#team chicken leg

[brandonaguja]

But one day you will have to stop and find out what they wanted

[streetdream]

i swear this makes me so happy

[oscteamstournament]

Top 2 teams will be competing

[malepresentingleg]

Mark's characters are always the biggest shippers

[fieriframes]

[And your whole team, you're "'n sync?" Well, dad’s legs, of course. We're gonna make our rosemary dijon brisket.]

[wearemisfortune]

Ahahahahaha yes chaos call out

scars in fiction: I got this trying to save my lover from an assassin- but tragically, I was too late. now I carry the mark of my failure with me always, and I can never forget~

scars in real life: so I was trying to open macaroni sauce with a paring knife

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life. 

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together. 

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.  

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry. 

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background. 

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala. 

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?” 

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad. 

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles. 

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor. 

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested. 

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.” 

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.” 

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours. 

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning. 

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks. 

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers. 

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest. 

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want. 

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation. 

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan. 

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!” 

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.” 

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play. 

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence. 

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.  

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response. 

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes. 

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him. 

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.” 

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles. 

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need. 

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.  

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for. 

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.” 

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended. 

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect? 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. 

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.” 

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him. 

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?” 

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.” 

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer. 

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck. 

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this. 

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension. 

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” 

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.” 

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries. 

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry. 

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat. 

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs. 

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.” 

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.” 

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes. 

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done. 

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.” 

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder. 

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted. 

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.” 

“Call your dad? Why?” 

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

[mv1simp]

Earned It ♥️ - Part 2 of 2?

Max Verstappen x Wife! Reader

cause girl you’re perfect, you’re always worth it, and you deserve it (the way you work it)

PART ONE HERE ♥️

Once you and your loving husband, Max, are finally ready to start trying for a baby, you face your next challenges as a couple navigating pregnancy. After a tricky conception, the two of you are ecstatic to now be five months pregnant. But lately, you can’t help but worry that your husband doesn’t find you desirable when you notice his behaviour changing. You have no idea how wrong you are until Max finds out about your insecurities…and is determined to prove you so very wrong.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, goddamn where do I even begin with this one, BREEDING KINK GO BRRRR, size kink, dom! Max, pillow princess! Sub! Reader, lots of emotional pregnancy hormones and max being the perfect husband, explicit mention of pregnancy and infertility struggles, 7K WC

Resting your cheek against your hand, you stare at your husband, who’s too focused on his current task to notice his pregnant wife’s annoyed expression. The 6 foot blonde Dutchman in question is dutifully serving up a perfectly balanced dinner for you, all macros and vitamin groups carefully counted as per the personal nutritionist he’s hired. Setting down the plate of smoked rosemary chicken breast, garlicky herb potatoes and sides of sautéed broccolini in front of you, Max stands back to admire his work. You can’t resist a petty Stop looking so proud, I know you hired someone to cook this.

Max pouts rather adorably at you. Surely it counts if I still paid for it, right schat? Rolling your eyes moodily at his antics, you stab a potato with your fork and munch on it, unable to resist the pleased hmm that escapes you at how flavourful the meal was. Noticing your reaction, your husband uses it to try gain your good favour again. You like it, schat? I taste tested five different cooks before I chose this one, he makes the best chocolate brownies, exactly how you like them with double fudge!

He tilts his head earnestly, looking the very picture of a cute golden retriever with his sparkling blue eyes and soft blonde locks. You sigh, putting your fork down. Normally, your darling husband’s devotion has your heart fluttering and cheeks flushing. But not today. No, today, your husband had gone too far - and you were going to make sure he made up for his mistake. When he nudges you to resume your eating, you needed the extra energy after all, you pointedly choose to ignore him. You instead pat the heads of your two Bengal cats and dog, Arlo, who curiously weave in between your legs hoping to get a taste of the fragrant dinner.

Groaning, Max slumps against the dining table in the seat next to you, his own plate ignored. I know why you’re upset, schatje, Max admits, conceding defeat. Finally, you mutter, picking your fork back up to resume dinner. You were mad, sure, but doesn’t mean you weren’t also going to eat the delicious dinner now that he had started his confession! It’s about today, isn’t it? Your husband continues. When you came into the paddock and I started creating a scene? I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it when I’m being too paranoid with your safety but I had to tell those reporters to fuck right off!

You put your fork back down and stare at Max, your brows scrunched in bewilderment. He continues talking, completely unassuming of his wife's growing annoyance as he explains. The "scene" that your clueless husband was referring to had been your attendance at the Monaco Grand Prix earlier that day. The paparazzi had gone positively wild at the rare sight of the retired World Champion with his arm around his obviously pregnant wife - whom he very rarely brought to F1 events for her own safety these days. He still attended races regularly, given how he coached and managed his own racing team now - but that certainly didn't mean he was going to make his beloved wife suffer the stuffiness of the paddock. But you’d insisted on coming to this particular race, pleading at him with puppy eyes, matching your shared golden labrador Arlo’s identical ones as you held the dog up to double your bargaining power. If your friends and family said Max Verstappen was whipped for his wife before, then they'd say he'd ascended into stratospheric levels of devotion once you became pregnant. He could never say no to anything you asked when you flutter your thick lashes up at him.

So even though he hated the idea of nosy reporters and fans getting up in the space of his adorable pregnant wife, he conceded by taking the self anointed role of your bodyguard. He certainly looked the picture of an ominous guard dog, smiling fondly down at you when you chattered to him or tugged his swollen bicep to pull him towards some food - and then icily glaring at anyone who tried to get too close to his wife. Everyone respectfully maintained their distance, scared off by the Dutch Lion. But towards the end of the race, some of the reporters hadn’t been able to resist coming in close when you’d taken your pearl buttoned cardigan off in the heat. The flowy cream-coloured long sleeved, short dress you wore underneath showed off your gentle baby bump. Paparazzio's eyes gleamed at the hot commodity, their hands twitching to their cameras to snap a highly demanded picture. Your husband’s overzealous efforts during the entire pregnancy to buy out publishing companies before anything could reach print and affect your privacy had left the F1 gossip pages begging for a rare photo of Max Verstappen’s pregnant wife.

So when Max turned to speak to one of his old race engineers, some of the reporters eagerly came a bit too close to you. They startle you with the mic suddenly in your face, asking if you were far along enough to know the gender and had you thought of baby names?

Max notices immediately, of course, his metaphorical guard dog ears swivelling in the direction of the intrusion to his wife’s peace. He’s about to interrupt when someone stumbles at the back of the group - a very common occurrence e in the crowded paddock. Unfortunately, that results in the reporter’s mic nudging against your pregnant stomach.

It hadn’t hurt, just a brief push, really! You were just caught off guard and slightly stumbled back yourself, a hand on your belly instinctively. The reporter is already sincerely apologising to you, and you’re waving them off, saying it was not a problem-

But your husband most certainly isn’t on the same page. He steps in front of you, his tall and broad frame completely blocking you away from the frenzied group, and uses a broad sweep of his muscled arm to push the reporter back. You watch in awe as he snarls at the group, reminding everyone of why his nickname was Mad Max, telling them all to fuck off or he’ll have them banned permanently from the paddock.

So this was the apparent scene that your passionate husband thought was the source of your ire, and was earnestly trying to apologise for now. He'd thought you were upset with him hovering over your shoulder, and making a dramatic scene. But he had no clue how wrong he was about the way you truly felt.

Sure, his protectiveness was something you’d talked about a few times - but that was because of how over the top Max had gotten with his security measures when he found out you were pregnant. Anyone who visited your home who dared to so much as politely cough was immediately tossed outside and told to come back when they didn’t have pneumonia. All of your meals were carefully preplanned and cooked for you, and the new motion activated aircon was always running at the right temperature for "optimal blood flow to the baby" (That's a scam, Max you told him blandly, I'm literally a doctor, trust me.) He wouldn’t let you lift anything heavier than your phone for weeks until you'd triumphantly opened a medical textbook to show him the chapter on importance of exercise in pregnancy. But he would still sometimes grab things off your unsuspecting hands after eyeing them dubiously. Your protests fell upon deaf ears - Seriously baby, I love you, but I’m strong enough to carry my own purse - I specifically took the pink Chanel bag today to match my fit!

You’d drawn the line when he had broached the topic, quite early in the pregnancy, of you taking time off your demanding schedule as a doctor and department head of the Emergency Department. But he’d quickly conceded when you firmly told him there was no way in hell you were going to sit at home, bored out of your mind when you were capable of working the first 2 trimesters at least - even 2 and a half?

It was almost comical how rapidly the blonde Dutchman’s face paled at the idea of his heavily pregnant wife running around the overcrowded hospital. So he hastily agreed to your compromise of working the first 5 months, albeit sulking rather cutely. You'd had to gently remind him to ease off, that the baby wasn't due for months, to which he replied that was good because he needed time to install the 12-point alarm system inside the house. You'd rolled your eyes fondly in response, but run a reassuring hand through his blonde locks, making him exhale and lean into your comforting touch. He nuzzles his face into your neck as you rubbed gentle circles to diffuse the tension in his corded back muscles, enjoying the way he’d almost purred contentedly like a cat. You’d reminded him gently to look after himself, too, and not you and his future child. I’m here to take care of you both as well, liefje, you say warmly.

So yes, you suppose one could say Max had been having some trouble…relaxing during your pregnancy. And why he now thought you were frustrated with his overprotective tendencies again today at the Monaco Grand Prix. But the idiot was being completely oblivious to your true feelings.

Because the truth was that you’d found the way he’d defended you fiercely, both in words and action, extremely attractive. And you’d wanted him to know that too, blushing as you look up at him in awe, biting your lip as he guided you into the car to drive you home with a clenched jaw. There was something about seeing your already gorgeous husband look ready to go to commit manslaughter to protect you that made him even goddamn hotter. By the time you'd gotten back home, you were ready to drag him to the luxurious Californian King bed and beg him to have his way with you. You’d always had a very active sex life as a married couple, sure - but this past year it had gone to new levels when you were trying to get pregnant. It was so exciting to tease out new sides and interests in each other, even after so many years as a married couple.

And now that you were finally pregnant, you found yourself thinking about Max’s gorgeous smile, his big and strong shoulders that led to swollen biceps, his broad chest and thick, muscular thighs that you loved to sit on. You had all the usual food cravings in your pregnancy that your husband would be up at odd hours to go get - including a 2 hour drive to a neighbouring Italian town for a tub of strawberry gelato you insisted you needed that very same night. But the strongest craving by far was your desire to have Max on top of you, inside you, fucking you during the warm, lazy afternoon and then again in the cool night and then repeating it all in the morning with sleepy sex to start the day off. And you were sure Max would have no reservations about fulfilling this particular craving of yours - after all, your husband normally went feral at invitations to have sex, with your coy suggestions and sultry eyes and teasing smiles.

So it had been very unexpected that for the last month or so, Max had stopped having sex with you completely. You’re not sure when you first noticed it, because he did a great job of distracting you at first - initially redirecting you to some other interesting activity when you’d flutter your lashes up at him. And when that failed, he wouldn’t hesitate to make you quickly reach bliss with his gentle, experienced large fingers or his skilled tongue playing with your soaked pussy. He knew just how to tease you for long enough that when you finally went over the edge, you would happily fall asleep cuddled against his warm figure, completely satisfied. His strong embrace would hold you protectively against him, running circles along your swollen stomach as he watched over you as you fell into deep sleep.

But as the desperate need to properly get railed by your husband grew as more days passed, you knew you had to do something about it - or risk going crazy from the intensity of your horny pregnancy cravings. You hadn’t realised how much he’d been redirecting your attempts until today, when you came home from the race. Max still looked furious, scowling about how those reporters needed to learn some goddamn respect in an annoyed tone. Meanwhile, you had moved onto plotting far more pleasurable activities - starting with smiling sweetly up at you husband as you took a seat next to him on the sofa. He sighed, tension easing from your comforting touch, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he wrapped a muscled arm around you.

He was still yapping about some media circus or other when you’d teasingly moved your hand over his bulge, playfully squeezing and seeing if your desires would finally be satisfied by something very thick and hard of his. Max stilled at your ministrations, relaxed body tensing again, gently burying his face into your curls as he took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. Giggling as you felt his cock respond to your touch within seconds, you took that as an invitation to slide a small h down the front of his jeans. You knew your husband must be as pent up with sexual frustration at you, and you couldn’t wait to return his favours. As you tuck your dark curls behind your ears in anticipation, bending at the waist towards his lap, you're rudely interrupted by your now rather large tummy in the way. You instinctively winced at the uncomfortable stretch across your bump, which was getting larger each week and catching you off guard in inconvenient times like this. Pouting in annoyance, you swayed your hips back to accomodate the swell of your waist. Then you lowered your head to Max's impressive semi erection, parting your eager lips widely, pink tongue darting out-

When Max had placed a gentle hand over yours and pulled you away from his pants, gently but easily manhandling you upright. You blinked, confused, as he kissed you sweetly instead, cutting off your questioning mumbles with a swipe of his tongue to make you moan. You'd gotten lost in his kisses for a few seconds when he’d got a phone call from his lawyer. His eyes lit up, and he gave you a final, chaste kiss before taking it with a sorry, schatje, why don’t you rest for a bit? You watched him, flabbergasted, as he stood up to go over to the kitchen and animatedly discuss filing a restraining order against SkySports. Why on Earth did your husband seem more interested in fighting some standard, run of the mill paparazzi rats than getting his dick sucked? Your doe eyes narrow in suspicion as you eyed his oblivious figure. This was extremely unusual, as normally Max would be tripping out of his pants in excitement if you offered your mouth up to him. His recent avoidant behaviour finally all came together then - and you realised that for the first time in your marriage, Max didn’t seem interested in having sex with you. It was the longest dry period you two had ever had.

