#to not fit doesn’t hurt because of anything to do with you. it’s because the space made for you isn’t the right shape.

[ofbatsandballads]

Hi Rae. Who gave you permission to snap my heart in two at midnight? No, really, this has me going insane so have my ranting under the cut:

He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see. […] But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

The way I’m already screaming “because he does have a place there!” before we’ve even hit the end. Something about Jason not being able to accept love not because other people are liars or insincere but because he can’t comprehend why anyone would love him is so heartbreakingly in character.

It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

Reciprocity—tit for tat, an eye for an eye—being so ingrained in his perception of the world and of himself that he can’t realize he doesn’t have to return the favor, that he can just accept the kindness for what it is, makes me want to cry. Thanks.

shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin.

Stray dog coded Jason who doesn’t know what to do when touch doesn’t hurt is so dear to me. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: your characterization of him is golden.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does.

Jason who loves so deeply, so completely that it could destroy him. Jason who has spent both of his lives just trying to stay above water, running from anything that could harm him. Jason who was killed because he loved so fiercely. Just…him finding himself loving someone that much again and sort of bluescreening on what that means for him.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

The absolute overpowering emotion of needing to drill it into his head with love and kindness and care that there is a happy ending with all of that actually. And that he does deserve good things and patience and love. I just know loving him would be so frustrating sometimes but that each time it would just make you want to stick around more.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

So this whole paragraph took me out but that last line destroyed me. The phrase “truly and devastatingly unwanted” is going to live rent free in my head for a while now.

it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else.

I recently read a piece of Jason meta that said that he would accept any and all harm or mistreatment just to get the companionship and love he craves and this really speaks to that because why are you picking up ice cream when you’re bleeding out??? Oh, it’s because he thinks he’s unworthy of basic human decency if he has nothing to offer.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

Clawing at the walls while screaming “they do it because they love you!!!” I love reading this from the perspective of his partner because it’s just sitting here listening to the internal monologue of man that is confidently incorrect. Your description of him being an unreliable narrator is spot on.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

One of my favorite things about how you write Jason is that he always, without fail, breaks at the end just a little bit. The sustained love and care and kindness always manages to get the tiniest foothold in his soul, like a flower growing through a crack in concrete. Even when he thinks he’s being selfish or delusional or blindly hopeful. It’s so true to what loving someone like him would be like—slow and gradual and hard fought, but resolute and unflinching.

So yeah, in short I love this with my entire being and I will be sending you the bill for my therapy (please never stop writing).

If He Could

Jason is an unreliable narrator ~1k words

Jason's no good for you. He's too brash, too rough, too easily pulled away to defend the streets of Gotham. He's a liability in your life, a dark stain in the otherwise perfect fabric of your reality. He's all the worst of shadowed alleys and tortured corners of decaying apartments.

He's quick to pull a weapon, even quicker to throw a punch. He doesn't quite remember how to make his smile look natural, how to stand without his shoulders tense and ready to dodge whatever comes his way. He's not normal. Not someone you should be happy to see.

But you are– everytime he drags his weary body to your window– you're happy. You smile, welcome him inside like he has a place there.

And he doesn't know what to do with it. Doesn't know how he should react to your bright eyes and soft touches and fond words. It's not like he can offer the same back or return the favors you so freely give. He wants to– at least he thinks he does– he just gets stuck when it comes to what to do with you.

He knows he shouldn't tense up at your reassuring pats to his arms– but he freezes, shocked to stillness each time your hands don't bring a wave of hurt to his skin. He knows he shouldn't be so quiet when you ramble about your day, but he can't find the words to describe just how much he does care about every mundane fact you share with him.

And oh, does he care. Too much even. Cares in a way that scares him off the grid for days at a time, only to sheepishly find his way back to your fire escape with a tub of melting ice cream or cooling coffee and a half-baked excuse on his tongue.

He adores you. He won't admit it to anyone, not even to himself most of the time. But he does. It's you who he wants to come back to when his feet ache and his eyes strain to make out words and figures. It's you who makes him feel not so heavy when the sun starts to rise over the tired, crumbling buildings he knows better than his own skin.

He has a portion of his heart and mind set aside just for you. But Jason can't tell you that. The more he relents to you (because he can never say no when you ask), the more he threatens to ruin you. He's a slow rot, a plague that sets into the very marrow of your bones.

But you don't see it. He doesn't want you to, but you should. You should understand that by carving out a place for him besides you, you are going to destroy yourself from the inside out.

There is no happy ending when all he can offer is fleeting comforts and one word answers. He doesn't deserve your patience, your endless willingness to understand and wait for him to figure himself out.

It's not fair to you– to either of you. But he always ends up back in your living room, always ends up with his hands curling into fists as you graciously take whatever food or trinket he's brought to try and win your continued affections.

He secretly believes he must be the most selfish person in the world when he leans into your warm hugs, when he passes out on your couch after your semi-regular movie nights. (He tries not to linger on what it means when he sleeps better on your old, worn furniture than his own bed)

It's cruel of him to lead you on like this. It's cruel of him to set himself up for heartbreak. You'll learn that he's not worth your time soon enough. But, for now, he can't help but bask in the way you offer to stitch the tears in his clothes, the way you so excitedly ask him to try every new recipe you've made.

If he knew how, he'd ask if you were really okay with who he is, what he does, how he acts. Your eagerness to make him feel like he does fit into any place in your life makes him wonder if it's all just a mask. If you're just waiting for him to be at his worst to reveal that it's all a lie– that he's truly and devastatingly unwanted.

Those words still haven't come from either of your lips– don't come– even when he messes up and brings you the wrong flavor of ice cream. (It's not that he forget what you liked– it's just that the store was out and he was bleeding too heavily through his suit to stop at anywhere else)

The words don't even come when he doesn't tell you why he disappeared for over a month this time. (Someone got too close to his identity– to you. He had to track down everyone involved before he could even think of resting or seeing you again)

Jason wants to have the right words, wants to do the right thing, and make you laugh and watch your eyes light up because of something he did. He wants to hug you back in a way that makes you feel safe and needed and wanted above all else. He wants to. He just doesn't deserve to give you that, even if he knew how to do it.

You're just too good. Everything Jason isn't. He feels like he's dragging you down with him when you offer to keep emergency weapons for him hidden in your apartment. He's definitely staining everything you are with his greedy hands when you start keeping extra first aid kits in your closet.

But for the life of him, he can't stop. Can't stop his familiar trek to your windowsill. Can't stop craving the hugs you offer, the conversations you share.

He wants this forever. He wants to keep this– you– whatever this is, in between his fingers and never let go. (He could if you'd just let him) You would.

And when you clean out a drawer in your dresser for him to keep clothes in, when you stock your cupboards with all his preferred foods, fill your shelves with his favorite books, and play the songs he loves to hum along to, he selfishly lets himself believe you might want this forever too. You do.

[yandere-paramour]

Vivien's NSFW Alphabet

 A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Vivien is so touch-starved, it’s unreal. Once sex is done and everyone has been satisfied a few times over, he is all over you touching, caressing, massaging, anything he can do to feel you. He wants to spoon so he can kiss your shoulders and back and wrap both his arms around you. He’s not the best at cleaning everything up immediately, there’s a “sex towel” in his nightstand for quick things, but he’s not doing the big clean up until he’s had some time to touch and hold you, for both you and himself.

  B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)  

His favorite part of your body isn’t really a part, but he would have to say your softness. He loves hugging and cuddling you, and he loves the way your body fits into his so well. He likes to rub his cheek along your soft skin, and hold your stomach while you spoon.

His favorite part of his own body is probably his hands. They allow him to take care of things, which is what he likes best. He tends to his plants with them, cooks with them, and pleasures his Darling with them. They haven’t failed him yet.

  C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)  

He prefers to cum inside, no question. He loves feeling you wrap around him, and he likes to fantasize that he’s giving you a family like this, even if he’s really not. He’ll wear a condom with little to no protest if Darling asks, he’s just not a fan of the pull-out method. However, If you're sucking his dick, he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow. He’ll thank you for the pleasure either way. If he’s sucking your dick, he’ll swallow like a good boy.

  D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)  

He’s not a very secretive guy (except for his murders), but this isn’t something he goes around telling people. If you were pegging him and you said you were getting him pregnant, he would come so hard he blacked out. He would literally be milked dry and fully unresponsive for a minute or two as well. The thought of being filled with Darling’s child so everyone can see that Darling loves him enough to make a family with him gets him so hard it hurts.

  E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)  

I would say he has a fair bit of experience. He definitely messed around with all genders in high school and in his young adulthood. He knows the human body in a general sense so he knows where to push and rub to pleasure you, but he wants to learn your body specifically. And he’s a hands-on learner so you should help him out with that.

  F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)  

He has a few sex positions he likes. First of all, he loves hitting it from behind. He goes in much deeper and it doesn’t hurt his back all that much (his back hurts from always bending to pick up plants). Surprisingly, this is also the position he likes to be taken in. For breeding kink purposes, mating press all the way. He does know this can be a bit uncomfortable so this isn’t for a quickie, he needs you to be nice and relaxed and flexible for this one, he needs you fully open because he wants to move quickly and minimize the time you might be uncomfortable. He also likes the spooning position; it’s like sex and a cuddle all in one!

  G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)  

He is not serious at all, he loves to laugh. He could be going hard and then just say something stupid to make you burst out laughing. He loves to see that smile on your face, and he especially loves if he puts it there himself.

  H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)  

He’s got hair, guys! His hair is naturally dark and curly so the carpet does not match the drapes (dying his hair so much has straightened it, although it is somewhat curly after a shower). He has a happy trail, and his legs are definitely hairy. He doesn’t like shaving, but he also doesn’t like having the hair trapped under his clothes, so he keeps it trimmed relatively short, but he is a hairy boy. He would shave if Darling asked him, but he would probably forget all the time.

  I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)  

He is pretty romantic during it, although it depends if the sex is gentle or rough. During gentle sex, he is very romantic, with lots of gentle caresses and kisses. He’ll even lick the tears off your face and leave kisses in their place. If it’s a special occasion, he’ll light candles and turn on ambient lighting and soft music to accentuate the mood. During rough sex, he is a little less romantic but even if he’s pounding at 30mph, he’ll still be talking about how wonderful and perfect you are and how amazing you feel around him and how thankful he is that you’re letting him do this to you.

  J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)  

Bro is constantly jacking off. He literally feels like he has to at least once a day but usually twice. It makes him sleepy so he doesn’t do it in the morning, but he does it in the shower after work (as long as Darling’s not showering with him), and before he goes to sleep. 

  K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)  

Obviously a breeding kink, he wants a family so bad, but he also has a few more kinks. He hasn’t quite made the connection that this is a kink, but he’s into happy dacryphilia. He very much has a fantasy where he’s fucking you so well that you just start crying from being overwhelmed that you are loved so much, and he licks and kisses your tears away and pounds even harder. 

  L = Location (favorite places to do it)  

An apartment is definitely preferred. Whether it's yours, his, or a shared apartment between the two of you, he likes it. This is not to say he is shy, he will have public sex if you're okay with it; he would just prefer no one saw you vulnerable like that. He doesn't care if anyone sees his naked ass thrusting, he just doesn't want anyone to see you like that.

  M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)  

Most things turn him on, and you guys know he has an extreme breeding kink in which anything related to either of you getting the other pregnant has him weak in the knees, but really anytime you show love for him, makes him adore you. Whether you cook dinner so he doesn't have to, give him a hug and kiss when he gets through the door, or spend a Saturday afternoon watching his favorite anime with him, it just makes him feel loved and he wants to show that back to you.

  N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)  

He will not share, he will not degrade or maim you, and he will not allow people to view you in the act. He couldn't give a shit if anyone hears how good he's making you feel, he just doesn't want anyone to see. He'll call you his beautiful, perfect whore and give you a few smacks on the ass; it just makes him feel icky and abusive to do anything further.

  O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)  

He is happy to join in either way. He's been sucking dick and eating pussy since high school; he knows what he's doing, and he definitely likes being on his knees for you. When he's giving, he's looking up and giving you cute bedroom eyes, he'll utilize his hands to get at the parts his mouth can't reach, and he knows just how to relax his throat and elongate his tongue to make it better for you. However, if he's receiving, he is losing any and all composure. He is drenched in sweat and tears, clutching something nearby for dear life, and desperately trying not to fuck your mouth.

  P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)  

He's slow at first because if he doesn't want to hurt you. He knows it's best if he works you up to it. But once he gets going, he's gone. He can do it any kind of way you prefer, but he prefers fast and hard. He wants you to feel every inch of what he's giving you, and he prefers it a little more rough than gentle.

  Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)  

Sure, why not? He would gladly have a quickie with you. EXCEPT, he would prefer just oral or fingering with a quickie. A quickie is supposed to be quick, and if his dick gets involved, one fast round will turn into four slow ones and then the whole afternoon is gone. If it's just oral, he can tease a quick orgasm out of you and then both of you are back to the party before anyone notices.

  R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)  

On a scale of 1-10, I would say he's about a 6 or 7. He'll try almost anything once, and he'll definitely try it if Darling wants to. He, in particular, would love to try some of the crazy positions, like with him upside down or you being a wheelbarrow. But he always starts with the two default positions: missionary and hitting it from behind.

  S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)  

He has a lot of stamina and almost no shame. He doesn't last long, maybe 5-10 minutes before he explodes, but he's back up and ready to go again in only about two minutes. Very short refraction time. He's a healthy young man and he can go about three or four rounds before he has to stop because he's milked dry. But give him a Gatorade and half an hour and he's sure he can pull together one last nut for you.

  T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)  

He has a fleshlight or four. He keeps getting too rough with them and cracking/breaking them. He just can't help himself! Another thing he recently bought that he only has one of is a butt plug angled to hit his prostate. He bought it on a whim and saw stars. For you, he would probably get some sort of vibrator to stimulate you while he fucks you. Penetration isn't always enough to get you there and he knows you need something a little more. However, something he DOES NOT like is if you use a dildo. This is so stupid and juvenile but he gets jealous of it. You're supposed to use him! Not stupid plastic! He is fleshy and warm and way more comfortable AND he doesn't run out of batteries.

  U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)  

He's not really one to actually tease. Like if you're close, he'll try and tease you like making you beg him to keep going, but it's an empty threat and you both know it. He's going to keep thrusting because he doesn't fuck around about your pleasure or his. So feel free to squeeze him and tease him back. He deserves it.

  V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)  

He's moderately loud. He does a lot of moaning and crying and talking to you, it's honestly embarrassing (or it would be if he had any shame, but he does not). He can't help but tell you how lovely you are and how much he loves you and how perfect you look taking him like this. He is incapable of shutting up, he needs to babble like an idiot the whole time.

  W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)  

If he's in a submissive mood, he would really like to be tied up. Specifically tied up in a mating press. Specifically tied up in a mating press with you pegging him. Specifically tied up in a mating press with you pegging him and growling in his ear that you're breeding his tight pussy.

He's a little embarrassed to admit this outright but he will heavily hint at it.

  X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)  

He's skinny but muscular. Kind of a swimmer's build. 7 in dick, heavy balls. Lets his pubes grow out so everything is covered in a thin layer of dark, curly hair.

  Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)  

High. My boy is always yearning. He will have sex 87% of the time. You could wake him up at three in the morning and say "fuck me" and he'll happily do it. There is almost no chance his Darling's sex drive is higher or even on par with his, but don't worry; he is no stranger to his right hand.

  Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)  

If everything is done, you and him are all cleaned up, hydrated, and satisfied, he would love to go straight to sleep. These rounds really do take a lot out of him and he's only human. He would prefer you lay down and fall asleep with him, but he gets it if you don't want to sleep. As long as you're cuddled up in the bed with him while he sleeps, he'll be fine. If you insist on moving around the apartment or even LEAVING the apartment, he'll get up and follow you, but he will be yawning and stumbling around like a baby deer the whole time.

[sahrii]

omg congrats on your 100 followers milestone ⭐️⭐️ can i get a posy bouquet of 15 roses? make the bouquet that will remind you of leftover feelings by regina song. i’ll give it suna rintarou 🙈🙈 my boy

suna rintaro!

❛So between me and you and this floor and this ceiling//I've been wanting to say//I have leftover feelings for you❜ — leftover feelings by regina song

warnings! hurt to comfort, gn!reader, songfic, suna is a player, situationship implied (??), mentions of crying, suna is kind of an asshole, confrontation.

word count! 858 (give or take haha)

100 followers event

suna rintaro has been avoiding you for 17 days and 16 nights now. at this point, you’re not sure what you are. you’re not sure what the sweet kisses meant, or the late night calls, or the not very secretive giggles you shared. you always tell yourself that you’re over him, but the next morning, the second your eyes set on his figure, you convince yourself that this time it’s going to be different.

The second you step into the same class, room, floor he’s standing on, he scurries away. and it takes everything in you to not break into a fit of sobs and cries.

but this time it’s different. he’s in front of you, and it was involuntary, the way your legs moved towards him. it was always you running to him, you wished it was the opposite for once only.

“suna,” you yell. you yell loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough for everyone else to. the hall was already filled with a faint buzz of different murmurs so your yell wasn’t really heard.

his head snaps back, only to be met by your forlorn gaze. he felt something tug at his heart. he turned his head back, wanting out quickly, but your hand wraps around his bicep to stop him from running away. “can we please talk?” you quietly ask.

suna rintaro was a playboy. but he seemed different around you. you were not going to get over your leftover feelings for him anytime soon, so might as well try.

he stared down at you, golden pale eyes contemplating on whether it’s a good idea or not. he let out a defeated sigh, though its not really defeated because he’s been waiting for you to come back.

he always pushes you away, but waits for you to come back. he doesn’t know the endless nights he’d spent with his friends, gaming and laughing, and the endless nights you spent in solitude, tears dripping down your chin because of him.

he likes you. he really does. he feels different around you, more like himself in a sense. as if he’d been living with a missing piece, and that missing piece is you. you make him whole, but he knows he’ll hurt you. so he would rather stay away, stay incomplete, because he was okay with feeling completely incomplete if it meant that you found someone better than him.

now instead of it being suna, you, and the many students are you, it was suna, you, and the whistling trees.

his hands were stuffed in his pocket. he was waiting for you to talk. he missed being in your presence.

“you’ve been ignoring me,” you mumble. your voice almost cracks, almost. “have i done anything wrong?” your eyes move from your feet to his face. your heart was beating in your ears. you hate confrontation, but for him you’d do anything.

he was quiet for a while. his stare was intense, you almost felt naked under his gaze. he was contemplating on whether or not he should tell you. whether or not he should express how he likes you a lot, but the voices in his head keep telling him that he’s not good enough for you. that his bad reputation will stick to you. that he might end up hurting you. the voices in his head grew louder, but the hum of his heart shut them down. he likes you.

