#this doesn’t have anything to do with the post I’m just curious
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Once I get an idea for one shitpost I make like a lot more than I originally intended to. Anyways can you guess who my favorite character is right now
#cookie run#cr ovenbreak#dr wasabi cookie#mustard cookie#aloe cookie#rockstar cookie#just outta curiosity does anyone ship wasabi with aloe#I’ve only seen her get shipped with other old ladies like captain ice and dark enchantress#cause it’s like#unhinged scientist x scientist who seems calm and collected but is also unhinged#it’s like moicy but it turns out that mercy is also moira so there are just two moiras#this doesn’t have anything to do with the post I’m just curious
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Which myths would you be particulary excited about working into the superfox verse
Greek myths are always a classic. I’ve already mentioned things like centaurs, harpies, sirens, and dryads. But tbh them in a modern setting has already been thoroughly explored by stories like Percy Jackson so they’re not the most exciting to explore.
I think what I’m most anticipating is Celtic folklore. It’s always been one of my favorite mythos. I kind of want to include Kelpies somehow because I love those murder horses but I’m not sure how. I just love how many of their creatures are just slightly inhuman like with the fae, leprechauns, werewolves, bodach, the dullahan, vampires, and a bunch of unique ghosts like the banshee. It would be fun to find ways to integrate them into modern society.
I think I just have a weakness for myths about tricksters
#also vampires aren’t exclusively Celtic or Romanian or anything so if I do include them in anything I’ll have to do a ton of research#because different cultures from the Americas to Asia have different myths about bloodsuckers#also with the dullahan I just think it would be so fun to modernize the headless horseman#bc horses are kind of outdated for transport#so what if he’s like. a headless taxi driver instead#that would be so fun#ask lemon#random fox becomes a superhero (not clickbait)#also Japanese folklore has been one of the most exciting ones for me if you can’t tell#but ehhh that doesn’t count for the question since I’ve been including a lot of Japanese folklore already#also also I want to include more central/south American mythos but I don’t know it as well as European or East Asian#also also also! I’m curious if there is a culture/mythos people would want to see? I can do research and take suggestions to-#-hopefully do less explored cultures justice#I think I typed more in the tags than the actual post sobs
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does anyone else feel like they need to Make Fan Content That Is Also Good And Interesting in order to make/keep internet friends so as to be worth other people’s time
#the internet is one big networking tool#genuine question because like. i know it’s unhealthy but i also feel like that’s kind of the economy created by the internet#i’m not advocating it and i’m also not trying to be self-deprecating#i was never great at art and i haven’t posted anything i’ve written in like 5 years#like for example. i put off making a dragon age blog for a while bc i don’t Do anything. even now that ive made it i feel like i don’t have#a leg to stand on to talk to my mutuals. we are always competing for attention on the internet#i’ve known a few people where like. i thought we were actual friends and not just fandom colleagues but i always felt like i had fo Prove I#Was Talented to keep them interested and like. again not healthy but i’m wondering how common that is#maybe that is just fandom colleague behavior and i misread the situation but uh#also to be clear i’m not trying to like. blame anyone or victimize myself#i’m mostly curious because i have seen people talk about how making friends on the internet is so much easier and i’m wondering#where that idea came from. bc i still think it’s hard. but i wonder if it’s easier if you’re one already posting Original And Interesting#Content. i mostly just make memes and meta at this point and it doesn’t get a lot of attention. which is fine#i’ve just found it markedly harder to meet people since i switched tacks#one of the reasons i burned out tbh. among other things. i’ve been picking writing up again but i don’t post anymore#honestly realizing this has probably bitten me in the ass before bc i’ve had friends who share stuff they’re proud of and i don’t jump on it#bc to me i’m trying to be like ‘you don’t have to prove yourself to me. i like you as a person’#but probably comes off like ‘i don’t care about the things you care about’. hm#mine
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#I actually despise when people argue on my dash#like even a really popular post that may have some questionable but ultimately harmless and openly curious takes#that is then picked apart really fucking /meanly/ by someone who just doesn’t have anything better to do#like#chill#maybe?#and it’s like not even discourse I’m not fond of#healthy discussion is fine#it’s literally just people choosing to purposefully go for the throat when they feel pushed or put off by a certain post that#could never be in any way construed as directed by them#I dunno this is rant-y now#but shit guys#enjoy life occasionally without being a damn prick#slav#slav every day#voltron
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Do…. Do people actually have an issue with stuff being written in present tense?
#I’ve heard of POV preference but seeing all these posts about how much people dislike present tense#maybe I’m just not an observant reader but I can count the number of times I’ve actively noted a book/fic’s tense on one hand#and almost always it was because I liked how it worked with the author’s writing style#you’re telling me people will consider dropping something JUST because it’s in present tense??#genuinely can someone explain this to me?#I know some people don’t like first person pov because it feels too close and ‘I’ didn’t do anything. the character did#(I don’t really see it that way and don’t mind first person though I prefer third person)#and second person pov is rare and people don’t like it for the same reasons (being told what they as a reader ‘did’)#(I personally like second person pov a LOT but also prefer it to be a little treat actually suited to the story)#but verb tense?? as long as it all works grammatically I don’t see an issue#a lot of the examples I see of how present tense doesn’t work is showing two paragraphs side by side in the past and present#and I will agree that the present reads worse comparatively#but also it’s because the sentences were obviously (at least imo) written and structured for past tense first#and then ‘translated’ to present tense if that makes sense#I personally like how present tense lets me play with my sentences#but also I know that when I play with time and have a character recount past events within their own internal musings I switch tense#which I would think is allowed?? but maybe that’s bad form and I’m proving the point why past tense is ‘superior’#(I don’t really care for fic writing purposes as long as it flows and isn’t distracting but who’s to say)#anyways this was long but yeah. genuinely curious about this one#white weasel talks#tbd probs
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White Horse - Chapter 18: May 2024 - Part 3
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)
Summary:
Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.
She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.
But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.
Warnings and Notes:
we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
The apartment smelled like raspberries the moment they opened the door.
Belle blinked. “Do you… smell cake?”
Max grinned. “I wasn’t the only one who remembered.”
“Max,” came a voice from the kitchen. “If you let her cry in an elevator last night and didn’t bring her back to a full-blown party, I will break your nose.”
Emilie.
She stepped into the room holding a knife in one hand and a bouquet in the other, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder like some kind of aggressively nurturing chaos fairy.
“Oh my god,” Belle whispered, stunned.
There were balloons—floating near the windows, tethered in groups of gold and pink and white. A stack of wrapped gifts sat near the sofa, all tagged with labels like “Open when you want to feel dangerous” and “This one is soft because you deserve softness.” A cake—raspberry, of course—sat on the dining table, frosted with piped lettering that read “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BELLE.”
Max just closed the door behind them and kissed the top of Belle’s head as she stared, speechless.
Emilie crossed the room, shoved the flowers into Max’s hands, and pulled Belle into a full-body hug that somehow said I love you, I see you, and I will never let this happen again all at once.
“You’re early,” Belle whispered.
“I’m me,” Emilie said. “Of course I’m early. Of course I brought gifts. And of course I brought lunch, because I knew you two wouldn’t eat anything but adrenaline and each other today.”
Belle laughed—actually laughed—and Emilie pulled back just enough to study her face.
Then her eyes dropped.
“…What is that?” she asked, already grabbing Belle’s hand.
The ring glinted in the light. Emerald. Gold. Hers.
Emilie shrieked.
“You didn’t!”
Belle smiled. “He did.”
Max, very smug and still holding the flowers like a schoolboy in love, nodded. “She said yes.”
Emilie let out an actual squeal, tackled Belle in another hug, and then pointed the cake knife at Max.
“I’m planning the engagement party. You don’t get a vote.”
“Fair,” Max said, amused.
Belle just stood there, blinking back another round of tears. But they were different now.
Not the kind you cried because you were forgotten.
The kind you cried because someone—multiple someones—never stopped remembering.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Emilie squeezed her hand. “Always.”
***
The dishes were still in the sink. Balloons floated lazily near the ceiling. Emilie had slipped out with a wink and a leftover box of cake, promising to return with champagne and chaos “once you’ve finished your romantic post-engagement spiral.”
The apartment was quiet again.
Max and Belle were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, her head resting on his chest. One of the cats was asleep on the windowsill. The other had made a throne of the discarded wrapping paper pile.
Max's fingers moved gently through her hair. “So,” he said, voice soft. “What kind of wedding do you want?”
Belle blinked up at him. “You’re asking now?”
“I’m curious,” he said. “You’ve had a Pinterest board for this since 2013, don’t lie.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers curled into the edge of his sweatshirt.
“I used to want the whole thing,” she said. “The cathedral. The dress with a five-meter train. The champagne tower and a dance floor with my name in lights. I used to picture a wall of flowers and an aisle that took two minutes to walk down.”
Max watched her quietly.
“I think,” Belle said slowly, “I wanted it to feel like something big enough that they’d have to see me. Maybe if the day was big enough, loud enough… my family would finally pay attention.”
He didn’t say anything.
She didn’t need him to.
“But now?” she whispered. “After this week? After all of it?”
She sat up a little, just enough to look at him. Her voice stayed soft.
“I just want you.”
Max’s eyes softened in that way that made her feel like a secret being cherished. “You’ve always had me.”
Belle smiled—small, but certain. “Then I don’t need anyone else in the room. Not unless we want them there. I don’t need to prove anything. I don’t need anyone to clap for a day they didn’t help me dream about.”
Max nodded, his hand moving up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… Vegas?”
That made her laugh, for real this time.
“Maybe not Vegas. I don’t think I am the Elvis Chapel kind of girl,” she teased him.
“We can do whatever you want,” he said. “We can elope. We can do something quiet in the mountains. Or a beach. Hell, we can marry at the stable if you want. Just you, me, Fleur, and a priest who doesn’t ask too many questions.”
Belle’s heart tugged in the gentlest way. “I want it to feel like… peace. Like home. Not performance.”
Max leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then we’ll make it peaceful. We’ll make it ours.”
She exhaled into his shoulder, her ring glinting softly in the low light.
“I spent so many years trying to imagine what it would feel like to be loved loudly,” she said. “But being loved quietly by you is so much better.”
Max didn’t say anything. He just kissed her again, softly—like a promise.
And in that moment, Belle knew: She didn’t need chandeliers or glittering crowds or performances wrapped in lace.
She just needed Max.
“I just want you,” she said, eyes closing. “I want to marry you in the quiet. Somewhere small. Somewhere soft. No cameras. No pressure. Just… us.”
Max’s hand found hers, threading their fingers together gently.
“Good,” he said. “Because that’s all I ever wanted too.”
Belle opened her eyes and looked up at him, searching.
“You’re really okay with that?” she asked. “No big party, no headlines, no Red Bull-themed fireworks?”
Max grinned. “Fireworks are overrated. And I already won the only prize I ever actually wanted.”
Belle rolled her eyes. “That was cheesy.”
“I’m in love. It’s allowed.”
She leaned up and kissed him, slow and sure, and when she pulled back, her voice was lighter. “Let’s elope.”
Max blinked. “Wait—really?”
She nodded. “Let’s find somewhere just for us. Paris. Nice. I don’t care. As long as it’s you.”
He looked at her for a long moment. His whole expression softened, all edges gone.
“Then let’s do it,” Max said.
Belle smiled. Really smiled.
And for the first time in years, the future felt like hers.
***
After dinner—if leftover cake and Max feeding her strawberries from the fridge counted as dinner—Belle curled back into the couch in her softest pajamas and his hoodie, legs tucked under her. Her hair was slightly damp from the bath she hadn’t even realized she needed, and her engagement ring still caught the low light like it had something to say.
Max was in the kitchen, drying two wine glasses that had only been used for juice. She could hear him humming under his breath, some melody half-remembered from a road trip months ago.
Belle opened her phone.
Not for Instagram.
Not for texts.
Just… curious.
She searched: “How to get married in Monaco.” Then refined it: “Civil wedding Monaco how.” Then, after clicking through a very official-sounding government page with questionable font choices: “Monaco City Hall marriage appointment calendar.”
And there it was.
A calendar. A short list of dates and times.
And one of them—the very next morning—was wide open. Unclaimed. Slotted between some dignitary from the Chamber of Commerce and a local couple named Elise and Jean-Luc.
Belle stared at it.
Blinking.
The kind of opening that didn’t just feel like coincidence.
It was like the universe had sighed and said, Here. Have something just for you.
“Max?” she called, still staring at the screen. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears—half laughter, half disbelief.
He appeared around the corner in an instant, towel slung over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
She turned the phone toward him.
“Monaco City Hall. Tomorrow. 11 AM.”
Max leaned in, reading it, then looked at her with a slow, blooming grin. “Are you serious?”
“I didn’t expect it to be available,” she said. “But… it is. And I live here. You have residency. The paperwork is fast. They’ll process it same-day if we show up with our IDs and two witnesses.”
Max’s grin widened. “We have IDs.”
“And Lando owns a suit,” she added, deadpan.
Max laughed, that warm, throaty sound she loved. “You want to do it tomorrow?”
Belle nodded once, heartbeat flickering behind her ribs like a match just caught flame.
“I think I really do.”
Max dropped the dish towel on the counter and walked straight over, pressing a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing along her jaw.
“Then it’s tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get married in the place where it all started.”
Belle smiled—dizzy, delighted, a little breathless. “This is insane.”
“This is us.”
And it was.
No big parties. No cathedral. No guest list with people who only remembered her when it was convenient.
Just a city she loved, a man who never forgot her, and an appointment slot.
Perfect. Just like them.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase
Max: You already back in the UK?
GP: Nope. Flight got rescheduled. Still in Monaco. Why?
Max: Perfect.
GP: …Why is that perfect. Max.
Max: Because I need a witness.
GP: A what now.
Max: Witness. Like for legal purposes. You’re free tomorrow morning, right?
GP: Max.
Max: City Hall. 10:45. Wear something decent. I’m getting married.
GP: I’m sorry. You’re WHAT.
Max: Marrying Belle. Surprise.
GP: Surprise???
Max: We’re keeping it small. Quiet. Just us and a few people who won’t ask stupid questions or ruin it.
GP: Max.
Max: I’m sending you the location. And yes, I already have the paperwork.
GP: Of course you do.
Max: You in?
GP: Like I’d miss the moment you marry the best decision you’ve ever made.
Max: See you at 10:45.
GP: I’m bringing tissues. Don’t judge me.
Max: Never.
***
Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie
Isabelle: Max and I are getting married tomorrow. City hall. Just something small. Just for us. Will you come?
Emilie: EXCUSE ME???? TOMORROW??? CITY HALL??? SMALL???
Isabelle: Yes. No fuss. Just us. That’s all I want.
Emilie: Oh my GOD. You are not getting married like you’re renewing a driver’s license. You need flowers. A cake. A moment, Belle.
Isabelle: I don’t need any of that. I just want him. That’s it.
Emilie: Yes, yes, eternal love, devotion, blah blah blah. BUT. You are still getting married. You will wear a dress. You will hold a bouquet. You will eat something that tastes like joy and sugar and victory.
Belle: I’m not even sure what I’m wearing yet 😅 We haven’t thought that far ahead.
Emilie: THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE ME. Do you still have the white dress we got a few weeks ago? The one that made you look like a romantic novel with legs?
Isabelle: ...Yes.
Emilie: Good. Wear that. It’s perfect. Simple. Elegant. You. I’ll take care of the rest.
Isabelle: Em—no pressure, really. Please. I don’t want a production.
Emilie: This won’t be a production. It’ll be a love letter. With flowers. And maybe a three-layer cake.
Isabelle: Emilie 😭 You really don’t have to—
Emilie: Belle. You’ve planned everyone else’s birthdays, surprises, parties, and holidays since you were like what, twelve?! Let someone do it for you this once. Let me.
Isabelle: ...Okay. But just a little. No spark machines. No confetti cannons.
Emilie: Deal. But I am bringing champagne. And I will cry.
Isabelle: I wouldn’t want it any other way. 💛
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris
Max: You have a camera, right?
Lando: …yes?? What kind of question is that?
Max: Like, a real one. Not your phone.
Lando: Yes, Max, I own a camera. Why??
Max: I need you to document something.
Lando: What kind of something?
Max: Just be at Monaco City Hall tomorrow. 10:30. Bring your camera. Wear a suit. Preferably not orange.
Lando: MAX.
Max: Yes?
Lando: ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW???
Max: Yes.
Lando: YOU’RE JUST DROPPING THAT ON ME AT MIDNIGHT???
Max: It’s 11:43.
Lando: Oh, my mistake. PLENTY OF TIME TO PROCESS THE FACT YOU’RE SECRETLY GETTING MARRIED.
Max: Not secretly. Just quietly.
Lando: Max.
Max: What.
Lando: I’M HONORED BUT ALSO PANICKING. Do you want, like, pictures or VIBES?? Do I need a tripod?? Am I the witness?? Do I bring champagne?? WHAT’S MY ROLE HERE.
Max: Your role is “friend with a camera who knows how to shut up.”
Lando: I can be that.
Wait—can I still cry a little?
Max: Only if it’s behind the camera.
Lando: Deal. Lando:I don’t even know what shoes to wear for a Verstappen emergency elopement
Max: Don’t overthink it. You’re just the photographer.
Lando: You’re getting married in Monaco city hall and I’m the photographer?? What the hell kind of fairy tale speedrun is this?
Max: The efficient kind.
Lando: Who else is gonna come?
Max: Just us. People we trust.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen
Max: Hey. Don’t freak out.
Victoria: That is exactly how you make someone freak out.
Max: Belle and I are getting married tomorrow. Monaco City Hall. It’s just us. Very small. Wanted you to know.
Victoria: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN
Max: Uh-oh
Victoria: YOU ARE NOT GETTING MARRIED WITHOUT ME THERE I WILL WADDLE DOWN THE AISLE MYSELF SEND. YOUR. BLOODY. JET.
Max: Vic. You are literally weeks off of from giving birth.
Victoria: And I will do it IN THE AISLE of City Hall if I must. Tell Belle I will not miss her wedding. I love her more than most of our blood relatives.
Max: I mean. Same.
Victoria: SEND THE JET. I will sit like a queen with my feet up and my compression socks on.
Max: You sure Tom won’t tie you to the couch?
Victoria: He’s already packing snacks. You think he wants to deal with me if I don’t go?
Max: …That’s fair.
Victoria: Also I already picked out your wedding gift. I knew you two would elope. I felt it.
Max: You're terrifying.
Victoria: I'm hormonal. There's a difference. See you tomorrow. PS: tell Belle I cried. But like, emotionally. Not hormonally. Even though it was a little bit both.
Max: You’re completely insane.
Victoria: You’re the one marrying a Leclerc.
Max: Touché.
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen
Sophie: So. I hear you’re eloping.
Max: …Hi, Mama.
Sophie: Don’t “hi mama” me. Are you really getting married tomorrow?
Max: Yes. City Hall. Small. Just us. And apparently my 34 weeks pregnant sister, because Victoria is very dramatic and refuses to be excluded.
Sophie: So am I. You are not getting married without me there.
Max: You’re not mad?
Sophie: Why would I be mad? You’re marrying the woman you love. If you’d done it with cameras and fireworks, I might’ve been suspicious.
Max: It just felt like the right time. After everything. She needed to feel chosen. Not tolerated. Not remembered late.
Sophie: She is chosen. By you. By all of us who actually pay attention.
Max: She still thinks she’s too much. Or not enough. Depending on the day.
Sophie: Then tomorrow, you remind her that she’s both. Too much for the wrong people. And more than enough for the right one.
Max: I’ll remind her every day.
Sophie: I know you will. Now go to sleep. You’re getting married in a few hours and I expect you to look well-rested in photos.
Max: Love you, Mama.
Sophie: I love you too, Maxie. Now go love your girl.
***
Group Chat: WHAT IS HAPPENING
(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo)
Lando: GUYS
Lando: EMERGENCY
Lando: MAX IS GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW
Oscar: I… sorry, what?
Daniel: Did you hit your head again? Like, genuinely. Because this feels concussion-coded.
Lando: I’m serious!!! City Hall. 10:30. Monaco. To Belle. IT’S HAPPENING
Oscar: Wait wait wait. Like married married??
Lando: YES LIKE “I DO” MARRIED
Daniel: Holy shit. I did not have “Max Verstappen casually elopes with Charles Leclerc’s sister” on my 2024 bingo card but here we are.
Oscar: Did they even tell anyone??
Lando: They told ME. And then Max was like “you have a camera, right? wear a suit” like this is just a casual errand.
Daniel: Does Charles know
Lando: ABSOLUTELY NOT HE WILL COMBUST WE’RE TALKING INDEPENDENT-NUCLEAR-REACTION LEVEL MELTDOWN
Oscar: I need you to calm down so I can freak out at a normal pace.
Lando: WHAT DO I EVEN WEAR WHAT IF I CRY I’M NOT READY FOR THIS I WAS EMOTIONALLY UNPREPARED
I’M GOING TO SOB THROUGH THE LENS BELLE IS GOING TO LOOK SO PRETTY MAX IS GOING TO BE SO SOFT I’M GOING TO NEED A DESIGNATED HUG
Oscar: What are we supposed to wear?! Are we coordinating?? Do I bring flowers??
Lando: I DON’T KNOW I’M PANICKING I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF I’M A GUEST OR THE PHOTOGRAPHER OR BOTH
Daniel: You’re definitely crying, though. Let’s be honest.
Lando: 100%. I already feel it building
Oscar: Okay but seriously—do we all go? Did he actually invite us?
Lando: He said it’s small. “Just us. People we trust.” Which… I think is us?
Oscar: Do we need to bring gifts?? What’s the etiquette on emergency weddings?
