#seeing them side by side just makes me smile

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

Summary: your first love was a seven-time world champion with a chip on his shoulder who would stop at nothing to finally get that eighth … even at the expense of you. Your second (and last) love is a five-time world champion with racing in his blood who proves, once and for all, that he would give it all up for you without even being asked … and regret absolutely nothing

Based on this request

The rain taps softly against the glass walls of the penthouse. The lights of Monaco shimmer beyond the windows, reflections dancing across the polished floor like scattered stars.

You sit cross-legged on the oversized couch, Lewis sprawled beside you, his legs stretched out, an arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s scrolling through his phone, something about sector times and telemetry, but his attention isn’t fully there. Not tonight.

“Lewis,” you say, gently nudging his side with your foot.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

You nudge him harder, and this time he glances your way, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?”

“I need you to focus for, like, five minutes.”

“I am focusing,” he says, holding up his phone as evidence. “Race prep.”

“On me, Lewis.”

That gets his attention. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, screen still glowing with data, and leans back, giving you his full, undivided gaze. “Alright, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater. The words are there, sitting heavy on your tongue, but saying them feels like stepping off the edge of something solid. Still, you’ve been together for almost six years. If you can’t have this conversation with him now, when can you?

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice steady but quiet, “about us. About the future.”

Lewis tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “What about it?”

You take a deep breath. “I want to get married, Lewis. I want to have a family. With you.”

His expression shifts, not into shock or annoyance, but something harder to read. He doesn’t respond right away, which only makes the silence stretch uncomfortably between you.

“I know the timing’s not perfect,” you add quickly, trying to fill the gap. “I know you’re in the middle of-”

“The most important season of my career?” He finishes for you, a wry smile softening his tone.

“Yeah, that.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, it’s not that I don’t want those things with you. I do. You know I do.”

“Do I?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, his voice low, almost defensive. “Six years. That’s not nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. But sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in the same place. Like we’re … waiting for something that never comes.”

Lewis scrubs a hand down his face, the faintest hint of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “It’s not that simple, love. You know how much this season means to me. Winning an eighth title, it’s history. Legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about after that?” You press, leaning closer. “What happens when you get it? Then what?”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he looks almost … unsure. It’s a rare thing, seeing Lewis Hamilton unsure of anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not in detail.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “Because I have. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being … your girlfriend forever.”

Lewis winces at the word, like it stings. “That’s not what you are to me. You’re everything. You know that.”

“Then prove it.”

He leans back again, running both hands through his hair as he exhales sharply. “God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be real.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “When I win this season — when I get that eighth title — I’ll retire.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I’ll retire. I’ll hang up my helmet, put a ring on your finger, and we’ll start trying for that family you’ve been dreaming about.”

You stare at him, equal parts stunned and skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Lewis, you can’t just say that to shut me up.”

“I’m not trying to shut you up,” he says, reaching for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, and when he looks at you now, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. “I’m saying it because I mean it. When I win, it’ll be the perfect ending. The perfect time to step away. And then it’s just us. No races, no travel, no distractions. Just you and me.”

“And a baby,” you add, because if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and pulls you closer until you’re half in his lap. “And a baby,” he agrees.

It feels like a promise, one sealed with the way he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like they’re anchoring you to him.

But somewhere, deep down, a small, cautious voice whispers: what if he doesn’t win?

***

The suite is silent except for the faint hum of the minibar fridge and the muffled sounds of celebration filtering in from somewhere outside. It’s as if the entire world is rejoicing, but here, in the confines of this hotel room, everything feels like it’s crumbling.

Lewis hasn’t said a word since you got back. He walked in, dropped his helmet bag by the door, and slumped onto the edge of the bed, still in his team gear. His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, unsure whether to approach him or leave him to his thoughts. The weight in the room is unbearable, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

“Lewis,” you say softly, testing the waters.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

You take a tentative step closer. “I know it hurts-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting you off. His voice is hoarse, raw from the screams and protests he let out over the radio hours ago. He still hasn’t looked up.

You flinch but press on, refusing to let the conversation die. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” he snaps, finally lifting his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression a mix of devastation and barely restrained fury. “It’s done. Over. What’s there to say?”

Your heart twists at the sight of him like this — so broken, so unlike the unshakable man you’ve always known. “I just thought-”

“Don’t you get it?” He interrupts, his voice rising. He stands abruptly, towering over you, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to sit here and dissect how it all fell apart. I want to forget.”

You step back, your own emotions starting to fray at the edges. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

“And what good would that do?” He shoots back, pacing the room now like a caged animal. “Would it give me my title? My win? Would it change the fact that I got robbed tonight?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different. More fragile. You can feel it cracking under the weight of what you need to say next.

“Lewis,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “About what we talked about. Before …”

He stops pacing, turning to look at you with a frown. “What?”

“A few weeks ago,” you clarify, taking a shaky breath. “You said when you won, you’d retire. That we’d start … building a life together.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he stares at you.

“I know you didn’t win,” you continue hesitantly, “but does that really change anything? Can’t we still-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, holding up a hand. His expression is hard now, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he showed earlier. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not?” You ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “Because it’s not convenient? Because it’s easier to bury yourself in racing than deal with what’s happening between us?”

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice rising again.

“Isn’t it?” You challenge, taking a step closer. “You made me a promise. And now, what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen because things didn’t go your way?”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood. Racing isn’t just something I do — it’s who I am. Walking away now, without that eighth championship … I can’t. I won’t.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “So what about me? What about us? Do we just stay on pause forever while you chase this thing that might never happen?”

His face twists with something you can’t quite place — anger, regret, maybe both. “This isn’t just about you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve given everything to this sport. Everything. And I’m not quitting until I finish what I started.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait?” You ask, your voice cracking. “How long, Lewis? Another year? Two? Five? When is it going to be enough?”

“I don’t know!” He shouts, the words bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his outburst settling over both of you.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters after a moment, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Before you can say another word, he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

“Lewis, wait,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Don’t walk away from this. From me.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just need some air,” he says, his tone clipped.

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that makes you flinch.

You stand there for a moment, frozen, staring at the door as if willing him to come back. But the only sound is the muffled celebration outside, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost tonight.

Finally, your legs give out, and you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears come. They’re hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wrack your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it. You were supposed to be celebrating together, planning your future, looking ahead to the life you’d been dreaming of for so long.

But instead, it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, it’s all crumbling around you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into the silence, but when the tears finally stop, you’re left with an emptiness that feels even worse.

And for the first time in six years, you wonder if maybe Lewis Hamilton isn’t the man you thought he was. Or maybe he is, and that’s the problem.

***

One Year Later

The glass facade of the clinic looms above you, pristine and intimidating. Every time you glance at the sign — Centre de Fertilité de Monaco written in bold looping letters — your stomach churns. You’ve been standing outside for almost fifteen minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

The city is alive around you, luxury cars humming down the streets, the faint sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. But you feel like you’re in a bubble, trapped in your own swirling thoughts.

This is what you want. You’ve thought about it a hundred times, planned every detail, read every article, and filled out every form. And yet, your feet refuse to move.

“Just go inside,” you whisper to yourself, though the words feel hollow.

You take a step toward the door, but your hand falters just shy of the handle.

“Y/N?”

The voice is familiar, low and slightly accented, and it stops you in your tracks. You turn to see Max Verstappen standing a few feet away, a look of surprise etched across his face. He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking him.

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

He takes a step closer, his brows knitting together. “What are you doing here?”

You glance at the clinic sign and then back at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It’s, uh … personal.”

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression. “Personal enough that you’re standing outside looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Your face heats, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He pauses, studying you. Then his eyes flicker to the sign again, and something seems to click. “Wait … are you-”

“Yes,” you blurt, cutting him off. There’s no point in pretending now. “I’m here to get artificially inseminated.”

Max blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh.”

You look away, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Lots of women do it.”

“Without anyone here to support you?” He asks, his tone soft but pointed.

You shrug, your voice defensive. “It’s my decision.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally look back at him, he’s frowning. “Why?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want a baby,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you can’t … I don’t know, meet someone?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

Max shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, Max,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve been serious about this for a long time. Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I should have to give up on what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says quietly, “So you and Lewis really broke up.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The mention of Lewis still feels like a punch to the gut, even after all this time. “Yeah. A while ago.”

Max hesitates, his hands shoved into his pockets. “And now you’re just … what? Picking a random donor from a catalog and hoping for the best?”

The words sting, and you glare at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He presses, his voice still calm but insistent. “You deserve more than that. You deserve more than a child fathered by some random man you only know as lines of descriptions on paper.”

That’s the moment you break. The tears you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe even months, come flooding out. You cover your face with your hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Max says quickly, stepping closer. “Hey, don’t-”

But you can’t stop. It’s all too much — Lewis, the clinic, the choices you’ve had to make on your own.

“I just want-” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another sob.

“Come here,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your back and gently tugging you closer. You collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder as the tears keep coming.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over your back. His hoodie smells faintly of cologne and something clean, like fresh laundry.

After a while, your sobs start to quiet, and you manage to pull back, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Max says, his voice low. He tilts his head, his blue eyes soft but serious. “You’re clearly not in the right state of mind to be making life-changing decisions.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this. I’m saying maybe today isn’t the day. You’re upset. And I don’t think you should do something this big while you’re feeling like this.”

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

“My apartment is just around the corner,” he continues. “Why don’t we go there? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you want. But at least give yourself a little time to think.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the clinic. The weight of the decision presses heavily on you, but so does the thought of going through with it now, like this.

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

Max nods, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come on.”

He keeps his hand on your back as he guides you down the street, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel entirely alone.

***

Max’s apartment is modern, sleek, and surprisingly warm. The large windows overlook the Monaco skyline, the twinkling lights of the city reflecting off the sea in the distance. You sit on the plush gray couch, clutching a mug of tea Max handed you just moments ago. The ceramic is warm in your hands, grounding you as the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

Max settles in the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the armrest as he watches you carefully. He hasn’t said much since you got here, and you’re grateful for it. But now, with the tea steeping between your fingers and his steady gaze on you, you feel the urge to fill the silence.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max shrugs lightly, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Start anywhere.”

You exhale shakily, staring into the dark liquid in your mug. “Lewis and I were together for six years. Six years of my life … and for a long time, I thought we wanted the same things.”

Max’s brows knit together, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.

“I thought we were building something together,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to get married. I wanted kids. He said he did, too. But there was always something in the way — another season, another championship, another goal. And I kept waiting because I believed in him, in us.”

Your voice cracks, and you take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe your throat. Max leans forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“And then last year …” You pause, trying to steady your voice. “He promised me that if he won his eighth title, he’d retire. That we’d finally start the life we talked about. And I believed him. I really believed him.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his knuckles pressing against his chin as he listens.

“But he didn’t win,” you continue, the memory still fresh, still raw. “And instead of keeping his promise, he said he couldn’t walk away. Not without that eighth.”

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

You glance at him, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I thought maybe I could wait. Maybe I could put my dreams on hold for him a little longer. But it wasn’t just about the title — it was about him always choosing racing over me, over us.”

Max leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So you broke up.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who would never choose me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. You’ve said them to yourself before, in the quiet of your bedroom, in the midst of sleepless nights, but saying them out loud now feels different. More final.

“And now you’re here,” Max says after a moment, gesturing faintly toward the direction of the clinic outside the windows.

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I still want a family. I’ve always wanted that. And after everything with Lewis, I realized I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone else. If I want a baby, I have to make it happen myself.”

Max stares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I get it,” he says finally. “I do. But … I don’t know. It just feels wrong. Like, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not everyone gets a happy ending. Some of us just have to make do with what we have.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean someone like you shouldn’t have to settle for this. You’re smart, beautiful, caring. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Hell, if it were me-”

He stops abruptly, his face coloring slightly as if realizing what he’s about to say.

“If it were you, what?” You ask, your voice softer now, curious.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have made you wait. I wouldn’t have let you go, period. I would’ve dropped everything the second I got out of the car in Abu Dhabi.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut — not because they hurt, but because they’re so unexpected, so honest.

“You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, though your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

Max’s gaze is unwavering. “I do. You deserve someone who sees you as their priority, not as something they’ll get to when it’s convenient. If I had someone like you …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t need anything else.”

The room falls silent, and you don’t know what to say. Your hands tighten around the mug, and you feel your cheeks flush under his intense stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, leaning back. “That probably crossed a line.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising even yourself. “It’s … nice to hear. I guess I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Because if that were true, Lewis wouldn’t have left,” you admit, your voice breaking. “If I were really worth all that, he wouldn’t have walked away.”

Max shakes his head vehemently, leaning forward again. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. He couldn’t see what he had. That’s his loss, not yours.”

You blink back tears, his words cutting through the doubt and self-blame you’ve been carrying for so long.

“Look,” Max says softly, his voice gentle now. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I know it feels like it, but you’re not. And whatever you decide to do, just … don’t rush into it because you think you have to. You’ve got time, and you’ve got people who care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you all over again. You nod, unable to speak, and Max offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Finish your tea,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something stronger. Tea’s good for a talk, but this feels like a whiskey kind of conversation.”

You laugh softly, the sound surprising you. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

***

The first time you showed up at Max’s apartment unannounced, it was a particularly bad day. The ache in your chest had been unbearable, the quiet of your own place suffocating. You hadn’t even thought twice before texting him: You home?

His response came within seconds. Always. Door’s open.

You found him lounging on the couch, his two bengals sprawled out lazily beside him. When he saw you, he didn’t ask questions. He just stood, grabbed two Red Bulls from the fridge, and let you curl up on the floor to play with Jimmy and Sassy while he sat nearby, chatting about nothing in particular until the knot in your chest loosened.

It became a ritual after that. On the days when life felt too heavy, you’d make your way to Max’s. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you wouldn’t. But more often than not, you’d end up on the floor with the cats while Max watched with quiet amusement.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jimmy pounces on the feather toy you’re dragging across the rug, his sleek body moving with a precision that reminds you of Max on the track. Sassy, the more aloof of the two, lounges nearby, watching her brother with disdain until she decides to join in.

You’re lying on your back now, laughing as the two cats leap over you, chasing the toy you’re holding above your head. It’s the first time you’ve laughed all day, maybe all week, and it feels good.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Max calls from the couch, his voice warm with affection. “She’s not a scratching post.”

You tilt your head to look at him, still holding the toy above you. He’s sitting sideways, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Jimmy would never hurt me,” you say, grinning as the cat lands lightly on your stomach before darting off again.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Max warns, shaking his head. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s perfect,” you counter, turning your attention back to the cats.

Max chuckles softly, but he doesn’t respond. You’re too distracted by Sassy’s sudden burst of energy to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his smile fades into something softer, something deeper.

After a while, you sit up, your hair slightly disheveled and your cheeks flushed from laughing. Jimmy jumps into your lap, purring contentedly as you stroke his fur.

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are warm, almost tender, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Nothing,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re just … happy. I like seeing you like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s the cats,” you say lightly, trying to brush it off. “They’re good for my mental health.”

“It’s not just the cats,” Max says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him again.

He’s leaning forward slightly now, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on yours. You feel your breath catch, the air in the room shifting, thickening.

“Max …” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He says softly, his voice almost reverent.

“See what?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How incredible you are.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stare at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Max, I …”

Before you can finish, he’s on the floor in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you don’t pull away.

“You’re amazing,” he says, his eyes searching yours. “You’re strong, and kind, and funny, and … God, Y/N, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Max,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “This … this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He asks, his hand still resting against your cheek.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this,” you admit, your eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been my rock these past few months. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise you, you won’t. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You’re silent, your heart warring with your head. But when he leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours, all your doubts fade away.

The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand sliding into your hair as he pours everything he’s been holding back into the kiss.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Max chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah. Wow.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you expected when you came here tonight, but now that it’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting you off. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

And to your surprise, despite the broken promises still shattered beneath your feet, you really do believe him.

***

The bedroom is bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening lights spilling through the windows. The Monaco skyline twinkles faintly in the distance, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, his warmth seeping into you as his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His free hand brushes through your hair, the motion slow and soothing. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head or your temple, murmuring something sweet against your skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m just … content,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “This is nice.”

He smiles down at you, his blue eyes soft with affection. “Yeah, it is.”

His fingers trail up to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you. It’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and sends warmth blooming in your chest.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours, his breath fanning against your skin. “You know, I could get used to this,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You mean you’re not used to it already?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

“I mean forever,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, your fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “Forever sounds nice.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional distant hum of the city below.

After a moment, you glance up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He hums, his fingers still trailing along your back.

“Have you ever thought about … kids?” You ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stills for a moment, his hand pausing mid-motion before he shifts slightly to look down at you. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Like, have you ever thought about having them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his brows furrowing slightly as if considering your question. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Honestly?” He says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ve thought about it pretty much daily since I met you.”

Your eyes widen, and you push yourself up onto your elbow to look at him more closely. “Seriously?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it before. But now? With you? I think about it all the time.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling at his words.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “We haven’t been together that long, but … I don’t know. When you know, you know, right?”

You nod, unable to speak, your throat tight with emotion.

“And I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re it for me, Y/N. There’s no one else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really something, Max Verstappen.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “So … what do you think? Would you want to have a baby with me?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The question is so outlandish, so unexpected, and yet it feels right.

“You’re serious?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. I can already see it.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands as the weight of his words sinks in. “This is insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes shine with hope and love, and you know he’s right.

“It does,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He beams, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “So … is that a yes?”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, Max. Let’s have a baby.”

He kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. The kiss is different this time — deeper, more urgent, filled with the promise of what’s to come.

When you pull back, you’re both grinning like fools, your foreheads pressed together as you laugh softly.

“This is happening,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

“It is,” you reply, your heart swelling with joy.

“And just so you know,” he adds, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I’m not leaving this bed until we make it happen.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, flipping you onto your back as his lips find yours again.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever, filled with laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of love that feels like forever.

***

The moment you see the two pink lines on the test, your heart stops. For a second, you don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t move. Then, a rush of emotions crashes over you all at once — joy, disbelief, terror, excitement. You sit on the edge of the tub in your bathroom, staring at the test in your shaking hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Max,” you whisper to yourself, and the thought of him steadies you.

He’s in the kitchen when you step out, his back to you as he busies himself with something at the stove. The faint smell of eggs and toast fills the air, but you can barely focus on it. Your hand tightens around the test in your pocket.

“Morning,” he says when he hears your footsteps, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

You don’t answer, your feet rooted to the floor.

“Y/N?” He says, turning fully to face you now. “Everything okay?”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure you don’t look convincing. Your chest feels tight, and suddenly, you don’t know how to say the words.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

His hands find yours, grounding you in the way only he can. You take a deep breath and pull the test out of your pocket, holding it up between you.

Max stares at it for a moment, his eyes wide.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “It’s positive.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, a slow, disbelieving grin spreads across his face.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You nod, your own tears welling up as you watch his expression shift from shock to pure, unfiltered joy.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, the words finally sinking in.

Max lets out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground. “Oh my God, Y/N, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh through your tears, clinging to him as he spins you around. When he finally sets you down, his hands frame your face, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Oh my God, we need to call the doctor, right? That’s what we do next?”

“Max,” you say, cutting him off with a laugh. “I’m okay. We’ll figure it all out.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding quickly. “Okay. But, wow … we’re having a baby.”

The way he says it, like he can’t quite believe it, makes your heart swell.

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

Max surprises you at every turn. Where you once thought the worlds of racing and family couldn’t coexist, he proves you wrong with every thoughtful gesture, every sacrifice, every time he puts you first.

At first, you hesitate to bring it up. You know how important racing is to him, how much of his life has been dedicated to it. You don’t want to be a distraction, don’t want to pull him away from something he loves.

But Max is quick to shut down any of those thoughts.

“You and this baby come first,” he says one night, his hand resting gently on your still-flat stomach. “Always.”

You blink at him, your throat tight. “You don’t have to say that, Max. I know how much racing means to you.”

“And I know how much you mean to me,” he counters, his voice firm. “This doesn’t have to be one or the other. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

And he does.

***

You don’t feel ready to travel yet, and Max doesn’t push you. He understands when you tell him you’re not ready to face the paddock, to face him. It’s still too raw, too soon. Max doesn’t question it.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You don’t need to explain. You do what’s best for you. I’ll come to you.”

And he does.

Even in the middle of the season, when his schedule is packed and his commitments are endless, Max never misses a single appointment. He’s always there, whether it’s for the early check-ups or the first ultrasound.

“Can you believe that’s our baby?” He whispers during the first scan, his voice filled with awe as he watches the tiny flicker of the heartbeat on the monitor.

You can’t answer, your own emotions overwhelming you. Instead, you squeeze his hand, and he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

***

The weeks pass, and soon it’s time for the big ultrasound — the one where you’ll finally learn the baby’s gender. Max is in São Paulo for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and you’ve convinced yourself he won’t make it back in time.

“It’s okay,” you tell him over the phone the night before. “You’ve got a race to focus on. I’ll record everything for you.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not missing this.”

“But-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Trust me.”

True to his word, Max walks into the clinic the next afternoon, still in his favorite set of sweats for traveling, his hair slightly disheveled from the flight.

“Max,” you say, standing up from your chair in the waiting room, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” he says, pulling you into his arms. “I told you I would.”

The ultrasound room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the machine and the occasional click of the technician’s keyboard. You’re lying on the examination table, Max sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly.

“Are you ready to find out?” The technician asks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile.

You glance at Max, and he nods, his excitement barely contained.

“Let’s do it,” you say.

The technician moves the wand across your stomach, and a moment later, the screen lights up with the image of your baby.

“Congratulations,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

Max lets out a laugh, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares at the screen. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re having a girl.”

You laugh through your tears, your heart full to bursting. Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, your lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

“For what?” You ask, your own voice shaky.

“For this. For her. For everything,” he says, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

You don’t have the words to respond, so you just squeeze his hand, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

And in that moment, you realize: Max was right. Racing and family don’t have to be at odds. They can coexist, as long as you have someone who’s willing to make it work. And Max? He’s more than willing. He’s all in. Always.

***

It’s been a long start to the season, and the 2024 championship is already shaping up to be a nail-biter. The RB20 is much more unwieldy than its predecessor, the points gap narrowing with a DNF in Australia. The pressure is on, and you know it. Max knows it too.

But despite everything — the late nights, the media frenzy, the endless travel — he never wavers in his commitment to you and the baby. Even as the world watches him fight for the title, Max’s focus always returns home.

As your due date approaches, the Japan Grand Prix weekend looms closer on the calendar. Suzuka is pivotal, everyone says. The kind of race that could determine the championship. The team is counting on Max to deliver.

But Max doesn’t seem fazed by any of it when you bring it up one evening in bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly while his fingers gently trace circles over the skin.

“You know Suzuka’s right around the corner,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes focused on your stomach, his lips quirking into a small smile when he feels a kick.

“Max.”

He glances up at you, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I just … I know it’s an important race. And my due date is so close. What if-”

“I’m not going to Japan,” he says firmly, cutting you off before you can spiral.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ve already told Christian and Helmut. They’re putting Liam in the car for the weekend.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice steady. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. There’s no way I’m missing her arrival, not for any race, not for anything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you blink them back quickly. “But the championship-”

“Doesn’t matter as much as this,” he interrupts again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Y/N, I love racing, but you and our baby? You’re everything. You’re my world. If I have to miss a race, so be it.”

You stare at him, your throat tight, and you can’t stop the tears this time. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I love you too. More than anything.”

***

When the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix arrives, you’re still pregnant, and Max is at your side, refusing to let you lift a finger.

The race plays out on the television in the background while Max spends most of the day doting on you. He rubs your feet, makes you tea, and checks on the hospital bag for the millionth time, making sure everything is in order.

“Max, sit down,” you say, laughing softly as you watch him double-check the contents of the bag again.

“I just want to make sure we’re ready,” he says, zipping it up and placing it neatly by the door.

“We’re ready,” you assure him, patting the space next to you on the couch.

He finally sits, pulling you close and resting his hand on your belly. “You’re sure she’s not coming today?”

“She’s not on your schedule, Verstappen,” you tease, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple.

***

But she does come.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the first contraction wakes you. At first, you’re too groggy to register what’s happening, but when the second one hits, you gasp, clutching at the sheets.

“Max,” you manage to get out, shaking his shoulder.

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think … I think it’s time,” you say, your voice trembling.

Max is on his feet in an instant, grabbing the hospital bag and helping you out of bed with remarkable calmness for someone who was sound asleep just seconds ago.

“You okay?” He asks, his arm around your waist as he guides you to the car.

You nod, though your breaths are shallow. “Yeah. Just … hurry.”

***

The hours in the delivery room pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Max never leaves your side, his hand gripping yours tightly through every contraction, his voice steady and reassuring as he encourages you.

“You’re amazing,” he says, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’ve got this. Just a little more, liefje. You’re so strong.”

When the moment finally comes, and the sound of your daughter’s first cries fills the room, both of you dissolve into tears.

“She’s here,” Max whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s really here.”

The nurse places the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, and you look down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it takes your breath away. Max leans over your shoulder, his face close to hers, his tears falling freely now.

“She’s perfect,” he says, his voice breaking.

You glance up at him, your heart swelling as you see the pure adoration on his face. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like us,” he corrects, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

***

When the nurse takes her to be weighed and cleaned up, Max stands frozen for a moment, watching her with wide eyes. Then, when they bring her back, he hesitates.

“You want to hold her?” You ask, smiling through your exhaustion.

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world. “Can I?”

“Of course,” you say, carefully passing her to him.

Max cradles her in his arms, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving her face. He looks utterly awestruck, his tears still streaming down his cheeks as he rocks her gently.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m your papa. And I already love you more than anything.”

Your heart clenches as you watch him, the way he holds her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing in the world.

“You okay?” You ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He nods, but when he looks at you, his expression is serious. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If you or she ever said the word, I’d stop. I’d walk away from racing tomorrow and never look back.”

“Max-”

“I mean it,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I don’t need any of it. All I need is right here.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “You don’t have to stop, Max. I don’t want you to. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says, his gaze dropping back to your daughter. “You and her — you’re everything.”

The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming love that fills the room.

And as you watch Max rock your daughter, his eyes shining with tears and joy, you realize that this is it — this is the life you always dreamed of.

***

The Australian Grand Prix marks the beginning of the 2025 season, and the paddock is alive with its usual chaos: reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, and engineers rushing to and from garages. But for you, it feels like an entirely different world as you step onto the paddock with your daughter perched on your hip.

She’s bundled in a tiny Red Bull jacket Max had custom-made, her baby blue eyes wide as she takes in the flurry of activity around her. She giggles as a gust of wind tousles her fine blonde curls, and you can’t help but smile, brushing them back into place.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Max, who stands beside you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

He glances at you, his expression soft but resolute. “You’re my family. I want everyone to know.”

Your chest tightens, equal parts touched and nervous. “It’s just … people are going to talk.”

“Let them,” Max says simply, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then he shifts his attention to your daughter, gently tickling her chin. “Aren’t they, prinsesje? Let them say what they want.”

Her delighted squeal pulls a laugh from him, and for a moment, your nerves melt away.

But the attention is immediate. As soon as you cross into the paddock, a ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd. Photographers pause, their lenses snapping up. Team personnel do double takes. Whispers spread like wildfire.

You’re prepared for it — at least, as much as you can be. What you’re not prepared for is running into Lewis.

You spot him before he sees you, standing just outside the Ferrari hospitality area in conversation with Fred Vasseur. Your stomach twists as you consider turning around, but before you can move, Lewis glances up.

He freezes.

His gaze locks on you, then drops to the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts from shock to something darker. He mutters something to Fred and strides toward you, his movements purposeful and tense.

“Y/N,” he says, stopping a few feet away. His eyes flicker to Max, who hasn’t left your side, and then back to you. “What … what’s this?”

You take a steadying breath. “Hello, Lewis.”

He ignores the pleasantries, his attention fixed on the child in your arms. “Is that your-” He stops, his jaw tightening. “Is that his?”

Max steps forward slightly, his hand now firm on your back. “Yes,” he says evenly, his voice calm but unyielding. “She is ours.”

Lewis’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting between you and Max. “How long has this been going on?”

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

“How long?” He snaps, his tone sharper now.

You glance at Max, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to Lewis, you say, “A little over two and a half years.”

Lewis exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to process the information. “Two and a half years. So, what? You moved on that fast?”

“Don’t do that,” you say quietly, your grip tightening on your daughter. “It wasn’t fast. You know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is bitter, his expression unreadable. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you didn’t waste any time replacing me.”

Max stiffens beside you, but you place a hand on his arm, silently urging him to let you handle it.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I moved on. There’s a difference.”

His gaze softens for a moment, flickering with something like hurt. But then he looks at Max again, and the hardness returns. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, your chin lifting.

Lewis laughs bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Lewis,” Max interjects, his tone measured but with an edge of steel. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. And our daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Lewis repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And you think this is going to work? Bringing her into this circus?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “It’s already working. She’s happy. We’re happy.”

Lewis scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is happiness? Dragging a baby into this environment? Do you even understand what kind of life you’re giving her?”

You step forward before Max can respond, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Lewis falters, his anger giving way to a flicker of guilt. “I’m not trying to-”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupt. “I get it, okay? You’re hurt. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for me or my family. Not anymore.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Finally, Lewis looks away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just … I didn’t think it would end like this,” he mutters.

Neither did you. But you don’t say it. Instead, you adjust your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching at your jacket, grounding you.

“It’s not about how it ended,” you say softly. “It’s about how we move forward.”

Lewis looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you loved — the man who promised you a future he could never give. His eyes drop to your daughter, and his expression shifts, softening in a way that makes your heart ache.

“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Max steps closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “We should go,” he says, his voice low but kind.

You nod, giving Lewis one last look before turning away.

***

In the Red Bull motorhome, you sink into a chair, your emotions crashing over you. Max kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studies your face.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, though tears blur your vision. “It’s just … hard. Seeing him. The way he looked at me.”

Max leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your guilt, not your sadness. Nothing. You’re here with me now, with our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

His words soothe you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice unwavering. Then he glances at your daughter, who’s dozing peacefully in her stroller. “And I love her more than anything.”

You smile through your tears, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

Nine Months Later

The final race of the 2025 season is a sea of chaos and celebration. The Yas Marina Circuit glows under the floodlights, the air electric with cheers as Max steps onto the top of the podium for the fifth time in his career. Champagne sprays from the bottles, glistening under the lights, but Max barely seems to notice.

His eyes search through the crowd, scanning the blur of faces until they land on you. There you are, cradling your daughter in your arms, her little Red Bull ear protectors sitting snugly over her head. She’s clapping her hands in that uncoordinated, infant-like way that makes his chest ache with love. And you — God, you. Your smile is soft but radiant, tears glinting in your eyes as you look up at him.

Max feels his heart tighten, his grip on the champagne bottle slackening. He’s been chasing dreams for as long as he can remember — titles, wins, perfection on the track. But now, looking at you and the life you’ve built together, he knows none of it compares to what he has waiting for him off the podium.

He knows what he has to do.

As the podium ceremony winds down, Max fumbles at the inside pocket of his race suit. His fingers brush over the small velvet box he’s carried with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This is it. There’s no better time.

Lando Norris, standing to Max’s right after clinching second place, notices his movement and raises a brow. “What are you up to?”

Max doesn’t answer, too focused on what’s coming next. His fingers close around the box, and his pulse quickens.

He steps forward, champagne still dripping from his suit, and motions to the crowd below. “Can we … can someone help her up here?” He calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

You blink, confused, as several Red Bull mechanics glance at each other before moving to you. One of them gestures toward the podium. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “You’re part of this moment.”

“What? No, I-” you stammer, clutching your daughter closer. “I’m fine here-”

“Y/N,” Max says from above, his voice carrying across the noise. His tone is warm but insistent. “Please. Come up.”

Your heart races as you glance around, overwhelmed by the attention, but the mechanics are already helping guide you to the platform. Before you know it, you’re being hoisted onto the podium, your feet landing on the cool metal as you steady yourself.

Max steps toward you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze is tender, but there’s a flicker of nerves there, too. The crowd’s roar dulls in your ears as he takes a deep breath, his focus entirely on you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly. He drops to one knee, the champagne bottle rolling away unnoticed. In his hand is the small velvet box, now open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

“Y/N,” Max says again, louder this time, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I once thought winning a championship would be the best moment of my life. But then I saw you. Holding our daughter, looking at me like that, and I realized the best thing I’ve ever done has nothing to do with racing. It’s us. It’s you. It’s her.”

Tears blur your vision, your hand covering your mouth as you stare down at him.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You’re my family, Y/N, and I don’t want to wait another second to make it official.”

He swallows hard, his hands shaking as he holds the ring toward you. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The crowd, the cameras, the other drivers — it all fades away. All you can see is Max, his face open and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. The man who’s always so composed under pressure, the fierce competitor, is looking at you with nothing but love and hope.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Then, louder. “Yes, Max. Yes!”

The crowd explodes into cheers as Max lets out a breathless laugh, his face lighting up in relief and joy. He stands quickly, wrapping one arm around your waist while slipping the ring onto your finger with the other. It fits perfectly.

Before you can say anything else, Max cups your face and kisses you, his lips warm and urgent against yours. The kiss is met with an even louder roar from the crowd, but all you can focus on is him — the way his hands tremble slightly, the way he pulls you closer as if afraid to let go.

Your daughter giggles in your arms, and Max pulls back just enough to glance down at her. He grins, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “What do you think, prinsesje? Did Papa do okay?”

She babbles something incomprehensible, and the three of you laugh.

***

Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room, the chaos of the podium ceremony behind you, Max pulls you into his lap as you sit together on the small sofa. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her stroller nearby, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Max toys with the ring on your finger, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I’ve won a lot of things in my life. But this … this is my greatest victory.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “You’re pretty good at making me cry today, Verstappen.”

He chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Get used to it. I plan on spending the rest of my life making you cry happy tears.”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I plan on spending the rest of my life loving you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with Max holding you close and your daughter sleeping nearby, you realize that this — this is your podium. Your victory. Your forever.

***

The night is impossibly quiet for Abu Dhabi, the hum of the city dulled by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. The celebrations are over, the crowds dispersed, and now it’s just the three of you. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her cot near the foot of the bed, her tiny face relaxed in peaceful dreams.

You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, the weight of the day finally catching up with both of you. His chest is warm against your back, his heartbeat steady as his fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm. The ring on your finger catches the faint glow of the bedside lamp, a small, perfect reminder of the life-changing moment you shared hours ago.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, shifting slightly to glance up at him.

Max’s gaze is soft, his blue eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “Just thinking,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse from the day’s shouting and champagne sprays.

“About?”

