#so now I just have to sit here and hope it doesn’t happen again

[bluetimeombre]

☽｡⋆ Learning to fly, starting to crawl

Over one hundred years ago, you lost your wings but the wound still hurts like it was only yesterday. When your brothers mate wants to learn to fly, he doesn��t hesitate in teaching her, right in front of you. And nobody can see the scars except the one you love…

[OMG I'M ALIVE!!!! I've had this sitting in my drafts for months but have only just got around to posting. Basically, I have too many hobbies but i'm in a writing mood again., very fitting to start with my boy AZRIEL, whom i love very much. I hope you enjoy. This is linked to my other Azriel fic but of course can be read alone. Not proof-read and yes, she lost her wings. It's becoming almost a thing but it makes for some good ass angst. ENJOY!!!!]

☽｡⋆

The inner circle all sat around the table, eating and chatting merrily. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, as was tradition, while his mate- Feyre- sat next to him, their hands entwined. They smiled at each other, as so in love they were. Cassian and Mor were joking around along with Amren and Elian listened politely. Every now and then, she glanced the shadow singers way to invite him into the conversation but there was no such luck.

Azriel only stared ahead of him, glaring at the empty space where you usually sat. He wasn’t at all surprised you hadn’t turned up, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry about it.

For a few weeks now he’d noticed the shift in you. You snapped easily and often rolled your eyes at anything your brother- the high lord- had to say. He’d heard you pace your rooms at night and his shadows (that favoured you above all) had reported that many nights you went to Rita’s.

But your empty seat irked him. And it irked him that Rhys seemed to not care in the slightest.

Az was the first to be aware of your presence, the echo of the door opening alerting them all and your scent hit him in the face. He inhaled it- your lavender, your sweetness, tinted by the alcohol lingering.

Rhysand huffed and everyone seemed to notice the shift. ‘I apologize about this, Feyre darling.’

Just then, you and Nesta stumbled into the room, arms linked and laughing your heads off about something or other.

Azriel drank you in. Your cheeks were flushed, your dress creased as you struggled to stay up right. Gods, what had you done?

You pouted dramatically, throwing a hand on your hip. ‘Uh oh, Rhysands got his grumpy face on.’

‘Isn’t that his usual?’ Said Nesta, causing the two of you to laugh again.

Everyone watched the two of you.

‘Where have you been?’ Az asked, wanting to rush to you and support you, but Rhys seemed one breath away from snapping.

‘We’re trying to have a pleasant meal, don’t ruin it,’ he grumbled.

‘Yes sir!’ You saluted.

Rhys growled and Feyre took his hand, squeezing it tightly.

‘Something tells me we’re not wanted, y/n,’ Nesta said to her.

‘Alas, we do not want to be here,’ you said, stumbling your way past the table. Before you went, you gave Feyre a squeeze on the shoulder, leaning down to whisper to her. ‘Feyre darling.’

‘Enough!’ Rhys shot up, hands on the table.

You barley spared him a glance as you and Nesta went about your way. You tripped on a plant pot, stumbling and apologizing to the object.

Azriel got out his seat, ready to follow you to wherever. No matter if you wanted him or not.

‘Sit down, Azriel,’ said Rhysand, taking his seat again. He picked up his fork and smiled at his mate like nothing had happened. All the while, your scent got further away from him.

He looked between where you’d disappeared and his high lord. He settled down and promised he’d find out what had made you act so.

☽｡⋆

You woke with unbearable pain in your head the next day. And your back. Your head was granted with the amount you and Nesta had drank, seeking to out-do one another so much so you drank out most of Rita’s.

But your back, the pain was new. Almost as if it knew why you were so angry, so bitter and it sort to make it worse.

Your curtains were drawn but the wind blew them back, letting you glimpse the outside world you dreaded to be a part of.

Shadows curled up your bed, brushing your hair back affectionately. They seemed to always be around you, as if they knew the bond that heaved in your chest even if their master didn’t.

You offered them a poor smile. ‘I’m fine.��� But they caressed you and smelt your lie.

From beyond the curtains, you caught a glimpse of figures in the sky. You’d always loved your room for the view it granted, of the sun, the moon, the stars. But after losing your wings, the view turned cold and the sky never seemed as bright.

It only got worse.

Though you knew the pain it would bring you to see, you wrapped a blanket around you and treaded over to the window.

Feyre was trying out her new wings, the black gifts she’d been given. Once mortal, she now had everything you wanted. The power, the wings. Your freedom was now hers.

And you hated it.

Azriel was looking close to her, encouraging her as she went. Though they were small figures to you, you could see his smile, how he held his hands out to her should she lose confidence.

How many times had you flown side by side, acting like the clouds abided you. The times you’d raced or dropped just to have Azriel catch you.

Never again.

The bitterness invaded your mouth again, blocking out all other logical senses.

Your door burst open- the shadows rushing to your side and curling around your shoulders. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was, the anger radiating from him was enough.

‘How dare you turn up in the state you did last night,’ snapped Rhys. You didn’t turn to face him, shielding yourself from his fury. ‘You had no right to ruin a lovely evening. We are trying to make Feyre and her sisters feel welcomed, its a shame my own sister can’t seem to do that for me.’

The words twisted in your gut. For him… had you not done everything for him? Lost your wings because you wouldn’t give in? Lost fifty years of your life to be with him?

‘Get over whatever it is going on and only return to us when you want to act like a decent human being.’ Rhysand snapped before leaving again, slamming the door- causing her to flinch.

The shadows ran down your hair, your cheeks, your sides. Giving you any ghostly comfort they could. ‘I’m fine,’ you told them again, retreating further into your room.

The shadows followed you, but only half of them. The other half had returned to their master, clouding him and whispering in his ear.

Her wings. She misses her wings.

She hadn’t had to say it out loud, they knew her pain.

Azriel paused in the sky, alerting Feyre. She’d seen the shadows surround him in flourishes. She couldn’t understand they were reporting in on you, that Az needed you to have something there when he could not be.

‘What is it?’ She asked, beating her wings.

He stared at her then at the wings. He was filled with the longing to be with you, in the sky, playing. Your wings were beautiful, just because they were you. A beautiful part of you.

‘I need to speak with the high lord.’

☽｡⋆

‘Ask someone else to train Feyre to fly,’ said Azriel.

He’d insisted he needed to see the high lord on urgent matters that could not wait. He’d expected it to be of the war, but Azriel opened with the line.

Rhysand was sat behind his desk, looking up to Azriel with some amusement. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘Ask Cassian,’ he said, he didn’t need to repeat himself.

‘Feyre wanted you.’

‘I can’t do it anymore,’ he said, stating it all simply.

Rhysand waited, wondering if he’d be graced with an explanation, but it never came. ‘Might I ask why.’

‘Your sister.’

Rhys’s amusement turned to a deep scowl. ‘My sister has asked you to stop flying with Feyre?’

‘No. She hasn’t asked, she never would. But I can’t teach Feyre to fly anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m confused- what does any of this have to do with y/n?’ He asked.

Azriels shadows wound tight around him, coating him like a second skin. He wanted to yell, and he never let his emotions get the better of him. Instead, he curled his hand into a fist and clenched his jaw. ‘Do you really not think that this is hurting her?’

‘After her behaviour the past couple days I think it’s her who’s doing the hurting,’ he said, picking a bit of invisible lint from his shoulder.

‘She lost her wings,’ said Azriel with barely contained annoyance. ‘She lost them. They were cut from her back and she was left to bleed out.’

‘I do remember that Azriel,’ said Rhys, closing his eyes at the words. ‘I was there when we found her.’

‘So do you not think that teaching your mate to fly doesn’t effect her?’

Rhysand looked at him. His eyes changed, the hue turning darker. No, he hadn’t thought that. You’d never let on to feeling anything for your wings or lack of them. But then again, even if you had, would you ever have gone to your brother.

Azriel took a measured step forward. ‘Do you not think it hurts her that you teach your mate to fly, the same mate that gasped in horror when she saw the scars on your sisters back? That you have us fly in front of the house where she can see? Did you even know that when she bathes y/n covers all the mirrors so she doesn’t have to get a glance at the scars.’

The high lord held up a hand. ‘I understand.’

‘No, you don’t. You could never know what it’s like, neither could I, or Cassian. She had a part of her ripped off and she has to live without it every day. But you’ve gifted Feyre them as if it’s nothing.’

‘Because my mate has the powers,’ argued Rhys. ‘If I could give y/n wings I would- in a heartbeat, I would.’

Azriel nodded. He knew that, he knew the relationship between you and Rhys was fractured at best, but he also knew that if anything or anyone hurt you, Az would kill them. ‘I don’t want to reach Feyre to fly because it hurts y/n.’

Rhys leaned back in his chair, studying him. ‘And you care about her?’

‘More than I can express.’ He would give her the wings from his back if he could. ‘And if something hurts her… it hurts me.’

Rhysand nodded. ‘I’ll take her flying from now on. We’ll do it in the mountains, to spare y/n from seeing it.’

Azriel bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’

Rhys nodded but averted his gaze. ‘Look after her, Azriel.’

‘I always have.’

☽｡⋆

Nesta had gone to Rita's, expecting you later but you'd already snuck down to the Wine cellar and picked out the finest to drown your sorrows alone in. You'd past Cassian on the way, the male worried about your shifting gaze and the way you held yourself but you brushed him off and carried on your way.

You hesitated outside your door, where shadows lurked. Yes, they liked you and yes they were often with you, but never guarding your door.

Then, you smelt it. Not wine but sweet cedar and moss. Az.

You didn't want this. Didn't want him to see you like this, in pain in your mind and back, in longing for the wind through your hair. You knew he'd noticed your behaviour, he was the spy master, you'd only hoped... only hoped he didn't care as much as he did.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and braced yourself for shouting.

Azriel stood there, looking regal and beautiful. His back was too the balcony, the door open and wind rusting his wings and sheets. His hands were behind his back and his gaze was... soft? It wasn't dark with anger or clouded in annoyance.

It was just Az.

'Azriel,' you do your best to smile, clearing your throat. 'What are you doing? I thought you had flying with Feyre?' you were trying but you were also just you and you missed your wings.

'I'm teaching her anymore,' he said.

You chuckle. 'Is she that bad a student?'

'I'm sorry.'

You look up to him, taking out the cork of the wine. Rose filled your senses. 'For what?'

'That she flys when you don't,' he mentioned it simply, as if you'd already told him what was hurting you and he'd accepted it.

You hadn't said it. You wouldn't. You hated yourself enough for being weak, you didn't need him, perfect Azriel, caring Azriel, to see how horrid your jealousy had made you. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'y/n,' he steps close to you, taking the bottle from you. He drops it at his side but no smash is delivered. The shadows swallow it up. 'Why won't you talk, instead of drowning yourself in pain?'

'I'm not drowning myself in anything,' you deny, moving away from him to close the balcony door. The air drifting in and moving everything but you only mocked.

'You can't fly,' he said.

Your eyes squeezed shut in pain. 'Yes, I know, you don't have to remind me.'

His boots sounded close behind her and he took her shoulders. He didn't force her to turn around, he only held her gently and soothed his thumbs over the knots in her back. 'You can't fly and words don't exist to tell you how sorry I am. If I could i'd give you the own wings off me back-'

'Don't say that.' The only thing worse than your pain, was Azriel going through it all.

'I would and I mean it just to see you smile again, if only for a second. I'd be glad to give them up,' he whispered. Your shoulders slumped under his grasp and he sighed in relief, it was better than tensing up again. 'I miss you smiling. I miss you laughing. I miss you smiling at me. I'm sorry if teaching Feyre to fly has hurt you.'

'It wasn't you, Az,' you turn in his hold, never letting him feel like it was his fault. In doing that, you admitted to being bothered. 'I can't be who I was, because I don't know how. And I don't want to try to only fail.'

He listened, hands trailing down your arms to rub.

You gulp. 'And it's not just losing the wings, it's everything I lost with it. Freedom. I can't join you or Cas, or anyone when you take to the skies. How am I going to cope in battle? I can't run as fast as I can fly, I can't fight as well. I can't hit Cassian over the head when he's being an idiot, I can't-I can't wrap them around you when we hold each other, and it's painful to think of everything I've lost when I've gained nothing.'

He listened, tears watering his gaze. You had not lost any of that, not to him.

'And Feyre,' you pulled away, crossing your arms around each other and looking out the window. 'I don't hate her, I wish I could but I can't. But she's been Fae for five seconds and she has everything I've ever wanted. Wings. My brother loves her. She's happy. I hate it and I hate myself.'

Your confession weighed your gut but your chest rose in a deep breath. You couldn't see Azriel behind you in the reflection of the windows and you couldn't hear him.

He'd gone. Of course he'd left, you'd whined about what you'd lost when you were at least alive. You'd complained about the High Lady- treason in Rhysand's book.

No, you were all alone.

But you weren't.

Az crept behind you and slowly- so you could pull away- wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you into his chest and matched his breaths with yours. 'I won't insult you by saying I get it, because I could never. But that time, when I found you after you'd lost your wings, I thought i'd lost you and that-that is how I imagine your feelings. Because I stopped breathing and I didn't think happiness would ever be in the world again. And your blood, you bleeding out has been in my nightmares since. If my hands were to be stained with it, let them, because it was the last thing i'd ever have of you.'

You had no idea. He'd felt terrible yes and been there the weeks and months it took to heal but you'd been so full of pain and guilt you hadn't thought of how he fared. Your greatest friend... your lustful secret.

Your hands came up to hold his arms.

'You do not have to be who you were before,' he whispered, head resting on your shoulder. 'Become better. Become something more. As for training, you're the strongest woman I know and still the only person I'd trust with my life.'

A tear escaped you.

He nudged your chin with his nose. 'And you can still hit Cass as much as you like.'

You laugh through tears, holding onto Az like he was the last thing anchoring you to yourself.

His wings slowly inched over you. 'And I will hold you all day, every day till I die, and i'll keep you safe.' His wings closed around the two of you as yours used to do.

Neither of you realised how much you'd missed it, needed it, craved it until it happened.

You'd lost your wings, but you had never and would never lose him.

[azsazz]

Cold Shoulder (Part 3)

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: please i know requests are closed but what happens after cold shoulder 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Warnings: Smut, oral (F receiving).

Word Count: 2202

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt Cold Shoulder (Part 1) (Part 2)

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“You know,” Azriel huffs, shouldering the bookshelf you have him moving into place. “When I said that I’d do anything to get you to forgive me, I was thinking something along the lines of taking you to dinner or doing some of your homework or eating you out until you accepted my apology.” Your cheeks flare hot as the image his head between your legs flashes through your mind. You carefully cross your ankles where you’re sitting on your bed. “Not rearranging your furniture.”

You’d feel bad about asking Azriel to reposition the furniture in your room, but you couldn’t think of anything else when it came to punishing him for how he’d treated you a few weeks ago in the locker room. If you’d asked for a sexual favor, he’d have been much too eager, and there’s no way you would have been able to hold yourself back from giving him something in return. So, moving furniture it was.

“Well, the feng shui is all off in here and I need better sleep,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. You let your eyes trail the tight t-shirt he has on, down to the light gray sweatpants that he knows make you wetter than that shower he abandoned you in. His dark hair is a disheveled mess, too, only adding to the raw sexual power emanating from him. Azriel isn’t playing about wanting you to forgive him, and he’s pulling out all the stops in hopes that you will. “Now, a little to the left, please.”

Truth is, you haven’t been sleeping well for a multitude of reasons, half of which involve the hockey player who shoots you a ‘seriously?’ look before following your direction. You bite your lip to hide your smile as you admire his backside. The few weeks you’ve spent ignoring Azriel have been long and hard, but not as long and hard as his cock, which, you can’t seem to stop thinking about in the late hours of the nights. Your vibrator in no way, shape, or length, compares to what Azriel is packing beneath those light gray sweatpants that sag low on his hips, which would reveal the waistband of his briefs, if he were wearing any.

He knows exactly where your eyes keep drifting to.

You find that you have better sleep when he’s around. Not just because he fucks you to exhaustion. It’s the nights that you aren’t having sex, too. Azriel’s presence alone is calming, and when he scratches your scalp or strokes his hand down your back, you find it much easier to forget the worries of perfecting your routine running rampant in your mind and relax in his strong hold.

“Right there!” You exclaim, grinning sheepishly when Azriel looks over his shoulder at you. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you want rearranged?”

You’re sure that he doesn’t mean to phrase it suggestively, but you can’t help that your mind goes to the possibility of Azriel rearranging your guts. In a good way. A really good way.

Fuck.

Your face roasts with a blush. Azriel raises that damn brow again and you swear that you see the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. Like he’s thinking the same exact thing you are. Suddenly, you yearn to see that handsome smile of his.

“Uh, no. I think that’s it,” you answer, tucking your hands carefully under your thighs to keep yourself from reaching out to him.

“You sure?” he teases, prowling closer. You’re frozen to the spot, heart picking up in your chest when he comes to a stop before you, knee to knee. The way he’s staring down at you, like he wants to press you right back into the mattress behind you, causes a full body shiver that’s impossible to hold in. His hazel eyes are dark with arousal, and to further the way you react to him, he plants his hands on either side of you, leaning down until you’re the same height.

“I’m pretty sure,” you breathe, and you’re so close that your lips almost brush. You’ve missed him. Your hands ache to touch, to trail down his broad chest, to hook into the waistband of his pants and pull. Your body yearns for his. All you want right now is for him to lean forward, place all his weight on you while he fucks you into the bed.

Azriel’s voice is husky, and it causes your nipples to tighten beneath your shirt. “You sure I can’t help with anything else? I can move the bed. It looks a little off center.” You know his words aren’t a coincidence this time. He’s making innuendos on purpose, and it just so happens that you like the sound of that.

Your thighs part and Azriel slowly eases between them. If your heart wasn’t racing in your chest before, it is when he lowers himself to his knees before you. No matter how many times you’ve seen him in this position—when he helped you with your skates, the first time he went down on you—it still sets your body on fire. You’re pretty sure your cunt wets partially because Azriel’s conditioned you, praising you with such pretty words each time he does this.