Daniel: I can’t believe we’re invited and Charles isn’t
Oscar: I can. Max said “people we trust.” That tells you everything.
Daniel: God, I love this sport.
Oscar: This isn’t the sport. This is a secret Verstappen wedding at City Hall with zero warning and maximum chaos.
Daniel: Exactly.
Lando: I need to sleep so I don’t have puffy eyes but I’m emotionally compromised
Oscar: Same. See you both in the morning?
***
Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen
Max: You still in Monaco?
Jos: Yes. Leaving tomorrow evening. Why?
Max: City Hall. 10:45.
Jos: …What’s happening at City Hall?
Max: Getting married.
Jos: To Belle?
Max: Obviously to Belle.
Jos: You’re telling me this now?
Max: We decided tonight. There was an opening. She doesn’t want a big wedding. She just wants peace. Me. Us.
Jos: Good. She’s smart. And you’ve taken long enough.
Max: Will you come?
Jos: Wouldn’t miss it.
Max: It’s quiet. No press. No team. Just us. Some friends we trust. Family.
Jos: I said I’ll be there. Don’t make me get sentimental about it.
Max: Too late. You already like her more than you like me.
Jos: She’s never crashed a go-kart out of spite.
Max: That was one time.
Jos: Still counts.
Max: Thanks, Papa.
Jos: You’ve done good, Max. Really good. See you in the morning.
***
Emilie Abadie had been awake since three in the morning. .
Not because she was nervous. She wasn’t the one getting married.
It was Belle’s wedding. And that meant it had to be perfect.
Because Belle would never ask for perfect. Belle would shrug and say “just something quiet, just us” with that soft look in her eyes like she didn’t dare hope for more. But Emilie had spent the last seven years learning the difference between what Belle asked for and what she deserved.
And today, she deserved everything.
And perfection, as it turned out, required bribing a florist with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, whispering at a baker’s front door like a criminal, and coordinating a last-minute restaurant buyout with a maître d’ who still remembered Belle and Max’s first date like it had happened yesterday.
It was still early. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the rooftops of Monaco. But Emilie was already in motion—dressed, phone in hand, espresso in the other, a determined woman on a mission.
The florist had said it couldn’t be done. Snowdrops weren’t in season. They’d laughed—laughed—when Emilie asked.
Laughed. Emilie still remembered when Belle had told her about her favourite flowers. Fragile, quiet, perfect. Blooming in the cold, when nothing else did. Just like Belle.
Emilie Abadie didn’t take no for an answer.
She made five calls.
Then ten.
Then offered double the price.
Then triple.
Someone from a specialty hothouse near Nice came through. A courier had arrived an hour ago, carrying a chilled box like it held diplomatic secrets.
Now, the bouquet sat in a vase on Emilie’s kitchen counter. Fragile white snowdrops, soft eucalyptus, and one or two sprigs of pale forget-me-nots.
Because Emilie was dramatic, and because Belle deserved to be remembered in every way that mattered.
The cake was next.
Not a tiered monstrosity. Just something beautiful. Elegant. White chocolate and raspberry with buttercream. The baker—an angel Emilie had gone to culinary school with for exactly three weeks—had rolled her eyes at the timeline and then agreed with a huff. “Only because it’s for Belle.”
Of course it was.
Emilie knew how much Belle had given. To her family. To her brothers. To Ferrari. To everyone except herself.
She’d watched Belle quietly shrink herself for years—make room for Lorenzo, for Charles, for Arthur, for Charles’ career, for the Leclerc family myth.
Belle never asked for much. Never expected anything back.
So today, Emilie would give her everything.
The final piece fell into place just after sunrise: lunch at the restaurant where Max had taken Belle on their first date. The cozy one tucked behind the port with the ivy-covered terrace and the little hand-painted plates. Emilie had called the manager at 6:15 a.m.
“I need the whole place,” she’d said. “15 people. Three bottles of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque. No fuss. No press. Max and Belle Verstappen.”
The Manager had paused and looked at Emilie:. “Ah,” he’d said, eyes twinkling. “For the couple who ordered the wine, then forgot to drink it because they were too busy falling in love?”
By 6:00, the venue was booked. The menu was set. The staff had already started laying out fresh linen.
Emilie checked the list one more time—flowers, cake, lunch, Max’s boutonnière, Belle’s shoes.
Everything was ready.
Emilie slipped her phone into her bag, gave the bouquet one last fond glance, and smiled to herself.
Because today—finally—was about Belle. Not Charles. Not their mother. Not a team or a trophy or anyone else’s spotlight.
Today was hers.
And Emilie Abadie would make sure not a single petal was out of place.
***
The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting golden light across the kitchen tile. It was quiet, peaceful, and smelled faintly of toast and coffee.
Max stood barefoot at the stove, his curls still messy from sleep, flipping something in a pan with practiced ease. Belle was perched on the counter in one of his old shirts, legs swinging gently, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.
“So,” Max said, without looking at her, “do I get to call you Mrs. Verstappen by noon?”
Belle smirked into her cup. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
He turned, brandishing the spatula. “It is. You’re marrying a man who owns three sim rigs and talks to his cats.”
“Bold of you to assume that’s not the exact reason I said yes.”
Max grinned and came closer, slipping between her knees as she set her mug down. His hands landed on her hips. “You nervous?”
“No.” She let her forehead rest against his. “Just… full.”
“Full?”
“Of everything. Gratitude. Peace. Butterflies.”
Max kissed her, gentle and grounding. “Good. Me too.”
The moment was quiet again. Warm and soft.
Until— BANG.
The front door flew open.
“—DO NOT PANIC,” came Emilie’s voice from the hallway, “I have the cake, I have the emergency double-stick tape, I have the snowdrops—do not ask how—and I am here to take the bride.”
Belle groaned and leaned against Max’s shoulder. “She’s already started.”
Max was laughing when Emilie rounded the corner, her arms full of garment bags, shoe boxes, and a box of pastries balanced precariously on top.
She froze at the sight of them. “Okay, this is cute and domestic, but time is ticking and you—” she pointed at Belle with a dramatic flourish, “—need to be in a robe, drinking champagne, and pretending to be relaxed.”
Belle slid off the counter. “We haven’t even had breakfast.”
“I brought croissants. And mimosas. And eye masks. Let’s go.”
Max raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”
“Absolutely,” Emilie said, already dragging Belle toward the hallway.
Belle shot Max a helpless smile over her shoulder as she was swept away into the bedroom.
Max chuckled and turned back to the stove. “She’s been waiting for this since the day we met.”
“YOU PROMISED NEVER TO SPEAK OF THAT,” Emilie shouted back.
The apartment settled for a beat.
And then the doorbell rang.
Max opened it to find Victoria, already glowing despite being eight months pregnant, her husband Tom hauling what appeared to be a bouquet the size of a toddler, and both of their sons clinging to his legs like adorable koalas.
Sophie was right behind them, holding a wrapped box and beaming. “Where’s my daughter-in-law?”
Max stepped back. “Currently being kidnapped by a woman wielding florals and threat-level energy.”
“Ah,” Sophie said brightly, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “So the usual.”
Victoria waddled in and immediately headed for the kitchen. “Where’s the coffee? I need caffeine and at least one chair that won’t collapse under me.”
Tom followed with the flowers. “We brought noise. And crumbs. You’re welcome.”
The boys immediately made for the cats, causing a small riot in the living room.
Max leaned back against the counter, a smile tugging at his mouth as he watched his family pour in. “This is going to be a day.”
“Of course it is,” Sophie said, setting down her gift. “You’re marrying the best girl in Monaco.”
And just then, as if summoned, Emilie poked her head out of the hallway.
“Max,” she said solemnly. “You’re not allowed to see her for at least three hours. Also, she’s glowing. Prepare yourself.”
Then she vanished again.
Max laughed, shaking his head. “I already am.”
***
Max was mid-cleanup from the first round of croissant carnage when the intercom buzzed again.
He pressed the button. “Yeah?”
“Delivery,” came Oscar’s voice, dry and very much not a delivery person.
Max buzzed them in.
Thirty seconds later, Oscar and Lily walked in—Lily looking radiant in a pale floral dress, Oscar in a navy suit that made him look vaguely uncomfortable but also suspiciously good. There was box of macarons in Lily’s arms and Oscar carrying a bottle of champagne with all the solemnity of someone delivering a newborn child.
Lily kissed Max’s cheek. “Where’s Belle?”
“Bedroom,” Max said. “Emilie has barricaded the door. I’m not allowed to breathe near it.”
“Good,” Lily said. “You’ll see her when she’s ready. And not a second before!” she call over her shoulder as she made her way to where all the women had disappeared to.
“Do we look like well-adjusted guests?” Oscar asked, holding out the champagner, just as the doorbell rang again
Tom opened it this time—and immediately stepped back to avoid being hit in the face by a wildly enthusiastic Daniel Ricciardo, who practically burst in with his arms open.
“IT’S WEDDING TIME, BABY!” Daniel yelled, already grinning like he’d won the lottery.
Max raised his coffee cup without looking up. “You’re three hours early.”
“I brought champagne. I’m never early. I’m… emotionally prepared.”
Before anyone could respond, the door buzzed again.
“Please let that be someone calm,” Max muttered, walking to the door just as Lando arrived—In a grey suit, camera strap across his chest, looking like a documentary filmmaker who’d taken a wrong turn into a very glamorous rom-com.
“Okay,” Lando said in lieu of a greeting, “I brought the camera, the backup camera, the battery pack, and three lenses I don’t know how to use, but they make me look professional. Also, Lily said if I forgot to wear a tie, she’d strangle me with it, so here.” He pointed to the pale blue tie knotted (badly) around his neck.
“You’re fine,” Max said. “Unless Emilie sees that knot.”
“I tied it,” Lando said defensively. “I didn’t say I tied it well.”
“You’ve had years to learn how to tie a tie,” Oscar muttered.
Daniel patted Lando’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You look like a best man in a Netflix wedding movie about a surfer who marries his childhood pen pal.”
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I know what I said,” Daniel replied, stealing a macaron.
Max raised an eyebrow at Lando. “You know how to use that camera, right?”
“Please,” Lando said, lifting it and adjusting the lens. “I’m going to make you look like Vogue Monaco meets soft romance. This is going to go viral.”
Before Max could close the door, a final knock came—this one slower, more composed.
He opened it to GP, impeccable in a dark suit with a navy tie, and Jos, arms crossed, expression somewhere between ���approving” and “this is ridiculous.”
“Everyone’s here?” GP asked as he stepped in.
“No explosions yet,” Max said. “Just Daniel.”
“Rude,” Daniel yelled from the kitchen, where he was now petting Jimmy the cat and eating a croissant at the same time.
Jos gave Max a firm nod as he walked in. “You’re dressed?”
“Soon.”
Jos looked around the apartment, at the whirlwind of laughter and movement, at the family Max had built around himself. He gave the smallest huff—soft, for him. “Good turnout.”
“I think Daniel invited himself,” Max said dead pan. .
Jos glanced around again. “Still. Good people.”
Max nodded. “Yeah. The best.”
***
Belle had always imagined getting ready for her wedding surrounded by chaos.
She thought it would feel frantic, like the final fifteen minutes before a birthday dinner she wasn’t sure anyone would show up for—stressful, too loud, a little heartbreaking.
Instead, it felt like calm.
It felt like quiet laughter drifting in from the kitchen, the scent of espresso and lilacs filling the apartment. It felt like warm hands braiding the back of her hair, like silk slipping over her skin, like music humming low from the speaker on the windowsill.
It felt like peace.
She sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot, as Victoria carefully clipped the final snowdrop into her hair. Emilie was crouched by the full-length mirror, fussing with the hem of Belle’s dress, hung up. Lily and Sophie were there too, with Lilly the cat having decided that Lily the human was her new favourite person, while Sophie was rooting around Belle’s jewellery box for earrings to wear.
It should’ve hurt.
That it wasn’t Pascale doing her hair. That it wasn’t her mother reminding her not to forget earrings or perfume or to stand up straight when she walked. That there was no Leclerc fussing around her, pretending to know best.
But somehow, it didn’t.
She’d braced herself for the ache—for the empty chair, the hollow weight of what should’ve been. But the ache never came.
Because these women? They were enough.
They were more than enough.
Then Victoria cocked her head, glancing toward the bedroom door. “By the way, are your brothers coming?”
Emilie stiffened subtly from her place near the hem. Lily glanced down at her nails.
Sophie, sipping her tea, looked up in quiet expectation.
Belle hesitated.
And then—because the lie felt too heavy in her throat, and because this was her wedding day, and she was done making excuses for people who couldn’t be bothered—she exhaled and said, simply, “They forgot my birthday.”
The room stilled.
Victoria blinked. “What?”
Belle looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. “It was race day. Monaco. Charles was on pole. Ferrari was chaos. I was in the garage all day and no one said anything. Not Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not even Maman.”
Sophie sat very still. Her expression didn’t shift immediately—like she hadn’t quite processed what she’d just heard.
Victoria, on the other hand, reacted instantly.
“You’re kidding,” she said, straightening up. “They forgot? All of them?”
Belle nodded once. “I didn’t remind them.”
“But you were there,” Victoria said, voice rising. “You were literally standing in the garage wearing red! You’re his sister—how do you forget that?!”
Sophie’s mug landed gently on the vanity table. She didn’t speak, just watched Belle carefully, her eyes full of something Belle couldn’t name yet.
“They looked right through me,” Belle said, not bitter, just… quiet. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just…invisible.”
Victoria stood up abruptly. “I swear to God, if I wasn’t about to pop out a baby I would’ve dragged Charles by the ear into a flower shop myself.”
“Vic,” Belle said, soft but firm.
“No,” Victoria said, eyes shining now. “You stood by them. All weekend. All year. You show up for every stupid photo call and PR stunt and family function, and they forgot your birthday?”
Emilie stayed crouched on the floor, head bowed over the dress, silent but trembling with restrained rage.
Lily’s hands were folded tightly in her lap.
Belle reached out and touched Victoria’s hand, grounding her. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
“No,” Belle agreed quietly. “But you remembered.”
That made Victoria pause. Her face crumpled for a second before she leaned forward and pulled Belle into the gentlest hug she could manage with her belly between them. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered fiercely. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Belle blinked, eyes stinging but dry. “It doesn’t matter today.”
Sophie knelt beside her then, unexpectedly, and took her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“I know,” Belle said. And she did. “You’re here. That’s more than enough.”
Victoria wiped under her eyes. “Do you want us to say something? To tell them?”
Belle shook her head. “No. I want to see how long it takes.”
The silence settled again.
And then Sophie squeezed her hand and said, with quiet certainty, “You’re not invisible anymore, sweetheart. Not here. Not ever again.”
And that was what Belle held onto, as she stood and turned toward the mirror—surrounded not by the family she’d been born into, but by the one she’d found along the way.
The right people had remembered.
And that was enough.
***
The bedroom door clicked gently shut behind Sophie as she stepped into the hallway, needing a breath. Just a moment of stillness. The wedding would begin in a little over two hours, and Belle—darling, radiant Belle—was in her bedroom with snowdrops in her hair and an ache buried so deep behind her smile Sophie could feel it like a bruise under her own ribs.
She leaned lightly against the wall, one hand wrapped around her teacup, the other resting protectively over her heart. She didn’t cry—not easily, not anymore. But her chest felt tight.
Footsteps approached, soft and quick. Emilie, Belle’s best friend, slipped out of the bedroom a moment later, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked like she was holding back a war.
Their eyes met.
“You knew,” Sophie said quietly.
Emilie stilled. Her expression didn’t change. “Max told me,” she said quietly. “Belle didn’t want it to become a thing. She didn’t want pity.”
Sophie’s grip on her teacup tightened.
“She said she wanted to see how long it would take them,” Emilie added, her voice softening. “How many days would pass before someone noticed.”
Sophie looked away, blinking hard at the hallway wall. “Her own mother,” she murmured. “Her own brothers forgot her birthday.”
Emilie’s jaw clenched. “Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. Nothing. Not even a text. Carlos was the only one who remembered, and she begged him not to say anything because she didn’t want pity.”
Sophie’s stomach twisted. “And she stood in that garage, all day…”
“In red,” Emilie said, voice flat. “Supporting Charles. Watching them celebrate. She didn’t ask for much, Sophie. She never does.”
“She gave them everything,” Emilie said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “And they forgot her birthday. They forgot her.”
Sophie nodded, eyes shining but clear. “Not anymore. Not after today.”
There was a long pause, filled with the sound of faint laughter from the living room and the low hum of a wedding morning in motion.
Then Emilie exhaled shakily. “Max said she broke down the second she saw him.”
Sophie closed her eyes for a beat.
It wasn’t just forgetfulness. It wasn’t a mistake. It was neglect wrapped in a red suit and family pride. It was inexcusable.
“She’ll never be alone again,” Sophie said, her voice steel beneath the softness. “Not while I’m breathing. Not while Max is.”
“I know,” Emilie said. “That’s the only reason I didn’t walk into Ferrari and slap someone.”
They stood in silence again, shoulder to shoulder.
Then Sophie reached over and gently squeezed Emilie’s hand.
“You did this for her,” she said. “The flowers. The cake. The restaurant. You gave her the kind of day they never thought to.”
Emilie’s eyes went glassy. “She deserves perfect. I couldn’t give her perfect, but—”
“You gave her love,” Sophie said firmly. “And that’s what matters.”
***
The apartment had quieted.
Everyone had settled into easy, pre-ceremony chaos—little moments scattered across the rooms like confetti before the storm. Daniel was dramatically explaining champagne etiquette to Oscar, who looked halfway between fascinated and alarmed. Lando was on the floor, coaxing Jimmy the cat into an impromptu wedding-themed photoshoot. Tom sat cross-legged on the couch, reading a picture book to Luka and Lio, the boys draped over him like sleepy lion cubs.
Max stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, back to the counter, staring out the window toward the glittering stretch of Monaco coastline. The city buzzed quietly beyond the glass. But in here, for now, there was stillness.
The kind of stillness right before the most important lap of your life.
GP stepped up beside him without a word, mirroring his stance with practiced ease. They didn’t speak at first. They didn’t have to.
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” GP said eventually, voice low.
Max nodded. “I know.”
“You were always good,” GP added. “But you’re not just good now. You’re… grounded. Steady.”
Max exhaled, eyes still on the view. “She gave me somewhere to land.”
GP’s expression shifted just slightly—quiet pride, maybe. “You’ve always fought for every tenth, every inch. But with Belle? You stopped fighting yourself.”
Max glanced at him, something tired and raw in his eyes. “She sees everything. Even the parts I didn’t want anyone to see.”
“She never asked you to change.”
“She didn’t have to,” Max said.
They stood in silence again, until a familiar voice cut in behind them.
“She’s not just your landing place,” Jos said, stepping into the kitchen, arms folded. “She’s your spine.”
Max turned, but didn’t speak.
Jos’s face was set. Not angry, but serious in that sharp, bone-deep way that came from decades of knowing how to read race tape and sons in equal measure.
“I wasn’t easy on you,” Jos said quietly. “I know that. I pushed too hard. Expected too much. Thought it was the only way you’d be great.”
Max swallowed, but didn’t interrupt.
“But Belle…” Jos looked toward the hallway, where a burst of laughter echoed from the bedroom. “She gave you something I couldn’t. Peace. Balance. You didn’t slow down. But you stopped burning out.”
GP gave a soft hum of agreement, but said nothing.
Jos stepped forward, brow furrowed now. “And she shows up for you. For everyone. All the time.”
Max nodded slowly. “She does.”
Jos shook his head, voice tight now. “So why the hell did her family forget her birthday?”
The silence hit like a dropped hammer.
Max looked up, sharp. “You know?”
“I overheard Emilie talking to Sophie in the hallway,” Jos said. His voice was low, but thunderous. “You’re telling me her entire family forgot? Her mother? Her brothers? Even Ferrari?”
Max’s jaw clenched.
GP was still, hands in his pockets, but his voice came out even. “They didn’t just forget. They looked straight through her in the garage. Carlos was the only one who noticed. She told him not to say anything.”
Jos looked furious in the quiet way only a father could—like he was cataloging every hurt, every slight, and filing them away for later retribution.
“She stood there,” he muttered. “All day. On her birthday. Wearing red. And they didn’t see her?”
“She didn’t cry until after,” Max said, his voice low. “But when she did… it broke her.”
Jos looked at him. “She tell them?”
“No,” Max said. “She’s done reminding people she exists.”
Jos’s shoulders shifted, like he was bracing himself against something. “Good. Let them feel that silence.”
Max stared down at his coffee cup for a moment, then set it aside.
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making her feel seen,” he said, steady now. “The way they never did. The way she deserves.”
GP gave a quiet, approving nod. “Then you’re ready.”
Jos didn’t say anything for a long beat.
Then he stepped forward, placed a firm hand on Max’s shoulder, and said, with something rough in his voice, “She’s already ours. But make it official.”
Max blinked hard.
***
The kitchen had been peaceful—a relative term, given there were six men, two toddler, three cats, and a bottle of champagne open by 9 a.m.—but peaceful by Verstappen standards.
Max was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee while Jos surveyed the chaos in thinly veiled amusement, and Tom tried to get jam off his shirt collar thanks to a child-induced pastry incident.
Then the storm arrived.
Emilie swept into the kitchen like a tiny, immaculately-dressed hurricane, her eyes narrowing the instant she caught sight of Lando.
“Why,” Emilie said, appearing in the doorway like a Roman general entering enemy territory, “are half of you not wearing ties?”
“You,” she declared, pointing with a precision that would’ve made a military officer proud.
Lando looked up from where he’d been fiddling with his camera settings. “Me?”