He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. You can feel the hesitation in him, the way his body tenses ever so slightly. It’s not like Max to be unsure — he’s always been decisive, charging into life with the same fearless determination he has on the track.

“Max?” You press gently, turning fully to face him now. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhales a long breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he starts, his accent curling warmly around the words. “But after today … I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His hand moves to yours, thumb brushing over the ring he gave you just hours earlier. He stares at it for a moment before meeting your gaze, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’m going to retire,” he says softly.

The words hit you like a jolt. For a second, you’re sure you misheard him. “Retire?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Max,” you say, your brow furrowing. “You just won your fifth title. You’re at the peak of your career. Why would you …”

He shifts slightly, sitting up so he can look at you more directly. “Because I don’t need it anymore,” he says simply. “I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in racing. More than I ever thought I could. But now …” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to the cot where your daughter sleeps. “Now I have something I want more.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess you can’t quite untangle. “Are you sure? I mean, Max, this is huge. Racing has been your entire life.”

“I know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And I’ll always love it. But I don’t want to spend the next ten or fifteen years chasing something I don’t need, not when it means missing out on moments with you. With her.” He nods toward your daughter, his face softening.

You sit there in stunned silence, trying to process what he’s saying. “But what about the team? And your fans? You love the thrill of it, the competition-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off gently, reaching for your hand again. “I love you more. I love our family more. And I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s always gone, always distracted. I’ve seen what that does. I don’t want that for her.”

His words hit you square in the chest, a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears prick at your eyes as you search his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you see is love and certainty.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He nods. “I’ve thought about it for months. After last season, I told myself I’d give it one more year. One more title. And then I’d walk away. Today, seeing you and her in the crowd, knowing everything we’ve built together … it made me realize I’m ready.”

You reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Max … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re okay with it,” he says, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say you’ll let me stay home and annoy you every day.”

A laugh escapes you, watery but real. “I think I can handle that.”

He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because this is what I want, Y/N. You, her, our life together. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”

For a while, you just sit there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other. Your mind is still racing, but your heart feels full, overflowing with love for the man beside you.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice lighter, “what’s the plan? Are you going to call Christian in the middle of the night and drop this bombshell on him?”

Max chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I’ll give him a day or two to recover from the title celebrations first. Then I’ll tell him.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“Oh, he’ll try to talk me out of it,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “He’ll tell me I’m too young, that I’ve got years left in me, that I can win even more. But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “He’s going to miss you. They all will.”

“I’ll miss them too,” he admits. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. I’ll still be around — just not on the grid.”

“And me?” You ask, your voice teasing. “What if I’m not ready to have you home all the time?”

Max grins, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the day starts to fade, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. Max lies back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against his side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but warm, “I used to think racing was everything. That I’d be lost without it.”

“And now?” You ask, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“Now I know it was just a part of me. A big part, yeah, but not the most important one. Not anymore.” He pauses, his hand brushing over your hair. “You and her … you’re my everything now.”

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.

[okwonyo]

HIGH HEELS SHOES ✶ when you wear heels 𓈒

𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗥𝗦或 ❜ 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽.

【 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 】 𝑙’ enhypen & female!reader 14OO established relationship ⠀ ｡ ｡ skinship kissing

骚人 ܃ i have .. no idea of what this is ㅠㅠ

reblogs⠀⠀ꢾ꣒⠀ feedbacks please

HEESEUNG

“baby,” he calls from the bathroom upon finishing to get ready. he gets out of to go to the room where you are getting ready. “we have to leave soon, are you—”

his mouth gets dry when he is hit by the heaven-like vision of you standing in front of the mirror. he stops in his movements, unable to say anything for a while.

it gives you enough seconds to turn around and look at him. your giggles echoes in the room when you see his face.

your body grows hot as your boyfriend checks you out with barely controlled lust written all over his face.

you can tell by the expression on he his wearing the the red dress you are wearing is driving him into a spiral— but, you see him crumble when his eyes fall on your heels and lingers on your legs.

he groans as he walks to you, “you can’t do this to me, baby,” his hand comes settle themselves on your waist before he pulls you close. he kisses you first, yet he is the one that says, “we really need to leave soon.”

JAY

“they are so beautiful,” you breathe out, holding the beautiful heels you just got gifted by your boyfriend. you barely remember mentioning this brand and specific shoes but he does, vividly.

he smiles, relieved as if you could ever dislike anything he gives you. his hand holds the back of your neck gently as he gives you a forehead kiss, “i’m glad you like them, princess.”

you let yourself get kissed— as you are still in a dreamlike state, you don’t even realize that you are giggling when his lips connect with your skin. and you are too busy staring at the beautiful gift to realize that the man is getting on one knee.

he delicately takes the box out of your hands, “let me help you,” he tells you, putting the box on the floor.

he takes one of the heels in the box and under your adoring gaze, as if you were a princess, he lifts your legs up ever so gently, high enough to slide the shoe on your foot. your love for him grows, although you thought that was impossible, as you watch him do the same for your other foot.

“perfect,” he says when he is done. he gets up, and kisses you again— on your mouth this time. “you are perfect, angel.”

JAKE

as soon as you arrive home, you reach for the bedroom— closely followed by your boyfriend— to lay on the mattress. back resting against the soft mattress, a soft sigh leaves the barrier of your lips as you stare at the ceiling.

“let me help you, m’love,” his sweet voice declares. for a moment, you are confused about what he could be possibly talking about then you feel his hand wrapping around your ankle.

he holds one of your high heel, sliding the louboutin shoe off your feet— with such care that it almost makes you dizzy.

“you didn’t have to,” you chuckle when he takes off the other half of the pair of heels. you shamelessly watch him take off his suit’s vest from the front side of the bed.

shortly, he finds himself crawling on top of you, “you are so pretty,” he whispers. he doesn’t think that adding ‘tonight’ would be truthful. he thinks you are always gorgeous. “i thought i wouldn’t be able to control myself everytime i looked at you.”

you wrap your fingers around his tie, slowly pulling you closer to your lips. he sighs when you finally kiss— as if he was waiting for it all day long. honestly, he was.

SUNGHOON

there is nothing about you that goes unnoticed by him. because he spends most of his time staring at you, he notices every bit of your expression. even if you are smiling, he catches the wince when you think no one is looking.

however, he waits until you are in the intimacy of the back of the car, drove by your chauffeur, to do something about it. your legs are already over his laps when the car starts to move.

“are they hurting?” his question reaches you after a long silence. you raise a brow, silently asking him what he is talking about. you nod when he asks again, “your feet. are they hurting?”

the man gets out of the car quickly when it stops, just to rush and open the door for you. upon your feet gets in contact with ground, as you steadily stands on the floor, he steps closer.

you let out a surprised noise when your body gets almost turned upside down. his strong arms hold you, carry you like a newly married woman going ro spend time with her husband.

you will always be amazed about how he can pick you up with no efforts needed, as if you weighed nothing. it’s so attractive, you want to kiss him.

SUNOO

he gladly accepts to help you choose what pair of heels you are going to wear tonight. he is the one who encouraged you to wear them, and he is always more than happy to help you out.

but the truth is, your lover is way too distracted by you to think straight. his opinion is clearly biased because he thinks that everything you wear is beautiful.

“what about those ones?” your voice pulls him out of his contemplation of you. standing between his legs as he sits on the couch, you stare at the heels as he stares at you.

he doesn’t even try to look at the shoes on your feet. he only holds your hand to make you sit on his lap instead before breathing out; “gorgeous.”

you chuckle, shyness takes over you when he kisses your cheek gently and rubs your thigh with his thumb. “you didn’t even look at them, sun.”

his lips peck your cheek once again, then another time, clearly waiting for you to turn your head and kiss him— you do it and against your lips he murmurs, “everything you wear is beautiful, baby.”

JUNGWON

he loves it. he loves when you wear heels, he loves how it makes your legs look so alluring— more alluring than the already are— he loves how hypotonic it looks as well as it sounds when you walk.

put on heels and the man can’t think about anything else, he can’t do anything else other than stare at you, he doesn’t want to do anything else but touch you.

his large hand holds your hip and rests on your lower back as you walk. his hands holds on your waist as you talk to your friends, he pulls you closer to his body every time he feels like you are too far.

from behind you, he leans in to reach your ear as your friends discuss. his lips brush against your neck, kisses your skin before he whispers, “you look so good, doll.”

you laugh quietly, it is barely audible for anyone that isn’t as close to you as he is. in a teasing tone, you warn him. “jungwon, you are going to strangle me.”

the ongoing conversation fades out, for the both of you as he kisses your neck again. his mouth trails from your exposed shoulder to behind you ear and you elbow him when he tries to bite your earlobe.

RIKI

he is deeply in love. his heart starts to beat as soon as he gets a glimpse of you face through your house’s door. he stands correctly as soon as he sees you— so lovesick.

his mouth falls agape while you approach him, his eyes scans your entire being with nothing but pure awe. it’s the first time you wear this kind of shoes and he prays it’s not the last.

he doesn’t realize that his hand moved to his chest. feeling his heartbeat beneath his palms, he breathes out as you are finally to him, “you didn’t used to be that tall.”

he feels like he is going crazy when you tilt your head to the side, he mirrors your movement hopelessly as well as the smile you wear as you answer, “is that all you have to say?”

he can’t help but laugh at your cute fake pout. then he comes closer to your face, “of course not,” he gives you a sweet kiss before continuing; “you’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

he is satisfied when you smile widely at him, as the saying says ‘happy wife, happy life’ even if you are not married. yet.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[flwrstqr]

【 愛 】 MUST BE LOVE 𓂃 WHEN YOU KISS THEM FIRST ────𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾-𝗍𝗂𝖾𝖽. 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾.

엔하이픈 & fem!rea 𖹭 8OO establish relationship fluff imagines でも skinship petnames flirting kissing (obviously) ˊᯅˋ ❪ AMORE ❫ & clicks

다니 ⠀⦂⠀why do i feel like i haven't posted a ot7 fic in a while ㅠㅠ but here it is >//< hope you flueries enjoy MUAH

LEE HEESEUNG

“oh? what's this, baby?” heeseung chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief as you pull back, cheeks warm from the sudden courage that had you pressing a soft kiss to his lips. his hand slides to your waist, tugging you closer until you’re nearly in his lap. “didn’t know you were so bold,” he teases lightly. “come on, angel, don’t get shy now. one kiss isn’t enough, you know.” his thumb brushes slow circles against your hip, eyes never leaving yours as he leans in, barely an inch separating you. “what, did i steal all your confidence? you can kiss me again if you want,” he hums, lashes fluttering. his thumb traces slow, lazy circles on your hip, and the way he looks at you with a smirk on his lips. “c’mon, one more. for research purposes.”

PARY JAY

you press a quick kiss to jay’s lips, and the way his ears turn pink is almost too cute to handle. “oh?” he blinks, a soft laugh slipping out as he tries (and fails) to play it cool. “that’s all? you teasing me, baby?” his hands rest on your waist, thumbs brushing gently against your sides. he looks away, biting back a smile, but you can see right through him. “i mean, if you want more, i could—” he clears his throat, pretending to be casual. “i’ll pay you. $10 for another kiss?” when you raise an eyebrow, his lips tug into a pout. “fine, how about $1,000? is that fair?” his tone is light, but the way his eyes keep darting to your lips gives him away. “no? not even for a million dollars?” he sighs dramatically, pulling you closer. “guess i’ll just have to earn it the old-fashioned way, then.”

SIM JAKE

“hey—” jake barely gets the word out before your lips press against his, soft and fleeting, just enough to make him freeze for a second before you’re already pulling away. his brows furrow instantly, lips parted in disbelief. “that’s it?” he pouts, eyes narrowing as he leans in, closing the distance again before you can protest. his kiss is slower like he’s trying to make up for how unfairly short yours was. when he finally pulls back, breath warm against your lips. “you know the rule, baby,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your jaw. “if you kiss me, i have to kiss you back.” his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. “and since you only gave me one—” he steals another kiss, then another, grinning against your lips when you whine. “—i’m making up for it.”

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon barely blinks when you lean in, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. he knew it was coming—the way you hovered near him, eyes flickering to his face every few seconds, fingers lightly tugging at his sleeve. you wanted attention. his attention. and who was he to deny you? without hesitation, he sets his phone aside, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into his lap. he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your cheek. “should’ve just said you wanted my attention, baby.” his hands settle on your waist, warm and steady, eyes flickering over your face like he’s committing every little detail to memory. “what do you want, hm? kisses?” he hums, tilting your chin up with his fingers before stealing another kiss. “or just me?”

KIM SUNOO

“yah—baby!” sunoo whines the second your lips press against his cheek, his hands flying up in protest as he dramatically inspects his reflection in the mirror. “i just did my skincare!” he huffs, lips jutting out in the cutest pout as he gently pats at his face like you just ruined hours of effort. but even as he complains, his ears turn pink, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to your lips, like he’s secretly hoping you’ll do it again. you grin, leaning in once more, and he gasps, swatting at you half-heartedly. “no, stop—” his words die the moment you kiss him again. a beat of silence. then, with a defeated sigh, he mutters, “fine… just one more.” but the moment you pull away, he’s already tugging you back in, stealing another kiss for himself.

YANG JUNGWON

the moment your lips press against his, jungwon’s eyes flicker with something playful. before you can even process it, he’s already pulling you onto the bed with a mischievous grin. “oh? you think you can just kiss me and get away with it?” he teases, and before you can answer, he’s peppering kisses all over your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead—each one quicker and more relentless than the last. you giggle, squirming under his hold as he hums in satisfaction, clearly winning whatever unspoken competition this has turned into. “hmm, i think i need more,” he muses, pinning you down just enough to press a dozen more kisses to your skin, his breath warm against your ear. “give up yet, baby?” but judging by the way he’s smiling, dimples on full display, he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

NISHIMURA RIKI

the second your lips press against his, riki freezes—only for a beat—before a slow, smug grin spreads across his face. “whoa, whoa, whoa,” he drawls, leaning back with a teasing glint in his eyes. “you kissed me first? are you feeling okay, baby?” he places a hand over his chest, gasping. “wait—don’t tell me… you’re obsessed with me, huh?” he wiggles his brows, laughing when you groan and shove at his shoulder. but just as you’re about to turn away, he catches your wrist, effortlessly pulling you back in. “nah, don’t get shy now,” he murmurs, voice softer, teasing lilt still there but laced with something warmer. before you can process it, he closes the distance, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “see?” he smirks as he pulls away, eyes twinkling. “told you—you’re totally obsessed.”

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[lymtw]

Movie Night

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Friday night is unofficially movie night for you and Toji. You always go back and forth on what you should do and options are tossed out, like a nice dinner or trying food from someplace new or going to a view and sitting in the trunk of his car with blankets and some snacks. Most of the time, all of those options are thrown out the window and you just end up sitting in your bed or his bed and watching movies together. It doesn't matter what you do, it's always good, and the sleep overs make it even better.

A knock on your door signals Toji's arrival. Though you haven't had any caffeine since the coffee you treated yourself to earlier in the afternoon, you feel jittery. You grab the surprise you have for him and walk over to answer the door. As soon as you pull the door open, there he is, looking handsome as always, even when he's donning a simple t-shirt and some sweatpants. He gives you that smirk of his—the one that makes your chest feel all warm and fuzzy, and wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. He has a bag in his hand, filled with the snacks he promised to bring.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Did you even miss me?" He teases, loving the way you gently nod as he speaks, like you're ready to prove that you did in fact miss him.

"Hi, Toji," you say, a smile spreading on your lips when you become overly aware of his focus on you. "I missed you. Come in." You move aside and let him into your cozy home, a place he's all too familiar with. He steps out of his slides and leaves them behind next to a pair of your shoes, his gaze never leaving you as he waits for you to lock the door after you shut it.

"What's that, doll?" Toji asks, when you approach him with full hands. There's a soft smile on your lips and your eyes shine like the stars that speckle the sky, as you extend the neatly folded pair of pajamas towards him. You have the most precious look on your face, as if you're showing him one of your most prized possessions—something you're proud of.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I still have the receipt. I just thought it would be nice to wear matching pj's."

You're not asking for much. Toji knows this. This is nothing—you're not asking him for anything. All he can think as he takes in the adorable look on your face, is that it would be an absolutely disgusting, heinous crime, to deny you of something so simple, something that would make you so damn happy. He can't bring himself to destroy you like that. In doing that, he would be chipping his own heart.

"What are you talking about? Let me see them," he says, laying his hands out for you to place the clothes on. You carefully place them in his hands and watch as he unfolds the articles. You don't know what he's thinking as he inspects the shirt, but the hum he lets out is nerve wracking. The shirt's design is minimalistic. It's a black t-shirt with three little stars on the left side of the chest and a small crescent moon on the back, a few inches beneath the collar, and then the bottoms are in the same plaid style as yours, just dark green instead of red.

"Is this why you asked for my clothing sizes a couple days ago?" He asks, pulling down his pants out of nowhere. You can't even try to hold back your laugh as you look away after getting a glimpse of his boxers, the sound just slips out. "What are you laughing at? Nothing you haven't seen before," he says, grinning amusedly at your giggles.

He unfolds the comfy pair of pants and slides them on. Immediately after, his shirt comes off, and it's as if he wants you to notice—to ogle him—because he takes his sweet time getting the new shirt on. He catches your eyes trailing down his torso, and then, he hears it, the flustered giggle that tumbles off your lips, the sweet sound he was waiting on. He smirks as he puts the new shirt on, and once again waits for your reaction. The shirt is a thicker material and fits perfectly, so do the pants. You're now matching, just like you wanted.

