "we don't have to have sex. i just really need to take care of this now…" you nod, flustered, crawling backwards down his legs, and he leans forward to kiss the crown of your hair. against the soft sounds of your breathing, the sound of him unbuckling his belt, letting it drop into the shadows, and the rustle of fabric as he tugged his jeans and underwear down as much as he could, were endlessly arousing. you felt yourself begin to pulse with need again, your thighs squeezing together when he pulls out his cock, thick and heavy against his palm, the tip blushy and leaking. 

he gives himself a tentative stroke, spreading pre-cum over his length before squeezing the base and hissing at the feeling as he tries to stop from cumming too soon. as if in a trance, you reach out towards him, your hand curiously wrapping around his shaft. he groans, low, as you give him a tentative stroke, although the sound is cut off by a high whimper when your fingers rub the head of his cock, silky under your fingertips. 

"baby, you don't have to –" he's cut off by another moan as you squeeze his length, applying more pressure as you stroke. "fuck, jus' like that," he mumbles, weakly, as you twist your wrist a little on a downstroke, palm slippery with pre-cum. after a few more strokes, watching haechan's head loll this way and that, twisting with pleasure, you pay more attention to his tip, thumbing just under it, fingers rubbing his slit. haechan's hips are restless, thrusting into your hand, his body shaking and the muscles on his abdomen clenched tight. you give him a few more strokes, and his whines fill up the car, raspy and sinful in a way that made you crave him even more. 

mimicking his movements, you slide your hand back down to his base and squeeze. he blinks hazily up at you, lips still parted, panting breathlessly. 

"baby…" 

"i need you," your voice feels broken, desire pulsing through each syllable. "please haechan," you add, as he swallows harshly, his cock twitching slightly against the warmth of your hand. 

pulling you towards him, he kisses you again, fingers wandering down to your heat and stroking your folds. "so wet from touching me, baby?" he teases, smiling against your lips as he slips a finger in, and then another, your walls sucking him in easily. he finds your soft spot immediately, your thighs shaking around his hand as you whine. it's a sound embarrassing to your own ears, but it's like music to haechan's ears, as he lets out a low groan. 

"it's too bad it's your last time with me," he murmurs, lightly, as he takes a condom out from the glove compartment, his hands moving swiftly as he tears open the package and rolls it onto his cock. "i would love to record your pretty sounds…" your voice lets out another small whimper, as if proving him right, as he adjusts you on his lap so the head of his cock lines up with your entrance. slowly, you sink down on him, clutching onto his body for support as you feel him fill you up tightly. 

"breathe," he coaxes, letting his own head sink back against the seats, the hazy feeling of you wet and warm around him intensifying as you take all of him inside you. he continues on, trying to distract you by peppering gentle kisses all over your cheeks. "would you like to hear your voice in a song, sweetheart? all the girls in the crowd wondering who's pretty voice is on the track, wondering who's making her feel this good…" he hisses, when he feels you pulse around him. "you want that?" 

your lips part, stuttering out jumbles of half-sentences, yes-es and nos. "'m just teasing, baby," he coos, as he thrusts his hips upwards experimentally, bouncing you on his lap. you lean into his body, feeling muscle firm under your palms as you raise your hips and grind against him, sensitivity making your thighs shake as the movement stimulates your clit. 

responding to your need, his arm loops around your waist while his fingers wander towards your clit, stroking and rubbing it expertly as he continues to thrust up into you, the car jolting with his movements. his strong thighs tense as he moves, barely pulling out before stuffing himself into you again, your walls kneading his length in a way that makes his body feel hot with need, chasing his climax. your soft sounds each time his tip grazes your soft spot are an aphrodisiac, and he feels himself growing impossibly harder inside you, so aroused it almost hurts. 

"haechan, i'm cumming," you moan, and his fingers put more pressure on your clit, as you bounce on him, eager for release. 

"keep saying my name," he breathes, pulling you close, your bodies moving frantic and unsteady against each other, as you cum, mouthing his name against his skin. he empties himself into the condom soon after, hips still jolting as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax, your breaths echoing loud in the car.

you almost wanted to ask for round 2 — and you were sure he would give it to you, if you had asked. instead you stay silent, feeling emptier than ever as he pulls out, your body draining of his warmth as he cleans you with wipes from his glove compartment, kissing you sweetly whenever your eyes met. the water bottle he procured from the passenger seat of the car making you wonder if this was his plan all along, as you sipped quietly, as he put your address in his phone to take you home. 

—

you can feel him slip away from you on the drive back. 

a sea of red and green lights move across the planes of his face as you watch him drive, one hand on the wheel and the other touching your hand softly on the centre console. you give his fingers a faint squeeze and he smiles, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a light kiss to your fingertips. 

when you reach the next intersection, he pulls his hand from yours and puts it back on the steering wheel. 

when he makes his next turn, his shoulders start to tense and the easy, relaxed expression on his face morphs into a stony one. 

and when he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, turning to face you, the glowing streetlights illuminating the outlines of his face do nothing to soften the blow of seeing him like this again — looking at you with half-lidded eyes, almost lazy in his power. 

"are you coming to the next show?"  

"i want to," you respond, your voice small. "...should i?" 

"it doesn't really matter to me." his fingers tap against the wheel, restlessly. "i just hope you know you shouldn't wait around afterwards." 

you bite your lip. "i know." 

he nods. "so you know this is over?" 

"i know." 

"good girl." it feels like a punch to the stomach, and you inhale, sharply, hands gripping the handle of the car door. waiting for him to dismiss you, as he always did. 

but then he's speaking again, breaking the silence. his voice is softer, a little more hesitant – "do you need me to walk you up?" he's not looking at you, eyes trained on his dashboard. "will you be okay?" 

it's cruel, the way your heart stutters in your chest. you take one last look at him, trying to memorize everything — the sharp line of his jaw, his collarbones, the joints of his fingers, the way his pinky finger crooks slightly to the right. the faint smell of vanilla and something darker, mixed with his warmth. you try to memorize it because you're sure this is the last time you'll be so close to him again, both in proximity, and in the way his voice aches with something close to tenderness. in that moment, you know if you told him you needed him, he would turn off the engine and open your car door, holding you safe against his chest and walking you up to your apartment. but what for? for him to shut off on the way up the elevator, and turn into a stranger at your door? 

"it's fine," you murmur, and you don't wait for a response before stepping out into the warm night. 

—

your ribs press against the barrier, and you wince slightly. the crowd screams loud in your ear, as the boy in front of you looks up from his guitar at the crowd in front of him, dark gaze sliding over faces, tongue poking at his cheek and puffy lips stretched. 

his eyes briefly meet yours, and your heart skips a beat. 

and then he's looking back down at his guitar again, lips pursed in concentration. 

the next time he glances up, the familiar glint is back, eyebrows drawn together. there was something strange about the way he was looking at you, not exactly meeting your eyes. was he looking at your clothes? your hair? or… 

"oh my god!" 

you shoot a brief glance back, at the girl who's just let out a squeal. she claps her hands over her mouth, eyes shining as she stares adoringly at haechan, unblinking. you don't have to check to know he's staring right back — you know the look on her face a little too well. 

the disappointment and jealousy weighing on your chest is entirely unjustified, but you feel it heavy in your bones, anyway. 

he had meant every word: it was truly over. 

–

"did anyone see you?" 

"no," you whimper, as he mouths over the seat of your panties, tongue lapping at your folds through the fabric. 

"good girl," he pants, letting out a satisfied groan when he tugs them down your legs, burying his face in between your legs with a lewd moan. 

but if it was truly over, why did he find you after the show last week, – slipping by you to tell you to meet him in the upstairs master bedroom, where he fingered you open in front of the mirror?

if it was truly over, why did a stagehand stop you from leaving after the next show you went to, passing you a note that told you to wait at the back entrance of the venue? 

"fuck fuck fuck-"

and if it was truly over, why was he currently in between your spread legs, his mouth and chin covered with your juices as you lay on his bed?

"need you now, princess." his fingers brush your clit, and your thighs shake with overstimulation. "are you okay? i can wait-" 

"don't wait," you plead, pulling him towards you. he follows, propping himself up on his arms as his face reaches yours, his lips gently nudging your own apart, letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he kisses you. his sticky hands stroke your sides, leaving trails on your skin. "haechan –" 

he interrupts you with another kiss. freckling more kisses down your neck, he smiles against the mark he left days ago, fading slightly now. "i missed this," he murmurs, and your heart stings, a collection of memories surfacing in your mind – of his eyes avoiding yours at shows. of him waiting onstage for someone else. of him smiling at you cordially, face blank as if he were greeting you for the first time when he talked to you in front of other fans. 

"did you really?" 

he doesn't respond, latching his lips to your skin with a hum, hands cupping your breasts in one swift motion, fingers teasing over your nipples and making your body arch into his touch. 

"haechan…"  

"what do you want, princess?" he wanders lower, licking at your cleavage. your mind threatens to blank when he circles a fingertip around your areola, puffy wet lips closing around a nipple and sucking wetly. "hm?" 

"want you to fuck me…" your voice is shaky, but you press on. "like how you were gonna fuck that girl."  

his hands still for just a brief second. you can see your words hit him, understanding and lust flickering in his responding laugh. he focuses his eyes back on your face, hands now coming up to brush your lips, caressing your cheek, smoothing over your skin almost lovingly.

this is how he was going to fuck her? 

"open up," he murmurs, fingers pressed to your bottom lip. as if stuck in a trance, your lips part. 

a wet mess of saliva, still mixed with traces of your arousal, drips down from his tongue into your mouth, connecting your lips with his in a glossy sheen. his lips tug into a smile as he sees your blown-out pupils, arousal completely overriding his every thought. 

his fingers trace your jaw. "swallow," he commands, sweetly, and as always you do exactly as he says. 

you feel something shift against your upper thigh, your hips rising on instinct to buck against his hard length, still trapped behind his ripped jeans. 

his low groan is interrupted by a sharp rattling of the doorknob, followed by a thud against the door. both of you still, eyes focused on the locked door, straining your ears to hear the voices outside. 

"are you sure no one saw you?" haechan asks, quietly. "did jisung see you? mark? jeno?"

"i don't think so," you mumble. 

that was the arrangement you had come up with a little over a week ago, discussed in heated kisses and bliss-induced haze. you could keep seeing haechan, as long as you never saw the rest of the band again. on nights when he knew he wanted you, you would slip through crowds like a ghost to make your way into warm beds and cold bathrooms, saving him from the jealousy, and saving you from the questions. 

of course, there were a few nights where no message would find you, where he wouldn't grab your wrist as you brushed past him in a hallway, his hands distracted with someone else. those nights used to make you cry, your entire being aching for his attention, his indifference just as bruising as his care. 

the doorknob rattles again, and there's a knock on the door. 

"haechan? are you in there?" 

mark's voice. 

"they're back early from the party," haechan mumbled. to your shock, he ignores them and tugs off his shirt roughly, revealing delicate tanned skin dotted with moles, looking soft-to-touch. 

"haechan," mark's voice is exasperated. "i thought we agreed not to bring girls to our apartment." 

haechan rolls his eyes as his hands go to his belt, ridding himself of his pants and underwear. you can see the muscles in his thighs tense as he makes his way up the bed, hands holding your hips.

"you wanted me to fuck you like the other girls?" he murmurs, low so only you can hear. "well. on your knees." 

"but mark is –" you break off, seeing the way his eyes narrow, something dangerous flickering in his pupils. "but…but they're outside," you whisper. as if to prove your point, mark bangs on the door again. 

and then jisung's voice, low and urgent comes through the door. "who is he even with? the girl he left the show with was alone when i saw her."

"god, are they all outside the door?" haechan grumbles, focusing his attention back on you when you let out a small sound of distress. "forget about them," he soothes, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. his mouth moves over yours searingly, possessive and all-consuming in the way he pushes his tongue into your mouth. "on your knees," he commands, quietly, against your mouth. "i won't ask again." 

a thrill runs down your spine as you flip over, his large hands adjusting you so your back arches, head pressed into the pillows as he holds your hips up. he presses a kiss to your back as he reaches off the bed for a condom, rolling it onto his hard length with a soft groan. you look over your shoulder, see him stroking himself, mouth hanging open. 

"hurry," you plead. you can feel slick on your thighs from the way he ate you out earlier, growing wetter from anticipation. "please." 

he ignores you. "can you be quiet for me?" he mumbles. outside, you can hear the boys discussing something heatedly, voices low so you can't make out the words. "don't want anyone else to hear you."

"yes," you promise, meekly. 

"good girl." he lines himself up to your entrance, reaching around to rub your clit as he runs the tip of his cock against your folds. you let out a shaky breath at the feeling, trying hard not to let it catch your vocal cords. 

one hand on your hip and the other stroking your lower back, he pushes in slowly, letting you adjust to his girth. you feel a sting as he stretches your walls, filling you up deeply while burying himself inside you. he murmurs for you to relax, listening to you take shallow breaths, the way your hole flutters around his length making him want to thrust forward, relieve his own ache. 

"haechan, are you asleep?" 

there's a sharp rap on the door, and haechan curses as it makes you tighten around him, gummy walls gripping him like a vice, as if begging for his cum. 

"you liked that, baby?" his voice is low, and mocking. you whimper. "you like the idea of them coming in and seeing you like this? letting me take you like a slut?" 

"haechan, we know you're in there." now it's jeno's rough voice, devoid of its usual warmth. "we saw the shoes at the door. we need to talk." 

haechan pulls out until only his tip is still inside you, and slams back in aggressively, filling you to the brim. he starts to build a rhythm, thrusting deep and slow inside you, letting you feel the drag of him against your walls as he strokes your clit with his fingers. he was taking his time with you — pausing to lean forward and press kisses to your shoulders, mouthing messily over your skin. 

"haechan, please -" you try to keep your voice quiet, but he chooses this time to fuck you a little harder, picking up the pace, and your mouth hangs open as your aborted whimpers turn into drawn out moans.  

"hm?" he prompts, faking nonchalance. but you can feel that the pace is affecting him too, his breathing growing heavier as he speeds up a little more. 

"harder," you mumble, words feeling thick and slow in your mouth. "faster. fuck," 

a bang on the door. the loud sound makes you jolt, and haechan hisses as you clench down on him harshly again, your thighs inching closer together, creating a tighter fit around his thick cock. 

"i wonder why they're not coming in yet." his voice in your ear is low, sultry. the kind he uses on-stage when he's teasing the crowd. 

"i-isn't the door l-locked?" 

"sure…but it's a really old lock. i know mark could open it if he really wanted to. he's done it before when i'm late for rehearsals, ah fuck-" he's slamming himself into you, barely pulling out before pushing in again, wet sounds filling the room. "fuck, you must really like that. how do you just keep getting tighter and tighter, hm?" 

"haech–" 

"maybe i'll ask them to come in…" he muses, his tone sickly sweet. "i just know you'll cum hard on my cock when they open the door, right? let them see how filthy you are?" 

"don't –", you choke. 

"should i tell them not to come in?" 

"no," you gasp, and he laughs, darkly. 

"no, i should tell them to come in?" he asks between breathless pants, pace unrelenting as the lewd sound of skin against skin fills the room. "you want me to talk to them baby?" 

you let out an incoherent mumble, no longer sure of anything. 

he coos at that. "dumb already, princess?" his hand wanders up to your chest, blunt nails haphazardly scraping across your nipples. your hips push back onto him instinctively, fucking yourself onto his length, your hips chasing pleasure from the sensitivity as you cum. 