“You call that a tie?” she said, already moving toward him like a missile in heels. “What is that knot? A shoelace? A cry for help? Is that your idea of a tied tie?”
Lando looked down at the pale blue knot that resembled something between a tangled seatbelt and an existential crisis. “Technically… yes?”
Emilie sighed so dramatically it could have won an award. “Come here.”
Lando, blushing furiously, stood like a man facing execution. “You’re kind of scary,” he muttered.
“I’m not scary,” she said, adjusting his collar. “I’m just French and disappointed.”
Max leaned against the counter, watching with mild amusement as Lando was wrangled into place. Emilie was adjusting the tie like she’d done it a thousand times, completely unfazed by the 5 feet, 6 inches of confused British man blinking at her.
Lando stood frozen, blinking down at the very pretty girl fixing his tie with the terrifying precision of someone who had made wedding planning a full-contact sport.
“Can I breathe yet?” Lando asked, voice faint.
“When I say you can,” Emilie replied sweetly, stepping back and tilting his chin. “Fashion is pain,” Emilie said sweetly, patting his cheek. “Suffer with dignity.”
“I’m… scared of her,” Lando muttered to Max once she turned away.
“You should be,” Max replied, utterly unbothered.
“Okay,” Emilie said, spinning on her heel, “who’s next—”
Her eyes landed on Tom.
Tom, who had attempted to get away with a cravat.
She narrowed her eyes. “What is this? Pride and Prejudice?”
“I was trying to be elegant,” Tom said defensively, one child clinging to each of his legs like barnacles.
“This is Monaco, not Pemberley,” Emilie replied, already reaching into her tote bag like Mary Poppins from hell. “Lose the cravat.”
Five seconds later, Tom had a new blue tie around his neck.
Jos, leaning near the counter with a coffee, smirked.
“I’d like to see her try that with me,” he muttered.
Emilie pivoted.
Jos raised a brow.
She raised both.
“Unless you’d like to be mistaken for security and asked to stay outside,” she said coolly, “you’ll put one on.”
There was a pause.
Then—without breaking eye contact—Jos slowly reached for the tie GP handed him with what looked suspiciously like amusement.
“I like her,” he said to no one in particular.
Emilie snapped her fingers at Daniel next. “No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?” Daniel asked, grinning. “This tie is excellent. It has tiny cartoon race cars on it!”
“And you are a groomsman not a children’s birthday clown,” Emilie replied. “Change. Now.”
“But—”
“I will burn it,” she said calmly. “I have a lighter in my purse.”
Daniel blinked. “Wow. Okay. Yep. Good. I’ll change.”
Only Oscar and GP escaped unscathed—Oscar because Lily had pre-approved his ensemble, and GP because he was actually a functional adult.
Emilie gave them a nod of silent approval. “Finally. Men who understand basic dress codes.”
Max was watching all of it from the corner, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Emilie spotted him.
“You’re next.”
“I already did mine,” Max said, lifting his chin.
Emilie narrowed her eyes, came closer, and tugged gently at the knot. It was fine. Almost perfect.
“It’s crooked.”
He didn’t even argue. Just tilted his chin and let her fix it. She did so with practiced fingers, then stepped back and gave him a once-over.
“You’ll do.”
Max smirked. “High praise.”
“You’re marrying my best friend. You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the floral pocket square.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Max said, grinning.
Then the apartment stilled.
Because the bedroom door opened.
And Belle stepped out.
Max looked up—and every word left his brain.
She stood there in the soft light of morning, her white dress falling like water around her, the snowdrops tucked into her curls catching the sunlight. Her hands were folded gently in front of her, her eyes finding his across the room.
Max didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
The chaos of the morning vanished.
It was just her.
Standing in the archway in a white dress that somehow managed to be simple and devastating at the same time. Her dark hair was curled and loosely pinned, a few snowdrops tucked gently above her ear. She had one hand loosely holding a bouquet, and the other nervously adjusting her sleeve. Her eyes swept the room, soft and uncertain—
Until they found his.
Max forgot how to breathe.
“Hi,” she said, voice quiet, like it was just for him.
Max swallowed. His throat was suddenly too tight.
He took a slow step forward, then another, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. When he stopped in front of her, his hands hovered for a second before finally settling on her waist.
“You’re—” He couldn’t finish.
Belle tilted her head. “I’m what?”
Max blinked, and his eyes burned. He hadn’t expected that.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re so—”
She smiled, soft and real and a little shy.
“Max,” she said gently, reaching up to brush her fingers against his jaw. “Breathe.”
“I can’t,” he admitted, voice cracking. “You look like a dream I’d never let myself have.”
Belle’s smile faltered—just for a second—then turned into something deeper. Warmer. Her eyes shimmered.
Daniel, somewhere behind them, sniffled. “Okay, I take it back. This is romantic enough to ruin my day.”
“Shut up, Daniel,” Oscar muttered.
But Max didn’t hear any of it.
He only saw her.
The girl who’d stood in a Ferrari garage on her birthday and been forgotten. The woman who’d cried in his arms and still said yes. The one person who saw him fully and never once turned away.
And now she was standing in his kitchen—in their kitchen—in a white dress and snowdrops.
Looking at him like he was home.
“Ready?” she whispered.
Max nodded, his hands tightening gently on her waist.
“More than ever.”
And when he kissed her—just once, careful not to smudge her lipstick—the whole room exhaled with them.
They had a wedding to get to.
But for that moment, they were already everything.
***
Belle had walked into a hundred government buildings before. Cold hallways. Beige walls. Bored clerks behind scratched counters. Monaco’s city hall should have felt the same—official, impersonal, municipal.
But today?
It felt like walking into a cathedral.
This wasn’t the wedding she had imagined as a little girl.
There was no aisle of flowers. No choir. No dramatic gown or fanfare or chandeliers. Her mother wasn’t there. Neither were her brothers. There were no headlines.
And still—it was perfect.
This was hers.
This was theirs.
Small. Quiet. Real.
She squeezed Max’s hands. He squeezed back.
And as the officiant began to speak, Belle felt a slow warmth fill her from the inside out.
You’re not invisible anymore, she told herself. You never were. Not to him.
And in that moment, under the soft light and quiet vows and steady eyes of the only man she’d ever trusted with her whole heart—
Isabelle Leclerc became Belle Verstappen.
And for the first time in her life, she didn’t need the world to notice.
She had everything she needed right in front of her.
She hadn’t written anything down for the vows.
There was a version of Belle that would have. That would’ve planned every word, practiced every pause, agonized over saying it all just right.
But not today.
Because nothing about Max had ever needed performance.
The officiant nodded to her gently. “Belle?”
She took a breath. And then another. Max didn’t rush her. He just waited—hands in hers, thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles, grounding her.
“I don’t think I ever believed love could be soft,” she said quietly. “Not the kind that lasts. I thought it had to be earned. Proved. Negotiated into place.”
Her voice wavered. Max didn’t blink.
“I spent so much time being the one who remembered everyone. Who carried everything quietly. And I think I started to believe that was the best I could hope for. That if I was useful enough, maybe I’d be loved in return.”
She looked up, eyes shining.
“And then I met you,” Belle continued. “And you didn’t ask me to perform. You didn’t ask me to be anything but exactly who I already was. You saw me. Even when I didn’t want to be seen. Especially then.”
Her voice shook, just a little. Max’s thumb brushed across her knuckles.
“I’ve spent so much of my life holding other people’s pieces,” she said, “but you—Max—you were the first person who held mine. Quietly. Gently. Steadily. You never tried to fix me. You just stayed.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let it. Didn’t wipe it away.
“So I promise to stay, too. To be soft where the world is hard. To be the quiet when everything gets too loud. To love you in the way you’ve always deserved but never asked for.”
And when she smiled, Max smiled back—like the sun had finally come up.
The officiant nodded to him.
“Max?”
He exhaled, but didn’t look away from her. He lifted her hands to his lips first, kissed them gently, and held them between them like they were the only steady thing in the world.
“I don’t remember the moment I fell in love with you,” he said softly. “It just happened, like a breath you take…quietly and then all at once.”
Belle’s breath caught. He held her gaze, steady and unwavering.
“I never thought I’d be lucky enough to love someone like you,” he said softly. “Someone who sees through everything. Who remembers the smallest things and never asks for credit. Who holds the weight of the world and still has room to make me feel like I’m home.”
His voice cracked then.
“You are not invisible. Not to me. You never were. I see you, Belle. Every version. Every scar. Every soft edge you try to tuck away. And I love you for all of it.”
Belle’s lips trembled.
Max’s thumb brushed along her hand again.
“I promise to hold you, every day. To never let you feel alone in a room full of people again. I promise to be your quiet, your home, your person. Forever.”
There wasn’t a sound in the room. Not a breath. Even the officiant cleared his throat like he needed a second.
Belle didn’t speak.
She just leaned forward—slow and sure—and pressed her forehead to Max’s.
And everything else fell away.
Her hands were still in his. Her forehead was resting against Max’s. Her heart was loud—but steady.
She could feel his breath on her cheek. The way his thumbs brushed hers. How he didn’t look away. How he never did.
The officiant’s voice was calm, warm. “Do you, Max Emilian Verstappen, take Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Max said instantly. No hesitation. No breath between.
“And do you, Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc, take Max Emilian Verstappen to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” she whispered, and it was the easiest truth she’d ever spoken.
The officiant smiled.
“Then by the authority vested in me by the Principality of Monaco, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
A pause.
“You may kiss—”
But Max didn’t wait.
He kissed her the second the words left the officiant’s mouth.
It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was grounding. Fierce. Like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime and could finally exhale.
Belle kissed him back just as hard, hands in his hair, heart pounding.
There were cheers. Scattered applause. Laughter.
And then—
“NOW!” Daniel’s voice rang out from the back like a commander on a battlefield.
Belle broke the kiss just in time to see it:
A blur of chaos. Daniel and Oscar tossing flower petals like overenthusiastic flower girls, flinging them directly at them.
Belle let out a laugh so sudden it startled even her. Max was still holding her hand, laughing softly too, eyes never leaving her.
“Seriously?” he murmured under his breath.
“This was always going to happen,” Belle replied, grinning.
Victoria was crying. Sophie was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief Jos was blinking suspiciously fast.
And Emilie?Emilie was smiling so big Belle’s heart almost burst.
Belle looked back at Max—her husband. Her husband—and felt something settle in her chest.
This was hers.
Messy. Soft. Completely perfect.
And just beginning.
Max leaned down again, kissed her forehead. “Mrs. Verstappen,” he said, voice low and thrilled and a little overwhelmed.
She smiled up at him. “Mr. Verstappen.”
And Belle had never, ever felt so seen.
***
Belle hadn’t stepped into Overture in over a year.
It still looked the same—tucked into a quiet side street just off Port Hercule, all pale stone and soft wood, sunlight spilling through ivy-wrapped windows. There were no banners. No “Congratulations” signs. No garish floral arches.
Just one long table set under a canopy of olive branches in the back courtyard, decorated in quiet whites and soft greens. Candles flickered in the breeze. Snowdrops—snowdrops, in May—were tucked into every napkin ring.
Belle turned to Emilie, who only raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t ask how. I threatened a florist and bribed an importer.”
“You’re terrifying,” Belle whispered, blinking back tears.
“You’re worth it,” Emilie replied.
Laughter echoed as guests filtered into the courtyard. Daniel declared he would be in charge of pouring champagne. Lando was trying to fit three cameras into one discreet corner. Jos already had a drink in hand and was engaged in a deeply serious conversation with Oscar, who looked vaguely terrified. Lily and Sophie had settled into a side table with quiet smiles and quiet tears.
Their table filled slowly—Victoria easing into a seat with a dramatic sigh, her hand protectively on her bump, Tom at her side, two rambunctious boys wrecking havoc. Emilie adjusted every flower and napkin with military precision. Someone had even tied the cats’ names onto little placeholders even though they were obviously not present.
They toasted with champagne and laughed until they couldn’t breathe.
There was no DJ. No cake tower. No press outside.
Just a warm breeze. Clinking glasses. The people who had shown up.
Midway through lunch, Daniel stood abruptly, champagne flute in hand. “To Max and Belle,” he grinned. “May your love be as steady as GP’s voice in Max’s ear, and as dramatic as Oscar trying to parallel park.”
Oscar, mid-bite, choked.
Belle laughed so hard she had to put her fork down.
And then, as the laughter died down, GP stood. Slowly. Unassumingly. Everyone quieted with the kind of instinctive respect only earned by someone who rarely asked for the room.
GP cleared his throat, glancing briefly toward Belle, then Max.
“I’m not one for speeches,” he said, hands loosely folded, gaze sweeping the table. “But I’ve watched Max for a long time. Through wins and losses. Through fire and fury and everything in between. And I’ve never seen him more certain. More grounded. More… at peace, than when he looks at you, Belle.”
She looked down, blinking fast. Max took her hand under the table.
GP’s voice softened. “So thank you. For being that peace. For loving him the way he didn’t even know he needed. You make him better, Belle. But not because you ask him to change. You make him better by seeing him. Fully. And somehow, without ever stepping onto the track, you’ve become the most important part of our team.”
He lifted his glass. “To you both. For reminding us that there’s strength in stillness, and love in the quiet corners.”
Belle blinked fast, lips parted, chest aching in the best way.
Max reached over, tangled their fingers together under the table.
The meal ended with a cake—simple, white, laced with raspberry and white chocolate. Belle stared at it, already emotional, as Emilie leaned over and whispered smugly, “Don’t cry. You’re wearing mascara.”
“I hate you,” Belle whispered.
“You love me.”
Belle reached over and took her hand, eyes shining. “I do. I really, really do. Thank you for all of this. For… everything. You gave me the kind of day I didn’t know I was allowed to want.”
Emilie’s expression softened. “You deserved it. All of it.”
This wasn’t the wedding Belle had once imagined—the ballroom, the crowd, the spectacle.
It was better.
It was quiet, and full of laughter. It smelled like eucalyptus and honey. It tasted like home.
And most importantly: it felt like love.
***
Group Chat: HELP ME
(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)
Lando: 👀
[sends: 5 stunning, sun-drenched wedding photos from Monaco city hall. Max in a dark suit, Belle in a soft white dress, snowdrops in her hair] ❤️💍
Lewis: wait. wait. WHAT?
George: Lando Norris what the hell is this
Carlos: wait wait wait is that— IS THAT BELLE??? AND MAX?!?
Alex: THOSE ARE WEDDING PHOTOS REAL WEDDING PHOTOS WITH FLOWERS AND RINGS AND A WHOLE EMILIE IN THE BACKGROUND??
Mark: Holy shit they did it.
George: WHO TOOK THESE?? THESE ARE VOGUE-LEVEL
Fernando: Monaco’s lighting really is superior.
David: YOU DID NOT JUST POST THAT
Nico H: Lando WHAT
George: I— IS THAT MAX?! IS THAT BELLE?! IS THIS—THE WEDDING???
Daniel: ICONIC UNHINGED NO NOTES
Lewis: That’s the softest chaos I’ve ever seen. Also: beautiful. Congratulations to them both ❤️
Sebastian: That’s what love should look like. Simple. Fierce. True. Charles is going to set something on fire when he finds out.
Mark: He’s going to kill Max. Actually. Kill him.
David Coulthard: What are the odds we have to physically restrain Charles on sight
Nico R: Charles has not seen this yet, has he?
Carlos: …Charles is actually going to try and murder Max.
Nico R.: I give it 48 hours before Charles makes it about himself.
Nico H.: With his bare hands.
Sebastian: I’ll visit Max in prison. Bring snacks.
Lando: do you think if we just… don’t answer his calls… we can delay this
Kimi: Congrats. Cake looks good.
Lando: in conclusion: love won (also please someone hide me)
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/SpottedInMonaco: Saw Oscar Piastri and Lily Zneimer leaving Monaco city hall earlier today. Suit. Dress. Smiling. That wasn’t a casual brunch outfit, I’m just saying.
@/GridGossip: I BEG YOUR PARDON.
@/TifosiTears: oscar piastri getting married and not telling us would be the most oscar piastri move of all time
@/mclarenmoments: DO NOT JOKE ABOUT THIS. I AM FRAGILE.
@/NicolePiastri: OSCAR. OSCAR JACK PIASTRI.
If you got married today and didn’t tell your MOTHER, I swear to GOD—
@/NicolePiastri: Do you think I don’t have Twitter alerts? Do you think I wouldn’t FIND OUT???
@/NicolePiastri: TEXT. ME. RIGHT. NOW.
@/OscarPiastri: Hi Mum. Deep breaths. I did not get married.
@/NicolePiastri: Are you SURE?
@/OscarPiastri: Very sure. I was just a guest. Completely unmarried and ringless.
@/NicolePiastri: Then WHY were you at city hall in MONACO??
@/OscarPiastri: Because people get married and sometimes I get invited!
@/NicolePiastri: Noted. But if you actually do get married without telling me, I will start a podcast called "My Son Got Married Without Me."
@/OscarPiastri: Duly noted.
@/PitLaneParanoia: Okay but if it wasn’t Oscar’s wedding… then whose was it???
@/gridshenanigans: WAIT. Wait wait wait. What if it was Lando’s wedding???
@/McLarenSpy: He has been weirdly quiet since the win in Miami…
@/chaoticpaddock: IMAGINE if Lando Norris just casually got married and let everyone spiral about Oscar instead.
***
Stream Transcript: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell
Lando: (leans back in his chair, stretching) “Okay, chat, before you all start spamming—yes, I saw the Twitter stuff. Yes, I was at Monaco City Hall. No, I didn’t get married. You can all calm down.”
Chat:YOU GOT MARRIED?! WHO WAS IT THENOSCAR OR LANDOOOOOWHAT DO YOU MEAN "NO" STOP LYING TO US NORRIS
Max Fewtrell: (joining the stream, headphones askew) “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What did I just walk into?”
Lando: (grinning way too hard) “Twitter thinks I got married.”
Max F: “...Did you???”
Lando: (sputtering) “What?! No! No, mate—God—why would I—? No!”
Max Fewtrell: (squints at him through the screen) “You’re acting weird. That’s exactly what someone who secretly got married would say.”
Lando: (waving his hands) “I was just at the city hall, okay? I was a guest. I brought my camera. That’s it.”
Chat:"JUST A GUEST" SUUUREHE’S FREAKING OUT OMGLANDO WHO WAS ITWHY ARE YOU SO SHADY
Max Fewtrell: “Wait… was it Oscar?”
Lando: (visibly sweating) “I—NO—it wasn’t Oscar. He was also a guest! He brought… macarons. Like a very elegant little wedding guest. And he wore a suit!”
Max Fewtrell: (laughs) “So if it wasn’t you or Oscar… who got married?”
Lando: (looks directly at camera, then away, then back again) “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Max Fewtrell: “Oh my God. It was someone! You little cryptid! You’re hiding something!”
Lando (visibly flustered): I WAS A GUEST. I HAD A TIE. THAT’S IT.
Max F: You’ve never worn a tie willingly in your life.
Lando: (panicking, adjusting his headset) “I’m just saying… maybe some people like their privacy, alright? Not everyone wants a big flashy wedding. Some people like… small things. Quiet things. With like… flowers and—”
Max Fewtrell: “Mate, you’re digging a hole. You might as well tell us.”
Lando: (points at camera) “Nope. I’m loyal. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.”
Max Fewtrell: “Sworn to secrecy means it was someone! Confirmed! Chat, we’re getting somewhere.”
Lando: (leans forward, whispers into mic dramatically) “Chat, if I mysteriously disappear after this stream… I was never here.”
Chat: RIP LANDOHE’S GOING TO BE TAKEN OUT BY THE WEDDING MAFIATHIS IS BETTER THAN DRIVE TO SURVIVEFREE HIM
Max Fewtrell: “So to summarize: Oscar did not get married. Lando did not get married. But someone did. And Lando is freaking out.”
Lando: (facepalming) “Why did I open my mouth.”
Max Fewtrell: “Because you love chaos. That’s why.”
#max verstappen fanfiction#formula 1#max verstappen#max verstappen smau#max verstappen fic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#max verstappen fluff#mv1 fanfiction#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fake instagram#f1 smau#max verstappen social media au#max verstappen x reader#mv1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#mv1 fic#max verstappen x you#f1 grid x reader#f1 grid fanfiction
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pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader
sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.
warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.
notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!
wc: 1k
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Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.
Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.
Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.
Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.
“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.
She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.
You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”
She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”
She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.
You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”
She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.
She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”
You smile back at her, “I’m good,”
“How’s the baby?”
You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.
Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.
“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.
“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”
Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”
You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”
You wince, why the fuck did you say that?
That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”
“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”
In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.
“What are you going on about?”
You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”
He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”
You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”
Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.
“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”
You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”
He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.
“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”
His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”
He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”
There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.
He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.
“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”
“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”
“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.
When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.
“Just say what you need to say,”
Dana hums, “She’s young,”
Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”
“She pregnant?”
There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.
“Yeah, ten weeks.”
She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”
Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.
Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”
He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”
“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.
“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”
“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”
He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”
Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.
They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.
Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.
“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”
“You mad I got more game than you or something?”
Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”
#the pitt x reader#jack abbot x reader#dr jack abbot x reader#🐝 writes: the pitt#🐝 writes#all of the feedback is so so appreciated!! please continue it you feel inclined!#i have love love loved interacting with everyone as well!!!#my ask box is always open
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I’m curious, since you know a lot about games history: do you know if there’s any consensus on what video game had the first “boss fight song,” i.e., the first game to have a different musical piece that plays when the player encounters something we would recognize as a boss? (I’m aware that “what is a boss” is a question in itself, but i guess that’s just part of the whole mix, and hopefully there’s enough you-know-it-when-you-see-it to facilitate the discussion.)