"How do I look?" Toji asks, doing a simple hands in his pockets pose.

"Handsome and comfy," you respond, warmth reaching your face as you take in the sight.

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks as he picks up his previous outfit and drops it on the arm of your couch. He hears your affirmative hum and catches your little nod as he steps towards you.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" He asks, a sly little smirk curling his lips. His hands rest on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "I've been waiting hours and hours," he murmurs, green eyes absorbing the pretty smile that begins to form on your lips. "I want my reward."

You know that it won't be just a quick kiss with Toji, but still, you stand on your tippy toes and tilt your head upwards, waiting for Toji to meet you. He leans down, holding eye contact with you, as his lips come closer and closer. Once his nose is right next to yours and you feel his lips ghosting yours, he stops. He just loves the way you can't hide your fluster and how whenever you can't take it anymore, you resort to something you should have some sort of award for, by now—giggling.

"You're precious, ma," he says, his voice low. Dark eyes scan and re-memorize, for the nth time, every inch of your joyful expression, before finally he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between you and him.

His hands grip the back of your shirt as he feeds off your soft lips. Kiss after kiss, each one gentle and patient, demonstrating how much he truly longed for you. You feel butterflies in your stomach when you focus on the warmth of his body pressed against you and the way his lips chase yours for another kiss when you think he's finally going to pull away. His hands dip beneath your shirt to feel the bare, soft, and warm skin of your back. The simple touch is enough to spread goosebumps all over you.

The final kiss is long. Your lips lock, but Toji stops there, not going with the usual synchronized flow of the previous kisses, and when you don't expect it, he lets out deep hum and releases your lips with a more audible smack. He gives you a dumb grin in response to the stars that returned to your eyes.

"Do the thing, baby," he says, rubbing your back while he waits for you to snap out of your minor daze. He stays in the same slightly leaned position and waits for the softness of your lips to meet his skin. You press a kiss onto the smooth scar on the corner of his lips for an equal amount of time as the long kiss you shared before and smile softly when you pull away, your feet flat on the ground, again.

His hands come out of your shirt and he grins at how bashful you've become, despite the amount of times you've done this. You wouldn't immediately know what "do the thing" means, if you weren't so accustomed to doing it.

"Got your favorites," he says, nodding towards the bag he set down on your couch. "Did you keep up with your end of the deal?" He jokes, expecting a proud nod from you, because you've never let him down.

"Lemon-lime or Cool Blue Gatorade, right?" You ask, walking towards the kitchen.

"That's right, doll," he confirms, following behind you.

After the wine incident, he chooses to stay sober with you. It's not that he doesn't want to experience drinking with you and see you be more laid back and playful, it's the fact that he knows that that version of you is altered by alcohol. Sober you isn't that way, and while he loves every version of you, your natural way of being is his favorite.

He could spend hours flustering and teasing you, watching the way you coil in on yourself when he stares at you for too long. Feeling the way your body melts against his when he holds you is one of his favorite things. He likes being able to coax you into voicing your thoughts, wants, and needs. Maybe you're a little more honest about deeper matters when you're inebriated, but Toji is smart enough to know that it's practically involuntary. It's like your secrets are being spilled without your permission and while he's glad to know these things in the moment, he would rather hear them from you when you aren't drunk.

"I got you both. I didn't know which you liked more, so I just got both of them," you say, grabbing them off one of the shelves in your fridge. You turn and hand the cold drinks to Toji before going back to grab the one you got for yourself. You step back and shut the fridge door, smiling at him when he just stares at you.

"What?" You question.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Just silently observes you standing in your small kitchen, in comfy, baggy pajamas that match his own. You're shifting on your feet, under his gaze, waiting for a response, but the response that he has in mind is a little too much for the lightness of the night. Something about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, something about coming home to you every day, something about putting a shiny rock on your finger. Something big, because his feelings for you are big.

"Nothing, ma," he says, tucking both juice bottles between his forearm and his side, so that he can rest his hand on the back of your neck as you walk back out to the living room. You grab the bag of snacks off the couch and head to your bedroom together.

You set the bag of snacks on the bed and sit down on your side. Toji has a designated side on your bed, which is, of course, the other side.

"Light on or off?" Toji asks, shutting the door.

"Off?" You say, with a questioning tone, leaving room for him to object. Shortly after, the room goes dark. Only your TV, which sits idly on its home screen, creates light that illuminates the walls. Toji walks around your bed and settles into his side.

"What are we watching, this time?" He asks, reaching for the pack of sour gummy bears.

"It's your turn to choose," you say, offering the remote to him. "Last time we watched a bunch of Disney movies. I don't know if you wanna do that again," you say, smiling sheepishly.

"You doubt your taste in things too much, ma. Those Toy Story movies were pretty good. Show me another one of your favorites."

"Alright," you say, in compliance. You go to the Disney+ application and search for another favorite. Nothing too sing song-y, because you feel like you're on thin ice already in playing these animated movies for him. You got away with Jessie singing "When She Loved Me" in Toy Story 2, because even he thought the poor cowgirl got a rough deal when she was abandoned.

"Ratatouille?" He reads. "What's that about?"

"We're about to watch it," you say, briefly turning over and smiling.

He hums as he looks over the caption beneath the title that explains the synopsis of the movie.

"The rat's gonna cook? This should be interesting."

Lo and behold, he's hooked. Neither of you has made a peep and you're both mindlessly snacking on candy and chips, sipping on Gatorade, while watching the crazy things in this rat's life unfold. Him and his brother survived being struck by lightning and being shot at by an old lady with a shotgun. That part seemed to amuse Toji plenty.

Towards the end of the movie, Toji turns to you with sour sugar unknowingly speckled on his lips from the candy he's been feasting on, and leans in to press kisses to your temple and cheek.

"Watch," you say, smiling at the softness that meets your skin.

"I'm watching," he murmurs, continuing on with his sticky kisses.

"Look, they're stealing food from the kitchen," you explain, shocked despite already knowing what's going to happen.

"Mm," Toji hums, seemingly interested, but continuing on with his affectionate, sugary pecks.

"Look, you're gonna miss it," you say, giggling as you gently push his face away. It completely backfires on you, because he just grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand down to continue on with his kisses.

"Come here," he says, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you so that you're sitting right beside him, your thigh touching his and your shoulder pressed into his side. With a few more pecks to your cheek and a couple to the top of your head, he faces forward and continues watching the movie.

"Damn, they got shut down?" He says, in disbelief.

"Mhm," you hum in response, unable to answer verbally due to the chips in your mouth.

"Oh shit, they're back," Toji says, taking in the remainder of the movie. "And Remy cooks without controlling Spaghetti?"

"Linguini," you correct, with a laugh. "But yeah. Linguini's a waiter, now, and Remy's a chef."

The artistic end credits begin to appear and you turn to look at Toji.

"So... what did you think?" You ask.

"That had more action than The Terminator," he jokes. "The old lady with the shotgun was trying take out Remy and his brother and then she tried to hit the entire colony of rats with gas."

You giggle as he goes in depth of what he remembers, as if to prove to you that he was watching.

"I liked that one too," he says, with a smirk. "Would definitely watch it, again."

"Good," you chirp, internally proud that you were able to show him something good. "Your turn," you say, offering him the remote.

"You go again," he says, grabbing another sour gummy to dodge the remote.

"Toji," you mumble. "You should choose something you like. I wouldn't mind watching something new, too."

In truth, Toji doesn't want to watch explosive, gore infested, action movies when he's with you. It's the only genre he's thoroughly explored apart from some comedy, so he leaves you to do the choosing of the movies and shows you watch together. It's a great way for him to give new things a chance, because even though it seems like he's always the one showing you how and loosening the tight grip you have on the shell that obscures you, he's constantly learning from you, as well.

"How 'bout this, baby... If you choose the next one, i'll choose the next three," he offers, squeezing the plush of your thigh.

"You promise?" You say, eyes darting from where his enormous hand rests on your leg, to his face.

"'Course. I don't lie to you," he says.

"Okay, then," you say, moving onto a different platform to find another movie.

"While I wait..." he mumbles, a soft smile curling on his lips. His hand moves from your thigh to your waist as he wraps his arm around you. He goes back to kissing the side of your face, soft, wet little smooches planted along your cheek and your jaw.

"Gorgeous girl," he hums, his voice a soft breath against your skin. "I'm dying to kiss those pretty lips."

Your lips curl as you continue skimming through the section of recommended movies. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing over the features of your face.

"Just a quick one and then i'll stop bugging you," he requests. "Please? You're teasing me without even trying."

"But I'm not even doing anything," you argue, with a small laugh.

"That's what i'm saying," he says, in agreement. "You're not even trying. You're just pretty like that. Makes me wanna kiss you 'til you can't breathe."

"What? You said a quick one, just a few seconds ago," you remind, your smile widening at the way he changed his mind about wanting the minimum of your affection.

"Yeah, but you know how greedy I am about you, mama. I want more and more of you, all the time." His gaze flits between your coy smile and the softness that lingers in your eyes. You haven't paused your skimming of the movies, but he knows you're staring at the screen, mindlessly, feeling his attention. "You want me to beg?"

"No," you instantly respond. It's the one thing you never allow him to do. He's too good to you, for you to make him beg. "You don't have to do that."

"So, kiss me, sweetheart," he says, shifting positions so that he's lying down on his side. He pats the pillow that cushions your lower back, signaling for you to lie down. Like the obedient thing you are for him, you click play on the random movie you landed on and set the remote aside, before lying down on your side, facing Toji.

"What movie did you decide on?" He asks, dragging his knuckles tenderly over your cheek.

"I didn't look at the name," you answer, softly.

"We can skip the intro, right?" He murmurs, smirking when he feels the warmth that reaches your face beneath his palm. His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek, back and forth as he keeps up with your gaze, even when it derails from his due to the tension in the moment.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice low, almost a whisper. His leg goes between your legs, just sitting there to achieve more physical contact with you. It doesn't go further than the desire to be innocently caught up in you and feel you pressed against him.

The first kisses—if they can even be called that—are tentative and teasing. Lips merely ghosting each other, barely grasping contact. It's enough to have your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. You hear a warm, rumbled chuckle coming from Toji.

"Closer," Toji hums, his hand splaying on your back and pushing you forward into him.

Finally, your lips connect. The feeling is warm, like you're being held, securely, without any intention of being released. The sound of the movie in the background is a mere whir, unheard through the imaginary force field created around you and Toji. It's just you and him, close as can be, living like nothing else matters as long as you have this love. Through gentle caresses, one unsteady heartbeat and an even unsteadier one, things are good.

Toji swears he will never feel this content and at peace anywhere else. You have a way of making him feel like he is everything. The way your eyes twinkle when you see him, the way you bare your soul to him every time you smile—it's love. It's pure, unadulterated love. He's your friend, your lover, your confidant, and he will never settle for being anything less than those things.

With one more brush of your lips, you both put the kissing on hold and lay there, just a little bit breathless. His hand rests on your lower back, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I love you so fucking much, doll. You know that?" He murmurs, his attention bouncing between your lips that won't stop calling for him to kiss them and the warmth in your eyes. "Fridays aren't just another day, anymore. Same for every day I get to see you or even just talk to you on the phone if we can't be together." A soft sigh escapes his nose, followed by a very brief pause. "You just know how to make things better, and I wish you would believe it because you feel that way too, not just because i'm telling you."

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"No. I don't want that, baby. Tell me something else."

"I love you, Toji," you say, ensuring that you speak clearly so that he gets the important words you need him to hear. "I like being around you. You'll never know just how safe you make me feel, but I do want you to know that it goes past the physical aspect."

He smiles, the expression soft, not telling of the giddiness that just spread throughout his body. A soft hum, followed by a somewhat frustrated sounding groan, precedes you being pulled into his tight embrace. You can't help the giggles that eventually evolve into laughter that just spills from you when he bombards your face with kisses. His lips press against your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips before he actually leaves a rapid barrage of pecks on your lips. Deep chuckles slip through his affectionate assault when you plant your hand on his chest, weakly pushing at him through the joyous sound of your laugh.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your entire body shaking through your nonstop laughter. Despite it being nighttime, Toji feels like he's kissing and cuddling with the sun. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much.

With one final, elongated kiss to your forehead, he relents and lets you catch your breath. Soft giggles continue to flow past your lips as you work on composing yourself.

"You drive me crazy, doll," he says, grinning at how your chest still slightly heaves. He could do this every night with you, in a shared bed, that is in your shared bedroom, in your shared home.

"Alright, let's see what this movie's about," he mutters, flipping onto his back. "Come here." By now, the two words are a staple to Toji's conversations with you, because he always wants you attached to him. He outstretches his arm, and waits for you to scooch over and lay your head on his chest. Once you settle in, his arm wraps around you, tightly.

As you both try to catch up on what is going on in the movie, you realize none of it is making sense. You think it might be futile to try and understand what is happening when it may have been explained during the intro, but neither you nor Toji mind it, and just continue watching through the confusion, because the intro to this movie was never going to be as good as the moment you shared during it.

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[sevikaslatinawife]

Hii! I love your writing :)

I wanted to ask, can you write something about Sevika putting on a bit of weight in a happy relationship? Like a small reverse of scenario people usually write for reader?

It's okay if you don't want to

Yes, yes I can. :’) Also @amortentia05 bc you had asked for one as well! Thank you for requesting and enjoying my writing, love! 🥹

Pinch of Love

Warnings: fucking fluff fluff fluff

“What the —“ Sevika grumbles as she looks down at her stomach.

For the first time in all her life, she can see the softness her body has taken. Nothing too noticeable if someone were to look at her with nothing to compare to, but she can tell.

Her abs are much less defined, sides and thighs soft and face slightly fuller.

“I’m getting fat!” She had told you one evening while you got ready for bed.

You had blinked and looked at her naked form — because yes, she sleeps in the nude. You furrow your brows and shake your head, finding nothing wrong in the curves she’s gained since your relationship began.

“You look fine,” You tell her, stepping up to cup her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” She huffs but still nuzzles into your palm.

“You look beautiful,” you insist, leaning up to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“My abs are gone,” she complains after you pull back.

“I can see them fine.”

“They’re not as defined.”

“You’re eating, that’s not a bad thing,” you giggle, bringing your other hand up to cup her other cheek. “You barely ate at all before we met.”

“So it’s your fault,” She grumbles but there’s no malice behind it. In fact, her eyes are practically sparkling as she looks at you, a barely-there smile tugging on her lips.

“It is, I take complete blame,” You laugh, pressing your thumbs into the apples of her cheeks. “I am so very sorry for making you so happy.”

“That’s awfully confident of you.”

“But you didn’t say I was wrong,” You muse, a playful smirk at the corner of your lips.

She narrows her eyes at you. “You aren’t wrong. You do make me…happy,” she almost whispers.

You smile at the words, knowing how hard it was for her to admit it when you first began seeing each other. How long it took her to find out why she was drawn to you in such an inexplicable way.

“You make me happy, too,” You assure, hands going to wrap around her waist. Hers wrap around your shoulders and bring you closer to her. You hum at the heat of her body and the newfound softness of her body.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” She teases, squeezing you tighter.

“Mm, I am. You’re very comfortable.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she kisses the top of your head. “And that I love you so much.”

You smile and look up at her, kissing her bare collarbone. “I love you, too.”

[captain-huggy-bear]

Reader yelling at Quinn infront of the boys because he didn't give her a goodbye kiss and them making fun of him (all in good fun)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

"Bye, baby, I'll see you after the game," Quinn smiles at you as he says goodbye and you're already leaning your head back, lips pursed waiting for your usual goodbye kiss when he just...walks away...you blink for a minute, taken aback before your brows furrow and you cross your arms, eyes tracking him as he turns his back to you. Following him as he moves towards Garland and some of the other guys.

You let out a purposefully loud cough low in your throat in an attempt to get Quinn's attention, but he's already in an animated conversation with Conor, laughing at something Conor has said. He doesn't turn your way, doesn't even appear to have heard you. It only makes your frown grow, a pout starting to develop because there was no way you were leaving without your goodbye kiss. It simply wasn't happening.

You try one more time to get his attention politely because you are nothing if not polite in your efforts to get the goodbye kiss that you are entitled to. You were raised correctly after all. Moving a few steps closer before you cough again, louder this time, some of the other Canucks looking in your direction but not the one you want. Kiefer and Tyler both starting to grin at the pout on your lips, the fold of your arms, your clear displeasure with your boyfriend, both knowing they were about to witness a highlight of their day.

You take a deep breath in, collecting enough air so that you're next words come out as a shout, loud enough that there is no possibly way Quinn won't hear you.

"Quinitin Jerome Hughes!"

He stops, freezes, turning slowly towards you with wide eyes. He looks as if he's done something terrible, unsure why you're yelling his full government name at him when he just say goodbye to you. The rest of his team watch on with various emotions ranging from their own wide eyed fear of you to amusement, holding back a laugh. Kiefer in particular is biting his lips hard, resisting the urge with everything in him.

"Baby?" If he sounds mildly terrified that's because he is, unsure of what he's done to deserve his full name being called.

"Don't baby me! Aren't you forgetting something?" You give Quinn an expectant look because of course he'll know what he forgot, right? There's no way he'd possibly forget now.

He blinks at you slowly, once, twice before answering unsure and confused, "I love you?"

"My goodbye kiss, Quintin!" You scoff at him, arms dropping to your sides heavily at his apparent disregard for your most important of goodbye rituals.

"Shit, sorry, baby..." He's scrambling over to you despite the laughs behind him as the team watch their captain practically trip over his own feet to get to you.