"haechan, i'm not leaving until you open the door." another thud, as mark sits down. 

"fuck…" haechan's only half listening to mark as he throws his head back, murmuring curses as he feels you clench around him, milking his cock. it takes all the self control he has to place his hands on your waist, stilling your movements as he pulls out of you. he's so hard that it hurts, and he knows his release is close, but he still shifts your body until you're lying on your back, and he can see your tear-streaked face, drool smeared all over your chin. 

you mouth his name soundlessly, fresh waves of tears gathering on your waterline as you see him move away from you, and you try to sit up to keep him in your line of sight. 

"haechan, –" 

"i'm here," he murmurs, one hand immediately finding yours and squeezing, the other grappling for the water bottle on the bedside table. he unscrews the cap with one hand as he moves towards you, helping you prop yourself up against the headboard. "drink." 

he holds the bottle up to your lips, but you shake your head. "want you," you whisper, even though your mouth feels warm and sticky, your throat dry from moaning. you can't focus on anything except for the emptiness inside you, your clit throbbing whenever you shift your thighs together slightly. you're focused on his hard length, the slope of his shoulders down to his slender waist. you shake your head again, knocking the bottle against your lips and spilling a little bit of the water onto the sheets. 

"don't be a brat." his voice is low, a dangerous sort of patience in his tone. "drink, or i won't give you what you want." 

you swallow, his voice washing over you, pulling you under. this time when he raises the bottle to your lips, you hold it with shaky hands, letting water trickle down your throat. his own hand comes up, touching two fingers to your neck gently, making sure you were drinking instead of pretending by feeling for the movement of your throat.  

"done?" he watches you lick your parted lips, dewy with water and saliva, and takes the bottle from you, placing it back on the stand. "do you want to keep going?" 

you nod, slowly. 

"use your words," he commands, quietly. 

"please don't stop," you plead, shuffling towards him. it feels like the fog has cleared slightly in your head, the water making the heat haze dissipate. vaguely, you're sure that mark, jisung, and jeno must know what you were doing – must have heard the headboard thumping against the wall, haechan's low groans and your breathless whimpers. 

you wonder what mark is thinking now, outside, not leaving and yet not breaking in like haechan said he could. it sends a wave of arousal down to your core, some part of you wanting him to see the way you break for haechan, completely and wholly his. your way of rejecting him without having to see his face – your way of explaining why you ignored him whenever he caught your eyes during shows and after-parties. 

haechan reads you easily, observing the way your eyes flicker to the door. he's torn between opening the door himself — letting mark see you on his bed, fucked stupid by him, or stepping outside and telling mark to leave because no one should see or hear you like this but him. 

"do you want me to tell mark to leave?" 

"n-no," you hesitate. "don't."

he raises his eyebrows. "why?" 

"w-want him to know that i'm yours," you mumble, a hand wrapping around his thigh and squeezing. 

haechan's eyes darken. “mine?” he echoes, quietly, almost gently.

you're so focused on the shift in his features – the set of his jaw, the way he tenses, that you barely notice he's sliding off the bed and picking you up effortlessly so that you cling to his upper body, legs gripping his waist. his lip curls into a smile, head tilted mockingly as he starts to walk, strong arms holding you up.

your back hits solid wood, and you gasp. 

"haechan?" mark's voice is crystal clear on the other side of the door. 

haechan adjusts his grip, pushing you against the door as he slides his tip along your dripping cunt, making you squirm in his hold. 

"be good, hm?" he whispers, as he pushes into you, eyes squeezing shut and jaw dropping open at the feeling of your walls sucking him back in, pulsing along his length and making his cock throb. when he opens his eyes again, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, and you can see that this situation is heightening his arousal, causing his thrusts to be sloppy and unfocused as he chases his own high. each time he pushes into you, the weight of his hips snapping against yours pushes against the door, and you hear it jolt a little, the lock jiggling.

mark's shouted expletive rings against your ears, mirrored by haechan's own as he captures your lips in a kiss. the feeling is familiar and new at the same time, his tongue sliding languidly over yours, swiping against your bottom lip. at the sight of your parted mouth and wet lips, he moans again, and without hesitating he spits into your waiting mouth, sloppy and messy, causing it to dribble past your lips and down your chin. 

the rhythm against the door is unmistakable, and you can hear footsteps as mark runs off. haechan laughs, a pleased hum in his chest that vibrates against your own as he leans into you, and he mouths down your neck, biting at your shoulder and letting his low groan scrape against his throat as a growl. you cum when your stiff nipples brush against his chest, the tiny bit of stimulation just enough to throw you over the edge into your orgasm, your thighs clenching around him as you sob, your core aching. 

the feeling of your walls rippling around his length is too much to bear, and he barely lets you ride out your orgasm on him before he's pulling out of you and carrying you back to his bed. haechan tugs off the condom urgently as you lie there, tired and spent, watching as he strokes his length, fast, eyes fluttering open and shut with lust, his hips thrusting forward uncontrollably. his thumb ghosts just under the head of his cock, and then he's cumming all over your stomach and chest, sticky white spurts pooling on your skin. 

you watch him out of half-lidded eyes as his breathing slows, collapsing next to you in a heap. the high from the sex hasn't faded yet – the consequences of being heard by all his bandmates hasn't hit you, as you bask in the temporary glow of being his. 

a finger traces along the cum on your stomach, haechan transfixed by the sight. curious, your hands grab for the small mirror on his bedside table, and he comes out of his daze, handing it to you wordlessly. 

in the moonlight, the marks he's made on your skin blur with the shadows. no part of you looks untouched — your tear-streaked face and kiss-swollen lips, bruises on your hips and the sting of the bite mark on your shoulder. your hands tremble a little as you focus the mirror on where his fingers play with his drying cum on your skin, tracing lines and curves. 

"'m yours," you mumble out. 

"yeah?" he chokes. "mine?" 

dazedly, you point to your neck. "yours." 

he groans, just watching you, eyes roving over your body. "you're beautiful," he whispers. you think he means it.

"more." your voice is quiet. 

"no more, baby," he murmurs, looking up at you with concern. "it's too much for you." 

you shake your head. "these could be from anyone," you point at the marks on your neck. his body tenses, hands stiff on your skin. "i want to be yours." 

slowly, your words settle over him. he looks at you with an unreadable expression, the kind you see right before he strikes his first chord, the moment his eyes find yours in the crowd. a dark sort of determination, in the way his holds your gaze. 

he reaches over, and opens a drawer. you can hear the sound of things knocking around inside as he roots his hand around, finally emerging with an eyeliner pen. through the mirror, you can see his hands splayed out over the space just under your breasts, pulling the skin over your ribcage taut. his tongue pokes out into the lower corner of his mouth as he places the tip of the pen to your skin. 

he loops once. skids the pen downwards. jerks it up harshly, ending off with jagged motions, each brush trailing ink on your skin. 

when he's done he leans backwards, raising his eyebrows, asking you wordlessly if this was finally enough. his signature on your body, next to the bruises and marks and last remnants of his cum on your skin. 

—

"haechan?" 

he doesn't respond, but a part of you expects it already – you've memorized the way he leaves. 

"why didn't you fuck that girl tonight?" 

he takes his time, taking a long sip from his bottle of wine. from where you lie on the bed, you can just see the broad frame of his back, his side profile as he looks out of the window and at the moon, bright in the sky, the milky glow illuminating his skin. without his makeup, he looked like just a boy – pretty features almost dainty on his face. it's his hands which break the facade, calloused and rough, with veins that make your head spin when you think about them for too long, holding the bottle up to his lips. 

"didn't feel like it." 

you think about his answer, blinking slowly from the sleepiness. "why did you fuck me?" 

he faces forward, away from you. "felt like it."  

"why?" 

"i'm beginning to question that too," he replies, bluntly.

hurt aches in your bones, as silence rings loud in your ears. "if you don't want me here i can just go," you say, softly, and you're sure your voice sounds as wounded as you feel. "you've cleaned me up. i can leave if you want." 

you can see him stiffen, his shoulders tensing up. 

"where's jaemin?" 

of course. sitting up, you wince at the ache between your legs. "he's probably asleep," you answer, bitterly. "but i can just call a cab –"

his back muscles tense, and then he's shifting from where he sits on the edge of the bed. sliding into the space next to you, he rests back against the headboard, legs stretched out over the sheets. a hand wraps around yours. 

"ask me easier questions," he mumbles, turning your palm over so he can lace your fingers together, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 

your breath stutters. 

"what did you talk about? with the band?" 

after cleaning you up and tucking you into bed, haechan had finally stalked out of the bedroom to talk to mark, jisung and jeno. he hadn't said a thing when he returned, holding a bottle of wine, placing it on the bedside table before stepping into the bathroom wordlessly to remove his makeup. 

haechan blinks down slowly at your intertwined hands. "they asked me what was going on." 

"what?" 

"i've been losing focus," he mumbles. "during shows and during rehearsal. and jeno noticed i kept ditching girls at parties, said it wasn't like me to not be fucking around at all." 

a beat. 

you bite your lip. "you're…you're losing focus?" 

but he just shakes his head. "they're wrong." 

you can see that the topic is upsetting him, so you rush to ask another question. "do you write any of the songs that the band play?" 

he raises his eyebrows. "so you care so much about the band now? does that mean you're a fan?" 

he ignores your mumbled excuse, squeezing your hand again to let you know he was teasing. "mark usually writes the songs," he answers. "i don't have much to write about." and then, with a little more force, "ask me questions about me, not the band."

"what does this tattoo mean?" you place the tip of your finger just below his ribcage, where there's a small doodle of a bear paw. 

"people say i look like a bear," he mumbles, a little shy. even in the moonlight, his pouty lips and round cheeks are evident, his shoulders broad as he slumps against the headboard. 

"i see it," you confirm, and a smile flickers on his face. 

"yeah?" he looks over at you, and his free arm loops around your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. his affection buzzes in your veins, as you try to divert his attention with another question. 

"and what does this tattoo mean?" your other hand comes up again, now to trace at the sunflower peeking out from the base of his neck, trailing down to his shoulder. 

he takes a deep breath. "my sister picked it." 

"sister?" 

"baby sister," he adds, softly. "she just turned six. this is her favorite flower." 

"oh." 

"why?" he tilts his head, bumping your own gently. "do i not seem like an older brother?" 

"i think…" you hum, contemplating. "not when you're onstage," you decide.

"do you think i'm different? from when i'm onstage?" 

"i don't know you enough to judge," you say, truthfully. aside from the sex, and from the brief moments right after when it felt like he was truly there, holding you, the haechan you knew was mostly the one flooded with stage lights, the kind of boy you had to beg to earn his attention. 

haechan goes quiet, his hand on yours stilling, and you turn to look at him. tension is filling up the room, slow and thick like a fog, and you can't breathe against the weight of everything — the weight of his gaze, the almost boyish way his eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet yours. 

"do you want to?" 

you bite your lip. 

maybe two weeks ago your heart would have leapt, maybe you would have begged for the opportunity to have him closer. 

but your body has already had time to learn disappointment, to defend yourself against his callousness and his cold, learning the art of slipping in and out of intimacies. every line crossed, every boundary blurred. 

"do i want to?" you echo, and you see him falter. 

maybe his own words held more weight than he'd anticipated. 

"you don't?" 

or maybe he was just scared to hear your answer. 

"will you let me?" you reflect the question back to him. his fingers twitch against your shoulder where he's still holding you.

there were some nights where it felt as if he was taking his adrenaline out on your body, or where he was making you forget the fear of being caught by overriding your senses with pleasure. there were others when you fell so deep into a headspace, that he would care for you gently, something romantic and tender in the negative space between your bodies. 

and ultimately all of these nights ended the same – the same curl of his lip, his face closed-off, his voice too steady and unfeeling.

"how would you let me know you?" it's only when he flinches when you catch the harshness to your tone, your own words leaving a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. "by barely letting things slip every night?" 

"y/n…" it's not meant as a warning. your name is spoken softly, with an ache in it that makes goosebumps rise up your arms. "i thought you were fine." 

"i am," you insist, feeling defensive. "i'm fine with you pretending you don't know me, or when you disappear on the drive home." 

"y/n, –" 

"just…don't say things if you don't mean them," you finish, mumbling your words to mute the hurt in them. 

there's a long silence. 

and then, his voice, so delicate and fragile, like he was afraid his words would bruise the space between him and you. 

"we're playing at a bar this friday." 

you make a sound of confusion, and he continues on. "it's only for a few fans who won some sort of a lucky draw. they get to talk to us and get autographs." 

"i didn't enter," you cut in, but still he continues on, as if he was trying to get the words out before he lost his nerve.

"i'm inviting you now. and….and afterwards i'll leave with you and we can go to my place." he swallows. "my real apartment. not this one i share with the band." he lets out a shaky breath. "i don't… i don't usually bring girls there, if you can't tell."  

"but…" the wheels in your head are turning slowly, as you try to catch up with what he's saying. "but if i'm there… and it's such a small crowd…the band is going to see that i'm there. 

"they will," he confirms quietly. 

"they're going to know you invited me. because i'm not a fan." 

his lips twitch. "but you like me, no?" 

"i do," you concede, absentmindedly. "but i thought you said…the band…" 

"i don't think i really care about that anymore." his thumb dips low, brushing over the space under your ribs where his name is temporarily tattooed against your skin. "i…" he hesitates, before his thumb swipes against your skin again, and he takes a deep breath. "i told them about you. just now." 

you feel like you're falling – a sense of vertigo making your head spin.

"what did you say?" 

"just that…there was a you," he finished, lamely. "that we see each other more, but it's nothing." his hand squeezes yours, a gentle pulse. "nothing yet, anyway."

"i'll take it," you murmur, holding his hand clasped in both of yours and kissing him lightly on his fingertips. his face crumples, his chest caving in on itself with the weight of the tenderness he feels for you in that moment, and he leans in, tilting his head, eyes fluttering closed. 

he kisses you like it's a promise, close-lipped and earnest. it feels almost like the two of you are finally on even ground. 

— 

"what are you trying to do?" 

you jump, as the light in the small kitchenette flicks on. dirty dishes pile up in the sink, mugs scattered over the countertop, and the boy leaning against the fridge focuses his gaze on you. his voice is gentle, a mellow sort of sweetness undercut by the deepness of his voice. not in the way jisung's was deep, but a bass to it that gave it authority, one that the boy seldom had to use. 

"what do you mean?" 

jeno tilts his head. "y/n, do you know why haechan likes to fuck girls after his shows?" 

the sweetness on your tongue from haechan's kiss decays into bitterness. 

jeno doesn't seem to care. "he gets high off the feeling of the crowd. it's something he doesn't want to let go of, so he finds someone who adores him and makes them prove it." his eyes bore into yours, unblinking. "he doesn't care who he's with, y/n. he just likes the way they sound, screaming his name." 

"but why doesn't-" you choke. it  feels almost like you're betraying him. "why doesn't he date?" 

jeno raises his eyebrows, and you feel pathetic. it’s a long time before he finally answers.

"all the girls are only after the version of him onstage. it's him they like, and haechan's just extending the performance. would you want to date someone who only liked one side of you?"

"but i don't just like that side of haechan," you protest, weakly. even then, you don't know what other sides you're alluding to — was it his gentleness with you? how he always held you after? the one who let his baby sister pick his tattoos?