“you’ve…you’ve done nothing wrong,” he sighs, his eyes still on yours. “i’m the problem here,” he blinks and shakes his head slightly when saying that.

“what do you—“

“i’m gonna hurt you if we keep doing this. i think it’s best for us to stop here,” he cuts you off. your throat feels dry. your brows furrow.

“do you think i’m stupid?” your voice is raised, and his mouth slightly parts. “do you genuinely think i’m stupid?” you repeat.

“what? of course i don’t,” he replies.

“then why do you treat me like i am? i know what’s going to hurt me and what’s not, i know what’s best for me. you can’t decide that for me,” your eyes feel teary and wet, but nothing is rolling down your cheeks yet.

he didn’t reply. he was taken aback. he thought he was stupid. he wanted to punch himself.

“you’re hurting me more by avoiding me,” you faintly mumble, sniffling in the process.

“i’m sorry,” he replies. “i like you, and i’m too scared i’m going to end up hurting you,” he simply says. “i have never been in a committed relationship before,”

your throat feels dry. you swallow. “okay,” you breathe.

“okay?”

“we can try,” you say. “we can try and if doesn’t work out, i’ll stop bothering you,”

“but what if—“

“i don’t want what if’s, you just need to promise that you’ll try your best. what comes after that…i don’t know but if we both want to do our best then there is no harm in trying,” you cut him off.

he looks at you, he really looks at you. then he breathes. “okay,” a small smile forms on his face. “i promise i’ll try my best,”

[mak-be-ghouled]

Pits to Pack

1.2k words of Rain ghoul angst

Hurt/comfort ft. Mountain under the cut (happy ending)

Rain’s life in the pits really wasn’t too bad, in some ways it actually could be considered better than his life topside. 

For one, Rain’s body was better suited for his pit life, sure this is true with most ghouls, it's quite a challenge to fit a hell beast into a human-adjacent vessel, but water and air ghouls typically had the most trouble adjusting, and Rain was no stranger to the sometimes excruciating pain that came alongside being a water ghoul on Earth.

In the pits, Rain really was the top of the food chain, he thrived in the deepest depths the pit had to offer, but he was alone. He never really had a pack, the only memories he had in regard to a pack in the pits were ones he’d rather not relive. 

And so, Rain got used to the silence, to the security, to the protection that being alone offered him. I mean all he had to compare it to was his birth pack, and this was so much better than anything they ever had to offer, so surely Rain was thriving, wasn’t he?

When Rain is summoned however, everything gets flipped on its head. He is still alone, he doesn’t know anyone, but he’s surrounded, and somehow this is so much worse. 

Rain can't help but shrink into himself when the second largest figure in the room crouches down in front of him. An earth ghoul if his memory is serving him correct. 

The earth ghoul reaches around Rain and drapes a blanket around his shivering form. When did it get so cold?

Rain wants to flinch away, to curl into himself more, to do anything to protect himself, but he just…can't. He's so tired and so cold and everything hurts.

This earth ghoul though, he doesn't have any of the heat behind his eyes that Rain is used to seeing, his body isn't screaming at him that he's in danger, and the blanket is just so nice, and warm, and soft and-

Rain doesn’t remember much from his summoning day other than the burning pain that ran rampant through every fiber of his being.

At first Rain tries to keep his new ‘pack’ at arms length. He never had a real pack, why did he need one now? Why did he deserve one now? But most importantly, if he doesn’t let them get too close, then he can’t get hurt, right?

But somehow this gentle, loving pack manages to worm its way into his icy little heart, to fill gaps he didn’t even know were there.

And now? 

For the first time Rain is a part of a pack. A pack that he loves and a pack that loves him even more than he’ll ever really be able to comprehend. 

For the first time Rain belonged to something that wasn’t the deepest depths that water could provide. 

For the first time Rain understood what he had been missing out on in the pits, how lonely he was, how much he craved attention, craved affection, craved love. Rain had been bitten by the bug, had been intoxicated, and now there was no going back. He couldn’t imagine a life without his pack mates by his side. 

Rain is quickly and affectionately nicknamed ‘princess’, but that's only because the pack just loves spoiling their princess so much. And can you really blame them? They're just making up for lost time and making sure their princess knows the extent to which their love goes.

Sure, maybe Rain's life was “easier” in the pits, and sure it would be nice not having his vessel actively fighting against him day in and day out, but still, he’s not too sure he’d survive going back.

Not without his pack.

However, Rain is no stranger to the ministry’s history regarding water ghouls. He is all too aware of their track record. 

Water ghouls don’t last. 

They get replaced, sent back, banished, or changed. 

What makes Rain think he is any different? 

So now that tour is over, now that his time should be up judging by the previous timelines, Rain is terrified. 

There’s already going to be a new front man, what’s stopping them from replacing a subpar water ghoul too?

Before Rain even realizes what he's doing, he's isolating himself again. Maybe, subconsciously, he's trying to distance himself from the pack again, maybe he's trying to protect himself, or them, he’s really not sure. And even though Rain is doing this to himself, knows he is the only one to blame, he can't help but wish someone would join him. He knows it's not fair to ask that of them, knows he’s not going to be pleasant to be around, but fuck does he need someone.

And almost as if on command, there's a small knock at the door. Light from the hallway floods the room and disappears as quickly as it appeared. 

“Rain, baby, are you awake?” Mountain whispers as he moves towards the vaguely Rain shaped lump of bedding.

As much as Rain wants to respond, wants to reach for Mountain, to be held in those sturdy arms, the only thing his body seems to allow him to do is to pull his blanket tighter to his shaking body. 

Mountain gets a hand on Rain's shoulder and all of the fight drains from his body, he can't help but be reminded of that little water ghoul splayed out on the summoning circle all those years ago. 

“Rainy, Baby, what's goin on? We’ve been missin you today” Mountain says softly as he pulls back the blanket to reveal his water ghoul.

Rain wants to speak, he does, wants to yell at Mountain to go away, wants to beg him to stay, to hold him and to never leave him, but he just can't, can't find the words floating around in his head. 

“Can I join you, love?” Mountain asks, cupping Rain's jaw in his hand and running his thumb along his cheek. 

Rain just nods and leans heavily into Mountain's hand.

Mountain clambers into Rain’s bed, attempting to untangle the water ghoul as much as he can from the bedding so he can hold Rain close to his chest.

Rain just allows himself to be ragdolled onto Mountain’s chest.

“Its not true Princess, whatever's goin on in your head, it's not true. We love you so much, I love you so much, you're not going anywhere, ‘specially not if I have anything to say about it. 

Rain wants nothing more than to be able to say something to Mountain but he just can't get the words to come out so he just nuzzles into Mountain’s neck and hopes he’ll understand.

And of course he does, he always does.

“I love you Baby, more than the stars in the sky and the waves in the sea. Get some sleep my love, you're safe, I'm not going anywhere, I promise.” Mountain says, placing a kiss to the crown of his princess’s head.

Later, when Rain wakes up from an actually restful sleep, they'll talk about what's going on in his head, but for now both he and Mountain are content to share each other's company.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Drabble 193/366 - Doctor Who

She does understand.

She’s lived too long not to. She’s felt Graham’s grief despite her lost wedding ring. She remembers playflirting the way Ryan does when she was a man.

She knows what the look in Yaz’s eyes means when it falls on her.

Too early, too late. She feels like the awkward rut in the road. Trapping Yaz, herself ground down. To escape she’d have to tell the truth, break Yaz’s hope, and offer comfort for her unrepentant hearts’ regeneration: for the love she can’t feel and the friendship she can.

If with anyone. But not her. Not her.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.

[seilon]

shouldn’t have checked my bank account as expected my mother has taken thousands more dollars from my savings and has almost run me dry more or less. Cool!

[hobisexually]

long winded rant in the tags coming that’s partly about weight but in a very unfiltered sad way so if that triggers you do Not read on

[pucksandpower]

Thicker Than Blood

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc’s Ex!Reader

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

Warnings: includes depictions of labor complications and Jos Verstappen

Based on this request

“Charles, this isn’t funny.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t. You can’t be.

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

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

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

“Can I help you with something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two lines.

Positive.

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

You’re pregnant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. You can’t go there. Not now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

As he steps inside, he’s greeted by the familiar scent of cleaning supplies — a smell that’s become synonymous with Tuesdays, the day his cleaner comes to tidy up.

He doesn’t usually pay much attention to her, exchanging only a few polite words if their paths cross. She’s efficient, quiet, never in the way. But today, something feels different the moment he steps into the living room. The sound of soft scrubbing reaches his ears, and he glances toward the source — his gaze falling on a figure kneeling by the coffee table, wiping down the glass surface.

It takes him a second to register what he’s seeing, but when he does, he freezes, his breath catching in his throat. It’s not just any cleaner — it’s you. And you’re pregnant. Very pregnant.

“Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, the shock rolling over him in waves. For a moment, he wonders if he’s seeing things, if the exhaustion has finally caught up with him and he’s imagining things. But no — there’s no mistaking it. It’s you, and you’re here, in his apartment, on your hands and knees, cleaning.

You look up at the sound of his voice, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you says anything, both too stunned to speak. Then, slowly, you rise to your feet, one hand resting protectively on your rounded belly as you try to compose yourself.

“Max,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, like you can’t quite believe he’s standing there.

“What … what the hell are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with confusion and something else — something darker, angrier, that he can’t quite put into words yet.

You blink, looking down at the rag in your hand as if seeing it for the first time. “I … I work here,” you say quietly, your tone laced with embarrassment.

“Work here?” Max repeats, his mind racing to catch up. “What do you mean, work here? You’re … you’re pregnant! Why the hell are you cleaning my apartment?”

You flinch at his words, and he immediately regrets the sharpness in his tone, but the sight of you — pregnant, exhausted, and clearly struggling — ignites a fury in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. “What the fuck is Charles doing, making you work like this?”

At the mention of Charles, something in you seems to break. Your face crumples, and before Max can process what’s happening, you’re crying — really crying, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Max says quickly, closing the distance between you and reaching out to steady you. “I didn’t mean to — look, just sit down, okay? You shouldn’t be on your feet like this.”

You let him guide you to the couch, your tears falling freely now, and Max feels a pang of guilt deep in his chest. He’s never been good with tears, but seeing you like this, so vulnerable and hurt, stirs something protective in him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, your hands covering your face as if trying to hide your pain. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.”

Max sits beside you, his mind spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. This is all wrong. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be working some labor-intensive job, not in your condition. And where the hell is Charles in all of this? How could he let you get to this point?

“What’s going on?” Max asks gently, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to you. “Why are you working here? What happened with Charles?”

You take a tissue, dabbing at your eyes, but the tears keep coming, and Max’s concern deepens. He’s never seen you like this before — so defeated, so broken.

“It’s … it’s over,” you manage to say, your voice trembling. “Charles and I… we broke up. Seven months ago.”

Max’s heart drops at your words, and a sick feeling churns in his stomach. He’d heard rumors, of course — whispers in the paddock, speculation in the media — but he’d never imagined it was true. He’d seen how much Charles loved you, how much you meant to him. But now, seeing you like this, the reality of it hits him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” He asks, though he’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “He said … he said it was for the best. That the team thought he’d be more marketable if he was single. That it would be better for his image.”

Max feels a surge of anger flare up inside him, hot and fierce. “He broke up with you because of PR? Are you kidding me?”

You nod, and Max can see the pain in your eyes, the betrayal that still lingers there. “I didn’t know what to do. I … I didn’t have a job. I quit when we started traveling together, and now … now I’m on my own. I have to take care of myself, and …” You glance down at your belly, your voice breaking again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Max runs a hand through his hair, trying to process everything you’ve just told him. Charles left you — pregnant and alone — all because of some bullshit advice from his team? The thought makes his blood boil. He’s known Charles for years, seen him under pressure, seen him at his best and his worst, but this … this is something else entirely.

“Does he even know?” Max asks, his voice low, trying to keep his temper in check. “Does he know you’re pregnant?”

You shake your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I haven’t told him. I couldn’t … I couldn’t face him. And I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want. He made his choice.”

Max sits back, stunned. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. You’ve been going through this all on your own, with no support, no help. And now you’re cleaning apartments just to make ends meet? It’s too much. He can’t let this go on.

“Listen,” Max says, his voice firm, though he softens it when he sees the way you’re looking at him, like you’re about to fall apart. “You’re not doing this alone, okay? You shouldn’t have to.”

You look at him, eyes wide, searching his face as if trying to figure out if he means it. “Max, I don’t want to be a burden-”

“You’re not,” he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not a burden. You’re my friend. And you’re … you’re carrying a child. That’s not something you should be dealing with on your own.”

“But what about Charles?” You ask, your voice small, uncertain.

“Fuck Charles,” Max snaps, then immediately regrets it when he sees the look on your face. “I mean … look, I know this is complicated. But right now, you need to take care of yourself and the baby. That’s the priority. And if Charles isn’t going to step up, then I will. Whatever you need, I’m here, okay?”

You’re silent for a moment, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes — the fear, the doubt, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. He wishes he could do more, that he could take away the pain, the uncertainty, but all he can do is be there for you, in whatever way you’ll let him.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I … I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Max says gently. “Just … promise me you won’t try to do this on your own anymore. You’re not alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around.”

You nod, but Max can see the hesitation still lingering in your eyes. He knows this isn’t going to be easy for you — to accept help, to let someone else in — but he’s determined to be there for you, to make sure you don’t have to face this alone.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to you. “Let’s get you something to eat. You need to take care of yourself, and that means no more scrubbing floors, okay?”

You take his hand, allowing him to help you to your feet, and for the first time since he walked through the door, Max sees a faint glimmer of hope in your eyes. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

As he leads you to the kitchen, Max’s mind races with everything he needs to do, everything he needs to figure out. But one thing is clear — he’s not going to let you go through this alone.

***

Max sets a plate in front of you — a simple sandwich, some fruit on the side. He’s not exactly a chef, but it’s something, and he watches as you take a bite, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. You look exhausted, and Max wonders how long you’ve been running on empty like this.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, his eyes never leaving your face. “So,” he begins, trying to keep his tone light, “tell me everything. What’s been going on since … since Charles, you know …”

You pause, swallowing the bite of sandwich, and Max can see the flicker of pain in your eyes at the mention of Charles. It’s like you’re bracing yourself to tell the story, and Max hates that it’s something you even have to relive.

“It’s been … hard,” you admit, setting the sandwich down. “After we broke up, I didn’t know what to do. I had some savings, but it wasn’t enough to keep living in Monaco. So I had to move.”

“Move?” Max echoes, his brows furrowing. He hadn’t heard anything about this, hadn’t realized things had gotten so bad for you. “Where did you go?”

You hesitate, as if ashamed to tell him, but then you sigh, the words spilling out in a rush. “I found a small place in France. It’s about an hour away. A tiny village. I couldn’t afford to stay here, not without a steady income.”

Max feels a pang of guilt, like he should have known, should have done something sooner. “You’re commuting to Monaco every day for work? That’s crazy.”

You shrug, a faint, humorless smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not ideal, but it’s what I had to do. I tried looking for jobs closer to home, but nothing paid enough. And I didn’t have many options, not with the baby coming.”

Max leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. The thought of you struggling like this, traveling back and forth every day, working a physically demanding job while pregnant — it’s almost too much to bear.

He wishes he could just write you a check, cover all your expenses, but he knows you too well. You’d never accept it, not without a fight. You’re proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent — qualities Max admires but wishes you’d set aside just this once.

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone,” Max says softly, his voice filled with concern. “I know you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now.”

You meet his gaze, your eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “I know, but … I need to be able to take care of myself, Max. I need to know I can do this, for me and the baby.”

Max nods, understanding even though it frustrates him. You’ve always been this way — determined to stand on your own two feet, no matter what. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand by and watch you struggle. There has to be a way to help you without making you feel like a charity case.

Then, an idea starts to form in his mind, something he remembers from the past, from the days when you were always by Charles’ side, supporting him in ways most people never even saw. “You know,” Max starts, leaning forward, “I remember how you used to help Charles with his social media. His accounts were always engaging, relatable … fans loved it. That was you, wasn’t it?”

A small smile flickers across your face, the first genuine one he’s seen since he got home. “Yeah, that was me. Charles never really cared about social media, so I took it over. It was fun, in a way, creating content that connected with people.”

Max’s heart lifts at your smile, at the spark of something familiar in your eyes. This could work. This could be exactly what you need.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” Max says, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “Right now, Red Bull’s PR team handles all of my social media. I’ve never really been into it, you know? But honestly, they’re pretty … corporate. The posts are fine, but they don’t really have that personal touch. Not like what you did for Charles.”

You’re watching him now, curiosity piqued, and Max takes that as a good sign.

“What if,” Max continues, “you took over my social media? I mean, I’ve seen what you can do. The fans love that kind of content. You could work from home, set your own hours … it wouldn’t be physically demanding, and I’d pay you well. I mean, really well.”

Your eyes widen at his offer, and for a moment, you just stare at him, like you’re trying to figure out if he’s serious. “I don’t know … I’ve never done that professionally. It was just something I did to help Charles.”

“And you did it better than most professionals,” Max insists. “Look, I’m not asking you to do anything crazy. Just … think about it. You’d be helping me out too, you know? I could really use someone who gets what the fans want, who can make my social media feel more … real.”

You bite your lip, clearly torn. “I don’t know, Max. It’s a lot to take in.”

“I get that,” Max says quickly, not wanting to push too hard but also not wanting to let this go. “Just … think about it, okay? You’d be great at it. And it would mean you don’t have to keep doing jobs that are hard on your body. You could focus on the baby, on yourself. It’s just an idea, but I think it could work.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your gaze dropping to the plate in front of you as you consider his offer. Max waits, his heart pounding in his chest, hoping he hasn’t overstepped, hoping you’ll see this for what it is — a chance, an opportunity to take some of the weight off your shoulders.

Finally, you look up, and Max can see the conflict in your eyes. “I appreciate it, Max. Really, I do. It’s just … it’s a big change, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.”

“I get that,” Max says, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to decide right now. Take some time, think it over. I just want you to know that the offer’s there. No pressure, no strings attached. Just … a way to make things a little easier for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers toying with the edge of the napkin on the table. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice soft but sincere. “I really will.”

Max feels a rush of relief at your words, and he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. “That’s all I ask. And, in the meantime, you can stay here tonight. No more commuting back and forth, okay?”