Still, your upset is all but forgotten when his hands cup your cheeks, melting into his touch as he leans forward to kiss you. It's not as brief as your usual goodbye kiss, like he knows he has to make it up to you, like he knows a quick peck won't be sufficient.

You ignore the wolf whistles, the shouts, the laughs as he kisses you, smiling into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Because this is a goodbye kiss. Lingering, longing, firmly and insistent, the sort of kiss that leaves you a little breathless when Quinn finally pulls back, forehead pressed to your own.

"Forgive me, baby?"

"You're forgiven."

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Omg i love your stories so much!

Can i make a request of Teen daughter of Charles of (do you remember that picture where Charles was standing on the side cause the fans were taking pictures with Alex? His face still makes me laugh) basically like that, maybe they are in Monza, and as we know Charles is the Ferrari prince, but the fans giving all the attencion (asking for pictures, pictures, yelling for her) while Charles stands on the side (all the drivers + wags are probally cackling at this kkk)

A Weekend to Remember

The sun was already shining brightly over the Autodromo Nazionale Monza as Charles guided the car through the bustling entrance, a familiar excitement buzzing in his chest. But this time, the nerves and anticipation weren’t just about the race. This year, his daughter, Yn, was sitting beside him, her eyes wide as she took in the chaos and beauty of the Italian Grand Prix.

"You okay?" Charles asked softly, stealing a glance at her while maneuvering through the crowds.

Yn turned to him, her face lighting up with a smile. "I still can't believe I'm here," she admitted, her voice full of excitement. "Mom almost didn’t let me come."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "I know, believe me. I had to beg for hours. Your mom worries too much."

"You do know you’re like, insanely famous here, right?" Yn teased, raising an eyebrow.

Charles sighed dramatically. "Ah, so you think I’m famous now, do you? I’m just doing my job."

Yn laughed, the sound bright and warm. "Come on, Dad. These people love you. It’s crazy."

As they pulled into the paddock entrance, the crowd’s energy was palpable. The sea of red—Ferrari caps, flags, and scarves—was impossible to miss. Even after years of driving, the love from the tifosi still amazed Charles. But today, all of it felt different. Better. Because his daughter was finally here with him.

When the car came to a stop, Charles exhaled slowly, glancing toward Yn again. "Ready?"

She nodded eagerly. "Let’s do this."

As soon as they stepped out of the car, the noise swelled. Fans cheered his name, waving banners with his face plastered across them. Charles instinctively placed a protective hand on Yn’s shoulder as they moved toward the entrance.

A group of fans rushed toward them, phones in hand. Charles smiled warmly, greeting them with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times before. "One at a time, yeah?" he said, already posing for selfies.

Yn stepped to the side, watching with a mixture of awe and pride. It wasn’t the first time she had seen her dad in this environment, but seeing the fans’ adoration up close was something else entirely.

"You okay?" Charles asked between pictures, his green eyes checking in on her.

"I’m good," Yn assured him. "It’s just… wow, Dad. They really love you."

He laughed softly, squeezing her shoulder before turning back to the fans.

When they finally made their way toward the pit lane, the crowd seemed to grow louder. Charles kept Yn close, guiding her through the familiar chaos of Monza. But just as they approached the Ferrari garage, something unexpected happened.

A group of fans rushed toward them again—but this time, their attention wasn’t on Charles.

"Yn! Can we get a picture with you?" one of them called out, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Yn blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Me?" she whispered, looking up at her dad.

Charles looked just as surprised, his mouth twitching in disbelief. "They’re asking for pictures with you," he murmured, almost to himself.

Another fan beamed at Yn. "Please? You’re amazing!"

Yn hesitated for a moment before glancing back at Charles. "Is it okay?"

Charles chuckled, still processing the situation. "Of course, if you want to."

She smiled and turned back to the fans, posing with them as they eagerly snapped selfies. Charles stepped back, folding his arms across his chest as he watched the scene unfold. His daughter—his little girl—was out here, posing for pictures like a natural.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

"Problem, mate?" a familiar voice teased from behind him.

Charles turned to see Pierre approaching, a knowing grin on his face.

"Not a problem," Charles replied, though his expression gave away his confusion.

Pierre clapped a hand on his shoulder. "My goddaughter’s an icon. What did you expect? She’s got the charm—it runs in the family."

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. "She’s not even supposed to be the famous one," he mumbled.

Pierre laughed. "Good luck with that. I think the Tifosi just adopted her."

After Yn finished taking pictures, she skipped back to her dad, her face glowing with excitement. "Did you see that? They actually wanted pictures with me!"

Charles felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest—a mix of pride and nostalgia. For a moment, it was like she was little again, running toward him after spotting something exciting. He reached out, pulling her into a hug before he could stop himself.

"I’m proud of you," he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity.

Yn tilted her head in confusion. "For what? I didn’t do anything."

Charles shook his head, hugging her a little tighter. "Just for being you."

She laughed softly, leaning into his embrace. "You’re such a softie, Dad."

"You’re going to give him a heart attack at this rate," Pierre teased from the side, clearly enjoying the show.

A few more drivers had gathered, and Charles could hear the quiet laughter behind him. Max smirked from a few steps away. "You okay, man? Need a minute?"

"I’m fine," Charles shot back, though the fondness in his voice was undeniable.

Carlos strolled up with a grin. "Your daughter is stealing your spotlight, mate. How does it feel?"

Charles just shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "I don’t mind. She deserves it."

Yn beamed up at her dad, squeezing his arm. "I still can’t believe I’m here. Thank you for convincing Mom."

Charles softened, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Anytime. I wanted to share this with you."

As they stood there—surrounded by the noise of Monza, the teasing of friends, and the love of the tifosi—Charles realized something. No matter how intense the race weekend got, this moment with Yn would be the one he’d hold onto.

And if the fans wanted to adopt his daughter as their newest icon… well, he couldn’t blame them.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoy reading this. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[rueclfer]

expecting you // shouto todoroki

a/n: based on a thought i had a couple weeks ago about shouto falling for one of touya's nurses <3 smau at the end bc i cannot resist hehe -> literally geeeekingggggg

shouto is quick to catch onto patterns as well as fall into them. it's one of those things that had been ingrained in him from a young age that he can't seem to shake off now as an adult.

"observe, figure them out, know their next move. c'mon shouto. get up."

he has the bus times memorized and recognizes the faces of the people waiting with him. he remembers and greets everyone working the midday shift at his favorite soba shop. he's apart of their routine as much as they are to him, so of course they'll already have his usual order ready as soon as he comes in. they always pack extra, but he knows better than to argue, so instead, he lets them send him off with a "see you next week" and a reminder to "make sure touya eats it all so he can get big and strong."

it's always a fifteen minute walk from the soba shop to the rehab facility, and he doesn't bother checking in at the front anymore. he nods a hello to the security guard and goes straight to touya's room.

this has been his weekly routine for the past five years.

shouto's eyes zero in on the glossy checkerboard pattern of the facility's floors.

white. blue. white. blue.

he knows it takes him about fifteen of each to get to touya's room at the end of the hall, but he counts in his head every time.

from outside of his door, he hears your exaggerated groan that if the door was open, he was sure it would've echoed down the hallway.

"no, you don't get it," you huff, "it's the favoritism. that's why sensei won't write me a recommendation letter."

"you're probably right. you are kinda annoying," touya responds.

it takes shouto a long time, a year at least, to hear anything but venom in his brother's voice. right now, he didn't have to see touya to know that he had a smirk on his face with that delivery.

you just had that effect on people.

as if on cue, your voice rang "shouto should be here by now," right as he clicks the door open.

"and there he is," you quip, "another minute and i would've called the cops."

"can't i ever be a little unpredictable?" shouto scoffs with a slight smile.

such a hypocrite.

he expected that eye roll. he knew you would shrug and cross your arms across your chest. it's comforting in a way, to know someone so intimately just from observation and fleeting conversations, because even though you're teasing him about his strict routine, you don't even realize how predictable you are.

while shouto sets the takeout on the counter to unpack its contents, you grab the arms of the chair and push yourself up onto your feet.

"alright, you guys have a good lunch. i'll stop by and say bye before i leave for the-"

touya groans and cuts you off, "you do this shit every week, stupid, sit down and eat with us."

"no, because if i sit here and eat with you guys, you're going to talk and talk and talk and not get any rest before group therapy."

touya deadpans.

"does it looks like i need a fucking nap before spending an hour listening to some losers vent about their lives?"

"yes?" you cock an eyebrow "aren't you pushing thirty? the elderly need their sleep don't they?"

"says the twenty something with no social life." touya bites back.

a dramatic gasp leaves your mouth.

"shou, listen to what your brother is saying to me." you jokingly whine.

"don't get me involved," he shoots you a playful side glance, "you're having lunch with us. for the sake of your social life."

"shut up." you mutter, the corners of your mouth quirking into a shy smile. he waits until you sit back down in your seat before holding out a bowl of soba for you to take.

"i have to argue with you about it, but when he offers, you don't say shit?" touya complains with a mouthful of soba.

"duh? why would i listen to your rude ass when shou's so sweet?"

shouto bites back a smile and takes a seat at the end of touya's bed, scooping a mouth full of noodles in his mouth, watching you do the same.

"y/n, did you even pack a lunch for yourself today?" shouto starts after finishing his bite, "or do you love having us beg for you to stay and eat?"

you're quiet for a moment, sucking in your cheek to suppress the sheepish grin and defeated chuckle that would eventually break through.

your eyes trail up from your bowl of soba to lock shouto's, hoping that the heat crawling up your neck hasn't blossomed across your cheeks.

he doesn't look away, but instead cocks an eyebrow with a sly smile. he already knows the answer.

-

shouto leaned against the doorframe waiting for you to complete the last of touya's update forms before clocking out for the day.

"someone's gonna take over for me and take you to therapy in a few, okay?" you say, scribbling in the last few notes.

"the cute one?" touya asks.

"mmmmm no, i don't think she's working today."

touya groans, "fuck my life."

"down bad." you announce, receiving an unsavory gesture from touya's prosthetic hand as you pretend to make a note of it on the clipboard.

you tuck the board under your arm, collecting the various papers and notebooks sprawled out on the counter before shoving them into your school bag.

"see you in a couple days. cross your fingers for this recommendation letter." you take one last scan around the room.

"offer still on the table if you want me to forge one for ya."

"how generous. i'll let you know when i get desperate." you laugh.

shouto holds the door open with his back, raising a hand to say his goodbyes.

"see you next week, touya. maybe this weekend with natsuo and the kids."

"see ya. walk y/n to their car alright? your daddy didn't raise an animal."

shouto rolls his eyes with a half-hearted chuckle, looking back one last time to nod a goodbye before the door closes behind you two.

"the cute one is in fact working today." you say with a proud smile once you've skipped further away from the room.

“oh?” shouto quickens his step to catch up beside you, “why lie then?”

“just setting him up to feel a lot of excitement later,” you shrug. “i think being a long-term patient and living the same days and routine over and over again can feel kinda gray and muddy, so it’s nice to be surprised every now and then don’t you think?”

rei’s face flashes in shouto’s mind for a moment and he thinks back on the first time he visited her in that old living facility. unlike her during that time, touya still has a gleam in his eyes- a faint spark despite all of these years.

“y/n.” shouto says after a moment of silence, pausing in the middle of the hallway.

“hm?”

you stop and turn back to see him bowed at a proper 90 degree angle with his hands flush against his sides.

your eyes widen, “shou? what are you-”

“thank you for taking care of my brother, thank you for being a friend to him...” he trails, “...and to me.”

shouto didn’t know when would be an appropriate time to straighten up. he stared down at the white and blue tiles at his feet as he silently prayed for the heat prickling the tip of his ears to dissipate before coming face to face with you again.

“you’re being silly,” you break the tension with a breathy chuckle.

shouto snaps back up, the apple of his cheeks flushed from the blood pooling to his face.

“i’m not. i need you to know that i’m grateful.”

“you don’t have to thank me, shou,” you continue your walk back to the nurse’s station with shouto following close behind “i hardly do anything- i’m not even a nurse, you know? not yet at least. i think it’s funny that i got hired on because of your stubborn ass brother, but even if i wasn’t tied to a payroll, i’d still be here. you guys are my friends too.”

you keep your pace quick- always one step in front of him with your head hung low. there wasn’t much you could do to mask your blush. your face was burning hot, and this hallway was only so long.

“well, if you’re not going to accept my thanks, then let me treat you to lunch.” he leans against the counter as you round the corner behind the desk.

“you treat me to lunch every week,” you laugh.

“it would just be you and me.”

your fingers pause over the keyboard as you’re typing in your employee code. you look up from the screen and meet his eyes with your smile faltered and mouth slightly gaped open. 

“just you and me?” you repeat.

he nonchalantly nodded his head as his hands were sweating through the front pockets of his pants. 

shouto had gone out one on one with classmates and friends before, and he was sure that an outing with you would be like any other dinner, but there was a twinge of anxiety sitting in his chest as he waited for your answer.

i think something’s wrong.

well thank god i’m surrounded by nurses…and you.

“i mean, if he wants, we can put in a day pass request for touya and invite the other siblings. i just thought…” shouto sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, not quite sure what it was that he thought. “...that we…i…”

a year ago when you were just a student looking for volunteer hours, touya gave you an in-depth run down of each family member “just for when you have the misfortune of meeting them. don’t fall in love, alright? mr. perfect has that effect on people.”

it wasn't until now, with shouto's flushed cheeks, chewed bottom lip, and avoidant eyes that you understood what his brother had meant.

you’ve never seen the todoroki’s golden child, as touya liked to describe him, stumble over his own words before. you watch him pause for a moment to search for the right words, panic settling in behind his gaze as his eyes flicker between his twitching fingers tapping against the counter and your own.

“you and me, then.” you confirm, breaking the silence as the corners of your mouth lift into a shy smile.

“yeah?” he says with a sigh of relief.

you reach over, pulling a pen out from its holder and lean over the computer. you click the pen and grab shouto’s hand before scribbling your number in the soft flesh of his palm.

xx - xxxx - xxxx -> y/n :P

“also, my classmate’s picking me up today for a study session, but to keep touya’s word, i’ll make you walk me to my car next week,” you wave shouto off with a wide grin as you begin to walk backwards towards the exit, “text me, okay?”

shouto glances down at the numbers adorning his palm, still feeling the point of the pen digging into his skin. he looks back up at you. his mouth is slightly gaped open, but nothing comes out. with the same palm, he holds it up, waving you goodbye until the automatic doors close behind you.

you turn around one last time to see shouto walking off in the opposite direction towards the other exit with his palm held out in front of him and his phone in the other, making sure to have your number saved before the ink smudges away.

“so predictable.”

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis @haruhi269 @starliightfiend

shouto tag: @bitchyfestivalbouquet

[harrysxcarolina]

sweet lil secrets

b. eilish; don't worry, i won't tell pt 2

pt. 1

warnings: wlw, soft!billie, top!billie, costars, no plot, cussing, smut, fem!reader, slight teasing, flirting, half proof read...

Quickly tying your hair up out of your face as you plop down in your hair and makeup chair glancing up in the mirror seeing yourself for the first time in the last couple hours. Definitely not expecting it to go the way it did. A small smile works its way across your cheeks. Your hair is disheveled and all over the place. Your cheeks are bright pink while your lips are slightly swollen from the scene you just encountered. Your heart is still slightly beating against your chest as your mind replays Billies soft whimpers. You can still feel the pressure of her against your burning skin. Softly tracing your skin with your fingertips as your bottom lip gets captured between your teeth. 

“Please keep touching me.” 

“You feel so fucking good baby.”

The soft knocking against the metal door pulls you out of your thoughts. Shaking your head as you quickly get up and go to open the door. Eyebrows furrowing as you take in the dark haired girl standing bashfully on the other side of the door. Her hands lay at her sides, her fingers gently tapping along her thigh as her hair gently blew in the warm breeze.

“Hi.” You say with a coy smirk. Looking up at you through her lashes she matches your small smile. Whispering a soft hello in return. The sun brightens the blue in her eyes as her cheeks heat up at your stare. Your tongue swipes across your lips as you invite her into your trailer.

“How ya feeling, Eilish?” You ask with a smirk as you plop back down into your chair crossing your legs as you hold your gaze on her. Slightly rocking back and forth on her heels as her hands dig deep into her sweatpants pockets. The sweats are barely hanging on her hips. Her shirt slightly bunched above her waistline showing off her porcelain skin and the tattoo that permanently lays along her lower torso. Her dark locks cascading down her back as her bangs fall her vision. 

Her bottom lip falls between her teeth as she tries desperately to fight back her bashful and slightly embarrassed smile. “Good. Uh-“ Her bottom lip captured between her teeth, eyes dropping down your body before working their way back up to yours, “really good.” She states as she kicks the tip of her shoe along the floor as she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair cheeks heating up at her confession. 

“Good, I’m glad.” You reply as a chuckle leaves your lips. Her fingers fumbling with the rings lining her hands. 

“So what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask motioning for her to take a seat. Taking a deep breath as she makes her way to the little loveseat across from you. Bouncing her leg anxiously as she nibbles on her bottom lip. Trying to find the words to explain what had happened only just moments before. 

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry and that it was very, actually extremely, unprofessional of me.” She states quickly as she clasps her hands together in her lap in hopes that it would seize the butterflies raging in her tummy. Her gaze avoids yours as she taps her foot. The soft taps echoing in the small trailer. The sunlight peeking through the window shining against her blue orbs. Her dark lashes make them brighter each time she blinks as she slowly brings her stare to yours.