"y/n?" 

a soft voice sounds out from the corridor leading off into the bedrooms. sleep-ridden syllables mumbling out into the still air, calling your name. 

"where are you? is everything okay?"

jeno's looking at you with someone like pity in his eyes, the way your body turns towards his voice like an instinct. "haechan isn't even his real name, did you know that?" 

he crosses over to you, and places his mug into the sink behind your back. "try not to get too loud," he murmurs. "we're all tired." 

and as haechan pulls you into his warm embrace, palms wandering over your skin, you bite your tongue and keep as quiet as possible.

—

haechan's head snaps up as he sees the door swing open again and more girls wander into the bar. there are excited squeals and shouts as they spot the band, he can hear mark's warm laugh and see jisung's wave out of his peripheral vision. behind him, jeno's methodically checking on his drum kit, and haechan can feel his eyes on the back of his neck, as if he knew. 

his eyes scan the crowd again, praying he was wrong. but deep down he knows he would recognise your voice anywhere, be able to spot your features even in total darkness. 

and right now, you weren't there at all. 

his body goes on autopilot, muscle memory kicking in as he plays the chords, does his solos, nods along to the music. the crowd is frenetic, watching the way his eyebrows are drawn together, tonguing at his cheek, his lips downturned — the anger tense in his body making them whisper to themselves, wondering why this was part of his performance today. he keeps his expression slack as he signs autographs, nodding curtly towards fans as they bid him goodbye timidly, intimidated by his stormy gaze. 

he doesn't understand why it makes his insides twist, each time he searches the crowd and darts his eyes back to his guitar. maybe he'd just gotten used to seeing you front row at his shows. maybe that was all this was — and you were a bad habit he should have broken. 

it's what he tells himself as he lets his hands brush against the girl's as she holds her poster out to him, smiling a close-lipped smile, eyes dragging up and down his body excitedly. he lets her think it's a part of the performance, as he rails her in the bathroom of the bar, his eyes squeezed shut as she moans his name into the sink, trying to ignore the way her body didn't react at all like yours did, that his hands couldn't find purchase on her skin at all, and her voice made him want to crawl out of his skin. 

you were a bad habit he should break — at least that's what he tells himself to keep him sane.

-> part 2 here!

taglist: @neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @simpforarmihn @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @smwhrinthehaze (sorry there were q a few i couldn't tag!)

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[pucksandpower]

Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

Summary: you didn’t think things could get worse after your long-time (ex) boyfriend chose his team over you … until you see those two pink lines, but little do you know that his rival will soon prove that a found family can be thicker than blood

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

You’re half-smiling, half-laughing, like you’re expecting him to crack any second and say something ridiculous, something that would make you roll your eyes and shake your head at his poor attempt at a joke.

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his eyes fixed on you with a seriousness that makes your stomach twist.

“Charles,” you repeat, the laugh in your voice now entirely gone. “What are you talking about?”

He runs a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s trying to find the right words, but they’re all jumbled up in his head. You know this Charles. This is the Charles who struggles when things aren’t easy, when he has to explain something he doesn’t want to. But this … this is different.

“We need to break up.” The words come out so softly, so carefully, like he’s afraid of them. But they hit you hard, a punch in the gut that leaves you breathless.

You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t fit. You and Charles are solid. You’ve been through everything together — the highs, the lows, the uncertain days before he was anything more than just another young driver trying to make it in the big leagues. And now, after all this time, after everything, he’s telling you this?

You shake your head. “No. No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” he says, his voice firmer now, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you.

“Charles, no,” you say, your voice rising, a mixture of panic and disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

He sighs, a long, weary sound, and looks away from you, his gaze falling to the floor as if he can’t bear to meet your eyes. “It’s not what I want,” he says quietly.

“Then why?” You demand, stepping closer to him, trying to catch his eye, to pull him back to you. “Why are you saying this? We’re fine, Charles. We’re good. What’s going on?”

He finally looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. “It’s not about us,” he says, his voice almost breaking. “It’s … it’s the team. Ferrari.”

“What?” You say, blinking in confusion. “What does Ferrari have to do with us?”

“They … they think it’s better if I’m single,” he says, each word forced out like it’s costing him something. “For my image. For the brand.”

You stare at him, your mouth open, but no words come out. You’re frozen, your mind struggling to catch up to the words he’s just said, to the reality he’s trying to force on you. “You’re breaking up with me … because of Ferrari?”

He nods slowly, miserably, like he hates himself for it. “It’s complicated,” he says, trying to make it sound like it’s not the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard.

“No, it’s not,” you shoot back, the anger finally starting to break through the shock. “This isn’t complicated, Charles. This is insane. You can’t seriously be telling me that you’re ending things because some PR team thinks it’ll be better for your career.”

“They’re not just some PR team,” he says, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. “They know what they’re doing. They’ve seen the numbers and the trends. They know what’s best for the brand … for me.”

“And what about us?” You ask, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “What about everything we’ve been through? Everything we’ve built together? You’re just going to throw that away because someone told you to?”

He winces, like your words are physically hurting him, but he doesn’t back down. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’re choosing your career over me.”

His silence is deafening. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he’s struggling with what he’s saying, but he’s not fighting it. He’s not fighting for you, and that realization hits you harder than anything else.

“Why now?” You ask, your voice softer now, the fight starting to drain out of you. “Why are you doing this now?”

“It’s just … it’s the timing,” he says, fumbling for an explanation that makes sense. “The season’s starting, there’s so much pressure. They think it’ll be easier if I’m not-”

“If you’re not what? Tied down?” You snap, the words laced with bitterness. “Is that what they told you? That you’ll be better off without me weighing you down?”

“That’s not how they put it,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his voice.

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t cry. Not now. Not here. “Charles, we’ve been together for years,” you say, your voice trembling. “We’ve been through everything together. And now you’re telling me that none of that matters? That all of that gets erased because it doesn’t fit with Ferrari’s brand?”

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, his voice breaking, his eyes pleading with you to understand.

“Then don’t,” you plead back, stepping closer to him, reaching out to take his hand, but he pulls away, and the rejection stings.

“I have to,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You shake your head, trying to make sense of the senseless. “How can you say that? How can you just … give up on us like this?”

“I’m not giving up,” he insists, but it sounds hollow, even to him. “It’s just … it’s not forever. It’s just for now, just to get through the season. Then we can figure things out, we can-”

“You can’t be serious,” you interrupt, the tears finally spilling over despite your best efforts. “You think I’m just going to wait around for you to decide when it’s convenient for you to be with me again? You think that’s how this works?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with that same pained expression, and it’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“Charles, please,” you whisper, one last attempt to reach him, to get him to see reason, to see you. “Don’t do this. We can figure something out. We always do.”

But he’s already shaking his head, and you know, deep down, that he’s already made up his mind. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you can hear the finality in his voice, the way he’s closing the door on this, on you.

You stare at him, the boy you’ve known for so long, the man you’ve loved for years, and it feels like he’s slipping away from you, like he’s already gone. “You really think this is what’s best for you?” You ask, your voice hollow, defeated.

“It’s not about what’s best for me,” he says, and you almost laugh at the irony of it.

“Then what is it about, Charles?” you ask, but you’re not sure you even want to know the answer.

“It’s about … what’s best for everyone,” he says, but even he doesn’t sound convinced.

You take a step back, the distance between you growing, and it feels like a chasm opening up, one you can’t cross. “I never thought you’d be someone who’d let other people decide what’s best for you,” you say quietly.

He flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him, that he’ll take it back, that he’ll realize how ridiculous this all is. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, looking at you with those sad eyes, and you know it’s over.

“Goodbye, Charles,” you say, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, but it’s lost in the sound of your footsteps as you turn and walk away, leaving him — and everything you’ve built together — behind.

***

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light over the room, but it does nothing to warm the cold knot in your stomach. You’ve been feeling off for days now — nauseous, tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that sleep doesn’t seem to touch.

And the vomiting. It started a few days ago, just once or twice, but now it’s every morning, like clockwork.

You sit up slowly, careful not to move too fast, but it’s too late. The wave of nausea hits, and you barely make it to the bathroom before you’re hunched over the toilet, retching until there’s nothing left. You stay there for a moment, gripping the edge of the sink, trying to steady your breathing, trying to make sense of what’s happening to you.

It’s just stress, you tell yourself. The breakup, the uncertainty of everything, it’s all finally catching up to you. But even as you think it, you know it’s not true. This is different. This is something else.

You rinse your mouth, the taste of bile lingering, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look pale, drawn, like you haven’t slept in days. Your eyes are dull, shadows lurking beneath them, and there’s a tightness around your mouth that wasn’t there before. You almost don’t recognize the person staring back at you.

As you leave the bathroom, your mind races through the possibilities, trying to find some logical explanation. Maybe it’s a bug, something you ate. Maybe it’s …

You stop in your tracks, the thought slamming into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. No. It can’t be. It’s impossible. But as you think back, counting the days in your head, you realize it’s not impossible. In fact, it’s very possible.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It’s been weeks since … since Charles broke up with you. Since you last … Oh God.

The realization leaves you cold, your skin prickling with fear. There’s only one way to know for sure, but the very thought of it makes your throat tighten, your heart race even faster.

You can’t. You can’t be.

But there’s a part of you — a small, terrified part — that knows you need to find out. You can’t just ignore this, hope it goes away. You need to know. Now.

The walk to the pharmacy is a blur. You barely register the people around you, the sun beating down on your back as you make your way through the streets. It feels like everyone is looking at you, like they know what you’re about to do, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

Inside, the air is cool, the fluorescent lights harsh as you make your way to the back, where the pregnancy tests are lined up in neat rows. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes scanning the shelves, your hand hovering over the different options, but you can’t bring yourself to reach out and grab one.

“Can I help you with something?”

The voice startles you, and you turn to see a woman in a white pharmacy coat standing beside you, her expression polite but curious.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just … looking.”

She nods, but doesn’t move away, and you feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You need to do this, and you need to do it now.

Taking a deep breath, you grab the first box you see, then another, then a third, just to be sure. You avoid the woman’s gaze as you make your way to the register, your heart hammering in your chest as you hand over the boxes, praying she doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t. She just rings you up, sliding the tests into a small paper bag before handing it to you with a neutral smile. “Good luck,” she says, and you can’t tell if she means it or if it’s just something she says to everyone.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing the bag and hurrying out of the store, the door chiming as you leave.

Back in your apartment, the silence is deafening. The tests sit on the counter, staring up at you, and you can’t bring yourself to move, to do what needs to be done. But you know you have to. You can’t put this off any longer.

Finally, you reach for the bag, pulling out one of the boxes, your hands trembling as you tear it open. The instructions are simple enough — pee on the stick, wait three minutes, then check the result. But as you hold the test in your hand, you realize those three minutes are going to be the longest of your life.

You follow the instructions, then set the test on the counter, stepping back like it’s something dangerous, something that could hurt you if you get too close. You glance at the clock, the seconds ticking by at an excruciatingly slow pace, and you force yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

But calm is impossible. Your mind is racing, a thousand thoughts and fears tumbling over each other in a chaotic mess. What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? What will you do? How will you handle this? You’re alone now — Charles is gone, and he’s not coming back. You’re on your own.

The minutes crawl by, and finally, you can’t wait any longer. You step forward, your heart in your throat, and pick up the test, your eyes locking onto the small window where the result will appear.

Two lines.

Positive.

You stare at it, uncomprehending, your mind struggling to process what you’re seeing. You pick up the second test, the third, repeating the process with shaking hands, hoping against hope that the first was a mistake, a fluke. But the results are the same. Two lines. Positive.

You’re pregnant.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, and you sink to the floor, the tests clattering out of your hands as you press your palms to your stomach, feeling the beginnings of a life growing inside you. A baby. Charles’ baby.

Tears blur your vision, and you don’t know if they’re from fear, from shock, or from something else entirely. You never thought you’d be here — sitting on your bathroom floor, alone, pregnant, and terrified of what comes next.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have Charles by your side, holding your hand, telling you everything would be okay.

But he’s not here. And now, you have to figure out what to do next. You have to figure out how to take care of yourself, how to take care of this baby.

You drag yourself to your feet, your legs weak, and stumble into the living room, collapsing onto the couch as the weight of it all presses down on you. How did this happen? How did you end up here, in this mess, with no one to turn to?

Your mind drifts back to the day Charles convinced you to quit your job. He’d said it was for the best, that you didn’t need to work, that he’d take care of you. He wanted you with him at the races, wanted you by his side, supporting him, and you’d agreed, because of course you did. You loved him. You trusted him.

And now … now you have nothing. No job, no income, no safety net. Just a positive pregnancy test and a future that feels terrifyingly uncertain.

You wipe at your eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. You have to be strong, for yourself, for the baby. You need to figure out what to do next.

You reach for your phone, your fingers trembling as you pull up a job search website. There has to be something — anything — that can get you back on your feet. But as you scroll through the listings, your heart sinks. You’re overqualified for some, underqualified for others. You haven’t worked in years, and the gaps in your resume feel like gaping wounds that no employer would overlook.

Finally, something catches your eye—an ad for a cleaning agency. It’s not glamorous, it’s not what you imagined for yourself, but it’s work. It’s a start. And right now, that’s all you need.

You tap the number on the screen, your heart racing as you bring the phone to your ear. It rings once, twice, three times, and you start to think no one will pick up. But then, a voice crackles through the line.

“Hello, CleanSweep Agency. How can I help you?”

You swallow hard, your voice trembling as you reply. “Hi, I … I’m calling about the job listing. The cleaning position.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“Yes, of course. Are you available for an interview tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you repeat, your mind racing. “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”

“Great. We’ll see you at 10 AM. Our office is on Rue de la Paix. Just bring your resume and any references you might have.”

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as the call ends.

You stare at the phone in your hand, the reality of what you’ve just done settling over you. You’ve taken the first step. It’s not much, but it’s something. It’s a start.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything presses down on you again. You’re pregnant. You’re alone. And the path ahead feels impossibly daunting.

You place your phone on the coffee table, staring at it like it might offer you some kind of solution, some way out of this mess. But it’s just a phone, and the reality of your situation doesn’t change.

The room is too quiet, the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and amplifies every fear, every doubt. You wish you could call someone, talk to someone, but who? Your friends? They’d be supportive, sure, but they wouldn’t really understand. Your parents? The thought of telling them is too overwhelming to even consider right now.

Charles? The name echoes in your mind, but you shake your head. He’s the last person you should be calling. He made his choice, and you need to respect that. Besides, what would you even say? That you’re pregnant? That his decision to break up with you for the sake of his image has left you in a situation neither of you ever expected?

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

You push yourself off the couch, pacing the small living room, trying to clear your mind. You have a job interview tomorrow. It’s not much, but it’s something. You can’t afford to think beyond that right now. You need to focus on getting through the next day, the next hour.

The baby. The thought is like a knife in your chest, sharp and painful. You press a hand to your stomach, trying to imagine what comes next, how you’ll navigate this new, terrifying reality. But the truth is, you have no idea. You’re scared, more scared than you’ve ever been, and the future feels like a black hole, pulling you in with no clear way out.

But you have to keep going. For yourself. For the baby.