He’s so close you can feel his warmth, but he’s not touching you like you want like you need.

“Yeah, I guess it is a little off center, now that I think about it,” you whisper, loving the way his eyes darken with arousal. From the corner of your vision, you can see his cock twitch in his pants.

“Wouldn’t want the feng shui to be off,” he murmurs back, shuffling forward so you can feel how interested he is in making sure your bed is in perfect position. You inhale softly; a sound that makes him want to fuck into you with fervor. You make him lose his goddamn mind.

Azriel’s hand finds your wrists, gently pulling your hands from where they’re still tucked under your thighs. He wraps one around his shoulder, guiding your fingers to the nape of his neck where you love to pull. Especially when you’re out of your mind, drunk on his tongue or fingers or cock. His hips almost buck when your fingers curl into his black strands, tugging subconsciously.

With the other hand, he intertwines your fingers with his, holding tightly. Gods, he’s fucking missed you. He’s been nothing but a storm cloud since he walked out on you, and everyone has taken notice. Even coach, who told him to fix his shit and get his head in the game or he won’t be playing against the Flyer’s this weekend.

He wants to play, but he wants your forgiveness more.

“Yeah,” you agree distractedly, and pull his mouth to yours.

The kiss doesn’t start slow. It’s fast and hot, the both of you ravaging each other like you’re wild animals devouring a kill. It feels like it’s been much longer since Azriel’s mouth has been on yours.

Your body surges with adrenaline and excitement when his tongue traces the seam of your lips, which part for him like the red fucking sea. Fireworks explode when your tongues touch, a tentative, gentle caress, as if he’s asking you if it’s okay. Your responding tug on his hair has him moving quicker, more assured, his tongue scraping yours in a way that makes you whimper.

“Fuck,” he breathes between kisses. His hands trail down your thighs, pushing higher to dip into the waistband of your sleep shorts. He snaps the elastic and you gasp against his mouth, dragging your free hand down the rippling muscles of his heaving chest. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you pant. You don’t want to pull away from him, not when you just got him back, but Azriel’s pulling at your pants and you do want them off.

Reluctantly, you lean back on your elbows and lift your hips for him. He loves that fucking look in your eyes, your lowered lids, the way you lick across your swollen lips as if chasing the taste of him. You have this fucked-out look on your face and he hasn’t even done anything yet, but he will.

Azriel helps you from your shorts and panties. Your thighs are already, trembling in anticipation, even more so with the way he caresses your sensitive skin.

Those hazel eyes are locked on your pretty cunt. Yeah, he’s missed you in more ways than one. Your taste has been haunting him. You’re like a drug he can’t get enough of, but he’s about to get his fix.

“Az,” you whine when he dips his head and presses featherlight kisses to your thighs. You need him higher and centered now. It’s been too long.

“Okay, okay,” he shushes. He wraps his hands under your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, right to where his eager mouth awaits.

You cry out in pleasure at the first swipe of his tongue through your wetness. Your back aches off of the bed and his hands finds your hips, pressing you back into the mattress.

Azriel’s mouth is fucking magical. You knew he was skilled with his hands, but this tongue…for someone usually so quiet he sure knows how to work you to the brink. His tongue flicks in a rhythm so fast that you can’t help but sneak your hand into his hair and grind your hips against his face. He growls, chest puffing with pleasure when you pull.

But he’s teasing you. He sucks and licks at your clit, drawing you closer and closer to euphoria before he moves away, lower, to fuck his tongue into you. He’s not going to let you have it this easily, even if he should.

“Azriel! A little to the left, please,” you whine desperately, repeating your words from earlier. You don’t know how you find it in yourself to tease right now, because the feeling in the pit of your stomach is bubbling into something that’s going to rock your world, but you manage.

Azriel’s eyes are near black when he peers up at you. You yelp when he removes his attention from your clit only to give a harsh nip at the meat of your thigh.

“My baby wants to come?” He asks, teasing a knuckle down your slit. You shudder on the bed and your neck nearly gives out at his touch. His words on the other hand, Azriel knows you love his fucking words.

“Yeah,” you gasp, and this time, when he spreads you with his fingers and licks a long, slow stripe through your wetness, circling slowly around your sensitive clit that aches for release, your neck does give out, your head falling to the mattress.

“You want me to lick this pussy until the bedsheets are soaked in your come?” He sucks, hard, and your back arches off of the bed.

“Yes!” You shout, fingers clawing at his t-shirt covered shoulders. You should have had him take it off, your nails threaten to tear the fabric.

Azriel hums against your clit, and the feeling reverberates to your bones. Your mouth parts and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling. You’re so close…so so close that you can feel the heat coiling in your body—

“That’s my girl,” Azriel says, ignoring the way you whine impatiently when he removes his mouth from you again. This is just cruel, how he teases you like this. How you secretly love it. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my face,” he says, before diving back into your cunt with even more vigor.

You’re lost to his tongue, to the finger he slips inside of you. He brushes that bundle of nerves and it sends you plummeting over the edge into orgasm.

You writhe against his face, riding out the feeling that washes over you, threatening to drown you with pleasure. Azriel watches from where he’s still flicking his tongue over your clit, cock so hard in his pants that he might just come from watching you.

Your body convulses with sensitivity when you begin to come down from your high. Your thighs threaten to shut around Azriel’s head, but you know for a fact that he likes it when you do that.

“Az,” you keen desperately. He slows, sucking soft kisses against your clit, then slowly moves away when you give a soft, spent moan. He kisses the crook of your leg, your thigh, up to your hipbones. You manage somehow to lift your head to look at him, and your pussy clenches when you see the glistening of your wetness around his lips. He looks as blissed out as you feel, but his eyes suggest that the night isn’t over yet.

You take a deep breath and he watches the heat return to your gaze.

“I think the beds still a little off,” you say, breathlessly.

Azriel grins and your heart soars. “It’s about to be way off by the time I’m done with you tonight, pretty girl. I hope you’re ready.”

Fuck. You are. You really are.

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Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13 @sunny1616 @lilylilyyyyyy @esahintzkanen

[emsdevs]

saw you wanted luke hughes reqs, so ‼️

him coming back to your apartment after a game and just yapping to you because he needs to be close to feel better about how it went, but will never explicitly tell you that it helps him. you're just doing miscellaneous tasks, and he eventually starts whining about it, wanting to ay down and get head scratches/cuddles from you

(if this makes no sense, pretend i was never here 😭)

a/n: so so so sorry for the wait nonnie! i hope you still like it! i did in fact get carried away and wrote 1.6k words of mostly dialogue. is this a crack fic? possibly idk. anyway this was very much a lot of fun and my beautiful wonderful wife kirby helped inspire me

masterlist

Not-So-Silent Treatment

The Devils had an early game today, and although it was a Saturday, you had to this morning and couldn’t make it. That leads you to where you are now, finally home and in comfy clothes, cleaning as a way to pass the time until Luke gets home. Before you know it, you hear someone turn down the music you previously had blasting, whipping around to see who the intruder was after not hearing the door. When you turn, you’re met with your boyfriend, Luke, leaning against the doorway with a smirk on his face. He watched as you jumped, slapping your hand over your heart, hoping to somehow calm it down.

“You gotta turn the music down when you’re home alone, babe. What if I was a serial killer?” the smirk he’s still wearing tells you he’s not serious.

“Doesn’t mean you have to give me a heart attack,” you roll your eyes, walking over to give him a quick kiss. “How was the game, Lukey?”

“Oh my god. I have so much to tell you.”

“Yay! I’m gonna finish up the cleaning while you talk, okay?” you give him one last kiss before returning to your task of doing the dishes. In the background, you could hear Luke beginning his story of a crazy penalty that happened halfway through the first period. His favorite thing to do was talk. You weren’t sure why he likes to talk so much or how he always has so much to say, but it’s become sort of comforting to you. Instead of having some random song or podcast playing while you did something, you could have your boyfriend telling you everything about nothing. You suppose it’s so comforting because you enjoy hearing his voice, and it’s a nice reminder of the fact that he’s with you, even if you’re just talking on the phone while he’s on a roadie. Either way, no one will ever hear you complaining about your boyfriend’s talking habits.

Luke, on the other hand, knows exactly why he loves to talk so much. He enjoys talking in general, but when he talks to you, it’s just as comforting for him as it is for you. It’s a way for him to decompress after a long day, lay everything out, and get it off his chest. Then, he never has to think about it again. His favorite part of his day is talking to you, so he’s going to soak it up every chance he gets. Also, Luke is aware that he’s a clingy boyfriend. He’s not scared to admit that. Talking your ear off is just another way for him to feel close to you. It especially helps when he’s gone on roadies and can’t see you face-to-face. 

By the time you finish cleaning your apartment, Luke is on story number five. This one happened an hour or two before the game while the boys were messing around in the hallways, something about Luke almost getting taken out by a soccer ball while he was doing his pre-game run. You’re almost finished folding your last load of laundry when Luke starts whining behind you. 

“Baby, when are you gonna be done? You’ve been cleaning for hours,” he drags out half the words in the sentence.

“Luke, you’ve only been here one hour? Just let me finish this then I’ll come sit with you, okay?”

“Whatever,” there’s no real bite to his tone, and you know he’s just being dramatic. You finish up the last bit of your cleaning about twenty minutes later, not without some more whining on Luke’s end. Soon, you’re lying down on the couch, watching as Luke makes himself comfortable on top of you. He grunts a little bit when you don’t move, and you know that’s his way of asking you to run your fingers through his hair.

He lets out a big sigh before starting again, “So anyway…” You aren’t sure exactly how long you lay there with him, listening to him talk while you played with his hair. Soon, though, the sun has set, and you’re attempting to hold back yawns. “So Curtis decided to- oh? Are you sleepy, baby? We can go to bed.”

“Yeah, let's go to bed, hun,” the two of you make your way to your bedroom, immediately lying down and getting comfortable. Luke talked the whole way there. As you’re getting comfortable, you catch a glimpse of the time on your alarm clock. “Luke, baby, it’s after midnight… can you maybe finish your story in the morning?”

“Yeah… yeah, babe, don’t worry about it. Just don’t be mad when I forget important details,” he mumbles the last sentence before letting go of you and rolling over so that his back is facing you.

“Luke. Don’t pout. I’m just sleepy, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not pouting,” you can feel him rolling his eyes even though you can’t see his face. “I’m just saying. You know I don’t remember stuff well after I’ve slept on it. All those important details will probably be gone from my mind. Oh well.” You sigh, deciding to let him pout in favor of getting some sleep. A few minutes later, he speaks up again, “Ya know, I thought you liked hearing me talk.” After getting no response, he tries again, “Dad always told me I’d never find a wife if I didn’t learn how to shut up sometimes. I guess he was right,” he let out a big sigh in between the two sentences. It goes on for you don’t even know how long after that.

“Jack and Quinn used to never let me talk. I’m starting to think you’re just like them.”

“I thought I was dating my best friend. Turns out you actually hate me.”

“There was a really funny part too. I guess you don’t want me to do my favorite thing. Make you laugh. I love your laugh, but you obviously don’t care.”

“I guess I just love you more than you love me. I would do anything for you, baby, even ruin my sleep schedule. Unlike some people.”

“I would never name names but some people like to tell me they love to hear me talk but they really only mean they like it when it’s convenient for them.”

That’s when the fake waterworks set in. Luke is a horrible fake cryer, but that doesn’t stop him. He’s slapping his hand over his mouth, shaking his shoulders, letting out the most unbelievable “boo hoo” you’ve ever heard. When he sees it’s not working, he changes his tactic again.

“Aren’t you gonna apologize? You made me cry!”

“It’s 2:00 AM, and you made me cry. Are you happy with yourself? This is the kind of relationship you want? The kind of relationship where I have to cry myself to sleep?”

“I bet if we got into an argument right now, you wouldn’t even let me plead my case. Because then I would be talking, and apparently, you don’t like that anymore.”

At this point, you know you’re not sleeping any time soon, so you let yourself answer, “Luke, you’ve been talking for the past six hours.”

He’s quick with his reply, “See! I just can’t do anything right.”

“Ya know, you always call me your baby, but is this what you would do to a baby? Let them cry themselves to sleep?”

“Yeah, Luke, it’s called self-soothing. It’s actually a really common soothing method these days.”

“Torture method, more like. Poor kids. Is this what you’re gonna do to our kids? Tell them to shut up because you aren’t in the mood for them to express their thoughts and feelings?”

“Luke, we’re both freshly twenty-one, and we aren’t having kids any time soon?”

“Oh so now you don’t see a future with me? I guess I should return the ring in my sock drawer then, huh?”

“You have a ring?” you nearly shout, shocked at his revelation.

“Nah, I just wanted you to feel bad.” You quiet down after that, relieved that you won’t have to turn him down because you’re not ready, not that he isn’t the one you want to marry. He very much is, just not right this second. The exhaustion is setting in, so you don’t say much for a while. Apparently, that makes Luke really nervous. “I’m so sorry, baby. You know I was just playing, right? I’ll buy you a ring one day. I’ll do all the research. I’ll even stalk your Pinterest if I have to. I’ll buy you the perfect ring. Then I’ll give you the perfect wedding. Then we can have the perfect kids… Do you hate me now?” You can hear how sad he is, knowing he’s probably tired, and it’s probably heightening his emotions and dramatics.

“I don’t hate you, Lukey. I could never. I’m just sleepy, baby. I need to sleep, and I think you do too. Besides, I don’t wanna get married right now anyway.”

“Oh, so you don’t wanna marry me?” it was his turn to almost shout, his dramatic side getting the better of him in his sleepy state.

Eventually, you manage to wrangle him into laying his head on your chest so you can softly drag your fingers through his curls just the way he likes. Soon, it gets him asleep, just like you knew it would. Finally, you’re able to get some much-needed sleep as well. The next morning you hear it from Luke. He won’t shut up about how he has to finish his story but can’t remember half of it because you made him sleep. He loves to get on your nerves, but you wouldn’t trade a single moment with your favorite drama queen.

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler

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[raven-dor]

i'll be watching you

in which steve harrington can’t stop thinking about the one girl who believed in him

PAIRING: steve harrington x fem!reader, dustin henderson x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, young love, realization, ANGST ANGST ANGST, nostalgia, CRAZY amounts of yearning, obliviousness

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

AN: this hurt to write... enjoy!! (also the 'present' is the mid 90's, so Steve and you are in your late 20's)

Steve was utterly confused. First, he decides, of his own volition, to apologize to Jonathan Wheeler. Then, he knocks on the boy’s door to find Y/N, panic evident in her expression and her hand bleeding. 

He bursts in, worried about her safety, to then find that his girlfriend is also there, with a gun pointed at his face.

He was then dragged through the Wheeler’s house away from some sort of creature before finally being ushered out by Y/N, her words haunting him as he opened the car door. “I don’t want you wrapped up in this, Steve. Just leave it alone.” 

Why would she care? And why could she be involved, but not him? No, Steve thought to himself as he grabbed his bat, she could not go through this alone. (He would later reference this moment as the second his feelings for her grew past friendship.) Screams rang through the Byers property, and Steve burst through the door once more, swinging his bat and slamming the monster square in the face. 

Y/N was on the floor, grinning wildly at the boy before her. “Steve!” He ran over, extending his hand and pulling her into his arms. “What are you-” 

“Don’t tell me to leave it alone ever again.” He whispered.

She nodded, hugging him tightly. “Fine.” 

A cough interrupted their moment, and they pulled apart, remembering where they were. Y/N laughed, nudging the King of Hawkins lightly. “You’re quite the hero.” 

A chill ran down his spine, and he clenched his eyes shut. She made him crazy sometimes.

Steve groaned, shoving his face further into his pillow. Not again, he thought. This had been the third time this week he’d woke up this early. Every time it was the same, it was almost like he was going back in time, his dreams exactly as they had been in real life. 

And every time it revolved around her. 

He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. Why couldn’t he have a dream about puppies or his dream job?

His alarm clock rang, and his heart dropped. “Shit!” Jumping out of bed, he sprinted to the bathroom, fixing his hair as best he could in two minutes.

His real shift at his very real job started in ten minutes.

“Y/N!” 

God, she forgot how dismal this gym could be. All the horrible memories of middle school gym class came rushing back. Over by the locker room is where Tracy C. tripped her ‘on accident.’ The bleachers were where she’d sit when she wasn’t picked for dodgeball. 

And by the exit door was where she would secretly cheer for Steve as he played basketball. 

She was sure some of these kids, at least the ones she knew, had had the same happen to them. The doors to the gym opened for the hundredth time, Dustin Henderson walking through with what Y/N could only identify as a Steve Harrington special. 

She waved at the boy, smiling brightly as he walked across the gym to meet her.

She hoped he hadn’t seen her space out.

“Are you okay?” 

So he had. Y/N smiled, nodding. “Of course I am, now that you’re here.” He blushed. “You look very handsome, Dustin.” 

“Thank you.” He grinned. “Steve helped me.” 

“Really?” She smiled, laughing to herself. “That’s really nice of him.” 

“We’re friends now!” Dustin was still grinning. “He drove me here.” 

Her eyes darted toward the entrance, and the young boy’s face fell ever so slightly. “He said he doesn’t want to come in because…” He motioned for Y/N to lean down, whispering in her ear. “Because of Nancy.” 

Of course, how could she forget about Nancy? She loved her friend, but her heart ached to think about Steve’s undying love for her. “Ah.” She locked her lips, figuratively throwing away the key. “Your secret is safe with-” 

“Henderson.” 

She looked up, locking eyes with Steve’s instantly. He was beautiful in that color, she realized. It brought out the gold in his eyes.

“Wow.” Steve smiled shyly, rubbing a hand on his neck. “You-” 

“Are you kidding me?” He murmured as his eyes peeled open. 

This had to stop. 

He already deeply regretted his life choices, and now he couldn’t even escape them in sleep. He drove to work grumpily, parked his car grumpily, and stood at the Family Video counter grumpily. Robin laughed, shaking her head. 

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” 

He glared, sticking his tongue out. “Good morning to you too, Robin.” 