The oldest one I’m personally familiar with is The Legend of Zelda 1986 (which IIRC doesn’t have unique songs for normal bosses but at least has a little entry fanfare for Ganon), but I’m also acutely aware of the fact that I’m more or less completely unfamiliar with anything pre-NES, so I’d be very surprised if there wasn’t something earlier than that, and also just having entry fanfare is, to be honest, kind of weak imo compared to a proper dedicated song. (The oldest one I personally know of that has a song for non-final bosses is Mega Man 1987, but the same blind spot to pre-NES stuff applies.)
Are you able to offer any insight into this matter, please?
That's an interesting question. Most video games published prior to the NES era tended to lack background music of any description, so they wouldn't have had anything that could be described as "boss fight music" simply because they didn't have music. The earliest title I can think of off the top of my head that does have a discernible boss theme is Dragon's Lair (1983), though that's kind of an edge case because the arcade version of Dragon's Lair is more of an interactive movie than a game per se. I'd love to know if anyone reading this post has an earlier example in mind!
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♡ Flirting? That’s a Track Limit Violation | MV1
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader [Face Claim: None]
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Summary: Y/N drops a cryptic elevator pic hugging some random dude and it’s like throwing a grenade into the F1 paddock. Charles and Arthur are ready to form an FBI task force, and the drivers are gossiping harder than a group of high schoolers at lunch. Max? He’s out here pretending he doesn’t care, but we all know he’s five seconds away from flipping a table. Nobody has a clue who the guy is, but Max is sweating, the internet is thriving, and the drama is peak entertainment.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
A/N: thank you soo much for 100 followers guys I never knew this many people would end up liking this little fic. screaming, crying, throwing up fr 😭. also sorry to everyone who had to read the wonky letters version. tumblr messed up my format and I had to individually fix the words.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Part 3 of my wheel-to-wheel but still in denial series: Masterlist
y/n_leclerc posted an Instagram Story:
📸: A blurry photo of Y/N hugging a guy in an elevator, only his back visible.
Caption: A single red heart emoji❤️
Replies:
danielricciardo:
Popcorn out. Watching the Leclerc brothers have an absolute meltdown in 3… 2… 1… 😂
charles_leclerc:
Who the hell is this guy? Y/N, answer me RIGHT NOW!
arthur_leclerc:
This better be a joke, or I’m tracking your location. WHO. IS. HE?
landonorris:
Wait… bitch did you just drop a boyfriend announcement with a blurry elevator pic?? DID MAX SEE THIS?!?
↪ y/n_leclerc:
What does Max have to do with anything???
↪ landonorris:
OH MY LORD I CANNOT WITH YOU TWO
georgerussell63:
who dis?
alex_albon:
I feel like I just witnessed the calm before the storm. Charles is going to explode. Arthur’s already spiraling.
y/n_leclerc posted a photo:
Liked by landonorris, pierregasly, alex_albon, and 500,903 others.
Comments:
charles_leclerc:
Y/N, explain yourself. Who’s this guy?
arthur_leclerc:
SIS, YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A HEART AND EXPECT US TO BE CALM.
maxverstappen1:
So… new friend? Or something else?
↪ landonorris:
Max, you sound… interested? 👀
↪ georgerussell63:
Max, if you’re going to be subtle, you’re failing.
↪ danielricciardo:
Can we all just take a moment to appreciate how Charles is losing his mind over this while Max tries to act like he doesn’t care? 😂
↪ alex_albon:
Max pretending this is just a casual question while we all know he’s about to punch a wall.
lilyzneimer:
y/n_leclerc, the WAGs feel personally betrayed. We thought we were your ride or dies! 💔
charles_leclerc:
NO ONE IS ANSWERING MY QUESTIONS, AND I’M ABOUT TO START FLYING TO FIND THIS GUY.
↪ arthur_leclerc:
Charles, wait for me. I’ve got your back.
↪ y/n_leclerc:
Can you guys relax? It’s really not that serious.
lilymhe:
Hello??? y/n_leclerc, you ditched us for a man??? What happened to me being the love of your life? 😭
carmenmmundt:
I thought I was your only love 😞. I feel betrayed babes💔
f1_gossips tweeted:
F1 drivers are officially in meltdown mode after Y/N Leclerc posts a cryptic heart emoji with a mystery man. Charles and Arthur Leclerc are leading the charge, while Max Verstappen seems unusually ‘curious.’ What’s really going on here? 🤔
Comments:
user1:
Max ‘I’m totally not jealous’ Verstappen is the best version of Max.
user2:
Charles is on the verge of hunting this guy down while Max plays detective in the background.
user3:
MAX PRETENDING NOT TO CARE WHILE LITERALLY SWEATING THROUGH HIS RACE SUIT. I SEE YOU, VERSTAPPEN
user4:
This is going to end with Max accidentally confessing feelings. You heard it here first.
user5:
Y/N dropping a single heart emoji and causing the grid to spiral. POWER MOVE. 😈
user6:
Max is acting like he’s not freaking out, but I bet he’s checking her Insta every 10 minutes.
user7:
Arthur and Charles are about to pull up with baseball bats, and Max is trying to act like he’s just ‘concerned.��
y/n_leclerc posted an Instagram Story:
📸: Screenshot of her Instagram comments blowing up with messages from drivers, brothers, and the WAGs.
Caption: Y’all are doing TOO much. Chill, it’s not what you think! 😂
Replies:
charles_leclerc:
IF IT’S NOT WHAT WE THINK, THEN TELL US WHO HE IS. 😡
arthur_leclerc:
Sister, you better have a GOOD explanation for this. We are not playing.
landonorris:
Bro, Charles is about to have a meltdown, and Max is getting quieter. I don’t know which one is scarier.
danielricciardo:
I’ve never seen Charles so unhinged, and I live for this chaos. 🧨
georgerussell63:
You’ve been eerily quiet for someone who usually has a lot to say. Dont tell me this is serious?!?!
y/n_leclerc posted:
📸: Y/N and her best friend posing dramatically in the same elevator.
Caption: Relax, it’s just y/n_bff, my best friend. 😂 Y’all really lost your minds over an elevator hug, huh? Charles, Arthur, you can calm down now.
Liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 420,876 others.
Comments:
charles_leclerc:
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! YOU MADE US ALL PANIC FOR THIS?!
arthur_leclerc:
Y/N, YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO US.
maxverstappen1:
So… just a friend, huh? Good to know.
↪ landonorris:
Max, let out the biggest sigh of relief
↪ danielricciardo:
Max pretending he wasn’t two seconds away from launching an investigation.
↪ alex_albon:
Max, it's ok to breathe now. 😂
lilymhe:
Y/N, we need to talk about this betrayal. A PRANK AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US? 💔
↪ carmenmmundt:
You better make it up to us. We feel personally attacked.
f1gossips tweeted:
UPDATE: Y/N Leclerc has revealed the mystery man is just her best friend, but the damage has already been done. Max Verstappen, despite claiming not to care, was very quick to ask for details. Fans are now speculating on Max’s sudden interest. Could there be something brewing? 👀 #MaxYN #LeclercBrothers #PrankChaos #MaxNotJealous
Comments:
user8:
Max is like, ‘I’m not jealous, but… WHO IS THIS GUY?’ 😂
user9:
Charles and Arthur over here ready to fight while Max is low-key spiraling.
user10:
Max trying so hard to be subtle and failing MISERABLY.
user11:
Y/N is playing with fire, and I LOVE IT. She’s making Max sweat.
Groupchat Messages: (maxy/n truthers):
dudududu:
So… no real boyfriend?
albono:
Max, she literally just said that. You can chill now.
dudududu:
I wasn’t not chill. Just… you know, looking out for her.
albono:
Uh-huh. You sound real concerned for a ‘friend,’ Max. 😂
shoeysupremacy:
MAX, JUST ADMIT YOU’RE JEALOUS. IT’S PAINFUL TO WATCH.
norizz:
Max pretending not to care is the worst acting I’ve ever seen.
georgieporgie:
It’s the slowest, most awkward flirtation I’ve ever witnessed, and it’s amazing.
Twitter Reactions:
user12:
The longer this goes on, the more I think Max is one step away from confessing his feelings.
user13:
Max: ‘I’m not jealous, I’m just… CONCERNED.’
user14:
Max watching this whole thing unfold like it’s the worst pit stop of his life.
user15:
Max really out here pretending he didn’t have a minor breakdown over a blurry elevator pic.
y/n_leclerc posted a photo:
Caption: guys I think this might be my favourite spot now.
Liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 220,896 others.
Comments:
maxverstappen1:
Just making sure. No weird guys in elevators, right?
↪ y/n_leclerc:
Max, stop worrying about elevators. You’re being ridiculous.
↪ maxverstappen1:
I’m just saying. You could do better than a blurry elevator hug. Maybe someone who drives fast for a living. Just a thought.
↪ danielricciardo:
OH MY GOD, MAX IS FLIRTING. MAX IS REALLY DOING THIS.
↪ landonorris:
Max ‘I’m not jealous’ Verstappen is actually… shooting his shot? 😂
↪ georgerussell63:
Y/N, this is your fault. You’ve broken Max.
user16:
MAX FLIRTING??? IS THIS REAL LIFE???
user17:
Max really out here going from ‘I’m not jealous’ to flirting in the comments. What a journey.
user18:
I LOVE THIS. Y/N has Max spinning, and it’s beautiful.
user19:
Max flirted, and the world just shifted on its axis. Did anyone else feel that?
user20:
Max shooting his shot in the most awkward, Max way possible is sending me.
y/n_leclerc posted a photo:
Caption: Sunsets🌞
Liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, landonorris, and 426,276 others.
Comments:
maxverstappen1:
The only thing more beautiful than this sunset is you
↪ y/n_leclerc:
...Max, what are you doing?
↪ danielricciardo:
OH MY GOD, MAX, DID YOU JUST— DID YOU JUST FLIRT IN PUBLIC? 😂
↪ charles_leclerc:
MAX, WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!! 😡
↪ arthur_leclerc:
YOU’RE DEAD, VERSTAPPEN.
↪ landonorris:
Y/N, RUN. MAX IS LOSING IT.
↪ lilymhe:
Y/N, is this your new strategy? Break him down with elevator pranks and watch him crumble? Genius.
user21:
MAX REALLY WENT FOR IT. This man is shooting his shot ON MAIN. 😱
user22:
Y/N’s sundress got Max sweating more than a red flag in Q3. 💀
user23:
Charles and Arthur in full meltdown mode while Max is out here simping. We LOVE TO SEE IT.
user24:
MAX JUST FLIRTED IN THE COMMENTS LIKE IT’S CASUAL?!
y/n_leclerc posted a photo:
Caption: Caffeine fix ☕
Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris, and 420,876 others.
Comments:
maxverstappen1:
Bet that coffee isn’t as sweet as you. 😘
↪ y/n_leclerc:
MAX, STOP. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. 😳
↪ landonorris:
STOP. MAX, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE. 😂
↪ danielricciardo:
MAX, YOU CAN’T JUST DROP FLIRTY COMMENTS EVERYWHERE. Y/N’S IN SHOCK. 💀
↪ georgerussell63:
Max, for real. Are you okay? Blink twice if you need help.
lilymhe:
Y/N, please explain what kind of witchcraft you used to make Max simp THIS HARD. I need tips. 😂
alex_albon:
I’m both terrified and impressed at how fast Max has gone from 'I don't even like her' to 'full-on simp mode.'
charles_leclerc:
MAX. ENOUGH. I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.
↪ arthur_leclerc:
I’m grabbing the car keys. We’re handling this in person.
user25:
Max flirting in broad daylight while Charles and Arthur spiral into madness. THIS IS PEAK ENTERTAINMENT.
user26:
I need a documentary on how Max went from ‘I fucking hate her’ to dropping flirty lines under every post. 💀
user27:
Max is playing the long game. But damn, is he bad at being subtle.
user28:
I can’t decide if I’m living for this or dying of secondhand embarrassment for Y/N. Max, STOP. 😂
user29:
Y/N, blink twice if Max has you trapped in a flirty comment loop and you don’t know how to escape.
y/n_leclerc posted a photo:
Caption: “In the presence of great art, time stands still”
ps. yes I did copy that from google 🤗
Liked by landonorris, pierregasly, alex_albon, and 500,903 others.
Comments:
maxverstappen1:
Tried to focus on the art but my eyes keep wandering back to you
↪ alex_albon:
MAX, WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS? 😵
↪ landonorris:
Max, bro… this is getting uncomfortable. 😂
↪ danielricciardo:
MAX IS GOING FULL ROMEO. SOMEONE STOP HIM BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.
↪ georgerussell63:
Y/N, how are you even still functioning with this level of public simping?
↪ pierregasly:
I’m cackling. Max is like a flirty tornado right now. 💀
user30:
Max is one more flirty comment away from proposing marriage on Instagram Live.
user31:
Y/N is going to have a nervous breakdown at this rate. Max, CHILL.
user32:
Charles is gonna have a full-on crisis meeting about Max’s public simping. 😂
user33:
Max flirting with Y/N like he’s auditioning for a rom-com. WHAT IS HAPPENING.
user34:
Y/N trying to roast Max while he keeps throwing out flirty comments is actually hilarious. I hope she survives this.
user35:
Max went from “just friends” to dropping Shakespearean lines in under 24 hours. ICONIC.
DMs between Max and Y/N:
y/n_leclerc:
Max.
maxverstappen1:
Yes, Y/N? 😏
y/n_leclerc:
We need to talk. Immediately.
maxverstappen1:
Am I in trouble? Because I can explain everything. 😇
y/n_leclerc:
MAX, WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU? The flirting in the comments?? I literally had to restrict my brothers from my posts to stop them from finding and KILLING YOU. 😩
maxverstappen1:
You restricted them?! 😅
y/n_leclerc:
YES. Because you’re out here leaving cheesy flirty comments like we’re on Love Island or something! And the public thinks we’re secretly dating. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? MAX. You’ve been openly flirting with me in front of CHARLES. On Instagram. IN FRONT OF THE WORLD. They’re going crazy.
maxverstappen1:
Oh, right. I forgot about the brothers. Oops. 😅
y/n_leclerc:
Forgot about the brothers?? You’re practically signing up for your own funeral. 😩
maxverstappen1:
Come on, Y/N, it’s not that bad. 😏
y/n_leclerc:
...Max. I’ve got people DMing me, my brothers are two steps away from driving to your house, and the internet is convinced we’re dating. You're taking the jokes way too far, and I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it needs to stop.
maxverstappen1:
...I wasn’t joking.
y/n_leclerc:
Excuse me?
maxverstappen1:
I’m not joking. About the flirting.
y/n_leclerc:
MAX. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT JOKING?! 😳
maxverstappen1:
I like you.
y/n_leclerc:
...Like, “like me” like me?
maxverstappen1:
Yes. 🙃
y/n_leclerc:
No. This is a prank. You’re pranking me. Where’s the camera? WHERE IS IT? 😵
maxverstappen1:
It’s not a prank, Y/N. I’ve liked you for a while.
y/n_leclerc:
MAX. You can’t just drop a BOMB like this in my DMs. What the hell do you mean “for a while”?!
maxverstappen1:
Years. 😅
y/n_leclerc:
YEARS?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YEARS?! 😱
maxverstappen1:
I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin our thing. You know, the teasing, the banter. But when I saw that elevator post, I thought you had a boyfriend. It freaked me out. I realized I had to say something.
y/n_leclerc:
Oh my god, this is so much worse than I thought. 😵💫
maxverstappen1:
I didn’t want to mess things up, but I can’t keep pretending. I care about you, Y/N. More than just friends. I had to shoot my shot.
y/n_leclerc:
...You saw one blurry elevator pic and had a full-on emotional breakdown?
maxverstappen1:
Pretty much, yeah.
y/n_leclerc:
Max, this isn’t real life. This is some Netflix rom-com level nonsense, and I’m... confused.
maxverstappen1:
I know it’s sudden. But I’ve liked you for years. I just didn’t want to lose you and watch you love someone that wasn’t me
y/n_leclerc:
...oh.
come over
maxverstappen1:
what?
y/n_leclerc:
come over to my place so that I can kiss you dumbass cuz believe it or not but I kinda like you too
maxverstappen1:
OH
gimme 5.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
#f1 x reader#f1 social media au#f1 smau#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen x you#max verstappen#f1 scenario#f1 x female reader#formula one x y/n#formula one x reader#formula one#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#smau#formula one smau#formula 1 social media au#formula one imagine#formula one fanfiction#formula one x you#formula 1 x reader#formula one x oc#f1 imagines#formula 1 x you#formula 1 imagine
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Text
love means everything — ryomen sukuna.
“So, hey.” he said, voice dropping into that mellow drawl he only really used with you. “You always ask me what I’m doing in the off–season. You know, working out less, spoiling you more, trying to figure out the difference between a flat white and a cortado…” You laughed softly on the other end, and he smiled just hearing it. “But I never asked you. What about you, huh? What does your off-season look like, Starstuff–sensei?” You let out a breath, half a sigh, half a smile. “Off–season? You mean the mythical time when I’m not being held hostage by quantum models and satellite firmware?” He chuckled. “Yeah. That one. If it ever existed.”
Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;
Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Fiancee! Sukuna, Fiancee! Reader;
Words: 8k words.
Note: this was inspired by some clips ive seen from people talking about their spouses. and then you have me listening to coffee by bts??? yeah, it works out. anyway, i got home (after a disasterous time in the airport) and am able to write again!!! i hope you enjoy this one!!! i love you all <3
masterlist
if you want to, tip! <3
lovesick playlist
OFF SEASON WAS ALSO A TIME TO WORK ON OTHER THINGS REGARDING HIS EVER GROWING FAME. That’s why he was told to come here, since people wanted to ask to interview him and want to know more about him, especially now since he just won a gold medal with his team in the Olympics.
The studio was sun drenched, sleek and minimalist, dotted with tasteful awards and blown up stills from the magazine’s latest photoshoot. Ryomen Sukuna, Olympic gold medalist and captain of Japan’s national volleyball team, was dressed in a relaxed open-collar shirt and slacks.
He was more toned down from the striking editorial wear he'd posed in just an hour ago, which he liked better than anything else. It’s not that the editorial wear was bad. He was just more comfortable with this sort of fit. He should take a picture, though. You’d enjoy it more than he does.
Though the cameras continued to roll silently from then and now as he went and sat there, waiting for the interview to begin. The interviewer, who was smiling behind the camera, flipped to a page in their notes.
“Alright, Sukuna–san.” The interviewer began, voice gentle and curious. “You’ve spoken about your post season training, your comeback for this upcoming national season, and your Olympic gold medal win on the international stage. But tell us a little about your off–season. What do you do when you’re not spiking balls into orbit?”
Sukuna chuckled, a lowly amused sound, one hand dragging lazily through his pink-tinted hair. “Honestly? Not much... At least, nothing glamorous. I like to be at home. I’m a homebody, more than people think. Just love being at home with my fiance and our dog Marin.”
“And what does home look like for you now? You recently got engaged, right?”
He smiled, really smiled this time and the camera caught the softening in his expression. “Yeah. I did. She’s a really smart astrophysicist.” he said, pride lacing his voice. “Which basically means her brain runs at the speed of light even when I’m still trying to find where I put my protein shaker in the morning.”
“She must be something then! But you must spend a lot with her during the off–season.” The interviewer laughed, prompting Sukuna to go on.
“I mean, we both try to make sure we have time.” Sukuna retorts, smiling wider. “But of course, she also has work. I mean, off–season’s really when she gets busier. Her field doesn’t break, and they’ve got a pretty vital role where they work. So while I’m off the court, I’ve kind of made it my job to take care of everything at home. Make her comfortable when she gets home, y’know?”
“Oh? In what ways does an Olympic champion do that?”
“I got my barista license this past season. I just figured if I can read plays mid-air, I can learn how to make coffee right.”
The crew echoed quietly in awe behind the scenes. Ryomen Sukuna leaned forward a little, face warming at his revelation to all of them. The interviewer raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Sukuna’s revelation.
“A barista license, huh? That’s impressive! But I’ve got to ask, Sukuna–san. What else do you do to take care of her when she’s so busy?”
Sukuna chuckled, leaning back slightly in his chair, his demeanor relaxed but there was an underlying warmth in his eyes that couldn’t be overlooked. He was surely thinking about you right now with all he could.
“Well, like I said, she’s got this crazy demanding job.” Sukuna starts to say. “I know how it feels to be locked into something you love, where you don’t even notice the hours passing. So when she gets home, I try to make it feel like a break. I keep the house cozy, cook meals, set things up so she can just unwind without having to think about anything else.”
The interviewer nodded, clearly impressed by his thoughtfulness. “That sounds so sweet. You really seem to know what she needs.”
Sukuna smiled wider, a rare, genuine expression that softened his usual fierce persona. “I do. I pay attention. She doesn’t ask for much. Just a quiet space, a hot meal, and good coffee.” He grinned mischievously. “Oh, and sometimes I throw in a bit of flirting to remind her I’m still the same guy who makes her laugh.”
The interviewer chuckled, but there was a twinkle of curiosity. “So, back to this coffee thing. Is it just a way to spoil her, or do you have a deeper connection to it?”
“Honestly?” Sukuna leaned in a little, his voice dropping a touch lower. “It’s a way for me to make sure she’s taking care of herself. The first time I made her coffee when we were teenagers, I realized how much she needed it.”
“Oh, wow! It’s been that long?”
“Yeah, we’ve been together for so long. And at that time, I realized that she didn’t just need it.” He continues to say, a smile on his face. “It’s not just about the caffeine for her or for me. It’s this small moment of peace in her day. And I don’t want her to go without that, even if it’s just for a few minutes. So I got serious about learning how to make it perfect.”