You head to the bedroom, opening the closet to find something suitable for the interview. Your clothes feel foreign, relics from a past life that doesn’t quite fit anymore. You settle on something simple, professional, trying to ignore the gnawing fear that none of this will be enough.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the clothes laid out beside you, and take a deep breath. Tomorrow is a new day. A new start. You don’t know what’s coming, but you do know one thing: you’re not going to give up. Not now, not ever.

And as the night settles in around you, you cling to that thought like a lifeline, hoping it will be enough to carry you through whatever comes next.

***

Max pushes open the door to his Monaco apartment, dropping his keys on the console table with a tired sigh. The morning training session has left his muscles aching, and all he can think about is a long, hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the next round of meetings and commitments.

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

[dolcekissy]

doll face , ღ

: ̗̀➛ bsf!rafe being obsessed with bunny!reader. poor boy is obsessed with his best friend ;(

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ main masterlist | bunny!reader x bsf!rafe masterlist

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes mentions of sex, fingering, oral, and yeah.

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rafe being obsessed with his best friend would definitely consist of him basically fighting demons the entire time he's with you. poor baby just wants to fuck you sooo bad :(

sucking on a lollipop? his dick is hard the moment you started pulling the wrapper off the lollipop. sitting in his bed with him while scrolling on instagram? his dick is hard the moment you sat on his bed.

definitely fantasizes about the time you finally do let him hit. he's not gonna be a weirdo and beg ─ have you seen him? he's not one to beg for pussy, he'll make mfs work for his dick imo.

rafe would definitely want you to go everywhere with him ─ to the point if someone sees rafe out somewhere ─ you're definitely somewhere trailing behind him.

golfing with top? you're there. running errands? you're there. at a party? you're there. you're always there with him.

"do i really need to go get gas with you?" rafe nods his head, grabbing your arm and his keys as he shoves you into the passenger side and shuts the door. "it takes two seconds to pump your gas and go back home... what am i going fo─"

"shut up."

rafe would definitely be up your ass too ─ he's with you 24/7 too. you don't mind it but sometimes he does a little too much, like when he follows you to the bathroom when you have to pee or when he'll check your location and see your at the store ─ he'll just pop up out of nowhere.

"fuck! you scared me! how did you know i was here?" your eyes are wide ─ your hand resting over your chest to calm yourself as he looks at everything in your cart.

or when you're taking a shower, poor boy just can't leave you alone.

"rafe. i'm taking a fucking shower, get out!" you yell as he patiently sits on the toilet seat ─ your towel and clothes sitting in his lap as his foot taps against the floor, completely ignoring what you were saying as he starts talking about something random.

he lowkey just wants to take a peek at your naked body too.

wait whaaat, who said that?

rafe cant sleep without you ─ so if you're out late, your parents know your sleeping at rafes.

half the time he's trying to calm himself down because he's hard as fuck seeing you in a tank top and pink, satin shorts. he's mentally fanning himself with his hands as you back your body up into his ─ praying you don't feel his hard on.

turning the other way immediately, his back facing yours the second your ass presses up against him. "hmm, m'just gonna face this way ─" he says it so awkwardly too, leaving you confused but also you couldn't give a fuck less.

rafe would be over the moon the second you let him hit. i wanna say he'd cum so fast like a teenage boy but i feel like he would also wanna savor the moment.

he'd take it so serious, finger fucking you, eating you out, kissing and licking your tits ─ literally everything. then he'd fuck you sooo good ─ just so you know this is what you've been missing out on this whole time.

─────────────────────────

[gojosprettyprincess]

❝​REPAYMENT​❝

Synopsis - Oh no! What happens when the big, massive strong man that saved you during a very dangerous war, wants something from you in return for his bravery?

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!reader

Warnings - Dub-con, mentions of killing people, creampie, ass play, size kink, he stuffs his gloves in your mouth, he's possessive, mentions about keeping you with him. Dark content. this was kinda rushed so sorry for any errors!!

Art credits @umkochannart on twitter!

A/n - I NEED HIM, SOMEONE PLEASE

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh my— fuck! Sir, please we shouldn't be doing this, someone might see!” you stammered, legs trembling as your panties lazily pooled around your ankles. You mewled at the feeling of his hard, cold gear slapping against the mound of your ass, making the flesh ripple against his clothed pelvis. You keened as the wooden table dug into your stomach as you held onto the edge for dear life.

His cock was so thick and long—perfectly curved as it stretches open your tight, compressed walls to alter his girth. He grunts, feeling your tight little pussy eagerly fluttering around his invasive dick as you blabber on and on about your little worries about getting caught. Of course, you minded that a stranger man was destroying your pussy, but that was the least of your worries right now. The thought of getting caught and someone seeing your vulnerable self—almost naked, being pounded against a small table in the supply room by a big solider that's fully clothed, except for the crotch of his pants that's zipped down to free his aching cock, that's currently having your cunt drooling—making a mess all over his thick combat pants, made your mind hazy and your cunt throbbing in both excitement and frustration.

“Aww don't worry bout' that darling—I’ll just kill them for you so they won't say anything, will that be better?” he chuckles, his gloved hands digging into your hips as he deeply thrusts himself inside your dripping pussy relentlessly, fucking every single brain cell out of you. For someone who is “scared”, your pussy sure as hell was soaked and aroused.

He smirked under his skull mask at the feeling of your sweet pussy throbbing in tight circles around his cock to his words. “Oh? What a dirty little slut, does my talking about killing people make you horny? Such a sick little bitch, this pussy is clenching around me like it's fucking addicted to my cock, you a virgin, darling?”

Your eyebrows furred together at his sick wordings, you felt on the verge of losing your mind as the feeling of pure pleasure clouded your mind. “No, M’not!” you whimpered out, your tits grazing against the wooden table as your gushy pussy leaked all over his veiny shaft, every thrust had your pussy coating his cock even more with your filthy juices—as if you were enjoying it, or maybe you were?

“Oh yeah? Well, your cunt sure is fucking tight and warm—squeezing me so hard for someone that's a whore, whaddya say I keep you here and split open this little pussy whenever I feel like it?” he chuckles darkly, a huge palm slapping your bouncing ass as it jiggles against him, you moaned, tears prickling at your tear line as his thick, filled balls slaps against your poor clit, creating even more friction that had you seeing stars.

“No! Sir—can't, you promised you'll let me go after this!” you muttered, feeling so stuffed by the big man’s cock. “Shh, shhh I'm just joking with you doll” he laughs wickedly, perverted eyes moving down to where the two of you were lewdly connected. His eyes fixated on your other little neglected hole, which's already coated with some slick from your pussy. He eagerly pulled off one of his gloves and placed it on the table. You jolted unexpectedly when he stuffed a thumb deep into your mouth, he pressed his weighted chest onto your smaller back—getting closer to you as he whispered, “Get it all wet and lubed up, it's for your own good, darling”, you were confused and oblivious to what he'd be needing his thumb for but obeyed him anyways, not wanting to make the big man angry.

You whirled your tongue around his finger, making sure to get as much spit on it as possible. After, you hummed, letting him know that you were done. He pulled his finger out, sticky drips of spit coating him. Your eyes widen with fear when you felt his fat thumb circling your virgin asshole, he spreads the spit all over the shy, fluttering hole before sinking it in little by little. “Fuck! Sir—please be gentle, never had anything in there!” You yelled as you cried out in pain of your untouched hole getting stretched out. He quickly picked up his glove and shoved it into your mouth when there were footsteps heard thumping outside the room. “For heaven's sake, please shut the fuck up or I’ll really kill someone. I'm not joking darling. You’re mine now and I won't let other eyes see what's mine” he said in a stern tone. He hissed lowly at the feeling of your asshole swallowing his whole thumb in, all the way to the hilt.

“Such a tight little asshole, M’honored I’ll be the first one to break open this pretty ass”. Your muffled cries got louder as he pounded his hefty cock harder into your pussy, making it gushing all over him as he fucked out more and more juices out of your body. Soon the pain turned into pleasure as he started wiggling his thumb inside of you, feeling it exploring your tight walls. Your moan grew sweeter and more fucked out as you felt your orgasm washing over you—his huge cock tip nudging against your G-spot bullyingly, making your mind hazy. He felt it—felt the way your pussy grew more wetter and tighter around his length, taking him in all the way in as he pants. “Fuck darling are you gonna cum? Go on baby, you can cum, cum all over my cock, you slut”. He ordered, letting his thumb hooked into your butthole as he uses three other fingers to rub wet circles around your clit.

You moaned out, standing on your tippy toes as you clenched both holes tighter around him, making him hiss as you squirted all over him—your filthy mess splattering all over his uniform and gear as he fucks more and more juices out of your dirty pussy. He groaned loudly as you made a mess all over him—he never had someone squirting on him before, so it drove him fucking crazy. He lands slap after slap on your ass cheeks—making the flesh red as you whimpered. “Such a messy little whore, you really squirted on a random man you don't even know? You really are a little slut, I'm definitely keeping you darling” he laughs out, feeling his orgasm following him. “I’m gonna stuff this cute little pussy so full of my seed, gonna drain it so deep inside you baby, it'll come out your mouth” The whole room reeked of sex as he towered over you, his massive cock snugly engulfed by your little pussy, so tight and warm for him. He moans louder, splitting out a few curses as he pulled out his thumb out of your ass, making your little hole wink at him at the loss of his finger. He used both hands to grip your hips, holding you steady as he used your body as a little fuckdoll, manhandling your little body to meet his cock halfway as you felt his cock twitching inside of you.

“No please! Sir not insi-” Too late, hot ropes of warm sticky cum spurted into your poor hole, filling it up as your eyes roll back. “Fuckkk, ohh fuckk yesss, such a good little cumslut for me” he moaned out with ecstasy as he emptied into your warm pussy—after so long.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as he stilled himself into you. He bent over once again, his chest and gear touching your back as he whispered to you. “Don't worry sweetheart, I’ll take good care of you, will fucking kill anyone if they dare look in your direction. You'll be mine forever, pretty”.

[pearlymel]

A dance— Capitano

Synopsis : your relationship with him grows, and he seems sweeter than ever.

Wc : 3.2k

Warnings : contains NSFW content, fem!reader, reader is mostly called 'wife', he's super sweet, soft sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink kinda, reader wears a dress and heels.

Notes : part 2 is heree! I highly recommend reading part 1 here. And part 3 is out here!

You've tried creating art, you've tried cooking (with the help of your personal maid, Marina), you've even tried planting.

Yeah, you're a plant mom now. Not only that, you're a cat mom too. Saving the poor kitty from the harsh rain one day, you couldn't leave the poor little one outside. It's mother seeming to abandon it.

All because you have become extremely bored on the days where Capitano wouldn't be here, and he forbade you to even clean your shared bedroom because he thinks it's useless when there are servants present to do the job. (He doesn't want to tire you out.)

Come to think of it, the last time you saw him, he kept avoiding you. Whenever you tried striking a conversation during dinner, he would only hum and nod. Or when you suggested to have another picnic, he flatly refused, and it felt like the hardest rejection to your face.

It's like he had his own mood swings that you had to deal with. One day he would indulge you in the activities you wanted to do, then the next he would refuse.

Like last week.

“I used to do this when i was young.” You tell him with the softest smile to yourself, your fingers working carefully with the flower petals and strings. You were determined to make this flower crown, and you were taking your sweet time just to have him by your side.

Capitano silently listened to your words, his gaze fixed on your gentle movements as you delicately fashioned a flower crown. The air between you was calm, "You have a talent for making flower crowns," he eventually responded, his deep voice breaking the tranquil silence.

"Did you learn it from someone?”

“No… just by myself.” He couldn't help but be impressed by your innate ability to create such an intricate accessory without any formal instruction. "Self-taught." He mused, "You have an unusual aptitude for discovering things on your own.”

You hum back while adding the finishing touches, and he watched your proud display of the finished flower crown.

“this is for kitty!” You smile at the thought of the little one purring with a pretty crown on it's head.

Kitty? Capitano is confused once you start talking about the cat, you seem even more excited when you described how you cuddled with it.

"You just happened to come across this crying feline in the rain, and you brought it home with you?”

“yes! Ah, well… i hope you don't mind.”

“i don't.”

And that was the last of your conversation, and it's been a week since you last saw him.

“my lady,” You recognise the voice of Marina as she knocks on the door, and you grant her the permission of her entry.

You set the sleeping kitten on the fluffed up pillow to reach for the letter she hands you.

An invitation to the grand ball… you read the contents of it, scanning every word as you pull the paper down.

“like a party?” you ask, glancing up at her, "Yes, that is correct. A grand ball is taking place tonight. It's a gathering of the higher-ranking Fatui members and a few... select guests.” she trails off, unsure of what else to add on.

“I can see that this invitation is for Capitano, not to me.”

“lord Capitano doesn't normally attend these grand balls. So my lady, you will have to go instead.” Marina explains this and you feel like you're going to have a headache.

All you wanted to do today was sleep in with the kitten. Not to trouble yourself in some party.

But… if it's for the sake of your husband's reputation, then you are willing to do it.

You hope you don't pass away too quick from your social anxiety.

“Marina, does this really suit me?” You stare at your reflection, and Marina looks at you approvingly, her eyes taking in your stunning appearance. "Sì, my lady, it suits you perfectly," she assures you, "The dress brings out your features beautifully and fits your figure perfectly.”

“and the colour?”

"Oh, yes, the color is exquisite. It complements your skin tone perfectly. You look like a princess attending a royal ball.” and you smile shyly as you take your seat, “You flatter me too much, you know?”

Marina chuckles softly, moving behind you to work on your hair with practiced ease. "It's not flattery if it's the truth. You look truly radiant today." She begins to style your hair, weaving intricate braids and pinning them in place with delicate silver pins.

Though you can't even lie to yourself, you looked absolutely gorgeous, even when you felt a little down since you would be going alone, and you barely knew anyone.

Marina pauses in her work for a moment, her expression becoming sympathetic as she sensed your nervousness. “It's natural to feel that way. But I believe you will be fine. You are strong and independent." She resumes styling your hair, her fingers moving nimbly to create elegant curls.

You smile at her, looking at her from the mirror, “thank you.”

"It is my honor to serve you.” As she finishes your hair, she steps back to admire her work, a satisfied expression on her face. "You are ready, my lady.”

You are ready.

You are not ready.

Because why was everyone's eyes piercing bullets through you as you entered the main hall?

The whispers and murmurs start almost immediately, the guests clearly intrigued by your presence. However, you manage to keep your composure, straightening your back and walking forward with confidence, just like how Marina taught you.

Stay calm they won't eat you, you tell yourself, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of their gazes.

You were here to make friends, hopefully.

You scan the room, hoping that someone would approach you to engage in conversation. Yet nobody, not a single soul, seems to have the courage to do so. The guests continue their conversations and dances, seemingly ignoring your presence.

And so, you find yourself standing alone, sipping on a glass of champagne, feeling lost and slightly out of place.

Well this is boring. You could've stayed in with Kitty and Marina, but at least you get free food. They always taste better, right?

Everyone went silent all of a sudden, but you ignored it at first and continue taking sips of your drink.

But the silence becomes uncomfortable, just what happened to the party?

You turn around, your eyes widening immediately in surprise as you see Capitano walking towards you. Your heart seems to skip a beat as you watch him approach, his presence commanding attention and authority in the room. Capitano stops in front of you, you can't make up what his face must be like right now, but you think he has a stoic expression on his face as he takes in your appearance. His eyes roaming up and down your figure, seemingly appreciating the elegance of your dress.