You couldn’t stop the swirling anger, hurt, and now very pressing sexual frustration at your husband’s behaviour. You’d already started to hate the body dysmorphia the pregnancy was giving you, with the extra weight you’d gained and the chubbiness around your stomach and hips and ass all accentuating your already curvy figure. You could always rely on your husband to make you feel desirable, though, with the way he fucked you like it was his dying wish on Earth.

But not anymore, apparently, you think dejectedly, as you tune out Max’s misguided apology about his Monaco Grand Prix debacle. You interrupt him, unable to bear the tension any longer. Max, liefje, you begin, voice soft as your earlier pettiness dissolved to give way to vulnerability. I'm not mad about how you defended me today. Your husband looks at you intently with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, patiently waiting for you to go on. You take his large, warm palm into your smaller one, and slowly run your fingers over his skin, calloused from years of professional racing. You're suddenly feeling shy with how focused he is on you, but your pent up feelings can't go on like this. I - I was more, well, I thought it was really hot how you pushed everyone off me, you confessed, still looking down at your intertwined hands. And then when you looked so mad when you yelled at them - you bite your lip at the memory. When you finally meet your husband's eyes again, you find a cocky gleam in his eyes as he noted the way you pressed your thighs together.

Oh, schat, did you get all wet and bothered at seeing me protect you? Max's voice deepened as he teased you with a knowing smirk. You swallow, nodding at his dirty question, your earlier defiance completely gone as you look at him almost pleadingly with desire in your doe eyes. He pulls your smaller frame into his broad chest with a tug from his strong arm around your waist. And as you find yourself on his lap you're breathily telling him how much you want him, need him-

He hmmms approvingly as he gives you a deep kiss, saying he was sorry the two of you'd gotten interrupted earlier, he was very happy to continue where he’d left off. Purring into your ear and making you gasp, he asks you if you wanted his fingers or his tongue first?

You desperately tell him you only wanted one thing - No, no foreplay, I’m so wet already, ju- just need you, Maxie, you ask brazenly as you run your manicured hand down his toned front and just over the waistband to his sweats. And to make sure he’s absolutely certain about what you were asking for, you boldly tell him you wanted his cock, inside you, right now!

Max flushes at your heated demand and it sends a flutter through your aching core. You love being able to catch him off guard! But just when you think you’re finally getting what you want, he slows his wandering hands down and gently murmurs that he’ll make you cum on his thigh first then, schat-

And there it is again - the cold sting of rejection from your husband as he once again hesitates to properly fuck you. Why do you keep doing that? you ask directly, trying to keep your voice steady but your hurt tone still comes through when your lips tremble. You knew how this would go - he would just overstimulate the hell out of you with his thigh and make you cum more than once, exhausting you before you could even get to feel him buried inside you the way you needed him the most. It’s what he’s been doing this entire month.

Max blinks at your abrupt mood change, his expression surprisingly too difficult to read despite the years of marriage you share. Scatje, he says soothingly, trying to reassure you, that’s not it, I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable-

You glare at him now. You do know him well enough to pick up on when he was lying to you - he’s always been horrible at that, after all. You cut him off by suddenly standing up and stalking off to your shared bedroom, saying that you were going to bed and didn't want to be disturbed. It’s a bit dramatic of you, sure, but you can always blame it on the pregnancy hormones - your new favourite excuse. You almost slam the door when your husband calls out that you had barely eaten dinner, his deep voice laced with concern.

Puffing your cheeks as you reply you'd eat later, you slowly close the door instead, feeling guilty that Max was so caring towards you even when you were being dramatic about not getting laid. Changing into a comfortable satin nightdress, you end up sinking into the plush bed, suddenly tired from the overthinking and sexual frustration that's been building up within you. Maybe you’re being unfair on Max, you think sleepily. Maybe he was just caught up in his own worries and anxieties and that’s why he couldn’t focus on anything else - like your normally positively sinful sex life.

After all, he had good reason to worry - because despite your excitement at finally being on the same page about the next stage of your marriage, actually getting pregnant had been far from easy. Of course, you hadn't expected it to happen straight away, knowing it would take a couple of months at least. Your medical textbooks stated the average couple took around 6 months, even! If anything, you and Max were glad for the time you had to thoroughly fuck each other, long and hard. Every fleeting touch, stolen gaze over a dinner with friends would result in you both practically ripping the clothes of each other and rolling around in the Egyptian cotton sheets. Soon you barely even made it to the bedroom - with him taking you in the entry corridor of your home, obscene noises filling the air as his hips unwaveringly pounding into your dripping cunny and you desperately moan his name from where he had you pinned against the wall. It was thrilling, this new rush and desire for all your lovemaking to result in an actual baby.

You'd unlocked a breeding kink of Max's that he hadn't truly realised the extent of - until he saw you cooing at his baby niece who was being rocked in her Uncle Max's arms. Looking down at the scene of his pretty wife smiling at a child who looked just like Max made the Dutch Lion unable to resist the temptation of having you right there. He'd handed his niece back to his sister and attempted to appear subtle as he all but hauled you off upstairs from the rest of the family barbecue. You'd been confused but as soon as he led you into a small office, locking the door behind him, you recognise the dark gaze he hungrily eyes you with. Even you'd lost your normally sensibilities when your husband acted like this, and you willingly spread your soft thighs for him to bury his raw, aching cock into. He fucked you on the wooden desk, a large palm clamped over your drooling lips to keep you quiet. You must have cum at least twice from the way he murmured darkly how good you were going to look pregnant with my child, that's right, gonna be a good vrouw for me and take all my cum, yeah?

So 6 months practically flew by, the two of you thoroughly enjoying yourselves. But when it hit 7 months, and suddenly you couldn't help but notice how all your friends and cousin sisters and in laws seemed to be getting knocked up. It seemed everyone you knew had become pregnant at the drop of the hat - your childhood best friend, your favourite coworker - and even your neighbour's cat, after her and your household cat Jimmy had a rather scandalous affair themselves. Although you'd try to fight it, you couldn't stop the sinking feeling of guilt, of feeling like you weren't good enough for Max, for your future family. It chipped away at your confidence everytime you would tell Max that you were on your period, like clockwork on the same day each month. And your husband remained as considerate as ever, tactfully not asking if you were late this month unless you brought it up yourself - even though he knew your cycle like his own steering wheel by now. You felt too overwhelmed to talk about how much of a failure you felt to Max, who had remained the perfect, devoted husband.

But you hadn't been able to hold it together by 8 months, because this was when your period was finally late. You kept holding your breath, waiting for it to come the next day or the day after - but it never did. And two whole weeks past, and for the first time you let a bubble of hope rise in your chest. Max kept looking at you curiously, noting how you seemed a little happier for this time of the month than usual, but waited for you to come to him yourself. And you almost had that weekend where you were attending yet another friend's gender reveal party, and had seen Max bend down on a knee to sign something for one of the excited kids who spotted the ex Redbull champion. You'd been unable to resist grinning at the sight of multiple toddlers swarming the 6 foot Blonde who handled them rather impressively. He's going to make sure a good father someday, your friend giggled to you by your side. You hmmed in agreement, finally feeling excited about the possibility of you two becoming parents for the first time in weeks.

So that evening, when Max had gone out to meet some of his mates, you committed fully to the bubble of hope and brought a pregnancy test. But after those five minutes were up, your world came crashing down again as the lines read negative out to you. You're not sure how long you ended up sitting on the cold bathroom marble, staring blankly at the stick, your mind running a million miles a minute as you anxiously overthink, But it must have been quite a while, because you're only distracted when you hear Max's knock on the bathroom door, and his worried voice saying Schatje? I'm coming in, you aren't replying-

And as soon as your husband walked in, his soft, blue eyes taking in the heartbroken expression on your face and the pregnancy test at your feet, you couldn't hold it together anymore. Max's own heart broke at the sight of his wife bursting into tears, sobbing and confessing how much of a failure she was, how this is the only thing he wanted and she couldn't give it to him, how she was so sorry-

He'd gathered your shaking, petite form into his comforting embrace and ran soothing motions all up your back as he murmured reassurances to you that it was okay, he was here and you two would get through it together like you always did. When you'd finally managed to stop sobbing, now just sniffling, he wiped the tears off your face as he firmly told you that none of this was your fault, and you had nothing to blame yourself for. It was all just a matter of time and luck, and at the end of the day he didn't care about what happened in the future - what truly mattered was that you were happy.

You'd nodded shakily, doe eyes rimmed with red as you let him carry you to bed. He held you extra tightly that night, until you'd fallen asleep in his arms after crying yourself to exhaustion. You had started feeling better by month 9, with some of the heavy expectation you'd put on your shoulders easing off now that you'd opened up to Max about how you'd felt. Your late period had already come and gone, but you didn't find yourself falling apart at it like last time. Taking it as a promising sign, your husband insisted that the two of you take a week off and relax of the Sicilian coast.

You finally felt like yourself for the first time in a while again, closing your eyes and enjoying the sun beating down on you, drying you off after the refresing swim you'd had in the turqoise waters. Max emerges onto the deck himself, shaking his hair and making you laugh as your dog Arlo does the same next to him. Truly, he was such a golden retriever, all tall, blonde and handsome. You couldn't help but feel your heart swell with gratefulness that you'd found the perfect husband to complete you. Grinning at the sound of his wife's genuine laughter, Max plops down next to you, resting his soft locks comfortably on your plush thighs as he snoozes.

And that evening, when you two made love, it felt different somehow. The months of high intensity, filthy and desperate sex had been fantastic, of course. But there was just something about the slow, sensual pace of Max's lips moving their way down your bare waist, his intense blue eyes watching you closely as he buried his head in between your thighs, right there on the yacht deck. You moaned as your small hands entangle in his golden hair, and let yourself get lost in the dizzying waves of pleasure without any thought of needing to get pregnant.

You taste different, your husband murmurs suddenly, his husky Dutch accent sending shivers to your throbbing core. You flush at his words, comfortable enough with him to swat his head with your thigh, indignantly replying that No wife wanted to hear that from her husband when he's going down on her-Oh! Fuck!

Your protests are cut off abruptly as he gives your dripping pussy another teasing lick, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. I didn't say different is bad, he counters smugly, enjoying the sight of rendering you speechless with his tongue. You always taste good, schat, but right now - he presses that large, Dutch nose of his that you adore right into your dripping pussy - you taste even sweeter than normal...like honeydew.

Of course, Max had always enjoyed eating you out your whole relationship. But that week on the Sicilian coastline, he seemed even more entranced than usual, wanting to have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner, saying that you just tasted sweeter and sweeter each time. Not that you were complaining, of course - he definitely knew what he was doing when he deftly untied your bikini strings to bury his face in between your soft thighs. It wasn't until a couple of weeks later that you'd realise just why you tasted so different to your husband. When a bout of vomiting that you'd returned back to Monaco with and thought to be a tummy bug from dodgy seafood didn't stop, you realised that you'd somehow missed your period that month, too. The vacation Max had planned for you had certainly gotten your mind off trying for a baby a little too well, it seemed - so much so that you’d stopped tracking your cycle.

So when your husband finds you on the bathroom floor for a second time, staring in shock at a pregnancy test in front of you, he immediately is at your side. He hugs you tightly again, making you secure in his embrace and stroking your curls as he tells you please don’t cry again, schatje, I can’t bear to see you like this, it’ll all be okay, we can try other options or always adopt-

You laugh, still in a state of disbelief, the noise muffled against his muscular chest. No, no, Max, I’m actually okay this time, you say as you pull away, smiling up at him. Oh, he says, blinking at you with worry, not looking convinced. Are you sure?

You nod, unable to control the ecstatic grin that appears on your lips. Yes, liefje. I’m positive. And then your husband sees the pregnancy test you hold up for him, the proof of your marriage’s perseverance over these past months as two lines. His jaw drops open, and you giggle at his expression. This is my third one today, it’s definitely real, Maxie. Finally processing the news, he laughs with delight, embracing you tightly again as happy tears filling his pretty ocean blue eyes as he tells you how excited he is.

So now, 5 months later and in the present, you suppose Max was still on edge with how fragile you’d been at the start of your pregnancy. But you’d been so stable and healthy throughout it, looking after yourself and of course having a very dedicated husband who watched your nutrition and daily gentle exercise like a hawk. There was no reason for him to still be concerned about your safety, you think sleepily as you sink against your soft pillows. Your mind drifts to sleep as your overthinking tires you out.

You wake up with a gasp sometime later, breathing heavily as you stare at the moonlit ceilingas the intense dream you’d been having replays again in your head. Hazy visions of strong hands holding you down as his wide cock fucked into you, a deep accented Dutch voice crooning in your ears that your sweet cunt treated him so well, it was just made to take him perfectly, hmm? You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it must only have been a couple hours when you turn the warm bedside lamp on and see your husband hasn’t come to bed yet. The stinging feeling of rejection fills you again, even though you knew Max was probably just relaxing with a video game out in the living room after the emotional rollercoaster you'd been hitting him with today.