“That’s actually such dedication, Sukuna–san!” The interviewer reiterated back in awe of him. “Some courses take quite a long time and by your words, it must have taken some time. You did it during the off season? Shouldn’t you be taking care of your health then, since you have to be training soon after that?”
He nodded. “Yeah. But that wasn’t anything too big of a big deal. There was a training course a few blocks away from home. I did it after my run and my training sessions. It wasn’t too bad. Just a few weeks.”
The interviewer’s eyes widened, clearly taken by how deeply Sukuna had thought about this. “That’s really thoughtful.”
“So now, every morning, no matter how early, I make breakfast. And coffee.” Sukuna laughs. "I don’t let my baby go without it. Even if it’s 4 a.m. and she’s still running numbers or checking satellite data or whatever astrophysicists do.”
He grinned again, eyes glinting with something boyish. “She’ll say she doesn't need it, but she’ll always finish the whole cup. Then she’ll ask for more. I know how she likes it. No measurements anymore. I just know it by memory.”
“That’s a bold statement to make, Sukuna–san. It’s hard to cook by memory most of the time, without measurements.” The interviewer teased.
There was a pause, the room a little quieter as his words settled. Sukuna shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “It was a challenge, but I liked it. She does so much for me and the world. I really should pull my weight as a man, you know?”
“I bet she loves that. To have someone to rely on like that, with such a busy lifestyle.”
“She does! Even if she pouts, and never admits it. I can see it in her face.” He lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s the best part of my day, everyday. Where I can just love her right with the ways that I can do it. She’s always worth it.”
The interviewer gave a dreamy sigh, clearly smitten with the answer. “That’s… kind of perfect. Wish all men were like that.”
“I wish the same for all women out there, wait, cut that. Everyone deserves to be loved like that.” Sukuna says, scarlet eyes narrowing slightly serious. “If your partners refuse to love you like that, leave them! They’re not worth your love!”
“Yeah, I agree with that!”
Sukuna shrugged, but there was no hiding the fond curve at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t play about my girl, you know? I just love her so much.” he said simply. “Even in the off-season, love shouldn’t stop for my baby.”
The camera zoomed in a little towards the man with eyes full of love. The camera in this moment was capturing the gold medalist not as the usual overconfident towering champion.
Instead, he was a man quietly in love, tending to his morning ritual and waiting for his favorite person to take their first sip. The interviewer leaned in, clearly enchanted by the quiet domesticity wrapped around the Olympic athlete’s words.
“Aside from becoming a full-fledged barista for your fiancé.” they said with a light chuckle. “What else do you like to do during your off-season?”
Ryomen Sukuna tilted his head for a moment, as if considering the question seriously, then answered with that casual confidence of his. “There’s quite a bit, actually. I mean, I play around with games and stuff like that. But I think that’s boring compared to what I do with my fiancé.”
“Your world revolves around your fiancé, no?”
“Happily so! We’ve been together since we were kids. I always do everything to make her smile. Like, I try to make date nights happen. Or, well, date moments.” he said, lifting two fingers in air quotes. “As I said, her schedule’s kind of brutal. Astrophysics isn’t exactly a nine-to-five thing.”
The interviewer nodded, intrigued. “There are weeks where the only time she’s home is for like what?—an hour around lunch, since her office is near our home too. So I started planning what I call ‘thirty-minute date lunches.’”
A soft chorus of awws rippled through the crew. Sukuna grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. He talks about it as much as he doesn't. Yet when it comes to you, everything is love. Your love is everything, his love is everything. Showing it to you was no problem to him.
“I’ll cook something quick but good. Set the balcony table. Nothing fancy, just… nice. I’ll make her laugh, get her to forget orbital calculations or whatever hell equations she’s still wrangling about. We’ll eat, talk, and they’ll be gone again. But I think those little pockets of time matter.”
There was a pause. At least just enough to let that picture settle. “And on the rare days they do get time off?” he continued, voice a little quieter now. “I'll go all in. Reservations, walks, bookstores, rooftop stargazing. Whatever makes my baby smile.”
“That probably eases her feelings a lot, helps ground her back to earth.” The interviewer points out. “With such a demanding job, its meaningful to do something like this.”
Sukuna grins as he nods. “Yeah, it means a lot. But sometimes, space works too. She loves that stuff. Sometimes I’ll rent out this tiny planetarium near the research institute if it’s really been a rough week. Just for us. She’ll get to look up and talk about stars without worrying about the math behind it.”
The room fell silent, even the assistant with the clipboard frozen mid-scribble. The interviewer blinked, mouth parted like they’d briefly forgotten how to speak. “That’s… that’s unbelievably romantic.”
Sukuna smirked, unapologetically smug. “I told you. I’m off–season. I’ve got time to love my baby right.”
A crew member actually clutched their chest. The interviewer gave a sheepish, breathless laugh. “You’re setting the bar high, Sukuna–san.”
He leaned back in his chair with a shrug that somehow managed to be both cocky and affectionate. “Well, what can I say? I might be captain on court but she’s the gravity I orbit.”
The interview was still rolling, the room thick with soft lights and focused silence, when Ryomen Sukuna’s phone vibrated on the table just beside him.
He glanced at it briefly, just a flick of his scarlet eyes but the moment he saw your name on the screen, his whole posture changed. He smiled, subtle and immediate, the kind of smile that didn’t need to be big to be completely disarming.
“Ah—sorry, one sec.” he said, raising a hand toward the crew, already reaching for the phone. “It’s [name], my baby. It’s her only break window today.”
The interviewer blinked, then gave a quick nod. “Of course, yeah—go ahead.”
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t wait for the official pause. He stood up from the interview chair, walking a few steps away with the phone to his ear, voice already softening as he answered. He smiles as your breath echoes through the phone.
“My love, hi!”
“Hey, babe.” he murmured, leaning against a nearby counter. “You good? Just got a ten-minute break?”
Your voice continued to crack through the line, laced with fatigue and static from the lab but still bright enough to make his expression soften even more. He could see it fully in his head as he waits for you to reply.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me.” you said, sighing through what sounded like the background hum of machines. “We’re calibrating the prototype’s rotation module again. I’ve been staring at solar panels and trajectory mapping for six hours. I needed to hear your voice.”
Sukuna chuckled, low and warm, and ran a hand through his hair. “You're insane, you know that? Designing satellites while half running mission control on caffeine and half a protein bar.”
“You made me that protein bar, so whose fault is it, really?” you teased.
He laughed, eyes flicking up briefly at the camera crew still waiting politely across the room. “Hey, babe.” he said, gently, “I’m mid-interview, but I told them to wait. You’re more important. I’m all yours for the next ten minutes.”
You exhaled softly on the line. “You really didn’t have to—”
“Yes I did.” he cut in, voice firm but fond. “You never stop working. I’ll always make time when you finally stop.”
There was a beat of silence between you. There was nothing awkward, just weighted with how much the two of you knew without saying it. You know that he was not going to care, no matter what you say. You were going to be his priority, no matter what he’s doing.
“So, babe.” he continued, grinning now. “You want the espresso rundown for today? I’ve got a new blend waiting for you when you get home. The new coffee beans just arrived!”
“You spoil me so much.” you whispered.
“You build satellites without rest. Let me have this.”
From across the room, the crew watched quietly. The interviewer, still seated, whispered to someone off-camera, “He’s totally gone for her..”
Sukuna didn’t even seem to notice. He was still leaning against the wall, smiling as he nodded at your words and replied back to him. He happily replies to you once again.
The crew was quietly resetting for the next segment when Ryomen Sukuna walked and leaned further against the counter, still on the phone with you. One hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding the phone a little tighter now, like it grounded him.
“So, hey.” he said, voice dropping into that mellow drawl he only really used with you. “You always ask me what I’m doing in the off–season. You know, working out less, spoiling you more, trying to figure out the difference between a flat white and a cortado…”
You laughed softly on the other end, and he smiled just hearing it. “But I never asked you. What about you, huh? What does your off-season look like, Starstuff–sensei?”
You let out a breath, half a sigh, half a smile. “Off–season? You mean the mythical time when I’m not being held hostage by quantum models and satellite firmware?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. That one. If it ever existed.”
There was a pause, like you had to actually think about the idea. Because rest didn’t come easy when your work literally reached the edges of space. But you know that if you could, if you had the chance to do it, then you know what you wanted to do.
“Honestly?” you said. “If I get downtime... I just want to be around you. Take care of you even more. That’s it. No labs, no screens, no math. Just... you. Even if it’s quiet. Especially if it’s quiet.”
Sukuna’s fingers curled a little around the edge of the counter, his heart doing that annoying little thing where it picked up speed without permission. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, my love.” you retorted, gleefully swooning about your fantasy. “You’re the only person I can sit next to in silence and feel like I’m actually resting. I don’t want a beach, or a trip, or some grand thing. Just the balcony with you. Or the kitchen. Or even the gym if you’re doing those dumb push–up challenges again. We can bring Marin too!”
He laughed, rich and warm, and tilted his head back to hide how much that meant. “Dumb push-up challenges.” he repeated, grinning. “Okay, that one’s on you for watching every rep like it was the Olympics all over again.”
“You make it hard not to stare, my love.” you said, and the flirt in your voice was clear enough that Sukuna had to bite back a smug little noise. “I’m crazy about you. You know that.”
“Stop, babe.” he said, eyes glinting. “I’m still mic’d up. I’ll short out the camera guy’s equipment if you keep that up.”
You giggled again, softer now. “I should get back to the lab in a minute.”
“I know, babe.” he murmured, glancing at the timer on the wall, already counting down the seconds you had left.
“Thirty seconds, my love.” you said before he could, reading his mind. “Guess it’s your turn to say something cheesy.”
He looked down for a beat, then spoke low. “Come home safe. Your coffee’s waiting. And I miss you, even in ten–minute pieces.”
Silence, again. But the kind that held a smile inside it. “Love you, my golden love.” you whispered.
“Love you more, my genius baby.” he replied, and the line clicked off.
Ryomen Sukuna turned back toward the crew, slipping his phone into his pocket like he hadn’t just been pulled halfway into orbit by your voice. “Sorry, you guys.” he said, settling back into the chair. “Where were we?”
The interviewer, still recovering, just blinked. “Right. Uh. You were saying something about cortados…”
But all anyone could think about was how the gold medalist, the fierce, untouchable captain had stars in his scarlet eyes for someone who charted galaxies for a living on the other side of town. And he never fell back to earth.
YOU WERE HAPPY AND NERVOUS ALL AT ONCE. The atmosphere was electric in the room filled with bright lights and excited reporters. The Japan Prize ceremony had wrapped up in a whirlwind of accolades, handshakes, and applause.
You and your colleague, Dr. Maryu Hana, stood side by side, both holding your newly awarded prize with pride. It had been a long, intense journey to get here, you both know that.
It was so many countless nights in the lab, endless calculations, and years of dedication to your groundbreaking research in astrophysics. But today, it had all paid off.
As the camera crew prepared to capture you and your partner, a bright eyed reporter turned toward you, eager to ask the questions that everyone was dying to hear. The reporter smiled brightly as they began to speak.
"Congratulations, [last name] – sensei, and of course, to you as well, Maryu–sensei. What an achievement! You've made such an impact with your work.”
You smiled, nodding at them. “Thank you so much.”
“But there’s one question that’s been on everyone’s mind: you’ve been very public about your relationship with someone who’s quite famous himself—Ryomen Sukuna, the Olympic gold medalist and national volleyball team captain. Could you tell us a little about how you balance such a high–profile relationship with your demanding career?"
Your heart warmed at the mention of Sukuna’s name, the very thought of him always bringing a soft smile to your face. You glanced at Hana, who was grinning knowingly. She had been there for quite some time now, watching the bond between you and Sukuna grow. She knows how you feel, how overwhelming love has consumed your heart.
“Well…..it’s a lot." you began, your voice steady but warm. "But I think it’s all about mutual support. Both of us have incredibly demanding careers, but we’ve learned to make time for each other, even if it's just small moments. When he's off–season, he's incredibly present, and when he's in the thick of competition, I try to be there in whatever way I can."
The reporter’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued. "It sounds like you and Sukuna–san really understand each other. What’s it like to have such a public figure as a partner?"
You smiled, your fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of your award. “I don’t really think about him as ‘Ryomen Sukuna, the volleyball captain’. But at home, I just think of him as Sukuna."
"He's just your beloved Sukuna." The reporter supplies to you.
You nodded at them, smiling. "Exactly. He's just him. He's my fiancé. And Marin's cheerful energetic dad. He’s… the one who makes sure I’m well-fed with good coffee when I’m buried in research. He makes me laugh even when I’m on my hundredth sleepless night.”
The interviewer’s smile deepened as they jotted down a few notes. “You mentioned coffee, [last name] – sensei. We’ve heard rumors that Ryomen Sukuna’s barista skills have become legendary. Is that true?”
You laughed softly, unable to hide the fondness that bloomed in your chest at the thought of him. "He got his barista license during the off – season, yeah. He learned how to make the perfect cup of coffee just for me. "
"Which takes a lot, I heard he did at least twenty sessions cause he wanted to make it perfect!"
Well, he said he wanted to be able to spoil me during those rare moments when I can take a break. So, he did what he thinks he could for me. That's just love, you know?" You laugh softly, eyes full of tenderness. "Yes, I do get spoiled with the best coffee. Best in the country, best in the world, even.”
A soft chuckle passed through the crew, but the interviewer’s curiosity hadn’t been fully sated. “That sounds like a perfect balance. But what about the challenges? How do you two navigate the pressures of your individual careers?”
You took a deep breath, considering the question. “It’s not always easy. Both of us have high expectations for ourselves, and we’re driven by the work we do. But we’ve learned that we don’t always have to be together physically to support each other. Sometimes it’s just sending a text during a long day, making sure the other knows you’re thinking of them. When you’re in a partnership like that, it’s the small gestures that matter the most.”
Hana, who had been quietly listening with a knowing smile, nodded beside you. "I've seen the two of them quite a lot when Sukuna visits the lab. There’s a quiet understanding there. They both give a lot, and they both understand what the other needs, whether it’s space to work or moments of rest.”
The reporter’s expression softened, clearly moved by the connection between you and Sukuna. “It’s clear that you two have something special. And now, with such a significant achievement under your belt, what’s next for you both?”
You looked at the interviewer, then at Hana, and finally allowed your mind to wander toward Sukuna. You could almost picture him in the back of your mind. Sitting on the couch with your beloved dog son and waiting at home, the hum of the coffee machine brewing. He would stand up, your loving dog barking and asking you if you want coffee.
“Well…..” you said with a twinkle in your eyes. “I think we’ll both take some time to celebrate this. I mean, national title in the bag and a Japan Prize? It’s massive. But of course, the work never really stops for either of us. I’ll be back in the lab tomorrow, and he’ll be gearing up for his next season. But... I think we’ve got a good thing going. And no matter what comes next, we’ll continue supporting each other, no matter the stars we’re chasing."
The reporter grinned, a little mischievously this time. “Alright, you’ve painted such a sweet picture of life with Sukuna. But let’s be honest—no one’s perfect. What’s something he does that ticks you off a little… but you also can’t help being fond of?”
You laughed, the kind that comes from years of endearment wrapped in mild exasperation. “Oh, there’s definitely something.”
The reporter leaned in, intrigued. “Oh, please tell, sensei!”
“He has this thing, my love.” you began, eyes already gleaming with affection. “It’s where he refuses to fall asleep unless he’s holding my hand. Every single night. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of summer and we’re both melting into the mattress. So, he’ll lie there, completely still, not even pretending to sleep, just... waiting. Silently. Until I give in and reach over.”
You shook your head with a fond sigh. “It used to drive me crazy. I’d be tossing and turning, trying to stay cool, and he’s just lying there like some stubborn heat source, hand outstretched like I’m the one being difficult.”
The reporter chuckled, clearly loving every bit of it. “And now?”
“Now?” you smiled softly. “Now I can’t fall asleep either unless I know he’s holding my hand. I guess it just became our thing. I grumble about it every summer, but honestly… It's one of the little things that remind me how much he loves me. That quiet, constant presence. It’s annoying, it’s ridiculous, and it’s so him. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
The reporter scribbled something quickly, then looked up with a smile. “Sounds like the best kind of trouble.”
You nodded. “Yeah. He’s exactly that.”
The reporter’s smile lingered, soft and a little dreamy now. “That’s such a vivid image. I think everyone just collectively sighed at the thought of the Demon King refusing to sleep without holding your hand.”
You laughed again, this time covering your face briefly in mock embarrassment. “He’s going to kill me when he goes and watches this.”
“Worth it, isn’t it?” the reporter grinned. “It’s those tiny rituals that make a relationship feel real, y’know? Oh, but one last thing before we wrap. When you think about everything, the early mornings, the wins, the stress, the quiet nights with your hand in his….what do you think makes your love last?”
You paused, the question settling over you like a blanket. And for a moment, your expression softened into something raw and honest. You become flustered, but there was a smile on your face. “Gosh, that’s quite a big question.”
Hana smiles at you, tugging at your shoulder tenderly. “Just be honest about it. He’ll love that.”
“I think… it’s the choice, always has been.” you said quietly. “Every day, we choose each other. Even when we’re exhausted. Even when we argue. Even when it’s easier to turn away. He waits for me to hold his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he knows I’ll always reach back. And I do. That kind of trust? That’s what keeps us going.”
The room seemed still, like the story between the two of you had settled into the space, warm and undeniable. You smiled, already picturing the moment you’d get home. Everything about going home just makes you feel like life is beautiful, more beautiful than any utopia.
You imagine Sukuna on the couch, probably pretending he wasn’t waiting up. Your beloved dog wagging his tail, your favorite mug set beside the couch. And later, when the lights go out and the room is still, that familiar hand reaches for yours in the dark. You’d reach back. Always.
The interviewer smiled, clearly touched. "You’ve both certainly reached for the stars, and now you're holding them in your hands. Congratulations again, [last name] – sensei, and Maryu–sensei. And best wishes to both of you and your incredible futures."
The drive home was filled with a quiet kind of anticipation. The adrenaline of the ceremony still buzzed in your veins, and the weight of the Japan Prize still felt surreal, but all you could think about was the warm, steady presence of Ryomen Sukuna.
But it was a stark contrast to the academic whirlwind you had just stepped out of, the cameras and interviews a distant echo now, replaced by thoughts of him. You wanted nothing more than to be home in his arms and feel his warmth only.
When you walked through the door of your shared apartment, you were greeted by the familiar scent of something delicious wafting from the kitchen. The soft clink of pots and pans suggested that Sukuna was already hard at work.
As you set down your bag, you caught sight of him in the kitchen. There was no longer the Olympian hero, but simply your beloved fiancé, who had rolled up his sleeves and was cooking with his usual focused intensity.
You smiled softly, the day’s chaos fading with every step toward him. He turned, sensing your presence, and when his eyes landed on you, there was no mistaking the pride and tenderness that filled them.
“Well, look who decided to grace me with her regal science genius presence, my baby.” Sukuna teased, a playful grin curling at the corners of his lips. He stepped forward, setting down the ladle he had been stirring with. “You deserve a victory lap, you know.”
You rolled your eyes, but your heart was already swelling at how normal this felt. In the midst of all the fame, the interviews, and the flashing lights, this was the real joy. It was just being together. This was more than anything, the best of your life.
“Victory lap?” you said with a soft laugh. “I think I’ve had enough of those for today. Besides, I know I’ll be back in the lab tomorrow. No time to rest on my laurels.”
Sukuna's expression softened, and he crossed the room in a few long strides to pull you into a gentle hug. His warmth seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the present. “You’ve earned it, babe. You and Hana both. You’re brilliant, and I’m proud of you.”
You chuckled against his chest, a lightness in your voice. “I’m just doing my job, my love.”
He pulled back slightly, his hands still on your shoulders. “Don’t downplay it. What you’re doing is incredible. The world’s got to catch up with you, genius.” His smile widened, as though that was a challenge he was ready to take on.
You shook your head fondly, your hand brushing over the front of his shirt before resting on his chest. “I think the world’s already caught up with me. Or maybe they’ve caught up with us.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Oh? And why’s that?”
“Because, my love,” you replied, lifting your head to meet his gaze with a smile of your own, “I’ve got an Olympic gold medalist, cook and barista at home. All in one. What more could I need?”
Sukuna’s scarlet eyes gleamed with pride. “I’d like to think that’s a pretty good package.”
He dropped a kiss on the top of your head before leading you over to the dining table, where a meal fit for a celebration awaited. The table was set simply but thoughtfully. The candles flickered in the center, casting a warm glow on the beautifully prepared dishes.
You could tell he’d put in the effort, carefully selecting ingredients to make something you’d enjoy. It wasn’t the grandest of celebrations, but to you, it felt like everything you needed. He was everything you needed.
He pulled out your chair for you with a flourish, and you sat down, already anticipating the warmth of his homemade cooking. As he began serving the meal, he made sure to tell you all about his day, how he had been following the interview, how much he was cheering for you, how proud he was.
“Tell me about the next step for your project, babe.” Sukuna said, leaning forward with an almost childlike curiosity. “What comes after the prize? What’s next for you?”
You took a moment, considering the future. It was easy to get lost in the immediate tasks ahead, but the truth was, you had dreamed about this moment for so long. The recognition was important, of course, but it was the journey you shared with him that meant the most.
“I’m still figuring that out, all that, my love.” you admitted, taking a sip of the wine he’d poured for you. “But honestly? I think it’s time to start looking beyond just the work. Maybe we’ll finally take that trip we’ve been talking about for years.”
He gave a sly grin. “You mean the one where we actually relax for once?”
You nodded, leaning back in your chair, feeling the weight of the day finally lifting from your shoulders. “Yeah, I think it’s about time.”