“husband?” You blurt out, setting your glass aside to greet him.

"Wife," he says simply, acknowledging the fact that you have finally addressed him by that term.

The tension breaks when soft, elegant music begins to play, signaling the start of partner dances in the middle of the ballroom.

Capitano seems to realize this as he glances around at the couples already making their way to the dance floor. He then turns back to you, his expression unreadable as he silently contemplates the situation.

He can see the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your hand clutched at your dress.

"I suppose we should dance, wife.”

“you want to dance?”

"Yes," he responds. "It appears it's customary for couples at these events to dance together." He extends his hand in your direction, gesturing for you to take it. You take his hand, wrapping it gently around his gloved one. His fingers close around your hand, his grip gentle yet firm as he leads you towards the dance floor.

You notice the whispers and murmurs among the guests growing louder. But you chose to ignore them.

Capitano guides you to the center of the dance floor and positions himself opposite you, his hand settling onto your waist, and your hands on his shoulders.

"Do you know how to dance?" You whisper to him, making sure no one listens, and your eyes are on him.

"I may not engage in these social events often, but even I understand the basics of dance." His hand on your waist pulls you closer to him, you follow his lead.

Interesting.

He leads the dance with of assurance and grace, his movements fluid and confident. As you follow his lead and swirl together across the dance floor, your eyes meet his, and you find yourself unable to look away. The closeness between you makes it feel as if the rest of the world has faded away, leaving only the two of you dancing together.

You notice how he seems to turn his head slightly to look at others, mimicking their movements swiftly, it makes you smile to yourself.

His hand on your waist feels warm, almost burning even through the fabric of your dress. It's a strange sensation you've never felt when touching him, despite having already kissed (once) before.

”my dress,” you whisper amidst the graceful dance, “what do you think of it?”

You figured you always needed to give him a little push when initiating things.

His attention drift down to take in the sight of your dress once again. His gaze roams over the fabric, lingering on the way it clings to your figure, and how the color contrasts against your skin.

"It's... " he pauses, you're just wearing a dres, but he finds it difficult to describe what he feels, "Very pleasing to the eye.” he manages to continue.

"You look rather well tonight, as well.”

“Thank you, wife.”

The music suddenly shifts to a slower tempo, and Capitano instinctively adjusts his hold on you, pulling you slightly closer as he continues to dance with you.

You totally ignore how your face is almost pressed up against his chest.

As interesting as the party was, the worst part of was walking back to the estate. Why? Because the carriage decided to break down, or maybe the horses were sleepy, you don't know.

You're glad your husband is with you, or else you might've been sacrificed to the dogs at night, now even ants will fear this big guy.

But what's worse? Your damn heels are killing you. The sides of your pinky toes are already aching that you are sure it will cause nasty blisters by tomorrow.

"Perhaps next time you should wear more comfortable shoes." He stated bluntly, his deep voice betraying no pity for your situation. “but they look pretty, plus i feel elegant in them.” you stop at your tracks, looking up at him with a defeated expression.

"I'm well aware." he says dryly, "But at what cost? You're practically torturing yourself with those heels.”

He's half right, your point still stands. Beauty is pain. And now you'll have to sacrifice your beauty.

Bye bye heels. You slide them off your feet, bow having your poor feet to walk on these rocky grounds. You do feel a little better after, though.

“stay still.” He utters, and you're confused, until he takes your heels in one hand before you feel a shift of your weight off your feet, finding yourself being carried into his arms.

you wrapped your arms around his neck silently, your eyes glancing up at him as he continues walking like he you weigh nothing.

The air around you is peaceful. You feel safe with him, he's not like the scary man you hear from the others. Maybe to others he was, but to you? He was soft for you.

Your head leans on his chest where his heart rested, the beats of his heart makes you sleepy, but you refuse to sleep just like this, you want to spend every single second savouring this feeling.

Capitano carried you all the way to the estate, and through the dark corridors, making his way to your shared chambers.

The soft moonlight filtering through the windows was the only source of illumination, the atmosphere around you quiet.

He gently deposited you back on your feet, you're back home safely.

“thank you.” You whisper, your hands reaching to take the pins out of your hair to let it breath from the scruffy yet beautiful hairstyle, and Capitano starts taking off the heavy layers off him as well, with the helmet out.

You don't notice how one of your dress straps seem to fall off your shoulders, but he notices, and oh did that make something in him stir.

His steps closer from behind you, his hand reaching to put the strap back in place, but instead, he glances at the other strap.

It looked rather lonely being on your shoulder, his fingers delicately sliding the strap down which makes you ultimately still in your place.

Your entire body trembled slightly as Capitano's hands caressed your skin, tracing gentle paths across your shoulders and back down to the zipper on your side. “May i.. help you out of your dress?” His low, gruff voice, asking for permission to help you out of your dress, made your heart beat faster.

You could only nod in response, your voice silenced by a mixture of anticipation and desire. Capitano's touch was meticulous, his thumb and index delicately moving down the zipper with deliberate slowness, prolonging the tension.

Capitano lets out another low hum as he watches the dress slide down to your ankles, now leaving you only in your undergarments. His hands traced the contour of your body, his touch delicate yet possessive. His own breathing became ragged, the sight of you partially undressed igniting a fire in his eyes.

“Will you allow me to touch you?”

The question makes you turn your head, of course he can.

When you don't stop him from wrapping his arms around you, his chest pressed against your back, he takes it as a green light to continue.

His hand first brushed your hair out of the way, to allow his lips to come in contact with the nape of your neck, “you're so beautiful..." he whispered, his hot breath sending jolts of electricity through your core.

“I don't…” he hesitates, wanting to move his hands away, “i don't want to do anything you don't like.”

And your expression softens at his concern, you turn around to take his face into your hands, your thumbs caressing the apples of his cheeks and he nuzzles into your touch, wrapping a hand around your wrist before pressing a kiss to your palm. You further reassure him by littering his face with your lips, giving every empty space of his skin with at least one kiss.

“Allow me to experience this with you, and i shall take care of you till i take my very last breath.” he hoists you up easily into his arms, rough hand under your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, he laid you down on the soft sheets, his body covering yours as he looked down at you.

“You occupy my every thought,” he starts, “that it feels sinful to even look at your way.” He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss as his hand continued its exploration, ripping your bra off to cup your breast, feeling your nipple harden under his touch. He rolled it between his fingers, pinching it gently as he deepened the kiss when you gasp, his tongue delving into your mouth, savouring your taste and angelic sounds.

He leaned down afterwards, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and your hands find his ling strands instantly, tugging on them while being careful not to hurt him.

His fingers traced down to your hip, giving them a firm squeeze before ripping your panties off next, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, feeling you writhe and tense up under him.

It felt like an unknown territory you've yet to explore.

Upon sensing your discomfort, he presses his lips to your eyelids, then to your neck, taking his time until you relaxed, until you started feeling good based off how you were bucking your hips now.

Oh how he wanted to take his time with you, but he was aching so bad that if he continues touching you he might just burst embarrassingly fast in his pants.

“Let me in, my wife.” He gently starts massaging your thighs as he parts them, making you feel more exposed than ever, but he distracts you by softly kissing you again and again while he's unbuckling his pants and pushing them down, revealing his throbbing thick, hard cock.

“Capitano—!” you try to squirm away when you feel his tip push into your tight hole, your lips parting from the way he stretched you open, but at the same time you felt relaxed with his soft whispers of ‘take your time’ and ‘you’re doing well, my wife.’

Your cunt soon takes in every inch, swallowing him whole until you were a panting mess, and you didn't even start.

Capitano then began to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, letting you get used to his size, to how you feel, to how he feels as he makes love to you for the first time together.

You feel your heart up to your throat and ears, it felt incredible, something you've never felt before, your soft moans echoing in the air along with a few groans coming from him.

He shivered when he felt your fingertips trace the few scars littering his shoulders and back, his dick twitching almost instantly before his thrusts grew faster, more urgent.

His hand reached down, returning back to draw circles around the bundle of nerves, and he could feel your body tense, your walls clenching around his cock as he continued to rub your clit.

“come for your husband,” he breaths heavily next to your ear, and you come undone, your moans filling the room as he felt you milk his cock. He could feel his own release following after, his balls tightening before he slammed into you one last time, spilling thick ropes into your womb, until you were filled to the brim.

Your legs were shaking slightly around him, yet his warm embrace afterwards made you melt, eyelids heavy with him still being buried inside you.

—

You groggily woke up, still half in a dream-like state, the room bathed in shadows due to the closed curtains blocking out the morning sun.

As your senses slowly returned to reality, you heard a soft meow next to you, and sure enough, your little kitten had made itself comfortable in the middle of the bed. To your surprise, Capitano, who was still asleep beside you, didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the creature's presence.

“pst,” you whisper to your husband who only hummed in acknowledgment of your attention. “Can we go have a picnic this early morning? With our baby kitten of course.”

Tags: @sayastyx, @nastylilcvnt, @bigboygoose,

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings. fem!reader, handjob, oral (m receiving), face-fucking, multiple orgasms, praise kink, pathetic choso of course, cum eating, 18+ minors dni.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who is the bassist of an up-and-coming band with some of his friends, but isn't nearly as confident on stage as the other members seem to be.

however, despite the way he tends to shy away from the spotlight, he still receives a lot of letters from his various fans, his poor mailbox almost permanently overflowing with packages and envelopes waiting to be opened.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who doesn't mind this in the slightest! in fact, he's extremely flattered by all the sweet words people write to him on a daily basis. his favourite part, though, is getting you to read them out loud for him while you sit comfortably on his lap.

he thinks the praise sounds even better when narrated by your pretty voice.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who has just invited you over to read through today's mountain of fanmail when he sees an unusual letter encased in bright pink paper peeking out from the top. his curiosity gets the better of him, and he peels it open to read it himself before you've arrived.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who begins reading with a smile as he skims through the carefully handwritten words. it starts off innocently enough; just the usual gushing over him and his band's music. however, slowly but surely, the letter delves into decidedly different territory.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who stares at the sentence 'if you just let me have one chance i'd give you the messiest, most toe-curling sloppy toppy known to man.' for what feels like hours, trying to make sense of what it could possibly mean.

the strange phrase is evidently not one he is familiar with.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who scrambles over to you when he hears the sound of the door opening, frantically waving the bright letter around in and begging you to explain it to him. he just wants to understand what his fan meant to tell him, after all!

rockstar boyfriend!choso who becomes even more confused when you start laughing reading the letter, your pretty eyes brimming with amusement and a hand flying up to cover your mouth. "what's so funny, baby? what does it meann?" he whines.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who is utterly dumbstruck when you purr out that it would be easier to give him a 'visual demonstration' to explain what the fan meant by the statement, slowly sinking to your knees before him.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who just stands there dumbly, shifting around from foot to foot and gulping loudly when he sees you looking up at from your place knelt on the floor with those damned eyes of yours that are currently glinting with mischief.

rockstar boyfriend!choso whose hand instinctively flies to grasp your wrist when you reach up towards the crotch of his dark ripped jeans, his cheeks flushing a furious shade of red and his eyes wide with bewilderment. "w-what are you doing, pretty?"

rockstar boyfriend!choso who quickly falls silent when you reach up with your free hand to press a finger to his lips, the other gently breaking free from his loose grip and brushing over the steadily growing bulge in his pants.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who whimpers when you tease him for how hard he is already, your sultry voice both arousing and embarrassing him. "aww, is my sweet boy all worked up just from seeing me on my knees for him?"

he can only nod weakly in response, already feeling overwhelmed from one barely-there touch and a few simple words. it's not his fault, really! he just can't help himself around you; especially when the two of you have never ventured past making out before.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who tries to bury his blushing face in the side of his graphic t-shirt sheepishly when you start to properly palm him over the material of his trousers, his soft moans muffled by the clothing.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who feels an involuntary pout push at his lower lip when you remove your touch, only for it to melt into a gape when the finger that was hushing his lips moves to the underside of his chin, tilting it downwards so he's forced to make direct eye contact with you.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who practically feels himself fold like a lawn chair the second you coo sweetly to him that he needs to "keep his eyes on you" if he wants you to continue touching him, causing him to nod furiously in response.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who couldn't look away from you now even if he wanted to, his entire being mesmerized by each miniscule movement you make — the way your fingers toy with the button of his trousers, the subtle way your teeth sink into your lower lip in concentration...

god, you have him so whipped.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who has to bite back a pathetic mewl when you finally push his ripped jeans down his hips, leaving him standing there in the entryway of his apartment in just his boxers and a band shirt. he knows he should be embarrassed; but right now, he couldn't care less.

he just wants to know what you're going to do next.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who is so lost in thought imaging all the different things you could do to him, that when you rub your face against the erection straining against his boxers, he accidentally releases a strangled squeal of shock.

panicking, rockstar boyfriend!choso hurriedly reaches down to tangle a hand into the back of your hair, keeping you pressed against his clothed cock so you don't have the chance to open your mouth and tease him for the sound he just let out.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who can't suppress a soft gasp as your tongue flickers out to swipe little kitten licks over his tented boxers, no doubt leaving a small wet patch there. "m-mmph. babyy, that feels so good."

rockstar boyfriend!choso who feels rather than hears the way you giggle lightly against him, the vibrations of the sound making him grow impossibly harder. and, oh, you've hardly even touched him yet and he's already prepared to explode at any moment.

rockstar boyfriend!choso whose chest rises and falls with rapid breaths when you start to slowly peel his boxers off too, his throbbing cock slapping against his pale stomach with a lewd smack! that makes him whine in shame.

his embarrassment only increases when he observes the way you react to the sight of his length for the first time, your tongue darting out to moisten your suddenly dry lips and your pupils visibly dilating. "s-stop staring." he huffs petulantly.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who swears he almost cums untouched when you tell him that you're just admiring how "pretty his cock is", his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he tries to think of a coherent response. but any words are quickly lost when you wrap a hand around his base.

"ah!" rockstar boyfriend!choso cries pathetically, the sound resembling that of a wounded animal of some description as you start to gently pump his pale cock in a loose grip, deliberately teasing him with what's to come.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who's so close to the edge already, his balls practically bursting at the seams with the need to release themselves. but then you remove your hand, causing him to whimper in protest and weakly thrust his hips into the air in search of more friction.

"n-no! baby, you're so cruel. please, give me just a little more..." he pants breathlessly, staring down at you with those wide, glossy eyes. shit — how are you supposed to tease him when he looks so painfully beautiful begging for you?

rockstar boyfriend!choso who does actually cum when you lean in to press a gentle kiss against his adorably flushed cockhead, his milky seed splattering lewdly across your features before he can even stammer out some kind of warning.

he prepares to apologize profusely, but trails off when he notices that you seem completely unbothered. no; in fact, you seem to be pleased, licking some of the cum staining the corner of your mouth with a satisfied hum. "you taste so sweet, cho." you purr.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who swears there's a real risk of him fainting if you say another word of praise, so he hurriedly yanks you back by your hair to his still half-hard cock. but he doesn't force you onto it, just brings you close enough that he can feel your breaths fanning across his heated skin, making it visibly twitch.

"p-please can you kiss it again, pretty girl?" rockstar boyfriend!choso whines quietly, his eyes locked on your cum-stained face as you smile softly in response to his request. god, how did he ever get so lucky?

rockstar boyfriend!choso whose entire body convulses when you place another kiss to his profusely leaking tip, quickly grasping the edge of his t-shirt and shoving it between his teeth to muffle some of his sounds as you start to lap at the prominent vein on the underside of his cock.