You start to protest, but Max cuts you off before you can even get the words out. “No arguments. You’re staying here. I’ve got plenty of room, and you shouldn’t be traveling so much. Just … stay, and we’ll figure things out together.”

You open your mouth to argue, but something in Max’s expression must convince you otherwise, because you close it again and nod. “Okay,” you agree, though you still look a little uncertain.

Max stands up, picking up the empty plates from the table. “Good. Now, you get some rest, and we’ll talk more in the morning.”

As he carries the plates to the sink, he feels a strange mix of emotions swirling in his chest. Anger at Charles for putting you in this situation, frustration that you’re too proud to accept help, and something else — something deeper, a fierce determination to make sure you and the baby are taken care of, no matter what.

He doesn’t know what the future holds, doesn’t know how things will play out between you and Charles, but one thing is certain: he’s not going to let you go through this alone. You’ve been there for him in the past, supporting Charles, cheering Max on from the sidelines, and now it’s his turn to be there for you.

As he turns off the kitchen light and heads to his room, he makes a silent vow to himself. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make sure you’re okay. He’s going to be the friend you need, the support you deserve, and he’s not going to let you down. Not now, not ever.

***

Max enters his apartment, the familiar sounds of his footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floor. He’s looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe some time with his cats before bed. But when he steps into the living room, he stops in his tracks.

There you are, stretched out on his couch, resting. Jimmy and Sassy have claimed spots on either side of you. Jimmy’s large frame is draped over your legs, purring softly, while Sassy is curled up protectively near your stomach, her eyes half-closed but alert. The sight is so domestic, so peaceful, that it makes something tighten in Max’s chest. It’s a scene he’s never imagined but now, seeing it, it feels … right.

He’s struck by how well you fit here, in his home, in his life. The way you’ve naturally fallen into this space, as if you’ve always belonged. There’s something about the way you’re lying there, with Jimmy and Sassy close by, that tugs at his heart. He wonders if they sense the life growing inside you, if they somehow understand the significance of the new presence in the apartment.

Max approaches quietly, not wanting to disturb the serene moment. He can see now that you’ve fallen asleep, your breathing slow and steady, a slight smile playing on your lips. You look peaceful, more so than you have since you arrived. It’s a relief to see you like this, to know you’re finally resting.

He stands there for a moment, just watching. He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there, time seems to stretch as he takes in the scene. There’s something intimate about it, something that makes him feel protective, like he’s responsible for making sure you and the baby are safe, comfortable. He’s not sure when that shift happened, when he started to care so deeply, but it’s undeniable now.

Carefully, Max leans down and gently scoops you into his arms, trying not to wake you. You stir slightly, mumbling something in your sleep, but then settle back down, your head resting against his chest. Max holds his breath, half-expecting you to wake up and question what he’s doing, but you remain blissfully unaware, lost in whatever dream you’re having.

He’s careful as he carries you down the hallway to the guest room, taking slow, measured steps so he doesn’t jostle you too much. It’s strange, carrying you like this. Not that you’re heavy — far from it — but the weight of responsibility he feels is almost overwhelming. You’re so vulnerable right now, so trusting, and it makes Max even more determined to make sure you’re okay.

When he reaches the guest room, Max pushes the door open with his foot, grateful that it’s already ajar. He steps inside, the soft light from the hallway spilling into the room. The bed is already made, and Max lowers you onto it gently, careful not to disturb your sleep.

He takes a moment to tuck the blanket around you, making sure you’re comfortable. You murmur something again, shifting slightly, and Max freezes, worried he might have woken you. But you just settle deeper into the bed, sighing contentedly, still fast asleep.

Max lingers for a moment, his hand hovering near your face. He’s not sure what compels him to do it, but he finds himself leaning down, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, one filled with a mix of affection, protectiveness, and something else he can’t quite put into words. He pulls back quickly, almost embarrassed by the tenderness of it, but you don’t wake.

He steps back, watching you for a moment longer. You look so peaceful, and Max feels a strange sense of contentment, like he’s done something right for once. The day’s exhaustion is starting to catch up with him, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room just yet.

There’s something about the way you’re sleeping, surrounded by warmth and comfort, that makes him feel … happy. It’s a feeling he’s not used to, but one he finds himself embracing more and more as time goes on.

Finally, Max turns and quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He heads back to the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are still curled up on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the absence of their human pillow. Max sinks into the armchair across from them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to process everything that’s happened today.

He thinks back to the offer he made you earlier, wondering if you’ll actually take him up on it. Part of him worries that you’ll say no, that you’ll insist on doing everything yourself, but he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize that accepting help doesn’t make you weak.

Max has never been good with words, but he meant everything he said. He wants to help you, to make things easier for you, and not just because he feels responsible. There’s something deeper at play here, something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s there all the same.

He’s never been in a situation like this before, never had someone depend on him in this way, and it’s both terrifying and exhilarating. Max isn’t sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s on the right path, like he’s doing something that actually matters.

As he sits there, the sounds of the city outside muted by the thick walls of the apartment, Max lets himself imagine what it would be like if this became a regular thing — if you stayed, if you became a part of his life, more than just a guest in his home. The thought sends a wave of warmth through him, a sense of belonging that he’s not sure he’s ever felt before.

But he pushes the thought aside, not wanting to get ahead of himself. One step at a time. First, he needs to make sure you’re okay, make sure you’re taken care of. Everything else can come later.

Max finally gets up from the armchair, heading to his own bedroom. The day’s events have left him drained, both physically and emotionally, and he knows he needs rest if he’s going to be any good to you tomorrow.

As he climbs into bed, pulling the covers over himself, Max’s thoughts drift back to you, sleeping soundly in the guest room just down the hall. He hopes you’re dreaming of something peaceful, something that takes your mind off all the worries you’ve been carrying.

And as he closes his eyes, the last image that flits through his mind is of you, smiling softly in your sleep, with Jimmy and Sassy curled up protectively around you. It’s a good image, one that brings a small, contented smile to his own lips as he finally drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

***

The smell of coffee fills the kitchen, mingling with the soft morning light that streams through the windows. Max is already at the table, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up as you enter, offering a small, warm smile. He’s still not quite used to this — having someone else here in his space, sharing these quiet moments — but it feels right in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a little rough from sleep. “How’d you sleep?”

“Better,” you admit, reaching for the kettle to make your own cup of tea. “Thanks for … everything yesterday.”

Max waves it off, trying to seem nonchalant, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe, or something deeper. “You needed it,” he says simply. “And it’s not over yet. We still need to talk about that job offer.”

You nod, pouring hot water over the tea bag and watching as the steam rises. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you start, your voice hesitant. “And … I think I want to accept it.”

Max feels a surge of relief, though he tries not to show it. “You sure? No pressure, if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I’m sure.” You take a seat across from him, your hands wrapped around the warm mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. I need something … something to focus on that doesn’t involve cleaning floors or worrying about everything all the time. Plus, it’s something I know I can do. And I’ll be able to take care of myself, of the baby, without pushing myself too hard.”

Max nods, his relief turning into something warmer, almost like pride. “Good,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you’re taking it. I think you’ll be great at it.”

There’s a pause, the two of you just sipping your drinks in comfortable silence. But Max can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this, that there’s something else you need but aren’t asking for.

“So,” he begins carefully, “where are you planning on staying? I mean, if you’re going to be working for me … you’re going to need somewhere closer than … wherever you’ve been staying.”

You look up, caught off guard. “I … I hadn’t thought about that yet. I was planning on going back to France and just-”

“Stay here,” Max interrupts, surprising even himself with how quickly the words come out. “I mean, it makes sense, right? You wouldn’t have to travel so far every day. Plus, it’s safer for you and the baby. You’ll have everything you need, and I’ll be around to help if you need anything.”

You hesitate, clearly torn. “I don’t want to be a burden, Max. You’ve already done so much-”

“You’re not a burden,” Max says firmly. “You’re my friend, and you need help. It’s that simple.”

There’s a long pause as you consider his words, weighing your options. Finally, you sigh, nodding slowly. “Okay. I’ll stay. But only until I figure things out.”

Max grins, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Deal.”

There’s a moment of shared relief before Max’s mind drifts to a more practical matter. “Right, so … there’s one more thing,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t really have much in the fridge besides, like, trainer-approved meals and protein shakes. We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

You laugh softly, the first genuine laugh he’s heard from you in what feels like forever. “Okay, I guess we should take care of that then.”

Max stands, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Let’s go before it gets too busy.”

***

The grocery store is bustling with the mid-morning crowd, but there’s something oddly comforting about the normalcy of it all. Max pushes the cart as you walk beside him, selecting fruits and vegetables, adding them to the growing pile.

Max watches you closely, noting the way your shoulders relax a little as you focus on the mundane task of picking out produce. He’s glad to see you like this — calm, in control. You seem to know exactly what you need, even as you pause occasionally to consider an item before adding it to the cart.

“Max,” you ask after a moment, turning to him with a slight frown, “do you even like any of this stuff, or am I just buying what I want?”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ll eat whatever, really. Just make sure there’s enough for you and the baby.” He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “You know more about this stuff than I do, anyway.”

You give him a small smile, but it’s clear that the reality of your situation is still weighing heavily on you. Max wants to say something reassuring, but before he can find the right words, someone else does it for him.

“Y/N?”

The voice comes from behind you, and you both turn to see Pascale Leclerc standing a few feet away, her eyes wide with shock. She looks between you and Max, her gaze lingering on your rounded belly before returning to your face. “I …I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. “Pascale,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi.”

Pascale takes a step closer, her expression shifting from surprise to concern. “You’re … pregnant?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What happened? Charles said you broke up with him-”

You shake your head, your throat tightening. “No, Pascale. I didn’t break up with him. He … he broke up with me. Said it was because of the PR team at Ferrari. They thought he’d be more marketable if he was single.”

Pascale’s eyes widen in horror. “What? He told me … he told me it was mutual, that you both agreed it was for the best.”

Tears prick at your eyes as you shake your head again. “No, it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t my choice.”

Max, who’s been standing silently beside you, finally speaks up, his voice filled with anger on your behalf. “Charles lied to you, Pascale. He left her, and he doesn’t even know she’s pregnant.”

Pascale’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, mon Dieu,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I had no idea. Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Please, Pascale,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “please don’t tell Charles about the baby. I … I don’t want him to know.”

Pascale looks at you, torn, but eventually nods. “Okay. I won’t tell him,” she promises, her voice gentle but firm. “But …Y/N, I want to be a part of my grandchild’s life. I want to be there for you, for both of you.”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down the last of your defenses, and you find yourself nodding, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Okay,” you manage to say, your voice choked with emotion. “I … I’d like that.”

Pascale steps forward, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You’re not alone, ma chérie,” she whispers, her voice soothing. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

You cling to her for a moment, taking comfort in her words, before finally pulling back. “Thank you,” you say, wiping at your eyes. “Thank you so much.”

Max, who’s been watching the interaction with a mixture of relief and concern, gently places a hand on your back. “We should finish up,” he says softly, giving Pascale a nod. “Take care, Pascale.”

Pascale smiles through her own tears, giving Max a grateful look. “You too, Max. And Y/N … call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

You nod, giving her a small, shaky smile before turning back to the cart. As you and Max continue shopping, the weight of the encounter settles over you, leaving you emotionally drained. Max notices, his usual silence becoming a source of comfort as he quietly takes over, finishing up the shopping and paying for everything without another word.

***

The drive back to Max’s apartment is quiet, the earlier lightness of the morning replaced by a heavy, lingering tension. You stare out the window, lost in thought, replaying the encounter with Pascale over and over in your mind.

By the time you reach the apartment, you’re exhausted — physically and emotionally. Max parks the car and helps you carry the groceries inside, his movements careful and deliberate as if he’s trying to shield you from any further stress.

Once everything is put away, Max leads you to the living room, where you sink onto the couch, your body sagging with relief. He sits beside you, watching as you struggle to hold back tears, and finally, the dam breaks.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, all the fear and uncertainty and pain you’ve been holding in finally spilling out. Max wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his hand gently rubbing your back as he whispers soothing words into your ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice steady and calm. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You cry until there are no tears left, until you’re too exhausted to do anything but lean against Max, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your sobs. Max doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding you as if his presence alone can shield you from everything that’s gone wrong.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are red and puffy, your face wet with tears. “Sorry,” you mumble, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Max interrupts gently, his voice soft but firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to hold it all in.”

You nod, still feeling raw and exposed, but there’s something comforting in the way Max is looking at you — like he’s not judging you, like he genuinely cares.

“Thanks,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Max offers you a small smile, his hand still resting on your back. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he says. “I’m here, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and Max watches as you slowly regain some of your composure.

“Do you want to rest?” He asks after a moment, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve had a long day.”

You shake your head, wiping the last of the tears from your face. “No, I’m okay. I think I just need to … distract myself.”

Max nods, understanding. “Okay,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “How about we make dinner? Something simple, but better than those pre-prepared meals.”

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah,” you say, your voice steadier now. “That sounds good.”

***

Cooking with Max is surprisingly easy. He’s not much of a chef, but he’s attentive and eager to help, following your lead as you guide him through the steps of preparing a simple pasta dish. The kitchen fills with the comforting aroma of garlic and herbs, and for a while, you lose yourself in the routine of chopping vegetables and stirring sauces, the earlier tension easing with every moment.

Max watches you closely, noticing the way your movements become more relaxed as you focus on the task at hand. He’s relieved to see you like this — more at ease, more like yourself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Max comments as he carefully stirs the pasta in the pot, a hint of admiration in his voice.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I used to cook a lot,” you say, your tone a little wistful. “Before everything got … complicated.”

Max doesn’t push for more, sensing that you’re not ready to delve into the past just yet. Instead, he focuses on the present, on the simple pleasure of cooking together, the warmth of the kitchen, the shared sense of purpose.

By the time dinner is ready, the earlier tension has all but disappeared, replaced by a quiet, comforting camaraderie. You and Max sit at the table, eating in companionable silence, the simple meal a balm for your frayed nerves.

After dinner, you help Max clean up, the two of you working together in easy harmony. There’s something oddly soothing about the domesticity of it all — like a glimpse of a life you hadn’t dared to hope for, a life where things could be simple, where you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

When everything is finally cleaned up, Max suggests watching a movie, and you agree, grateful for the chance to keep your mind occupied. You settle onto the couch with him, his cats Jimmy and Sassy immediately curling up beside you, their soft purring a comforting background noise.

Max flips through the options on his streaming service, eventually landing on an action movie. “This okay?” He asks, glancing at you.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Something mindless sounds perfect right now.”

The movie starts, and for the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in the fast-paced action, the explosions and car chases providing a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your own life. Max is a solid, comforting presence beside you, and for a while, you let yourself believe that everything might actually be okay.

When the movie ends, you realize how exhausted you are, the emotional rollercoaster of the day finally catching up with you. Max notices too, and he turns to you with a concerned look.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, his voice gentle. “It’s been a long day.”

You nod, not having the energy to argue. “Yeah. I think I will.”

Max helps you to your feet, and you can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the guest room. Before you can close the door behind you, he stops you with a soft, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pause, looking back at him. “Goodnight, Max. And … thank you. For everything.”

Max smiles, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “Just get some rest.”

You nod, giving him a small smile before closing the door behind you.

Once inside the guest room, you sink onto the bed, finally letting out a long breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The room is quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside.

You lie down, pulling the blankets over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to relax, to let go of the constant worry and fear, if only for a little while.

As you drift off to sleep, the events of the day swirl in your mind — Pascale’s unexpected appearance, Max’s unwavering support, the strange comfort of being here, in this place that’s starting to feel like home.

And somewhere, deep in your heart, a tiny seed of hope begins to take root.

***

The apartment smells of freshly baked cake and anticipation. Max is in the kitchen, moving about with a nervous energy, double-checking everything — again. The cake is already on the counter, perfectly frosted, with a single pink and blue question mark piped on top. The knife lies beside it, waiting for the moment that feels almost too monumental to be happening in the cozy confines of his living room.

You’re sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Jimmy and Sassy, who have taken up their usual positions on either side of you. Your hand rests protectively over your rounded belly, feeling the slight flutters of movement from the baby. Despite the warmth of the room, your fingers are cold, a mix of nerves and excitement pulsing through you.

“Everything’s ready,” Max says, breaking the silence. He’s trying to sound casual, but you can hear the edge in his voice.

You offer him a small smile, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”

He just nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before turning back to the cake. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite read — something beyond just friendship and support. But before you can dwell on it, there’s a knock at the door.

Max visibly relaxes, glad for the distraction. “I’ll get it,” he says, moving to the door and pulling it open.

Pascale is the first to step inside, her smile warm as she takes in the sight of you. “Ma chérie,” she greets, leaning down to kiss both of your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you reply, feeling a genuine warmth at seeing her. Pascale has been a rock for you since she found out about the pregnancy, offering support and reassurance in a way that makes you feel less alone.

Lorenzo and Arthur follow her in, both of them grinning widely as they approach you. “Hey,” Lorenzo says, giving you a quick hug. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” you admit, glancing over at the cake. “But excited too.”

Arthur chuckles, nudging his brother. “She’s having a girl, I can feel it. I’m gonna win the bet.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You always say that, but I’ve got a good feeling this time. I’m thinking boy.”

Max laughs, shaking his head as he closes the door behind them. “You two and your bets,” he says. “Let’s just focus on what’s important, yeah?”

Pascale gives him a knowing look, but doesn’t say anything, instead turning to you with a soft smile. “You look lovely, dear,” she says, reaching out to gently touch your arm. “And glowing.”

You feel a flush of warmth at her words, though part of you still feels a bit of that anxiety knotting in your stomach. This is Charles’ family, after all, and the weight of what’s unsaid lingers in the air between you.

Max clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the cake. “Shall we?” He asks, looking at you with an encouraging smile.

You take a deep breath and nod, standing up and moving over to the counter. Max stands close beside you, his presence steady and reassuring. The others gather around, their faces expectant, and you feel the weight of the moment settle over you.

“Here we go,” you say softly, picking up the knife. Your hands tremble slightly, and Max’s hand comes to rest on yours, steadying it. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod.

You press the knife into the cake, cutting through the soft layers until you reach the center. The room holds its breath as you pull the slice away, revealing the color inside.

It’s pink.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Pascale lets out a delighted gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. “A girl!” She exclaims, her eyes shining with joy. “You’re having a little girl!”

Lorenzo and Arthur start laughing, both of them shaking their heads in mock disbelief. “I told you,” Arthur says, clapping his brother on the back. “Looks like you owe me fifty euros.”