He raised his glass in a silent toast, his eyes soft as they met yours. “To that wish!” he said, his voice steady and filled with promise. “And to you, my baby for life. For everything.”
You clink your glass against his, smiling wider. “And to us, for making it all work.”
He smiles back at you, slyly as it was gentle. “Always, to us.”
As the evening drew on, the two of you found yourselves nestled together on the couch, the quiet hum of the city outside filling the silence. The warm glow of the candles lingered, and the soft music played in the background, setting a mood that was calm and content.
Ryomen Sukuna’s arm was draped around your shoulders, his long fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your warm, tender skin as you leaned into his side, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
“So, babe.” Sukuna said, his voice low but playful. “When are we packing our bags for that trip? Off–season still has time for us. You can ask for a break, hopefully. You know the one where we actually relax.”
You smiled, nuzzling into his shoulder as you thought about it. “I’m still not sure where I want to go. I’ve been so caught up in the work, I haven’t even had a chance to really think about it.”
“C’mon, babe.” he teased, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “We could go anywhere. Let’s pick a place that’s got nothing to do with astrophysics. No satellites, no stars, no quantum models. Just us.”
You chuckled softly. “You mean… no coffee? No espresso machines?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened. “Well, I’m not giving up my barista status. But maybe I’ll take a break from making it and just let you enjoy it for once.”
You laughed at that, your hand resting on his chest. “Alright, deal. But what about you? You’re always so busy with your training. You never take a break either.”
He looked down at you, his gaze softening. “You’ve got a point. Maybe it’s time I take a break from everything too, you know? Even volleyball. No gym, no courts, just time for us. I’ll spend the whole trip just making sure you have everything you need.”
Your heart swelled at the thought, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze. “You know, you already do that every day. I don’t need a trip to feel special. Just being here with you is more than enough.”
Sukuna’s smirk softened into something tender. He pulled you closer, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “You’re the only one who thinks like that. But that’s why I love you, babe.”
For a moment, everything else faded almost suddenly. The world outside, the interviews, the awards. It was just you and Sukuna, a quiet evening shared between two people who had built something deeper than any career or recognition.
“I’m serious, my love.” you murmured, your voice quiet but firm. “I don’t need anything else. You’re all I need.”
His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft beat of your hearts in sync. The weight of the world, the prize, and the noise of the outside world all faded into nothingness.
“I’ll keep that in mind, babe.” he whispered. “But I’m still taking you on that trip. Call your boss. We deserve it.”
You leaned into him again, your eyes fluttering closed. “Alright, alright. I’ll make it happen.”
“Good.” He says, placing a kiss against your hair.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. Sukuna didn’t ask for more than you were willing to give, and you didn’t ask for anything beyond the quiet, shared moments that were somehow the most significant.
You could already picture the trip in your mind. It was a place with no distractions, no deadlines, just time to breathe and be with each other. It wasn’t about where you went, but about the peace that came with being together. A perfect escape from the chaos.
As the night wore on, you both lingered in that peaceful space. The gentle rise and fall of Sukuna’s chest beneath your head was enough to lull you into a sense of comfort and safety. And when you finally stood up to get ready for bed, Sukuna’s hand slid into yours like it had always belonged there.
“I’ll make you coffee tomorrow morning, babe.” he said with a grin as you both walked to your bedroom. “But only if you let me spoil you with breakfast again.”
You smiled, nodding. “I think I can manage that.”
And with that, the night unfolded like any other peaceful evening at home with your beloved Sukuna. Just as always, it was quiet, comforting, and full of love. And it was everything you could ever want.
epilogue
The sound of the roaring crowd reverberated through the television speakers, the tension in the air almost palpable as the game neared its final moments. The scoreboard flashed, Ryomen Sukuna’s team was trailing by just one point, the energy in the stadium crackling with anticipation.
The ball soared through the air like a comet, heading straight toward the opposing team’s side. You leaned forward in your seat, your fingers tightening around the mug of coffee made by your love still in your hands.
You were back in the office once again, still doing calculations for the newest improvements on the satellite. From your quiet corner of the laboratory office, you could see it all unfolding on the screen: the powerful serves, the flawless blocks, the high-flying spikes. And there, amidst all the chaos, was Sukuna.
His toned and tanned body, glowing from the vacation sun, flexed with the way he moved. His hair slightly tousled, his face set in that familiar determined expression, and his movements. It was fluid, almost effortless. It showed exactly why he was a gold medalist.
"You’ve got this, my love. Come on!" you whispered under your breath, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you. Still, it felt right to say it, to be part of this moment, even from afar.
The camera zoomed in on Sukuna as he took position for the game-deciding moment. The opposing team was ready for the block, but there was something in the way Sukuna stood, his eyes locked onto the ball. The quiet confidence he wore was contagious, even through the screen.
The ball came soaring toward him. He didn’t hesitate whatsoever. With a powerful, fluid motion, he leapt into the air. His spike cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
The crowd held its collective breath as hope continued to pounce against the heaviness of the unknown. Time seemed to slow as the ball collided with the perfect angle and flew past the blockers.
The stadium exploded with sound. Cheers, clapping, the echo of voices screaming his name. You grinned, watching his team members rush toward him in celebration.
Yet, your heart swelled most when Sukuna’s scarlet eyes locked onto the screen. It was brief, but in that moment, it felt like he was looking right at you.
“You did it, my love!” you whispered to yourself, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you clutched the coffee mug a little tighter. “I knew you would.”
The post-game interviews began, and you took a sip of your coffee, settling in to watch the typical frenzy of reporters bombarding him with questions. You were about to scroll through your phone when a new message popped up on your screen. You smiled when you saw the name.
“Victory’s ours. Now it’s your turn. Don’t think I forgot.”
It was a text from Sukuna. You quickly typed your response.
“I’ll be home in a bit. I’ll see you soon, my love! Same rules as before, right? No satellites, just us.”
A few moments passed before his reply came through.
“Exactly. I’ll be waiting for you, babe. With some hot milk this time.”
You put your phone down and watched as Ryomen Sukuna was handed the microphone. The interviewer was grinning, clearly excited by the energy surrounding him. He pushes away his wet fuschia hair back from falling against his eyes.
“So, Sukuna–san.” the reporter began to say. “You’ve just clinched the game with that impressive spike. Your team has been on fire this season, and you’re back with a vengeance after your Olympic gold medal. How does it feel to be on top once again?”
Sukuna’s usual smirk curled into his lips, but this time it softened, just slightly, when he spoke. “It feels good!” he said, his voice smooth and steady. “But you know, every win is just another step forward. It’s never enough to just get there. You keep pushing for more.”
“Of course, of course.” the reporter continued. “I know you’re planning to go home after this. But please do tell, because we’ve heard a lot about your off–season routine. How do you balance being one of the top athletes in the country with your personal life? Especially with someone like [last name] — sensei, the brilliant astrophysicist who just won the Japan Prize?”
Sukuna leaned back slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as he considered the question. His fingers drummed idly against the armrest.
But his eyes. They were sharp, steady, and glowing with quiet determination—remained locked on the interviewer.
“Well....lots of work. And devotion. In the mess, you always choose each other!” he began, voice low and sure. “Just as I hope for another hope for the gold, there should be hunger for love. Do everything for love. Make sure that hunger never really fades. You put in the hours, the blood, the sweat, just to sit back. And.........”
He paused for a beat, then let his eyes drift toward you across the city through the screen, something undeniably soft slipping into his gaze.
“Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot more long-term. I’ve got medals, trophies, records. But the real win? It’s being able to come home to peace. To her. And having life with her."
"So yeah, I’m still chasing the top. In love, in life, in work. But I’m also building something steady outside of the spotlight. Learning how to show up in all the quiet ways that matter most. That’s how it goes.”
The whole work room was quiet for a heartbeat, like everyone had collectively forgotten to breathe. Then, you found that Hana was on the verge of singing praises all the sudden.
“God, he’s so sweet!” Hana groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “I wish my boyfriend was just like that!”
Kenji wheeled around to her with a laugh. “Good luck with that!”
Haruki raised his hands in surrender, eyes wide. More flustered than he had ever looked in his life. “Hey, I’m trying my best here!”
Kenji shot him a wicked grin. “Oh? Doesn’t sound like it’s enough!”
You stifled a laugh behind your hand as Hana groaned, “Don’t start, you two! this is why I need a Sukuna in my life.”
The interviewer chuckled at the chaos unfolding in the background before turning their attention back to Sukuna. “Well, it sounds like you’re more than just an athlete, you know? You’re the backbone of something really special. A perfect team, indeed. So what’s next? Another championship? Or something new entirely?”
Sukuna cracked his knuckles, that usual glint of fire returning to his expression. “Definitely another championship, for sure.” he said, voice low and certain. “But more than that? I want to set an example. Not just on the field, but off it too. Show that you can be relentless in your goals and soft where it counts. I’ve already got the most important win. The rest? That’s just icing.”
Your heart gave a little flutter, even after all this time. “God….”
And beside you, Hana whispered, “Seriously. Where do I order one of him?”
The room burst into laughter at Hana’s dramatic whisper, even the interviewer chuckling as they scribbled something into their notes. Sukuna glanced over, amused, one brow squirming up in that smug way of his.
The audience laughed, the room buzzing with energy from the live segment. Sukuna’s words continued to become a viral moment once again. You watched through it all.
You saw his smug grin, the teasing glint in his eye as he proudly declared his engagement once again. Even through the screen, his confidence was magnetic, almost obnoxiously charming.
Kenji was still whooping in the background. “Man, that was bold! You better be ready, he just threw you under the spotlight now!”
Hana looked at you with starry eyes. “Seriously! Do you know how many people just fell in love with him after that clip? You better keep a close grip on that ring!”
You smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Trust me. If anyone tried, they’d find out real quick, he’s not the only one who fights professionally.”
Everyone laughed, especially Haruki, who was now clinging to the armrest of the couch like it was a life preserver. “I’m just trying to live up to the standard, okay? Can we lower the bar back to human levels?”
“Nope, nope!” Hana said sweetly. “Not when that guy just announced he’s engaged and is a one woman man like a heartthrob lead in a drama.”
You laughed again, but there was a subtle softness in your gaze now as you looked at the ecstatic and eccentric form of Ryomen Sukuna’s image moving on screen.
Still gesturing and continuing with the interview, but still the corner of his mouth pulled into that familiar cocky grin. You couldn't help but let your eyes sparkle with intrigue and entertainment.
“Yeah, yeah.” you said, waving a hand dismissively, though your voice was warm. “And he comes with a whole lot of maintenance too you know. He takes care of me and loves me. You all hear the charming part, but you don’t see the sulking when I hide the junk food or when he loses one sock and swears the washing machine’s out to get him.”
Haruki blinked. “Wait—he loses socks?”
You nodded solemnly. “Like it’s a personal betrayal every single time.”
Hana gasped. “Even his flaws are adorable!”
Kenji clapped a hand over his heart. “That man is living on final boss energy and soft boy romance tropes. Unreal.”
The interviewer, still recovering from the wave of chaos, leaned forward with a knowing smile. “So, wedding soon?”
Ryomen Sukuna looked at the interviewer, smiling back. “Maybe.”
“Oh, so maybe….it means soon, right?” Hana asks you.
You paused, your voice dropping just a touch. “And I’ll take it. Every time.”
You smiled to yourself, the image already so clear in your mind. “Yeah. When the season’s over and this new paper’s out. We’ve got plans. Just really quiet ones. It’ll be something simple, something ours. But I already know… he’ll be waiting at the altar with that same stupid grin, holding out his hand like always.”
The room settled for a moment, the laughter and teasing softening into a warm hum of something quieter. You were sure it was something close to awe.
The screen behind you still showed Sukuna, his expression full of affection for you even as he continues to talk about his plans this season.
Maryu Hana leaned her head on your shoulder with a theatrical sigh, the kind only she could pull off with just the right amount of over the top flair. You like to think that she was truly ready to go and cry her eyes out.
“That’s it, wah. I believe in love again.” Her voice was touched with mock despair and genuine wonder, like she’d just witnessed a fairytale unfold in real time.
Kenji, never one to be outdone in the dramatics department, wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye with a shaky breath. This was all the sudden.
“I’m gonna cry and I don’t even like romance.” he sniffled, clutching at his chest as if Sukuna’s off-screen declaration had personally wounded him with its sweetness. “This is emotional damage, I wasn’t prepared!”
Laughter rippled through the room, light and affectionate. It was somewhat of a thing here whenever you and Sukuna were brought up.
This was just something people didn’t expect, seeing all his tattoos and all that. Yet the more they knew him, the more they all fell in love with his devotion for you. They were as hooked as you were.
Haruki, still visibly flustered from being compared to Sukuna for the third time in ten minutes, finally dropped the act and threw up his hands in defeat. “Okay, but even I want to be invited to this wedding now, senpai.” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed pink.
Hana snapped her head toward him, lifting her head off your shoulder just long enough to squint suspiciously. “Figure out how you’ll propose to me first!” she huffed, jabbing a finger into his side with faux annoyance.
He winced and held up his hands like a man under interrogation. “I—I’m working on it!”
“You’ve had two years and not even a hint of a ring!” Hana grumbled, arms crossed as she pouted dramatically. “Meanwhile, Ryomen Sukuna is out here declaring eternal love on national TV like some legendary shojo manga lead.”
“Do you want me to compete with The Ryomen Sukuna?” Haruki squeaked, clearly panicking now. “Because that’s a losing game and you know it!”
Kenji leaned over with a smug grin, patting Haruki’s shoulder like a disappointed older brother. “He’s right. That man’s got cheat codes. You? You’re just trying not to burn pasta.”
The group burst into another wave of laughter as Haruki buried his face in his hands and groaned. It was another lovely day in the research lab. You sighed contently as you nodded to yourself. Life was indeed good.
You smiled as you watched your friends bicker and banter, your heart full. Even with Sukuna miles away, his presence had lit up the room like he was sitting right there beside you. And somewhere in all the laughter, the teasing, and the warmth.
For a moment, you knew felt it again. It was that familiar, steady pull. The quiet certainty that no matter how big the world got, no matter how loud the applause or how bright the spotlight.
It was your love, at its core, that remained soft and tender and at the center of it all. And most of all, you knew that man was entirely, irrevocably, yours.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x you#ryomen x reader#ryomen x you#ryomen x y/n#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryoumen sukuna#ryoumen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryoumen x reader#sukuna ryoumen x you#sukuna ryoumen fluff#sukuna jujutsu kaisen#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jjk sukuna#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna jjk
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| HIGH IN LOW PLACES + natsuki seba & yoichi nagumo.
+cw. — fem!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, canon typical themes and elements, mention of alcohol and drinking,ex.plicit smut{ mention ofunprotected, oral acts }, slight angst and fluff.
+wc. — 2k.
+syn.— how do they generally spend their off day ? Is it any different when you're with them?
+notes. — my sk days debut post. yay! yay! i just caught up with it and im still making memes in my head ( yeah, its that bad </3)tap the banner for better quality </3 cuz tumblr made it so whack after upload. the title is from a song by beach weather ( one of my recent favs ). i have some more wips on sk days but lets see if the starts align or they go against me. wanted add two more characters but i got carried away while writing. so next two for next weekend ig. if you catch my favoritism, then good. go ahead & exploit it ;) | redirect to blog navigation.
✦ natsuki seba :
The sun has not even kissed the horizon yet. It is still afternoon. Natsuki was busy building one of his work-in-progress weapons as usual even though it was an off day. The JCC is not exactly asleep but is surely a little doused today. JCC never sleeps. You are in his dorm room, waiting for him to finish his work at least to a certain stage and then have lunch with you but you doubt he is barely aware of what time it is. You are not exactly hungry, at least not for those wet soggy noodles but you do miss him even though he is right in front of you. There are times when you have to feed him lunch so that he can keep working. The dorm room is small for two but given the habits of you two, it always works out, somehow. You sleep when he is working while he sleeps when you are busy or out to get something. But currently, sleep is nowhere to be found at the banks of your eyes.
“Natsu, come eat with me,”
Seba turns his head at first and gives you a look; a look that clearly states: “Are you mad?” Do you know how ridiculous you sound? His eyebrows grow closer while his lips pucker forming a pout and then he goes back to working again. He is mocking you. He is working while you sit idle and flip through a porn magazine from his collection. It’s funny because the porn magazine is not his. It is from Shin. He was just looking out for him. Shin thought it was highly uncanny how a guy could make weapons all day and night, and be obsessed with something so odd that one forgets to masturbate. Doesn’t even have the urge? Or better does his curious side not think about such self-pleasurable prospects? Well, what would Shin know?
“Natsu, come eat me out,”
At first, he looks up from the device he was working on and then spares a glance at you.
You make yourself busy flipping through the pages of that lewd magazine. He is staring. You can feel it.
He goes back to work again but a second later he puts the miniature parts from his hand beside the device and turns his chair towards you rubbing his chin as his elbow stands on the hand-rest of the chair. He is considering it. Holy Shit. You did not mean that.
“Really? Can I?” There is a thin layer of sneer laced underneath his voice.
You closed the magazine and stood up, keeping it on his table. He looks at the cover and a chuckle escapes from his chest probably remembering how he got it or why you ordered him to eat you out; not that he would mind . . . his eyes are back on you again. “Now that I’ve your attention. Finish your lunch and then work on your project.”
“I’m going out to meet someone,” You try to leave but he grabs your wrist pulling you back in front of the bed.
“You're lying.” he snorts out a chuckle.
“You know,” Natsuki gets up and takes slow steps towards you as you back away cornering you as he still holds your hand. “eating you out . . . that might just be the thing I need to finish my project.”
Wait. what?
Before you can ask anything he just puts you on his shoulders, walks to the bed throwing you on the mattress. For someone who is a weapon engineer, who does not spend time on fieldwork he sure has a lot of strength.
“I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to get your attention that’s all.” you try to protest but it does not faze him, not even a little.
“Well you did a good job.” Grabbing your ankles he pulls you towards the edge of the bed before getting on his knees. He points to the cup noodles. “And, i’m not eating that.”
He pulls down your panties and shorts simultaneously. You do not stop him because you crave him as much as he needs this to de-stress or that’s how he would put it. Spreading your legs he places a trail of tender kisses along your thighs threatening your sanity, threatening the urge to push him away but you simply do not want to do that. You want this: him worshipping you like he used to. The moment his lips graze your entrance you arch back, hands resting on the mattress and crumpling the sheets as Seba gets more devoted to the cause. You put one of your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face deeper inclining his face a little to lap his tongue against your pussy lips. You bite your lower lip roughly before a whisper of words comes out of your mouth, “Ya know, you should return those magazines to Shin,”
“What?” he asks; nose glistening with your arousal, wet lips, cherry cheeks, and excited eyes. A curvature appears along your lips as you run your fingers through his hair and tug at it revealing his forehead forcing his eyes to close just for a second. He is still waiting for your response.
“Nothing. Get to work,” you say and he listens to it like a good boy.
✦ yoichi nagumo.
“Is it that tasty?” Nagumo asks drinking an o-choko full of sake from your share. His face distorts feeling the strong fizziness. “How can you drink this?” his voice spikes up as he gulps it down. He hates it, hates this, that how you on every weekend would to go Sakamoto stores and buy liquor to drink out your misery. What a waste! He does not understand why you would spend your weekends drinking, especially when he is here. Sakamoto would often tell you to stop drinking but what’s the point? You nod like a good girl, buy some cup noodles and chips and after the store closes Shin arrives with the booze. Shin is knocked out on the floor already. But he is still keeping up with you not that he enjoys it but he is looking for an opportunity to make you stop and in that process, he ended up taking a few shots. He hates it, he hates this. He hates how you make drinks. It stings on his tongue. This is not because he wants to spend his off day with you. He rarely gets a day off and he can not go that to waste, can he now?
“Wanna fuck?”
You look at him with heavy eyes and a flustered face for a few seconds. “No.”
He is stone-cold sober. He is not even that drunk, to begin with. You are. You are still so dizzy and slumber threatening your eyes but you force them open divulging, “Too much work.” Ah! The slur. The slur in your voice. His head tilts as a smile breaks on his face like a plague.
“I’ll do the work.” Nagumo insists. “All of it.” His voice is low, slow. He wants to get through to you. “I’ll make you feel so good.” He does not want you to dismiss his words as just a drunken haze or something like that. He is already neck-deep in guilt for being unable to give as much time he wants, as much as the time you demand and crave from him. He can not sabotage your security but he would not deny that he likes meeting with you in secret; gives him some sort of thrill he thinks. “I promise,” he mumbly adds.
But he does not want to overdo it or wear you out. He can’t. He won’t. He is a good when he is with you. “Woah, careful.”
After moving the bottles and cups aside, now you are all on your fours crawling towards him like a cat. He can see your boobs, the nipples— everything. Wait, is that his tank top? He must have left it when he came to you here last time. He can’t remember when but he remembers he lost that one black tank top.
As you reach, your face inches away from him you lean for a kiss but he sways away. It instantly ruins your mood. He is smirking now as you are pouting. It turns into a snort. “Shin’s still here,” He points at the boy sleeping on the couch. You glance at the boy and then look at Nagumo. He is confused. You are impatient. Fuck it.
You hold on to his shoulders trying to get into his lap, legs sprawled apart and as you make yourself comfortable your legs get clamped around his waist. He does not lose his balance but rather helps you with it.
“Babe, Shin’s still here,” Nagumo repeats making you remember.
“Don’t care,” you shout and Nagumo covers your mouth with his palm while his index finger stills over his lips shushing you. You nod. It seems he got through to you.
You do not allow him to dodge him anymore.