“You’ve been pissy lately,” Robin said it like it was a fact like everyone in Hawkins had been talking about it. “What’s up, Harrington?” 

“I-” He couldn’t tell Robin, she would never let him live this down. No, this was the type of thing you kept to yourself, driving yourself crazy until- “Just had a rough night.” 

“Okay.” Her shoulders deflated, grabbing the cart full of VHS tapes. “Let me know when you want to tell the truth.” 

“Shit, shit shit.” Y/N’s eyes were glassy as she clung to Steve’s side, supporting him as he walked. “Why’d you have to be the hero?” 

“That’s part of my-” He winced, laughing as her face grew even more worried. “Part of my charm, babe.” 

Y/N ignored the way her cheeks flushed, leaning him against the giant boulder. “Just be quiet.”

He nodded, leaning his head back in pain. “No problem.” 

“Really?” She scoffed, muttering thanks as Robin handed her cloth to wrap around his (chiseled) abdomen. “You scared me, you know.” 

Her voice was soft, much softer than normal. It sounded weak; scared even. He frowned, reaching out and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you did, Harrington.”

“Can you just-” He sighed. “Can you look at me? You haven’t met my eyes since you’ve gotten down here.” 

She shook her head, trying her best to wipe away the dirt from his gaping wound. “I really hope this doesn’t get infected.” 

“Y/N, come on.” He smiled, forcing himself not to cry out in pain. “Look at me.” 

“I think Eddie’s-” Robin received a hard glare from Steve, and she nodded, walking away without another word. 

Her face felt hot, eyes watery as she looked up at him. He grinned, whispering so that only they could hear. “There she is.”

“Here I am.” She whispered back, tears falling down her cheeks freely. “Now can I-” 

“I’m so mad at you right now.” 

Her head cocked to the side. “What?” She must have misheard him. 

“You heard me.” His tone was tense, but his eyes told a different story. “I said to stay in the boat, didn’t I? Don’t follow after me.” He scoffed, flailing his arms, pain ringing through his aching muscles. “And what did you do? You followed me.” 

“As opposed to what? Watching helplessly as you were dragged into hell?” She stood up, glaring. “Would you rather have died down here?” More tears fell as she stared, hissing at him so the others couldn’t hear. “You don’t have to do everything alone!” 

“I know that-” 

“Then why can’t I follow after you? Huh?” She glared. “You’re not the boss of-” 

“I didn’t want you wrapped up in this!” He yelled, Nancy, Eddie, and Robin jumping at the sound. “You should’ve left it alone.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, last I checked, I was involved first.” She yelled back. “Now shut up so I can fix you.” She knelt again, tying the cloth Robin gave her earlier gently around him. An uncomfortable silence fell over them before she spoke once more. “Just be careful, alright? I can’t do this without you.” 

“Y/N…” His eyes were watering, from the pain or what she said, he couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry.” 

“Good.” She wiped the dirt from her hands. “I’m sorry too, I guess.” She stood up, muttering. “Even though I have no reason to apologize.” 

He laughed, reaching out for her hold. “Could I-” 

“Yes! Yeah, of course.” His arm expertly laid around her shoulders, and in another life, they could have walked through Hawkins High like this. “Please stop acting like the hero. I can’t bear it.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes full of desperation, and his heart skipped. Shit. “Yeah.” 

He nodded, kissing her temple gently. “Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Hey!” Eddie’s voice interrupted whatever was happening between them. “Why don’t you take a break? I can take care of Harrington for a bit.” 

“Are you sure?” Y/N frowned, not even bothering to look at her best friend, still staring up at Steve with that dangerous look in her eyes. “I really don’t mind.” 

“Y/N.” Steve whispered. “You’ve done enough for me to last a lifetime. I’ll be okay.” 

She looked hurt, but let go of Steve regardless. “Alright, he’s all yours, Munson.” 

Eddie waited until she was by Robin and Nancy to speak. “She was the first one to dive in after you.”

Steve smiled. “Really?”

Eddie nodded. “You know she likes you, right?” 

“I know.” He laughed as he watched her jump on Robin’s back. “I like her too.” 

“Good, good.” Eddie placed a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Just, don’t hurt her, okay? She seems strong, but…” 

“I won’t.” Steve was so confident in it, so sure. “I would never do anything to hurt her.” 

His latest dream had thrown him for a loop. Eddie, a man he was never close with in school, died hours after that. God, he thought as he ran through the streets of his neighborhood, that had been the last time he’d talked to the metalhead. 

His shower was cold, and not because he forgot to pay the water bill. He’d made it cold on purpose, maybe this was how he would stop having these dreams. 

Lately, they felt closer to nightmares. This one, in particular, had reminded him of how close they'd been, of how hard Y/N had taken it when Eddie had died. It had never been the right time to ask her, he kept telling himself, even after she left, and he stayed. 

'Never the right time' had been his downfall. 

Work had been the same, a mother asking for a children’s movie, a teenager who was obviously not old enough to rent an R-rated movie asking where they could find one, and an older couple asking for Gone With The Wind. The door rang for the fourth time that day, and he recited the same old boring greeting. “Welcome to Family Video, do you need-” He looked up, his breath catching in his throat. 

It couldn’t be. 

“It’s been a while, Harrington.” She laughed, and his heart fluttered. God, her laugh was still the most perfect sound he’d ever heard. “Are you doing alright?” 

“I-” He grinned. Was this real? It had to be- nope, he had officially losing it. He should have opened up to Robin when he had the chance.

“Hello?” She stepped forward, giggling. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re spacing out on me. That’s my thing, you know. Not yours.” 

He laughed. “You look-” 

“Mama!” A little boy ran through the front door, clinging to Y/N’s leg. 

Steve’s head felt like it was spinning. 

“Hey, babe.” A man, around their age, walked up beside her, kissing her cheek gently. She grinned, leaning into his hold. “I tried to entertain him in the parking lot-” 

“It’s fine, honey.” She smiled, looking back at Steve with a sort of melancholy look. “This is Steve.” 

Steve waved, and the man waved back. Y/N’s cheeks were red, and in any normal situation, Steve would have laughed. She was cute when she was flustered. 

Right now, he couldn't find it in him to tease. He just wanted to curl up on the floor and die. “This is my husband Nick, and our son, Edmund.”

“No!” The little boy’s shrill yell livened up the place. 

Y/N laughed, looking down endearingly. “No, huh?” 

He nodded. “My name is Eddie.” 

Steve’s heart dropped, tears forming in his eyes as he stared at Y/N. Her husband laughed too, kneeling. “Kiddo, your nickname is Eddie. Your name is-” 

“Eddie!” 

‘Nick’ just laughed again, standing up. “There’s no convincing this one, I’m afraid.” 

Y/N stared back at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. He finally spoke, finally said a full sentence for the first time since she’d walked in. “It’s a good name, Eddie.” 

She nodded, her eyes growing teary. “It is.” 

She was just as perfect as the last time he’d seen her. Radiant, happy, glowing, all things she was now. He knew, deep down, if he had told her that he loved her, she would have stayed, put her life on hold to be with him. And that - that was Steve’s worst nightmare. 

She had an actual chance, to leave, to make something of herself, and he wasn’t going to be the reason she never achieved it. He hadn’t, as he stared helplessly at her family, heart officially breaking when her husband set his hand on her growing stomach. “I get to name the next one.” 

Y/N shook her head, smacking his chest playfully. “I thought you said you liked Edmund.” 

“Kidding, babe.” He looked at Steve, smiling awkwardly. “Did you two know each other well?” 

Steve shook his head before he could think. “Just knew each other from school.” How do you tell the love of your life’s husband that you fought monsters together? He was almost sure Y/N hadn’t told him, and Steve didn’t blame her. He’d never told anyone either. “She was always the smart one, no one could keep up.” 

She wiped the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes, laughing. “I wouldn’t say that…” 

Nick, who was really a nice guy, Steve would later realize (even if he hated his guts at that moment) nodded. “You still are.” He looked at Steve again, laughing. “She runs circles around me. I wouldn’t have it any other way though.” He kissed Y/N on the cheek, staring at her the way Steve wished he could. “Keeps me young.” 

That had made Steve laugh. Damn it. Y/N had laughed too, rolling her eyes. “You're 29, Nick. Not exactly old here.” 

“Speak for yourself.” Nick clapped his hands, grabbing Edmund from his wife’s leg. “Have any cartoons for this one?” 

Steve nodded, leading them down the aisles toward the kid's section. “Aladdin’s a good one.” 

Eddie had lost energy as quickly as he’d gained it, Nick carrying him to the car with a haphazard ‘nice to meet you’ thrown in Steve’s general direction. 

Y/N stood in front of the counter, handing Steve the cash for the movie. Her tone was light as she spoke, almost like no time had passed. “He’s a good kid.” 

Steve smiled. “Takes after his mother.” 

“He-” Her voice sounded thick, and she stared at him with something Steve couldn’t quite place. “I hope you’re doing okay, really.” 

He nodded. That seemed to be all he could do now. “I am.” 

“Well…” She clapped her hands, walking back. “I’ll see you.” 

She pushed the door open, sparing one last look before disappearing from his sight.

Maybe, he thought to himself as his very soul began to die, it would have been better just to go mad. Go mad thinking about what could have been, rather than seeing her and realizing she had everything he'd hoped for.

Just not with him.

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[rose24207]

Heyyy, i’ve got an idea for a Lando x reader fic!

Basically Lando and the reader have been friends their whole life since their parents are good friends and they go on vacations together all that shit. And the reader has had a crush on Lando for some time now and what she doesn’t know is that Lando likes her too and one night they’re celebrating midsummers (or whatever) and he tells her he likes her and they kiss and talk all night and cuddle and stuff like that, but the next day Lando is ignoring the reader and pretends like nothing happened and goes on to ignore her for like a good year or two until one night they talk and he says he’s sorry for all that and they have their happy ending. Super angsty and sad but fluff at the end!

Don’t feel obligated to write this if you don’t want to, it’s just something i came up with and could never write myself (i can’t write to save my life) but i really like your fics and thought you could!

I‘ve missed this

Summary: Lando confesses his love on midsummer night but pushes you away for years before finally apologizing and winning you back.

Genre: angst, fluff

Lando x f!reader

TW: None!

A/N: DW girl I got your back!! again sorry that you had to wait! School is kicking my ass and I’m about to crash out because of my driver license (that shit is expensive af) English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

The golden glow of the midsummer sun bathed the lawn in a warm, ethereal light. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, and laughter filled the air as family and friends celebrated another year of togetherness.

You sat at the edge of the garden, the sound of the waves from the nearby lake mingling with the music. Your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him—Lando Norris.

He stood by the fire pit, laughing with a group of friends, the amber glow highlighting his cheekbones and the soft curls that framed his face. You’d known him your entire life, thanks to your parents’ friendship. Vacations, holidays, birthdays—he’d always been there, your constant companion.

And somewhere along the way, you’d fallen for him.

It wasn’t just his boyish charm or his crooked smile that made your heart race. It was the way he made you laugh when you wanted to cry, the way he always seemed to know what you needed without you having to say it.

But he didn’t know how you felt. And you weren’t sure he ever would.

“Why are you sitting here alone?”

His voice startled you, and you turned to see him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He tilted his head, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Just… thinking,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Thinking, huh?” He dropped down onto the grass beside you, his knee brushing yours. “Care to share?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your hands. “It’s nothing important.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Come on, you can tell me anything.”

You looked up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes sparkled in the fading light.

“Alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “I was just thinking about how much has changed since we were kids.”

His expression softened, and he nodded. “Yeah. Feels like yesterday we were building sandcastles and arguing over who got the last popsicle.”

You laughed, the memory warming your chest. “You always took it, by the way.”

“Only because you let me,” he teased, nudging you gently.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sounds of the celebration faded into the background as you both stared at the lake, its surface shimmering like molten gold.

“I’ve missed this,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet.

“Missed what?”

“Us.” He turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “It feels like we’ve both been so busy with life lately. I hate that we don’t get to spend as much time together anymore.”

Your chest tightened, his words hitting a tender spot in your heart. “Me too.”

He reached out, his hand brushing yours. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “What is it?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. “I’ve been trying to find the right moment to say this, but… I like you, Y/N. More than a friend should.”

The world seemed to stand still, his words hanging in the air.

“You… what?” you managed to say, your voice shaking.

He smiled nervously, his fingers tightening around yours. “I like you. I have for a while now. I just—”

You didn’t let him finish. Before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

For a moment, he froze, and you thought you’d made a terrible mistake. But then his hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with a fervor that made your head spin.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Wow,” he murmured, a soft laugh escaping him.

You smiled, your cheeks burning. “Wow.”

That night, the two of you talked for hours, sharing secrets and dreams you’d never spoken aloud. When the celebration wound down, you ended up curled in his arms under the stars, your heart feeling fuller than it had in years.

The next morning, you woke up with a smile, memories of the night replaying in your mind. You couldn’t wait to see Lando, to talk about what this meant for you both.

But when you went to find him, he was distant.

At breakfast, he barely met your gaze. Throughout the day, he kept conversations short, avoiding any moment that might leave you alone together.

By the end of the week, he was gone, leaving you with a hollow ache in your chest.

The weeks turned into months, and the months stretched into years. Lando’s career in Formula 1 took off, and you watched from afar as he became a household name.

He texted occasionally, but it was never personal. Just polite pleasantries, as if you were mere acquaintances. The memory of that midsummer night haunted you, the unanswered questions gnawing at your heart.

Why had he pulled away?

It wasn’t until two years later, during another midsummer celebration, that you saw him again.

He was standing by the same fire pit, his posture tense as he stared into the flames. Your heart ached at the sight of him, the familiar longing resurfacing like a wave crashing over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you approached him.

“Lando.”

He turned, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you. “Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

He hesitated but then nodded, leading you away from the crowd to a quieter spot by the lake.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, years of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away. “Why, Lando? Why did you pull away? After everything that happened… I thought—”

“I was scared,” he admitted, cutting you off. “That night… it meant everything to me. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I had to lose if I screwed things up between us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words both a balm and a dagger to your heart. “So you thought ignoring me for two years was the better option?”

“I thought it would be easier for both of us if I put distance between us,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

You wiped at your eyes, the weight of his apology sinking in. “Lando… do you have any idea how much that hurt me? How much I missed you?”

He stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “I missed you too. Every single day. And I hated myself for what I did. But I was stupid and scared, and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. Despite everything, you still loved him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You closed your eyes, your tears mingling with his. “You really hurt me, Lando.”

“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

For a moment, you hesitated. But then you thought of the boy who’d been your rock for so many years, the boy who’d held your hand when you were scared and made you laugh when you wanted to cry.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. “I missed you too.”

That night, as you sat by the lake with his arms around you, the pain of the past began to fade.

For the first time in years, you felt whole again.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Chapter 9

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 1822 (approx.)

GIF by dazedandkaitfused

A week later, you were in the lab with Tony & Bruce, ready to go again on the flashback program, albeit a bit unsure if it will give you any more results.

“I’m frustrated Bruce, these memories are coming in little bits, and they aren’t in any logical order either” you told him.  You felt like a whiney little bitch, because so many people had it worse off than you, but this was your life and if you weren’t going to get any more memories back, then you wanted to just move on and hopefully start making some new memories.

“It’s not an exact science Y/n” Bruce explained. “We have to be patient with it and try not to put too much pressure on your brain, it’s been through a lot.”

Bruce sets you up for another round of the flashback program.  Lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the wires and probes, you really hoped that today was the day you’d wake up with all, or most of your past back.

You see Steve walk into the lab just as you go under.

“How’s it going Bruce?” Steve asked, hopefully.

“She’s just gone under Steve, I’m hoping today is the breakthrough.  In fact, her seeing you as she went under may be a good thing, it might trigger her subconscious to remember those specific memories that include you and, by association, Noah.”

“Me too, I don’t know how much longer I can handle this if it doesn’t work.  Do you mind if I wait here for her to wake up?”

“Not at all Steve, pull up a chair and get comfortable.  Last week she was under for about 3 hours, so I’d expect this session to last about the same time.”

Steve grabs a chair and pulls it up beside the hospital bed you are in. Over the next few hours, he sits and watches, he gets up and paces the room, he finds a paper and pencil and doodles to pass the time.

“Is it normal for it to take this long?” Steve enquired of Bruce.

“Like I said, last time it was about 3 hours and she recovered a good chunk of memories.  I’m hoping that this is a good sign that there’s a big portion of memories coming back to her.

Suddenly, your body starts shaking as if you are having a seizure. Steve knew you didn’t have epilepsy or any other seizure like issues.

“Bruce, what’s happening?  Stop it now.  I’m serious Bruce, get her out of this trance or whatever it is she’s in.” Steve was panicking because there was nothing he could really do to help right now.

Bruce stops the program but you don’t wake up immediately.

“Bruce?” Steve asked quietly, worried that some permanent damage may have been done and that you’d never come back to him and Noah.

“Umm, I’m trying here Steve” he replies. “The program is finished, she’s just not waking up.  I’m double checking her vitals but everything seems stable, I’m just not sure why she won’t wake up?”

“Do something Bruce.” Steve shouts.

“I’m not sure what else to do Steve” he says. 

“Bruce this is your program, this is your knowledge.  This is on you to fix it.  We can’t lose her Bruce. Noah needs her and so do I.” Steve is so distraught he was almost crying.

For the next few hours, Bruce and Steve sat and paced and did everything they were doing when you were under earlier.  Tony came and went, monitoring your status and researching things that he and Bruce could do to help bring you out of the state you were currently in.

Steve was beside himself, he felt exactly as he did when you were in the hospital originally.  He hoped that this would have a different outcome in that you’d wake up with at least some of your memories.

All of a sudden you stirred.  The first person you see is Steve.

“Bruce, she’s awake.” Steve sighs with relief.  “Oh thank god you’re awake Y/n.  I was so worried we were going to lose you.”

You looked at Steve, sudden realisation in your eyes.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked him.

“Tell you what Y/n?” Steve asked you, then it hit him.  He knew exactly what you were asking.  “You.. you remember?”