“Don’t stress it.” You hum standing up and moving to sit next to her. “I guess it could happen sometimes.” You state with a shrug as her eyes follow you. You don’t miss the way her breath hitches as she notices the very little amount of space between the both of you once you sit down next to her. You can practically feel the heat radiating off her body as her cheeks turn a bright red. A small smirk plays on your lips as you lean a tad bit closer to her. The tension thick in the air as your shoulders barely brush, your free hand reaching up and tucking her loose bangs behind her ear. Her cheeks once again heat up at the intimate touch as the tip of her tongue glides across her lips. A soft chuckle leaves your lips.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone Billie-“ you whisper as your fingers brush gently across her cheek. Feeling her burning skin beneath your fingertips as she carefully leans into your touch. Her eyes closing as you trace your fingers down her jawline. The pause between you both lingering only for a moment before Billie felt the heat of your breath on her ear as your hands snaked their way around her waist. Slightly tugging her closer to your side. Your fingertips teasing her skin as you trace right above the waistline of her sweatpants. Her head falls back against your shoulders as you slowly slip the tip of your middle finger inside. Tracing her skin feeling the way her breath gets caught as you find the lace of her underwear. Her eyes clenching close as her hand grips the edge of the loveseat. 

Smirking against her neck, “I won’t tell anyone how you lost yourself over my thigh. How you begged me to keep touching you-“ your finger slips under her lace thong finding her clit as the tip of your tongue teased her earlobe. Her hands quickly grip your arm through her pants as her hips buck unintentionally. Holding your hand perfectly still as she fights her chest heaving up and down. Her breathing was harsh and loud in your ear. Her mouth dry as she feels her heart racing against her chest.

“What a beautiful whimpering mess you were Bils-" you whisper as you tilt your head to look down at her. Her body completely fell into you. Head drawn back with her red swollen lip between her teeth trying desperately to fight back the moans wanting to escape. Her dark hair fanning out across your shoulder as her head lays completely against you. The tint of her cheeks rosy and pink as her eyes fight to stay open. Your eyes trace every line, freckle, curve along her face leading you to her lips. god you wanted to kiss her so bad.  

“Tell me, who made you that wet Billie?” You question as you trail your lips along her neck. Your finger slowly but firmly circling her clit. Her hips fighting to buck against your fingers but your arm wrapped around her torso stops her movements, her grip on your wrist tightening as your teeth sink into her neck. Her moans sound like sweet melodies in your ears as your fingers slowly work themselves into her wet folds. Your fingers squeeze her hips as your smirk grows along her neck.

“Who made you such a whimpering mess?” You ask soft and sweet as you capture her earlobe between your teeth. “Holy fucking shit-“ she moans as your words seep into her burning skin. “You. You did. Please-“ Billie begs as she desperately tries to grind up against your fingers. Her free arm encloses around the back of your neck pulling you tighter against her body. Your head now deep in her neck leaving your mark all along her flush skin as her fingers tangle deep into your hair.  

Chuckling, “is that so sweet girl? Who would have thought?” You hum as your fingers tease her folds feeling her wetness seeping through your fingers. You couldn't stop your mind from going wild with all the ways you wanted to continue to make her whimper and moan more.

“Fuck Billie-“ you moan loudly. “You’re so fucking wet already.” Without thinking your hips rut up against her ass at the thought of you being the cause of her being this wet. The fact that you got her off during a scene and it was definitely not scripted was a shock in itself. 

Yeah you guys flirted and teased each other, but you didn’t think it would lead to this. Leading you to being the cause of her whimpering state. Billie had a naturally flirty personality. She unintentionally flirts with everyone. Always making people laugh and welcoming them into the group. It felt natural between the both of you. 

Billie couldn’t take it anymore. Removing you from her grip she quickly spins around, trapping you against the loveseat. Her hand firmly gripping the cushion next to your neck, the other tightly gripping your hip. Pinning you between her and the cushions. Your ragged breaths match as her icy orbs stare down at you. Her thigh sliding its way between yours firmly, pressing it against your aching core. Your eyes roll back as a soft moan leaves your lips, her grip on your hip tightens. Her hips bucking against yours as she lowers herself into your neck. 

“If you grind that pretty little pussy of yours against me again I can’t promise that I won’t fuck you senseless later.” Billie seethed against your neck as you felt her hot breath sliding across your skin leaving goosebumps in its trail. Her teeth graze your skin as she flexes her hips against yours. A deep moan leaves both of you. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” She mumbles into your neck. "How long I've wanted to explore every inch of your body. All the long nights on set. All your teasing looks. God, you've been driving me mad." Her words drip down your skin like warm honey as your back arches into her touch.

Your hands reaching up and tangling themselves into her hair. Pulling her flush against your lips as your hips buck up grinding against her throbbing heat. Her hand grips your hips tighter as she works her hips against yours. Lips tangled together as your heads tilt deepening the kiss. Her hand working its way down your body feeling the way you’re reacting to her. Every breath, whimper, every shake and groan. All because of her now. She wanted to devour every inch of you. 

Pulling apart to catch your breath, your chest heaving up against hers. Her forehead lands on your shoulder as her fingers flirt with your waistline. “You were toying with me out there,” she grumbles against your shirt. “With your teasing tone. You soft touches. Your little whimpers.” She whines as she lays a wet kiss along your collarbone. Working her way across the collar of your shirt. Her teeth captured it tugging it signaling she wanted it off. Sitting up and quickly pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor. Your hair falling down your back as she gently pushes you back down. Wasting no time tracing her lips across your cleavage that was being pushed up by your bra. Groaning against your skin as she leaves gentle love bites in her wake before working her way back up.

Her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she lets her hot breath trickle down your skin. Causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Now it’s my turn to play with you.” She moans. Her hands snapping the waistline of your pants against your lower torso. Your head leaning back against the couch as you urge her to take them off arching up into her touch. Gliding the material down your thighs as her eyes follow in their trail. Lip stuck between her teeth as she watches you lift your hips sliding your underwear down shortly after.

Her hands dance their way back up your thighs as her gaze meets yours. Her stare is intimidating as you fight the moans desperately trying to escape your swollen lips. Her grin grows as her fingertips trace the outline of your core. Barely brushing against you leaving you begging for more. Her lips hot on your skin as she kisses her way down your body. Stopping briefly to show appreciation to each one of your breasts before she works her way down your torso. Teeth grazing every so often as she flicks her tongue across your skin. Moaning as the saltiness of your body. Her fingers continue their tease as she taps her fingers lower between your folds. Her moans send vibrations throughout your core as she slowly sinks the tip of her middle finger into your cunt. 

Grasping the baggy shirt dangling in the space between your bodies, your hips rut up into her touch. Mouth hanging open as her head hangs against your shoulder. Her breathing ragged as she feels you quivering under her touch. Her hips gliding across your thigh as she thrust her finger completely inside you. Brushing against your walls deliciously as you rotate your hips trying to spread the friction you were craving. Sliding your hands up under her shirt. Making quick work to unclasp her bra and grope her swaying breasts. Her moans loud and raspy in your ear as you squeeze and toy with her breasts. 

Flirting with her nipples as you twist and pull each one between your fingertips. Losing yourselves in the rhythm of your hips, your lips crashing together. Tongues grazing and teeth pulling each other's lips. Neither one of you is willing to forfeit the battle for dominance. Groaning in each other's mouths as Billie works another finger deep inside you. Twisting and rubbing against all your spots as her thumb works your clit. Grinding your hips harder against her fingers as your hand works its way deep into her locks. A deep raspy groan leaves her lips as you tilt her head up. Breaking up the kiss as you force her to look at you. Her eyes were wild and wide. Her cheeks are a deep red and her lips were a soft pink. Swollen and begging to be kissed as she looks down at you. Your harsh breathing matches as you lick your lips a smirk working its way across your cheeks. 

Her lips are mirroring yours as you softly whimper your request in her ear. Her eyes rolling back as she bucks her hips against yours. Sliding her fingers out and between her lips as she tastes you for the first time. Making sure to not miss a drop as she glides her tongue across and between her soaked fingers. Eyes locking with yours wearing an evil smirk noticing the way her eyes darken as she glides her hand up your torso. Feeling your warm skin beneath her fingertips as she works her hand to unclasp your bra. Removing your bra completely before gripping the hem of her own shirt and tossing it somewhere behind her. Your eyes grow wide as you watch her slowly slide her bra straps the rest of the way down her arms. Her breathing is soft and steady as she reminds you to keep your gaze. Demanding your attention as she slowly slides her sweatpants to the pile. Her fingertips hooking in her lace thong as she sways her hips, wiggling the material down her smooth skin. 

Your request is still on her mind as she slides down off the couch and between your thighs. Her hands gripping softly as she slowly aids them open. Leaning down and brushing her lips against your skin. Teasing you as she glances up at you through her lashes. Her tongue glides across her lips before scattering kisses along your inner thigh. Your back arching off the loveseat as your hands grasp your breast. Squeezing and pulling as you rut your hips up silently reminding her where you wanted her. Her grin grows as she continues taking her time kissing every inch she can reach. Her lips venture closer to where you need her; you feel her fingers squeeze your thigh. Flexing her hand as the cool metal of  her rings leaves a chill shooting down to your core. 

“Billie please!” You whimper and beg as you slouch further into the couch. Arching into her grasp as her lips make their way to your core. Your toes barely reach the floor as you feel her hot breath fanning across your drenched core. Her arms looping around your hips pulling her fuller off the edge. Her tongue peaking out between her swollen lips as it flicks gently across your aching bud. Your nerves were on fire. Every single touch had your body firing electricity from the tips of your toes to the tip of your nose. Her teasing flicks against your aching bud had your hips frantically and shamelessly grinding against her wet talented tongue. She gently squeezed your hip as she finally captured you between her teeth and sucked on you until you swore you saw stars. 

Panting as you aimlessly look for something to grab onto. Reaching one hand down and tangling it deep into her dark locks as you guide her mouth completely against you. Her groans fill the room as she sucks, licks, and nibbles at your core. Working her tongue and fingers perfectly against you as she slides two deep between your folds.

Hitting that sweet spongy spot deep inside you perfectly over and over again as her thrust get deeper and harder. Her tongue and lips sucking your clit as you moan out her name. Whimpering and moaning as you work your hips against her face. Her icy blue eyes staring up at you as her tongue sticks out. Slipping between your folds and swallowing every single last drop you were offering as she watched you get closer to your orgasm. 

Her lip between her teeth as her arm flexes and her grip on your thigh tightens. “Fuck, do you know how good you look right now.” Billie groans as she moves her free hand up your body. Taking her time as she runs it across every inch. Caressing your body as if you were made of glass. Her fingertips dance across your skin as they reach your under boob. Your breath catches. Her fingers continuing their sweet torture inside you as she curls them just right. Your hips rutting against her hand as your hands reach for her neck. Pulling her up and flush against you as her breast rubs up against yours. Breathing heavy in your ear as she quickens her thrust causing your fingers to dig into her skin. 

Your ears ringing as your legs clench around her digits. Her arm sliding up under your back and holding you tighter against her as her lips search for yours. Tangling together in a sweet kiss as you feel your body start to crumble under her. Your hands gently cupping her cheeks as she straddles your thigh. Her fingers never faulting as they cause the familiar tingles to start building deep in your belly. Moaning against her lips as you feel her gentle sway of her hips. 

Her wetness spreads across your thigh causing you to pull apart from the kiss. 

“Shit,” You moan, leaning your head back against the back of the loveseat. “You’re so fucking wet Bils.” You whimper as you thrust your leg up against her dripping core. Her fingers twisting and curling even faster as she feels you clench around her digits. 

“Do I feel good, pretty girl?” Billie groans as her voice drops an octave. Her hot breath fanning against your skin as her lips lay a chaste kiss to your sweaty skin. Nodding your head as a soft whimper escapes your lips. Your hips rotating and grinding against her thigh as her fingers bring you to the brink of your orgasm. 

“I need words ma, tell me who’s making you feel good?” She whines in your ear as her hips grind faster against you. Her breath heaves as she feels your legs clench around her. “You feel so good. Fuck Billie!” You moan as your lips find her neck. Capturing her skin between your teeth as you rut against her faster. Making sure to leave your mark along her neck as you feel yourself climbing higher. Your mind is completely in the clouds as you feel Billie on every surface of you. 

Your breathing harsh against her chest as you feel everything around you get quiet. Your heart racing and your vision blurry as she repeatedly hits your sweet spot. Your toes curling and legs clenching around her as your body finally lets go of the losing battle. Your moans bouncing off the walls of your trailer as your fingers grip and grasp at her naked back. Her groans dance in your ears as her hips rut a final time before her body goes stiff. Her lips heavy on your neck as she nips and sucks your sensitive skin. Her orgasm washes over her like cool water on a hot day. Moaning as she feels your hands slide down to her hips encouraging her to keep her motions against your thigh. Her fingers are still thrusting deep inside you at a steady pace as you both try to ride out your highs. 

With heavy sighs and sore limbs you both rest against each other trying to catch your breaths. Your fingers gently tapping along her hip as she lays featherlight pecks along your jaw. Humming softly as you can’t fight the smirk working its way across your cheeks. A chuckle ripples off Billies chest as she furrows her face deeper in your neck once again trying to her bashfulness. Her cheeks burning up as you gently grip the back of her neck pulling her up out of your neck. Eyes glancing up at her as your smiles match. Her lip held tightly between her teeth as she reached down and brushed her fingertips across your features. Her eyes were bright and excited as neither one of you were ready to burst this unexpected little bubble you were in. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Billie asks with a sneaky mischievous look in her eyes. Your smile only grows as you quickly nod your head yes. Pushing her up off your body as you both begin to dress before you both make your way out of the trailer. Not really sure where this all will lead but you definitely weren’t complaining. Not when you felt her hand gently tug on yours before she slowly interlaced your fingers. Leading you towards her parked car. When the raging fluttering of butterflies overtook your tummy when you felt her fingers gently dancing across your thigh as she drove you both back to the hotel. Your skin burning under her touch as the anticipation grew more than you could bare as she pushed you through the door and onto the bed. Her lips leave a hot trail as she sucks and licks your neck. 

Her smirk is undeniable as she lowers her lips to your ear, “Mm don’t worry pretty girl, I won’t tell anyone either…” 

[noosayog]

Sitting at the bar, alone, is far from Atsumu’s ideal Friday night. 

But Bokuto’s busy, Shoyo has a date, and Omi, well… he didn’t even bother to make an excuse. Some friends they are, especially when he’s going through a breakup. 

It does get better, minorly, when you, a pretty stranger, decide to sit in the stool directly to his left. Never mind that the bar is full and the seat next to his is the only free spot.

You’re pretty, dressed in something casual, yet memorable. He’s content to simply sit beside you, fantasizing scenarios in which he charmingly and successfully gets you to join him for a drink and dinner soon, when he hears you. 

“So how’s your night going?” 

“Uh.”

You giggle lightly. He feels his face flush a shade deeper. 

“Articulate, aren’t you?” 

Atsumu chokes out an awkward chuckle. “I’m usually better than this.” 

“Yeah?” You lean further in, propping your chin on your hand. 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence. Your smile drops. Oh, you’re definitely about to turn to your left and try your luck with the other guy sitting on that side. 

“Um-” 

“Ok, whatever,” you say. “I’m just gonna come out and ask. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Uh, no. I’m actually going through a-”

You hold a hand up. “I don’t really wanna hear details. So you’re single? Not seeing someone? Not trying to see someone?” 

“No.” 

“Cool. Wanna make out with me? No strings attached, of course.” 

“Uh?”

“You’re not really doing too hot convincing me that your normal is better than this. Make out.” You gesture, lips puckered. “With me. Just looking for a little fun tonight, you know?” 

Yes, he does want to make out with the pretty girl sitting next to him, so charming, he thinks he might’ve fallen in love. But instead, what he says is- 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean it’s not really my things to hook up with someone right when I meet them and I’m going through a fresh breakup…” 

You sit back up, swiveling your stool so you’re facing the bar now. “No worries. I don’t wanna pressure someone who’s not down. Have a good night then.” 

You turn back to your book, which he didn’t even notice was there. A sip of your drink, knife to the conversation. 

Atsumu probably spends a good while racking his head for a way to restart the connection when he hears you order another drink. He keeps his head down, discreetly eavesdropping as you flirt with the bartender. 

The bartender rests both arms on the bar to lean closer to you, clearly bewitched. Not that Atsumu doesn’t understand but doesn’t this guy have a job to do? He makes a mental note to write a bad google review later. 

“So…” the bartender croons, “I heard your proposition for Blondie over there.” 

Excuse him? He’s sitting right here still! 

“If he’s not interested-”

“Who said I’m not!” 

Both sets of eyes whip toward him. 

“Bro, we both heard you say-” 

“Okay, so can’t a guy make a mistake?” He turns to you, voice accusatory. “Guys say things when we’re nervous. I’m nervous, okay? I’ve never been asked to make out with some like you,” he gestures up and down. “I am so interested in making out with you.” 

You blink once, twice, before turning to the bartender. “I think I’m done drinking for the night.” 

You turn toward him. 

“Put my drinks on blondie’s tab. He’s closing out now.” 

Atsumu hardly remembers throwing a couple of bills on the table before you grab his hand, trailing after your tinkling laughter. 

–

“- and that’s how I met your mother.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“No way she asked you, of all people, at that bar to make out with you.” 