"such a needy boy." you speak teasingly against him, admiring every adorable change of his facial expression as you continue to coat him in your saliva. and choso think he's the lucky one — god knows how many of his fans would kill to be in your position right now (especially the one who penned that vulgar letter.)

rockstar boyfriend!choso simply nods dumbly, clearly too drunk on pleasure from your touches to deny your words. "just for— mmph! — f'you, baby." he slurs out, his hand stroking through the back of your hair as if you're the most precious thing he's ever encountered.

and to him, you are.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who releases the most pornographic moan once you finally take his sensitive tip into your mouth, the feel of your warm, wet mouth suckling around him making his eyelids droop in bliss. he's never experienced anything so perfect in his entire life.

rockstar boyfriend!choso whose crumpled up shirt falls from his mouth, his jaw slackening as he babbles a string of unintelligible curses and whimpers. you've only taken half of his length between your lips, but he already feels like he's in heaven.

he's so lost in dreamland he hardly notices how long it takes you to get all of him lodged inside your mouth, your nose bumping against the small patch of dark hairs scattered near his base as you try to hold back your gag reflex.

you bet he probably doesn't even know just how big he is.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who glances down at you in concern when he hears a slight choking sound, only to be met with the shockingly beautiful (and arousing) sight of your current state.

drool is involuntarily seeping from the corners of your mouth, your eyes watery with unshed tears as you try to handle having your entire throat stuffed more than full with his thick cock.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who doesn't know what comes over him when he finds his hand tightening in your hair, his hips wildly bucking up into the roof of your plush mouth as if they have a mind of their own — he tries to stop, but he just can't.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who sobs out choked apologies mixed with declarations of love over and over again, contrasting the roughness of his repeated thrusts between your lips. you've never seen him so feral before, but it's a sight you're quickly becoming addicted to.

he cums down your throat in record time, emptying all of his balls into your pliant mouth with a strangled whimper. unfortunately, he can't even keep his eyes open to watch you gulp it all down, too high off the feeling of the best orgasm he's ever had.

rockstar boyfriend!choso who forces himself to come back to reality to check on you, his sweet face contorted in concern as he releases his death grip on your hair and tenderly strokes your sticky cheek with his thumb. "a-are you okay, baby? i didn't mean to be so rough. i-i just got carried away." he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

you're quick to assure him that it's fine, smiling up at him as if you didn't just suck the soul of the poor man. and then you have the sheer audacity to purr... "you wanna do that to another part of me too, cho?"

rockstar boyfriend!choso who is absolutely positive you're going to be the death of him one of these days.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

[mothmans-cumrag]

@staff !!!!!

I really need to talk for a minute about this new mobile update and how much I as a legally blind person hate whatever the hell is going on with the photos and how it's making this app nearly impossible for me to use

I'm not sure the same thing is happening on the desktop version but for those who may not know in the app whenever you tap on a photo it used to just pop up and you could double tap to enlarge it and zoom in and scroll around and all was great.

A double tap now likes the photo and it must be pinched and pulled to zoom in and out. A mild annoyance, and nothing compared to the rest of the update. If you scroll up, which I do frequently when trying to navigate an enlarged photo, it will send you to ANOTHER photo based on the tags of the post.

That's right, a completely different photo!!! A feature no one asked for and no one wants!! This isn't facebook, or instagram, and maybe tiktok but I never had that so this is a guess. When I click on the photo I only want to see that photo (or in the case of multiple photos in a post I want to be able to easily scroll side to side for those). I do not want to be taken to another post!!! Also if you scroll too far to the left you are then sent to the profile of the person who reblogged the post. I do not know why. Who wants this feature? Is it a feature at all?

As someone who only taps on a photo because I cannot see it and I need to enlarge it, this is beyond a simple annoyance. I cannot navigate the photo like I need, there's a hair trigger on whether it sends you to a new post completely or if you are sent to the profile of the reblogger. Neither, again, are things I want. this leaves me having to back track a lot, re-zoom the photo as it reverts back to normal, and hope dearly that this time I can just read the damned text before it freaks out again.

I haven't seen anyone else talk about this outside of the tags, but really this is making the app unusable for me, and I'm sure for many others.

@staff I know you guys haven't cared about your disabled community much in the past (other photo updates that stopped allowing me to zoom into gifs is proof of that) but please don't make this app unusable for me. I would rather not have to leave.

[sweet1delusi0ns]

Class 1A boys getting a surprise kiss──☆*:・ﾟ

MHA/fem!reader

Characters: Izuku, katsuki, Shoto, Tenya, Eijirou, Denki, Sero, Tokoyami, Aoyama, Ojiro, Sato, Shoji, Koji!

IZUKU~

Surprising him scares him so much (poor guy) he either flinches back or starts instantly blushing. You come up behind him as quiet as can be and give him a little kiss on the cheek he will flip!

“aaAHHHHH- oh… h-hey y/n…your scared me…” “aw sorry I just wanted to give you a kiss~” “dont sneak up on me y/n! Your gunna get thrown threw a wall-” “Aw I just wanted to show you lovee!” “Warn me next time!” The whole time he was reddd~

KATSUKI~

Bro thinks he’s so cool trying to tease you with sneak kissed but the second you do it back to him it’s suddenly ‘not funny anymore’. So whenever you surprise kiss him he pushes you off and huffs like a baby

“Surprise~” “UGH WHAT ARE Y-YOU DOING!!” “Aw why so mad?” “ITS NOT FUNNY STOP IT!” He covered his face with one hand because he knows he’s turning red “aw my suki likes kissed! Mwa mwa mwaaa” “STOP!!”

SHOTO~

He doesn’t understand that he deserves kisses, especially when he didn’t do anything to ‘deserve’ the kiss. So when you surprise kiss him he is confused as he Is flustered

“W…what was that for?” “I can’t give you a kiss?” “Uhm I guess you can but I didn’t do anything-” “you don’t need too! I just wanted a kiss” “really? Well thank you…may I have another? For free?” “heh yes for free~"

TENYA~

He wants to be “cool” so bad but he can’t with you~ so whenever you give him a sneaky kiss he’s just like “stopppp :>” and either runs away or covers his face with both hands (yk how he does)

“What was that…” “uhm a kiss?” “Oh!…whatever….” “…” “heheheheehehehehe” “uh?” He just covers his face and wiggles like a weirdo- “hehe she kissed mee”

EIJIROU~

Wants to act cool and kinda does? Whenever you sneak kiss him he does it back to make it seem like not a big deal but flaunts it to his friends later~

“Aw thanks y/n! Mwa” “your so cute~!” You smother his face in kisses which he did not mind!! “T-thank you…a-again-“ “anything for youuu” 10 minutes later: “YOU GUYS SHE KISSED LIKE EVERY INCH OF MY FACE?!”

DENKI~

Yk that stupid Face he does when he short circuits, yeah he makes that face intentionally when you scare him with a kiss on the cheek. He jumps, maybe yelps a little then he realizes it’s you and makes that stupid face-

“AUH!” “It’s me…?” “Oh…. (-ヮ-)” “don’t ever make that face at me again what-” “sorry! You just caught me off gaurd!” “You just want another kiss huh?” “Yes.” “Fine but that face is not cute”

SERO~

The only time it ever really gets to him is if it’s in public!! So when you sneak up on him and give him a kiss when he’s with his friends he will get so flustered and pushes you away while looking at the ground~

“Mwaa hey babe” “Y/N?!” “What?” He pushes you out of ear shot from his friends “d-dont do that infront of my friends! It’s embarrassing!” “Is being kissed embarrassing or is you being red embarrassing?” “Shut up.” He walks back to his friends acting like you didn’t exist . Later when you give him the silent treatment for ignoring you he won’t leave you alone till he gets another kiss

TOKOYAMI~

Most of the time dark shadow snitches on you before you even get to him, but the few times you sneak past him is so cute! When you startle him with a cheek kiss he jump and his feathers puff out in fear. Then acts like he wasn’t scared at all

“No need to puff up it was just a kiss?” “Uh? Puff up I don’t know what you mean.” “Your feathers are puffed out? Ohhh you got scared!!” “Not possible!” “Deny it all you want!…you are really fluffy though” “stop!” He turns his back to you so he can be flustered in peace

AOYAMA~

Stuck up little shit. But you know it’s all in good fun, he does love you but sometimes you think he loves himself a little more which he doesn’t (off character ik, it’s a HC ok!) so mostly when you surprise kiss him he just makes it abt him-

“Aw y/n~ id Kiss me every second of the day too!” “Uh-” “I am so awfully dazzling I couldn’t resist either~” “ok no more kisses for you.” “WAIT WHAT NO?”

OJIRO~

Smart boy so he has made it a habit of keeping his tail circled around him so he can feel your footsteps through the floor, or trip you (LOL) so the only way you can get him is when he is sitting. He thinks he’s safe when he’s sitting but he isn’t

You creep up behind him and grab his shoulder, you pull your head around his and give him a very aggressive kiss! “GOTCHAA” “y/n that’s not fair I wasn’t ready for that!” “It is so fair, I get to kiss you, and you get a kiss from me! Fair!” “Ugh! Next time warn me! So I can trip you” “what?”

SATO~

Big boy! He isn’t scared of surprise kisses at all, shockingly he is one of the few who don’t even flinch at all. So you just jump on his back randomly and smother his cheeks with kisses!

“Sneak attack! Mwa mwaaa MWAAA” “y/n~ stop!” “Why???” “Cuz i want a real one!” He points to his lips and you gave him a soft smooch there too! He also likes it when you squish is face when kissing himm

SHOJI~

Another one who doesn’t get scared, just really shy. You have seen him without a mask but he is still a little insecure about it (writing abt that later😍). So when you pull his mask down and kiss his lips he hides away sometimes~

“Shoji?” “Yes love?” You pull his mask down to give him a soft kiss on his lip before pulling it back up to not make him uncomfortable. He broke “that’s all~” “one moment…” he just crouches to the ground to hide for a second to think of a plan. When he’s done hiding he comes back up and kisses you back with rosy cheeks!

KOJI~

Just don’t, he will die, From being scared and or flustered. You have to warn him no matter what! So it normally goes like this

“Hey koji” “um…yes?” He only talks in private or if it’s important! “Im warning you, I’m gunna kiss you” “…hu-” smooch “there!…you gunna be ok?” He collapses to the ground hiding in his knees which are against his chest “mhm…” “your so cute~” “*squealing noise*”

Not proooooof readdddd cuz I’m lazyyyy😍

Literally gunna write class 1B next they need more love cuz they such cutiesss

[targaryenluvs]

DELICATE

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

warnings: erm we’re back at it with another dark corio! possessiveness, literal murder, threats, vulgarity, nc touching -dumbification/babying, emotional manipulation and vulnerability, sexual undertones and thoughts, ownership?? NOT PROOFREAD

summary: coriolanus had to marry. lucky for him one of the most eligible girls of the capitol was up for grabs. only problem? he hoped his cold exterior would keep her away but nothing broke her sweet spirit. what happens when he finds himself being drawn to her light? and how far was he willing to go to keep it untainted and all to himself?

word count: 2.09k words

a/n: i swear i can only think of dark ideas for him because he is practically crayz - i loved this concept tho so enjoyyyy - annoyed i can’t find any post-lucy gifs snd i’ve already used the other one help me plz

taglist: @sleepydang @aspieundercover @darktrashsoulbear @3lliesrifle @rafeysbafey @zejjef @themorriganisamonster @cryfordemie @winterblu2 @earthangel-111 @taylarxse @alexameliamg @katastrophic04 @jjggdfvvy @joshwifeyslaymamaballs @10ava01 @kis9na @princessdaella @princessloveweird @prettybiching @justacaliforniandreamer @bxtchopolis @witchafterz @har-rison-s

PART TWO

coriolanus wanted nothing more than a relaxing night. he’d been at a campaign meeting for about four hours and he’d gotten absolutely nothing out of it.

he was in the right mind to fire them all and work it himself but he knew he couldn’t. all he wanted was to go home, have a bath drawn for him, eat dinner with you and go to sleep.

coriolanus had seen a number of weird things in his life but nothing was weirder than seeing you, hanging up the laundry to dry. you’d stopped him in his tracks but hadn’t yet noticed his presence as you hummed to yourself and went about your business. after staring in confusion for a few minutes he cleared his throat, “y/n. what are you doing?” you turned towards him with a smile, “it’s christmas! so i sent the staff home for the rest of the day so they could be with their families. don’t worry i had them prepare your bath, dinner and everything else. there were some things left to do so i thought, why not do them myself? i cleaned my room and yours, ironed the previous batch of laundry and placed them away, dusted the library and i was hanging up the laundry until you showed!” you beamed as you continued to hang the clothing.

coriolanus took a seat on one of the lawn chairs as you continued. he decided to watch you, to make sure you were okay. because who on earth wants to do laundry? that was the very reason you had so many servants. but here you were.

“you can head inside corio, no need to wait for me!” you said sweetly. coriolanus was a strong man, always rational. but god when you spoke so sweetly to him- no. “there’s no need, i’ll wait till you’re done.”

the sun was hanging low as the last rays illuminated the dining room. you’d set out candles, flowers and other pieces on the table. back home you loved setting the table, until your father would reprimand you for doing something you didn’t need to. what will people say if my daughter is acting as a servant?

but right now you felt at ease.

you had a good life. good friends which were rare to find in the capitol. good family and a good husband. he was proper, took care of you in every way, even if he didn’t love you, you were grateful to be married to someone you liked. admired. you’d heard whispers of corio’s childhood, his depleted resources and poor upbringing. but you couldn’t care less. he was more of a man than anyone you knew. and he was extremely pretty, your parents would’ve probably married you off to whomever they thought would help with social standings so this match? a lifeline.

coriolanus kept himself in check. he was up for presidency, his name and wealth restored and he was respected and feared. you were a diamond in the rough. whilst all the other girls in the capitol were, special, to say the least, you weren’t like them. first of all, he could tolerate you. like you even. you were exceptionally smart, well-read and spoken, respectful of those worthy but even those beneath you. you were kind, not the fake kind of the capitol. kind to everyone, helping everyone however you could.

and to him it was more than perfect. someone kind would be easy to have, easy to be married to. he knew from the second he saw you as marriage material that you’d never endanger those around you. you cared, enough to put your happiness to the back of the line. you’d be easy to control. after the wedding he expected you to be clingy, desperate for his love and affection. as any girl would from their husband, but you kept your distance. you didn’t push yourself on him, you did your duty. you did what was required and more. but you always listened, listened to him.

so he assumed you’d be easy to be married to, but he was always in awe of you. your sweet smiles every time you passed eachother in the halls, in the morning at breakfast and at night for dinner. always catering to him.