But the pregnancy had definitely sent your insecurities into overdrive, and you’re starting to sniffle and you quickly try to muffle your sobs with a palm to your trembling lips. You can’t hide from your ever observant husband, though. A small line of light shines into the dim bedroom as Max cracks open the door, entering with a hopeful look and to ask if you were hungry yet.

At the sight of his teary, pregnant wife sitting up in bed, he’s at your side looking at you with concern. What’s wrong, scatje? He asks, an undertone of urgency in his usually calm voice. Are you hurt? In pain? Is the baby-

I’m fine, Max, we’re fine, you say through the tears, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. I'm sorry I've been acting so crazy all day. God, I’m so stupid, I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this when you’re being such a good husband-

Hearing your self deprecating words, he reassuringly you with a gentle kiss to your forehead, calming down your anxiously beating heart. Tell me what’s happening, schatje, he encourages earnestly, validating that your feelings weren’t silly to him. Although you’re still shaking slightly, your breathing starts to settle as your brown doe eyes look up into his intense blue gaze. I had a dream, Maxie, you breathe, focused on him completely as flashes of the erotic wet dream you’d had return. I had a dream, and you were in it, and- you bite your lip as desire pools in your core - and you were in me, and it felt so, so amazing, and I don’t get it, why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?

Your husband’s eyes go wide in surprise at your question as you continue. Is it - you sniffle - is it because I’m too fat now? It is, isn’t it? You don’t find me pretty like this? Max is bewildered, not having guessed this was the reason why his wife had been feeling so upset today. He’s pulling you against his strong chest, rubbing soothing circles along your back to calm your jerky breathing down fully. Oh, my sweet vrouw, I’ve been ignoring where you needed me the most, hmm? His comforting, deep voice murmurs reassurances about how you were absolutely beautiful in the pregnancy, having already been the most gorgeous wife but now, you genuinely glowed. Remember the valet at dinner last week who walked straight into the revolving door when he saw you? Max jokes, making you giggle through your tears at the memory of the gawking young valet. Wiping your tears away with a gentle stroke of his thumb, his gorgeous blue eyes look at yours intently as he agrees that he’s been holding back lately. But given how quickly things in bed can get…a bit rough, Max says, cheeks adorably flushing and making you grin, he wanted to avoid anything that could hurt you and the baby. Especially because I don't think I can hold back once I start, because seeing you pregnant with my child has been driving me wild.

Your heart swells with love at your ever thoughtful husband. But his sweet intentions are not needed right now, and you tell him this as you wrap your arms across his broad shoulders. Maxie, you say warmly, your doe eyes blinking up at him with adoration, you know that having sex isn’t going to hurt the baby, right? Even when he didn’t believe your textbook, your literal gynaecologist said there’s no problem.

I know, I know, your husband says, his ocean blue eyes looking at you a bit helplessly. It’s just that I can’t bear the thought of hurting you in any way, the pregnancy was already hard for you at the start and I-

You cut his worried rant off by drifting your small hands across his swollen biceps, to his own large palms. Have you not found it hard to be apart like this, liefje? you ask him directly. Biting his lip rather sexily, your husband’s gaze lowers to where your juicy tits, already having grown larger as your pregnancy went on, bounced enticingly with every breath. You don’t miss a beat, guiding his warm palms from your waist to your delicate collarbones, where you help him slip your skimpy nightgown off your shoulders.

Max’s eyes go dark with desire, and you find a similar need throb in your pussy at seeing him like this. Finally, there your lion of a husband was, the one who acted like he would willingly go to war for one more night with you. You tell him, sounding breathless from how excited you are, about all the times you’d fantasized about him fucking you daily on the sofa, on the dinner table, even that time at dinner last week when he'd worn a fitted shirt and you’d considered begging him to have his way with you right there in the restaurant bathroom. Max groans from your heated confession, and you feel him rapidly hardening underneath you from where you’re sitting in his lap.

It’s been - he swallows, his hands now brushing towards your tempting chest to play with your swollen nipples - it’s been so fucking hard, schatje. You have no idea how sexy you look like this. God, I wanna fuck you so much that you end up pregnant again.

You laugh at his confession now, finally feeling at ease knowing he had been wanted you just as much as you had. You’ve been holding back on me, my dear husband, you tease, peppering his flushed cheeks with gentle kisses. You’ll make up for it tonight, please? Fuck me properly and make me cum around your cock? You finish your naughty demand with a playful grind of your damp panties against his now impressively hard erection.

Strong hands hold your thick hips securely to put an end to your games. You flutter your eyelashes up at your husband who’s looking more and more hungry by the second, and growls out that his sweet little wife was actually a desperate slut wasn’t she? You gasp excitedly at his dirty words, knowing you’d finally broken the last thread of self control holding him back. Max lifts you easily off his lap, pressing you back against him so his husky voice murmured right into your ear from behind. I forgot how addicted you are to being fucked by my cock. Been dreaming about it for weeks, like a good girl, hmm? You nod furiously, whining out yes, yes, please Maxie’s as your head spins in dizzying pleasure. The swell of your chubby ass rubs against his cockhead as Max easily yanks your lace panties off, joining his hastily abandoned sweatpants on the floor.

Rough hands palm your soft thighs, growling lowly that your ass had been getting so fat lately, it drove him mad everytime you bent over in your flowy minidresses. When you can’t resist grinding back on him invitingly again, he gives you a few gentle smacks and you yelp excitedly. Been wanting to hit it from the back so fucking bad, your husband breathes, as his hand doesn’t leave your ass after his third slap, instead grabbing the bouncing flesh firmly with his large, strong palm. M-Max! you’re so turned on at his dirty confession. You two barely need any foreplay, having already been on a frustrated edge for the whole month, and Max’s large cock easily starts slipping into your dripping hole. You’re comfortably laid out on your side, his toned chest pressing into your back and your combined moans mix as he sinks home into your welcoming cunny.

The position lets him easily thrust half his impressive length into you, controlling the slow pace so you only feel blinding pleasure without a hint of any uncomfortable stretch. I’m not gonna last, Maxie, it feels so good- Ah! Your desperate whimpers are cut off as his hands move to play with your lush, bouncing chest, the pregnancy having enhanced your curves. And these tits, schatje, they’re so pretty for me. You’ll be a good girl and let me fuck them, won’t you?

Your pink lips are parted as you pant in pleasure from his skilled fingers toying with your over sensitive nipples. Yes, Maxie, whatever you want, you whine desperately. You can even cum on them, okay? This time you’re the one making him moan with your words and his hips stutter as he pictures his creamy release dripping all over your large breasts.

He makes you cum then, when he slowly sinks a deep thrust in fully, letting you feel the wide stretch of his cock, making you gasp and throw your head back against his shoulder. Your breathless, high pitched whines are captured by his mouth as he moves his tongue languidly against yours, murmuring how good you did for him, the most perfect vrouw he could have asked for as he talks you through your mind numbing orgasm. He barely lasts a few seconds after you, letting out a Oh fuck! Gonna cum, schat- as your tight, warm pussy clenches around his raging erection and milking him for every last drop.

Heavy, content breathing fills the room as you both come down from your highs together. Your small hands intertwine with his as you smile tiredly at him, where he rests his flushed face against the swell of your chest. Did I satisfy your craving, schatje? Max says with a teasing smile, still breathless. You run your fingers affectionately through his damp, tousled hair. Not even close, baby you say, equally breathless. You know how strong my pregnancy cravings are.

Your husband laughs, the warm sound making you giggle as well. Challenge accepted, schat. Be careful what you wish for.

_____________________________________________

A/N: dedicated gentle husband max who switches up when you rile him up drives me FERALLLLLL hope it does for you too <3 Sooo many of you requested this im so glad you liked part 1!! thoughts on part 3 with soft dad max?? (Im writing this anyway regardless of what yall say ahahaha) 🫶🫶

[wonderjanga]

Island Retreat

Some JL members get stranded on an island.

Marvel: “I caught couple rats and a rabbit.” *holding the rats by their tails and the rabbit by its legs*

GA: “Ooh nice. I got a deer. Can I have a rat or two? They taste like stringy chicken.”

Marvel: “Sure!”

WW: “I brought back a bear.” *points behind her to a bear*

GA and Marvel: “Woah, Wondy you’re the best!”

The reason Marvel didn’t get anything bigger was because as Billy, he’s used to catching rats and pidgins so he stuck to what he was used to. GA just was just hunting, and Wonder is just Wonder. Now, of course as Marvel, he could’ve catch bigger things. This was utilized when Arthur, Diana, and him made a challenge of hunting and ran around trying to hunt the most. Diana won with a warthog, three deer, a rabbit, and a snake.

So, here’s the squad: Marvel, Green Arrow, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman.

They turned this into a vacation guys. They’re playing beach ball with a makeshift ball. They’re using the radio they’re supposed to be using to radio for help, for music. They’re chilling.

Aquaman: *stops paying attention to their beach ball game and doesn’t even notice as it smacks into his head as he’s looking to the water*

GA: “Dude…? Why’d you throw our game? Now we’re behind those two.” *looks to where Arthur’s looking*

Marvel and WW: *also look over to the water*

*silence*

Dolphin: *suddenly pops up out of nowhere tugging a crate with him*

Aquaman: “Oh my god…” *rushes over*

GA, Marvel, WW: *confused*

Aquaman: *opens crate* “Alcohol!”

All of them were later chilling on the beach, drinking cocktails of their choices…

GA: “The is the life…”

Aquaman: *Agreed. It’s nice to have a couple days away from Atlantis and being a hero. Speaking of which, Cap, I’m honestly surprised you’re so chill about this.”

Marvel: “Whatcha mean?”

GA: “Dude, you never take breaks.”

Marvel: “Wha? Of course I do.”

WW: “Brother, the other day I heard Bruce discussing with Clark about the fact that out of the six years you’ve been on the team, you’ve never once asked for some kind of leave.”

GA: “Wait really??”

Marvel: *silence* “I don’t see how it’s a bad thing.”

Aquaman: “It is a bad thing, pal. That’s not normal. You don’t have any family you need to visit or spend time with?”

Marvel: “No, not really. Junior and Mary are in the hero bizz so we spend a lot of time together already. Then, as for you guys, I see you almost every day since I go to the Watchtower a lot.”

GA: *gasp* “You consider us family?” *sounds touched*

Marvel: “Yes? Is that bad?” *sounds self conscious*

Aquaman: “Not at all. I for one am happy to be apart of your family.” *sounds proud*

WW: “As am I. I’m happy we’re siblings, brother.”

When the four were finally found, they got scolded by Bats and Supes.

Batman and Supes: *standing side by side*

Batman: *bat-glaring them all*

Supes: “What is wrong with you?! You can’t just shipwreck and then not contact us! Why didn’t you use the emergency radio?!”

GA: “There was an emergency radio?”

Supes: “Yes!”

Marvel: *whispers to Arthur in Atlantean* “Is he talking about the radio we used to play music?”

Aquaman: *whispers back in Atlantean* “I think so.”

Supes: “What’re you two saying?”

Marvel and Aquaman: *simultaneously, and in English* “Nothing.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

WW: *whispers in Greek* “What were you guys saying?”

Marvel: *also switches to Greek* “The radio. We think it was the one we used to play music.”

Supes: “Guys! I can still hear you!”

Marvel: “Sorry Mr. Superman.”

WW: “Apologies, Clark.”

Supes: *starts ranting again*

GA: *in Italian* “What were you guys talking about?”

Marvel: *in Italian* “Remember the radio? We think that was the SOS radio.”

Supes: “GUYS. Stop whispering in languages we don’t understand—”

Batman: “I understood two out of those three.”

Supes: “—In languages I don’t understand!” *looks to Bruce*

Batman: “They weren’t using the SOS radio to signal for help.”

Aquaman: “We were using it for music.”

GA: “Arthur! You snitch!”

Aquaman: “What? They were gonna find out anyways.”

Supes: “Why were you guys playing music???”

WW: “We had what one would call a vacay.”

Supes: *takes a deep breath* “Okay. Marvel, go sit over there.” *points to a couple feet away from the other three*

Marvel: “What? Why?”

Supes: “Because you speak to many languages! Now go.”

Marvel: *pitifully walks over there*

Supes: “Now, back to what I was saying.” *starts ranting again*

[heechwe]

miss americana | 𝖕𝖘𝖍

➸ second anthology piece in "basketball (inkchwe's version)" and story-inspired playlist also can be found there too! ୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 9.8k ୨୧ genre: fluff, angst, smut ୨୧ tags: basketballplayer!heesung, cheerleader!reader, established relationship, exes to lovers au, high school au, heavy petting, marking, oral (f receiving) penetration (all characters are of age!) ୨୧ synopsis: Fed up with Sunghoon's attitude and petty games, you move on, hopefully to something better. Why did he have to realize how important you were to him once you were already gone? ➸ a/n: bless @mini-mews for being there every step of the way with this fic, it was amazing seeing all of the comments and reactions and i could not have asked for a better beta ♡

DECEMBER

Sunghoon could have made the winning shot if it weren’t for the praise that was placed on someone else for so long. Lee Heeseung was the best shooting guard his high school had ever seen; anyone with talent and passion for the sport could see that. At the same time, Sunghoon made a lot of calls as the small forward that were imperative to the success of the team. From scoring to handling the ball, Sunghoon could do it all and then some.