“Yes, I remember Steve” you responded.  “Why wouldn’t you just tell me that we were together?  If I’d known that I wouldn’t have gone off for weeks, or been such a bitch towards you for cheating when you clearly weren’t?”

“I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you but you didn’t want me to explain anything, you said no explanation would change what had happened.  On top of that..”

“No on top of anything, Steve” you interrupted him, anger in your voice.  “I deserved to know the truth.”

Steve sighs, exasperated but understanding of your outrage.  “I tried, I really did” he reiterated quietly. “All I wanted was to hold you and have you know you were mine, but the doctor told us not to and every time I tried to explain you shut me down.  I just wanted to see you with Noah, he’s really missed you.”

“Steve, Who’s Noah?” you ask, confused.

Steve looks at Bruce, thinking, how can she remember me and not Noah?

Steve wonders how to answer that question.  “Umm, well…”

You get agitated with what seems to be more secrets that people won’t tell you “Just tell me goddamit!  I’m sick of things being kept secret.  I’m a big girl, I can handle whatever you’re going to tell me.

Steve looks at Bruce and shrugs.  He’s had enough of this pussyfooting around and not telling you important things.  Regardless of what the doctor had said, Steve thought maybe it was time for you to learn everything you were still missing and as he’s about to answer you, Tony walks in, interrupting everything.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

Bruce smiles at him “Well, she finally woke up.  And we had a breakthrough.”  He points at the bed where Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, holding your hand and looking at you like you hung the moon in the sky just for him.

“She remembers?  Thank god.”

“Not everything” Bruce answers. “But she remembers him and their relationship. There’s only one thing left.”

“Noah?” Tony half asks, half states.

“Yeah, Noah.” Bruce answers sadly.

Bruce and Tony watch you and Steve, happy to see you back together, and positive you’ll remember Noah soon.

The next morning, you wake up in bed, snuggled into Steve’s chest.  You look up and see him awake.

The previous night, after Bruce had let you go, you and Steve had stayed up late, talking through a lot of things and working through everything that had happened and your reaction to it all.  You now accepted that it was partly your fault that he hadn’t told you the truth earlier, you’d been particularly bitchy towards him any time he'd tried so you can’t really blame him for giving up.  At least you know he kept trying, even when you shot him down, time after time.

Despite his determination last night, he hesitated every time he thought about telling you about Noah.  Mainly because of what it could mean for Noah if you took the news badly. 

“Morning Captain, how long have you been awake?” you asked.

“A while.” Came his answer.

“You know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep?” you laughed.  He didn’t so you asked “Hey, is everything ok?  Is this about Noah?”

Steve looks at you with surprise that you mentioned Noah.

“What do you remember about Noah?” Steve asked, hoping you were remembering him as well now.

You sigh. “Nothing, I don’t know who he is, but your reaction yesterday when you mentioned him and I didn’t know makes me feel like I should.”

“Well, I can tell you but it’s one of those big things the doctors said we shouldn’t just dump on you.  I don’t want to make things worse but oh god, I need to tell you.  It’s up to you.”

“Maybe we should talk to Tony and see what he thinks?”

“Sounds good, but I’m going to be selfish right now and say I don’t want to move, I am just enjoying being able to hold you again, and have you know that you’re my girl, not someone else that I’m cheating on.”

“Well, there’s something else you could be doing with your fiancé and we can talk to Tony later?”

Steve looks down at you and laughs.  The laughter fades and his eyes darken with desire.  He leans down to kiss you, shifting so you are on the bed and he is half on top of you.

“I love you Steve.  I’m glad I remember.  Please, I need you.”

“I love you too Y/n.  Always and forever.”

Some time later, Steve wakes up to an empty bed.  He panics for a moment then hears you singing in the bathroom, which brings a massive smile to his face. 

He goes into the bathroom, finding you soaking in a massive bubble bath, eyes closed, singing away.  He stands watching you for the longest time, you don’t seem to sense him standing there.

“Oh dear”  You exclaim, the water sloshing in the tub as Steve joins you.  You turn around so your back is against his chest and lean into him.  He wraps his arms around you and you stay that way for what feels like forever.

“Steve?” you turn your head and look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah babe?” he lands a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m a prune. I need to get out of this water.”

Steve laughs “Well, the water is getting a bit cold anyway.  Do you need any help getting out sweetheart?”

“Haha, it’s my brain that’s busted Steve, not my legs or arms.” You joke with him.

“Just offering a hand if you need it, my love.” He says. “Although I have to say, I’m pretty happy with the view as it is.”

“You’re terrible Rogers.  Actually, there is one thing I wanted to ask you.”

“Ask away sweetheart, I’ll tell you pretty much anything you want to know at this point.”

“Do I have an engagement ring - I mean if I was, or am, your fiancé, I’m guessing you liked it enough to put a ring on it?”

Steve almost chokes with laughter at you quoting a Beyonce song. “Oh yeah, I sent it away to be cleaned and it needed a couple of new hook things on it, I don’t really know the ins and outs.  I should talk to the jeweller about getting it back.  By the way, keep tonight free, because I am taking you on a date.”

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia

[lyricalt]

Kind

Haha, I hope you don't mind I sort of had this in my backpocket and it was going to stay unfinished forever but your prompt pinged some words I was finally able to connect. So thanks!

sniperspy - rated explicit (very nsfw lol)

(open prompt post HERE)

+++

Sniper thanks his lucky stars Spy doesn’t expect dirty talk from him. He’s more than happy to let Spy do all the flirtatious innuendo and filthy comments. He’s willing to listen to it all. In fact, if Sniper makes a conscious effort to make the attempt himself, it usually doesn’t work. Spy is typically immune to whatever Sniper has to say (dirty or not), likely because he’s already heard everything in all his years of honeypot missions and the like. With the filthy shit Spy murmurs in his ear sometimes, Sniper is sure as hell he hasn’t even heard a quarter of it. 

Either way, Sniper’s not much of a talker in bed, much like he isn’t much of one when not in bed, but especially when he’s about to get railed six ways to Sunday. He makes noise, sure, but nothing too coherent. Curses, mostly. Obvious demands. He ain’t dead silent. Spy seems to like it.  

So Sniper’s just carrying on babbling nonsense while getting plowed silly on his back, too far gone to care what comes out of his mouth. He vaguely remembers gasping please, please (normal, polite) and don’t stop (honest demand, if not obvious in hindsight), want you (intimate, perhaps, but not scandalous), and then, of course, Spy’s name a couple of times.

Nothing out of the ordinary, except when Sniper is in the middle of gasping something unusually wordy, Spy suddenly tenses, lets out a short startled noise, and comes inside Sniper with such abruptness, it surprises them both. 

Spy slips himself out, still breathing harshly against Sniper’s neck. There’s a slight shake to his arms as he tries to sit up with Sniper’s legs still wrapped around his waist. Sniper is more bummed about the loss in his bum, but it only takes Spy another moment to recover—he looks mortified, red from the neck and chest, and then that’s all the observation Sniper can gather before Spy quickly bends down and sucks him off until Sniper’s mind does the equivalent of dropping a loose cartridge of SMG bullets all over the floor.

No more words, this time Sniper just moans through his orgasm, almost overwhelmed by how fast it hits like a train. His cock has never been so thoroughly swallowed down and cleaned up with speed. He’s still shuddering when Spy lets off, and he shudders again when he sees that Spy has to swallow twice.

There’s an art to complimenting Spy. Say too much and he’s going to get a big head about it. Say too little and he’ll fish for an opinion. Say nothing and it’s even worse—he’ll not do it again and brush it off as something Sniper doesn’t want.

So, Sniper flops his legs back down from Spy’s waist and lets out a very precise, very articulate, “Ngh.”

Spy doesn't say anything for the moment. He stumbles from the bed, off to fetch the washrag while Sniper tries to figure out what the hell happened. 

“That was fast,” Sniper says, since he knows it’s best to just pull the trigger on these things; Spy has a habit of getting all caught up in his head otherwise. “Got somewhere to be?”

It isn’t until Spy drops a damp cloth on his chest that Sniper sits up, letting it fall into his lap. He doesn’t pick it up. Instead, he sets his sights on Spy.

“...You’re quite the chattermouth in bed,” Spy says, offhand, but he won’t look at Sniper. There’s a flush still lingering across his chest and shoulders. 

Sniper frowns. He’s sure he hasn’t said anything weird or off putting. Certainly nothing dirty since he’s no good at it, and nothing too saccharine or sweet that would embarrass them, but then again, Spy wouldn’t have blown his bloody load so fast if it’d been a turn off.

Sniper presses the washrag to his face, muttering, and tries to recall what he’d said. If anything, he’d like to use it again for leverage, but he’s thinking on it now and it’s nothing, absolutely nothing special. Just stuff about wanting, and wanting so badly in that desperate kind of sex-talk way. Honest, in-the-moment babble that Sniper can’t fake. Spy should be used to it, considering his past history.

Sniper lowers his hands slightly, peering over the top of the terrycloth at Spy.

“Ah-ha,” Sniper says. “‘I’m yours’, is that it?”

He might as well have shot Spy through the head with how accurate he hits the mark. Spy’s body language is perfectly composed, but what little Sniper can see of his face goes up in flames, near bright enough to show through the mask, really.

“A little more than that,” Spy says stiffly.

Sniper lets out a bark of laughter, not surprised in the least. Because, deep down under that cynical and wry exterior, he knows Spy’s a romantic at heart. What, being so invested in Scout’s troubles with Miss Pauling, knowing how to wine and dine, and the finer ins and outs of courting, Spy seems to have a keen eye for reading people’s hearts—motives, really—so Sniper supposes it’s not out of pocket for Spy to be partial to it himself. Sniper likens it to any other type of specialized mercenary skill. 

And also, when it comes down to it, Spy has a streak of kindness a klick wide. He’s just good at hiding it in most cases. Sniper guesses he should be flattered he isn’t most cases.

Spy is starting to dress himself. It might not be a good idea to mention that it’s his own room he’s trying to escape from. Sniper lays himself back into Spy’s plush bed. 

“No worries, Spy,” he says, shrugging. “You’re a sap. I know you like that kinda stuff. The sweet talkin’.”

Spy slowly looks at him. He sounds mildly affronted by the accusation. “Not usually.”

“Fine, just with me then.”

And now Spy looks less of a romantic and more like the proper murderer that he is. Sniper is surprised a knife isn’t buried into his throat yet.

Just in case, he holds one hand up and uses the other to wipe his bottom before Spy starts trying to switch the topic to clean sheets. “I ain't making fun. I think it’s sweet as, mate. You get your rocks off however you want.”

Spy sighs, embarrassed and exasperated, but he’s slowed down in trying to dress himself. “You make it sound like a fetish. It certainly isn’t.”

“Nah. I get that. You like me.” Sniper rolls on his side, propping himself up with one elbow and his cheek in the palm of his hand. “You like me heaps.”

“Careful. That might change.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Change into liking me more,” Sniper says breezily. 

Spy buttons up his shirt, lightly stepping over Sniper’s clothes on the floor so that he can loom over him. He puts fingers around Sniper’s throat and at the first touch, Sniper finds himself easing back at the slightest pressure.

“You would not be able to handle me liking you more,” Spy says, deadpan. Only he could make something like that sound like a genuine threat. No kindness there at all.

And, since things tend to loop back in a circle with them, Sniper guesses it’s only fair when it’s his turn to feel a hot blush cross his face under Spy’s weighted stare.

When Spy’s fingers let up, Sniper drops back, covering his own face, and lets Spy finish dressing.

[quietly-collecting-spoons]

Went to the hospital because I literally couldn’t breathe. Was having all sorts of “about to pass out” symptoms like dizziness and numbness in my hands and legs. Of course everything cleared up before I got to the hospital because when can symptoms ever stay around long enough for medical staff to see them first hand, right? So anyway I get back to work a couple days later and I mention it to my coworkers because the day it happened I had to clock out early and I wanted them to know I’m better.

If I had a nickel for every time someone said it was probably anxiety/a panic attack I could pay the medical bill right this second. I hate that that’s the first thing people jump to. I’ve had panic attacks, I’m anxious every day. I wouldn’t be clocking out for symptoms I experience every day.

[justmossyaps]

i don’t want to jinx it but i think the flareup might actually be over :D

[pucksandpower]

Little Star

Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Summary: you’ve grown used to being overshadowed by your older brother, merely a distant star that seems dull in comparison to the sun of Maranello … and then Max happens

Based on this request

The sun dips low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the paddock of the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. The air still buzzes with excitement from the day’s race, but behind the Ferrari hospitality unit, a different energy permeates the air.

You lean against the cool metal wall, sliding down until you’re sitting on the concrete, knees pulled to your chest. Tears stream silently down your face as you struggle to catch your breath between sobs. The sounds of celebration echo in the distance, a stark contrast to your solitude.

Footsteps approach, and you hastily wipe at your eyes, hoping to erase any evidence of your breakdown. A familiar figure rounds the corner, stopping short when he spots you.

“Hey,” Max Verstappen says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you alright?”

You force a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine,” you insist, your voice wavering slightly. “Just ... needed some air.”

Max doesn’t buy it for a second. He crouches down beside you, his blue eyes searching your face. “You don’t look fine,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You bite your lip, debating whether to confide in him. After a moment, you sigh. “It’s stupid,” you mumble.

“If it’s making you cry, it’s not stupid,” Max counters. He settles down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Come on, talk to me.”

You take a shaky breath. “It’s my birthday,” you admit quietly.

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Today? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Because everyone forgot,” you explain, fresh tears welling up. “Charles won the race, and ... I’m happy for him, I really am. But it’s like I don’t even exist when he’s around, you know?”

Max nods slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “That must be really tough,” he says softly.

You nod, sniffling. “I’ve always felt like I was in his shadow, but today ... it just hit me harder, I guess. Even my mom forgot.”

“That’s not okay,” Max says firmly. “Your birthday should be special, no matter what else is happening.”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your jeans. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s not fine,” Max insists. He stands up suddenly, determination etched on his face. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can protest, he’s gone, jogging away towards the paddock. You’re left alone again, wondering what he’s up to.

True to his word, Max returns a few minutes later, slightly out of breath and holding something behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he instructs with a grin.

Curious, you comply. There’s a rustling sound, and then Max’s voice rings out, clear and slightly off-key: “Happy birthday to you ...”

Your eyes fly open in surprise. Max stands before you, holding a small cupcake with a single candle stuck in the frosting. His face is illuminated by the flickering flame as he continues to sing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Y/N, happy birthday to you!”

Emotion wells up in your chest, a lump forming in your throat. “Max,” you whisper, overwhelmed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

He crouches down, carefully balancing the cupcake. “Of course I did,” he says softly. “Everyone deserves to feel special on their birthday. Now make a wish and blow out your candle.”

You close your eyes, thinking for a moment before leaning forward to extinguish the tiny flame. When you open them again, Max is beaming at you.

“What did you wish for?” He asks, settling back down beside you and offering you the cupcake.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

Max laughs, nudging your shoulder playfully. “Fair enough. So, twenty-two, huh? How does it feel to be so old?”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help chuckling. “Says the guy who’s practically ancient at twenty-six.”

“Hey!” Max protests, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m in my prime.”

The banter feels natural, and you find yourself relaxing for the first time all day. You take a bite of the cupcake, savoring the sweetness. “This is really good,” you mumble around a mouthful of frosting. “Where did you even find it?”

Max grins mischievously. “I have my sources. Can’t reveal all my secrets, can I?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, Max. Really. This ... it means a lot.”

His expression softens. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry the rest of your family forgot. That’s not fair to you.”

You sigh, your momentary happiness fading slightly. “It’s not their fault. Charles had a big win today, and-”

“Stop,” Max interrupts gently. “You don’t have to make excuses for them. Your feelings are valid.”

You blink, surprised by his directness. “I ... I guess I’m just used to it,” you admit. “It’s always been about Charles. Even before he got into F1, he was the golden child. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes ...”

“Sometimes you want to be seen too,” Max finishes for you. You nod, grateful that he understands.

“Exactly. And it’s not just Charles. Arthur’s always been following in his footsteps, and Lorenzo ... well, he’s the oldest. I’m just ... there.”

Max frowns. “That’s not true. You’re your own person, with your own talents and dreams. Have you talked to them about how you feel?”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to make them feel bad. Especially Charles. He works so hard, and he deserves his success.”

“His success doesn’t diminish your worth,” Max says firmly. “You deserve to be celebrated too.”

Tears prick at your eyes again, but for a different reason this time. “Thank you,” you whisper. “I don’t think anyone’s ever put it quite like that before.”

Max smiles softly. “Well, it’s true. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty amazing.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “You barely know me,” you point out.

“I know enough,” Max counters. “I know you’re kind enough to put your family’s happiness before your own. I know you’re strong enough to handle being overlooked without becoming bitter. And I know you’ve got a great taste in cupcakes.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

Max grins, clearly pleased to have made you smile. “So, birthday girl, what do you want to do now? The night is young, and I happen to know where they keep the good champagne around here.”

You hesitate, glancing towards the paddock where you can still hear the sounds of celebration. “I don’t know ... I should probably go find my family.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “On your birthday? Come on, live a little. They can wait.”

A spark of rebellion ignites in your chest. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.”

Max jumps to his feet, offering you his hand. “That’s the spirit! First stop, champagne. Then, who knows? Maybe we’ll steal a golf cart and go joyriding around the track.”

You take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Is that even allowed?”

Max’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Probably not. But it’s your birthday, so I think we can bend the rules a little.”

As you follow Max towards the paddock, a warmth spreads through your chest that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. For the first time in years, you feel seen. Appreciated. Special.

“Hey, Max?” You say, causing him to pause and look back at you.

“Yeah?”

You smile, genuine and bright. “Thank you. For everything.”

Max’s expression softens. “Anytime,” he says softly. “Now come on, birthday girl. Let’s make this a night to remember.”

As you walk side by side into the fading light, you can’t help but feel that this birthday might just be the start of something new. Something exciting. Something uniquely yours.