You lean into his hand that is still over your mouth, nuzzling against his palm. He shoves his fingers into your hair, his index finger grazing behind your ears igniting your skin with goosebumps. His thumb roughly stretches across your bottom lip before you kiss the tip of it but he swats his hand away before you could suck on it; grabbing his other arm and you slide it under the blacktop. Nagumo does not squeeze your boobs. Not yet. He does not want to do it, not like this. Last time, both of you were sober and now both of you are drunk: you on alcohol and him on you. You buck your hips trying to get closer to him.
“God Nagumo, why are you being like this? You said you'd do all the work. . .”
because it's amusing. The fact that you are scolding him with a whispering tone is making him tremble in mirth. He is barely holding it; you are frustrated, drunk, and horny. God! What is he going to do with you? Can he really hold himself back? Maybe he should not have proposed the idea in the first place. His hands are stretched, settled on the floor as he watches you: intently, nervously.
“Kiss me.”
And your lips instantly dance against his in a frenzy yet his hands are still on the floor. Even in this state, you manage to unbuckle his belt with one hand as the other works on the buttons of his shirt. It turns him on how swift you are too. You would be very skilled in his line of work. Maybe you are, too skilled that he did not even notice. Nah! you can't be a spy.
“Put it in” you command this time breaking the kiss. Nagumo was just starting to get to the good part of the kiss only to get deprived of it. He does not waste a second to abide by your said words. If he did, he might have to walk out thinking out the possibilities of how odd it was for a first meeting with you.
Strong hands against the plush of your hip as he adjusts his cock to your entrance. He pushes aside your panty before rubbing it against your entrance. Your hands squeeze the muscles of his shoulders.
“Without . . . condom?”
So, is that why he was delaying it? You thought he didn't want this but mentioned it for the sake of pity and now he is trying to get on your nerves to wake Shin up.
Your brain freezes after such a flow of info. You give him a nod.
Nagumo swallows before his cock goes inside without rubber. It's electric: the feeling of your flesh around his.
“Take me to that room,” you gasp out the words.
“What?”
“I said what I said.”
You become so handful when drunk not that he minds. He takes you to the room kicking back the door behind you to close before crashing onto the bed.
The next morning Shin has to buy a pair of black trousers for Nagumo and he does it without even questioning. He really does not wanna know what happened after he took you inside the room.
@underratedcharactercorner
@interstellar-inn
#꩜— interstellar communications#sakamoto days x y/n#sakamoto days x you#sakamoto days x reader#sakamoto days smut#nagumo x reader#nagumo yoichi x reader#nagumo smut#nagumo yoichi smut#nagumo yoichi#natsuki seba#natsuki x reader#natsuki smut#seba smut#seba x reader#seba natsuki#sakamoto days headcanons#sakamoto days#sm days spoilers#smut headcanons#smut scenarios#smut drabble#sm days x y/n#sm days x reader#sakadays x reader#sakadays#sakadays spoilers#sakadays headcanons#sakamoto days nagumo#sakamoto days natsuki
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"baby"
tldr: all the way seungcheol uses your nickname a/n: this has been written and waiting to be posted forEVER but i'm finally ready (i am down horrific for this man)
seungcheol x reader fluff wc: 1k
reprimands: to make sure you know he's yours
“baby.” his tone is firm, controlling. he thought it would be a good idea to invite you to his shoot today, thinking you'd like to see him in the expensive clothes he was always put in for cover shoots. what he didn’t account for was you pouting over the friendly makeup artist assigned to him for the day.
“don’t pout. you know i only have eyes for you.” he was trying to reason with you but his patience was wearing thin. you were being difficult on purpose and he couldn’t really do anything about it given the need to protect his image and act as professional as possible. you just huffed, frown settling deeper on your face.
“you’re being a little unreasonable,” based on the look you gave him that was the completely wrong thing to say to you. he turned when he heard them call for him from set. it was time to shine. he walked over to where you sat, bending down to meet your eyes, “if you’re good for the rest of the day i’ll reward you when we get home, baby.”
whines: when he doesn’t have your attention
“baby,” he could hear the pathetic tone in his voice but he just couldn’t help it. he’d had a long day of meetings and listening to presentations, the only thing keeping him going was knowing that you would be waiting at home for him when it was all over. you’d look at him with your soft eyes and dote on him all weekend, just how he liked. now here he was, waiting to be coddled and you were too busy giggling at your phone to spare him a glance.
“what could be so entertaining on the phone that you can’t spend time with me?” he was laying it on thick but he was desperate at this point, especially when his question was only answered by another tittering laugh that was still not directed at him. at this point, he was fed up. he craned his neck to see what had you all giggly.
“oh my god. you’re kidding me!” he couldn’t believe his eyes. playing on your phone was an edit of him from the most recent gose episode. the clip wasn’t even his best moment in the episode, but he did look quite handsome that day so he can’t blame you for watching. he still really wanted to be fussed over, “seriously, put your phone down. i’m much cuter in person, baby.”
cat-calls: as you walk by in his favorite dress
“baby!” he called out to you, dragging out the ‘y’ sound. you paused, stopping in the middle of the bedroom as you crossed from the closet to the ensuite bathroom. he was seated on the bed, tying his shoelaces when he caught sight of you in the soft pink sundress he loved so much. you looked at him with big, curious eyes, wondering why he had stopped you in the middle of getting ready for your date in the park.
“spin for me.” he got up from the bed and reached for your hand. he held it up, above your head and twirled you in a circle, eyes taking in every inch of you. he was excited to have a picnic with you but now he was considering scrapping the whole thing to stay behind. seeing you in a sundress always did something to him.
“you’re so beautiful,” he was full of compliments, making sure you knew exactly how beautiful he thought you were. he considered himself a lucky man every day he got to spend with you. he supposed his desire for you could wait a few hours. he should spoil you rotten with a date in the park, before spoiling you in bed. “sure you really want to go out, baby?”
admires: because he’s proud of you
“baby,” his voice is soft, eyes even softer as he cups your face. he’d just gotten home from his schedule and you’d greeted him at the door, immediately sharing the news of your promotion with him. it was a small, mostly lateral move, with a tiny raise but you were still excited to share the news with him. he kisses you deeply, trying to convey his pride to you wordlessly.
“i should tell my mom. she’s going to be so happy for you.” this made you blush. you knew he’d be proud but you didn’t really expect him to be so happy that he’d want to tell everyone. it wasn’t even a big deal. you begged him not to call his mom right that moment and instead conceded to a spontaneous celebratory dinner at your favorite restaurant.
“i’m so proud of you,” this was now the sixth time he told you this since you shared the news with him, the second on the car ride to the restaurant. you blushed every time he said it, and had asked him to stop, to which he refused. in fact, he had doubled down. he threatened to have a cake brought to the table at dinner if you tried to silence him again. at a red light, he fished his phone out of his pocket, handing it over to you, “call my mom, for real. i want us to share the news with her. she’s going to be so proud, baby.”
barks: on accident
“baby!” the name came out harsh, frustrated. you’d never heard it that way before; this time, it wasn’t even directed at you. the dressing room fell silent and you watched the blush creep up his neck. the boys were never going to let him live this down. he turned from you, the conversation you were having before he went on stage now gone from his mind.
“sorry, i meant to say ‘seungkwan’”. he was trying to save the situation but it was awkward. not only had he tried to reprimand his members but he’s accidentally used your name to do it, embarrassing himself in front of his members, staff, and you. what was once a bustling hub of movement and concert preparation came to a screeching, uncomfortable halt at his faux pas.
“we know you like seungkwan, but we didn't know you liked him that much, hyung.” jeonghan broke the tension saving his leader and ushering in some polite laughter. the commotion slowly began again and he turned back to you. his face looked normal, probably due to the makeup, but his neck was bright red. he was flustered, “they’re never going to let this go, baby.”
#seventeen#seventeen imagines#svt#seventeen fluff#svthub#seventeen scenarios#svt x reader#seventeen seungcheol#seungcheol imagine#choi seungcheol#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol fluff
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poor thing | m. murdock
NSFW a/n: this is kindaaa a full version of the blurb i posted a couple of days ago because i've been in a mood so uhm. just a lot of horny stuff. the reader is very touch starved and also uses hearing aids. so! have fun with this :)) uhm this got super self indulgent at the end but i think it's pretty good-- not to toot my own horn or anything but uhmmmm enjoy!! warnings: dom/sub dynamics, nicknames, Matt flipflopping between being a soft dom and a hard dom bc i couldnt make up my mind, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, uhhh dirty talk, cursing, reader is suuuuper touch starved wordcount: 4.3k
You have brunch plans for tomorrow morning.
You, Matt, Karen, Foggy and Marci—Nothing but mimosas and French toast.
If you can make it through the night, of course.
Okay, fine, it’s not that dramatic. But sometimes, you think you might die—Right then and there, cause of death? Matt Murdock.
You had planned to stay the night, bringing an overnight bag with you to work. And at around 1 a.m., after a homecooked meal, a movie and sitting curled against his side, the two of you realized you should probably get some sleep.
You brush your teeth in his bathroom, take your medication in his kitchen, and then you go to get changed. You dig through your bag, trying to find your pajamas—Your shorts are here, but not the tee shirt you were planning to wear.
Not in any of the little pockets of your overnight bag.
You twist the shorts in your hands awkwardly, watching as Matt pulls out sweatpants from his drawer to wear.
“Matthew?” You say softly, tilting your head.
“Yes, sweetheart?” He wonders, tilting his head back to you.
“Could.. I borrow a tee shirt? I guess I forgot mine.” You see a smile form on his face.
He shuffles through his drawers, fingers running over tags. Then, he turns back to you, and hands you a black tee shirt. You look at it for a second, reading the text on the front of the shirt. Then you grin.
“My Chemical Romance?” You read. Matt’s face flushes a bit.
“I had.. a bit of an emo phase in High School, okay?”
“That’s all I get? You’re gonna drop that on me and not give me anymore details?” You wonder.
“Let’s just say for a blind man, I am.. very good at doing eyeliner.”
You giggle.
“You’re probably better than I am.” You’re not big on makeup.
“Just go get changed.” He tells you, turning back to his drawer.
You oblige, heading into his bathroom to change. When you slip the tee shirt over your head, you pick the fabric up and put it up to your nose, inhaling his scent. You can’t help yourself. He’s got this very subtle vanilla smell to him. Then, you make your way back to his bedroom, tossing your clothes over your duffle bag.
You stand by the doorway, sort of.. taken back by the look of him. He’s sprawled out in his bed, just in a pair of fuzzy socks and sweatpants. Your face flushes. You’re about to sleep in a boy’s bed—With him in it!
You shake your head, chasing the silly thought out of it.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” He doesn’t even have his glasses on. When you realize this, your heartbeat picks up. You’ve only been going out for about two weeks, just enough for you to become curious about his eyes.
“This is weird..” You mumble, and his head tilts curiously.
“What do you mean?”
A smile breaks out on your face.
“I don’t know,” You confess, “It’s just.. I can barely handle it when you kiss me in front of our friends, I’m overwhelmed at the idea of like.. cuddling all night.”
“Well, this isn’t in front of our friends.” He reminds. He pats the bed next to him. “Come sit,” He offers. He stays still, as if he’s scared you’ll run off like a skittish animal.
You move to sit on the bed, an inch or two away from each other. Matt’s hand finds yours. You lean your head against his shoulder. Then, you remember something, tilting your head to face him, leaning your chin on his shoulder.
“Matt, I won’t be able to hear your alarm clock go off,” You remind. Your hearing aids will be out while you sleep, and you’re not likely to hear his alarm clock. “We’ll be late and—”
Matt kisses your forehead.
“I’ll wake you up,” he says.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” You smile and press a soft kiss onto his lips. He stops, basking in the initiated affection.
You take out your hearing aids, and then melt into the bed, waiting for Matt to wrap his arms around you. He does, his arms snaking around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your next. Then, he says, right into your good ear so you could hear him,
“This okay?”
You smile.
“Yeah.” You promise, your hand wrapping around his arm, squeezing it tightly. You’re kept warm all night. There’s this moment at around three a.m., and your eyes flutter open as you wake up.. rather randomly.
You take a minute to admire Matt’s sleeping figure in the dark. His face is.. peaceful. Your lips twitch up. Then, you lean in and press a soft kiss on his jaw. You’re not used to physical affection.. But you’re doing your best to change that.
-
In the morning, Matt keeps his promise.
He removes his hand from your skin to turn off the alarm clock blaring,
’10:00 a.m.’
His hand runs over your back, since you’re now laying on your stomach, hugging Matt and a pillow. You breath deep, and for a moment, Matt tries to imagine what you’re dreaming about.
Your family?
Your job?
Him?
But, he knows you have to get up soon, so he begins to kiss you—
He starts at your cheek, before moving to your neck, and then, when he reaches your clothed shoulder, he moves your sleeve up your arm, beginning to kiss your arm, as his fingers tease the hem of your shirt, unsure if you’d kill him if that’s how you wake up, when your eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” he smiles. He talks at just the right level so you can understand him.
“What’re you doing, Matthew?”
“Just waking you up,” He leans down and kisses your arm again. A shiver runs through your body.
“Okay, I’m awake now.” You grin.
“Okay, great,” You lean over and grab your hearing aids, putting them on. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” he requests, “My treat.”
“Like.. a fancy dinner or just something casual?”
“Fancy.” He confirms. “Fancy clothes and everything.”
Your heartbeat quickens.
“Kay.”
Matt leans forward and kisses your cheek.
He almost moves to get up, but he stops to ask,
“What were you dreaming about?”
You smile a bit.
“The Taj Mahal.” He laughs.
“The Taj Mahal?”
“Mhm.”
“You’re so..”
“Weird? Annoying? Nerdy?”
“Fascinating.”
He takes note at the way your heart races when he says that.
-
After brunch that morning, you and Matt split up to go get ready for your date, and you’re mostly successful.
But, you struggle with your eyeliner.. And then you remember something Matt told you last night. So you wait for Matt to get to your apartment. When he does, he comes with flowers. You smile as he kisses you hello, and you take the flowers.
You come back to him as you’re slipping on your shoes.
“I have a favor to ask,”
“Anything,” He smiles.
“Do my eyeliner?” You offer him your eyeliner pen, and he smiles.
“Sit on the couch,” he gestures, taking the pen from you. You sit on the couch, and Matt kneels down a bit, leaning in to feel around your face, getting a good feel of where your features are. Then, he grips the pencil in his hand and uses those handy heightened senses to delicately do your eyeliner.
He smiles when he finishes.
“Okay, all done. Do mine?” He asks, and you smile.
“Sure, how do you want to—” and before you can finish, Matt has moved quickly to sit on the chair before pulling you onto his lap. You let out a squeak, your face red. He grins.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He feigns innocence.
“You’re such a pain.” You huff, and he just smiles, leaning into kiss your cheek. You blush, avoiding looking at him now.
“C’mon, just do my eyeliner for me,” he requests, and you let out a huff as you gently tilt his head up towards you.
“You know you need to take your glasses off, right?”
“I know,” he smiles, and his hand is removed briefly from your waist to take off his glasses. Then, slowly and methodically, you begin applying the eyeliner, trying to ignore how nervous this whole thing is making you.
“Your heart’s beating pretty fast,” He smirks. You bite back a sarcastic comment, and his hand begins to rub up and down your side. You pause your application of the eyeliner to squirm a bit in his lap. “What’s the matter, baby?” he coos.
“Oh, you’re such a dick.” You mumble, your grip on his chin tightening as you finish applying his eyeliner. He smiles and slips his glasses back on, as you climb off his lap. “C’mon, I’m starving—”
“Me too,” he says before grabbing your arm, and pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. His tongue brushes against your lip before slipping inside your mouth. After the initial urge to run away dissipates, you lean into the kiss, only for Matthew to pull away. “Alright, let’s head out.”
You try to find words, but you’re breathless from that kiss. Instead, you betray yourself. You let out this needy little whine, and Matt just smirks.
“What? If you’re whining over one kiss, I can’t imagine how you’ll be later.”
You tilt your head, cautiously. Matt wants to tell you how dog like that is, how it’s easily one of his favorite things about you.
“What do you mean, later?”
He kisses your head, and opens the door to your apartment, gesturing for you to walk out.
“Use that pretty head of yours. What do you think I mean?”
Your face flushes as you take a few steps out of the apartment.
“I don’t know.”
He closes the door behind him, and then his arm takes yours.
“Guess.”
-
To you, Dinner feels like it takes a million damn years.
You suspect that’s partially because of the way Matthew insatiably teases you.
His hand stays on your thigh throughout all of dinner.
When he wants you to try something, he gathers the food on a fork and glances to you.
“Open,” he says, and when he puts the fork in your mouth, you bite the food off the fork. “Good pup,” He hums, and of course, you blush.
He licks his lips like he’s quietly begging for a taste, and at some point during the dinner, he leans over the table and asks you quietly,
“Do you think I can’t smell how wet you are, kid?”
So by the time you two get home, it’s all you can do not to get on your hands and knees and beg him for something more than just a couple of teasing words. Maybe that’s what he wants. You’re not sure—Your brain is fuzzy.
You step into Matt’s apartment and toss the jacket that he wrapped around your shoulders onto the couch as he steps in, putting his cane and glasses down first.
“Can I ask you a question?” You finally blurt out.
He smiles, sensing your anticipation.
“Sure.”
“Are we.. are we gonna sleep together tonight?” You can’t help but ask. Matt chuckles gently.
“Do you want to sleep together?”
“Yes, please,” you finally answer.
“Go sit on the couch.” He orders softly, and he hears no objections as you take off your heels before sitting on the couch. He breathes deep and cracks the bones in his neck. He knows you have no idea what you’re in for.
He runs a hand over his jaw, trying to decide how he’ll start. He knows no matter how he does it, he’ll absolutely torture you, poor thing. So, he starts with sitting down next to you, placing his hand on your thigh.
He smirks as you squirm.
“What’s the matter, baby?” He coos softly.
“Oh, you know damn well what’s—”
Matt moves his hand from your thigh to grip your chin.
“Shh..” He starts, “If you want me to fuck you, you’re going to have to knock off the attitude,” He demands gently.
“Can’t help it—”
“You haven’t even tried.” He scoffs. “Come on, just be good for me and I’ll make all the thoughts disappear from your pretty little head.” His grip on your chin tightens, and he leans forward to brush his lips against yours. “Answer me.”
“Okay,” You breath out, “Okay, sure, I’ll be good,” You promise, and Matt kisses you in approval. But he doesn’t pull away after a moment. Instead, his hands move to cup your cheeks. He deepens the kiss and doesn’t stop you as you reposition yourself, now sitting on his lap.
His hand trails down, beginning to massage your thighs as you kiss him. He can smell how wet you are, hear how fast your heart is beating.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips again, so that he can explore your mouth. He studies it like its his damn job, and he relishes in the tiny gasps and moans that he’s able to draw out of you.
You begin rocking your hips against him, and his hands move to your hips, holding you in place. He pulls away from the kiss, and is met with your whining.
“What’d I tell you about the attitude?” He wonders, and you bite your lip, just desperate for him to continue. One hand releases your hip and reaches up to tug your hair. You let out a whimper. “Answer me.” His voice is steady, but deep—He knows exactly the effect he has over you.
“To stop it,” You answer, and he clicks his tongue. You try not to react, but Matt smirks at your attempt at self-control.
“Poor thing,” He coos, “You just need someone to take care of you, huh? Order you around, fuck you dumb..” He hums. When you squirm a bit in his lap, Matt decides to kiss you again, wanting you as brainless as he can get you.
He slowly pulls away, and he takes a second to stop, to catch his breath. He knows you need the second too, so he just inhales as he listens to the sound of your heartbeat, anxiously awaiting his next move.
“If you want to stop, you just say ‘Lava’. Got it?”
“Lava, got it.” You know he’s looking for verbal affirmation, that you understand what’s about to happen might get.. less than vanilla. He nods, and places an uncharacteristically soft kiss to your lips.
“Take your dress off,” He commands softly, “And then get on your knees for me.”
For a moment, you contemplate being bratty. You contemplate not following his order. But, you decide against it. You stand and slip out of your dress, left in just your jewelry, underwear and pretty makeup.
You kneel between his legs and watch as his lips form this smile that makes your stomach churn.
“Good dog,” and he chuckles when you lean your head against his thigh. “Poor thing,” He repeats his early sentiment, before he stands up. He takes a step towards his bedroom, and then, his hand comes down to pet your hair—
Before he grips it, starting to pull you by your hair all the way to his bedroom, listening as you whimper, trying to keep up with him. When he releases your hair, you pant softly from the pain as you sit next to his bed, watching as Matt unties his tie, wrapping it around his hand like you would a bandage.
“Sorry, honey,” he coos, suddenly soft, “That was mean, wasn’t it?” He wonders, and you pause, not sure if he wants you to actually answer. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Go ahead, you can answer.”
“Yeah, it was,” You finally answer, “The fuck did you do that for?” Matt lets out this dry chuckle.
“There’s that attitude again,” He hums. He leans down and effortlessly scoops you up with his arms and puts you on his bed, “Yeah. I was mean.” He nods, “Let me make it up to you?” He’s not really asking for your permission, and he proves that by grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed.
“Are you going to stop being mean to me?” You wonder, and he can’t help the smile that forms on his face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” He moves to lean closer to you, before unwrapping the tie from his hand and then, he ties it around your head, making sure to lay it right over your eyes. “I never promised that. I just promised I’d make it up to you. Ask how I’ll do that.”
You inhale and exhale, a little thrown out of the moment.
“How?” You ask, desperately in love with him either way.
“I’m gonna ruin that pretty eyeliner,” He kneels between your legs.