”Seems kinda farfetched, Atsumu…” 

The MSBY team is gathered in your living room, your one year old son babbling on Atsumu’s lap. 

“Hey! No swear words around my son.” 

His teammates roll their eyes. 

“You’re so full of it. No way that story-”

“What are you guys talking about?” You enter the room with a handful of beers. 

“How you and Atsumu met.” 

“Oh, you mean how I asked him to make out with me?” 

“No fucking shot!” 

“Language!”

[mediumgayitalian]

"Don't worry about me."

"I'm allowed to worry for people when they are doing stupid, foolish things."

"You worry about everyone."

"False. I've never worried about Cecil Markowitz a day in my life."

Nico snorts, tugging on his boot and yanking on the laces. "Right," he drawls, "and the insistence on walking him fourteen entire fucking miles to the bus stop at the end of camp was because..."

Will flushes. "Because he's stupid, okay. He's actually unwell. I checked his brain and everything. If I leave him alone too long he'll get kidnapped, and then what?" He cocks a hip to one side, crossing his arms and tapping his foot and generally just looking like a carbon copy of his mother. Nico mourns his lack of camera. He needs to send Naomi another snapshot for the Wall of You Do Act Like Me, You Little Shit. "What am I gonna do if he dies, huh? Resort to off-brand Twizzlers? I'd rather kill myself."

The frayed ends of his laces cooperate, finally. He desperately needs new combats but the thought of having to break in a new pair makes him want to strangle the nearest karpoi. Any one of them would do.

Nico pushes himself to his feet, cupping both sides of his boyfriend's scowling face and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, holding there until he feels them soften. He smiles, snickering at Will's huffy pout.

"I am doing one errand," he says, exasperated. "Just one."

Will throws his hands up. "You know who else did one errand?! Orpheus! That's right, dumbass, and he died! So!"

He waves his hands again, because obviously he cannot simply make his point with his words alone. Oh, no. His whole body needs to get involved, or else there is Not Enough Emphasis.

Gods, Nico loves him to death.

To death, and then some.

"You are more dramatic than your father," Nico says, kissing him again before pulling away. "You know that?"

"I thought you loved me," Will grumbles. "I thought you loved me, and then you go around saying such insulting things. Don't you love me? People who love me would never say that to me."

"I have actually heard that exact speech come from Apollo's mouth. Twice, at least."

"I'm about to commit a felony. It rhymes with shmassault and battery."

"Shut the fuck up," Nico says, but he's grinning. Will is scowling hard but doing a very bad job of it, and Nico can actually see the don't you dare fucking laugh you're mad at him you have to stay mad at him flashing around in his eyes.

Nico swipes his thumb gently over his freckled cheeks.

It does not take very long for him to cave.

"I'm just worried," he admits, sagging into Nico's hold. His head, as it always has, fits perfectly in the crook of Nico's neck. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to his temple.

"Knew it."

"Shut up." The quick curve of his exasperated smile twitches against Nico's collarbones. "I just mean. Gods above, Nico. It's all the way across the country."

"I shadow travelled all the way across the world, once," Nico reminds him. He runs a hand through fraying curls. "I was fourteen at the time."

"Yeah, and you almost fuckin' died."

Will pulls away, agitated, and Nico lets him. The fraying curls get worse with every tug of his twitching hands, and the sound of his own echoing pacing makes him jump. The bags are deep and black under his eyes.

Nico sighs.

"Will," he says, and words hard to keep the frustration out of his tone, "Will, sweetheart, you cleared me."

But Will isn't listening. The mumbling has started, and so has the fidgeting; the bandages around his arms twist, and twist, and tug, leaving red marks on his bruised wrists.

"Monitoring hymn," Nico hears him mutter. "Or a lifeline..."

Nico checks his watch. He's -- well, he's late, technically, but he's never been punctual even one time, so it's fine. He's got time. He flops to the marble floors, leaning against his bedpost. He watches his boyfriend, notes the flicker and flash of his glowing freckles, of his spattered burn scars.

You and I both know you will be fine, Chiron had said. He had sighed, long and aged and hard, and stared at his buzzing, fritzy student. It will be good for him. Exposure.

"Will," he calls, eventually. "Tesoro."

Will stops. He blinks, coming back to himself, to the cabin. He searches around, eyes settling on Nico's comfy spot on the floor.

He sighs, shoulders sagging. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He stands there a long while, still except his breathing, tense.

"Everything is -- green," he says eventually, voice small. "I don't know how to stop it."

"You know how to make it worse," Nico points out, as gently as he can manage. "You've been spiraling for weeks."

"Not -- weeks."

"Since the start of the month."

"Yeah, only a few days."

"It's the thirtieth, Will."

He looks up, eyes wide. "No." He blinks. "Actually?"

Nico's smile is small and sad. "Yes."

"I thought -- I thought --"

"I know."

He doesn't really. He's watched it for years, but he doesn't -- understand, not in the way he understands the depression, the anger, the grief. He and Will have more things in common than they don't, but he doesn't spiral. Not like Will does. His pain has always bubbled and burst its way out of him, tingeing the edge of his vision red and igniting the curl of his fists. His pain has made him quick. His pain has made him quick, it has made him bitter, it has made him miserable, but it has always pushed him forward.

Will's pain gets curled up endlessly inside him, twisting his insides to knots.

It robs him, sometimes.

"Come here."

Will does. The fight has drained out of him, and there are tears in his eyes, even as he tries desperately to blink them away. His bandages lay limp at his sides, fluttering in the breeze from the still-open door.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he says, somewhat desperately. He turns so they're facing each other, criss-crossed knees knocking. "I do."

"I know," Nico says. He manages a small smile. "I always know that, Will."

"Good." His bright eyes soften in relief, fingers rubbing at his sternum. "You -- you're powerful, Death Boy. More than anyone I've ever known."

Nico raises his eyebrows. "Careful with that, Sunshine. You're going to get smited."

"Smote."

"Don't correct me when we're having a vulnerable moment."

"Don't need correcting, then."

Nico's smile widens. Will's, this time, matches, dimple flashing on his left cheek. Nico presses his thumb there, relishing in the sudden heat of Will's face and accompanying rolled, flustered eyes. He lingers, and stares, and stares, even as Will squirms, as the glow turns into something hotter than blood heat.

"I'm going to be okay, my love."

"I know."

"It's one jump. Hazel is waiting, unicorn draught at the ready in case I start swooning like a damsel."

"I know."

"Even my dad knows."

"I know."

"I would actually have to try to die, Will. Like there would have to be real effort on my part."

"Just --" he scrunches up his nose -- "I don't know what you could say that would make me less scared of it. Of losing you."

"I mean it would kind of suck if you did." He tilts their foreheads together, because it looks stupid as shit at this angle, and he knows Will'll laugh. He's right. "Since you love me and everything."

"I suppose it's one of those conditions," Will allows. "The whole caring if you up and die thing."

"Yep."

"S'a real pain in the ass."

"You're telling me. I was just fine being an emo loner, not giving a fuck about anything, and then you had to go ruin it. Now I gotta stress about your wellbeing and shit."

"Must be exhausting."

"Miserable." He reaches for Will's hands and squeezes, hard, until Will squeezes back. "It is the most important thing to me, though. Ever."

Will swallows. "Okay."

"I love you, Will Solace. Even when you are annoying about grammar and when you are prodding me about my iron levels and when you are so far in your head you're losing time." He pulls back slightly, just enough to press a kiss to Will's knuckles. "Especially then."

"I love you, too." Will swallows. "You'll be okay."

"I will."

"And you'll IM me when you get there."

"I will."

"And I'll be okay. Waiting."

Nico smiles softly. "You will be."

Will takes a deep breath. He nods. He stands, pulling them both up, and walks to the darkest corner of the Hades cabin, shoulders tense but face brave. He turns, exhaling slowly, and brushes invisible lint of Nico's shoulders, hands lingering.

"I will see you when you get back," he says.

"When I get back," Nico echoes. He kisses him again. "Worrier."

Will huffs, and Nico laughs, and he lets go, and Will lets him, and he steps into the familiar darkness, and the last thing he sees before the shadows envelope him is the trust in Will's light eyes.

[abyssyby]

messy spaces

— your boys try very, very hard to keep a secret…

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: rocket baby & shy baby's (also referred to in my head as sunlight (lucian/cian) & sun-warmth (kyros/kyro)) debut! a little self-indulgent, soft sylus family moment bc he'd be a great husband and a wonderful father of two sensory-seeking boys. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, domestic family stuff, twin boy dad!sylus, crafty-hobby-collector mom reader, keiran & luke are here too!

Sylus needs to get you out of the house. 

He watches you flit around the room like a bird, a twin on your hip, rambling in delight about how the boys had burped loud enough they could have scared away a wanderer. And you were beautiful, a picture of comforting grace— in one of his large shirts, your hair a mess (thanks to your son chewing on it) and bright and joyful eyes shining. 

But he needs you out of the house.

He hums appreciatively when you plop down beside him on the couch, his arm automatically wounding around your shoulders and pulling you to his side. The tip of his nose tickles you as it feathers from your neck to your cheek, where he presses his lips tenderly. 

You flush and clear your throat, because no matter how long you’ve been together, with him every moment always feels like the first time. “Cian, was looking for you earlier, wanted to show you something.” 

“Hm?” he mutters, kissing back down the trail he’d traced. “What was it?” 

You shrug. “He wouldn’t show me, said it was papa’s secret.” 

Sylus’s panic was undetectable if it weren’t for the stutter in his movement. The slight flex of one of his fingers in your shoulder, the soft exhale through his nose. Ever so in tune with your husband, you raise a brow. “What is it?” 

The look he gives you is cool and unassuming, and then he flashes you a charming smile. “It’s harder to keep secrets from you when you’ve gotten so sharp.” 

“I’ve always been sharp.” you frown.

He kisses you soundly on the lips, pleased with the little pout he coaxed out of you. “And beautiful.” 

He looks at the sleeping child in your arms and bends down to kiss his forehead too. Your heart melts at the sight. Then he stands, and your frown deepens. “Where are you going?” 

“To handle a whistleblower.” he says, straightening his clothes and shooting you a mischievous grin. “And to teach him how to keep secrets from mama properly.” 

����𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

For every corner, every nook and cranny of the base, Sylus had a mental replica of how it should be. One of the most surprising things you realized when you’d started to live together was how clean he was. He liked keeping things in a certain order, and because of this, he was good at leaving and moving without a trace. 

You’d abide to his rules when you moved in as much as you could, but you couldn’t keep up with his tidiness. It never bothered him though, instead, he delighted in it— to see some of his toiletries pushed to the side to make way for your own, how you sometimes accumulate glasses of water with lipstick stains by your bedside, your clothes at the foot of the bed when you’re rushing to get changed— knowing you are here, under the same roof, in the same space, with him. 

And just as he felt with your trail of breadcrumbs, he felt it tenfold with his boys. The post-hurricane-esque damage of toys and trinkets in his spotless living room, the mess of baby food on the dining table after a meal, crayon marks on his pristine walls, a stray stuffie in his office. A shock to find, of course, but it was never unwelcome. 

And so, he follows his son’s trail to the playroom (once an extra armory, flipped by you and the big twins while he was away). It wasn’t hard, it was literally a trail of animal crackers.

He pushes the already ajar door open. “Lucian—“

“—there’s too many of them, little boss—“

“—And another one—“ 

Three heads look up at him as he enters. One would argue three of his sons were caught red handed dealing illegally acquired animal crackers (it wasn’t snack time yet). But there they were, his loyal henchmen in party hats and his own three year old in a crown, arm very evidently elbow-deep into the cracker tin canister. 

“Papa!” Lucian smiles, crumbs all over his cheeks and chubby little fingers. 

“Boss.” Luke and Keiran greet as well, glancing down at the hands in their lap. 

Lucian doesn’t stay idle, instead he shakes off his crown and rushes to Sylus’s leg. He is picked up and balanced in the crook of his father’s elbow. Sylus’s eyes soften with a molten glow as he brings up gentle fingers to brush away the dirt on his boy’s cheeks. “What are you doing, little boss?” 

“Papa, I sharin’!” he grins proudly. Sylus raises a brow. 

He peeks over the child’s shoulder to Keiran and Luke with their masks half raised, already munching on the animal crackers on their plastic plates. He gives them a pointed look that makes them slow and turn away, knowing full well they weren’t supposed to succumb to snacks-during-not-snack-time. “With Luke and Keiran?” 

“Mhm!” Lucian is already trying to make his way up Sylus’s shoulders. Sylus lets him. 

“Mm, that’s kind of you.” 

A crumbly finger leaves an imprint just beside Sylus’s eye. “I good.” 

“Yes, angel.” Sylus looks up at him. Lucian’s face, a reflection of his own with your irises and your smile, hangs upside down to meet his gaze. “Did you find my surprise?” 

Lucian frowns for a moment. After the day he’s had, retrieving a memory after such a long business transaction must be a monumental feat for a clever little mind. The time today he found Luke and Keiran and was told to “shh!”. But it comes to him eventually, and when it does his face lights up like the sun. “Ah-huh!” 

“Did you show mama?” 

“No.” 

“Did you tell mama?” 

Lucian blinks. “I tell: no, mama! No go in!” 

Ah, yes. Of course. Sylus chuckles, pinching his cheeks. “Good job, angel.” 

He’ll clean the mess up later, not that he truly minds it, but he wouldn’t want ants festering in his children’s favorite room.

And that’s what it was: his need for you to have your own favorite room.

He never thought that setting up an old armory would bring this much joy to his children, having once thought the whole base was theirs to conquer, and yet seeing them return somewhere when they have no idea where to go, seeing them drift in and out of the playroom made him realize: that was their little safe space. 

And just as his little adventurers were half of him, who once in a lifetime ago, could never have enough space, enough lands, enough resources and things to dominate, they were also half you. Yearning for peace, a quiet little bubble to gather your thoughts, regulate your heart and breathe. 

He has his spaces. His boys have the base and the playroom. You… you need your bubble. 

Lucian hangs tight on his father’s head, both arms perfectly hugging the circumference as Sylus walks to the hidden room. Papa’s secret surprise.

Down the labyrinth halls, around the priceless statue of a dragon he bought at an auction (its pedestal desecrated with Bluey stickers), there lies the auspicious grey door Lucian had thought would be a good hiding spot. 

“Is book room.” Lucian says, one hand mindlessly drifting down to cover Sylus’s left eye.

Sylus doesn’t flinch, but nods. “It's mama’s room.” 

“Upstairs…” Lucian answers quietly, thinking it was a question. 

Sylus chuckles and pushes the door open. 

The incense marinates the room in the scent of fresh linens and citrus, and the sunlight shoots through the half-drawn curtains onto the soft plush carpet— the kind of texture you and Kyros particularly enjoyed. On the wall, a large shelf with lines of books and empty spaces for you to fill. A corner with an easel and paints; old paintings you’d stored away in the spare rooms to make way for your childrens’ needs dusted and placed on your old wooden art table. Your favorite weapons encased in glass, decorated the bare walls.

A desk with a laptop for your writings. A basket of yarn and needles and the other things you bring to your shared bed to poke and weave. A circular couch, closer to a cat-bed, by the window. A hammock by the wall. A beanbag in the corner. And more, so much more.

Everything Sylus had taken note of, committed to memory. Things you’ve said, “sorry for the mess” for. Things he’d thought of and said— she’d like this. All gathered, collected and stuffed— organized in this room. 

“Smell nice.” Lucian says, scrambling to get down his father’s shoulders. He does it too quickly, almost falling if it weren’t for Sylus’s foresight. He catches his toddler by the armpits with little fanfare and sets him down on his feet. Lucian, against his usual nature, walks carefully into the room, as if afraid to disrupt its peace. “Mama like books.” 

“She does.” Sylus nods, inspecting the work the bigger twins have done with the lighting. Silently regarding their good work, he looks down to his son eyeing the hammock. “Wanna try?” 

Lucian runs towards the hammock and grabs onto the tassels. But before he can tug the entire thing to come crashing down, Sylus lifts him up and places him in the giant seat. He pushes the swing and Lucian’s giggles bounce off the walls.  

Sylus beams at your smile on his son’s face. The sun setting through the western window bathing the room in a warm glow. He can’t wait to show you. He can’t wait to give it to you. He hopes, still, despite how long and how sure he’s known you, that you like it.

And that’s why he needed to get you out of the house. 

Sylus has a plan— he’s good at planning, and even better at executing those plans— and that involves gifting this to you as the big ta-da! The final pièce de résistance at the end of a good day. 

There is a traveling carnival in a few days, one he’d invited you to go see days before. You’d arm yourselves with baby carriers and strollers, extra diapers and snacks, hats and hand-held fans, and bring the boys to experience it. Then, he’d take you to a nice restaurant with air conditioning to cool down. You’d order your favorite meal, he’d pick the onions off of Kyros’s plate, and Lucain would be a mess of squash and cream. And after, you’d make it in time for the fireworks to set off across the river.

He’d drive home, hold your hand as he watches you in the corner of his eye fight back sleep, while the little snores in the back lull you to unconsciousness. You’d take the kids in from the car and set them down in the nursery, and before you head back to your own bedroom, he’d ask you if you’d like to see something he’s working on. Might even bring up Lucian’s term of— 

“Papa secret.” 

He freezes— this time, completely detectable. He has better instincts than this in other, more dire situations, like ambushes and break-ins.

But not for you. 

You, standing by the door with a smug little smirk on your pretty face. One hand guiding an already awake other twin to toddle in towards his brother. 