And for once, you’re not thinking about Charles, or Arthur, or anyone else. You’re just thinking about you, and the possibilities that stretch out before you like an open road.

Happy birthday indeed.

***

The Ferrari hospitality suite thrums with energy, laughter and music spilling out into the warm Italian night. Charles Leclerc stands at the center of it all, a wide grin plastered across his face as he basks in the glow of his hard-fought victory. Champagne flows freely, and the air is thick with the scent of celebration.

“To Charles!” Someone shouts, raising a glass. The room erupts in cheers, and Charles feels a swell of pride in his chest.

“Speech! Speech!” The crowd chants, and Charles laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, clearing his throat. “I just want to say thank you to everyone here. This win ... it’s not just mine. It’s ours. The team, the mechanics, the engineers, the strategists ... we did this together.”

More cheers erupt, and Charles feels a hand clap him on the back. He turns to see his teammate grinning broadly.

“Well said, amigo,” Carlos says, slinging an arm around Charles’ shoulders. “You drove like a champion today.”

Charles beams, the praise from his teammate adding to the euphoria of the moment. “Thanks, Carlos. Couldn’t have done it without you pushing me.”

Carlos laughs, taking a swig of his drink. “Always happy to provide motivation. Oh, hey, before I forget — can you pass on my birthday wishes to Y/N? I meant to find her earlier, but things got a bit crazy.”

The words hit Charles like a bucket of ice water. His smile freezes, his eyes widening in horror. “W-what?” He stammers, hoping he’s misheard.

Carlos frowns, noticing the sudden change in Charles’ demeanor. “Your sister? It’s her birthday today, right? Her 22nd?”

Charles feels the room spin around him. How could he have forgotten? His little sister’s birthday, on the same day as his big win. The realization crashes over him in waves of guilt and shame.

“Charles?” Carlos prompts, concern evident in his voice. “You okay, mate?”

Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of shock. “I ... I forgot,” he whispers, more to himself than to Carlos. “How could I forget?”

Carlos’ eyes widen in understanding. “Oh, shit,” he mutters. “You didn’t remember?”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. “I was so focused on the race, and then the win ... God, I’m such an idiot.”

He scans the room frantically, hoping against hope that he’ll spot you among the partygoers. But of course, you’re not there. Why would you be, when your own family forgot your birthday?

“I need to find her,” Charles says, already moving towards the exit. “I need to apologize.”

Carlos nods, squeezing Charles’ shoulder supportively. “Go. I’ll cover for you here if anyone asks.”

Charles barely hears him, his mind racing as he pushes through the crowd. He bursts out of the hospitality suite, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stuffy interior.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice echoing in the near-empty paddock. But there’s no response.

Panic rising, Charles pulls out his phone, fumbling with the screen as he opens his contacts. He hits your name, holding the phone to his ear as it rings.

Once. Twice. Three times. Then, your voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Leave a message!”

Charles swears under his breath, ending the call. He tries again, and again, but each time it goes straight to voicemail.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters, pacing back and forth. Where could you be? Who would you have gone to when your family let you down?

A thought strikes him, and he quickly dials another number.

“Hello?” Arthur’s sleepy voice answers.

“Arthur!” Charles practically shouts. “Is Y/N with you?”

There’s a pause, then confusion in Arthur’s tone. “No? Why would she be? Aren’t you guys celebrating?”

Charles feels his heart sink even further. “Arthur, it’s her birthday. We forgot.”

“Shit,” Arthur breathes. “How did we ... God, we’re terrible brothers.”

“I know, I know,” Charles says, the guilt eating away at him. “I’m trying to find her now. Can you call Maman and Lorenzo, see if they’ve heard from her?”

“Yeah, of course,” Arthur agrees quickly. “I’ll call you back if I hear anything.”

Charles ends the call, his mind whirling. Where else could you be? He tries to think back to earlier in the day, wondering if he’d seen you at all after the race. But everything is a blur of champagne and celebration, and he realizes with a sickening jolt that he can’t remember the last time he actually spoke to you.

He’s about to start knocking on motorhome doors when another idea strikes him. Quickly, he opens the Life360 app on his phone. The family had started using it a few years back, mainly to keep track of each other during race weekends.

Charles waits impatiently for the app to load, praying that it will show your location. But when the map finally appears, his heart sinks. Your icon is greyed out, with a message underneath: “Location permissions turned off.”

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, refreshing the app desperately. But the result is the same. You’ve deliberately turned off your location tracking.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. You didn’t just disappear — you chose to be unfindable. And it’s all his fault.

Charles slumps against the nearest wall, sliding down until he’s sitting on the ground. He puts his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of his mistake.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers into the night. “I’m so, so sorry.”

As he sits there, memories flood his mind. Your proud smile when he won his first karting race. The way you’d curl up next to him during thunderstorms, seeking comfort. Your unwavering support through every step of his career, even when it meant less attention for you.

And how had he repaid that loyalty? By forgetting the one day that was supposed to be about you.

Charles’ phone buzzes, and he snatches it up eagerly. But it’s just a text from his mother:

Haven’t heard from Y/N. Is everything okay?

He stares at the message, unsure how to respond. How can he explain that he’s lost his little sister on her birthday?

Another text comes through, this time from Lorenzo:

No luck here either. What’s going on?

Charles takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He has to tell them the truth, no matter how much it hurts.

He creates a group chat with his mom, Lorenzo, and Arthur, his fingers shaking slightly as he types:

We forgot Y/N’s birthday. All of us. She’s not answering her phone and her location is turned off. I can’t find her anywhere.

The responses come in rapid succession:

Maman: Oh no. How could we forget?

Lorenzo: Shit. Have you checked with her friends?

Arthur: I’m on my way to the track now. We’ll find her.

Charles feels a mix of relief and shame. At least now everyone knows, and they can all work together to make things right. But the fact remains that they let you down in the first place.

He’s about to reply when he spots a familiar figure walking across the paddock. Max Verstappen, looking slightly disheveled and ... was that a touch of glitter on his cheek?

Without thinking, Charles jumps to his feet and runs over to his rival.

“Max!” He calls out, slightly out of breath. “Have you seen Y/N?”

Max turns, surprise evident on his face. Then, something else flickers in his eyes. Anger? Disappointment? It’s gone too quickly for Charles to be sure.

“Why?” Max asks, his tone cooler than usual. “Suddenly remembered she exists?”

The words sting, but Charles knows he deserves them. “Please, Max. I know I messed up. We all did. But I need to find her, to apologize.”

Max studies him for a long moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he sighs. “She’s safe. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Relief washes over Charles, quickly followed by confusion. “You’ve seen her? Where is she?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Max says firmly. “She needed space, and after what happened, I don’t blame her.”

Charles feels a flare of frustration. “She’s my sister. I have a right to know where she is.”

“No,” Max counters, his blue eyes flashing. “You had a responsibility to remember her birthday. You didn’t. So now, you don’t get to demand anything.”

The words hit Charles like a slap. He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. Max is right, as much as it pains him to admit it.

“Is she ... is she okay?” Charles asks quietly, all fight leaving him.

Max’s expression softens slightly. “She will be. Eventually. But Charles, you really hurt her. All of you did.”

Charles nods, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I know. God, I know. I just want to make it right.”

“Then give her time,” Max advises. “And when she’s ready to talk, really listen to her. Don’t make excuses. Don’t try to justify it. Just listen.”

Charles nods again, feeling utterly defeated. “Will you ... will you tell her I’m sorry? That we’re all sorry?”

Max hesitates, then nods. “I will. But Charles? You need to do better. She deserves better.”

With that, Max turns and walks away, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts and regrets.

Charles pulls out his phone again, looking at the group chat with his family. He types out a message, his heart heavy:

Y/N is safe. A friend is looking out for her. We need to give her space, but when she’s ready to talk, we all need to be there. Really be there. We’ve got a lot to make up for.

As he hits send, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll do better. He’ll be the brother you deserve. And somehow, someway, he’ll make this right.

But for now, all he can do is wait, and hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive them all.

***

The city lights twinkle below as Max leads you into his penthouse suite, the door clicking shut behind you. The space is modern and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Milan’s skyline.

“Make yourself at home,” Max says, gesturing around the room. “Are you hungry? I can order some room service if you want.”

You shake your head, still feeling slightly overwhelmed by the events of the day. “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Max nods, studying your face with concern. “You sure? It’s been a long day.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Max clears his throat. “So, um, you can take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”

“Oh, no,” you protest immediately. “I can’t kick you out of your own bed. I’ll take the couch.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Absolutely not. It’s your birthday. You get the bed.”

You bite your lip, an idea forming. “We could ... share? I mean, if that’s okay with you. The bed looks plenty big enough.”

Max’s eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure,” you say, surprising yourself with your boldness. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, no,” Max says quickly. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

You nod, and another silence falls. Max runs a hand through his hair, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he suggests. “Or we could just talk, if you prefer.”

“Talking sounds nice,” you admit. “I’m not really in the mood for a movie.”

Max nods, gesturing towards the bed. “Shall we?”

You both settle onto the massive king-size bed, sitting cross-legged and facing each other. It’s oddly intimate, and you feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

“So,” Max begins, his blue eyes fixed on you. “Tell me something about yourself that isn’t related to racing or your family.”

You pause, caught off guard by the question. It’s been so long since someone asked about you, just you.

“Well,” you start hesitantly, “I’m actually studying to become an astrophysicist.”

Max’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? That’s incredible! Why astrophysics?”

The enthusiasm in his voice makes you smile. “I’ve always been fascinated by space, you know? The idea that there’s so much out there we don’t understand ... it’s exciting.”

“That’s amazing,” Max says, genuinely impressed. “What kind of stuff are you studying right now?”

You laugh softly. “Are you sure you want to know? I might bore you with all the technical details.”

Max leans forward, his expression earnest. “Try me. I want to hear all about it.”

Encouraged by his interest, you begin to explain your current research project. As you talk, your hands move animatedly, your eyes lighting up with passion. Max listens intently, asking questions and showing genuine curiosity.

“... and that’s why understanding dark matter is so crucial,” you finish, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I kind of went off on a tangent there.”

Max shakes his head, smiling warmly. “Don’t apologize. It’s fascinating. I had no idea you were into all this. Why haven’t I heard about it before?”

Your smile falters slightly. “Oh, well ... it doesn’t really come up much. Everyone’s usually more interested in talking about racing.”

Max frowns. “But this is incredible. You’re studying to unravel the mysteries of the universe. That’s way cooler than driving in circles.”

You laugh, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “Try telling that to my family. I think they see it as more of a hobby than a career path.”

“What?” Max looks genuinely shocked. “How can they not be incredibly proud? This is huge!”

You shrug, picking at a loose thread on the comforter. “I guess it’s just not as exciting as F1? It’s okay, though. I’m used to it.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No, it’s not okay. Y/N, you’re brilliant. Your family should be shouting it from the rooftops.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them back hastily. “Thanks, Max. That ... that means a lot.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before placing his hand over yours. “I mean it. And for what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is incredible.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. There’s a warmth there, an understanding that makes your heart skip a beat. Without really thinking about it, you shift closer to him.

Max seems to take this as an invitation, because he moves closer too. Soon, you’re sitting side by side, your shoulders touching.

“So,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “What about you? Any secret passions outside of racing?”

Max chuckles. “Nothing as impressive as astrophysics, I’m afraid. But I do enjoy sim racing in my spare time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that just more racing?”

“Hey, it’s completely different,” Max protests with a grin. “In sim racing, I can drive any car on any track. Even ones that don’t exist in real life.”

“Okay, okay,” you concede, laughing. “Tell me more about it.”

As Max launches into an explanation of his favorite sim racing setups, you find yourself relaxing more and more. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and playful debates.

Without really noticing, you both shift positions throughout the night. Max leans back against the headboard, and you mirror him. Your shoulders are pressed together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“... and that’s why I think pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza,” Max finishes, looking at you expectantly.

You shake your head, grinning. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from a world champion. Your taste buds clearly can’t be trusted.”

“Oh, come on,” Max laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

“I have tried it,” you insist. “It’s an abomination.”

Max clutches his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Y/N. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

The word ‘friends’ sends an odd pang through your chest. Is that what this is? It feels like more, somehow.

As if reading your thoughts, Max’s expression softens. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so gentle, so intimate, that it takes your breath away.

“Y/N,” he says softly. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing. “Me too,” you whisper.

There’s a moment of charged silence, and then Max is leaning in. You meet him halfway, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.

It’s brief, just a fleeting press of lips, but it sends sparks shooting through your entire body. When you pull back, Max is looking at you with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty.

“Was that okay?” He asks, his voice husky.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you lean in again, capturing his lips in another kiss. This one is deeper, more assured. Max’s hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you melt into his touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he admits.

You laugh softly. “Even when I was insulting your pizza preferences?”

“Especially then,” Max grins. “You’re cute when you’re indignant.”

You swat at his arm playfully, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. For the first time all day, you feel truly happy.

As the night wears on, you and Max continue to talk, trading stories and stealing kisses. Gradually, your positions shift again. Max lies down, and you curl up against his side, your head resting on his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you close.

“Y/N?” Max says softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm.

“Hmm?” you mumble, feeling drowsy and content.

“Happy birthday,” he says. “I know it didn’t start out great, but I hope it got better.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, a warm smile spreading across your face. “It did,” you assure him. “Thanks to you.”

Max kisses your forehead gently. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs. “We can figure everything else out in the morning.”

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in Max’s arms, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this birthday wasn’t so bad after all. In fact, it might just be the start of something wonderful.

***

The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stir slowly, awareness creeping in as you feel a strong arm wrapped around your waist. For a moment, confusion sets in before the events of the previous night come rushing back.

You’re in Max Verstappen’s bed. And Max Verstappen is currently spooning you.

A smile tugs at your lips as you nestle back into his warmth, not quite ready to face the day. But fate, it seems, has other plans.

A sharp knock at the door jolts both of you awake. Max groans, burying his face in your hair.

“Room service?” You mumble, still half-asleep.

Max shakes his head, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Didn’t order any.”

The knock comes again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Max untangles himself from you and slides out of bed.

“I’ll get it,” he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You stay here.”

You nod, pulling the covers up to your chin and watching as Max pads to the door in his t-shirt and sweatpants. He opens it a crack, peering out.

“Can I help you?” He asks, confusion evident in his tone.

There’s a muffled response, and then Max is stepping back, opening the door wider. A hotel staff member enters, carrying an enormous bouquet of red roses.

“Delivery for Y/N Leclerc,” the staff member announces, looking around the room.

You sit up in bed, eyes wide. “That’s ... that’s me.”

The staff member nods, moving to set the bouquet on a nearby table. “Sign here, please,” he says, holding out a clipboard.

Still bewildered, you climb out of bed and make your way over, scrawling your signature on the form. The staff member thanks you and exits, leaving you and Max staring at the ostentatious display of flowers.

“Well,” Max says after a moment, “I guess your brother remembered after all.”

You let out a rueful laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, I guess he did.”

Max frowns, noting the lack of enthusiasm in your voice. “Aren’t you happy about it?”

You sigh, reaching out to touch one of the velvety petals. “It’s just ... I’ve told Charles a hundred times that I don’t like roses. They’re not my favorite flower. But every time he needs to apologize or wants to do something nice, it’s always roses.”

“Oh,” Max says softly, understanding dawning on his face. “So it’s less about you and more about what he thinks you should like.”

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. “Exactly. It’s like he doesn’t really listen, you know? He just does what he thinks is right without considering what I actually want.”

Max moves closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against his side. “That must be frustrating,” he says gently.

You lean into him, grateful for the support. “It is. And I know I should be grateful. It’s a beautiful bouquet, and he’s trying. But ...”

“But it’s not what you want,” Max finishes for you. “And that matters.”

You look up at him, surprised by how well he understands. “Yeah, exactly.”

Max turns to face you fully, his blue eyes serious. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s okay to be upset about this. It’s okay to want your family to actually listen to you and consider your feelings.”

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill over. “But they’re trying now. Shouldn’t I just forgive them and move on?”

Max shakes his head firmly. “No. You don’t have to forgive them right away just because they made a grand gesture. It’s okay to make them work for your forgiveness.”

“Really?” You ask, your voice small.

“Really,” Max assures you. “They hurt you, Y/N. They forgot your birthday and made you feel invisible. One bouquet of flowers — flowers you don’t even like — doesn’t erase that.”

You nod slowly, processing his words. “So what do I do?”

Max runs a hand through his hair, thinking. “Well, what do you want to do? How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not ready to see them yet. I know I’ll have to face them eventually, but right now ... I just can’t.”

“Then don’t,” Max says simply. “Take the time you need. They can wait.”

A weight lifts off your shoulders at his words. “You don’t think that’s selfish?”

Max cups your face in his hands, his gaze intense. “It’s not selfish to prioritize your own feelings and well-being. You matter, Y/N. Your feelings matter.”

Tears spill over then, and Max pulls you into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest, letting out all the hurt and frustration you’ve been holding in.

“Shh,” Max soothes, rubbing your back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

After a few minutes, your sobs subside. You pull back slightly, wiping at your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I got your shirt all wet.”

Max chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think I’ll survive. Feel better?”

You nod, offering him a watery smile. “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Max says softly. Then, a mischievous glint enters his eye. “So, what should we do with the roses? I vote we throw them off the balcony and watch them scatter in the wind.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep in your chest. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think hotel management would appreciate it.”

Max shrugs, grinning. “Their loss. We could always donate them to a hospital or something. Brighten someone else’s day.”

“That’s ... actually a really good idea,” you say, impressed. “We could do that.”

Max beams, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I’m not just a pretty face and fast driver.”

You roll your eyes fondly, but can’t suppress your smile. “Careful, Verstappen. Your ego’s showing.”

“You love it,” he teases, pulling you close again.

As you stand there in his arms, surrounded by the cloying scent of roses you don’t even like, you’re struck by how safe you feel. How understood.

“Max?” You say softly.

“Hmm?”

You pull back slightly to meet his gaze. “Thank you. For everything. For making my birthday special, for listening to me, for ... just being here.”