“How are you—” You gasp when he pulls down your underwear quickly, slipping it down to your ankles, and then throwing them to the side.
“You’re a smart kid, I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.” He says, before leaning in to lick a stripe across your cunt. Then, he starts to lick and suck on your folds, devouring you. You moan loudly, hands finding his hair as you try to get used to the feeling.
And after a couple of moments of eating you out, You do get used to it, and you absolutely melt into the bed, suddenly forgiving him for all his mean moments earlier. You’d forgive anything he did if he just stays on his knees, eating you out.
His fingers come up to your clit to gently rub circles into it, before moving his fingers to slip right between your folds, relishing in the way you whine, in the sound of your moans. His fingers begin to pump in and out of you.
He licks stripe after stripe into your cunt, his scruff scratching your thighs as he eats you out. You pull and tug at his hair.
“I’m—I’m close,” You finally manage to gasp out,
Matt just hums out an, ‘Mhm’, too busy lapping up your juices on his tongue. His nose brushes against your clit, and you’re suddenly coming undone as his licks your juices up. You ride out your high with Matt’s face between your thighs.
After a couple of minutes, he slowly comes up for air, head tilting upwards.
“Feeling okay?” his voice is soft now.
“Yeah,” You breath with a breathy sigh. “Just.. thinking.” Your hands absentmindedly comb through his hair.
“’Bout what, baby?” He asks, and leans in, pressing a kiss to your clit. When you whine, he coos mockingly, “Aw, poor thing.. Answer the question.”
“..You.” You try, and he scoffs, before biting your thigh.
“Try again, brat.”
You blush.
“It’s embarrassing!”
“I just buried my face in your pretty pussy and you’re worried about an embarrassing thought?” Matt asks, and you huff.
“Well, when you put it that way—” He bites your thigh again. “Fine! Fine,” You huff. “I’m thinking about the seven wonders of the world.”
A beat.
Matt lets out a low chuckle, and your face flushes.
“Matthew!”
“What? I can’t help it,” He giggles, and as you start to move away, but he grips your thighs and pulls you closer, “Okay, okay. What about the seven wonders of the world?”
“I’ll tell you if you take off the blindfold.”
“Oh,” He lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, poor thing, this isn’t a negotiation.”
“Seems like it is—” He scoffs at this, “It is! You’re the one on your knees, I’ve already came, seems like I have a bit of leverage here—”
Matt rolls his eyes, and stands up, his hand coming up to your head to the blindfold. He pulls it off and takes just a second to brush hair from your face. Then, he wraps the tie around your neck. He pulls a bit, just snuggly tugging and applying a bit of pressure. He towers over you now, and he pulls the tie up a bit so that you’re looking at him.
“Listen to me, you little brat,” He growls, “What did I say about the attitude?” You just let out a whimper, and he clicks his tongue again. “I bet I can fuck the attitude out of you. Or at least, I can try.” He snaps, tightening the tie around your neck.
Then, he works on his pants and tugs his dress pants down just enough for him to pull his cock out. Then, he shifts the two of you so that you’re sitting on his lap, his tip teasing your folds.
He tugs on the tie, pulling you forward so he can bite and suck on your neck, and you begin to moan, whine at the feeling of. Matt just bites down, marking you in every way he can.
“Not used to all this attention, huh?” And then, Matt says his phrase of the night, “Poor thing,” He hums. His hand comes up to uncharacteristically kindly move the hair from your ear, and then begins to kiss every inch of your skin.
You’re like puddy in his hands. Mendable, soft.
He guides his cock to your folds, and then, as he distracts you with kisses and hickeys, guides you to sink down onto his cock. When you do, you let out a breathy moan, unused to the feeling of being so full..
After giving you a minute to adjust, Matt begins to thrust into you, encourages by your moans and egging you on with whispers of encouragement,
“Taking my cock so well for me,” He praises, planting kisses down your neck, “Like you’re made for me to fuck you like this,” He gasps as he feels you clench around him. “Fuck, So good for me,” He says. It’s like he’s addicted to kissing you, to kissing your neck and shoulders and every inch of skin he can get his lips on.
He fucks you intensely, and you feel every single thrust as it echoes through your body, and the longer he goes, the more he whispers in your ear, (“Come on, pretty thing, just keep taking my cock, just like that—Oh, god—Fuck, Baby, you feel so good,”) the closer you get to your climax.
“’m gonna—”
“I know, I know,” He hums, and then he smirks as he smells salty tears in the air. Tears run down your face, and Matt knows he’s won. “Aw, baby.. Did you ruin your eyeliner?” When you don’t respond, Matt pulls your hips down, commanding you to answer.
“Yes!” You whimper, a sob escaping your lips.
“Poor thing,” he coos, and his thrusts are particularly intent as he continues, “Poor, poor baby,” He hums, kissing your shoulder before biting down on it. And without another word, you grip his arm as you clench around him, cumming around his cock. He thrusts a few more times, “Gotta pull out before—”
“No!” You whine, “Just come inside, it’s fine—”
“Are you sure, I don’t want to—”
“Matt,” you whine, beginning to roll your hips, desperate to feel him come inside you. You whimper softly, as Matt thrusts into you, finally coming inside you. He rides out his own high before his thrusts come to a slow.
“Fuck,” He gasps, sweat dripping down his neck. “You were even better than I could imagine..” he confesses.
For a moment, the pair of you just breath. His hands slowly rub up and down your sides. Thoughts seem far away.. in the best way possible.
He knows you need a bath. He knows he needs to clean you and himself up. He knows he needs to teach you to suck him off. He should ask you how that was, what he should do again, what you would’ve preferred. He has a damn list, but all he can think to ask is—
“What were you thinking about earlier?”
“What?” you ask, cock still buried deep inside you.
“After I ate you out,” He starts, “You were thinking about the seven wonders of the world. What about them?”
You study his face. There’s no mocking intent, no malice in his voice.
“I was thinking about The Gardens of Babylon. How deeply I relate to them.”
“What? How can you relate to ancient architecture?”
“Well, we don’t know if they were even real. Maybe they were, but there are theories that it was all just.. poetic. That they weren’t real, and that the story is just.. something we choose to believe.”
His face twitches in confusion, trying to process what you mean, how can you relate to ancient architecture, especially ancient architecture that you don’t even know the certainty of.
“So, which one would I be?”
He expects you to ask questions for confirmation.
Instead, you answer almost immediately.
“The Roman Colosseum.” You grin.
“The colosseum?” He questions.
“Strong. Stable. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.” You pause, a smirk on your face. Your finger comes up to his nose. You run it down the shape of his nose, “Roman.” He grins.
“So, we’re the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum?”
“No, no,” You shake your head, “we’re not the Gardens of Babylon and the Roman Colosseum! We’re the wonder of the world that’s built out of white marble, a wonder made because death doesn’t stop love-- We are the Taj Mahal.” You offer.
“Oh, my mistake.” He grins. “We’re the Taj Mahal.”
“See? You get it.” You smile back.
Matt thinks for a moment.
“So this morning, when I asked you what you were dreaming about this morning.. Technically, you were dreaming about us?”
You smile.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Matt just kisses you deep, pushing you back onto the bed as he begins to unbutton his shirt, tossing it off to the side.
The two of you spend your night intermittently going back and forth between passionate lovemaking—Part of Matt’s love language and talking and expressing how much you love him in an abstract way—Part of your love language.
Neither of you get much sleep that night.
#daredevil smut#daredevil#doe thoughts#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock smut#matt murdock fluff#matt murdock x you#smut
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care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)
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in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you
warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999
a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀
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“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”
You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.
You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.
He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.
“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.
“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.
He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”
The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.
You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”
“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”
You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”
“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”
You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.
Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”
He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”
-
The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.
“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”
Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”
“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.
“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”
His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”
You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.
“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”
“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.
That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”
Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”
He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”
“‘Toru!”
He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”
“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”
“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.
You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”
“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”
You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.
You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.
He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.
He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.
You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.
You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.
Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.
“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“
“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.
He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”
“I did not feel you up.”
He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”
You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”
That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.
To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”
It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.
You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.
You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.
“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.
“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”
“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.
His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.
He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”
“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”
Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”
He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”
It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”
He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”
Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.
BONUS:
“‘Toru…”
“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.
“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”
A brief silence follows.
“Go to sleep.”
#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#gojo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#fluff#arranged marriage#gojo’s wife series
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My mother has absolutely fallen in love with Gale and it’s the single funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.
So for some context:
My mom is in her late 60’s and can’t live alone so she lives with me. She enjoys watching video games as an alternative to tv (this woman played the hell out of the PS1 so I’m not surprised). She always gives me her reviews on the games I play and loves some more than others. With that being said…
She hates Baldur’s Gate 3. Hates it. Despises it. “Worst game you’ve played by far.” She doesn’t like fantasy genres and doesn’t like a whole lot of combat. Now admittedly she didn’t start watching the game until Act 2 (health issues) so she missed the entire opening and Act 1 and had NO idea what was going on. I tried explaining as best I could but she didn’t fully understand.
Now she doesn’t like anything remotely spooky so the shadow lands was a nightmare for her to watch. Hated it. Hated the characters.
Astarion was too mean. Didn’t like Wyll’s horns and red eye. Karlach was too loud and didn’t like the horns. Shadowheart was too gloomy. Lae’zel was too creepy looking and mean (still haven’t won her over in Lae’zel). Halsin was “creepy looking” (I don’t get it either). Hadn’t met Jaheria or Minsc yet.
Now admittedly I hardly used Gale in my first play through so she never saw him or knew he existed until Act 3. But the second she saw him? Heart eyes. Put on her glasses to look at him better. Rizzard of Waterdeep got her GOOD.
Loved him to the point where she asked if I’d play it again JUST to romance Gale so I agreed because I was going to romance him at some point anyway. And when I tell you that woman is SMITTEN.
Every day I get home from work and it’s “when are you going to play your game? I want to see Gale.” “Kiss Gale. Do a kiss. There’s different kisses? Do them all I want to see the kisses.” “HE HAS A CAT??”
Very quick to tell me on what romance dialogue options to pick. I have no say in the matter they’re all her choices.
Oh and Mystra? Hates her. Can’t stand her. “Blast Mystra with your fireball thingy.” “Can you kill her? You should kill her.” “Gale better be praising you and not Mystra.”
I mean it’s a complete turn around and this is now her favorite game simply because of Gale Dekarios.
And if you’re curious, here’s her ranking of most to least favorite characters.
Gale (and Tara by extension)
Karlach
Astarion
Wyll (was very upset when I had to reject post dance kiss)
Halsin
Boo (not Minsc, just Boo)
Jaheria
Shadowheart
Lae’zel
Withers (genuinely afraid of him)
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#Gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale romance#Astarion#karlach#wyll ravengard#Halsin#shadowheart#lae'zel#withers#rizzard of waterdeep
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welcome home | spencer reid x reader
word count: 2.2k, rating: 18+/explicit
warning/tags: smut and fluff, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, munch!spencer reid, established relationship
a/n: hello! this is my first spencer/criminal minds fic and am new to posting fic to tumblr!! i wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy lol. please let me know if u like this, enjoy!
You wake when the bedroom door creaks open. Spencer’s been meaning to get it fixed, but he’s been away so often recently.
A dark figure in the doorway startles you as you blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness, and you reach for your phone as you sit up but a familiar voice soothes any of your anxieties.
“Hey,” Spencer says quietly. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“No, it’s okay,” you answer, even though Spencer coming in most definitely woke you up. “Hey. Welcome home.”
Spencer walks over to your side of the bed, turning the lamp on the bedside table on. The gentle, yellow glow fills the room. You see how sweetly Spencer is looking at you. You smile up at him, and Spencer leans in to kiss you. He tastes like coffee.
“Told you not to drink coffee so late,” you chastise playfully. “You always have trouble falling asleep when you do.”
“Emily made me a cup on our way back from New York, I couldn’t say no,” Spencer shrugs, smiling.
You shake your head, pulling the knot of his tie loose.
“Go take a shower before you come to bed, baby,” you say, patting his cheek. “I’ve been missing cuddling my boyfriend to sleep.”
“Don’t wait up. Get some more rest, Y/N,” Spencer hums, before he turns around and enters the bathroom.
You can’t fall back asleep, not just yet. You decide to scroll mindlessly on your phone while the sound of the shower running provides some ambient noise. You hear Spencer’s not-so-in-tune humming over the water, and it makes you smile to yourself.
Spencer always scolds you for taking too long in the shower. Says it’s a waste of water. You often suggest you should shower together, leaving Spencer a bumbling, red-faced mess. It’s cute.
It doesn’t take long for him to step out of the shower, towel-drying his hair. You turn to face him to make a cheeky comment, but all you see is a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping down his torso, tanned skin still wet. Your lips parted still, you look up and meet his eyes. Spencer quirks an eyebrow, curious.
You swallow, attempting to make a smooth comeback. “Couldn’t have towelled yourself off in there?”
Spencer chuckles, “Didn’t bring a change of clothes in. Thought I might as well change out here.”
You feel your cheeks heat, but you muster up some confidence to say, “Forget the clothes.”
“What?” Spencer asks. You can only focus on the veins in his forearms, the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I said forget the clothes. Come here,” you repeat, and Spencer’s eyes widen. He approaches you, almost nervous, as if you haven’t been dating for a year. Awkwardly, he stands by the bed, and you pull him down towards you with the towel he’s left slung around his shoulders. He catches himself, hands planted next to either side of your head. His hair, still damp, falls into his face. He looks so handsome like this. You lean up to kiss him.
Spencer makes a surprised little noise, before his hand moves to cup your face as he kisses you. He kneels on the mattress for support so his other hand can trace your body, feeling you up as you are with him, hands reaching for his biceps, his lithe body, his toned stomach.
You feel breathless as you whisper, “I missed you, Spencer.”
“I missed you too,” Spencer exhales, eyes gentle and warm as he looks down at you.
“Kiss me some more,” you coax.
Spencer grins. “Gladly.”
Spencer kisses you, desperation in every move he makes. You run your hand through his hair. Messy as it air-dries, but that’s just another thing you like about him. You feel him slide his hand up your sleep shirt – well, it’s his shirt, but he no longer says anything about you stealing his clothes – and it sends a shudder down your spine. His hand is calloused, rough, but touches you with a sweet gentleness that makes you swoon. His hand reaches your breast, cups it, squeezes like he needs to get his fill.
“Spencer,” you gasp, as you run your hand down his body, reaching where his towel is tucked in so that it stays up. Your hand nudges his hardening cock, and you smile. “Someone’s already hot and bothered, huh?”
Spencer shakes his head, chuckling. “As if you didn’t start this.”
“Oh, come on, baby,” you coo. “I think it’s cute. You want me so bad.”
“I do,” He answers rather earnestly. “I’ve been gone for the better part of this week. Of course I want you.”
“And I’ll give it to you,” you answer, undoing the towel and letting it fall around Spencer’s knees. Your hand wraps around Spencer, and he moans at the contact, at the pressure.
“Shit,” Spencer groans, head falling forward as he loses himself in the pleasure of your hand. His brows are furrowed slightly but he’s leaking, and you just want him inside you already. You kiss his cheek, and he turns his head to meet your lips instead. His lips are soft, a little chapped, but Spencer’s never been diligent with the lip balm you gave him. You’ll kiss him regardless, chapped lips and all.
“I want you, Spencer,” you sigh. “Please.”
“I know,” Spencer says, and he reaches for your lower half. “How- How did I not realise you weren’t wearing shorts?”
You smirk, only hiding your fluster when you take off your shirt and toss it onto the floor. “Oh, Mr. Respectful Boyfriend over here doesn’t realise his girlfriend is half-naked. Shocker.”
“Hey, I am respectful!” Spencer retaliates, while trying very hard not to ogle your tits, which you promptly counter by squeezing his cock. He squeaks. You laugh, as he apologises and moves to dip his thumbs in the waistband of your panties. He looks at you.
“Take them off already, Spencer,” you say. He does, pulling your underwear off with a reverence he’s always given you when you’re in bed together. You lift your hips so he can slide them off. You expect Spencer to come back up, but he instead slides in between your spread legs.
His hand is gentle on your thigh, and his thumb rubs at the crease between your thigh and your cunt. You feel his breath on you, his face lowering towards your heat but his eyes solely meeting yours. “Let me take care of you.”
“Yeah?” you say, feeling breathless already. “I thought- I thought I was supposed to make you feel good, since you missed me.”
“You do make me feel good. Even like this.” Spencer says, matter-of-factly. “Especially like this.”
“It’s hot that you like getting me off,” you say. You can’t help the smile that forms on your face, as Spencer buries his face between your legs.
You feel the little bit of stubble on Spencer’s chin rubbing at your thighs, and his insistent tongue that slowly coaxes you open. It’s wet and slick and you feel so good, as his tongue circles your clit. The way he’s eating you out is like a man starved, as he holds your legs apart, drinking from you like he’s running out of water. The pleasure makes your head spin, makes your toes curl, as adrenaline drums in your veins and makes the tips of your fingers (that are buried in Spencer’s hair) tingle. You hold him down against you, as if you want him impossibly closer, as if the pleasure he’s giving you will increase tenfold if you do. You feel him moan against you, the vibrations only making you feel better.
“Spencer,” you exhale shakily, “You need to fuck me, right now.”
He pulls away slightly, and you expect the loss of warmth all at once, but Spencer’s slipped the tips of two fingers into you, and he fills you up just like that alongside his tongue. He spreads them to scissor you open, tongue slid in between them perfectly. You cry out as he fucks you with his stupidly long fingers, feeling crazy good when he hits the spots deep inside you that you can only reach on a good day.
You writhe on the bed, the bed you share, and Spencer finally comes up for air. “That’s totally what you meant, right?”
You glare at Spencer. “I’m going to kill you.”
“You won’t,” Spencer says with a smirk. He pulls his fingers out of you, sits back up so he’s kneeling between your legs. You watch Spencer wrap his fingers around himself, sticky with your slick, as he works himself up. Playfully, he mocks, “You want me so bad.”
You gasp as he presses the tip of his cock to your hole, wet and sticky and leaking from the number Spencer’s already done on you. He’s sweet as he presses inside, doesn’t tease but instead gives you exactly what you want.
Spencer feels like he was made for you, fitting inside you perfectly. You sigh as he presses into you, all the way to the hilt. When you look up at him, it’s like he can barely keep it together. His face is scrunched up and a little flushed, and you just want to kiss him.
You reach up to pull him closer by the nape of his neck. He can clearly tell what you plan to do, so he says, “I taste like you.”
You smile up lazily at him. “I know. I think that’s really fucking hot.”
He leans in to kiss you, full of heat, but he’s still extremely sweet about it. His chin is sticky, but you couldn’t care less. He holds you so softly, but wherever his hands touch your skin – your stomach, your thighs, your face – it feels so hot, burning with his desire.
You clench around him on purpose when he breaks away from kissing you, and he curses under his breath. “Jesus Christ. The things you do to me.”
“Yeah?” You grin. “Show me.”
Spencer pulls out before rocking his hips, pushing himself into you, and you moan. His rhythm has gotten better since you and Spencer started sleeping together, better at keeping his pace even and steady to get you to your orgasm. He used to be a bumbling (but adorable) mess, close to virginal and would blow his load just after a few minutes. You like to think you helped him improve, but you definitely don’t want to see him use these skills with anyone else.
He holds your leg up, allowing him to fuck you even deeper. You feel every inch of Spencer inside of you, as he slides in and out, repeat. He’s learned well, just how to fuck you. Being a genius definitely has its perks, with him learning so quickly, knowing exactly what makes you tick.
His other hand reaches down to toy with your clit, and you shudder. “Spencer… Feels so good, baby.”
“Yeah?” Spencer responds, sounding delighted to hear your glowing review. “Are you gonna…”
“I’m close,” you sigh. “God, you feel so fucking good.”
“Fuck,” Spencer curses, seemingly out of nowhere, but you know by now that it turns him on like crazy. His need for praise always had you curious, and using it in bed just makes you feel all the more powerful. He clears his throat, continuing, “You’re- So tight, so warm. You feel really good.”
Spencer’s been trying to… talk more, during sex, knowing how much you like it. He’s remembered the way you talk to him when you’re sleeping together, and he’s done well parroting it back to you. It’s hot, how eager he is to please.
“I’m gonna cum, baby,” you say, breathless. “Make me cum, Spencer.”
He leans in to press his lips to yours again, driving his hips into you at a punishing pace, and you’re gushing as he flicks at your clit in all the right ways. You moan as your orgasm washes over you, electrifies you, till every bone in your body feels like jelly. He lets out a whimper as his hips stutter, emptying inside of you. His warmth floods into you, and you feel a strange sense of pride with it.
“Ugh, you’re so hot,” you groan, while Spencer presses one last kiss to your cheek before he slumps down on top of you. “And heavy.”
“I love you,” Spencer says, awfully serious. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me, Spencer?” You chuckle. Spencer lifts his head to look at you. You stroke his cheek gently.
“For letting me make you feel good, I suppose,” Spencer says. “Orgasms are often good for stress relief.”
“For me or for you?” You grin.
“Both of us?” Spencer suggests. You nod in agreement.
You sit in the comfortable silence between you and Spencer as you cuddle with him on top of you, only feeling sticky once the post-orgasm high has worn off. “So, wanna shower together?”
“Oh my God,” Spencer squeaks, sounding positively scandalised.
You laugh. “Oh, please. As if you didn’t cum inside of me just minutes ago.”
Spencer makes a comically distressed noise. “Well, when you put it like that!”
He gets up off of you, like he’s afraid of offending you, but you just take his hand as you stand up. You see the way his eyes rake over your naked body. It feels good. You kiss the top of his hand and smile at him. “Nothing to be scared of, Spencer. Come on.”
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