“what should i wear?” “you can choose.” “you tell me.” “it’s your choice.” and god did it inflate his ego. you were always asking about him, how his day was, what he did, who he saw etc. but it wasn’t just small talk, you were always listening. absorbing his words like a sponge, wide eyes, head nodding along dumbly. he loved it. and over the year he found himself, caring, on the inside at least.

every time you’d go out there were hungry eyes consuming you. your face, body everything. and he wanted to personally pluck out each eyeball and feed it to their families. so again, overtime, he’d shield you, protect you. his sweet wife who knew nothing of what the others wanted to do to her. a hand on your back, an arm around your waist, a peck on your forehead and his large red coat around you. all for show right?

he wanted to puke.

the smell of cabbage wafted to his nose and he was oh so close to putting this fist through the wall. who on earth-

you were humming, again. “corio!” your voice was music to his ears, corio, no one said it to him anymore. not even tigris. but he only liked, only wanted it to come from you. “dinner is served, some of your favourites are here. i asked tigris what you use to eat as a kid. ooh, you never told me you liked cabbage, me too! guess that’s another thing we have in common.” you beamed as you walked over with a bottle of wine, “tell me when to stop.”

he eyed you up the entire time. trying to catch a fleck of disgust whilst you ate, andddd, nothing. you weren’t lying, you actually liked it. he swallowed his own fear and began to eat.

“mm, i was wondering what you wanted me to wear tonight? i’d like to match corio, if that’s okay with you.” corio smiled slightly, “i would like to match. i have something i would like you to wear tonight sweetheart.” your eyes darted forwards as the word fell, sweetheart.

you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face, he only used terms like that in public. and based on his reaction afterwards, of which there was none, it meant that he probably didn’t even realise. or he did, you could never read him.

the red dress did things to coriolanus. the idea of you in it has his head spinning, but to actually see you in it? he wanted to throw you onto his bed and never let you out.

but to you it looked as if he was studying the dress rather than looking at you in it. “you look good.” you grinned, “thank you corio! i love your suit, you look very handsome.” you straightened his suit as he looked over your shoulder, your back was bare. “do you have a throw?” you quickly nodded and picked it up from the dresser. “good.” you already got a million stares in ordinary clothing, tonight was going to test his patience and anger.

the gala was gorgeous. for once there wasn’t ugly statues and weird color matches. a clean and pristine white hall, chandeliers, gold accents.

your heels clicked on the floor as coriolanus held his arm for you. “your hand please.” corio stared, waiting for your further explanation. “when we link arms your arm is too high for me. i end up with my arm at my neck.” you laughed as he lent his hand, which you gladly took.

stares and compliments at every corner of the room, everyone was looking at you two. the future president and first lady of panem. a match made in the capitol. you and coriolanus made the rounds, talking to present sponsors, potential sponsors and other candidates, much to coriolanus’s distaste. after a while you realised you were sort of just standing there, so you excused yourself for a drink and a closer view of the band.

“you look, ravishing.” charles operman. a sight which no one wanted to see, but to you he was just an ex-peer of the academy. “charles! thank you, corio picked it out for me.” you’d missed the way his jaw clenched at the mention of your husband, but you were to engrossed by the angelic singer and band. “you know, i always thought we’d end up together.”

the abruptness of his sentence had you choking on your drink, “excuse me, i’m married charles. i’m sorry if you thought that we would be together, i see you as a friend. i’d hate to lose a friend.” you smiled as he got uncomfortably closer and leaned into your ear, hand on your bare back.

coriolanus’s grip on his cup was tightening as he listened to lucky drone on and on. he wanted to see the life leave charles’s eyes, maybe his head would make as a nice present for you. “excuse me.” he nodded his head as he placed his cup on a passing waiters tray. you were helpless, and he was here to help you.

his breath was hot in your ear and you could smell the liquor on him as he was grabbed from you. “coriolanus, sir.” charles mocked salute as coriolanus stared at him, maybe he thought if he stared long enough hed burn into the floor. coriolanus rarely smiled, but this one was unsettling to say the least.

“if you ever put your hands on my wife, look at her, speak to her. it will be the last time you do so. i might just call in a favor with dr gaul, i hear your fond of snakes?” charles’s eyes widened, he hated snakes. he couldn’t even watch the 10th hunger games, the second he saw the snakes he ran to the bathroom and hurled.

“when i become president, you better keep yourself in line. it’d be horrible to see your family in the games no?” charles took a step back, “you can’t do that, i’m capitol.” coriolanus drew back,

“you won’t be for long.”

you couldn’t believe your eyes, of course he’d protect you but, threatening? he’d never do it right? the shutters of cameras had you reaching for corio, “can we leave my love?” coriolanus turned to you, “of course sweetheart.”

he’d stayed up for a long time. a smile came to his face when he remembered the sound of charles’s neck snapping. the door creaking open revealed a disheveled you, “corio? are you awake?” he sat up as you released a breath.

“what is it y/n?” you took a shy step forward, “i uhm, i can’t stop thinking about charles. he scared me, i didn’t know what to do corio. i-” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as coriolanus swiftly got out of bed, helping you into his bed. “i- can i sleep here tonight? please?”

this was definitely not how he first expected to have you in his bed, but how could he say no to you? your hair in its braid, messy and lose, puffy eyes and tear stained face. he wished he’d first seen you cry underneath him but he’d take what he could get. what he didn’t expect was for him to like this, the scene of you crying, needing him. he was the one who could help you, console you, coddle you.

coriolanus nodded as he moved back to the bed, tucking himself and you in softy, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead. god he’d held out for so long, denied himself and his feelings but having you in his arms was all he could ever want, but the idea of being in you flooded his head.

would you cry like this? would you shout and scream? did you like it soft and sweet? he couldn’t be soft and sweet, he’d savour the moment but he loved the idea of unravelling you, he’d be the only one to see you like this, him being the only one to make it happen.

you curled into his chest, like a baby. your soft cries and whimpers went straight to his crotch and soon enough you were asleep.

his sweetheart, his delicate little wife.

corios hand slipped downwards and into your pants, he promised himself he just wanted to feel but god you made it difficult. he saved you tonight, didn’t he deserve a reward? didn’t matter if you detested he had you where he liked. so he slowly rolled over and placed you on the bed.

your eyes fluttered at the change of placement but he couldn’t care less. he was done waiting.

you squirmed underneath him in your sleep but his worries faded away.

[sunniepoo]

plsplspls more mean and icky stepbro!rafe x innocent/pure!reader 🙏 i lovee the way u write him 💕💕

maybe something like stebro!rafe teaching r how to kiss n get herself off n all that orr maybe sleepy sex <3

౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚₊‧ ︎

“ngh-uh” you pant, body restless as your fingers sloppily slip in and out of your dripping cunt. you’ve never felt like this, never felt so desperate; so unexplainably horny

you hadn’t expected the whine that left your mouth to come at the high volume that it did, but you were just so frustrated; your fingers weren’t hitting that one spot you craved them to. when all your friends said they did this , you expected it would be easy, not like this

all your thoughts were interrupted as a harsh knock on the door followed by the booming voice of rafe caused you to scramble, finding a spare top and shorts to chuck on before answering

“jesuuus christ open the door already” the older blonde shouts, pounding the door aggressively

you rush and open the door slightly to reveal the frame of a shirtless, messy haired rafe - you could see the slight pop of the veins in his arms and most importantly the bulge in his pants. “what’s taking you so long” you couldn’t miss the slight smirk and teasing tone coating his voice “hm?” he questions again

“uh-j-just” the natural panic was evident in your eyes as they widened and your eyebrow raised like a deer caught in headlights “ just tired”

you couldn’t help the groan that comes out as he enters your room. “raaafe” your whine to stop him falls on deaf ears as he sits on your bed. “please leave” you huff out, just desperate to get back to working your pussy away and get the release you’ve been dying for; he was ruining everything

“c’mon sit” the older cameron pats of his lap, calling you over as if you were his little puppy “raafe please go” you would’ve typically never gave this much attitude to the brooding male, him acknowledging your presence was a once in a lifetime thing

“don’t make me repeat myself” despite his menacing tone his gaze was enchanting, you’ve never understood how someone so beautiful could be so cruel at times.

with a couple of huffs and puffs you find yourself making your way over to the tall blond, making yourself home at one of his legs as the large surface of his palm guided you onto him.you had to bite back the whimper that threatened to leave your mouth as your clit rubbed against the front of his leg

it was confusing to say the least - why was he being so nice? but you were just a girl and it was so so so tempting to just lean back into the chest of the older cameron , letting his warmth fill you

you could feel his warm breath fall up on your shoulders, tingling the bottom of your ears “w-what are you doing here” you finally breathe out, finding it impossibly hard to not just rub against his leg

“just wanted to let you know that our rooms are right next to each other” he whispers, it was so oddly sensual and it couldn’t help but make your poor little pussy clench and pulse around nothing. it made your head tumble you shouldn’t feel this way about him; not your new big brother

“i already know tha-” you start but are interrupted by the boy beneath you, eyes looking at you intently while his fingers dance along your waist

“and the walls aren’t as thick as you think, so you know i hear everything”

oh!

you were speechless - quite literally, you opened your mouth to say something and nothing but a small squeak came out and before you know it tears were welling up and your eyes as you were starting to breakdown

“hey hey hey” he rushes to speak, rubbing a what was meant to be soothing arm across the sides of you but only causes you to hide in shame “don’t stress… i came here to tell you that i can y’know help” his fingers making their way down to your thighs, sliding up to cup your pussy “just some lessons”

“what” you didn’t expect your words to come out so harshly, as you look at him with wide curious eyes - could he really?

and that’s how you found yourself legs spread open, with rafe cameron fingers rubbing on your sensitive little clit, one finger slipping into your cunt reaching oh so deep. they had turned less into lesson but more into your older stepbrother straight up fingering you in your bed

“oooooh” you moan out, his finger knuckle deep in your needy little pussy hitting places you couldn’t even imagine “feels so ngh- good” he couldn’t help but stick another finger into your wet cunt watching your head go to complete bliss as it clenches desperately around the length of his fingers while he gently pistons them in and out

“could make you feel like this all the time” he breathes out, his own hard on grinding against the plump of your ass “little sluts like you love it”

the coarse whine that left your mouth signalled your upset as you looked at him wide eyed with your lips pouting. the breathy laugh that leaves him is followed by a soft kiss to the tops of your head “s’kay you’re my little slut”

“i-i ngh- don’t think” you could barely make out words as his fingers speed up to an impossibly fast pace, the coil in your stomach was starting to loosen and oh it felt so good! “w-we should do this agai-” the moan that left your mouth was almost pornographic, heaving loudly as his thumb goes to harshly rub on your clit

“hm and why is that” he teases increasing his pace and pressure, hitting all the right spots - this was so so wrong

“you’re family; you’re my stepbrother” you felt yourself finally get closer, like that ache was finally going to be cured- he must’ve had magic in his fingers with the way he was making you feel

and just as that coil in your stomach was about to unfold, he stops and even with your grinding against him and the endless whimpers he doesn’t continue

“why did you stop?” the question comes out a lot more pathetic than you expected, “well you said it, we shouldn’t be doing this, so i guess i’ll just g-” despite his words he makes no efforts to leave but that doesn’t stop your from whining and holding him tightly

“no no no…. i didn’t mean it” you admit, voice all weak and needy - all you want-no needed was him to fuck you with his fingers all messy and mean, there was no point in trying to hide it

“that’s my girl” the soft kiss is a stark contrast to the rough and nasty pistoning of his fingers, messing up your poor cunt but bringing you closer to your high

“yes yes yes” you thanked god that no one was home tonight as the loud moan left your mouth as your cunt clenched tightly around his fingers, your high washing over you - leaving you putty in his arms

maybe rafe wasn’t so mean after all

౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚₊‧ ︎

[sexlapis]

[◉°] … NANAMI KENTO & Y/N BEING A COUPLE FOR 10 MINUTES STRAIGHT… 429k views

⁺ 🧃　 ♡ ₊﹒ ⌣

꩜: actor!nanami x actress!reader

⤷ a short compilation of y/n & nanami moments!

sfw, fluff, accidental kisses, ooc nanami kinda

. art credits to @/osusiudon on twitter

masterlists

*

౨ৎ first clip

“whereee is nanamiiii?” you whine, filming yourself as you walk around the set, trying to find your favourite cast member. you walk through a door. “nanamiii-oh there he is..”

you look surprised and then you tell the camera, “shhhh..nanami is asleep..”

you tiptoe towards where he lays passed out on a couch with his costume goggles right beside him. you turn the camera around to face nanami, his mouth agape as little snores passed through.

“awwww.. he looks so cute..”

you put the camera close to his face, making nanami look funny. “haha..i’m so keeping this-”

nanami snorts suddenly and shifts in a rapid movement, shocking you and making you drop your phone on his poor face.

“ahh!” you cry. fumbling ensues before you get your camera upright again, pointing it at a now awake, disappointed looking nanami, sitting up on the couch as he stares at you blankly. his hair is messy, tie askew and his eyes tired.

“sorry nanami…did i wake you??”

“…”

“…”

nanami sighs and rubs his eyes. “i don’t know _____. did you barge in here, record me and drop your phone on my face?”

“…oops?”

nanami stares at you some more and then you pat his head in apology.

“sorry, nanamin…”

he sighs again. “why are you like this…”

౨ৎ second clip

the paparazzi secretly filmed you and nanami exiting a store (which they had followed you both to). now of course, fans criticised said paparazzi, but after seeing the video themselves…they couldn’t be all that sad about it.

you and nanami walk out of the automatic doors, arms linked and nanami carries the shopping bag.

you’re eating your little treat, strolling with nanami to the sidewalk when he points to your shoes, noticing that your laces are undone.

he speaks and you just shrug, continuing to eat, uncaring of your unlaced shoes that are a hazard.

nanami has you hold the grocery bag temporarily and then kneels down and ties your laces securely, all the while you chew on your food and smile down at him.

he stands up and takes the bag from you to carry once more. you inaudibly talk before linking arms with him again and resting your head on his shoulder while you both walk away.

౨ৎ third clip

the director yells cut and you are immediately running towards nanami and throwing your arms around his shirtless waist, careful to avoid the very intricate, realistic body paint covering half of his body.

“nanami! please don’t dieeeee!” you cry, looking up at him, “who’s going to be my emotional support actor?”

nanami huffs and pats your back, “_____…i won’t disappear..i’ll still be on the set…”

“it’s not the same!” you grumble into his chest. “it’s like you died for real!”

“no it’s not. i’ll visit everyday until this series ends.”

“really?” you look up at him, eyes glossy, “you better not be lying. promise?”

“yes, i promise.” he sighs fondly.

“okay..”

still hugging him, you turn to look at the camera and blatantly check out his shredded torso and thick, strong arms. nanami just stands there, confused.

you rest your head on one of his pecs, looking at the camera and smiling. “i get to do this everyday, you know.”

nanami scoffs and shakes his head at you. you are unbelievable.

౨ৎ fourth clip

you and the a few members of the cast of jujutsu kaisen had agreed to play a game of “silent library”for charity and nanami had agreed to play too, which shocked both the cast and the fans considering nanami rarely participated in games like this.

nanami has struck luck so far but it runs out on the sixth round.

the cards are handed out and suspense rises when you all quickly flip them over.

you groan out loud before slapping a hand over your mouth when you see that you’ve received the death card.

looking around, you notice that nanami and gojo also share the same card, and you point at them confused, while the members who are safe sigh in relief and thank god.

nanami closes his eyes and gojo slumps in his chair dramatically, making a weak noise in his mouth. you snort. you’re quickly hushed.

the name of the game is presented, “suck and blow”, and poorly stifled chuckles ring around the room. you rub your eyes, already dreading what’s about to come.

gojo eyes you, making a come hither motion with his long finger and swear at him silently. nanami is silent and looks between the two of you blankly.

the aim of the game? all three players must pass plastic card between them with only their lips.

your head falls onto the table, gojo is grinning and nanami is, as always, sighing.

the three of you sit on stools, with yourself insisting on being in the middle.