Max’s expression softens, a tender smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I ... I care about you, Y/N. A lot.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “I care about you too,” you admit.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the air charged with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, Max leans in. His lips meet yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your toes curl.

When you break apart, you’re both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing circles on your cheek.

“So,” he says, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “What happens now?”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Honestly? I’m not sure. This is all happening so fast, and with everything going on with my family ...”

Max nods, understanding in his eyes. “We can take it slow,” he assures you. “There’s no rush.”

Relief washes over you. “Thank you,” you say softly. “I do want this — us. I just need some time to figure everything out.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” Max says, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. “For now, how about we get some breakfast? I’m starving.”

You laugh, grateful for the shift in mood. “Breakfast sounds perfect. But maybe we should change first? I’m not sure I want to face the paparazzi in yesterday’s clothes.”

Max grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I don’t know, I think you look pretty good in my t-shirt.”

You glance down, realizing for the first time that you’re indeed wearing one of Max’s shirts. A blush creeps up your cheeks. “When did that happen?”

“You got cold in the middle of the night,” Max explains, looking far too pleased with himself. “I offered you my shirt. You were very insistent that it was the most comfortable thing you’d ever worn.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh god. Please tell me I didn’t say anything else embarrassing.”

Max laughs, gently prying your hands away from your face. “Nothing too bad. Though you did mention something about my waist being ‘unfairly perfect’. Your words, not mine.”

“Kill me now,” you mutter, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

Max pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Never. I’m rather fond of you, embarrassing sleep talk and all.”

As you stand there in Max’s arms, the morning sun warming your skin and the scent of roses filling the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope. Yes, there’s still a lot to figure out — with your family, with Max, with your future. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And that, you think, is the best birthday gift of all.

***

The private terminal of Milan Malpensa Airport buzzes with activity as the Leclerc family waits to board their chartered jet. Charles paces back and forth, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, eyes darting to the entrance every few seconds.

“Charles, honey, please sit down,” his mother, Pascale, says gently. “You’re making me nervous.”

Charles shakes his head, running a hand through his hair for what must be the hundredth time. “I can’t, Maman. Where is she? She should be here by now.”

Lorenzo exchanges a worried glance with Arthur. “Maybe she got held up in traffic?” He suggests, though his tone lacks conviction.

“For three hours?” Charles snaps, immediately regretting his harsh tone. “Sorry, I just ... I’m worried.”

Arthur stands up, placing a comforting hand on Charles’ shoulder. “We all are. But Y/N’s an adult. She can take care of herself.”

Charles lets out a frustrated sigh. “I know that. But after yesterday ... we really messed up.”

“We did,” Pascale agrees softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “But we’ll make it right. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she ever shows up,” Charles mutters, resuming his pacing.

The minutes tick by agonizingly slow. Charles alternates between checking his phone and staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of you arriving. But the parking lot remains stubbornly devoid of your presence.

Finally, a staff member approaches the family. “Mr. Leclerc? The jet is ready for boarding. We need to depart soon to maintain our flight slot.”

Charles feels panic rising in his chest. “No, we can’t leave yet. My sister isn’t here.”

The staff member looks uncomfortable. “I understand, sir, but we have a schedule to keep. Perhaps your sister could take a commercial flight?”

“Absolutely not,” Charles says firmly. “We’re not leaving without her.”

Lorenzo steps in, ever the diplomat. “Is there any way we could delay for just a bit longer? It’s really important that we wait for our sister.”

The staff member hesitates, then nods. “I’ll see what I can do. But please understand, we can’t hold the slot indefinitely.”

As the employee walks away, Charles resumes his pacing with renewed vigor.

“This isn’t like her,” he mutters. “She wouldn’t just disappear without telling us.”

Arthur bites his lip, looking guilty. “Maybe ... maybe she’s still upset about yesterday?”

Charles stops in his tracks, turning to face his younger brother. “What do you mean?”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably. “Well, we did forget her birthday. And then when we remembered, we didn’t exactly handle it well. Those roses you sent? Y/N hates roses.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “She ... what? No, she loves roses. I always get her roses.”

“Because you always get her roses,” Lorenzo chimes in, realization dawning on his face. “Not because she actually likes them.”

Charles slumps into a nearby chair, head in his hands. “How did I not know that? What kind of brother am I?”

Pascale moves to sit beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve all made mistakes. But we can fix this. We just need to talk to her.”

“If she’ll even talk to us,” Charles mumbles.

Just then, his phone buzzes. Charles nearly drops it in his haste to check the notification, hope flaring in his chest. But it’s not from you.

“It’s Max,” he says, frowning in confusion.

“Verstappen?” Arthur asks, leaning over to peek at the screen. “What does he want?”

Charles opens the message, his eyes widening as he reads it aloud:

“Y/N is with me. She’s safe and we’re flying back to Monaco together. She needs some space right now. Give her time.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Charles reads and rereads the message, trying to process what it means.

“She’s with Max?” Lorenzo finally says, breaking the silence. “Since when are they even friends?”

Charles shakes his head, still staring at his phone. “I don’t know. I ... I saw him last night. He knew where she was, but I thought it was just a spontaneous thing.”

“Well, at least we know she’s safe,” Pascale says, always trying to find the silver lining. “That’s the most important thing.”

But Charles can’t shake the feeling of unease settling in his stomach. “Why didn’t she come to us? Why Max, of all people?”

Arthur places a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Maybe because he was there when we weren’t,” he says softly.

The words hit Charles like a physical blow. He knows Arthur is right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.

“So what do we do now?” Lorenzo asks, looking around at his family.

Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. “We do what Max said. We give her time.”

“But for how long?” Pascale asks, worry evident in her voice. “She’s our little girl. We can’t just leave her alone.”

“She’s not alone, Maman,” Charles says, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. “She’s with Max. And as much as it pains me to admit it, I think ... I think she might be better off with him right now.”

The family falls silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. The weight of their collective mistake hangs heavy in the air.

Finally, Charles stands up, squaring his shoulders. “We should board the jet. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

As they gather their belongings and make their way to the plane, Charles can’t help but replay Max’s message in his head. You’re with Max. You’re safe. You need space.

He tries to imagine you and Max together, and finds that he can’t. What could have happened in the span of one day to bring you two together? And more importantly, what had driven you away from your own family?

As he settles into his seat on the jet, Charles makes a silent promise to himself and to you. He’ll give you the space you need, but he won’t give up. He’ll find a way to make things right, to be the brother you deserve.

The jet takes off, carrying the Leclerc family back to Monaco. But for Charles, it feels like they’re leaving a piece of themselves behind in Milan. A piece that, he fears, might be harder to reclaim than he ever imagined.

Meanwhile, across the airport, you and Max are boarding his private jet. The contrast between the two scenes couldn’t be more stark.

“You okay?” Max asks softly as you settle into your seat.

You nod, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for ... well, everything.”

Max reaches over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Anytime. You know that.”

As the jet prepares for takeoff, you can’t help but think about your family. Are they worried? Angry? Do they even care?

“Max?” You say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm?”

You turn to look at him, vulnerability shining in your eyes. “Did I do the right thing? Leaving without talking to them?”

Max considers your question carefully before answering. “I think you did what you needed to do for yourself. And that’s never wrong.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “For understanding. For not pushing me to do what everyone else thinks I should do.”

Max smiles, a soft, genuine expression that makes your heart flutter. “That’s what ... friends are for, right?”

There’s a hesitation in his voice, a question in his eyes that makes you wonder if ‘friends’ is really the right word for what’s developing between you.

As the jet takes off, carrying you away from Milan and the chaos of the past day, you find yourself feeling something you haven’t felt in a long time: hope. Hope for a future where you’re seen, heard, and valued for who you are.

And as you glance at Max, his profile illuminated by the setting sun streaming through the window, you can’t help but wonder if he might be a bigger part of that future than you ever imagined.

The jet climbs higher, leaving the ground and all its complications behind. For now, at least, you’re free. Free to breathe, to think, to feel without the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

You close your eyes, letting out a long breath. Whatever comes next, you know one thing for certain: things will never be the same again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you need.

***

The sun is setting over Monaco, shining warmly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max’s penthouse apartment. You’re curled up on the plush sofa, a book in your lap, trying to lose yourself in the pages. But your mind keeps wandering, replaying the events of the past couple of days.

Max emerges from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in hand. “Thought you might need this,” he says, offering you one.

You smile gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma of hot chocolate. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

He shrugs, settling down beside you. “I wanted to. How’re you holding up?”

You’re about to answer when the doorbell rings. Max frowns, glancing at his watch. “I’m not expecting anyone. Are you?”

You shake your head, a knot of anxiety forming in your stomach. Could it be your family? Are they here to confront you?

Max squeezes your hand reassuringly before getting up to answer the door. You hear muffled voices, then the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.

“Um, Y/N?” Max calls. “I think you might want to see this.”

Curiosity overcoming your apprehension, you make your way to the foyer. Your jaw drops at the sight that greets you.

The entire space is filled with bags. Not just any bags, but the kind that comes from the most exclusive boutiques in Monaco. Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, Chanel — the logos stare back at you from every direction.

“What ... what is all this?” You stammer, looking to Max for explanation.

He hands you a small envelope. “This came with it. It’s addressed to you.”

With trembling fingers, you open the envelope and unfold the note inside. You’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.

Y/N,

I know I messed up. We all did. I’m so sorry for forgetting your birthday and for not being the brother you deserve. I hope these gifts can begin to make up for it. Please come home. We miss you.

Love,

Charles

You read the note twice, then a third time, disbelief turning to anger with each pass.

“He’s got to be kidding,” you mutter, crumpling the paper in your fist.

Max steps closer, concern etched on his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “This,” you say, gesturing at the sea of designer bags, “is my brother’s idea of an apology. He thinks he can just ... buy me back with expensive gifts.”

Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “Ah. And I’m guessing that’s not going to work?”

“Not even close,” you say, shaking your head. “God, it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I’m not one of his girlfriends who can be placated with a shopping spree.”

Max winces. “Ouch. Has he done this before?”

You nod, sinking down onto the nearest clear spot on the floor. “Every time he messes up with a girl, it’s the same routine. Flowers, jewelry, designer clothes. And it usually works, because the girls he dates ... well, they tend to be into that kind of thing.”

Max sits down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “But you’re not.”

“No,” you confirm. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate nice things. But that’s not what this is about. It’s about him actually listening to me, actually seeing me as a person and not just ... his kid sister who can be bought off.”

Max is quiet for a moment, then says softly, “You know, it’s okay to be angry about this. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

His words break something open inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. “I just ... I thought he knew me better than this. I thought they all did.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You lean into him, letting the tears fall freely now.

“It’s like they don’t even see me,” you choke out between sobs. “They see this idea of who they think I should be, but not ... not who I actually am.”

Max rubs soothing circles on your back, letting you cry it out. When your sobs finally subside, he hands you a tissue.

“Feel better?” He asks gently.

You nod, wiping your eyes. “A little. Sorry for breaking down on you like that.”

Max shakes his head firmly. “Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for.”

You offer him a watery smile, then turn back to survey the mountain of bags. “So ... what do I do with all this?”

Max considers for a moment. “Well, what do you want to do?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Honestly? I want to send it all back. Show him that he can’t just throw money at the problem and expect it to go away.”

Max nods approvingly. “I think that’s a great idea. It sends a clear message.”

“You don’t think it’s too harsh?” You ask, a hint of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

“Not at all,” Max assures you. “You’re standing up for yourself, setting boundaries. That’s important.”

Emboldened by his support, you start rifling through the bags, curiosity getting the better of you. “I wonder what he even bought ... oh.”

You pull out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate tennis bracelet. The diamonds catch the light, sparkling brilliantly.

“Wow,” Max breathes, leaning in for a closer look. “That’s ... that’s something.”

You nod, mesmerized by the way the bracelet shimmers. “It’s beautiful,” you admit softly.

Max watches you carefully. “You like it,” he observes.

You sigh, closing the box with a snap. “It doesn’t matter. It’s going back with everything else.”

“Why?” Max asks, genuine curiosity in his voice. “If you like it, why not keep it?”

You look at him, surprised. “But ... I thought you said sending it all back was a good idea?”

Max shrugs. “It is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t keep one thing if it genuinely makes you happy. You’re allowed to like nice things, Y/N. That doesn’t invalidate your feelings about the situation.”

You turn the box over in your hands, considering. “I don’t know ... wouldn’t keeping anything send the wrong message?”

“I think,” Max says slowly, “that the message you send depends more on what you say than what you keep or don’t keep. If you like the bracelet, keep it. But make sure Charles understands that a pretty piece of jewelry doesn’t fix the underlying issues.”

You nod, his words resonating with you. “You’re right. I’ll keep the bracelet ... but everything else goes back.”

As you start sorting through the bags, separating out what will be returned, you can’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

You hold up the bracelet box. “I was just thinking ... it would be a shame to let something this pretty go to waste, right?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “Absolutely. It’s practically your duty to keep it. For the sake of the bracelet, of course.”

“Of course,” you agree, giggling. “I’m being completely selfless here.”

As you continue to sort through the gifts, occasionally showing Max particularly outrageous items (“A fur coat? In Monaco?”), you feel a weight lifting from your shoulders. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, you feel like you’re taking control of the situation.

“You know,” you say, folding a designer dress back into its bag, “I think I need to have a real conversation with Charles. With all of them, really.”

Max nods encouragingly. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you want to say?”

You take a deep breath, organizing your thoughts. “I want them to understand that I’m my own person, with my own dreams and desires. That I need them to see me, really see me, not just as Charles Leclerc’s little sister or as an extension of the family name.”

“That sounds perfect,” Max says softly. “You deserve to be seen for who you are.”

You smile at him, a rush of warmth flooding your chest. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand in his. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. But I’m glad I could help.”

As you sit there, surrounded by discarded luxury goods, your hand in Max’s, you feel a sense of peace settling over you. You know the road ahead won’t be easy — confronting your family, establishing new boundaries, figuring out exactly where you stand with Max — but for the first time in a long time, you feel ready to face it all.

You slip on the tennis bracelet, admiring the way it catches the light. It’s beautiful, yes, but it’s also a reminder. A reminder that you’re worth more than grand gestures and expensive gifts. You’re worth being truly seen, truly heard, truly understood.

And as you look at Max, his blue eyes warm with understanding and something that might be more, you think that maybe, just maybe, you’ve found someone who sees you for exactly who you are.

***

The afternoon sun beats down on the streets of Monaco as Charles leans against his Ferrari, fidgeting nervously. He’s parked across from the International University of Monaco, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Students stream in and out, but none of them are the one he’s looking for.

He checks his watch for what must be the hundredth time. Your last class should be ending any minute now. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s rehearsed what he wants to say a thousand times, but now that the moment is approaching, all his carefully prepared words seem to evaporate.

A group of students emerges from the building, laughing and chatting. Charles straightens up, his eyes scanning the crowd. And then he sees you.

You’re walking with a couple of friends, your bag slung over your shoulder, a smile on your face. For a moment, Charles is struck by how ... normal you look. How at ease. It’s a stark contrast to the tense family dinners and stilted conversations of recent months.

Before he can second-guess himself, Charles pushes off from his car and starts walking towards you. He sees the exact moment you spot him — your smile falters, your steps slow.

“Y/N!” He calls out, waving awkwardly.

Your friends notice him too, their eyes widening in recognition. You say something to them that Charles can’t hear, and they nod, casting curious glances between you and your brother as they walk away.

Charles reaches you, stopping a few feet away, suddenly unsure of himself. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Charles,” you reply, your voice carefully neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. “I ... I wanted to talk to you. In person. You haven’t been answering my calls or texts, and I just ... I needed to see you.”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I’ve been busy with classes. And I needed some space.”

“I know,” Charles says quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry for ambushing you like this. I just ... can we talk? Please?”

You glance around, noticing the curious stares from passing students. “Not here,” you say finally. “There’s a café around the corner. We can talk there.”

Charles nods eagerly, relief washing over him. “Yes, of course. Whatever you want.”

You lead the way to the café, a small, cozy place tucked away from the main streets. As you settle into a booth in the back, Charles can’t help but wonder how often you come here, how many parts of your life he knows nothing about.

A waitress approaches, and you order your usual — an iced latte with an extra shot. Charles fumbles with the menu before ordering a simple espresso.

An awkward silence falls over the table as you wait for your drinks. Charles fidgets with a napkin, trying to find the right words to begin.

“So,” you say finally, your tone clipped. “You wanted to talk. Talk.”

Charles takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. For forgetting your birthday, for not being there for you, for ... for everything.”

You raise an eyebrow, your expression unreadable. “Is that it?”

Charles blinks, thrown off balance. “I ... what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say, leaning forward slightly, “is that all you have to say? You’re sorry?”

Charles feels a flash of frustration. “What else do you want me to say? I messed up, I know that. I’m trying to make it right.”

The waitress returns with your drinks, and you take a long sip of your latte before responding. “Charles, this isn’t just about my birthday. This is about years of feeling invisible, of being overshadowed, of not being seen for who I am.”

Charles feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “What? Y/N, I ... I had no idea you felt that way.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s kind of the point, Charles. You didn’t know because you never asked. None of you did.”

Charles sits back, his mind reeling. “I ... I don’t understand. We’ve always been close. At least, I thought we were.”

“We were,” you agree softly. “When we were kids. But as you got more and more successful, it was like ... like I faded into the background. Everything became about you, about your career.”

Charles feels tears pricking at his eyes. “Y/N, I never meant for that to happen. I love you. You’re my little sister.”

“I know you love me,” you say, your voice gentler now. “But loving someone and seeing them are two different things.”

Charles nods slowly, realization dawning. “The gifts,” he says. “That’s why you sent them back. Because I was trying to fix things without actually understanding what was wrong.”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “Charles, I don’t need expensive clothes or jewelry. I need my brother. The one who used to listen to me ramble about constellations for hours, who’d sneak me extra dessert when Maman wasn’t looking.”

Charles reaches across the table, hesitating for a moment before taking your hand. To his relief, you don’t pull away. “I want to be that brother again,” he says earnestly. “Tell me how. Please.”