Lucian screams in surprise and delight, caught— because he wasn’t very good at secrets just yet. But although close, he wasn’t the one who pulled the pin on this grenade. 

Kyros. The quiet little thing. All whispers and contained excitement. The one Sylus had assumed to be safe. Wrongly.  

Now, happily chanting over and over, “Papa secret, papa secret…” 

Sylus sighs, running his fingers through his neatly done hair out of exasperation, and then turning to look at you with a defeated upturn of his lips. “Beloved.” 

You lunge. Arms embracing his shoulders and molding your lips to his. He catches you just a second later through the haze, and grins into your kiss. “You…” 

He asks, “Do you like it?”

You pull back and nod. Words cannot surmise how you feel. The stars bursting in your chest, the tears burning your eyes, the love— oh, the love the spills over and takes captive your entire soul. 

Sylus laughs, cupping your face in his large hands and kissing you again. “I’m glad.” 

You sniff, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Is this mine?” 

His thumb brushes the corner of your eye. “I don’t crochet.” 

Your fist lands on his chest with no real force. He catches it, spreads out your fingers over his heart. You stare at him thoughtfully, and it knocks the breath out of him how your eyes twinkle in the light. 

“I wanted to surprise you.” He says, tone almost apologetic. 

You smile. It dawns on you that he probably had planned this huge reveal. You consider him and brush his hair away from his eyes. “I am surprised.” 

He exhales, a scoff and an exasperated laugh. “I’m sure you’ve had your suspicions.” 

And you can’t hide the little smile you try to suppress— sure, the little twins were expected to blab one way or another, but you didn’t really need them when you have the big twins acting shifty and weird around you when you asked them what the light fixtures were for when they came in the mail. “Maybe a little.” 

“Please.” He taps your forehead with a teasing finger. “You’ve always been sharp.” 

Just before you can kiss him senseless again, his attention is called with a tug on his pant leg. Kyros stares up at him.

“Pa, up pease?” He says, pointing to his brother on the swinging hammock. 

He gives you an apologetic look which you return with a fond smile, as he pulls away from you and hauls Kyros up and places him beside his brother. 

“Papa, swing fast-fast!” Lucian howls, shaking the blanket and making the new hinges groan. 

Sylus secures Kyros with pillows and guides his hands to hold the corners of the blanket. “Tell me when it’s too fast, okay?” 

Kyros nods. And Sylus pushes. 

Quickly, the room’s once undisrupted peace is washed with a peaceful kind of chaos. Intended to be a space for you and all the things you love, now filled with the entire world. 

As Sylus pulls back to let the hammock swing from its own momentum, you wrap your arms around his torso from behind, pressing your face in the space between his shoulders. You mutter a muffled, “Thank you, my love.” 

Sylus takes your hands and brings them to his lips in reply. Needing you to know that your thanks is welcome but not needed. All he needs is this— you, your kids, and the wonderful mess you’ve made in his life.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[intoxfolklorex]

The way he spoke to her bump had Maisie smiling softly, resting her hand on top of where his was. "Which means only decide to make me sick if we're stuck listening to someone really boring, okay?" Though she did roll her eyes at his mention of lemons, it was clear that Gwaine was enjoying that particular side effect way too much. Grinning at their arms were linked she nodded, letting him lead her out of the room. "So now is the final push for women to convince the men to put in a proposal." It would be interesting to watch, to see if the men were already interested or if some were just showing up because they could. "And I assume you don't want me to tell them the truth?" She teased. No she would never tell anyone about how they had met and everyone could see how deeply in love the pair were. "Sweetheart, breathe. We can do this. It's just another event that is going to go perfectly." Though it was the first time it was clear Maisie was pregnant so that was also going to go around quickly.

Gwaine had a lot going on these few days, but he tried to keep his promise to give Maisie more time. And he'd been able to give her freedom around the castle and the festivities, and was allowed to go to the events with guards. But her house arrested had been mostly lifted. Still opening the door and seeing her speak to the small bump had his smiling. Approaching her he leaned down to gently touch, "Yes, your mother has a lot to do," he said before whispering, "Keep liking lemons my sweet girl," he said kissing his wife before smiling and then gave a clap of his hands. "So we have a lot to do today, there's only one more week before the suitors put their requests for proposal and that's when the official courting begins," he said linking arms with her to lead her out of the bedroom. "And you have a small lunch with some ladies- already married, but their daughters are looking for advice on how to find a love match." He said not giving himself a moment to breathe, "After that will be the release of the birds, the dance of swans- which is not actually swans but people, and then the big game."

[aventurineswife]

Reader flinches during an argument😩🤚

You cna make it just flinching or them actually accidentally hurting reader, whatever you're more comfortable with

Characters: Jing Yuan, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Kaveh and Therta (get it? Cuz The Herta can be shortened to Therta... haha... ha)

Trust Reforged in the Quiet

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, The Herta x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, Emotional Vulnerability, Arguments, Flinching Reaction, Apologies, Reconciliation, Romantic Tension, Communication, Soft Moments.

Warnings: Emotional conflict, Raised voices, Accidental intimidation, Mentions of guilt and emotional vulnerability. (No physical harm or abuse.)

A/N: yeah... I totally got it, ahahaha.. ha 🧍‍♀️

The peaceful glow of the Luofu was overshadowed by the tense atmosphere between you and Jing Yuan. The General stood in his study, his eyes fixed on you, frustration flickering behind their usual calm. The argument had started small, but it spiraled into something you hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t understand the weight of these decisions,” Jing Yuan said, his tone sharper than usual. “Every action has consequences—not just for us, but for the entire Alliance.”

“I’m trying to help you!” you shot back, voice trembling. “But you keep shutting me out like I’m just an outsider!”

Jing Yuan ran a hand through his long hair, visibly exasperated. “It’s not about shutting you out—it’s about protecting you. Don’t you see that?”

When he suddenly stepped closer, his voice louder than before, you instinctively flinched, taking a step back. His eyes widened, his anger evaporating in an instant.

“Wait…” His voice softened. “Did you just flinch?”

You looked down, ashamed. The moment hung heavy in the air. Jing Yuan’s heart ached at the sight of you retreating from him, and he cursed himself for letting his emotions overwhelm his judgment.

“I’m sorry,” he said gently, his hands hovering before dropping to his sides. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He took a step back himself, giving you space. “I would never hurt you.”

You hesitated before nodding, your eyes still wary. Jing Yuan took a deep breath, his usual calm returning. He walked to his desk, retrieved a cup of tea, and set it down in front of you.

“Let’s talk—properly this time,” he said, his voice steady but laced with remorse. “I want to listen to you, truly.”

And for the first time that evening, you felt safe enough to let him in.

The opulent office felt suffocating as Aventurine paced back and forth, his normally suave demeanor unraveling. You had challenged one of his high-stakes decisions, and he hadn’t taken it well.

“You think I didn’t calculate the risks?” he barked, his voice sharp as a blade. “You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

“I’m saying it’s dangerous, Aventurine!” you shot back, your voice rising to match his. “You can’t keep gambling with people’s lives like this!”

His eyes burned with frustration. “You don’t understand the game I’m playing! Every move I make is—”

When he spun to face you, gesturing emphatically, you flinched, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The slight recoil stopped Aventurine mid-sentence. His hand, frozen mid-air, dropped to his side.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, his voice came out softer, almost unsure. “Did I… scare you?”

You didn’t respond immediately, and that was answer enough. Aventurine’s usually confident mask cracked, revealing the guilt underneath. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone devoid of its usual bravado. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

You crossed your arms, your voice shaky. “I just want you to see that I care, Aventurine. You don’t have to face everything alone.”

He chuckled dryly, his smile weak but genuine. “It seems I’m the one who needs a reminder of that sometimes.” He reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing yours. “Can we try this again? No shouting this time.”

You nodded, and as he led you to sit beside him, the gambler seemed determined to show you he was more than just his sharp words and risky strategies.

The gentle hum of the Astral Express felt distant as you and Dan Heng faced off in the library. He rarely raised his voice, but tonight, his frustration was palpable.

“You can’t just rush into danger like that!” Dan Heng exclaimed, his voice uncharacteristically forceful. “Do you have any idea how reckless that was?”

“I was trying to help!” you defended, equally upset. “You always act like I can’t handle myself!”

“Because you don’t see the risks!” He stepped forward, his hand clutching his spear. “What if something had happened to you? Do you think I could—”

When his voice rose further, and his spear clinked against the floor as he adjusted his grip, you flinched, taking a step back. Dan Heng immediately froze, his sharp eyes widening in realization. The air grew heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

“You…” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He set his spear down, his hands shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to… I would never—”

You looked away, biting your lip. “It’s fine. I just… wasn’t expecting you to—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he interrupted, his voice steady but filled with guilt. “I lost control. That’s on me.”

Dan Heng lowered himself to sit on the edge of the table, his posture uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I don’t want to push you away. I’m just… scared of losing you.”

You hesitated before stepping closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared too, but we need to face this together. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”

He nodded, his usual calm slowly returning. “You’re right. I’ll… do better.”

In that moment, you saw the real Dan Heng—not the stoic guardian, but the man who carried the weight of the past and feared losing the one person who made him feel safe.

The grandiose living room of Alhaitham's home felt oppressive as your argument with Kaveh escalated. He stood in the middle of the room, his expressive eyes alight with frustration. You had challenged one of his decisions, and his idealistic nature didn’t take it lightly.

“You don’t understand what this means to me!” Kaveh exclaimed, his voice shaking. “I worked my entire life to make a difference through my designs! And now you’re questioning that?”

“I’m not questioning your work, Kaveh,” you said, your voice tinged with desperation. “I’m worried about you! You’re pushing yourself too hard, taking on too much—”

“Because I have to!” he shouted, his hands flaring in an animated gesture. “If I don’t, who will? Do you think anyone else cares as much as I do?” He stepped closer, his tone growing sharper as he continued. “Stop acting like you—”

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking a small step back as his voice rose and his movements became more animated. The action stopped him in his tracks, the weight of the moment crashing down around him like a crumbling structure.

His arms dropped to his sides, and his face fell. “Did… did I scare you?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet and laced with regret.

You didn’t reply immediately, your throat tight with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Kaveh shook his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he said firmly, his tone filled with self-reproach. “This isn’t on you. I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” He took a step back, giving you space, his eyes filled with guilt. “I never meant to make you feel unsafe.”

“Kaveh…” you began, your voice softening.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his hair. “I let my emotions get the better of me. Again. It’s just… everything feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m trying so hard to hold it together.”

You stepped forward hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. “I know you’re trying, Kaveh. But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself.”

He looked at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I just… I don’t know how to let go. But I don’t ever want to hurt you, not even by accident.”

“You won’t,” you assured him, squeezing his arm gently. “But you need to let yourself rest, Kaveh. Let yourself breathe.”

He nodded slowly, his usual dramatic flair subdued by the gravity of the moment. “You’re right. I’ll… I’ll try. For you.”

And as the tension eased, you saw in his eyes the vulnerability he often tried to mask with passion and idealism—a man who cared so deeply, it sometimes consumed him.

The sterile halls of Herta’s spaceship echoed with the sharp edge of your argument. Herta stood before her console, her fingers tapping impatiently on its surface as she glared at you.

“Do you even understand the magnitude of what I’m trying to achieve here?” she asked, her tone biting. “This isn’t just some experiment—it’s a breakthrough!”

“I do understand,” you replied, your voice raised. “But you’re so focused on the outcome that you’re ignoring the risks!”

Herta’s eyes narrowed as she whirled around to face you, her movements swift and deliberate. “Risks are inevitable in science! If I stopped every time something was dangerous, we wouldn’t even have the Simulated Universe! You—” She gestured sharply, stepping closer as her voice grew louder.

The suddenness of her movement made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as you instinctively stepped back. The reaction was subtle but unmistakable. Herta froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening in realization.

She stared at you for a long moment, the tension in her posture dissipating. “Wait… did I just… scare you?” she asked, her voice unusually soft.

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”

But Herta shook her head, her usual detached demeanor cracking. “No, it’s not fine,” she said, setting her clipboard aside. “I might be a genius, but that doesn’t give me the right to… intimidate you like that.”

You glanced at her, surprised by the remorse in her tone. “Herta…”

She crossed her arms, avoiding your eyes as she spoke. “I get so caught up in my work, I forget about the people around me. I’m sorry.” She sighed, her sharp wit returning slightly. “It seems even I have room for improvement.”

You chuckled softly despite the tension. “You think?”

She smiled faintly, stepping closer but keeping her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me make it up to you. I’ll explain everything properly this time—no yelling, no dramatics.”

You nodded, the knot in your chest loosening. “I’d like that.”

As she guided you to her desk, the usual confidence in her demeanor was tempered by a quiet sincerity. For the first time, you saw the side of Herta that wasn’t just a genius or a scientist, but someone who valued your trust more than any experiment.

[sturnioz]

you're feeling turned on and in need of your boyfriends touch, so you wake up a tired shy!matt who is more than happy to let you use him—so happy that he accidentally lets something a little dirty slip.

requested by. @bernardsbendystraws

the room feels hot, your skin sticky and clammy despite the open window letting in the faintest bit of breeze. the air does little to almost nothing to cool the heat simmering under your skin, and you restlessly begin to twist free from the covers, the fabric clinging to your damp body.

but just as you manage to shift, matt's arms tighten slightly around your waist, a low, soft noise escaping his lips—something between a sigh and a murmur—and the sound sends an ache between your thighs.

you feel him stir, and his body presses closer against yours, his warmth wrapping around you as his slow and steady breathing fans softly against the curve of your neck. the feeling makes your situation worse—his exhale brushing your skin in a way that ignites the smallest shiver, leaving goosebumps prickling down your arms.

you tilt your head slightly, trying to catch a better look at him, but he's half-buried behind your shoulder, his face tucked just out of your reach.

"matt...?" you whisper, your voice low and husky, thick with need. "matt, wake up."

a soft sound escapes him, similar to the one before, as he stirs. slowly, he leans back, his lashes fluttering as he blinks his bleary eyes open. he squints at you, his expression still clouded with sleep, and the innocent way he looks at you through heavy lids sends you heart soaring.

for a moment, guilt tugs at you. waking him up like this—pulling him from the comfort of sleep just to satisfy your needs feels selfish, but the need for his attention, his touch, is overwhelming.

you swallow the thought, reaching for him, "i need you, matt."

feel bad for waking him up to tend to your needs, but you need his attention—need his touch, and you're more than willing to take the reigns. "i need you, matt."

"need.. me?" he echoes groggily, his voice rough with sleep. he lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, and the arm that had beep wrapped around your waist slips away, leaving you missing the feeling, but you close the gap quickly.

you hum softly, shifting to face him properly, your fingers skimming across his chest, tracing light patterns over his bare skin. matt shivers slightly at your touch, and your need for him grows with even more with every beat of his heart beneath your palm.

"okay," he gives you the go-ahead, and you could honestly cry with delight as you quickly straddle him, knees resting on either side of his hips.

he closes his eyes instinctively as you press your hips down to grind against the growing bulge chubbing up in his boxers, and a quiet, tired whimper leaves his lips as a faint blush colours across his cheeks.

matt murmurs your name when you begin to tug at his boxers, trying to pull them down to his thighs, and he tiredly assists your efforts by raising his hips weakly, only for his body to flop back down against the bed once the material hangs around his knees.

you hum encouragingly, a quiet thank you for his help as your fingers wrap around his cock, giving it a gentle stroke as he grows bigger and bigger in your palm. you use your other hand to pull your damp underwear down, carelessly throwing it somewhere off to the side as you reposition yourself above him, rubbing your sticky folds against his cock as you align him with your opening.

slowly, you sink down onto him, enveloping him in your tight heat, and a moan immediately rumbles in your chest as you adjust to his size, your inner walls squeezing around him.

"ah...mmph.." matt breathes out, his hands trembling as they rest on your thighs as you begin to rock your body.

he keeps his eyes closed, which you always expect, but you can't help but smile down at him as you see the way his lids twitch and eyebrows furrow, his lips parting to inhale and exhale shakily.

as you continue to move, you feel pleased by the sense of finally being completely filled, every inch of your cunt stuffed with matt's cock. it was a thrill you'll never get tired off, especially seeing your already shy boyfriend reduced to an even more shy and blushing mess with just a few rolls of your hips.

you grind yourself down a little harder against him, and your inner walls flutter around him, causing his hips to jerk slightly at the sensations that courses down his spine and makes his toes curl.

you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest to get a better angle, wanting to feel him even deeper inside you, and matt suddenly speaks, his words tumbling out in a jumbled rush.

"y'so tight—warm, wet—fuck mmph—"

you freeze, your eyes widening in surprise as you stare down at matt's flushed face, not expecting him to say something like that. it wasn't like him at all—and the admission leaves you speechless, but also feeling more aroused and turned on that you originally were.

there is something so incredibly fucking hot about seeing your normally shy boyfriend lose a bit of control, even if it is just verbally.

"what... what did you say?" you try to probe, wanting to hear him say it again, but he shakes his head, his cheeks colouring a darker shade of red as he keeps his eyes screwed shut, his blunt nails digging into the flesh of your thighs.

you decide not to probe any further, instead you lift your hips to slide off matt's cock before quickly sitting back down, causing matt to let out a strangled gasp as your pussy ripples around him.

you grin to yourself, leaning further down, pressing gentle kisses across his jawline at matt moans and pants into your ear, losing himself in the way your hips repeatedly lift and drop on his cock.

divider credits. @bernardsbendystraws

© STURNIOZ