But you barely register their words. Your eyes are fixed on the cake, on the pink filling that seems to glow with its own light. You’re having a daughter. The realization hits you like a wave, overwhelming and beautiful, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crying.

Max sees the tears and reacts instinctively. He turns toward you, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “Hey, hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s good news, right?”

You nod, laughing through the tears. “Yeah,” you say, your voice trembling. “It’s just …a lot.”

And then, before either of you can think, Max leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft, hesitant, as if he’s not sure if he should be doing this. But then you kiss him back, and something shifts, deepening the moment. It feels like the world falls away, like it’s just the two of you, and everything else fades into the background.

When Max pulls back, his eyes wide with the realization of what he’s just done, he starts to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “Don’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm. “I liked it.”

Max searches your eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or regret, but all he sees is the truth in your words. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I liked it too,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment between you is tender and full of unspoken feelings, but it’s broken by the sound of Pascale clearing her throat. You both turn to see her watching you, a knowing smile on her face.

“Ah,” she says, her tone gentle but teasing. “I see.”

You feel your cheeks heat up, but Pascale just smiles wider, moving closer to you. “Ma chérie,” she says, taking your hands in hers. “I want you and my granddaughter to be happy. That’s all I care about.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you squeeze her hands in return. “Thank you,” you manage to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Pascale nods, glancing over at Max. “And I can see that Max will stop at nothing to make sure that happens.”

Max looks a little embarrassed, but he meets Pascale’s gaze with a quiet determination. “I promise,” he says, his voice steady. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Arthur exchange glances, both of them grinning like idiots. “Well, this just got interesting,” Lorenzo quips, earning a light smack on the arm from Pascale.

“Behave,” she admonishes, though there’s a twinkle in her eye. “This is a celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, the tension that had been building in your chest finally breaking. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling, being surrounded by people who genuinely care, who want what’s best for you and your baby. And as you look around the room — at Max, at Pascale, at Lorenzo and Arthur — you realize that maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of laughter and conversation. Pascale insists on taking a thousand pictures of you with the cake, with Max, with everyone, and by the time she’s done, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Lorenzo and Arthur argue good-naturedly over baby names, each of them convinced they have the best suggestion, while Max listens with a bemused smile.

Eventually, the party winds down, and Lorenzo and Arthur say their goodbyes, promising to visit again soon. Pascale lingers a little longer, giving you one last hug before she leaves.

“Remember,” she says as she pulls back, her eyes warm and full of affection. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

You nod, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you.”

Pascale smiles and gives Max a quick hug as well before finally making her exit, leaving the two of you alone in the apartment.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Max turns to you, his expression softening. “How are you feeling?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day settle over you. “Tired,” you admit, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. “But … happy.”

Max smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he says simply.

You look at him, at the man who has done so much for you in such a short amount of time, and you feel something shift inside you — something that scares you a little, but that also feels like hope.

“Max,” you begin, your voice uncertain. “About earlier-”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I just want you to be comfortable, to do what feels right for you.”

You nod, appreciating his understanding. “I just … I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admit, your voice small. “But I know I don’t want to push you away.”

Max’s eyes soften, and he takes a step closer to you. “You won’t,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

You take comfort in his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You’ve been so used to handling everything on your own, and the thought of having someone beside you, someone who genuinely cares, feels like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

“Okay,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. The air between you is charged, filled with the weight of unspoken possibilities.

Max reaches out, hesitating for a brief moment before gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and you lean into his touch, feeling a warmth spread through you. It’s as if time slows down, the world outside of Max’s apartment fading away until there’s only the two of you, standing close enough to share the same breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Max murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and the baby are safe, happy, and loved.”

You search his eyes, finding only honesty there, a depth of emotion that takes you by surprise. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of connection, this certainty that you’re not alone.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Max shakes his head slightly, as if to say there’s no need to thank him, but you know better. You know how much he’s done, how much he’s given, and you feel a rush of gratitude so powerful it almost overwhelms you.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. Max holds you just as tightly, his chin resting on top of your head, and for a moment, everything feels right. The world outside, the uncertainty of the future — it all fades away, leaving just the comfort of his arms around you.

After a few moments, you pull back slightly, looking up at him. There’s something in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

This time, there’s no hesitation. Max kisses you back with a gentle intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something precious, something he’s afraid to break.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Max’s eyes are dark with emotion, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough with need. “Stay with me. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Okay,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I will.”

Max’s expression softens into a smile, one that lights up his entire face. He leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, a promise in the simple gesture.

“Good,” he says, his voice full of quiet joy. “That’s good.”

You smile back at him, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in a long time. With Max by your side, it feels like maybe, just maybe, everything is going to be okay. As you both stand there, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around you like a cocoon, you realize that this — right here, right now — is the start of something new, something beautiful.

***

It’s early morning, the kind where the light hasn’t yet broken through the curtains, and the apartment is still wrapped in the quiet hush of dawn. You’re half-awake, swimming in that space between sleep and consciousness when you hear it — Max’s voice, low and soothing.

You keep your eyes closed, letting the sound wash over you, not wanting to break the spell. His words are soft, like he’s speaking to the most delicate thing in the world, and you realize he’s talking to your belly.

“Morning, little one,” Max whispers, his voice full of warmth. You feel the slight movement of his hand on your stomach, gentle and comforting. “Did you sleep well? I hope you’re taking it easy on your mama.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips, but you stay still, wanting to hear more. There’s something so tender, so intimate about this moment, and you don’t want to interrupt it.

Max continues, his tone playful now. “You know, I’ve been thinking … you’re going to need a name for me, right? Something special. How about Maxie? Does that sound good to you?” He pauses, as if waiting for an answer. “Or maybe, one day, you’ll call me Papa. I’d really like that.”

Your heart swells, and you feel a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the blanket you’re curled under. Max’s words are like a promise, one that wraps around both you and the baby, binding you together in a way that feels unshakable.

He continues to talk, his voice filled with love and a hint of wonder, as if he still can’t quite believe this is real. “I can’t wait to meet you, you know. To see your little face, your tiny hands … I’m going to be right here, every step of the way. I promise. You and your mama … you’re my world now.”

You feel the gentle pressure of his lips as he presses a kiss to your stomach, and it sends a shiver through you, a mix of emotion that you can’t quite put into words. It’s the kind of feeling that settles deep in your chest, making you want to cry and smile at the same time.

Max shifts slightly, and you feel him lay his head next to your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here to teach you all the important things, like how to kick a football or how to drive really fast — though, your mama might not like that last one,” he chuckles softly, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

“And I’ll be here for the hard stuff too,” Max continues, his tone growing serious. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, and that you always know how loved you are. Because you’re already so loved, little one. So much.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your eyes sting with unshed tears. You can feel the depth of his commitment, the way he’s already made space in his heart for this child, and it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Max falls quiet for a moment, his hand still resting on your belly. You can feel his thumb tracing small circles over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. “I know I’m not your real dad,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “But I’m going to love you like you’re mine. And I’m going to love your mama with everything I have, because she deserves that. She deserves everything.”

Your heart clenches at his words, a rush of emotion so strong it nearly takes your breath away. You’ve never felt so cared for, so deeply cherished, and it’s all because of him — this man who has stepped into your life and turned it upside down in the most unexpected, wonderful way.

Max leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I promise, I’ll always be here for you. For both of you. And I hope, one day, you’ll call me Papa. But even if you don’t, I’ll still be the luckiest man in the world, just to be here with you.”

You can’t keep your eyes closed any longer. They flutter open, and you glance down at him, your heart full to bursting. Max looks up, catching your gaze, and there’s a moment of quiet understanding between you — a recognition of the enormity of what he’s just said.

“Did I wake you?” He asks softly, his hand still resting on your belly.

You shake your head, your voice thick with emotion. “No … I was awake.”

Max studies your face, and you can see the concern in his eyes, the way he’s always so attuned to your feelings. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a hand through his messy hair. “I’m more than okay.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, one that makes your chest ache with how much you care for him. Max shifts, pressing another kiss to your belly before moving to lay beside you, gathering you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting it soothe you back into that half-asleep state.

“You’re going to be an amazing dad,” you murmur, your words slurred with sleep.

Max’s arms tighten around you, his lips brushing against the top of your head. “Only because I have you.”

His words wrap around you like a blanket, warm and secure. As you drift back into sleep, the last thing you hear is Max’s voice, soft and full of promise, whispering to your belly again. “I’ll always be here,” he says. “For both of you. Always.”

And with that, you let the sound of his voice carry you back into sleep, your heart filled with a deep, unshakable sense of peace.

***

The contractions start in the early hours of the morning, sharp and unyielding, ripping you out of a restless sleep. At first, you think it’s just another false alarm — your body playing tricks on you like it has for the past week. But this time, something feels different, more urgent. Max is beside you in an instant, his instincts kicking in the moment you clutch at the sheets, your breath hitching in pain.

“Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern, his hand already on your back, trying to soothe you through the discomfort.

You shake your head, biting your lip as another wave crashes over you. “It’s time,” you manage to gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his. “Max, it’s time.”

Max’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He’s up, grabbing the hospital bag that’s been packed for weeks now, guiding you carefully out of bed. The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and tension, Max’s knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel, driving with a focus that betrays his worry.

When you arrive, everything moves too quickly and too slowly all at once. Nurses and doctors swarm around you, getting you into a gown, checking your vitals, assessing the baby’s position. Max stays by your side through it all, his hand never leaving yours, his voice a steady presence in your ear as he tries to keep you calm.

Hours pass, the pain intensifying until it feels like your body is being split in two. But you’re not scared — not until the doctor’s expression changes, his calm professionalism slipping as he exchanges a glance with the nurse. It’s a look that sends a spike of fear through your heart, and suddenly, the room feels too small, the walls closing in.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice shaking, trying to keep the panic at bay. Max’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the doctor, demanding answers without saying a word.

The doctor clears his throat, his tone gentle but serious. “The baby is in distress. Her heart rate is dropping, and we’re concerned about a potential placental abruption.”

“What does that mean?” Max’s voice is hoarse, his face pale.

“It means,” the doctor says carefully, “we may have to make some difficult decisions. We’ll do everything we can, but in situations like this, there’s a chance we may have to prioritize-”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising in panic. The room starts to spin, your vision blurring as the reality of what he’s saying crashes over you. “No, no, no … you can’t do that. Save the baby. If it comes down to it, you have to save the baby.”

Max’s grip on your hand tightens to the point of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish in his eyes. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say that.”

The doctor nods, his expression somber. “We’re not there yet. We still have time to try and turn things around, but we need to act fast.”

You nod numbly, tears streaming down your face as the pain intensifies, the fear now mingling with the physical agony. Max leans in close, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he struggles to hold it together.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers, though his voice shakes with the weight of his own fear. “You hear me? Both of you. You’re both coming out of this. I need you to believe that.”

Your heart aches at the desperation in his voice, and you want to believe him, want to cling to the hope he’s trying so hard to give you. But the terror is overwhelming, and all you can do is nod, too afraid to speak, afraid that if you do, it will make everything too real.

Max pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression fierce despite the tears shining in his own. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice stronger now, a command wrapped in a plea. “You’re strong, okay? The strongest person I know. And she’s strong too. You’re both going to make it through this. You have to. I can’t-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose either of you.”

His words break something inside you, and you sob, clutching at him like he’s your lifeline, because right now, he is. The pain, the fear, the uncertainty — it’s all too much, and you bury your face in his chest, trying to draw strength from him.

The doctors and nurses are moving around you, the room filled with a flurry of activity, but all you can focus on is Max. He’s your anchor, the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the world spins out of control. His hand never leaves yours, even as the contractions grow stronger, more intense, your screams echoing off the walls.

“I’m here,” Max keeps repeating, his voice a constant in the chaos. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But then, the situation worsens. You hear the doctor call for an emergency C-section, and your heart plummets. The pain is unbearable, and you can’t breathe, can’t think. They’re wheeling you away, Max’s hand slipping from yours as they take you to the operating room. The last thing you see is his face, pale and stricken, his eyes wide with fear.

“I love you,” he calls out, his voice cracking with the weight of everything he can’t control. “I love you so much. Please — please be okay.”

The operating room is cold, the lights too bright, and all you can think about is the life inside you, the baby you’ve grown to love before she’s even taken her first breath. You can’t lose her. You can’t. But the fear is suffocating, and as they prepare you for surgery, you feel a wave of despair crash over you.

Max’s words echo in your mind, a desperate mantra that you cling to with everything you have. Both of you are making it out of this. You have to.

The anesthesia takes hold, and you feel yourself slipping away, the world fading around you. But before the darkness consumes you, you send up a silent prayer, a plea to whatever force might be listening.

Please. Please let us both make it out of this.

And then, there’s nothing but darkness.

***

Max paces the waiting room, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through his chest. Every second that ticks by is torture, every minute without news a knife twisting in his gut. He’s never been this scared in his life, not even in the most dangerous moments on the track.

His hands are shaking, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He keeps replaying the last look you gave him, the fear in your eyes, the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thought of losing you, of losing the baby — it’s unbearable.

He can’t breathe, can’t think straight. All he can do is wait, and it’s driving him insane. He feels so helpless, like there’s nothing he can do to fix this, to protect you, and it’s killing him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the doctor emerges from the operating room. Max rushes to him, his heart in his throat, fear choking him.

“Doctor, please — tell me, are they okay?” Max’s voice is raw, barely above a whisper, his eyes pleading.

The doctor looks tired, his face drawn, but there’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “The surgery was successful. It was touch and go for a while, but both your partner and the baby are stable.”

Max’s knees nearly buckle with relief, a sob escaping his throat as he covers his face with his hands. “Thank God … thank you,” he chokes out, his whole body trembling with the release of tension.

“You can see them soon,” the doctor adds gently, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s going to need a lot of rest, and we’ll be monitoring them both closely, but they’re out of danger for now.”

Max nods, unable to speak, his emotions too overwhelming to put into words. He’s ushered into a recovery room, where you’re lying on the bed, pale and exhausted, but alive. The sight of you sends a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper weakly, your voice barely audible, but the sound of it is the most beautiful thing Max has ever heard.

“Hey,” he breathes, moving to your side and taking your hand in his. His other hand brushes the hair from your face, his touch reverent, as if he’s afraid you might break. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to … I just … I had to make sure she was okay.”

Max shakes his head, leaning down to press his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. “Don’t apologize. You did it. You both made it. You’re both okay.”

You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. “I couldn’t have done it without you. I heard you, Max … I heard you telling me to hold on.”

Max pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “I meant every word. I’ll always be here, for both of you. I promise.”

A nurse enters. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” She asks.

The nurse wheels in the bassinet, and you can’t take your eyes off the tiny bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Max looks at you, his heart in his throat, as the nurse gently lifts your daughter and places her in your arms. She’s so small, her eyes closed, her tiny fists curled up against her chest. The world narrows to this moment, the overwhelming surge of love crashing over you both as you stare down at her.

Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders as he looks at his daughter, his breath catching in his throat. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “So beautiful.”

You smile through your tears, nodding as you trace a gentle finger over the baby’s soft cheek. “She is. I … I’ve been thinking about what to name her.”

Max looks at you, his heart pounding, waiting for you to speak.

“I want to name her Emilia,” you say softly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “After you. I want her to have a part of you with her always. You’ve done so much for us, Max. You’re a part of her, a part of us. It feels right.”

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he can’t speak. His middle name is something he’s never thought much about, but hearing you say it now, giving it to your daughter — it takes on a whole new meaning.

“Emilia,” he repeats softly, as if testing it out. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body as he wraps you both in his embrace. Emilia stirs in your arms, making a soft noise as she opens her eyes for the first time, looking up at you and Max with wide, curious eyes. It feels like time stands still, the three of you cocooned in this perfect moment.

“She’s going to be so loved,” Max whispers, his voice full of awe and determination. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, knowing he means it with every fiber of his being. Max has already proven that he’ll do anything to protect you and Emilia. It’s in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you both as if you’re the most precious things in the world.

As you sit there together, your new family, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you won’t be facing them alone. Max is here, by your side, and with him, you have all the strength you need.

“Welcome to the world, Emilia,” you whisper, kissing her tiny forehead. “We love you so much.”

Max kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he closes his eyes, letting himself feel the full weight of the love he has for you both. This is what he’s been waiting for, what he didn’t even realize he needed until now.

“I’ll always be here,” he murmurs, his voice a promise. “For both of you.”

And as you hold your daughter close, you know that those words are true. Max will always be here, and together, you’ll face whatever comes next as a family.

***

Max carefully pulls the car up to the curb outside his Monaco apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a little too tightly. He’s driven this route countless times, but today feels different — monumental. He glances over at you in the passenger seat, Emilia cradled in your arms, bundled up in a soft pink blanket. She’s asleep, her tiny mouth forming an ‘O’ as she breathes peacefully.

Max’s heart feels like it might burst from his chest as he watches you both. The love he feels is overwhelming, so much that it almost scares him. He’s not sure how to carry it all, but he knows he wants to try — no, he needs to.

“Ready?” He asks, his voice soft, not wanting to disturb Emilia.

You nod, smiling down at your daughter before looking up at him. “Ready.”

Max steps out of the car and hurries around to your side, opening the door for you and helping you out, his hand warm and steady on your arm. You both move carefully, as if the world might shatter if you’re too rough. Emilia stirs slightly as you adjust her in your arms, but she stays asleep, oblivious to the world outside.

The front door of the apartment clicks open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. Max closes the door behind you, and suddenly, the apartment feels different — more complete, more alive. He watches as you walk into the living room, a sense of awe filling him as he realizes that this is your home now, Emilia’s home.

Jimmy and Sassy are lounging on the couch when you enter. They lift their heads lazily, eyes narrowing with curiosity as they spot the new addition to the household. Max watches them closely, his heart racing slightly. He knows how territorial they can be, and the last thing he wants is for them to feel threatened by Emilia.

You lower yourself carefully onto the couch, cradling Emilia in your arms, and Max sits beside you, his arm around your shoulders. “Guys,” you whisper to the cats, your voice gentle, soothing. “Come say hi.”

Jimmy is the first to move, hopping down from the couch and approaching slowly, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of the tiny human in your arms. He sniffs the air cautiously, his ears twitching, and then, to Max’s surprise, he rubs his head gently against Emilia’s leg, purring softly. Sassy follows suit, jumping up onto the armrest to get a better look, her green eyes curious and bright.

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a smile spreading across his face. “Looks like they approve,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “I guess so. They’re so gentle with her.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees, his eyes never leaving Emilia’s face. “They know she’s important.”