You take a deep breath, considering. “Well, for starters, you could ask me about my life. My studies, my friends, my dreams. And actually listen to the answers.”

Charles nods eagerly. “Yes, of course. Tell me everything. What are you studying? How are your classes going?”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m majoring in Astrophysics, remember? This semester I’m taking a course on Stellar Evolution that’s absolutely fascinating. We’re learning about the life cycles of stars, from their formation to their eventual death.”

As you continue talking, passion lighting up your eyes, Charles feels a mix of pride and shame wash over him. Pride in your intelligence and enthusiasm, shame that he’s missed out on so much of your life.

“That sounds incredible,” he says when you pause for breath. “I had no idea you were studying something so complex. You must be really good at it.”

You shrug, a hint of your old shyness creeping in. “I do okay. It’s challenging, but I love it.”

“I’m sure you do more than okay,” Charles insists. “You’ve always been the smartest one in the family.”

You laugh softly. “I don’t know about that. But ... thanks, Charles. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

Charles squeezes your hand. “I mean it. And I want to hear more. About your classes, your friends, everything. I’ve missed so much, and I want to make up for it.”

You nod, a cautious hope in your eyes. “I’d like that. But Charles, it can’t just be today. This has to be a continuous thing. I need to know that you’re genuinely interested in my life, not just when you’re trying to make amends.”

“Absolutely,” Charles agrees immediately. “What if we set up a regular call? Once a week, we can catch up properly. No distractions, no racing talk unless you want to. Just us.”

A genuine smile spreads across your face. “I’d really like that.”

Charles feels a weight lifting from his shoulders. It’s not fixed, not completely, but it’s a start. “There’s something else,” he says, suddenly remembering. “Max ... are you and Max ...”

You blush slightly, looking down at your latte. “We’re ... figuring things out. He’s been really supportive through all of this.”

Charles nods, pushing down the instinctive surge of protectiveness. “He’s a good guy. If he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you.”

You look up, surprise evident in your eyes. “Really? You’re not going to go all overprotective big brother on me?”

Charles chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll have my moments. But Y/N, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. I trust you.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you. That ... that means more than you know.”

As you both finish your drinks, the conversation flows more easily. Charles asks about your friends, your hobbies outside of studying. You tell him about the astronomy club you’ve joined, the research project you’re hoping to get involved with next semester.

When it’s time to leave, Charles stands up, hesitating for a moment before opening his arms. “Can I ...”

You nod, stepping into his embrace. Charles holds you tight, realizing how long it’s been since he’s really hugged you like this.

“I love you, little sister,” he murmurs into your hair. “And I promise, I’m going to do better.”

You squeeze him back. “I love you too, big brother. And ... I’m willing to give you the chance to prove it.”

As you part ways outside the café, Charles heading back to his car and you towards your apartment, there’s a lightness in the air that wasn’t there before. It’s not perfect, not yet. There are still conversations to be had, bridges to be rebuilt. But for the first time in a long time, there���s hope.

Charles watches you walk away, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Pride in the amazing person you’ve become, regret for the time he’s missed, determination to be the brother you deserve.

He pulls out his phone, creating a new reminder: Call Y/N — every Sunday, 7 PM.

It’s a small step, but it’s a start. And as he drives home, Charles finds himself looking forward to getting to know his little sister all over again.

***

The auditorium of the International University of Monaco buzzes with excitement as proud families and friends gather to celebrate the graduating class. In the front row, an unusually high-profile group draws curious glances and whispered conversations.

Charles fidgets in his seat, craning his neck to scan the sea of graduates. “Do you see her?” He asks, nudging his older brother.

Lorenzo chuckles, placing a calming hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Relax. She’ll be here. Alphabetical order, remember?”

On Charles’ other side, Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “You’d think he was the one graduating, the way he’s acting.”

“Can you blame him?” Max chimes in from the end of the row, a warm smile on his face. “It’s a big day.”

Pascale, seated between Lorenzo and Arthur, dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “My baby girl, graduating university. I can hardly believe it.”

Max reaches across to pat her hand. “She’s amazing, Pascale. You should be very proud.”

Charles turns to Max, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look at you, all calm and collected. I remember when you were a nervous wreck asking her out for the first time.”

Max blushes slightly, but grins. “Hey, your sister is intimidating. All that brainpower.”

“Shh!” Arthur hisses suddenly. “I think it’s starting!”

The auditorium falls silent as the ceremony begins. The family watches with rapt attention as the graduates file in, searching for that familiar face among the sea of caps and gowns.

And then, there you are. Your eyes scan the crowd until they land on your family, a bright smile spreading across your face as you wave discreetly.

“There she is!” Charles whisper-shouts, practically bouncing in his seat.

Lorenzo chuckles. “We see her. Try to contain yourself, yeah?”

The ceremony progresses, with speeches from the valedictorian and various dignitaries. Charles fidgets impatiently, earning amused glances from his family and Max.

Finally, the moment arrives. “Y/N Leclerc,” the announcer calls.

Charles jumps to his feet, letting out a whoop that echoes through the auditorium. “That’s my sister!” He shouts, drawing startled looks from nearby attendees.

Lorenzo and Arthur quickly join in, their cheers mixing with Charles’. Max and Pascale stand too, clapping enthusiastically.

You walk across the stage, accepting your diploma with a graceful nod. As you turn to face the audience, your eyes lock with your family’s, and your composed expression breaks into a radiant smile.

Charles, caught up in the moment, continues cheering even after you’ve left the stage. “That’s right! Astrophysicist in the house! Watch out, universe!”

Max, noticing the irritated glances from other families, reaches over and claps a hand over Charles’ mouth. “Okay, Charlie, I think she heard you,” he says, laughter in his voice.

Max feels something wet against his palm and jerks his hand away.

“Ugh, gross!” Max yelps, wiping it on his pants. “What are you, five?”

Charles grins unrepentantly. “You started it.”

Pascale sighs, shaking her head. “Boys, please. This is Y/N’s big day. Try to act like adults.”

“Sorry, Maman,” Charles mumbles, properly chastised.

As the ceremony concludes, the family makes their way outside, eagerly scanning the crowd for you.

“There!” Arthur calls out, pointing.

You’re making your way towards them, diploma in hand, your face glowing with happiness. Max reaches you first, sweeping you into a tight hug.

“Congratulations, liefje,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you.”

You beam up at him, about to respond when Charles practically tackles you both.

“My sister, the genius!” He crows, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. “I always knew you’d take over the world someday.”

You laugh, hugging him back just as fiercely. “Put me down, you goof! You’re making a scene.”

“Let him have his moment,” Lorenzo says, stepping in for his own hug once Charles releases you. “It’s not every day your little sister graduates top of her class in Astrophysics.”

Arthur’s turn comes next, his hug gentler but no less heartfelt. “Congrats. You’ve officially made the rest of us look like underachievers.”

Finally, you turn to your mother, who’s openly crying now. “Oh, my darling,” she says, cupping your face in her hands. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

You feel tears welling up in your own eyes as you embrace her. “Thanks, Maman. For everything.”

As you pull back, wiping at your eyes, Charles slings an arm around your shoulders. “So, what’s next? Going to discover a new planet? Name a star after your favorite man?”

You roll your eyes fondly. “First of all, I still have to get through graduate school. And second, bold of you to assume you’re my favorite.”

“Ouch,” Charles clutches his chest in mock pain. “After all we’ve been through?”

Max chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Face it, Leclerc. I’ve got you beat in the favorite department.”

Charles narrows his eyes playfully. “Is that a challenge, Verstappen?”

“Boys, boys,” you interject, laughing. “There’s plenty of me to go around. Now, how about we get out of here? I’m starving, and I believe someone promised me a celebration dinner.”

“Ah, yes!” Pascale says, clapping her hands together. “I’ve made reservations at La Maree. Your favorite, chérie.”

As the family starts to move towards the parking lot, Max hangs back, tugging gently on your hand. “Hold on a sec,” he says softly. “I want to give you something.”

Curious, you turn to face him. Max reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Your eyes widen. “Max ...”

He opens the box, revealing a delicate necklace. A small white gold star pendant hangs from the chain, a tiny diamond twinkling at its center.

“I know it’s not much compared to your usual study subjects,” Max says, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “But I thought ... well, you’re my star, Y/N. My brilliant, beautiful star.”

Tears well up in your eyes again as Max fastens the necklace around your neck. “It’s perfect,” you whisper. “I love it. I love you.”

Max’s face breaks into a radiant smile. “I love you too,” he says, before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss.

You melt into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands settle on your waist. For a moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of you.

The spell is broken by an exaggerated gagging sound. You break apart to see Charles pretending to retch, while Lorenzo and Arthur laugh.

You break apart, laughing. “Real mature, Charles,” you call back.

Charles grins, unrepentant. “Hey, someone’s got to keep an eye on you crazy kids.”

Max rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Your brother, the chaperone,” he mutters.

You giggle, taking Max’s hand as you rejoin your family. “Don’t worry,” you whisper conspiratorially. “We’ll ditch him at the restaurant.”

As you all pile into the waiting cars, the air buzzing with excitement and plans for the evening, you can’t help but feel overwhelmed with happiness. A year ago, you never would have imagined this scene — your family truly seeing and celebrating you, a wonderful man by your side who loves and supports you, and a bright future ahead in a field you’re passionate about.

The cars pull away from the university, carrying you towards your celebration dinner. As you watch the familiar streets of Monaco roll by, you find yourself filled with an incredible sense of anticipation. This isn’t just the end of your university journey — it’s the beginning of something new and exciting.

You glance around the car — at Charles and Arthur bickering good-naturedly in the back seat, at your mother chatting happily with Lorenzo who’s driving, and finally at Max beside you, his hand warm in yours. Your family, in all its chaotic, loving glory.

“Hey,” Max says softly, noticing your pensive expression. “You okay?”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “More than okay. I’m perfect.”

And as the car winds its way through the streets of Monaco, towards a future bright with possibility, you know that it’s true. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, surrounded by love, with the stars stretching out endlessly before you.

[nottsangel]

Bsf theo bullying you into cockwarming before bed. 🫠

bsf!theo is too much of a sweetheart in my eyes so i changed it to brothers bsf!theo if that’s ok <3 n i hope the italian in this makes sense lmao sorry if it doesn’t !!!

“hey, where’s the—” theo begins as he suddenly bursts into your room, but his words quickly trail off and his eyes widen, a smirk tinged with disbelief spreading across his face. you squeal in shock, instantly jerking your hand away from between your legs and hastily pulling your skirt down, covering your dripping, exposed cunt. meanwhile, pornographic sounds echo through the room from the speakers of your phone, which you clumsily dropped in panic.

“what the fuck is your problem?! you fucking asshole! leave!” you yell with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw, your cheeks on fire as you can feel your heart pounding in your throat. you try to reach for your phone that has dropped to the ground, stretching your arm as far as you can, but theo quickly seizes it right before your eyes. “theo! i swear to fucking—” “dio santo, what the fuck are you watching? fuckin’ disgusting.” theo snarls in disgust, chuckling condescendingly as his eyes are glued to the screen, the loud, pornographic sounds making your cheeks heat up even more.

“theo…. GIVE IT TO ME NOW!” you scream at the top of your lungs as you try to reach for your phone, but he jerks it away right before you can snatch it out of his hand and holds it above his head, staring down at you with an amused, mocking look on his face. you jump up, huffing as you stretch your arms as far as you can, but to no avail. “you better be quiet before your brother hears. you don’t want him to find out that his sweet little sister watches this kind of porn when she’s all alone, huh?”

your breathing quickens out of sheer anger, as if steam could practically come out of your ears while you glare at him with furrowed brows. “i mean, if it was just ‘normal porn’, fair enough. but this… nah, that’s just… fucking embarrassing, porco giuda.” he taunts, nodding disapprovingly as he stares at your screen with a mocking expression of shock on his face. “give. it. back.” “oh, don’t worry. i will give it back to you, piccola.” you let out a sigh of relief, the tense muscles in your body gradually relaxing as you start sit down, but then he speaks again. “but only if you watch more of those videos with me.” “what the f—” “while you sit on my cock.”

you scoff in disbelief, blinking rapidly as you stare at him, thinking he must be joking, yet the same serious, intense expression doesn’t falter from his face, making you realise he’s dead serious. “wha— why the fuck would i want that?” “hm. ‘cause you’re fuckin’ dripping, idiota.” he smugly gestures with his eyes towards your arousal trickling down the insides of your thighs. you look down at where here’s staring and quickly press your legs together, a mix of embarrassment and fury raging through your entire body. “you’re a bit slow sometimes, you know that?”

you’re ready to yell at him again, to call him all the horrible names you can think of, but you don’t— instead, you grab him by his shirt and frustratingly push him onto your bed, causing him to gaze up at you with the cockiest, most arrogant smirk ever, clearly just at surprised by your unexpected behaviour as you are. “don’t think i’m doing this because i want you, alright? it’s just— you just happen to have a dick!” “yeah, yeah. you hate me, i get it. c’mere before i change my mind and tell your brother.”

he grasps your wrist and forcefully pulls you onto his lap, biting his lip as his firm hands wander towards your ass under your skirt, squeezing it roughly. your hands hastily reach down to his crotch, eagerly unbuckling his belt while he shifts his attention to your phone and scrolls through the endless videos, trying to pick the perfect one. “and you know what? maybe i’ll let you move if you’re able to sit still enough while watching them with me.”

ੈ♡˳

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[erensfeed]

Hello!! Can you please do lnd men where the reader gets dizzy easily for example in car if there's no music or they're not sitting at the window they get dizzy orif there's a strong smell at the vehicle they get dizzy like how would they react to that?

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀｡ WHEN YOU FEEL DIZZY IN THE CAR .ᐟ ｡

featuring: rafayel. zayne. sylus. xavier. caleb x reader.

៹ cw. fluff. mentions of dizziness + lightheadedness.

⌞ an⌝ hiii pookieee!!!! omg i literally apologize for how this took longer but i hope you enjoy these bunch & it’s sweet enough for you! also, make sure you take care during/after times you may feel a bit dizzy ♡︎ future doc orders here👻

wc. 1.4k

rafayel.

has this tender worried look etched onto his face the moment he notices you looking uneasy.

if you admit to him that you were feeling dizzy in the car, he would roll down the windows so you could get some cool fresh air and then ask how you feel after.

"should i take you to the hospital? no? are you sure?"

closing your eyes now, you’d manage to laugh about how it doesn’t feel that serious, just to make him less worried because ironically, he would be the one who’s more stressed.

if he’s driving & can pull over, he will. if not, he’ll drive slower, smoother—making sure you feel safe until he can stop somewhere or even home.

knows how woozy you may be feeling regardless, so he would hold your hand in his to keep you grounded as his way of not wanting you to go through the feeling alone and would keep glancing back at you more than the road.

when you get home, he’d ask if you can walk or if you'd want him to carry you.

settles you to rest on the couch then comes over to add more pillows to keep you comfortable so you can relax for the rest of the day.

makes you drink lots of water too then moves to open the windows at home too.

asks how you’re doing again after the 110th time you told him you’re better because he really wants to make sure.

"it's hard for me to see you unwell you know."

also asks if you need anything and when you tell him you just want to cuddle, he’d be happy to and reassures you that you’ll fully be a-okay after sleeping and waking up.

still talks gently here and there while you’re sound asleep in his arms.

when you wake up he asks again how you feel. “feeling better? good.”

lightly chuckles with you after on how you looked like a dizzy bean emoji but in a cute endearing teasing way of course (even though seeing you dizzy made him a worried parent.)

zayne.

zayne notices before you even say anything. the second your posture shifts or your breathing changes, his attention would be on you.

“dizzy?” he would ask softly and all it would take is for you to confirm it before he would already either have the window up with the ac on or down for fresh air depending on what needed to be done to avoid making you nauseous.

prioritizes you no matter the level of how bad it feels for you.

parks somewhere better, safe and quiet & would have a bottle of water ready in the center console storage.

helps hold it for you with one hand and the other behind your head.

his doctor instincts would kick in without thinking and he’d ask questions and give instructions.

“how bad is it? “do you feel lightheaded or nauseous?”

“okay, close your eyes. now breathe slowly. here—gently press your forehead against the seat. it’ll help.”

when you get home, he would also carry you and would help you take off extra layers of clothes so you feel less suffocated and so it doesn’t happen again.

would make you herbal tea or some sugar tea to drink then gives you medication to help.

“your blood sugar levels might’ve dropped."

if you tease him for being in ‘doctor mode’ he would just simply smile a little and crouch to your level then say something like

“tease me all you want but i’ll always put your health first.”

because doctor or not, you’re his #1 priority.

(affectionately) lectures you about you needing to stay away from doing things that’ll trigger your stress/dizziness while you’re in his arms in bed.

if you tried to talk he shushes you and kisses the top of your head instead so you sleep.

monitors you a lot more (than usual) since then.

you'd hear more "no. and i mean it, doctor’s orders."

you won’t ever have to face dizziness/lightheadedness when you’re with him as much after that. and in the car, in most cases, the window would be already down/up depending on whether you need fresh air or not, to prevent it from happening .

sylus.

notices when you instinctively touch his arm and asks “what’s wrong?”

the moment you tell him how you feel, he doesn’t panic since he also doesn’t want you to too.

slows down the car and helps you recline your seat back a little and adjusts your seatbelt/unbuckles you so you can relax your head.

“lie down, and close your eyes. do you need me to get you water from the nearest store?”

asks if it’s okay to continue driving & if it is, he drives carefully making sure the car ride is smooth as well.

“here, take my hand and keep closing your eyes if it gets bad.”

plays a calming & soothing music right after to help you.

later, whether or not you can walk & are feeling better, he’d carry you bridal style inside and would gently settle you on the bed when you’re home.

reads about what to do to stop/prevent it again and what to make for you to eat.

spoon feeds you soups/meals he made that can help.

“sylus you do know i can feed myself right?”