If only the captain, the old fart, saw that. And Heeseung, the sanctimonious prick, appreciated him more.

Sunghoon is so wrapped up in his bitter thoughts he can barely focus on your lips attached to his neck and your legs around his waist. You both were cramped in the driver’s side of his car, but you managed to make yourself fit on Sunghoon’s lap to straddle him. In the dark of night, only the two of you parked on the basketball court by the river, you decided to give him a reminder of what the most important thing in his life was outside of winning the championship. 

Sunghoon usually spent times like these celebrating with his other teammates, but something was sitting in the front of his mind like a fly he couldn’t swat. You can tell in the furrow of his brows and his scrunched-up mouth. He may not be able to focus on going out and drinking, but it was a benefit to you. Maybe he would finally spend some time with you like he used to.

“Heeseung acts like everyone should worship the ground he walks on. Yeah, he won the game tonight, so what? I could score as many baskets as him if I wanted. And I’ve played as many games as his ass and won. Even once when I had chicken pox.” Sunghoon continues on his rant, unbothered by your mouth and hands on him. You run both of your palms inside of his jersey and feel the skin of his abs underneath your fingers, but Sunghoon doesn’t budge.

“I think you did great, who cares?” You mumble into his neck, focused on making him feel pleasure rather than irritation. You move Sunghoon’s hands to cup your backside, the cheer shorts under your skirt riding up to expose your upper thighs.

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles, eyes looking past you and towards the window.

“What do you mean ‘whatever’?” You pull away from him to look in his eyes. He’s a million miles away, not bothering to pay attention to your impending frustration. His only concerns are himself and his feelings. “Seriously, get over this attitude and talk to me if you’re not gonna at least act interested.”

Sunghoon lets out a frustrated groan and pushes you back into the passenger seat. You yelp in the process, barely landing on your ass. “What the fuck, Hoon?”

“Don’t you see I’m upset and maybe I don’t want to spend another night making out?”

“Another—“ You huff out a breath, shocked at his audacity. “When was the last time we actually spent quality time together?” Before Sunghoon can answer with a basic response, you interrupt him. “And by ‘quality time,” I don’t mean with the guys or Jongseong in attendance.”

“That’s not fair.” Sunghoon tries to hit you with his signature pout, but you don’t budge.

“What’s not fair is that I’m supposed to be your girlfriend but all you care about is huffing and puffing about basketball, complaining about not being the captain, or being a huge jackass.”

“If that’s all I do, then why the fuck are you still around?” Sunghoon bites back, venom dripping from every word.

You look at him with wide eyes, seeing him clearly for the first time in months. After the latter half of the year you’ve been together being a disappointment of epic proportions, the veil finally lifted. Sunghoon does have a point. What are you still doing with him?

“You know what? You’re right.” You exit Sunghoon’s Denali with a grunt and fix your makeup, not letting the tears that threaten to escape fall from your cheeks.

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re right. I’m not gonna waste my time anymore. I’m done.” You slam the passenger door closed and begin your walk from the basketball court to your house, determined not to look back. If he wanted to be that way, then you deserved better.

You hear the slow, incoming huff of Sunghoon’s car, and he rolls the window down to continue your conversation. His lips are in a thin line, his annoyance at an all-time high but now directed completely at you. He says, “So I guess I’ll call you when you’re not so hormonal?”

“Don’t bother. Just fuck off, Sunghoon.”

He nods his head with an angry smirk and rolls the window back up. In a sudden screech, his car races down the empty street, leaving you alone in the night to cry. You weep not just for the future you saw with him coming to a sudden end, but for the past Sunghoon who you believed would never treat you this way now.

You shut your locker with an angry hand, a resounding slam filling the hallway. The strangers around you flinch in response and whisper, some unsure why the head cheerleader is in such a mood today.

“Didn’t you hear? Her and Sunghoon are done,” one of them speaks in a hushed tone.

“Damn. And right after his win? Heartless,” another says with the click of their tongue.

“How about you guys mind your fucking business?” You spit the words in their direction with force before walking away towards your calculus class. 

As if anyone knows anything about your relationship or how it came to end. The vipers are always ready to strike when a new hint of gossip comes around, no matter who gets hurt in the process.

To add salt to the wound, Sunghoon saunters up to you and tries to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You shrug him off with a tired grunt.

Many times before you had fought and made up as if the day prior never happened, all smiles and no tears in sight. But you’re tired of the same game you always played with each other. You think to yourself about the way he spoke to you two days ago, and how you would tell any other friend they deserve better.

And you definitely deserve better than that.

“Are you still mad?” Sunghoon asks with a whine. Typically, his childlike voice would make you laugh. Right now, you just feel vomit in the back of your throat.

“I’m not mad. We’re over.” You speak with a defeated but definitive tone, the end of your sentence falling into a whisper.

What’s the point of fighting anymore? With an outside perspective you did not have previously, you realized how exhausting it was going up and down with someone you were supposed to love.

Sunghoon doesn’t keep up with you, somehow understanding from the resignation in your voice and simple response that, as far as you were concerned, you were done with him.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, trying to make the lighter flick to life. For all the times you tried coaxing a flame from the device, it would not budge. First you had to deal with the onslaught of rumors circulating about your sudden breakup, and now you could barely get a lighter to work. Why did Mondays always have to be so awful?

Exhausted, you throw the pack of cigarettes and lighter into the open air. Both objects fall somewhere onto the football field, but you barely notice. You’re too focused on the tears in your eyes and the sobs that leave your mouth to pay attention to anything else.

You know it’s pathetic to sit on the bleachers and cry by yourself about the breakdown of your relationship, but the cyclone of emotions didn’t ask for permission when it hit you. It just did, violently and with little care for your wellbeing. You’re just glad to have the quiet time now to deal with the storm by yourself.

Or so you thought.

Someone walks up to you with both your cigarettes and lighter in his hands. Bang Chan, head quarterback for the football team and senior, smiles at you when you do look up in his direction. He steps back an inch when he notices your puffy eyes and red face. “Sorry,” he says. “Just saw you…lost these…and didn’t know if you wanted them back or not.”

You shake your head. “Throw them out if you want.”

Chan releases a surprised sigh. “Didn’t expect a cheerleader to smoke tobacco.”

His insight makes a smile appear on your lips in spite of the tears. “I never have. I just thought since I kicked one bad habit, why not replace it with another one?”

Chan laughs. He sits down next to you, but stays mindful of your space. “Sunghoon, right?”

You nod, his name a pit in your stomach. “You know him?”

”Just his reputation. Basketball guys can be real assholes.”

”And what about football players?” You counter. “You’re all just perfect angels?”

”Well, we prefer to call ourselves ‘realists’.” You share a laugh with him, relieved to feel something other than apathy or misery. It’s been so long since you’ve been around a guy who didn’t make you doubtful of yourself. Why not enjoy it?

You give Chan your name, but he tells you he was well aware of your presence before. “I mean, you cheer at our games too, y’know, so you’re hard not to notice.”

You blush, your puffy face suddenly red from the comment. “Well, you’re hard not to notice too, Chan.”

Maybe the future for you and Sunghoon had not played out the way you intended, but your future with someone else could potentially be pretty great.

JANUARY

Sunghoon feels pretty out of place every year once the end of the basketball season comes around. Now that he’s single, he wonders what could fill his spare time in a meaningful way. Besides academics, he comes up empty with ideas. 

He wouldn’t have chosen to be broken up with, but what else could he have done? He wasn’t going to grovel, not when you were the one making a big deal out of one fight. Eventually, you would come to your senses and come back. You both loved each other too much not to resolve the situation, even if weeks had rolled by without any communication.

Sunghoon is walking with Jay to second period when he sees you chatting with Chan, all smiles and body too close to the senior’s for Sunghoon’s comfort. Jay notices how tense his friend becomes seeing both you and Chan together, shoulders rigid and jaw tight.

”Would it be so bad if you just apologized? Even if you think you didn’t do anything wrong—“

”I know I didn’t,” Sunghoon cuts in, pissed off at the situation he’s in. How did Chan have any right to try and pull the charm out now that you’re available? It makes the blood inside of Sunghoon’s veins boil to a scorching temperature.

”You love her, man. Stop trying to be nonchalant about your feelings.”

The bell for late students rings, and everyone still in the hallway scatters to make it to their classes. Sunghoon feels the muscles in his body twitch seeing you walk away with Chan, arm in arm like you’re the closest of friends.

Writing notes for your physics class is hard when your best friend Wonyoung talks the entire time, her voice projecting to a high shrill. You manage to write while listening to her impassioned speech, but you stop altogether when the subject comes to you and Chan.

”When is he going to ask you out already? Everyone sees the way he looks at you.” Wonyoung bats her eyelashes with a suggestive smirk, and you thwack her away with your notebook.

”We’re just friends. And I’m not trying to date anyone right now.”

”Come on. It’s been three weeks. Nobody would blame you for putting yourself back out there.”

The intercom blares to life, and you hear your name and the request to be seen in the front office. You take your belongings in case the request involves some sort of emergency, your thoughts racing as you head out the door.

When you make it to the front office, all you see is Sunghoon with his back against the secretary’s counter, grinning ear to ear. You’re both alone for the first time since you broke up, and the awkwardness you feel is suffocating.

”Did you do this?” You ask, eyes rolling at his nonchalant posture.

“Miss Kang owed me a favor.” His eyes are vulnerable suddenly, the cloud of indifference shredding a touch. ”Besides, I wanted to see you.”

 Those words would’ve made you melt a long time ago, the early days of your relationship marked with gestures like this and sweet nothings leaving his lips. Now, you feel so far from the girl you were when you broke up with him.

”Well I want to get my lab done, so if you’ll excuse me—“

”Wait, wait, please.” He rushes to stop you from leaving the tiny office, his arm firm against the glass door in front of you.

”Sunghoon, this is not—“

”Please, just hear me out.”

You cross your arms and straighten your posture into a firm stance, looking directly in his eyes while waiting for the usual speech to leave his mouth.

You know you’re the only one I want.

”You know you’re the only one I want.”

My intention is never to fight with you.

”My intention is never to fight with you.”

All I want is to work this out, please.

”All I want is to work this out, please.”

You can’t help the broken laugh that leaves your lips, or the well of tears that build up behind your lashes. It’s both heartbreaking and comical that he thinks after weeks of nothing to show for his sudden humility, his half-baked, used-up monologue is the best way to mend your problems.

”Is that it?” you ask, deadpan.

Sunghoon stutters, suddenly at a loss for words. “What do you mean?”

”Is that all you want to say? ‘Cause if it is, then—”

”Why are you being like this?” His pleading tone suddenly becomes one of irritation. He’s not used to you putting up a fight, and now that you are, he doesn’t know how to handle it, like a toddler who can’t find their toy.

That’s all you were to him at the end of the day. A shiny doll to play with and discard when the circumstances didn’t suit him.

“I’m being like this because this is nothing new. And in another couple of days, it’ll be the same problems and the same excuses. It’s gotten old.” You walk out of the door, but hold it open just a touch to give him the last piece of your mind.

”You know what the worst part is, Sunghoon?” You clear your throat, failing to conceal the pain in your voice. “You didn’t even say you want me back because you love me.”

”Of course I love you!”

”Why? Why do you love me?” You throw your hands up at him, voice in tatters from how loud you’re screaming.

His response is exactly what you expected: nothing. No words come to mind or are adequate enough to describe the depth of his feelings for you, or lack thereof.

”That’s what I thought,” you say before walking away. If those are the last words you ever say to him, you’re glad you got them off of your chest.

The Spring Formal was all the talk of Sunghoon’s friends and their girlfriends once the date of the dance was announced. It was two months away, yet the hallways and classes were already littered with hearts and pink banners. Dance proposals were rampant, some even going viral on the school’s social media accounts.

It made Sunghoon sick to his stomach.

Four days ago, he thought he could win you back, but it only made you run further away from him. Was he that predictable? And what did that beefhead Chan have now that Sunghoon suddenly didn’t?

Playing video games with the guys and Heeseung’s girlfriend in attendance, he hoped it would take his mind off of things. But seeing his off-and-on adversary and partner loved up in the corner of Jake’s room didn’t help.

Sunghoon looks at the two of them laughing in each other’s arms and remembers the feeling of your body in his, the first weeks of dating being some of the best of his life. The quick texts during class, the impromptu kisses in his car before saying goodnight, and the secret drives to the beach on the weekends. He remembers them all, even if his cold nature made you think he had forgotten them with a cruel ease.

The memories pain his heart, and the image of a happy couple still basking in their newfound love does nothing but twist the knife.

“Can you guys not be all over each other in front of us? It’s disgusting.” Sunghoon remarks with sarcasm as he shoots one of Jake’s CPUs down. His friend grunts and tries to take out a person on Sunghoon’s team to even the playing field. 

Heeseung’s girlfriend quirks an eyebrow, still focused on her boyfriend but ready to throw a comeback Sunghoon’s way. “Aw, someone’s jealous, isn’t he?”