“i could’ve sworn i’ve had a dream just like this…” gojo whispers and nanami is leaning all the way around to smack the back of his head. gojo gasps and utahime scolds at him to shut his mouth.

the plastic card is given to gojo and the timer begins. he sucks it to his lips, cheeks hollow and he looked very stupid. gojo grabs your head and presses the card to your lips, making it seem like you are both kissing. you grunt and begin smacking the side of his face. suppressed laughter can be heard around you as you forcefully pull away from gojo.

you purse your lips, holding the plastic card on them as best as you can and turning to face nanami. he leans in, ready to get this over with.

it happened so fast.

nanami’s face is close to yours as you move to transfer the plastic card to his lips..and then the card falls.

it falls and you’re kissing nanami for half a second.

you gasp and pull back, embarrassed and covering your face.

you hear a squeal, a loud gasp and shocked laughter as you drown in shame. nanami sits there, fiddling, not knowing what to do with his hands and his face is clearly pink.

gojo teases you both to no end and the timer is already up.

it’s safe to say you all lost that round.

౨ৎ fifth clip

nanami is forced to go on a talk show (as he claims his manager made him do it ).

his responses are perfect and polite - nanami clearly has some sort of media training or an upper class background of some sort. it’s like nothing could catch him off guard whatsoever.

nanami is talking and then, the host interrupts. “are you and _____ dating?”

the audience chuckles and nanami is caught off guard. “wh-what?” nanami breathes out, a blush rising from his neck to his cheeks. “what?”

“are you and _____ dating?”

“no…” nanami clears his throat, gulping, “no of course not…”

“what do you mean “of course not?” do you not like _____?”

“what? of course i like-” nanami cuts himself off with a deep sigh and the crowd laughs at his embarrassment and fluster. “_____…_____ is a lovely woman, she’s a respected colleague, a valued friend, she’s-”

“well since you like her so much, let’s bring her out!” the host flings his arm out in the direction of the entrance stairway, “give a warm welcome to _____!”

“?”

the crowd is screaming as you walk in, waving at them with a warm smile on your face and sit next to nanami.

nanami looks at you, face red. “i-”

“don’t let him stop you.” you say, referring to the host’s interruption and the cheers erupting from the sea of people. “keep talking about me!”

nanami sighs. “shit…”

౨ৎ sixth clip

you’re being interviewed on the red carpet by a boisterous, joyful middle aged lady who asks you many questions, one of them being, “fuck, marry, kill”.

“okay fuck, marry, kill with getou suguru, nanami kento and gojo sa-”

“easy,” you cut in, not even hearing the rest of the question, “fuck getou, marry nanami and kill gojo. easiest question i’ve had so far!”

on the other end of the carpet, nanami is being asked the same questions except with actresses, one of them being you.

“fuck marry kill - utahime iori, _____ or shoko ieiri?!”

“marry _____, fuck utahime and kill shoko. goodnight.” he abruptly walks away, not even waiting for the interviewer to respond and leaves them flabbergasted.

*

a/n: feel like i rambled a lot in this one..oh well. also i’m not accepting requests for actor!nanami right now🤗🩷

[elizzsush]

Merfolk Courting Rituals | TWST

Octavinelle Dorm X Reader

Azul X Reader, Jade X Reader, Floyd X Reader,

---- Merfolk typically have instinctual ways they begin 'courting' or a relationship, in the deep sea you need to be sure of your partner after all. (Non-Human courting rituals part 2/3)

Savanaclaw Ver. | Diasomnia Ver.

Floyd:

It was spring when it happened. Almost summer. The days we’re warming up and everyone was suffering a bit for it.

Usually, you would be able to go about your business alone, or perhaps with the company of Grim if he felt like it. Today however, a certain eel was towering over your shoulder. “Shrimpy~” he’d giggle, a shiver was sent down your spin at his voice.

You slowly turned around. “A-ah? Hey Floyd…” you smiled warily. You usually, like most people in school, avoided the eel like the plague. He flashed his sharp teeth at you and extended his hand, the other one in his pocket in a more relaxed manner then your posture.

“A tooth…?” You squinted at the item, it was pointy: like his own teeth.

Realistically, you didn’t really wanna hold this. Not that you’d tell him that. You glanced up at him again and saw those same teeth, not a single one out of place. “Do ya like it?~”

He leaned closer to your face, his eyes widened ever so slightly in a more intimidating manner. Clearly his lack of personal space had never changed. “Um… yes! I do…?!” You were quick to awnser back.

Pleased with himself, he giggled loudly and walked away.

What was that about?

After that he’d keep approaching you with odd gifts… at one point he presented you with the largest pearl you’ve ever laid your eyes on and then the next day he gifted you with a handful of beautiful scales.

You dreaded to think about the poor mer behind that gift…

Either way, this was suspicious, right? When Floyd leech approached you, you either run away or get squeezed, why were you getting gifts? It also didn’t help your relationship with the Housewarden of Heartslabyul, who now avoids you like the plague.

Seriously, when you walk into a room Riddle happened to be in, he jumps up and leaves immediate- sometimes even running away like you were his tormentor instead of Floyd!

You’d also noticed that Floyd would yawn more around you… You didn’t think you were boring either because he wouldn’t be around you if you were boring to begin with! “Are you getting enough sleep?”

“Eh? Shrimpy doesn’t like me?” Floyd pouted, You noticed him glance at your mouth breifly. “Shrimpy~ that’s rude.” He’d whine louder, a darker look in his eyes than usual. You had no clue if you had offended him or not that time…

Another time was this happened. It actually happened far more often than you would think or enjoy.

“Shrimpy~” he’d say repeatedly to annoy you while you walked around school. Like when a sibling kept poking at you and claiming they weren’t touching you, but he had his hands behind his head as he followed behind you a bored expression on his face. He had been hanging around you more.

Sadly that meant your friends were less likely to approach you. And if they did it was because they neglected to see the towering eel boy.

“My, My, Floyd had taken quite a liking to you.” Jade stated offhandedly one day. You were at the Mostro Lounge (Azul was tired of Floyd skipping work and offered you free meals to hang out so Floyd would get back to work.)

You glanced at the Eel with a confused look. “What do you mean?” He simply looked down at the small necklace you had made with Floyd’s… gifts of a tooth and scales. I’m your defense they made very nice jewelry. Was it a bit messed up to be wearing some students scale and possibly their tooth? Perhaps… but you were poor and wanted something nice to wear.

With the same odd mysterious smile, Jade was off to serve the next costumer.

So you took it upon yourself to figure out what that meant!

First you went asking around Octavinelle. This was a bad idea because most students avoid you like you were Floyd.

Thankfully you managed to corner one, A trembling student you was glancing behind and around you the whole while you talked to him. "So?" You finally asked, a hand on your hip.

"Uh... What? C-could you repeat the question...?" He finally looked to you.

"Whats up with Floyd!" You finally snapped a bit, with a groan and a small eyeroll you glared at the smallfry.

"A-aren't you his...?"

"What on earth does that mean..." You groaned in annoyance too yourself. You were still, very, extremely lost.

Jade:

Whatever do you mean? You started courting him first if he wasn’t mistaken.

It was a Monday afternoon during autumn you believed, when he was serving you in the Mostro Lounge while you were studying. (They had a exclusive deal that lasted only that day) It was pretty late and so, you, like a very normal human, yawned. “My, If I’m not mistaken this is hardly that time of year.” He replied slyly as he gave you your half off drink.

You just glanced at him in confusion as he bowed and excused himself, ever the polite waiter.

That was… odd.

What was stranger was, now Jade has this habit of gifting you things he found on his hikes. It started with a flower to then a mushroom and for some reason he had gifted you a rock? He said he found it “fascinating” So he gifted it to you.

You didn’t really know either…

This whole issue began to intimidate you. I mean, Jade leech, gifting you things? There had to be some kind of motive behind it! There is always a motive behind the Octa-trios advances.

So, not wanting to owe him anything, you began gifting him things in return. “I found this at the store and thought you might like it.” You’d smile warily and a bit nervously as you extended a hand, in it a Dorsel Fin candy.

He’d smile and accept your gift, you’d breath a sigh of relief and go about your day as usual. At least now you didn’t owe him anything!

Now it became a habit, or a fun little game! Whenever Jade would gift you something, you’d look for something of equal value or better! Something he’d like. You’d attempt to one up him, but it was as if he knew about your game somehow and wasn’t letting you win.

Eventually it started to become something else, he was just... always there now? You'd turn around and almost scream! Because: was he there the whole time?

The worst part? He helped you so much more than half the time you turned around, and he wasn't there, you wished he was. He was making your life harder by not being there!

Here is the thing, you can't just get someone use to having a nice, helpful helping hand who is also attractive and then just take that away! Its inhumane.

You gifted him a terrarium you made yourself.

You didn't know why you did it. Maybe you liked his company and wanted to show your appreciation, maybe it was just because you were fond of him.

It was pretty out of the blue as well. You had been working on it for a week now, it wasn't anything remotely at Jade's own level but it was nice. (It better have been because that hike to gather everything almost killed you.)

Was it worth it? Yes. Seeing his eyes widen slightly before he regained his composure was absolutely worth it. He almost had to cough into his hand in Suprise.

Jade wasn't the most expressive, but you had a few ideas of what his Suprise would be look like. "Do you like it?"

"I do perfect. Thank you."

Note: Jade will never confess. It'll be one of those relationships where you don't know how it started but now your married so... Have fun!

Azul:

He was hopeless. Everybody knew this simple fact, except of course: you.

He was a businessman, not a... romance man!

From the way he'd tug at his tie like it was choking him when you were around, to how flushed he'd get when you even glanced in his direction. This guy was absolutely hopeless.

He actually turned... A very bright red was he turning purple as well? and immediately fixes his posture when you're in the room.

Thankfully, it takes two to tango and you were interested in him as well.

So, yeah, it was up to you to pursue the shady businessman who isn't very shady around you and instead acts like, in his own words, "an idiot."

So, no... he doesn't exactly court you. You court him.

You bring him cool things you find, blabber on about what you like and what you think he would like. He was... very confused and flustered, but happy you were there.

It was only after you took an active role in the relationship that he relaxed slightly and began to play along. Giving gifts back and ranting about the business and some poor unfortunate soul he scammed helped.

As everything began to relax in your guy's relationship. It got too comfortable, well, comfortable wasn't the right word. He was comfortable, you were suffering.

Why wasn't he making a move?! Didn't he like you?

Meanwhile, he was feeling pretty good. Jade and Floyd had gotten to a place where they don't tease him as much about not being able to make a move with you. (He didn't you made all the moves.) And his crush was showering him with attention!

You'd glance at him nervously while you sat at Mostro Lounge. He was counting his contracts. His new ones he had started to reaccumulate.

You physically couldn't hold it back anymore. It had been a week. A whole week of nothing new happening between the two of you. The words fell from your lips fast, like rushing water you tried to hold back but couldn't. It would have always slipped through the cracks in your fingers anyway... So you asked him, the burning question. "I like you. Do you like me...?" You finally blurted out.

"What?" He froze up. His head whipping in your direction he didn't know what to do or say and- he was ruining this wasn't he?

Azul had always been an anxious boy, it helped him- Because despite those anxieties he'd show them. he'd overcome them! He always had. But what do you do exactly when the person your heart has been beating oddly for asked that?

"I- um..." was all you needed before you stood up and left. Trying to fight back the small burn that began in your eyes before you cried. "Wait!" He called out but you had been out the door far too soon to even remotely hear him.

It was... a whole thing. He hated it, you hated it, and despite him refusing to admit it, you both cried over it. You always did love the classic miscommunication trope. But it happened. And frankly, you' prefer it this way in the long run. Because when everything was cleared up...

You got to kiss the octopus boy!

A smile on your face when you pulled away, he stared at you slightly shocked but very happy.

In a side note, after you kissed him, he wondered around aimlessly for a good while before he broke out of whatever spell you put him under. (You're still the magicless perfect of ramshackle...)

___________

Note: Floyd is my favorite. I hope you could tell lol Do I adore Azul? Yes! Was he the last one I wrote so it was kind of rushed and not very long? Also yes... I tried to make it a bit special-er?

[akiranzee]

IF U TAKE MUZAN REQUESTS CAN I PLS REQUEST LOVESICK HUSBAND MUZAN WITH HIS S/O PLEASSEE 😩😩

if u need more context then it’s still demon au and canon compliant but the only difference is that he’s Sooo soft around his wife. like absolute mush, worships her, says she’s his equal, blah blah. headcannons r fine!!!! whatever u wanna do w it, doesn’t matter if it’s demon or human reader

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ LOVESICK HUSBAND MUZAN WITH WIFE S/O!!

───────────── ♡ ─────────────

𖹭 it was love at first sight, no matter how many times he and you doubt it.

𖹭 his love language? physical touch ‘cause he’s so bad at words of affirmation. 𖹭 he’s still the same, evil man you met, the only difference is that he was never evil with you. no matter how many times his demons — especially douma tell you that he’s just putting up a loving facade to mingle with the human world. 𖹭 but douma is so wrong. dead wrong. if only you saw the look on his face when he heard muzan’s voice from your shared room, “darling, don’t believe what that demon says, okay? he’s nothing but a lowly scowl, he doesn’t even equal up to you — hell, maybe you even equal with me.” 𖹭 a lovesick fool. douma concludes. because, 𖹭 one, he follows you everywhere, touches every part of your body, but he touches your stomach most, saying he’s gonna put his heir in their one day. 𖹭 two, he listens to every word you say, like that one moment where muzan was about to flick douma’s head off for the ninety-forth time, you stepped in bravely and told him he was too harsh with douma, so as for douma’s next punishment, he just flicked off half his head. 𖹭 three, last but not the least, muzan hates it so much when you spend time with his male demons, or just ordinary male humans. despite you reassuring him literally almost every night, his jealousy would still bubble up and get all protective over you, sending death glares all over to the poor male. 𖹭 yes. that’s how much power you hold over the most powerful demon in existence. 𖹭 it doesn’t even end there, he’s gotten even more handsy on you when you undergo fever three consecutive times, trying to persuade you in becoming a demon so that you don’t have to suffer, but of course, you reject. 𖹭 in your first fever, he was just a little bit calm on it, just constantly checking you from time to time, making sure you eat all your meals and herbs/medicines, and leaves you when you’re asleep. 𖹭 but, poor man got confused when just a day you’ve gotten better, you got fever again the day after, so he’s by your side for the next three days taking care of you, observing you. 𖹭 then, at the third time, he finally panics, sending all his demons, also akaza who’s on a ‘special mission’ to look for the blue spider lily, to gather all the best herbs and best doctors all around town. this is where he also just acts like your shadow. you wanna go to the bathroom? he’ll assist you alright. you’re smelling and sweaty? he doesn’t care and changes you gently (he’s trying). you don’t like the food or herbs or medicines? he’ll nastily put it in his mouth and kisses you as he makes sure the food or herbs goes down your throat. 𖹭 yes. that’s how unexpected this man could be. 𖹭 and yes, this is you having him wrapped around your fingers.

───────────── ☆ ─────────────

a/n: help this is soo bad i just can’t imagine a lovesick muzan😭😭 that’d be the end of the world alright.

© akiranzee || do not steal, plagiarize, or repost my works without my permission.