For a while, the three of you just sit there, basking in the quiet joy of the moment. Emilia shifts in your arms, her tiny fingers flexing as she begins to wake up. Her eyes flutter open, and she lets out a small, contented sigh. Jimmy and Sassy watch intently, as if fascinated by this little creature that’s suddenly become the center of their world.

Max reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against Emilia’s cheek. She turns her head slightly, her eyes trying to focus on him, and Max feels a lump form in his throat. “Hi, meisje,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Welcome home.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. But then, as if the weight of the world suddenly returns, Max feels a pang of dread deep in his chest. He tries to push it away, but it lingers, gnawing at him.

You notice the change in him immediately, lifting your head to look at him, concern in your eyes. “Max? What’s wrong?”

He hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment, but he knows he has to tell you. “I just … I’ve been thinking about the races,” he admits quietly. “I’m going to have to leave soon, and … I hate the thought of being away from you and Emilia. Especially now.”

Your expression softens, and you reach out to take his hand, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Max, it’s okay. I know how much racing means to you. We’ll be fine.”

He shakes his head, his eyes searching yours. “I know you will. It’s just … I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want to miss her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps …”

“You won’t,” you assure him, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it work. And when she’s old enough, we’ll come with you to as many races as we can.”

Max’s heart swells at the thought, but then another worry creeps in. He hesitates, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But… what about Charles? I don’t want you to feel like you have to be in the same paddock as him. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words, and then you shake your head, a determined look in your eyes. “Max, I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to be there with you. Emilia and I will cheer you on, and Charles … well, he’s in the past. You’re our future. I want to support you, and I want Emilia to see how amazing her papa is.”

The relief that washes over Max is palpable. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that until now. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice almost trembling. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m sure,” you say firmly. “Besides, I want Emilia to grow up surrounded by people who love her. And that includes you, Max. You’re her papa.”

Max’s breath catches at the word, his chest tightening with a mix of love and fear. He’s been called many things in his life — champion, prodigy, competitor — but ‘papa’ is new. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Papa,” he echoes softly, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue. “I like the sound of that.”

You smile, your eyes shining with warmth. “Me too.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of small, beautiful moments. You and Max take turns holding Emilia, watching as she discovers the world around her with wide, curious eyes. Max can’t stop marveling at how tiny she is, how perfect. Every little coo, every small movement feels like a miracle to him.

When evening falls, you feed Emilia while Max busies himself in the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner. He’s not much of a cook, but he’s determined to take care of you both in any way he can. As you sit at the table together, Emilia cradled in your arms, Max watches you with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before.

But as the night grows darker, that lingering dread creeps back in. Max knows he has to leave for the next race soon, and the thought of being away from you and Emilia feels unbearable. After dinner, he finds himself pacing the living room, his thoughts swirling.

You notice his restlessness and approach him, Emilia sleeping soundly in your arms. “Max,” you say gently, drawing his attention. “Talk to me.”

He stops, running a hand through his hair as he looks at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty. “I just … I don’t know how I’m going to leave you both. I hate it.”

You step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I know it’s hard. But we’ll be okay. And you can call us anytime, video chat, whatever you need. We’ll make it work.”

Max nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I just don’t want to miss anything,” he repeats, his voice strained. “I want to be here for everything.”

“And you will be,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll figure it out together. We’re a team now, remember?”

Max lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. “We are.”

You lean up to kiss him softly on the lips, a kiss that’s full of reassurance and love. When you pull back, Max looks at you with a mixture of awe and affection.

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

“For what?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“For being here. For being you,” he says simply, his eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the man in front of you. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Max pulls you into a gentle embrace, careful not to disturb Emilia as he holds you both close. In that moment, he knows that no matter how many races he has to go to, no matter how far he has to travel, this is where his heart will always be — with you and Emilia.

And as you both stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, Max makes a silent promise to himself: to always be there for you, no matter what. Because this — this little family you’ve created together — is the most important thing in the world.

***

The doorbell rings just as Max is finishing up with Emilia’s bottle. He glances at the clock — 10:30 a.m. Whoever it is, they’re too early for lunch, too late for breakfast, and entirely unexpected.

You’re in the kitchen, humming softly while packing away the groceries Max picked up this morning. Max smiles to himself as he looks down at Emilia, her tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb. It feels like everything in his life is finally in place.

But that sense of contentment shatters the moment he opens the door.

Jos stands there, his presence immediately filling the entryway with tension. The older man’s eyes flick to you in the kitchen, then back to Max, his mouth curling into a sneer.

“Max,” Jos says, stepping forward before Max can say a word. His voice is cold, sharp. The man doesn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Dad,” Max replies, swallowing hard as he shuts the door behind him. Jos is already walking into the apartment, his eyes scanning the place like he’s looking for something to criticize.

You turn around, startled by the sound of footsteps you weren’t expecting. The soft smile on your face fades when you see Jos. Max can see the recognition in your eyes, followed by a flash of concern. You know about Jos, the kind of man he is. Max’s jaw tightens.

“What are you doing here?” Max tries to keep his voice steady, but there’s an edge to it, a warning.

Jos ignores him. His gaze is fixed on you now, his expression unreadable but undeniably harsh. “So this is her, huh?” He waves a hand in your direction. “The one Charles tossed aside.”

You freeze, hands trembling as you instinctively clutch the counter behind you. Max’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t,” Max warns, stepping between you and his father. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Jos scoffs. “Relax, Max. I’m just stating the obvious. She’s nothing more than your rival’s sloppy seconds. And you … you’re playing house with another man’s child.”

The air leaves the room. Max’s vision narrows, and all he can see is Jos — the man who made his childhood a battleground. The man who pushed him so hard he could barely breathe under the weight of his expectations. Now he’s here, trying to break apart the life Max has built for himself.

“That’s enough,” Max snaps, his voice rising in a way that’s unfamiliar, even to him. Emilia starts fussing in his arms, sensing the tension, and it only makes him angrier. “You don’t get to walk in here and insult my family.”

Jos raises an eyebrow. “Family? Don’t kid yourself, Max. This isn’t your family. This is Charles Leclerc’s leftovers. You’re raising another man’s child, and you think that makes you a father?”

Max feels like he’s been punched in the gut, but he doesn’t flinch. He’s not that scared little boy anymore, the one who craved his father’s approval more than anything in the world. He’s a man now — a father — and he won’t let Jos tear him down again.

“You don’t know anything about this,” Max says, his voice shaking with fury. “I love her. I love Emilia. She’s my daughter, and I’m her father, no matter what you think. And if you can’t respect that, then you don’t belong here.”

Jos’s eyes flash with something dark, something that Max recognizes all too well. But before he can say anything, you step forward, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just go.”

Jos glances at you, then back at Max. For a moment, it looks like he might push further, but then he shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’ve gone soft, Max. You’re making a mistake, and one day you’ll see it.”

Max tightens his grip on Emilia, who’s starting to cry now, her small voice cutting through the tension. He turns his back on Jos, cradling his daughter close to his chest, and says, “Get out.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, with a huff of disdain, Jos turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoes through the apartment like a gunshot.

You rush to Max’s side, reaching out to touch his arm. “Max, I-”

“Don’t,” Max says, his voice cracking. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as he struggles to keep his composure. “Just … don’t.”

He doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the anger, the hurt, it’s all too much. You say nothing, just move closer, wrapping your arms around him and Emilia, holding them both as tightly as you can. Max can feel the tension melting away, replaced by a deep, bone-deep exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Max replies, shaking his head. “It’s … it’s just him. He’ll never change.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. “He’s wrong, Max. You are her father. You’re already everything she needs.”

Max looks down at Emilia, who’s slowly calming down in his arms. Her tiny hand grips his finger, and the simple, innocent gesture makes something in him break. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“I don’t care what he says,” Max whispers, more to himself than to you. “I’m not him. I’m never going to be him.”

You reach up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “You’re not. You’re a good man and you’re already a great father.”

Max can’t find the words to respond, so he just leans down and kisses you, a slow, desperate kiss that says everything he can’t put into words. You kiss him back, your hands gently cradling his face, grounding him in the moment.

When you finally pull away, you smile at him, and it’s like the sun breaking through a stormy sky. “We’re going to be okay,” you say softly. “All three of us.”

Max nods, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

You both stand there in the quiet of the apartment, holding onto each other and to Emilia, who has finally fallen back asleep. The storm has passed, but Max knows there will be more to come. But as long as he has you and Emilia by his side, he knows he can face anything.

And for the first time in a long time, Max feels like he’s finally home.

***

The room is silent except for the soft hum of the baby monitor, its rhythmic buzz a constant backdrop to the night. The apartment is dark, save for a thin sliver of moonlight seeping in through the curtains, casting a pale glow over the room.

You stir, groggily reaching for the warmth of Max beside you, but find only cold sheets. Instantly, you’re more awake, your heart quickening as you sit up and squint into the darkness. It’s late, or maybe it’s early — time has blurred into an endless loop of feeding, changing, and trying to snatch sleep in between.

Max isn’t in bed, but you can see his silhouette across the room, standing over Emilia’s crib. His back is to you, his posture tense yet somehow fragile, as if he’s holding something inside that’s threatening to spill over. You watch him for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, before you gently call out his name.

“Max?”

He doesn’t turn immediately, and for a second, you think maybe he didn’t hear you. But then he shifts slightly, his shoulders dropping as if he’s finally exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head, though he’s not looking at you. “No. I just noticed you weren’t in bed.”

He glances back at you then, just briefly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable in the dim light. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, turning his gaze back to Emilia. “I kept thinking about … everything.”

There’s a heaviness in his tone that makes you push back the covers and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You stand up, crossing the room to where he’s standing. When you reach him, you place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension thrumming through his muscles.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” You ask softly, trying to meet his eyes.

For a moment, he’s quiet, staring down at Emilia with a look that’s a mix of awe and fear. Then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep saying she’s mine. I’ve said it so many times, but … I don’t think it really hit me until just now. I’m her dad.”

He finally looks at you, his blue eyes shining with something raw and unguarded. “I’m her dad, and that means … everything. It means I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, to make sure she’s safe and happy. I’m the one who’s supposed to teach her, to love her, to be there for every moment of her life.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and you feel your heart break for him, for the weight he’s been carrying. You squeeze his arm gently, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be what my dad wanted me to be,” Max continues, his eyes dropping back down to Emilia. “I pushed myself so hard because I thought that’s what I had to do, that I had to prove something to him, to everyone. But this … being her dad, it’s different. It’s not about proving anything. It’s just about being there for her, for you.”

You can hear the fear in his voice, the uncertainty, but also the determination. Max has always been a fighter, always pushing himself to the limit, but this is different. This is about love, about responsibility, about a future that’s no longer just his.

“I promise,” he says, his voice stronger now, more certain. “I promise I’ll always do the best for her, and for you. I’ll make mistakes, I know I will, but I’ll always try to do what’s right. I’ll always be here.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You step closer, sliding your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, a comforting rhythm that grounds you in the moment.

“You’re already doing it,” you whisper against his chest. “You’re already an amazing dad, Max. She’s so lucky to have you, and so am I.”

Max wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You feel the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a simple, quiet moment, but it’s everything.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I didn’t think … I never imagined this. Having a family. But now that I do, I can’t imagine life without it. Without you. Without her.”

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are soft, full of love and something else — something deeper, more profound. It’s the look of a man who’s found something he didn’t even know he was searching for.

“I love you,” you say, the words slipping out before you can even think about them. But they’re true, and you realize with a start that you’ve been feeling them for a while now.

Max’s breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to memorize your face, your words, everything about this moment. Then he smiles — a real, genuine smile that lights up his entire face.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You lean in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, but it feels like the most important. It’s a promise, a commitment, a beginning.

When you finally pull away, Max rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For everything. For trusting me, for being here, for giving me this family.”

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, a lingering brush of lips that sends warmth spiraling through you. Then he turns his attention back to Emilia, who’s still sound asleep in her crib, blissfully unaware of the world around her.

“She’s so perfect,” Max murmurs, his voice full of wonder. “I still can’t believe she’s ours.”

“She is,” you agree, leaning against him as you both watch your daughter sleep. “She’s everything.”

Max nods, his eyes never leaving Emilia. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure she has the best life possible. I don’t care what it takes. She’s my little girl.”

There’s a fierceness in his voice now, a protective instinct that you know will only grow stronger with time. It’s the kind of love that can’t be measured, the kind that changes everything.

“And you,” Max adds, looking down at you with a softness that makes your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you’re happy too. That you never have to worry about anything.”

“I know you will,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “But you don’t have to do it all on your own, Max. We’re in this together, okay? We’re a team.”

He nods, his expression serious. “Yeah. We are.”

You stand there in the quiet of the night, wrapped up in each other and in the future you’re building together. It’s a future that’s still uncertain, full of challenges and unknowns, but it’s yours. It’s yours, and it’s beautiful.

After a while, Max guides you back to bed, and you both climb under the covers, your bodies fitting together perfectly. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you settle against his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin against yours, and it lulls you into a peaceful sleep.

As you drift off, you hear Max’s voice one last time, a soft whisper in the darkness. “I’m never letting go of this. Of you. Of her. I promise.”

And with that, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, feeling more loved and more secure than you ever have before.

***

Max is darting around the private jet, a man on a mission. He’s checking every corner, every surface, making sure it’s all baby-proofed, while you sit on the plush leather seat, watching him with a mix of amusement and affection. Emilia, cradled in your arms, is blissfully unaware of her father’s nerves as she gurgles happily, her tiny hands waving in the air.

“Max, it’s fine,” you call out, but he’s too busy testing the security of a cabinet door to hear you.

“What if the turbulence knocks something over?” He mutters, more to himself than to you, as he gives the cabinet another pull to ensure it’s locked tight. He moves on to the safety straps on the seats, tugging at them to make sure they’re secure.

You can’t help but smile at how seriously he’s taking this. Max Verstappen reduced to a bundle of nerves over the safety of a half-year-old baby on a private jet. It’s endearing, seeing him so out of his element, so completely focused on making sure everything is perfect for Emilia.

“Max, she’s going to be fine,” you say gently, but with a hint of laughter in your voice.

Max finally turns to you, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “I know, I just-” he pauses, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t want to take any chances. What if something happens? What if-”

“Max,” you cut him off, “everything’s going to be okay. You’ve checked everything three times already.”

He lets out a breath, his shoulders finally relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re right. I just ... I want her to be safe.”

“She will be. And besides,” you add with a teasing smile, “you’ve already won the overprotective dad award.”

That gets a small smile out of him, and he walks over to where you’re sitting, leaning down to press a kiss to Emilia’s forehead. “You’re right,” he says again, though this time it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

You reach up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble there. “You’re an amazing dad, Max.”

He covers your hand with his, his blue eyes softening as he looks at you. “I just ... I never thought I’d be this worried, you know? Driving at 300 kilometers an hour doesn’t scare me, but this ...”

“Because this is different,” you finish for him, understanding completely. “She’s your whole world now.”

“You both are,” he corrects, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the depth of his feelings for both you and Emilia.

The flight attendant comes by to offer refreshments, and Max asks for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to you and Emilia. He takes a seat beside you, carefully cradling the baby as you hand her over. The moment Emilia is in his arms, the tension in his shoulders eases, and he looks down at her with the kind of adoration that makes your heart swell.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, as if he still can’t believe this little person is real, is his.

“She’s beautiful,” you agree softly.

Max leans back in his seat, holding Emilia close. She’s starting to doze off, her tiny mouth making little sucking motions even in her sleep. “I can’t wait for her to see her first race,” he says quietly, his voice full of anticipation and pride.

You smile, watching the way he looks at Emilia, as if she’s the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she is.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t know. But I hope so. Maybe she’ll be my little lucky charm.”

“She already is,” you say, closing your eyes for a moment, just soaking in the warmth of the moment.

The plane starts to taxi down the runway, and Max holds Emilia a little tighter, his other hand reaching out to take yours. The takeoff is smooth, but Max’s grip on your hand doesn’t loosen until you’re well into the air.

“She didn’t even stir,” you note, nodding towards Emilia, who’s still peacefully asleep in Max’s arms.

“She’s tougher than we give her credit for,” Max replies, smiling down at his daughter.

As the flight progresses, Max eventually relaxes enough to stop checking every detail of the cabin. He spends most of the time just watching Emilia sleep, occasionally glancing out the window at the clouds passing by. You can see the wheels turning in his head, and you know he’s already imagining what it will be like to have her at the track, to share that part of his life with her.

After a while, you start to feel the effects of the early morning and the flight. The gentle hum of the plane and the steady warmth of Max beside you lull you into a state of drowsiness. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand still holding his.

Max looks down at you, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. This is his family, his girls, and he would do anything to keep you both safe, to make sure you’re happy. He kisses the top of your head, the gesture so natural, so filled with love, that it almost surprises him how right it feels.

As the plane flies steadily towards its destination, you drift off to sleep, the last thing you hear being Max whispering softly to Emilia, telling her about the first time he’ll take her to the paddock, how he’ll introduce her to everyone, how he’ll teach her everything he knows. His voice is filled with so much love and promise that it makes your heart ache in the best way possible.

And then, you’re asleep, resting peacefully against Max’s shoulder, while Emilia snoozes in his arms. Max stays like that for the rest of the flight, holding both of you close, his heart full and content.

***

The paddock buzzes with the usual pre-race excitement, but today, there's an extra layer of curiosity. People are craning their necks, whispering to each other, their eyes widening as Max Verstappen strolls through, an unusual sight to behold. Emilia is strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, her tiny hands grabbing at the fabric of Max’s shirt, while you walk beside him, pushing a stroller that’s more a mobile storage unit for all the baby essentials.

It’s your first time back at a race since everything changed, and the significance of the moment isn’t lost on you. Every step feels heavy with the weight of anticipation, not just for the race itself, but for the reactions you both know are coming. Max, usually so composed in these environments, seems a little tense. His hand rests protectively over Emilia, his thumb gently stroking her back as he navigates through the crowd.

As you walk together, you catch the eyes of team members, fans, and media alike, all of them stunned by the sight of Max — stoic, single-minded Max — suddenly a father. The whispers grow louder, cameras discreetly capturing the moment, and you feel the eyes of the entire paddock on you. But Max, despite the tension in his shoulders, keeps his focus on you and Emilia, blocking out the stares as best he can.

You try to smile, to project confidence, but you can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. It’s not just that this is your first time back in the paddock — it’s that this is the first time the world is seeing you, Max, and Emilia together. You brace yourself for the reactions, knowing they’ll come.