Her saying the words out loud causes the entire room to go quiet. The only sounds come from the TV and automated game dialogue.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sunghoon responds, his voice at a new low.

“Hey man. Watch how you speak to my girlfriend,” Heeseung interrupts, ready to jump from the beanbag he’s sitting in to put his teammate in his place.

His girlfriend places a tender hand on his forearm. “I got this, Hee.” She turns her attention back to Sunghoon, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “I meant exactly what I said. Your girlfriend was tired of you being a complete prick to everyone, including her.”

Heeseung says his girlfriend’s name in warning, knowing she’s gone a bit too far, no matter how true her words are.

She doesn’t stop though, and Sunghoon is too shocked to form a sentence. “And seeing anyone else happy makes you realize how bad you fucked up and why she was right to drop you.”

Jake makes a face at her too, silently pleading for an end to the fight before more things are said that can’t be taken back.

Sunghoon throws the controller at the TV stand, the device breaking once it hits the wood. Jake and Heeseung curse at him for his reaction, but Sunghoon storms out of the bedroom before he lets his anger go any further.

He sits on the stairs in front of his friend’s house and feels the prick of tears in his eyes. It’s rare for him to allow himself to be vulnerable. The only person in his life who saw him this way was you, and without you, he doesn’t know how to pull himself back from the precipice. Was what Heeseung’s girlfriend said true? Were you right to leave him? Did he not deserve any more chances to do right by you, given how many times he fucked it up before, no matter how much he loved you?

In spite of everything he’s done wrong, he still does. He loves your fire, the stubbornness that mirrors his own so perfectly. He loves your crude sense of humor, the way you can make a joke out of anything, even in the worst of times to make him laugh. And he loves your sweetness, your capability to think of others before yourself, something he’s never been good at and always admired about you even if he never said it. He never said a lot of things he should’ve.

The questions and regrets flood his brain and make him wish he had a time machine. He would go back to the last hour you were together before everything fell apart. To be happy to have you in his arms and grateful to still hold your respect, your effort, and your love.

He hears someone walk up to him, but he doesn’t bother to look. “I’ll apologize later, okay, Jake? I don’t need a lecture right now.”

The feminine grumble makes Sunghoon turn his head, not expecting to see Heeseung’s girlfriend behind him.

“I came to apologize to you.”

Sunghoon looks back to the street in front of him. He decides to avoid prolonging the argument and nods his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“Doesn’t mean it was okay.” She settles down on the stairs next to him. Sunghoon wiggles further towards the railing to make room for her. “Everyone deserves a chance to make things right. Even if they’ve been wrong a lot of the time.”

He discreetly wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Even someone like me?”

She chuckles. “Especially someone like you.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Sunghoon doesn’t need to say the multitude of reasons why she deserves an apology. But it makes the aggression between the both of them, as well as a fragment of the guilt in Sunghoon’s heart, dissipate. All that’s left is relief.

She grins, the same feelings evident in her expression. “Apology accepted.”

Sunghoon lets a small smile appear on his lips. He has to practice apologizing more often; the feeling of making amends is pretty satisfying.

FEBRUARY

“Wonyoung, I don’t know where it is!” You say into the receiver of your phone, one hand holding the device to your face as the other rifles through the belongings in your locker. “And I doubt your bracelet is in here.”

“It has to be! I can’t think of any other place it could’ve gone,” she whines, sniffling. It isn’t her fault she’s home sick today, but she would get through her cold just fine without her lucky bracelet. As far as she’s concerned, however, it’s a matter of life and death.

“I’m sure we’ll find it so you can get over this cold,” you coddle her, still searching past the books and bags of snacks.

“I don’t care about that!” Her stuffy, squeaky voice makes you move the phone away from your ear. “I need it for the charity auction. How else are we going to get all of the items sold if I don’t have it?”

You roll your eyes, grateful she can’t see. “Just wow the PTA and student body with your impeccable charm.”

“Yeah yeah, have you found it yet?”

As you continue your search, an array of your belongings tumble out of your locker. You curse and bend down to pick the contents up. Most of them are some old notes for your current classes, but one makes you stop cold. 

Wonyoung’s words fade into the background as you hold up the photo strip of you and Sunghoon. The snapshots captured a perfect moment in time before the last six months of your relationship made everything take a turn for the worst.

“You can’t flip off the camera, Hoon!” You giggle as the timer starts for the next picture.

“It’s our pictures, so I have every right to use my middle finger whenever I want.” He nestles his head further into your neck, kissing the spot below your ear. You may be cramped sitting on Sunghoon’s lap in the photo booth of the arcade, but there’s no other place you’d rather be than with him.

As you laugh at his subsequent joke, the shutter goes off again.

“Your laugh is one of my favorite sounds, you know.” Sunghoon moves a stray hair away from your face, smiling ear to ear.

“That’s funny,” you say with a smirk. “That smile is my favorite thing ever.”

“Fuck off.” Sunghoon suddenly becomes shy, his cheeks turning pink.

“I swear, cross my heart.” You raise your hand in salute, and Sunghoon intertwines your fingers with his own.

As you seal your promise with a tender kiss to his lips, you hear the final click of the camera, content with whatever comes next.

You muffle your mouth with your hands, stifling the sob that started to leave your lips.

“Babe, you alright?” Wonyoung asks, another sniffle ending her question.

“Yeah I-I’m okay.” You shake off your sadness and stuff the photo strip in your locker again, half-determined to throw it in the trash nearby. “I gotta go, lunch is gonna be over in like fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. Next place would probably be your car, so just let me know later if you find it. Love you,” Wonyoung says at the end of the call.

Putting your phone in your back pocket and walking back towards the courtyard, you hear the rustle of hands clapping and feet stomping. Everyone at their picnic tables, like you, look towards the sounds.

The football team, all huddled up, begin chanting once you make it closer to them.

“Hey girl, you need a date. Why not make it #8?” They say the words in a morale-boosting rhythm, repeating them with vigor until other tables around them start chanting too. When the huddle opens at the center, Chan appears with a bouquet of flowers and a huge grin.

The team stops once he’s in front of you, Chan shy but determined. Once he gives you the bouquet, he asks, “Wanna be my date to the formal?”

You hide your face in your hands, a wide grin on your face in spite of your sudden bashfulness. Public proposals were never your thing, but with how much effort the guy put into the surprise, how could you say no?

“I’d love to,” you answer, giving him a hug as the crowd around you hollers in support. You’re grateful to have had Chan these past months while dealing with your heartbreak, it seemed to be a natural progression of your relationship. And while nothing’s set in stone, you’re happy something’s on the horizon for you.

But if you’re so happy, why is Sunghoon the first thing that pops in your head after you agree to Chan’s offer?

Thankfully, Wonyoung’s bracelet was in fact in your car behind the passenger seat. How she managed to get it back there was anyone’s guess, but hopefully that meant she would not be so freaked out about the charity auction next week.

In honor of Valentine’s Day, the high school allowed the cheerleading team to host a charity auction every year for a local nonprofit. This year’s was meant to be for the city’s homeless shelter. You worked there last summer to accumulate volunteer hours, and the people you met there had been on your mind every day since. Your goal was to make at least two thousand, but you wish you could do and earn more on your own accord for them. It was important to give back to others when you had so much and took it for granted. Some knew that better than others.

While printing pamphlets and auction tickets, your doorbell rang. You didn’t expect Wonyoung to be up to seeing anyone given her unwell state earlier on the phone, but it was her lucky bracelet. The faster she had it back in her possession the better.

Pulling the door open, the last person you expect to be waiting at your door is Sunghoon. His expression is an amalgamation of emotions, the biggest ones being disbelief and sorrow.

Any time before, back when he was your entire world, you would have pulled him into your arms and kissed away his pain. Even if you hate to admit it to yourself, a part of you still wishes you could.

But while you can be empathetic, you still have to be tough in his presence. Any sign of fragility, and he’ll see the opportunity to creep back in. “Why are you here, Sunghoon?”

“You’re dating him now?”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “What?”

“Chan. You’re together?” You see the tremble of his bottom lip and the lock of his jaw, his composure clearly hanging by a thread. It’s been a long time since you saw Sunghoon so unguarded, you’re unsure if it’s because he’s truly vulnerable or he’s on his last play to win you back.

No matter the reason, you answer with an exasperated sigh. “He just asked me to the formal, okay? He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t ask friends to go to the dance with flowers.”

You bite your bottom lip, unsure what to say to that. “It doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Sunghoon releases a bitter chuckle, the sound of the laughter dying on his tongue midway. “It does concern me if you’re with someone else.”

“I just told you–”

“I get that.” He runs a hand through his hair, his voice frail at the edges. “But I know what it's like to want you, and I see it when Chan looks at you. And who can blame him right?”

Taking advantage of your stunned silence, Sunghoon keeps going. “When you asked me before why I love you, I didn’t realize how much I took advantage of you. I didn’t appreciate you the way I should’ve, and now I–I miss so many things. I miss the smell of your perfume in my car and the look you’d give me when you were calling me out on my bullshit, which was eighty-five percent of the time. I miss knowing you had my back even if I was in the wrong because you saw the best parts of me on days I didn’t see them at all.

“I miss you, and I love you, and I don’t know how to stop,” Sunghoon whispers. When he tries to step closer to you, you place a hand on his chest, safeguarding some sort of distance and composure between you. He presses his hand over yours, thumb rubbing across the skin on the back of your hand, making you suck in a breath.

It was every word and more that you yearned to hear from him since you parted ways. While the naysayers continued their dialogue about the demise of your relationship, nobody bothered to think about whether or not you wanted to let go in the first place. You had to, or it would’ve been the same patterns occurring over and over.

Maybe this moment, this speech, and this Sunghoon, can be a break in the chain. Maybe he’s truly adamant on turning over a new leaf for the better, for the chance to try again and do it right this time. Would it be so wrong to take the chance and give him the benefit of the doubt one more time?

But who truly knew he would change his ways except for Sunghoon himself? Could you run the risk of the cycle repeating itself again for the future you wanted? How were you meant to believe him this time with history on your side?

You retract your hand from his chest, your heart cracking in the parts he forced you to mend in the first place. “I can’t do this.”

He swallows forcefully and takes a step back, respecting your wishes. “I understand.” He walks down your driveway and to his car, leaving you with the image of his somber, close-lipped smile.

Sunghoon watches you walk back into your house, his heart in tatters. He looks at the bundle of roses sitting in the passenger seat and promises to himself to fight just a little longer. Giving up means losing you forever, and he’ll die before accepting that loss.

A big banner for the homeless shelter hangs on one of the gymnasium walls. The cheerleaders continue placing decor around the space for tomorrow’s auction, some hand-drawn by the girls and others donated from the PTA in previous years. You look around with your clipboard, items checked off throughout the day to signal your progress. With less than twenty-four hours to go before the auction, it was imperative to create the perfect atmosphere to sell as many items as possible.

Wonyoung skips over to you, her pigtails swinging in the air and a cluster of colorful streamers dangling from her hands. “Where do you want these, babe?”

“Lining the front of the bleachers. That way once the tables are set up we don’t have to work around them.” You check off another bullet, 

“You got it boss!” She winks at you, her expression teasing. Before she can walk away though, Principal Han and Coach Chae walk into the gym. Coach Chae has a bouquet while Principal Han holds a thin piece of paper.

The two gentlemen walk up to you and Wonyoung, beaming. “Great turn of events ladies,” Principal Han says. “The auction has been canceled.”

“What,” Wonyoung yells. The two men flinch at her reaction, but Coach Chae laughs off his reaction.

“No need to worry, Miss Jang,” Coach Chae responds. “There will still be a gala. Just not an auction. Think of it as a celebratory gala, if you will.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. You press your clipboard tighter to your chest, anxiety spiking. You put your heart into this event for the success of the fundraiser. Why was it suddenly crashing down?

“Someone already donated more than enough to reach your goal. Five thousand, to be exact.”

A silent gasp leaves your lips. The clipboard almost slips from your fingers, but Wonyoung manages to catch it before it clatters onto the gym floor.

”Holy sh—sorry. Holy moly!” Wonyoung exclaims, a smile matching the ones on the older gentlemen’s faces.

“Congratulations, girls. Now you can kick your feet up and enjoy the festivities tomorrow all thanks to your mystery donor,” Principal Han says.

”Mystery donor?” The mix of emotions in your stomach morphs to confused curiosity. “They didn’t leave their name on the check?”

”No. Just the card that came with the flowers,” Coach Chae answers. He hands the bouquet of roses and the comment card to you, the floral smell suddenly wafting in your nose.

You could recognize the script anywhere, the slants and slopes of the handwriting belonging to only one person. The contents of the card make your heart swell and sink deeper, causing you to question everything once more.

For reminding me to cherish all the things I took for granted.

MARCH

On the night of the Spring Formal, a week had passed since that day in the gymnasium which upended a majority of your feelings. Your thoughts have run rampant in your mind since, regrets and doubts sitting at the forefront of your brain.

Your mother was fixing the last pieces of your hair into the intricate bun she created. Looking in the mirror, the tendrils of your bangs falling out from the hairstyle frame your face. Grace exudes from your makeup and the dress you’ve chosen, the strapless champagne gown the centerpiece of your entire look.

”You’re a vision, honey,” She says, her eyes bright in the hallway mirror behind you.