“i know sweetie, but let me.”

pampers you the whole day.

although he notices when you act even more dizzy for his attention, he chuckles to himself about it but still obliges by taking care of you and doesn’t mention it.

xavier.

super gentle about it. his whole demeanor softens the second you tell him.

places a hand on top of your head to see if you’re running a temperature first.

“are you sick?”

when you tell him it’s from a super strong random smell from outside that's getting you this way, he’d have the windows up and turn on the ac.

“will it help if you lean on me? i don’t mind, i just want you to feel okay.”

once you get home, he doesn't leave your side unless it's to go get you water or medicine he got.

offers to cook you something.

orders it instead because it’s already one thing to worry about than burnt food.

searches online and finds out that meat helps.

“i knew it. see, it's like i told you. meat always helps everything.”

he would say to you, making you both laugh.

makes you some ginger tea before the food arrives.

“i read this will help too. careful, it’s a little hot so take slow sips. here, let me..”

while feeding you, he would ask if you overworked yourself these past few and if you say yes he would do everything else for you from then on.

“if you take a nap now, you’ll feel even better soon”

if you ask if he wants to sleep too he’d say “no, not yet” and that he prefers watching you fall asleep first as he puts a blanket over you.

plays quiet music as well at home to help you & comes back next to you, to watch you slowly fall asleep.

(ends up falling asleep next to you once you're long asleep)

caleb.

catches it when you stop midway your sentence and start blinking and shaking your head.

“hey what's the matter?”

when you let him know, he gently takes your hand in his as he drives carefully to looks for a parking spot.

he has even more reason to protect you by the way.

he’d be worried but keeps a calm face for you as he tells you to relax your head and to lie back on your seat.

cracks the window down just right as well.

“easy, i’ve got you. yeah just close your eyes for a sec and breathe with me, okay? yeah, just like that.”

praises you softly as he comforts you all through.

"good girl."

when you get home, he would do anything that wouldn’t have you stressed or bending down.

if you tried to do something, he’s got it covered instead.

“oh no you don’t.”/“not on my watch.”

while you're resting your eyes, he would ask “do you need anything else?.. like more water? more pillows?.. or maybe… me?”

you’d fully open your eyes to give him this look

(depending on your reaction *mild shock, a smirk or a ??*)

“*softly laughs* geez i meant like a cuddle, princess.”

rubs his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly during the cuddle, not even realizing he’s doing it and talks with you on how you fit perfectly into him because of times like these too.

even days after you say you’re fine, he still watches you more from the corner of his eye, until you call him out on it.

still does everything and around the house for you even after you feel better and makes sure you eat/drink enough, exercise & sleep better.

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤4 erensfeed. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[zhelin-thames]

Now pay interest - 10% per year

Masterpost

As the Bat-family processed what had just happened, Jason was already plotting.

“So,” Jason began, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “does this mean we have a ghost King in the family now? Because I’ve got so many questions.”

“Focus, Todd,” Damian snapped, though his own curiosity was evident in his furrowed brow. “That... entity was clearly powerful. Father, why did you not inform us of this connection sooner?”

Bruce didn’t even glance up from his computer. “It was irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Dick exclaimed, gesturing wildly. “A glowing ghost guy just popped out of a portal in our cave to collect a debt, and you think it’s irrelevant?”

Tim, typing furiously, pulled up the mission logs from Bruce’s early years. “Okay, I think I found the mission in Prague where this all went down. It says here... wait. Danny wasn’t just some guy you ran into. You trained with him in the League of Assassins?”

Steph leaned over Tim’s shoulder to read. “Wait, what?! He’s an assassin ghost King?”

Jason let out a low whistle. “This just gets better and better.”

Duke raised his hand, hesitant. “Uh, just a thought… if he’s the Ghost King, doesn’t that mean he has control over, like, all ghosts? Including... uh, Lazarus Pits?”

Everyone froze. Slowly, they all turned to Bruce, whose expression darkened slightly.

“Yes,” Bruce admitted reluctantly.

“Holy crap,” Jason said, leaning back with a stunned look. “He’s the reason the Pits freaked me out after I came back, isn’t he? I thought it was just the resurrection thing, but you knew he was tied to them!”

Bruce’s silence was answer enough.

“I want to meet him,” Cass signed firmly.

“Seconded,” Duke added. “He seems cool.”

“No,” Bruce said, finally standing and cutting through the rising chatter. His tone was firm, brooking no argument. “Danny is not someone you want to get involved with.”

But before Bruce could elaborate, the room was bathed in green light again.

Danny reappeared, now sitting cross-legged in mid-air, holding what looked like a spectral clipboard. “Forgot one thing,” he announced casually.

Bruce’s glare could have burned through steel. “What now?”

Danny smirked. “I want interest. Fifteen years is a long time to wait for sixteen bucks. So let’s say... ten percent per year?”

Jason cackled as the rest of the family broke out into laughter. Even Damian couldn’t entirely suppress a smirk.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I’m not paying you interest.”

Danny shrugged, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to stick around until you do. Hope you’ve got extra space, because I’m moving in.”

The Batcave erupted into chaos. Jason and Steph cheered, Tim frantically calculated how much Bruce technically owed, and Bruce’s patience reached its breaking point.

“Fine,” Bruce growled. “But you’re staying in the guest room.”

Danny floated down, looking entirely too smug. “Deal. Now, who’s up for pizza? I’m starving.”

[sushiyuzu]

my turn

warning: fluff + comfort — it is finally your turn to return your devoted love and affection to soft!sylus 🤍

a/n: hi anon! many thanks for ur sweet words and request, i hope you enjoy <3

anon’s request / link: click here

hmm.

you’ve never seen sylus this quiet before.

you’ve always known sylus to be the confident one—the serious, bold, intimidating man who always seems to have everything under control. he’s the one who teases you with his smooth, elegant words, who pulls you close with a charming smile that makes your heart race. but today, you decide it’s your turn to change things up.

he’s sitting quietly in the living room, reading a book with that focused expression he gets when he’s deep into something. you take a moment to watch him, admiring his handsome face and the way his silver hair falls over his forehead. you’ve never seen him look so calm, so peaceful. a playful idea forms in your mind, and before you can second-guess it, you move closer.

you slip into his lap without warning, wrapping your arms around his neck. his eyes widen, his crimson gaze meeting yours with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“what are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, the usual edge of authority still there. you smile and lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“nothing,” you say softly, your lips brushing his skin. “just loving you.”

before he can respond, you kiss him again—this time on the other cheek, then on his jaw, your fingers threading through his silver hair. you can feel his body tense beneath you, his posture rigid like he’s not sure how to handle your sudden affection.

“you’re being... very forward,” he murmurs, his deep voice wavering slightly. clearly, he’s trying to keep his composure, but you can see the blush creeping up his cheeks, the way his eyes are flickering with uncertainty. it’s just so unlike him that it makes you giggle.

“i can’t help it,” you say, tightening your arms around him, your lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. “you’re just so handsome.” your voice is soft and sincere, and you watch as his confident mask slips just a little.

he swallows, his crimson eyes wide as he stares at you, clearly not used to you being this bold.

you decide to push him further, to see just how flustered you can make him. “i love you,” you whisper against his ear, your voice sweet and affectionate. you press a kiss to his temple, then his nose, then his lips. he freezes, his breath hitching, and you can feel the way his heartbeat racing against your chest.

“what has gotten into you?” sylus asks, his usual smooth tone cracking just a bit. he looks genuinely taken aback, his elegant words faltering as you continue to pepper his face with soft kisses. you giggle again, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his neck.

“just loving you,” you say again, more firmly this time.

“you always take care of me, so now it’s my turn to show you how much you mean to me.” you smile, your eyes shining with warmth, and he blinks at you like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening.

and that almost makes you burst out laughing.

keyword: almost.

“you’re... ridiculous,” he mutters, his voice low and unsteady, but there’s no real irritation in his tone—only a soft, shaky vulnerability. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you might disappear. “you’re supposed to be the shy one, not me.”

you smile wider, leaning in to press your forehead against his. “maybe i’m tired of being shy,” you tease gently. “maybe i want you to be the one who blushes for once.”

his eyes narrow slightly, like he’s about to say something clever, but the words seem to catch in his throat. instead, he just stares at you, his crimson gaze searching your face, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep his usual composure. you feel a surge of affection for him—this strong, confident man who’s so easily undone by your love.

so you kiss him again, long and slow, your hands framing his face, your thumbs brushing over his high cheekbones. this time, he doesn’t resist. he melts into the kiss, his hands tightening on your waist, squeezing your flesh gently and you feel him shudder against you. when you finally pull back, his face is flushed, his breathing uneven, and he looks... shy. truly shy, like he’s never been before.

“you’re... unbelievable,” he says softly, his voice a little hoarse, his eyes half-lidded and warm. you can see the struggle in him—wanting to regain control, to be the calm and composed sylus that you know, but your gentle touches are making it impossible for him to act like his usual self.

and it drives him nervously crazy.

“so are you,” you reply, kissing his forehead. you can see him fighting the blush that’s spreading across his cheeks, his eyes glancing away like he’s embarrassed, and it makes your heart swell with warmth. you cup his face, guiding his gaze back to yours, and you can see the way he’s holding back a smile.

“you really are beautiful, you know that?” you say, your voice gentle and sincere. “i don’t tell you that enough.” you lean closer, pressing your lips to his ear. “you mean the world to me, sylus. i love you so much.”

you feel him tremble beneath you, his grip on your waist tightening, and you pull back just enough to see his expression—completely soft, completely open. he’s not trying to hide anymore, and there’s something incredibly sweet about seeing him this vulnerable, this undone by your love.

“you’re going to make me go insane,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, and there’s a rough, raw honesty in his tone that takes your breath away. he’s not used to being the one overwhelmed, but he’s not pushing you away, either. instead, he leans in, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closing as he lets out a shaky breath.

“then let’s go insane together,” you say softly, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. he makes a soft sound, almost a whimper, and kisses you back—slow and deep and so full of emotion that it makes your heart skip a beat.

you pull away just enough to see his face—his eyes half-lidded, his cheeks a warm shade of pink, and his expression so soft it makes your chest ache.

“you don’t have to be perfect with me,” you whisper, brushing a strand of silver hair away from his forehead. “i love you just as you are.”

he’s quiet for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours, and then he smiles—a real, gentle smile that makes his ruby eyes shine. “i love you most, sweetie.” he says softly, his voice steady and sincere, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

you smile back, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, and you hug him tight, burying your face in his shoulder. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can feel the way he’s finally letting go of that careful, controlled exterior. he’s just sylus now—your sylus, the one who loves you with all his heart, who isn’t afraid to show you his softer side.

oh, he’s so in love.

only with you.

just you, forever.

while you’re lost in the warmth of his hug, you suddenly feel his lips touch your shoulder. there’s a small, teasing pause, and then he gently nibbles at your skin—a light bite that makes you shiver. you gasp quietly, your heart fluttering with surprise, but before you can even react, he follows it with a soft, gentle kiss, pressing his lips where he cutely bit you. the touch is warm and comforting, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“sylus,” you whisper his name, a little surprised but mostly filled with affection, and he laughs quietly, the sound low and sweet. he’s still holding you close, his breath warm against your neck, and you can feel that he’s smiling—like he’s happy to share this new, tender closeness with you.

and deep down, that makes you giddy.

“i couldn’t resist,” he says in a soft whisper, his voice gentle and playful in your ear. his tone still carries a hint of his usual confidence, but it’s softer now. his arms pull you even closer, and you can feel the steady, comforting beat of his heart as you lean against his chest.

“you’re just too tempting,” he adds, his lips brushing your shoulder again. you can’t help but laugh softly, holding him tighter, your arms wrapped around his neck. you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, feeling warmth spread through you—a feeling of love that fills every corner of your heart.

“and you,” you say softly, your voice full of love, “are absolutely perfect.”

he makes a quiet, happy sound, gently nuzzling his face into your neck. you can feel him smile against your skin, his warmth so close and comforting. his fingers start to trace gentle patterns on your back, moving slowly, and you can tell he’s calm and relaxed. his breathing slows, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and you feel safe and happy in his arms.

you stay like that, wrapped up in each other’s embrace, for a long time. the room is quiet except for the sound of your breathing, and it feels like the rest of the world has disappeared. his strong, big arms keep you close, and you can feel every bit of him—the warmth of his chest, the softness of his breath, the way he holds you like he never wants to let go.

you lift your head slightly, just enough to look into his sweet eyes. there’s something more softer in them now, something that’s just for you.

only for you.

you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips, slow and warm, and he kisses you back, his hand moving up to cradle your cheek. you feel his thumb gently brush your skin, and he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes half-closed and his face relaxed. he looks softer, more open than ever before, and it makes your heart ache with love.

you give him one more quick kiss on the tip of his nose, making him chuckle softly. he tightens his arms around you, holding you so close that you can feel the warmth of his body all around you.

“i love you,” you whisper, and you say it again, over and over, softly against his skin—each “i love you” gentle and full of emotion. he closes his eyes, listening, and you feel the way he relaxes even more, like each word you say fills him with warmth.

he lets out a quiet sigh, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, and you can feel him melt into your touch. his strong, protective exterior has softened, and you can see a slight blush on his cheeks, a sign that he’s a little overwhelmed by all the affection you’re giving him. but he doesn’t move away. he just stays right there, holding you tightly, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, soaking up every bit of your love.

you don’t let go either. instead, you rest your head against his shoulder, feeling his warm breath fanning your skin while his fingers continue to gently stroke your back.

you’re both wrapped up in a safe, warm bubble where nothing else matters except the two of you, and you know that this—being with sylus, being this close—is all you’ll ever need. and you know, in that moment, that this is exactly where you belong—right here in his arms, loving him with all the warmth and affection he truly deserves.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that’s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[dollishmehrayan]

BATBOYS JEALOUSY HCS ── .✦

a/n: I just ate which like now my stomach hurts because I ate this spicy burger (10/10) and my stomach is hurting so let’s hope i don’t die from a burger😭 also request from anon (here) tysm!

(Tags: batboys when jealous of crush!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Internally Brooding, Externally Stoic: Bruce keeps a calm, composed exterior, but inside? Full-on brooding mode. He watches every move, his jaw clenching just slightly whenever the other guy laughs a little too much.

Passive-Aggressive Moves: Bruce subtly but effectively tries to interrupt. Maybe he’ll walk by and offer you something he never does, like coffee or water, just to make his presence known. “You looked thirsty,” he’ll say, while the guy looks confused.

Petty Rich Guy Move: He’ll ‘accidentally’ mention something about Wayne Enterprises, as if to remind everyone just how wealthy and powerful he is. “Funny, we were discussing corporate acquisitions the other day,” he’ll drop casually, as if it relates. (Let’s hope he doesn’t drain his bank 😞🙏)

The Comedy: When Alfred catches him glaring, he’ll dryly say, “Master Wayne, perhaps you should try blinking before you permanently furrow your brow.” Bruce will immediately deny he’s bothered, even as he side-eyes you again.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Charm Dial Up to 100: Dick doesn’t even try to hide his jealousy. He’ll swoop into the conversation, throwing in his most dazzling smile. “Hey, I didn’t realize we were letting random guys have all the fun,” he’ll say with a teasing grin, while subtly nudging the guy aside.

Over-the-Top Compliments: He’ll suddenly become your biggest hype-man. “You know, she’s literally the smartest, funniest, and most beautiful person in the room, right? No offense to you, man.” The other guy feels awkward, and you just laugh while Dick grins smugly.

Puppy Dog Eyes: If you keep talking to the other guy, Dick’s smile might falter just a little, and he’ll stand in the background, clearly pouting. It’s so obvious that even you can’t help but laugh.

The Comedy: He’ll mutter, “Didn’t even know jealousy could feel this personal,” under his breath while side-eyeing the guy like it’s a soap opera.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Trying to Play it Cool: Jason’s jealousy is obvious in how stiff and silent he gets. He leans against the nearest wall, arms crossed, glaring like the other guy just insulted his whole family.

Blunt Interruptions: He doesn’t have the patience to be subtle. He’ll walk up and ask, “So, who’s this?” in the least friendly tone possible, with a fake smile that could curdle milk.

Accidental Intimidation: Jason’s sheer presence is intimidating, so the poor guy talking to you will probably start feeling uncomfortable as Jason looms over, cracking his knuckles or adjusting his jacket dramatically.

The Comedy: If you don’t notice, Jason will mutter sarcastically, “Oh sure, talk to Captain Chit-Chat over there. Not like I’m standing right here or anything.” Roy, nearby, might add, “Jason, you’re doing that ‘death stare’ thing again,” and Jason will growl, “I’m not jealous.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Awkward and Overthinking Everything: Tim doesn’t get jealous often, but when he does, it’s a mess. He watches from a distance, wringing his hands, thinking, Should I interrupt? Maybe she likes him? Maybe I’m reading too much into it…

Accidental Sulking: He tries to focus on something else, but his mind keeps wandering. He sits down nearby, pretending to work on his laptop, typing nonsense just so he can stay close without being obvious. “Haha, yeah…no big deal…” deletes everything he just typed.

Passive Observing: Tim eventually tries to casually stroll by, acting like he just happened to be there. “Oh, hey… didn’t see you there. Weird, right?” He’s so awkward it’s endearing.

The Comedy: If Kon or Bart sees him sulking, they’ll tease him mercilessly. “Dude, go talk to her.” Tim panics, “I can’t. She’s busy… laughing… with him…” Kon: “You’re hopeless.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Silent Judgment Mode: Damian watches with narrowed eyes, judging every aspect of the guy talking to you. He might even mutter things under his breath like, “He stands like a fool,” or “He can’t even articulate properly.”

Direct Interruption: Damian doesn’t have time for subtlety. He’ll walk up and flatly say, “Are you finished with this conversation? It’s becoming unbearable.” The other guy is usually too shocked to respond.

Unintentional Comedy: He’ll start critiquing the guy’s conversation topics. “She doesn’t care about your opinions on sports,” he’ll state matter-of-factly, as you try not to laugh.

The Comedy: If you ask if he’s jealous, he’ll scoff. “Jealous? Of that imbecile? Hardly.” But the tips of his ears are turning red, and you know he’s lying.