Max senses your unease and squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance that he’s with you every step of the way. “Ignore them,” he says quietly, his voice firm. “This is about us, not them.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you push the stroller forward. Emilia, blissfully unaware of the attention, coos happily against Max’s chest, her tiny head resting against him. It’s that sound, that innocence, that gives you the strength to keep going.

As you walk further into the paddock, the sea of familiar faces starts to part for you, some people smiling warmly, others too shocked to do much more than gape. Max acknowledges a few of the team members with a nod, his usual stern expression softened by the presence of his daughter.

Then, as you turn a corner near the Red Bull garage, you see him. Charles, dressed in his Ferrari red, stands talking to a few engineers. His back is to you, and for a moment, you think you might pass by unnoticed. But then, as if sensing your presence, Charles turns.

The world seems to slow as his eyes lock onto Emilia. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief in a matter of seconds. His gaze flickers between you, Max, and the baby, and you can see the moment it all clicks for him. The green eyes, so like his own, staring back at him from the face of the baby strapped to Max’s chest.

“Max,” Charles says, his voice low, tight. His face flushes with a mix of emotions — shock, anger, betrayal. “What the hell is this?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “Let’s not do this here.”

But Charles doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on Emilia, and you instinctively move closer to Max, as if you can shield your daughter from whatever’s about to happen.

“You had a baby?” Charles spits out, his voice rising with each word. “My baby?” He points at you, disbelief and fury written all over his face. “You stole my girlfriend and now you’re raising my child?”

The words hit like a slap, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You knew this confrontation was coming, but nothing could have prepared you for the intensity of it, for the venom in Charles’ voice.

Max steps forward, placing himself between you and Charles. “Watch what you’re saying,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “Emilia is not your daughter. You gave up that right when you left her mother.”

Charles scoffs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at Max. “You think you can just replace me? That she’ll ever be yours?”

“She already is,” Max replies, his voice steady, unyielding. “She’s mine because I’m here for her, every day. Because I love her. And because you walked away.”

Charles looks like he’s about to explode. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, you think he might actually take a swing at Max. But instead, he turns his anger on you.

“And you,” he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. “How could you do this? How could you let him take my place?”

The accusation stings, but before you can respond, Emilia starts to cry, the tension and raised voices too much for her to handle. The sound cuts through the air like a knife, and suddenly, all eyes are on the three of you, the scene unfolding like a car crash that no one can look away from.

Charles looks stricken at the sound of Emilia’s cries, but his anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it seems to fuel him further. “You think you can just replace me? That she won’t know who her real father is?”

Max’s composure finally breaks. He steps forward, his face inches from Charles, his voice deadly calm. “You lost the right to call yourself her father when you walked away from her mother without a second thought. Don’t you dare try to claim her now.”

“Max, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you reach out to him. But before you can pull him back, Charles lashes out.

“You think this is over? You think I’ll just let you play happy family with my daughter?”

“Stop it, Charles,” you plead, but your words fall on deaf ears.

Charles opens his mouth to respond, but Emilia’s cries grow louder, her tiny fists clenching in distress. Max’s expression hardens as he looks at Charles, then at his daughter, who’s clearly terrified by the escalating confrontation.

“That’s enough,” Max says, his voice firm. “You’re scaring her.”

But Charles doesn’t back down. He takes another step forward, his voice rising. “She’s mine, Max. And I’ll make sure she knows it.”

Emilia’s wails reach a fever pitch, and Max’s patience snaps. He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he turns to you. “Take her,” he says softly, carefully unstrapping Emilia from the carrier and handing her to you. You can feel his hands shaking slightly as he passes her over, his control fraying at the edges.

You cradle Emilia close, trying to soothe her as you watch the standoff between Max and Charles with mounting dread.

Max squares his shoulders, turning back to Charles with a look that could freeze over hell. “If you ever come near her again,” he says, his voice cold as ice, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Charles’s eyes flash with anger, but he’s out of words, out of retorts. He glares at Max, then at you, before turning on his heel and storming away, his footsteps echoing down the paddock.

For a moment, everything is silent except for Emilia’s soft cries. The crowd that had gathered disperses, but not without a few lingering looks of shock and curiosity. You can feel the weight of their stares, the buzz of gossip that’s sure to follow, but all that matters is calming Emilia and holding it together for her.

Max stands there, his chest heaving, the adrenaline from the confrontation still coursing through his veins. He watches as Charles disappears from sight, then turns back to you, his expression softening as he sees the tears in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t want it to happen like this.”

You shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you focus on Emilia, her cries quieting as she nuzzles against your chest, seeking comfort.

Max steps closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, grounding both of you. “Are you okay?” He asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m okay,” you manage to say, though your voice is shaky. “It’s just ... it’s a lot.”

“I know,” Max says, his voice filled with regret. “I wish I could make it all go away.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the tension start to ease as Max’s presence grounds you. “We’ll get through this,” you say softly, more for yourself than anyone else.

Max wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other hand resting on Emilia’s back. “We will,” he promises, his voice steady and sure. “We’re a family, and nothing’s going to change that.”

As you stand there, the chaos of the paddock fading into the background, you realize that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, you’re not alone in this. You have Max, and together, you’ll face whatever comes your way.

***

Max paces the length of his driver’s room, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low but urgent. Outside, the hum of the paddock continues, but inside, the tension is palpable. He runs a hand through his hair, the stress of the day catching up with him. His mind is a storm of thoughts, all centered on you and Emilia.

You stand at the doorway, hesitating as you hear his voice, too focused on the conversation to notice your presence. You can’t make out every word, but the ones you do catch make your heart pound in your chest.

“No, I don’t care what it takes,” Max says, his voice firm. “I want to make sure he has no rights. None. He can’t just walk back into her life and take her away.”

Your breath hitches, and you step closer, just out of his line of sight. Max pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the call, his jaw clenched tight. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in, the gravity of what he’s discussing weighing heavily on your heart.

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “I’ve thought about that. Adoption. I want it to be official, as soon as possible. I want to be her dad in every way that matters.”

You feel like the air’s been knocked out of you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to contain the emotion that surges through you. You’ve always known that Max loves Emilia as his own, but hearing him talk about adoption, about making it official, is overwhelming. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear.

Max’s back is to you, his shoulders tense, his free hand on his hip. “No, I don’t care about the PR fallout. She’s my daughter, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.”

You can’t stay quiet any longer. “Max …”

He turns so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. His blue eyes widen in surprise, then soften when he sees you. He quickly wraps up the call, telling his lawyer he’ll be in touch soon, and hangs up, his attention solely on you now.

“How much did you hear?” He asks, a touch of worry in his voice as he approaches you.

“Enough,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion. “You’re serious about this? About adopting her?”

Max stops in front of you, his hands gently taking yours. “Of course, I am,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “She’s mine, in every way that matters. I don’t want there to be any question about that. I want to make it official.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them from falling. “Max … I don’t even know what to say. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He smiles, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that tugs at your heart. “I just want to do what’s right for you and Emilia. You both mean everything to me.”

Your heart swells with so much love that it feels like it might burst. “I love you,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Max’s eyes light up, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I love you too,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

You bury your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you as you let the tears fall, tears of happiness, relief, and love. Max’s hand runs soothingly up and down your back, his touch reassuring, solid, and everything you need.

“I didn’t know if you’d want that,” you admit after a moment, your voice muffled against his shirt. “The adoption, I mean. I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. “This isn’t about pressure,” he says earnestly. “This is about what I want. I want to be her dad, officially. I want us to be a family.”

His words hit you like a wave, and you can’t hold back the smile that breaks across your face. “We already are, Max. But … making it official … it would mean the world to me.”

He kisses you then, softly, sweetly, as if sealing the promise with his lips. When he pulls away, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes your heart race.

“We’ll get this sorted,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “Charles won’t be able to touch her. I’ll make sure of it.”

You nod, trusting him completely, knowing that whatever happens, Max will be there, by your side, protecting you and Emilia. He’s already proven that in so many ways.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning into his embrace. “For everything.”

Max presses another kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if he never wants to let go. “I’ll always be here for you,” he promises, his voice a gentle vow. “For both of you.”

You stay like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the world outside the room forgotten. It’s just you, Max, and the love that’s grown between you, a love that’s only getting stronger with each passing day.

Eventually, Max steps back, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles again. “Come on,” he says softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Let’s go check on Emilia.”

You smile back, feeling lighter than you have in days. “Yeah,” you agree, squeezing his hand. “Let’s.”

***

The FIA Prize Giving Ceremony is a glittering affair, with the most celebrated drivers in the world gathered under one roof, all eager to see who will take home the evening’s highest honors. The room is abuzz with energy, cameras flashing, and the air thick with anticipation. It’s a night of recognition, where the best of the best are acknowledged for their achievements on the track. But for you and Max, tonight is about something much more personal.

You sit beside Max at one of the front tables, your hands clasped together under the tablecloth. Max looks sharp in his tailored suit, but his usual air of calm confidence is tinged with a nervous excitement that he can’t quite hide. His eyes are fixed on the stage, where the host is just beginning to announce the next category: Rookie of the Year.

“... and the Rookie of the Year award goes to ... Emilia Verstappen!”

The applause is instantaneous, loud and enthusiastic, as the cameras pan across the audience. You squeeze Max’s hand, and he turns to you, his eyes shining with pride. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to — you can see everything he’s feeling written all over his face.

You both watch as Emilia makes her way to the stage, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, the bright lights catching the sparkles in her gown. She moves with the grace and confidence of someone who’s been in the spotlight her entire life, but there’s still that youthful energy in her step, the excitement of someone just beginning to make her mark on the world.

When Emilia reaches the podium, she takes the award in her hands, the applause still roaring around her. She takes a moment to look out at the audience, her eyes searching until they find yours and Max’s. She smiles — a smile that’s a little bit of yours, a little bit of her biological father’s, and completely her own. The room gradually quiets down, and when she speaks, her voice is clear and steady, carrying through the hall.

“Wow, this is ... incredible. Thank you so much to the FIA, to my team, and to everyone who’s supported me this year. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m so grateful for every moment.”

She pauses, glancing down at the award in her hands, turning it over thoughtfully. “But there are two people I need to thank more than anyone else, because without them, I wouldn’t be standing here tonight.”

You feel Max’s grip on your hand tighten just slightly, as if bracing himself for what’s coming. He’s always been proud of Emilia, but tonight, the emotion is running deeper than ever.

“My parents,” Emilia continues, her voice growing softer, more heartfelt. “Mama, Papa ... I owe everything to you.”

The crowd is silent now, all eyes on the young woman at the podium, the daughter of one of the greatest drivers in Formula 1 history, but tonight, it’s clear that this is Emilia’s moment.

“Mama,” Emilia says, her gaze finding you again, “you’ve been my rock, my biggest supporter, and the person who’s always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. You taught me what it means to be strong, to never give up, and to follow my heart. I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You’ve watched Emilia grow from a baby into the remarkable young woman she is today, and hearing her speak these words is almost too much to bear. You squeeze Max’s hand again, finding comfort in his presence beside you.

“And Papa ...” Emilia’s voice catches slightly, and she takes a moment to steady herself. “I know I might not look like you, but no one can deny that I drive like you. You’ve taught me everything I know about racing, but more importantly, you’ve shown me what it means to be passionate, dedicated, and fearless. I’ve always wanted to make you proud, and I hope I’ve done that.”

Max can’t hold back the tears any longer. He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his emotions in check, but it’s no use. His eyes are wet, his chest tight with pride and love for his daughter. He nods, his lips pressed together in a tight line, as if trying to keep himself from breaking down completely.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close. In this moment, it’s just the three of you — everything else fades away.

Emilia takes a deep breath, her gaze sweeping across the audience one last time. “I’m so lucky to have parents like you. Thank you for everything. This award is as much yours as it is mine.”

The applause that follows is deafening, the crowd rising to their feet in a standing ovation. Emilia smiles, a little shy now that the speech is over, and nods her thanks before stepping back from the podium.

As the applause continues, Max turns to you, his eyes still glistening. “She’s incredible, isn’t she?”

You nod, too emotional to speak, your heart full to bursting with love for both of them. Max leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent acknowledgment of everything you’ve been through together to reach this moment.

The ceremony continues, but you’re not really paying attention anymore. You’re too lost in your thoughts, in the warmth of Max’s arm around you, in the overwhelming pride you feel for your daughter.

When Emilia returns to the table, the award in her hands, Max immediately pulls her into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “So, so proud.”

Emilia hugs him back just as tightly, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Papa,” she whispers, her voice full of love. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They hold each other for a long moment, and you can’t help but smile through your own tears. This is your family — your beautiful, wonderful, extraordinary family.

As the evening draws to a close and the final awards are handed out, you find yourself reflecting on the journey that brought you all here. It wasn’t always easy, and there were times when you weren’t sure how things would turn out. But standing here now, with Max and Emilia by your side, you know that every challenge, every hardship, was worth it.

As you all make your way out of the ceremony and into the cool night air, Emilia holds her award close, her eyes still shining with happiness. Max keeps his arm around you, his other hand resting on Emilia’s shoulder, as if he can’t bear to let either of you out of his reach.

When you reach the car, Max opens the door for you and Emilia, and you both slide inside. As Max takes his seat behind the wheel, he glances over at you, his expression soft and full of love.

“Ready to go home?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, smiling at him, your heart full. “Yeah,” you reply, reaching over to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

As Max drives through the quiet streets, Emilia leans her head against your shoulder, her award still clutched in her hands. You glance at her, at the peaceful expression on her face, and feel a surge of contentment wash over you.

This is what it’s all about, you realize. This is the life you’ve built together, the family you’ve created. And as you sit there, surrounded by the people you love most in the world, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together — just as you always have.

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[bitchdafuqyousay]

.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

Toji Fushiguro

Summary: Megumi is insanely jealous of the new addition to the household.

Warnings: Fluff, Jealous!Megumi

*Didn't have anything bigger for Toji for father's day but I had to celebrate it one way or another sfjosjf. Enjoy my lovelies!

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Papa, up!” Megumi yells, hoping to get his father’s attention when he sees Toji holding the new addition to the family. Megumi has reached the age where he claims to be independent, after all, four is such a big age. He’d cry if you or Toji held him, but he’s changed his mind.

“Your baby sister is crying, give me a minute.” Toji sounds annoyed, knowing that Megumi does it out of jealousy. Jealous of a baby that can’t even hold her own head, kids are so dumb. Megumi lets out a cry before yelling again,

“Papa, up!” He wants attention now. He doesn’t want to wait until Toji is done with some stinky baby. Toji lets out an exasperated sigh as tears begin to stream down Megumi’s face– Crocodile tears, but tears nonetheless. He extends his arms and opens and closes his tiny fists repeatedly, yelling, “Up!”

“Megumi, you don’t want to wake up mommy, do you?” Toji asks, trying his best to calm down the crying baby in his arms while also handling Megumi. Toji goes unheard as Megumi begins to cry his little heart out. 

Toji takes a deep breath, trying to remain collected in this situation. Megumi is only four and getting adjusted to the presence of his little sister. Toji decides that it’s best to walk away, going to the kitchen to get the baby’s bottle and deal with her first since Megumi’s issue isn’t easily resolved. 

“Papa!” Megumi yells, following around Toji as he gets a bottle in the baby’s mouth. 

“Megumi, wait for me in the living room.” Toji says, but Megumi isn’t listening. Daddy isn’t like mommy, whatever mommy says goes but when Toji speaks he goes ignored; Toji’s is far scarier and intimidating than you are, he doesn’t understand why Megumi doesn’t take him seriously. “Megumi, go away!”

“I’m running away!” Megumi stomps his little feet before finally leaving Toji to deal with the baby. Toji breathes in relief, his pesky little bug finally giving him a moment alone. He’s able to go to the living room and sit down comfortably as he finishes feeding his daughter. 

“He’ll come around, princess. He hasn’t witnessed just how cute you are.” Toji coos, as if the baby can understand or care. She finishes her bottle, and Toji burps her before setting her down in her crib. He usually chooses to hold her whenever he can, but right now he has bigger fish to fry.

Toji walks into Megumi’s room, watching how his son tries to fit his most valuable toys into a backpack. Toji is trying his best to not chuckle, knowing that Megumi is deeply hurt. Toji takes a seat on Megumi’s tiny bed, clearing his throat before asking, “Need help packing?”

“You hate me!” Megumi cries, and Toji rolls his eyes. Was he that dramatic when he was Megumi’s age? “Mommy and you don’t love me anymore.”

“Oh c’mon, why do you say that, urchin?” Toji tries to see the little guy’s point of view before attempting to comfort him. The last thing Toji needs is attempting to explain to you why Megumi is packing up all his toys– You leave him alone with the kids for a two hour nap and Megumi’s already moving out. 

“You only care for the new baby.” Megumi angrily muffles, and Toji could’ve guessed as much. 

“C’mere, baby. Let me carry you now.” Toji opens his arms for Megumi, and Megumi glares at his father. He wipes away his tears before deciding that he does want to be carried by his father, after all, the tantrum is simply because of this. Toji picks him up, setting him down on his lap before kissing his forehead. “Is this why you’ve been so sensitive? Because of the new baby?”

“Yeah…” Megumi pouts, and it takes everything in Toji to not laugh.

“I will tell you something but don’t tell mommy, okay?” Toji begins, almost whispering to Megumi. Megumi’s eyes perk up, and Toji is fighting back a smirk. “We… Don’t like the new baby that much. I mean, we just met her. But you, urchin? You’re our favorite.”

“Really?” Megumi’s voice is full of hope, and Toji prays that this means Megumi will stop being so jealous about his baby sister. Toji doesn’t hesitate before nodding. It reminds Megumi that he doesn’t like being held anymore, which makes him get off Toji’s lap.

“Will you behave around her, now?” Toji asks, and Megumi takes a moment to think about it.

“Can we sell her?” Megumi responds, which makes Toji’s jaw drop. Did his cute little urchin seriously just say that?

“Okay, new rule: you’re not allowed near her room.” Toji stands up from the tiny bed, his knees cracking. He leans down and kisses the top of Megumi’s head, “Now unpack all of your toys before mommy wakes up.”

[lovelivision]

THE COMPLEX ✧₊

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: fushiguro toji/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.7k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after you catch your ex cheating on you in your shared apartment, you run into your mysterious neighbour. surprisingly, you find a friendship in him you weren't expecting. he's especially handy in helping you put together your new bed frame

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, cheating (not by reader or toji), flirting, dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v sex, mating press, dacryphilia, fingering, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, creampie, cum play, tease!toji, f!reader

Coming home after a long day of work is something that should bring you joy but as you cross the threshold of the apartment you share with your boyfriend; you know something is wrong. The abrupt cut off of what sounded like moans followed by frantic shuffling doesn’t give you much of a chance to think the best of him.