You may look beautiful, but your thoughts make you feel small, unsure of everything you thought you knew or wanted before.

You had not seen Sunghoon since that night on your front porch almost two weeks ago, your ex choosing to respect your wishes and stay away just as you requested. Now, in spite of all the ways he vexed you to no end, you missed him just like he said he missed you. Maybe you suppressed yourself from grieving the end of your relationship, jumping headfirst into a new friendship with Chan and the other priorities in your life. Or maybe it was because he still had your entire heart, even if you wished he didn’t.

”Chan should be here any minute,” your mother says, interrupting your thoughts.

You respond with a nod and small smile, fidgeting with the top of your dress to conceal some of your cleavage.

Your mother frowns. ”Honey, what’s wrong?” She puts her hands on your shoulders, her presence the right amount of concerned and warm.

”Do you think people can change?”

She gives you a knowing smile, the topic of conversation not being said out loud but obvious to the both of you. “When someone has the desire to, they can. Especially when they have a good reason to.”

The doorbell rings, and she kisses you on the cheek. “I’ll let you get that. I’m gonna run and grab the camera.”

You answer the door, half-expecting to see Chan with flowers and his signature grin. What you find, however, makes your heart constrict with surprise and longing that you didn’t expect to feel so strongly.

Sunghoon in a three-piece suit, hair slicked back, and a corsage looks like the picture-perfect man. When you envisioned this night before, the image of him in front of you always came to mind. And now, you could not be closer to and further from those expectations.

“I wanted to give you this before…I mean, I already bought it, and you deserve to have it.” He twiddles the corsage between his hands. His eyes ask for explicit permission before he places it on your wrist.

Without a second thought, you nod.

Sunghoon steps closer, relieved to have received the green light. The tension between you is palpable in the air, flickering hot and reflecting the same feelings you harbored weeks ago when you were in the same position then. He carefully puts the strap around your wrist, tightening it until it’s snug. 

The golden-trimmed roses match your dress flawlessly, so much so you wonder how he managed to remember the color of the dress you dreamed of for this night.

Like he can read your mind, he says, “You’ve been talking about this dance since the start of the school year.” He laughs, the sound hollow.

“Thank you,” you say, the two words expanding far beyond the roses on your wrist.

Thank you for the flowers. Thank you for going above and beyond with that check. Thank you for showing you’re trying.

The smile he gives you touches his eyes, the edges of his expression almost golden in the light of the sunset. “It’s the least I could do.”

Without thinking, he’s so close you can feel the rising pace of his and your breath mixing together. It would be so easy to close the distance, touch his lips with yours, and fall back into his embrace with no regard for the next minute.

Before you can contemplate it further, you see Chan out of the corner of your eye walking up your driveway. His mouth is in a firm line and his posture reflects his discomfort.

Sunghoon steps away from you. He acknowledges Chan with a nod, not terse or disrespectful, but clearly disappointed. He kisses the back of your palm quickly and lets it go. “Have fun tonight, okay?”

Before he walks away for good, leaving you and Chan alone, he finishes with, “By the way, you look breathtaking.”

As Chan gets closer and Sunghoon heads down the road to his car, you think maybe your ex is taking all of your breath with him.

Sunghoon downs the drink in the plastic cup. The tinge of alcohol Jay put in his drink can’t seem to take away the burn of watching you and Chan dance together. The DJ for the dance is playing  an uptempo number. Thankfully you’re not holding each other close, but it’s still a punch to the stomach seeing you smiling with a guy that isn’t him. In a gym filled with so many of his peers, he’s never felt so alone.

He drove to the dance by himself, Jake and Jay too entangled in their own love lives to soften the blow of Sunghoon’s continued misery. Heeseung and his girlfriend remain loved up in their own private corner of the dance floor. Sunghoon isn’t jealous or petty, though, although he’s well-accustomed to both emotions at this point. All he feels is some semblance of gratitude for the people enjoying the festivities of the night with a person they care about.

Heeseung’s girlfriend steps away from her partner with a kiss on his lips, somehow sensing Sunghoon’s despair. She walks over to him, a sad smile on her face as she approaches the lone guy at his idle table. “No luck, huh?”

Sunghoon nods and tips his drink at her. “You could say that.”

Heeseung comes up in record time, Sunghoon’s teammate unable to stay away from his lover for too long. He clears his throat and looks toward the younger guy with quiet condolences. “Listen, Hoon. Just talk to her and be honest. Stop dancing around your feelings.”

Sunghoon scoffs into his cup, the sound echoing in the plastic. “As if I could steal her away from beefcake over there. Like your missus said, she’s better off.”

“You know I apologized for that!” Heeseung’s girlfriend mirrors Sunghoon’s reaction, puffing out a breath of air and rolling her eyes. “And if that’s the case, why has she been looking over here at least every five minutes?”

Sunghoon glances past the rim of his cup and catches you staring just as Heeseung’s girlfriend makes her point.

Your eyes are filled with a plethora of unspoken feelings, ones Sunghoon may have the words for but cannot manage to speak. Why did words hold so much more power when it was too late to say them? Did he still have time at all, or was the opportunity to be transparent long gone? It’s too much to process; all he can do is look away from you, the guilt hitting him square in his chest.

Heeseung and his girlfriend share a conspiratory look, plotting something. Sunghoon takes a gulp of air, unsure if he wants to know exactly what they’re planning.

“Be on the rooftop in ten minutes. And make sure you know what you’re gonna say, idiot,” Heeseung’s girlfriend commands, her smirk flashing wickedly under the gymnasium lights.

“Hey!” Heeseung and his girlfriend run up to your spot by the punch bowl. You were absentmindedly staring at the fruit concoction in the tub while Chan had raced off to the bathroom, promising to be back in five.

“What’s up?” You ask, giving his girlfriend a polite and acknowledging smile.

“Something happened on the rooftop with one of the girls on the squad. I think she got food poisoning or something,”

“Yeah,” Heeseung’s girlfriend comments. “Wonyoung told us to get you ‘cause she needs some help bringing the poor girl back downstairs.”

You roll your eyes and set your cup on the plastic table in front of you. If it’s Leeseo again, you may just have to kill her.

The couple follows close behind as you make it to the stairwell door leading up to the rooftop. You wonder why the two didn’t help Wonyoung in the first place, but maybe the girl in question requested you personally and didn’t want to be embarrassed by being assisted by strangers.

Opening the rooftop entrance, you see Sunghoon standing near the edge, kicking gravel off the side of the building. Your heart seizes up, glad but caught off-guard to be seeing him right now.

In an instant, the door closes behind you, locking from the outside. You bang on it, unsure what’s happening. “What the fuck, guys?”

“You’re not coming out until we hear some talking!”

The sudden quiet is deafening, the only reprieve being the breeze passing through the trees surrounding the school. You run your hands across your arms, feeling the chill now that you’re outside but also unsure of what to do in this situation.

Sunghoon immediately sheds his jacket and walks over to you. He waits with the article in his hands before you nod meekly. He wraps it around your shoulders protectively, making sure your arms go through the sleeves. “Better?”

“Much, thank you,” you whisper.

Sunghoon looks deeply into your eyes, knocking any subsequent words from your conscious mind. You bite your lip instinctively, tense from his lack of distance between your bodies. Why did he still have the capability to steal your train of thought without trying?

He blows out a breath, the sound of his voice flimsy in the spring air. “When I first joined the basketball team, I didn’t know if and how I would measure up,” Sunghoon begins. “I was fifteen and terrified of playing next to someone as good as Heeseung and always being compared to him.

“And I took all those worries about being not good enough and took it out on everyone. I let it ruin the most perfect thing in my life because I thought acting like I didn’t care would stop me from feeling insecure. What an idiot, right?”

Sunghoon brushes a free bang from your face. His eyes are glassy, the vulnerability he’s showing you at an all-time high. “I should’ve realized the girl I love didn’t care if I was the best or the worst basketball player ever, as long as I was hers and didn’t forget it. I just didn’t know it then. And now that I’ve realized what a fool I’ve been, all I want now is to spend the rest of my time making it up to her.”

The confession knocks any remaining resolve out of you, unable to bear the pain in his face or the uncertainty that hangs in the air. You slam your lips into his, the kiss both bruising and healing in the same motion. It rejuvenates all the parts of you that had been withered away since the night you broke up and couldn’t be revived without him.

Sunghoon feels the effects of the kiss as well, his gasps and whimpers exemplifying his surprise and relief to have you back in his arms. Holding you, kissing you, being with you, you can tell he’s worried the moment’s a figment of his imagination. If he doesn’t cherish it, you’ll float away. And he can’t survive that for a second time.

You part for air, but your lips still ghost over each other’s, unable to be parted now that he’s within your reach again.

With your voice laced with the unshed tears in your eyes, you ask, “What took you so damn long, you idiot?”

Sunghoon can only respond with a joyful laugh and another kiss to your lips, making up for his unsaid apologies and shit timing with his mouth.

Now that your body is against his, your hearts beating rapidly but once-again in tune with each other, he’s certain now he’ll never be stupid enough to forget your worth and let you go again. Because the pleasure he used to call home is back in his life, and he couldn’t feel more at ease.

Sunghoon’s laughing when he unlocks the front door of his house, his face in a permanent grin since you kissed a few hours prior. You spent the time before ending up here driving around town, too enraptured with each other to focus on your friends or the rest of the dance’s festivities. You didn’t leave without Heeseung giving Sunghoon a slap to the back and Wonyoung crying at your reconciliation.

The house is quiet, a result of Sunghoon’s parents being abroad for the past few days. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look, by the way?” Sunghoon mentions again when he closes the door behind you. He immediately pulls you in by the waist, showering the skin of your neck in kisses.

You giggle and weave your hands into his hair, a gasp leaving you when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. “Probably for the hundredth time by now.”

“Well you do.” He presses another kiss to the spot below your ear, making you shiver. “And I’m not gonna stop saying it.”

You smirk and move your hands to both sides of his face, forcing you to look at him. “I didn’t expect the night to go like this.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are suddenly lined with anxiety. His body tenses in your embrace, the worry that you’re having second thoughts weighing on his happiness.

You ease his doubts with a deep kiss, holding him close and hoping that assures him you’re not going anywhere. “A great thing.”

The smile you love so much appears once he’s at peace, and peppers your entire face with kisses. You laugh out loud, but he can tell you love the adoration he’s providing you.

You could definitely get used to this new Sunghoon, the night already filled with so much magic.

“I’ll be back.” He grins wide, canines on full display. Another kiss punctuates the sentence. “Don’t go anywhere.” Another.

You laugh out loud and nod your head. He dramatically holds onto your hand until he’s forced to let go. He runs down the hallway and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving you in the sitting room of his house.

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on the loveseat in the sitting room when Sunghoon comes back out.

“My lady, follow me.” He bows and holds out his hand for you to take, and you smile ear to ear when you lace your fingers with his. You’re unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side of his bedroom door, but you know it must be another surprise your boyfriend has gone above and beyond to amaze you with.

Surely enough, it makes you gasp out loud and press your free hand to your chest.

Sunghoon’s bedroom is showered in a radiant glow from dozens of candles, all different sizes but the same light creating a sweet, calming ambience. Fairy lights hang on the walls, aiding in the atmosphere he’s created. Music plays at a low sound from the speakers near the television, Sunghoon’s phone hooked up to the system. To top it all off, there’s another bouquet of white roses sitting on his side table, some petals lining the edges of the floor around his bed.

When you thought about this night in your dreams, it always ended here, being so in love. He’s made those dreams come true, right down to the letter, and you could not be more in love with him than in this moment.

Sunghoon comes closer. He presses his chest to your back, encasing your body with his arms and kissing your neck once again. You try to stifle the sob that comes out, but he hears it and retracts. “Shit, do you not like it? I can blow the candles out and–”

You turn in his embrace, shaking your head furiously. “No, I love it.” You wipe your tears, laughing at the reaction he’s pulled out of you. “I’m just–it doesn’t feel like it’s real.”

“It is.” He takes the side of your face in his hand, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “And I’ll remind you every day if you need me to.”

“I love you so much,” you respond, kissing the inside of his palm. You pull him closer, reconnecting your lips with his. You feel whole in a way you haven’t in weeks, knowing now for certain this happiness coupled with Sunghoon’s love is the perfect combination to sustain you.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, his mouth turning sloppy. You feel his growing hardness against you. It had been months since the last time you were intimate. You think as Sunghoon pulls you in closer than before, groaning into your mouth, that tonight’s the perfect time to reconnect in more ways than just emotionally.

“I missed you so much,” you moan, tugging his jacket from his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. You run your arms across his chest, still covered by the cotton button up he’s wearing, but you quickly make do with the buttons on his shirt to feel the skin underneath. 

He shivers under your touch, but he manages to find the zipper of your dress and lower it down until the dress easily slips from your body. You step out of it, careful not to tread over the fabric. Your focus remains on  undressing Sunghoon until he’s as naked as you are, wearing only your underwear and shoes. He’s shirtless thanks to you undoing his buttons, but you want all of him exposed.

You try to pull down the zipper of his pants, but he stops you, his eyes lust-filled but patient. “This night is about you, baby. Not me.”

“Please, let me touch you.” You whine, holding onto the belt-loops on his pants.