Already knowing what’s coming, you begin looking for your suitcase you have stored away. Checking the linen cupboard in the hall first and pulling it out, dragging it behind you when your – soon to be – ex-boyfriend leaves your shared room.

“You’re home early!” He looks nervous, like he can’t tell if he’s been caught or not yet. He’s about to say something else when his eyes flick to the suitcase you pulled out of the cupboard, “Going on a trip or something?” The chuckle he lets out is awkward and off-putting.

Ignoring his question, you walk past him wordlessly, pushing towards your bedroom, you just want to pack as much of your shit as you can manage and get out of here.

He rushes to get in front of you, stopping you from entering the room, “Why won’t you say anything?”

“What do you expect me to say?” You look at him with nothing but apathy, giving him no chance to pull a fast one on you, “You want me to scream? Cry maybe? Beg you to tell me all the dirty little details?”

“I expect you to care at least a little bit! Ask me why, how long, anything!” His voice raises at you, like he has any right to be mad.

“Those kinds of questions give you hope that I’ll stay,” your hand reaches for the door handle behind him, “And I have no intention of staying,” walking forward in spite of him blocking you, forcing him to either move or stop you.

Acquiescing, he lets you pass him. There is no shock when you’re confronted with the half-naked girl in your bed, the bed you bought – he can keep it. It’s also no shock to see she’s someone your boyfriend works with, what was it again? His work wife? No matter how many times you mentioned that her clinginess and his unwillingness to set boundaries made you uncomfortable he never did anything to make you feel better.

Maybe if you had been paying more attention to him, if you hadn’t checked out of the relationship months ago, you would’ve been able to stop him from cheating. Then again, if you have to stop someone from cheating they aren’t worth your time.

You’d consider saying something to her but there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be a waste of breath, not when she’s sat so smugly wrapped in your favourite sheets. She’s proud of herself and you just can’t seem to comprehend why, the prize she won is some loser who was willing to cheat on his long-term girlfriend.

The suitcase in your hand is thrown onto the bed haphazardly, she startles at the bounce in the mattress, like you were going to hurt her or something. That’s something you find amusing, smile small as you tug open the zipper calmly.

Your boyfriend follows you around the room as you pick up all the necessities you can fit, “Are you seriously just going to leave like this?”

Without looking at him you answer, “Yeah.”

“Why won’t you even try and fight for me?” He sounds desperate and angry.

Pausing, you look him straight in the eyes, “Because I don’t want you.”

“No wonder he cheated on you,” his work wife scoffs from the bed, finally pulling herself out of it, rushing off to the bathroom to change. The speed in which she leaves the room after her comment almost makes you chuckle, like she’s still scared you’ll hurt her.

“Don’t you love me?” He pleads, ignoring her comment.

Instead of answering, you turn it back on him, “Did you love me while you were fucking her?” You don’t wait for his reply, going back to your suitcase.

“Of course I did,” he cements, like he means it, and hell maybe he does but just because he means it doesn’t change what he did.

“Why are you so surprised?” You pull the zip closed and tug everything off the bed, looking at him in exasperation, “I told you that cheating is a deal breaker for me, it always has been, and it always will be, so stop acting so incensed or like I blindsided you with this reaction.”

He glares at you harshly, like he’s the wronged party here, “I thought you would care more.”

“You thought wrong,” it’s taking a lot to continue this façade of indifference, and while you certainly don’t feel as effected as some would, it still hurts, you’re still livid, but mostly you’re tired.

“I never realised how much of a cold-hearted bitch you were,” his tone is cold, words cutting through you sharply.

Sighing at him, you say, “I’ll come back for the rest of my stuff later this week, if any of it’s missing or damaged I’ll be calling the cops.” Grabbing your handbag, you walk to the front door, suitcase rolling behind you, “Just in case this wasn’t clear enough, I’m breaking up with you.”

“You haven’t even let me say anything,” he’s almost frantic, like he’s stunned by your verbalisation of the breakup. “Wait, don’t leave! We can talk about this can’t we?”

Pulling the door open, you don’t look back, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Your steps in the hallway of the building are rushed, worried that he’s going to follow you. Finger pressing into the elevator call button quickly like that will make it come quicker. It opens just as the door to your apartment does and you feel your heart rate spike, thumb slamming into the ‘door close’ symbol.

Foot tapping impatiently on the floor as you wait for it to reach the lobby, hoping you get there before him. The fact he can switch so quickly between calling you a cold-hearted bitch and begging you to stay is chilling, just who were you living with for all these years.

When the elevator dings you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you jump slightly and then you haul ass, going for the front door before thinking better of it. If he really does intend on coming after you then it might be better to go out the back.

The back of the building is a grimy alley and while you’d really rather not go back there, you’d really rather not run into your ex more, so grimy alley it is. It’s a struggle to open the door with your handbag on your shoulder and suitcase in your other hand. You manage it though, it’s just unfortunate that when you start down the steps you stumble slightly as your suitcase wheel gets caught on one of the stairs, your handbag falls to the floor as you struggle to catch yourself on the railing.

You’re pissed off and grumbly as you pull on your suitcase forcefully, “Just my fucking luck, God, what an awful fucking night. These stupid fucking stairs, always hated it back here–”

A short chuckle sounds from behind and it scares the hell out of you. Spinning around quickly and placing a hand over your racing heart, you see it’s just your neighbour. You’ve seen him in the hall a few times, never saying more than a friendly hello and quick nod of acknowledgement.

He seemed polite enough, you would’ve gotten to know him better, but your ex had told you to stay away from him. Making claims like he was dangerous and bad news; you don’t know if you ever believed him, but he clearly felt some type of way about you being friendly with him, so you kept your distance. Mostly out of respect for your relationship and your partners boundaries but that’s a little bit ironic now, after tonight.

Your neighbour is all too amused when he apologies for obviously frightening you, “Sorry, doll, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Turning your back on him and leaning down to your bag, you acknowledge his apology, “It’s fine,” you’re trying to be polite but you’re still in a foul mood.

“Need any help?” He offers when he sees you struggling to put everything back in your handbag. Head tilted as he checks out your ass in your tight work skirt before realising he’s staring and looking away before you can notice.

“No.” You answer without looking up, though it comes out harsher than you mean for it to, clearing your throat lightly, you add, “No, I can manage, thank you though.”

His tongue clicks, “What are you doing in this alley, shouldn’t you be going out the front?”

Without missing a beat, you turn the question back on him, “What are you doing in this alley?” Finally standing and raising to look pointedly back at him, handbag placed precariously on top of your suitcase.

Wordlessly, he takes a drag of the cigarette you hadn’t noticed he was smoking, blowing the smoke off to the side, away from you. His smile too big when he notices how your expression twists in slight embarrassment when realising his very obvious reason for being back here.

“You gonna tell me why you’re back here or are you going for some kind of mysterious woman vibe?” He’s glib, annoyingly so.

But attractive, in an irritating kind of way, the kind of way that pisses you off because how dare he be that hot and also be looking at you like that.

Your reply is straightforward, “It’s not a mystery, you’re just a stranger.”

“Cranky little thing aren’t ya?” Smirking to himself when he mentions your bad mood, like it’s so funny.

That pisses you off, you were trying so hard to be polite to him and while you were failing, you were trying, “Listen here mister ‘I’m so handsome I can get away with being an annoying asshole to strangers–’.”

“–Toji.”

You fumble slightly, taken aback by his interruption, “What?”

“That’s my name,” he looks pleased with himself for throwing you off. It’s like he’s trying to win an award for annoying you.

Frowning, you brush him off and continue on your mini tirade, “Right, well, I have had an especially foul evening and the last thing I need after walking in on my boyfriend cheating on me, is some dick telling me I’m awfully cranky. I think I should be crankier actually!”

He huffs out an amused breath at your frustrated rant, “Normally you give your name back after someone’s offered theirs.”

You squint at him, scrutinising his person. Hesitating in answering him but ultimately you give him your name, not seeing the harm in it.

It’s like he mulls it over, smiling to himself before saying unprompted, “A damn shame to see you go, doll.”

“I’m so sure,” you snark back.

Taking a step forward, you go to leave the alley, but he speaks again, “I got one question though…”

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to face him properly, hand propped on your hip, “And what’s that?”

“Why are you the one leaving?” His head tilts at you.

You don’t know why, but you decide to answer him, “It was his place first,” you shuffle from side to side, “Plus I’m not particularly fond of the fact that they’ve potentially fucked in every square inch of that place…”

He barks a short laugh at your statement, “You know… if you were my girlfriend,” he leans in towards you, “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“Yeah that means so much to me mysterious neighbour who I’ve never spoken more than a few words to in passing,” you deadpan back at him.

There’s an entertained look on his face as he eyes you up and down, grinning to himself before taking another drag of his cigarette.

Your foot taps impatiently while you wait for him to say more, he looks like he wants to say more but the longer it takes him to talk the more you’re not fully convinced he has anything to say. Puffing, you turn to walk off, only to get stopped by his words, again.

“You got a place to stay?”

Your brow raises at him, “Yeah… I do.”

He shrugs, “That’s too bad.”

“Stop flirting with me! I literally just found out my ex of many years has been cheating on me,” frown prominent on your face as you accuse him adeptly of hitting on you.

His shoulders shake with a chuckle, “The first time I’ve gotten to say more than a few words to you in passing, just making the most of it.”

Something clicks for you, “Now I see why my ex didn’t like you very much.”

“And why’s that?”  He’s smug when he asks.

“He’s insecure and you’re very clearly a flirt.”

Unbothered, he answers simply, “Not usually, you just so happen to be my type.”

You click your tongue, caught between shocked and completely unsurprised by him, “Awfully blunt aren’t you?”

Toji smiles at you as he takes another drag, blowing the smoke away quickly, “If you want someone there when you’re picking up the rest of your shit from that jackasses place, feel free to knock on my door,” he follows up his statement with a wink, dropping his smoke and stomping it out. He’s walking to the door, adding, “Stay safe out there, doll. I’m looking forward to seeing you again.”

How presumptuous of him, he’s such an ass, and just as you go to tell him as such, he’s closing the door and presumably going back up to his apartment. Your face scrunches as you think of all the things you could’ve said to him and at the things you shouldn’t have said to him. He didn’t need to know all about your relationship like that… tonight just keeps getting worse for you.

At least you wasted enough time that if your ex did follow you down like he seemed he was going to, he’s probably left by now.

✮.

Staying with your friends is uncomfortable, they’re dating and happy and you’re sour about it. Their displays of affection are prompting you to get into motion though, finding a reasonably cheap place to live fairly quick. Fuelled by nothing but bitterness and a sickening feeling like you’ve wasted too much time with your ex.

The next step is going back to that apartment and collecting more of your valuables, having left behind a bunch of things that would’ve been too much of a hassle to grab in the moment. Taking a day off work and borrowing your friends’ car is the move, aiming to go while the place is empty.

It’s still going to be a bit of work moving stuff from the apartment down to the car and your friends can’t take the day off to help. As much as you feel uncertain about it, you might ask Toji for help, he offered after all.

By the time you’re finally heading back to that apartment complex it’s been a few days, not having felt ready enough to come back any sooner. It’s funny how everything about the building is the same and yet you feel so different about it all now, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. There’s no warmth here, just another cold place that one day you’ll pass and not feel a tug in your heart over.

Nerves run through you as you stand in front of Toji’s door, uncertainty sitting heavy in your chest. Maybe he wasn’t genuinely offering, or what if he’s busy, or what if he’s not even home. You’re stupid, you didn’t even consider that he might not be home today, feeling flustered you ultimately don’t knock on his door.

Entering your now old apartment feels odd, most of your stuff is still here but you feel detached from the place. Amazing how a few days can change your outlook so drastically. Thankfully it doesn’t look like he touched any of your things, though you never really had all that much to begin with.

It was his apartment first and a lot of the furniture is his or was bought by the two of you together. Aside from the bed but that’s just because he didn’t want to pay for a new one. If you’re being honest, it never even felt like your place. You lived here and you called it home, but it doesn’t look lived in by you. After a while you stopped trying to buy trinkets and decorations for the place, he never seemed to like them. Always leaving you feeling like it was his place first and a shared home second.

You guess, at some point, it stopped being noticeable but as you stand here now and look through your belongings, you’re realising you really do not have all that much. Whatever you take will hardly make a dent in the large ocean of his belongings, poetic in a way. You’re a small part of him but he was a large part of you.

Grimacing at your own thoughts you move on, not wanting to start feeling those emotions in fear of crying. Instead sourcing the boxes you kept from your initial move in, you tape them back into shape. It’s been so long they look weak and old; time has not been kind to either of you it seems.

On your trips back and forth from the apartment to the car, you pointedly ignore Toji’s door, not wanting to linger on thoughts of him either. It embarrassing that you told a stranger that much about your life and then was willing to have him help you move out. Though he had big arms… he’d probably be really helpful.

This whole thing is taking longer than you thought it would, your arms growing tired from each trip. As you look at one of the few boxes you have left, you wonder if it’s even worth it. Most of what’s in these are clothes or the few decorative trinkets you own.

No, he doesn’t get to keep any part of you. Not the parts that were solely you anyways, he can keep those fucking sheets. Picking up the box, you trudge out the door for what feels like the billionth time. Not able to help the frustration in your steps as you stomp out into the hallway.

Just as you’re about to pass by Toji’s door, your box splits underneath and your things spill out. Thankfully it only really has some clothes in it, but you clearly overfilled it, too heavy for the poor old cardboard. Letting it drop to the floor; all you can do is look at the pile of clothes.

A deep sigh pulls from your lungs and your eyes brim with tears, you’ve yet to cry about this all but your box breaking feels like the last straw. Fighting your tears off desperately and failing as they drip down your cheeks.

Your voice is small when you mumble a tiny, “I hate everything.”

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, apparently out of it enough to not hear someone leave their apartment and approach you. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised when you look and see Toji, but you are, feeling a little confused at the small amount of relief that runs through you at seeing him.

His tone is careful when he asks, “You okay, doll?” Like he’s actually worried about you.

And maybe it’s because he’s the first person to properly ask you that, or because his hand is warm and large against your shoulder or maybe it’s just because he’s here, you move to hug him. Realising now just how alone you feel, desiring comfort from him.

He doesn’t push you back, instead he wraps his arms around you and lets you soak a portion of his shirt in your tears. A kindness you don’t think you’d expect from someone who looks – or quite frankly – acts like him.

Mumbling in his shirt, “Sorry…” Before pulling back, “I’m okay… sorry.”

“You apologised twice,” he notes.

“Sorry…”

An amused look on his face at your third apology, his thumb reaching up to wipe at the tear on your cheek before speaking again, “Your box broke.”

“I know, it made me cry.”

“Don’t cry over spilt clothes.”

Somehow that poor joke has you cracking a small smile, “Very wise of you.”

“I’m full of that shit,” he moves for your box, letting all the clothes spill onto the floor, “Wisdom.”

“You sure you’re not just full of shit?”

“Ah there’s the girl I met the other night,” Flipping the box upside down, he scoops up your clothes and shoves them inside again.

Realising he’s picking up after you, you tell him, “I can do that.”

“I’m sure you can,” he picks up the box easily, resting it over one forearm as he moves for his apartment door.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re taking my stuff?”

“Finders keepers,” his tone even.

“Hey?!” You call after him, following him into his apartment.

It’s a mirror image of yours, furnishing a bit boring but befitting of what you assume is a single man. Toji drops the box of your clothes onto the floor by the front door, pushing it off to the side.

His words interrupt your snooping from afar, “How many more boxes you got?”

“Uh, only a couple,” you blink up at him, still lost on what’s he’s doing.

He hums at you, “Come on.”

“What?” You’re then following him back out of his apartment and over to yours, he walks in like he’s been invited. Flustered and confused as you hurry along behind him, “Toji, what are you doing?”

“You used my name,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “Almost made me blush, doll,” he teases back at you.

Purposefully not indulging his flirting, “Shut up, why are we over here?”

“Grabbing the rest of your shit, put it at my place before that dick gets home,” he stacks the last two boxes on top of each other, smaller than the box that had your clothes in it. Picking them up with ease, he walks past you, “Could ya get the door for me?”

Mindlessly, you open the door. Why is he doing this for you? “Toji–”

“Do a once over and check you got everything,” he nods back at you, “Don’t take too long though, he gets home from work soon.”

He walks off before you can say anything, so you decide to do what he said. Checking the apartment all over to make sure you got everything you wanted, you were right earlier, your stuff barely made a dent. When you’re satisfied you’ve got everything, you go to walk out the front door, pausing at a note taped to the wall by it.

Not noticing it with your view being obscured by large boxes every time you walked by it, that and you’ve been a bit distracted all day. It’s obviously written by your ex, you’re half tempted to just ignore it but you’re nosy and want to know what he’s said.

It reads a simple: ‘please don’t leave me, it was a mistake. I love you’. Underwhelming to say the least, it doesn’t even move you. If anything, you feel pissed the fuck off. How dare he spit a bunch of bullshit, you’re not stupid, the day you caught them was certainly not the first time they’d fucked here. It was written all over that woman’s face, she was smug, like she’d finally got what she’d wanted by you finding out.

For a quiet moment, you consider writing something back to him, or burning the note, or even just ripping it up. But you’re choosing to leave it there, maybe he’ll wonder if you saw it and maybe he’ll always be unsatisfied as to whether or not you’d have stayed if you had. Maybe he doesn’t deserve closure, maybe he deserves nothing more of you.

You’re getting bored thinking about him, this relationship had already been on its way out, you just didn’t have the guts to leave him for seemingly no reason. Pretending like you didn’t see his shitty note, you lock up the place and take the key off your key chain. Slipping it under the door before walking over to Toji’s.

Looking at his door, you consider if you should knock or walk in. It feels wrong to enter someone’s home unannounced though, even if they did kind of hijack some of your belongings and stash them in their house. Feeling too uncomfortable to simply walk in, you knock, waiting patiently for him to open it.

When he opens the door he leans against the frame of it with his forearm, “I left it open for ya.”

“It’s rude to enter without an invitation,” you say obviously.

He points out, “Didn’t stop ya earlier.”

“You stole my clothes!” You defend.

A chuckle leaves him, “Get in,” he holds the door wider for you.

Pausing, you check first, “You’re not gonna kill me or something are you?”