“Not yet.” He moves you both back until you’re at the edge of the bed. He motions for you to sit down. Once you do, he gets onto his knees in front of you, the man you love on a mission. “Let me make you feel good first.”

He takes the heels off of your feet and sets them down beside your dress. When he does, he begins his slow torture of kissing up your ankles to the insides of your thighs. You lay your body back on his bed, whimpering and body on the verge of shaking when he finally pulls the underwear from your legs.

“Fuck, Hoon,” you say out loud when he presses a kiss to your clit, taking the nub between his lips and sucking tenderly while rubbing his hands on the curves of your hips. He takes one hand to reach out and grab one of your breasts, expertly taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger as his tongue licks along the insides of your center. “Please don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Wasn’t planning on it, my love.” His tongue moves at a faster pace, matching the writhing of your hips crashing into his face to gain every ounce of pleasure he’s giving you.

Before, you wouldn’t have imagined being back in this bedroom with him, and now there’s no other place you wanted to exist.

“Hoon, please. I want you,” you say, one hand clutching his comforter and the other entangled in his hair.

“You have me, always.” His tongue slips inside of your pussy, the feeling of the muscle against your walls causing you to cry out in pleasure.

“I’m not moving until you come, baby. I know you’re close.” The pleasure has been building since the moment he had his mouth wrapped around your neck when you stepped into his house. And now, with his mouth buried inside of you and sweet words accompanying such dirty actions fuels your body’s speedrun to your release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you curse, your orgasm hitting you like the crash of a wave before you go underwater. But you don’t care to drown if it feels this satisfying.

You laugh breathlessly when the end of your release comes. Sunghoon wipes your essence off of his lips with the back of his hand, smiling bashfully. Every action of his before is incredibly contrary to his shy expression, but you love it.

Ridding himself of his pants, Sunghoon’s cock springs free from the constricting article of clothing. The tip is leaking with precum, but he isn’t in a rush to jump on top of you like the many times before when you both were too frustrated to worry with foreplay.

He kisses you with all he has when he crawls on top of you. His tongue inside of your mouth fills it with the taste of your slick. In a blip, he has a condom in his hand and puts it on with quick skill. There’s no need to prep you, your previous orgasm leaving you wet and waiting for him to line up with your entrance and slip inside.

He does it expertly. Both of you tremble from the feeling you long forgot felt so otherworldly, his cock making a home within your walls and your body adjusting to the delicious stretch.

The song in the background fills your ears with the sounds of a slow-strumming guitar, reflecting the thrust of Sunghoon’s hips. Your hips meet his when he’s filled you to the hilt, causing you to sigh. “Fuck, just like that.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Sunghoon whispers between thrusts, moaning sweet nothings into your mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” you whisper in kind, gasping. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix with each press of his hips, exiting slowly and pushing back inside until there’s no space left to accommodate him.

How could you be so filled, figuratively and literally, by the love he had to offer you? For anyone else who’s never known the feelings stirring inside of you, a mixture of sinful pleasure and pure happiness, you feel sorry for them. If everyone in the world did, they might have been labeled as two extra wonders of the world.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come again,” you say, clutching onto his hips. You bite down on the skin of his shoulder, releasing your moans into his skin as his pace speeds up.

“Yes, baby, give it to me,” he groans, gulping hard and body frantic to take you both to the your climaxes. You feel the stars behind your eyes when your second orgasm comes, a long cry leaving your lips. Sunghoon matches it with a broken moan, the sound coming out in fragments as he spills inside of the condom.

Sunghoon lathers your face in deep, heartfelt kisses before pulling out. He walks to the bathroom quickly, throwing away the condom in the trash and grabbing a cloth to clean you up. He runs the fabric between your legs, careful not to press down too hard and overstimulate you.

You both crawl under the covers after he throws the rag in his hamper, your body immediately snuggling into his. The crown of your head receives another blitz of kisses, your smile hurting your cheeks from how wide it goes.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says, the words coming without a second thought.

And with no regrets on your mind or in your heart, resolute in your decision to forgive him, you say, “I love you, too, Hoon. Always.”

People could always change if they had the determination and inspiration to do so, and you know that for sure now. In  the arms of the one you love, that fact could not be more true.

@mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @dreamiestay

[luveline]

Ok but can you imagine if bombshell!reader who is pregnant does fall down somewhere?? Everyone, Spencer very much so, freaks out and she tries to play it off cool even though she’s really sore. She and baby are ok but she and Spencer are definitely shaken up by this and he’s even more hover-y from this 😭🥲

ty for requesting <3 pregnant!reader falling and panicking lovely bf spencer, 1.3k

“We’re like, the dream team,” you say, sewing your arm through the crook of Spencer’s. He’s trying to zip up your jacket, which is difficult given the ever-growing curve of your stomach. With one arm, it’s hopeless. 

“We are,” he murmurs obligingly, thinking about how cold it is outside and how you’ve yet to give in to the ‘ugly-fest’ of maternity clothes at work. It’s a shame. You look adorable in them at home. “Maybe you should put on your hoodie.” 

“It’s fine, it’s like, three steps between the station and the hotel.” You smile at him. He loves your eyes, your lashes, and he forgets to be stern. 

“Let’s go, then.” He waves at Emily where she’s chatting with an officer. “You ready?” he asks. 

Penelope pops her head out of the office with her laptop bag tucked under her arm. “Let’s go home, my chickens.” 

You and Spencer devolve into one of your murmured conversations, giggling, pressed arm to arm as you and the team emerge from the warmth of the police station and into the cold winter air. It’s sub zero outside, Spencer’s sure, wanting to get you back out of the elements as quickly as possible. 

He takes the steps first and holds out his hand a few beneath. Emily laughs, says, “He’s so chivalrous,” to Penelope’s delight. 

“He’s always been our gentleman,” Penelope says. 

You look eager to agree. “He’s my prince,” you tease gently, taking his hand, leaning just a little too far forward. 

Your foot slips out from underneath you with a sound like a knife scraping the snow. You fall hard and fast, and the horror is that your one leg trips more than the other and you end up slamming flat on your side. 

Spencer has you up again before the slush can so much as wet your clothes, but it doesn’t matter. Your eyes go wider than he’s ever seen them and your lips struggle down into an immediate frown, a wobbly expression, alarm in your voice as you say, “Oh, woah.” 

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” Penelope asks, she and Spencer rushing down to the bottom of the steps to meet you. 

“Sit her down, Spencer,” Emily says quickly, not scornful or anything but her concern turning her tone hard. 

“It’s wet,” he says, as his head bubbles up with horrible statistics. 

“Spencer,” you say tightly, “I’m fine.” 

You don’t look fine. He yanks his suit jacket off and drops it to the floor, a write off, he and Penelope encouraging you to sit on the bottom step. Your eyes are filled with tears, he suspects from panic and pain at once, and he doesn’t really know what to do in this situation for a second, he has to think back. It’s hard to think and hold your hands at the same time. 

“It’s okay,” he says, enthusing his voice with false pep. 

“What should we do?” Penelope asks, quicker to panic than the rest of you. 

Spencer bends down in front of you. You’re the only person that matters in that moment. “What hurts?” he asks, hand hovering over your side. “Does anything hurt?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe out, before shaking your head, “What about–” You cut yourself off. “Yeah.” 

Spencer takes your wrist. “I’m gonna call Dr. Cordell right now. Okay? Just as a precaution. That’s what you’re supposed to do, okay?” 

“I think I hurt my hip,” you say smally. 

With some help from the girls, Spencer gets you back to the hotel. He calls your doctor, and they decide to get you an emergency check up with an antenatal doctor he knows while you’re still out of state. It feels less panicky and more dread while you wait, but the appointment goes well, and you’re given the all clear a few hours after your fall. 

You’re uncharacteristically quiet at the hotel. Spencer asks if you’re alright and you say, “Of course,” while he spends the rest of the evening watching you wince. 

It’s getting ready for bed where he finally gets you to crack for him. You’re not expecting to be sore, that much is clear, and you’re bashful asking for his help. “I can’t get my shirt over my head,” you say from the bathroom, with no need to shout. He can hear you from his not so casual seat at the foot of the bed. 

He lost his tie a few hours ago, and his suit jacket lays soggy in a plastic bag on top of his suitcase. He rolls his sleeves up as he eases into the small bathroom, eyes dropping to the naked bump of your stomach where your shirt is pooled. You have a yellowy bruise taking form on your hip. Another on your bump, like the lines of the stone steps. 

“Angel,” he murmurs, fingers glancing over the bruise gently. 

“Doesn’t hurt.” 

“You don’t have to lie.” 

You poke him. “Help me get changed, handsome.” You laugh at your demanding. “Please help me get changed.” 

“So rude,” he says. 

He grabs the ends of your shirt and pulls it up your back and over the back of your head so as to not agitate your cut up elbow again. You sigh as he pulls it clean, leaving you shirtless and gorgeous in the bathroom, despite all your worrying. He should tell you. He can’t not tell you, really. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, taking your shoulders into his hands. 

“Even with the baby weight?” you ask. 

He rubs your arm. “You’ve never been this beautiful.” 

“Oh, no, don’t say that.” You cover his arm with yours, hand over his, fingers intertwining loosely. 

“You’re always…” He leans down. He’d been about to stop himself, but he continues, lips just an inch from yours, the two of you eye to eye. “Beautiful. I’m sorry about today, it was my fault.” 

“It was my fault.” 

“I should’ve been more careful, I knew it was cold enough for frost.” 

“I should’ve been more careful,” you say, frowning at him indignantly, “I know how fragile I am right now and I’m not being careful enough.” 

“You slipped,” he argues. It could only be an accident.

“What if she felt it?” you whisper. 

Spencer was trying to assuage your fears and he’d been planning on a kiss, but a hug feels more important in that moment, a careful loop of his arms under yours. His few inches of height over you are especially helpful in steering clear of your stomach. “She didn’t feel it, Y/N, I promise. You took the fall for her, and the doctor said everything is just fine. She didn’t even know it was happening, I swear.” 

You let out a long, slow breath. You nod into his should after a few moments. “Okay. Thank you for picking me back up, Spence.” 

“That was impressive, right?” 

You poke him some more as you let the entirety of your weight slouch into his front. “You’re quite impressive, Reid. I felt the muscle.” You kiss his neck, voice dropping to a murmur, “I’m okay.” He hasn’t realised how badly he needed reassurance too. 

“I know.” 

“Sorry if I was dramatic,” you say. 

“Dramatic?” he laughs, thumb on your neck drawing shapes. “You tried to tell me you were fine. That’s the opposite of dramatic.” 

“…Maybe I should slow down some. Maybe. Take some days off.” 

Spencer kisses the top of your head. “That could be nice. You’ve been bouncing around for months. We could just spend a couple of days laying down, right? You can try out some of those maternity pyjamas you’re so reluctant to wear.” 

“Why’d you buy so many?” 

“I’m trying to take care of you. I thought I’d finally be allowed,” he says. 

Your voice turns to a whisper. “You always take care of me, Spence. You really do.” 

[brandonaguja]

“It was a game, but for them it was real” ok so did no one care about Marshmallow being killed a million times by Knife enough to like ban him. Hey? Guys?

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants. 

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked… 

Wow. 

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks. 

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol. 

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!” 

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell. 

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge. 

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up. 

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration. 

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird. 

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.” 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other. 

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty. 

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless. 

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row. 

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.” 

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day. 

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you. 

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble. 

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—" 

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt. 

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head. 

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill. 

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.” 

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.” 

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you. 

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.  

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out. 

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face. 

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you. 

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence. 

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job. 

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt. 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising. 

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk. 

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

[oscteamstournament]

team chicken leg

Team Chicken Leg has been put for consideration.

[tummywrites]

you had the life. happy family, good grades, star of the softball and cheer team, eventually picked for your favorite sorority. every frat bro flirted with you, and every one of your sisters was jealous of you. you were a size 0, no one was skinner than you in your whole house and you knew girls envied you for it, you took joy in watching the fatties you were supposed to consider "sisters" run to the bathroom after dinners at the sorority house, the sounds of their puke hitting the toilet as they tried to purge, desperate for a body as perfect as yours. you meet a hot guy at a frat party one night, and he pours a few too many drinks down your throat and for the first time you're bloated: an unnatural roundness on your otherwise stick thin figure. you notice this and when you get back to your dorm room, drunk and stumbling and just barely able to make it into your bed and grab your vibrator, rutting your hips helplessly into your bed. your belly was so swollen, so full, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around in there, trying to making you sick, but all it did was make you horny.

why?

the next time you felt that feeling, it was at a tailgate and you were there with all your sisters & and their boyfriends, waiting for the game to finish so you could go to the frats and party. you got drunk again and this time you got hungry, so you walked over to the guy's side of the area and grabbed a slice of pizza, trying to avoid eye contact with your sisters nearby who you had overheard complaining about how "fat" they were getting (as they went from 100 to 110 pounds after spending every night partying, not eating all day and drinking all night) you laughed at those girls in your mind as you stood there in your size 0 slip dress, flaunting your body to the girls who fought to look like you. you devoured the first slice of pizza with that on your mind, and couldn't help yourself as you grabbed a second one, and with that, a few bread bites. you eyed the snack tray on the table, with baggies of chips and a cooler full of sugary sodas, but then you saw your Big sister glaring at you from across the room and you glanced down, recoiling in horror (and clenching your legs in arousal) your stomach was rounded out, pulling your dress tight across your belly in an almost obscene way. without a word, you grabbed your bag and stumbled off, embarrassed and drunk and so full, but so turned on for seemingly no reason. why would you be turned on by being so bloated from countless beers and greasy pizza, then being caught by one of the other girls there while you made a pig of yourself?

what sealed your fate was over christmas break, when your high school friends wanted to get together again and have a dinner party. you were still as thin as you had always been, but it lately you did feel a little resistance as you went to tug up your lulu pants which was unusual. your friends from high school, however, were not so lucky. your high school best friend had gained at least 40, maybe 50 pounds--a once skinny girl with a flat chest and stomach, now spilling out of a crop top and skirt, a muffin top cascading over the waistband of a skirt. your other friend, a once sporty guy who hadn't gained a day in his life, now walked in with a shirt that clung uncomfortably to his gut, which brought back that hot feeling in your pussy, your clit throbbing as you saw him, pot belly absolutely obscene to you. everyone brought a dish to welcome you home, and they all insisted you try each dish, then seconds, and thirds of this dish, this that one, and then try this one again--

good thing you had drinks.

by the end of the night, you were so nauseous you were convinced were you going to spew. you had ate so much, potato dishes soaked in heavy cream, the thickest mac n cheese you had seen in your life, cheesecakes, and at least 48 chicken wings, you had lost count after the first two dozen you had shoved down your throat in between cans of beer. you were seeing double, but you saw clearly the face your best friend was making as you chugged down another beer and before you could stop, there was a deafening pop! and the button on your jeans fell to the floor, bouncing off the cabinet and landing square in the center of the kitchen. you were so embarrassed, tears welling to your eyes. in a rush, you screamed for your friends to leave, refusing to listen to them as they tried to reason with you. after you kicked them out, you walked back into the kitchen, still crying and hot with shame, staggering as you try to bend over and grab the button that taunted you from the floor. you held it in your palm, then looked down at your belly, which was rounded out further than it ever had, and obscured your view of your feet as you glanced down, the movement sloshing all the countless cans of beer in you. your crop top couldn't hide the actual belly you were forming now, and you looked up to your reflection in the black tv. fuck. you looked pregnant. you looked at the cheesecake on the counter as you wiped your tears, one hand grabbing and the round gut spilling out of your jeans. you reached out for the tray, and without pausing ate the rest, not even bothering with silverware as you glutted yourself. before you could stop yourself, you had finished the whole cheesecake, then the rest of the mac n cheese, and then stumbled over yourself to grab the last two cans of beer, pouring them into a big cup together, throwing your head back in desperation as you drank both in seconds. you fall over chairs and tables to get over to the couch, belly so distended you let out a whimper whenever its jostled, and pass out there.

ten years later, you're 29 years old and stepping off the scale in front of your fridge. your mark your weight on the fridge, and open up while reaching for the closest bottle of wine. despite your attempts to lose weight, you've gained 15 pounds in the past month. you're 302 pounds, you wear a 4XL and a 24 in jeans, which are barely hanging on. your ass barely fits in the drivers seat of your car and your bed creaks when you lay on it. you've broken your computer chair so you moved a dining chair into your bedroom, but your thighs spilled over the side, so you had to give up the computer. you hadn't talked to most of your friends in years, probably not since new years after that christmas, where you first fell into your gluttony and addiction. you spent the rest of that break stuffing your face to cope with your feelings, and by the time you were supposed to back to school you were 30 pounds heavier and not a single item of clothing fit your growing body. you were 140 pounds, and the moment you stepped out of your car on shaky legs in front of your sorority sisters, you knew it was over. they all began to laugh, heaving and pointing in malice at the inches of overhang you had falling over your skirt, which was only zipped up halfway, covered by a shirt that looked like it was painted on. you dropped out within a few days and spent the days partying, drinking, and stuffing your face at the end of the night, rubbing your pussy until you came. you couldn't resist the feeling food gave you.

[giuseppe-yuki]

who is that?

max verstappen x ragdoll cat shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 1.9k

warnings: suggestive content, curse words, jealous!max

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: who is that cat that max is playing with in the rb garage that is not you?

picture credits from pinterest :)

sitting on an elevated ball cat bed that was custom designed with max’s emblem on the side, it wasn’t hard to see that you were a little spoiled. hell, you even had your own minifridge stocked with fresh fish, veggies, fruit, and meat that max specifically ordered for you. at first, you had advocated against having your little corner of the red bull garage, not wanting to take up too much space, but max had convinced not only you but also christian to build the little cat corner, because who could ever say no to a three-time world champion? 

now, you were sitting daintily on the soft cushion of the bed, watching max finish the last of his fp1 laps. to no one’s surprise, he had the quickest time, being faster than charles by a third of a second. 

feeling a bit hungry, you let out a few mewls, sending a few of the engineers scurrying your way. ha, you thought. i have them wrapped around my finger. 

“you hungry, little kitty?” one of the engineer asks, petting your head. 

you blink your signature blue ragdoll cat eyes at her.

immediately, she jumps up, and strolls to your mini fridge. gingerly, she takes out some pre-prepared raw chicken out of the refrigerator, along with a couple of strawberries. after cutting up both items into small enough pieces with scissors stored on the side of the fridge, she sets the food in a small bowl in front of your cat bed. 

you jump off your elevated bed and walk a few laps around the engineer’s legs, rubbing your fur against her legs in a show of appreciation. the other engineers all coo in adoration, tilting their heads and smiling at you. you approach the bowl on the ground and gobble down the chicken and strawberries, quick. 

deciding you want pets now, you hop into another engineer’s lap and purr, which evokes him to start scratching your chin. but before he could give you any more pets, max pulls into the garage along with checo, signaling to you that fp1 was over. the engineer sets you back on the ground to start assessing the rb20 with everyone else. 

to your left, hannah schimtz strolls in from the pitlane, one hand clutching her headpiece and another holding a clipboard. you pad over to her through the chaos of the garage and jump onto her leg. she chuckles before setting down her things on a counter and picking you up. she gives you a few pats on the head, earning her a meow of happiness from you. gianpiero lambiase appears out of nowhere next to hannah, but you don’t mind as he starts stroking your fur. you nuzzle into hannah’s team kit in gratitude. 

when you lift your head and look across the room, you see your boyfriend has already gotten out of his car and standing next to checo. checo is animatedly talking with his hands, occasionally gesturing towards his car, but max is not looking at him. he stares directly at you in hannah’s arms, cool blue eyes staring you down. its filled with a familiar fondness, but it is also tinted with an emotion you don’t see often- jealousy. 

he turns and walks towards you, leaving checo looking at his retreating figure with a confused look on his face. (poor checo, you think.) 

“i’m going to hold my cat now,” he says pointedly to hannah, emphasizing the “my”. he snatches you out of hannah’s arms and holds you gently to his chest. you think you can hear his heartbeat through his sweaty fireproofs. 

turning on his heel, he yanks the driver radio earbuds out of his ear, one-handedly throws it on the counter behind his car, grabs you tight, and bolts out of the garage towards his driver room. 

“don’t you think that was a little much back there, maxie?” you question, lifting your head off his chest and peering at him. 

“umm, no, not really,” your boyfriend says. he squeezes you closer to him on the bed in his driver’s room, tangling your legs together.

you thread your fingers into max’s, using your other hand to fiddle with his fan-made mv1 bead bracelets and trace the patterns on his silver cartier bracelet. “if i may,” you start, lips close to the shell of his ear, “i would say…you were a little jealous back there- snatching me out of hannah’s arms. i just wanted a few pets, that’s all.” 

he pouts, scrunching his nose. he pulls himself away from you and adjusts himself on the bed, laying on his side and propping one hand on the side of his head. you can see the dark spots on his pillow where his head was, leftover droplets of water from getting out of the shower. he adjusts the simple black shirt that he pulled from his drawers a few minutes ago, and blinks at you innocently. 

“no i wasn’t,” he defends himself. “i just simply wanted to hold my pretty girlfriend after racing hard on the track after fp1.” 

you roll your eyes. “sure baby,” you giggle. he was such a lousy liar. it was kind of cute seeing him jealous though. you lean closer to him, laser focused on his soft lips. “just know that you’re the only person that can do this-” 

before you can put your glossy lips on his, max’s phone starts to buzz. 

he curses, pulling out his phone. “who the fuck is calling me?” 

the caller id lights up, showing the words ‘christian horner’ in blaring white letters. 

he scrambles off the bed, and turns to you. “i’m sorry, i have to take this,” he says apologetically. “i will be back, though.” he gives you a wink before walking out of the room.

lying on the bed by yourself, fix your hair a bit before pausing. “no way christian fucking horner just cockblocked me!” you say aloud, giggling to yourself.

two hours before fp2 starts, you find yourself in the paddock bathroom. you smooth down your hair, reapply your makeup, and start smothering lipgloss on your lips when you hear a voice behind you. 

“hey there, you’re max’s girlfriend, right?” a girl in a pretty patterned tube top and jeans smiles at you, tilting her head in question. 

“oh, yes, that’s me!” you respond, smiling back at her. before she can respond, you reach your hand out, and pluck a white feather off the back of her top. “you had a feather stuck on the back of your top by the way,” you explain to her, tossing it in the trash can next to the sinks. 

“haha thanks, i have no idea how that got there!” she says, scratching her head. she then reaches out her hand. “i’m oscar’s girlfriend by the way. nice to meet you!”

you strike up a conversation while she touches up her own makeup, even exchanging numbers. 

she was in the middle of explaining a funny story how she apparently “stole water” from the red bull motorhome when she pauses and points to a spot near your shoulder. 

“there’s like a pretty big bruise on your shoulderblade!” she says concerningly. “is everything alright?” 

you look at yourself in the mirror, and sure enough is a bruise, small enough to not be seen from far away, but too big to cover up unnoticeably. god, you were gonna kill max on sight. 

you struggle to come up with an appropriate excuse to tell oscar’s girlfriend. “i- um was kind of clumsy and bumped into a shelf in max’s driver’s room, and like- a giant vase art piece thingy fell on me!” 

she gasps in shock, “omg, what? i hope you’re okay now!”

you nod your head quickly. “yeah, i’m totally fine,” you say. “the vase didn’t even hurt that much.” 

after covering the hickey bruise with at least a half a gallon of concealer, you hurry over to the red bull garage. max must be a little worried, considering you were gone a little longer than expected because you were talking to oscar’s girlfriend. to your surprise, max is sitting on one of the data analyst’s chair, dangling a toy fish on a string over the head of a ragdoll cat. the cat bats at it, meowing.

“what the actual fuck are you doing? and who is that?” you burst out, marching over to max. this better be a prank, you think to yourself.

to your surprise, there is not a hint of held-back laughter on max’s face- only shock. “wait what?” he says, stunned. “if you’re here..then who is…?” he trails off. the cat sits on the ground between you both, blinking its blue eyes innocently. 

GP walks up to you and max, not noticing both of your shocked faces. he bends down and picks up the cat, cooing. “i know one of the engineers fed her earlier, but you don’t mind if i feed this one a bit of fish do you?” he doesn’t wait for an answer before stalking off to the fridge with the cat. 

you turn to max, eyes blazing. 

“i swear! i thought that was you!” he whispers to you frantically.

by the time fp2 was over, you were already back in max’s driver room. the door busts open, and in runs a sweaty max. he starts rambling (or should i say maxplaining?) the second the door is open- “omg, baby where is the cat? after fp2, i talked to gp and he said that you left with ten minutes left in fp2 with the cat? please please please tell me you did not kill the cat, i swear i did not know that it was not you! it was a random stray cat that somehow found its way into the paddock! i won’t even touch another cat ever again please?” 

he turns the corner of his driver’s room to find you in your cat form snuggling on the bed with a sleeping ragdoll cat. you turn to blink your glittering blue eyes at him while keeping a paw protectively around the other cat. 

your boyfriend sits down on the couch, relief oozing out of him. he gives both of you some head scratches. “i really thought you took the cat and killed it or something,” he exclaims. he then heads to the mini cooler next to his rack of race suits and pops open a can of red bull. when he turns back around, you are now sat next to the cat, running your hands over its soft fur.

“you really think i would do that, maxie?” you say, raising an eyebrow. 

he goes back into panic mode, trying to defend himself. “no, no, no, i just meant-”

you cut him off, laughing. “relax, baby, i’m just messing with you. besides, i think we have a new member in our family now! what should we name him?” 

max sighs with relief, and comes to sit next to you on the bed. he says the first name that pops into his mind. “how about we name him jimmy?” 

you raise your eyebrow for the second time. “jimmy?” you say incredulously. “you want to name the cat jimmy?”

“okay, okay,” he says, holding his hands up. “how about…sassy? that cat was really sassy with me when i found it in the garage! that’s why i thought it was you!” 

“what is that supposed to mean?” you say bewilderedly. 

before max can answer, the cat yawns loudly in your lap and nuzzles close to you.

“you know,” you remark, changing the subject,  “i’m honestly really glad you found this little kitty.” you lean over and give max a peck on the lips, tasting a hint of red bull. 

an idea hits you. “hey, why don’t we name him redbull?”

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