“A sweet lil’ thing like you?” His smile is big and flirtatious, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of yourself,” rolling your eyes as you walk past him and into his apartment.

The door swings closed behind you, Toji watching you shuck of your shoes, “Nope.”

Standing up and turning back to him, you mumble a small, “Thanks for helping me… and sorry… for crying on you.”

He pouts at you in thought, a hum leaving as an acknowledgment of what you’ve said. “You want some tea?”

You’re taken aback by his sudden offer, “Oh… uh… sure, that’d be nice.”

“Sit wherever,” he waves his hand around aimlessly at the few seating options he has.

Cautiously, you navigate around his apartment, unsure of yourself in here. You’ve only just met him and he’s being so kind, the fact he’s a stranger a more obvious fact when you’re in his home. You hesitate for a moment before taking a seat on his couch, gazing out the window while he clanks around in the kitchen.

Finding yourself wishing you’d put more effort into knowing him, he seems kind, though with how he flirts with you it’s probably better you didn’t. His footsteps are padded as they approach you, his slippers dragging against the floorboards. The tea he’s made for you is placed on the coffee table across from you, along with another he’d made for himself.

With no grace, he flops down beside you, his head leaning back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to have very good manners, his frame spread wide, sitting closer to you than most people probably would.

After a moment, he comments, “All the furniture was still in that place.”

You guess he’s referring to your apartment, “Yeah…”

“Gonna have an empty new apartment.”

“Yeah,” you reach for your tea, “It’ll all be me though.”

His head turns to look at you, “I’d like to see it.”

You smile into your mug, “You trying to say you wanna see my new place when I move in?”

“I think I should be the first person to see it.”

Taking a quick sip, you place the mug back down on the table, still a bit too hot, “And why should you get such a high honour?”

“Because you ruined my shirt by crying into it–”

“I did not ruin your–”

“And because you’ll need someone to help with all your new and big furniture,” he smiles at you like he knows he’s right, all smug and attractive.

Being serious for a moment, you enquire, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious,” you shake your head at him and his smile grows, “I’m hoping to get into your pants.”

Your face pulls up at him and you push him away by his shoulder, “You’re pathetic.”

“Yeah, but you’re hot and single,” he barely moves at your pushing.

You continue to frown at him, “You have to help with my furniture now, after being so lecherous.”

You’re only joking but he answers as if you weren’t, “Whatever you say, doll,” he smiles arrogantly, like he knows he’s won you over, even if it’s just a little bit.

✮.

The new place is nice, smaller than your last but it’s a good size for you. It’s only been a few days since you moved in though, so your ‘bed’ has been a mattress on the floor and your living room has a sad looking bean bag instead of a proper couch. It’s strikingly bare in here but it’s all yours and you get to decorate to your hearts content, you just wish you had the funds to buy to your hearts content.

Your first big purchase has been a bed frame, deeming it the most necessary. A couch will probably go second and then a place for eating and a desk and… there is so much more furniture you need. Things that can all wait, nothing will bring down your mood. You’re feeling good, your bed frame came today and you’re going to put it together and have the best sleep ever tonight.

…

Premature optimism will be your downfall, you felt pretty good about assembling this altogether yourself. But now after having tried to put this stupid bedframe together for an hour or maybe more all the confidence you had in yourself has been drained. Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, instructions and bits of your bed in front of you, mattress pushed up against the wall and out the way, you have been defeated.

Happy thoughts, all happy thoughts, you can have it together before it’s time for bed… surely… Maybe this is more of a two-person job, you should’ve asked for help. Checking the time you see it’s late afternoon, is it too late in the day to call Toji and ask for his help. You ponder on it for a second before deciding you’re calling him; you want to sleep in an actual bed tonight. Plus, if you don’t get it together tonight, you’ll be sleeping on the mattress out in the living room and that just feels wrong.

The line only rings a couple times before he’s picking up, “Was wondering how long it’d take ya to call me, doll.”

“Don’t be smug, it makes it harder for me to ask for your help,” you roll your eyes despite him not being able to see you.

It’s scary how accurate he is in asking, “Taking me up on my offer to help with your furniture?”

“Is the offer still good?”

“For you?” he hums, “Always.”

He may be the biggest flirt you’ve ever met, “Then yes… I’d like your help, please.”

His smile can be heard down the line, “Those are nice manners you got there.”

“Shut up, just get here,” you hang up on him and text your address, he’s going to tease you plenty when he gets here, you don’t need sneak previews.

Though you are thankful you have his number, having already exchanged short messages back and forth. Sometimes you’ve even talked on the phone with him, you get a bit lonely and it’s nice to be able to call him. He’s not overly talkative but he will listen to you carry on about nothing and you like that in a man. Embarrassingly though, you tend to bring up just about anything so you can keep talking to him for a bit longer.

By the time Toji is in your apartment, you’re feeling down, having tried for a bit after the call to try and assemble it at least a little bit before he got here and failing. The pair of you look at the mess on the floor of your bedroom, his hands on his hips as his brow quirks at the sight. You feel small next to him, humiliated by just how badly you’ve done.

His head turns to the side, “Doll… what the hell am I looking at?”

“My new bed,” you pout back at him.

“You sure?” He double checks.

You’re glaring at him, “Yes. I’m sure.”

His head shakes at you, “Should’ve just called me from the beginning.”

“Well maybe I thought I could do it myself.”

“And look how that turned out.”

You whine at him, “You said you were gonna help.”

“And I will,” he places a hand on top of your head, leaning down, “I just gotta mock you first.”

“Is it out of your system yet?”

A beat before, “Probably not.”

Ignoring him, you offer, “Do you want a drink?”

He pats your head a couple times, “Quite the little host, aren’t ya?”

Your answer is dry, “No drink for you, got it.”

A laugh leaves him at your quickness, clearly enjoying the back and forth the two of you have. “Alright I’ll have your bed together quick; I don’t even know how you managed to fuck it up this bad.”

“Unnecessarily cruel,” you note.

Throwing a smile at you, he reaches for the instructions and glances over them for a moment before letting them float down to the ground. He’s clearly confident in his ability to put the bed together.

And to be fair, he had good reason to be confident. He gets it all assembled easily, barely needing your help save for a few moments where you had to hold something. Mostly, you felt like you were just there to watch him, and you found yourself not minding at all, he looked good.

As the mattress slides into place on the new frame, he gives you a helping hand in making the bed. Putting all the appropriate linens back on, including fresh sheets. It’s beautiful, all ready for you to sleep in, to think you almost cried about this a couple hours ago. The frame itself is nothing special but you’re feeling so much joy over something so simple.

“Thank you so much, Toji,” if it were physically possible, you’d have hearts in your eyes right now.

“More than welcome, doll,” he winks at you, “Want help breaking it in?”

“Okay.”

“What?” He asks again, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“Okay, you can help me break it in,” when he doesn’t move, you ask, “Toji?”

“Hold on, I wasn’t expecting to get this far.”

You laugh airily, his surprise cute. As much as you were serious, you don’t want to put pressure on him. Moving to walk past and offering, “Do you wanna eat instead? I can order something; I don’t think I have enough in my fridge to cook–”

Your sentence is cut off by his hand on your upper arm, suddenly being pulled into him. “Now hold on, I’m not passing on this opportunity.”

“You sure? You seemed to get a bit nervous for a second there,” you tease.

“Was taken by surprise is all,” he grins.

“Are you really sure, because–”

He’s cutting you off again, his lips on yours, breathing against you, “–You talk too damn much.”

“That’s just–”

You don’t get to finish; he’s kissing you again. It’s insistent and messy, like he’s been wanting to kiss you for too long. His tongue licking into your mouth, pulling a whine from you at how his hands grope at your hips. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself up into him, craving more of him.

He’s large and warm, so sturdy as you hang off him. Such a good kisser, lips slotting against yours perfectly. The way he’s making out with you has shivers running down your spine, finding yourself obsessing over his lips. You don’t want to part from him, drunk on him and the messy way he’s kissing you.

A hand leaves your hip and grabs the side of your face, his thumb pulls on your chin, getting you to open your mouth more. He wants to kiss you deeper, he wants to kiss you so you never forget what it’s like to be kissed by him. Leading you back, he walks you both to the bed until your legs are knocking on it and then he pushes you down onto it.

“You know,” his smile is suggestive, “I think I am hungry.”

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to understand what he means, it’s not until his hands are at the waistband of your pants are you catching on, “Oh!” You’re feeling flustered, “I– you don’t– if you want–”

“–Oh, I want,” He returns quickly. “Do you?”

“Yes…” Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.

He can’t help but snicker at how you’re suddenly so much more shy, “Where’d your sharp tongue go, doll?”

“Shuddup Toji,” you snark back.

The breath that leaves him is amused, his hands pulling your pants and panties off in one go. And then he’s a little breathless because you’re so wet and pretty, his hands are keeping you spread apart.

“Keep ya fuckin’ legs open, doll,” he grunts, “Don’t deprive me of the view.”

“How can you be so– hah–”

He drops to his knees and blows cool air onto your clit, interrupting your comment in favour of a small gasp. Enjoying the way you twitch slightly at the action, “What were you saying?”

“F–Fuck you,” you curse at him.

“You’ll get the chance, don’t worry.”

Not able to hold himself back any longer, he’s putting his mouth on your cunt. His tongue spreading your folds, licking from your hole to your clit and back down again, repeating the motions over and over. No real purpose behind his actions, just enjoying the taste of you on his tongue, relishing in the sounds he manages to pull from you. Essentially making out with your pussy, reverential in his actions.

You try grinding down into him, to guide him where you want but he’s too happy to torture you, his arms hold you open and pin you still. Barely able to rut down into him with how his arms are around your legs.

“Toji,” you whine at him, wanting more.

He ignores your call to him, too involved in how he’s lapping at your cunt, making a mess. Though finally switching things up in a show of pity, his tongue slides inside your hole, fucking you with it. Your chest stutters with your breaths and your legs fight his arms, wanting to close around his head. It doesn’t work, he’s so strong and you feel so weak with how he’s turning you into a puddle.

This may be his new obsession, making out with your pussy and refusing to let you get what you want. Your pathetic whines and fruitless struggle against his grip amuses him just about as much as it turns him on. He rubs his nose purposefully into your clit, the moan you let out is shocked and cute. The way your cunt flutters around his tongue has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

You’re really going to let him fuck you and that thought alone makes him feel giddy. Parting from you in a messy display, string of his saliva connecting him to your wet pussy, “You wanna cum, doll?”

Blankly, you nod back at him.

He smiles evil, “Ask.”

“Toji…”

“You wanna cum or not?”

“Make me cum…” You look at him and it has your heart leaping, his face slick with you, eyes glazed, “…please.”

“‘Atta girl,” he says like he’s proud of you.

All to happily, he puts his mouth back on you. Tongue fucking you with more purpose, nose pressed into your clit. The sounds of him eating you sloppy and obscene, not that you can find it in yourself to give a single fuck. Your high approaching so much quicker now that he actually intends on letting you cum, back arching off the bed as you get closer and closer.

So badly you want to rock down onto him, you want to grind on his pretty face, but he still holds you tight. He’s so mean to you, shouldn’t he want to make a good impression. Then again, he’s making you feel so good right now, orgasm so fucking close and then he does something devious. His finger slips inside your hole, alongside his tongue, never stopping and barely giving you a chance to acknowledge it.

It feels good and you feel the slightest bit fuller and you’re cumming, so unexpected to you that you’re blindsided as you twitch and cum all over his finger and tongue. Toji groans into you, drinking down your creamy slick. Your hearing is dull and you’re involuntarily twitching in his grip, soft whines dying down as you calm.

He keeps licking at you, you’re not able to tell if he’s cleaning up or adding to the mess between your legs but with the way he’s drooling on your pussy you’d have to guess the latter. Your thighs still shake in his grip, he’s going to force you into overstimulation, that or he’s going to have you cumming again.

Reaching down, you pull at his hair, “Too sensitive.”

“Couldn’t help myself, sorry doll,” he smiles lazily at you.

Your hand drops from his hair, he’s so beautiful, all pussy drunk and horny. “Is okay.”

While he waits for your breathing to start evening out, he licks and bites at your thighs, leaving behind so many marks that you will no doubt be embarrassed about tomorrow. Right now though, you can’t be bothered to move away or try and stop him. Jerking every now and again when his teeth nip at an especially soft spot on your thigh.

When you’ve calmed down, he stands up, undressing in front of you, not minding in the slightest the way you stare at him. His dick bobs under the weight of it, all heavy and leaky, precum dripping from his tip down the length of himself. Your thighs rub together at the sight of his incredibly hard cock, caught between worried about taking him and desperate to be fucked open on him.

“Your shirt,” he points at your chest, “Off.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to take off your shirt but before you can Toji’s tugging it off himself. “Someone’s eager,” you tease.

“‘Course I am,” his hands are quick to grope at your tits, “I get to open your little pussy up on my cock, what’s not to be eager about.” He smirks, fingers pinching your nipples.

“Are you always such a relentless tease?”

“Did you expect anything less?”

“Stop– hah– stop playing with my tits,” your scold has less of an effect when you’re pushing into him and fighting off moans.

He hums at you but pulls his hands back, “Shuffle back.”

Doing as he says, you move back on the bed, sitting more centred on it. He crawls onto the bed, pushing you back onto the mattress with a hand on your shoulder. Quick to open your legs again, hooking under your knees with both hands to push back on your legs. His eyes greedy as he watches your cunt closely, grinning when you clench around nothing.

“Toji, stop being a dick.”

“You want this dick, doll,” he returns, glancing at you, “Should ask real nice for it.”

You return a sharp, “Maybe you should ask real nice to fuck my pussy.”

“You got words now, but I doubt that’ll stay the same when I’m balls deep in you,” he grips his cock and rubs his tip between your folds.

“You gotta ask, Toji,” you remind.

Without an ounce of shame, he asks, “Please, let me fuck your pretty pussy, doll. Wanna feel the way she grips me tight when I fuck her open, want her creaming on me, wanna make a real fuckin’ mess.”

“I hate you,” you huff, annoyed that his words turned you on so much.

“She doesn’t feel the same as you,” he notes, humming at how your slick drips down and coats the tip of his dick.

Whining at him, “Toji, stop being such a– hah– insufferable tease.”

“You haven’t asked yet, doll,” the tip of his cock almost pushes inside you before he moves back.

An unsatisfied breath leaving you, almost having got what you wanted, “I thought you wanted to fuck me?”

“I do, bad,” he agrees easily, “What I want more than that though…” leaning down to talk next to your ear, “Is to hear you fuckin’ beg for it…”

Sadly, your resolve is weak, and you break easily, “Please, Toji. Please fuck me, anything, just stop teasing, please.” When he doesn’t move at your pleads, you add another small, “Please.”

Breathless huff leaving him at how quickly you gave in, he wonders how you’d hold up if he weren’t being so impatient himself. Working you up over and over only to deny you pleasure at the last second, making you cry and beg for his dick. The thoughts have his cock twitching, loving the idea of your wet eyes. He’ll just have to make you cry another way.

“What kind of a man would I be if I said no after you begged so nicely?” He asks rhetorically.

Despite his tone, you answer, “A mean one.”

Barking a laugh at your reply, “Never claimed to be nice, doll.” He delights in the way your eyes grow large, worried he’s going to deprive you more and maybe if he weren’t so fucking horny he would but he can’t bring himself to. “Don’t look so worried,” he coos.

Pulling back, he waits for you to open your mouth to talk before pushing the tip of his cock into you. Your face twisting in surprise, mouth dropping open but no words coming. His breathing stutters at the tight grip of your cunt, not quite expecting you to feel so fucking good around only this much of him.

He looks down to your pussy, watching how he’s slowly sinking into you, “Don’t know h– hah– how gentle I’m gonna be, doll.”

You mumble back at him, already out of it, “Ruin me.”

A shudder runs through him at that, just about cumming in you from your small request alone, “You’re a fuckin’ dream.” He keeps sliding inside you, rocking slightly, not able to help himself when you feel this good, “If ya need me to stop, fuckin’ slap me or something.”

“Won’t want you to– hnn– stop,” you gasp back.

“If you do though,” he insists.

Nodding firmly at him, like you want him to just shut up now, “I’ll– hah– slap y–you, got it.”

“Impatient little thing, aren’t ya?”

Though he’s not much better than you, especially when he’s finally balls deep, mouth salivating as his eyes almost roll to the back of his head. Only fighting the urge so he can see your face and watch how your eyes glaze over. A sight he doesn’t regret waiting for, his dick throbbing at the cute expression you’re wearing, your cunt fucked open and full by him, your brain having trouble doing its job.

Already so cock drunk that you can’t get your bearings enough to talk, he can tell you want to though, can see the way you’re fighting yourself. He’s surprised when you grind into him, against his pelvis. Clearly unable to find the words to ask him nicely to start moving, he groans at your shamelessness, enjoying you like this. You’re greedy and he likes that.

“Cute,” he murmurs, watching your pussy bulge around his dick.

Taking a deep breath, you moan out his name. All pitched and ruined, “Toji.”

“I got ya, doll.”

He pulls back slowly, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. Your back arches as you moan, already trying to grind back into him. Toji bites his lip at the unabashed display, so willing to be openly needy when you’re this worked up. Not even a little bit shy when you whimper and try fucking up onto him.

Giving you what you want, he thrusts harshly back into you, picking up a diabolic pace. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your tight cunt filling the room, lewd mess spilling from your hole onto your fresh duvet every time he pulls back out. A fact you’d surely be bothered by if your eyes weren’t rolling, and your head wasn’t going fuzzy at how he’s fucking you. Managing to rub up against every single perfect spot inside you, your toes curling and legs shaking.

Cruelly, Toji grabs under your legs, pushing them up and back. Leaning into the movement with his weight, folding you in half. The angle new and breathtaking as he drills down relentlessly into you. If you weren’t cock drunk before you sure as fuck are now, your moans loud, the chanting of his name slurred and barely comprehensible.

“Fuck– how are you so–” Toji’s dick spasms inside you, you’re so unbelievably wet around him. Creamy pussy making an obscene mess on him, “Feel so– hnn– fuckin’ good, doll.”

You shake your head at him, “I– ah!– can’t fff–” you give up half way through, unable to say what you wanted.

He chuckles at your inability to form a coherent sentence, heart leaping at the realisation your eyes are brimming with tears. Sitting so pretty on your lash line, adding to the glassy look in your eyes. Moans slip from him when you shed a few tears, somehow, he’s folding you even more in half. The mating press mean and firm, not willing to give you a chance to change anything about how he’s fucking you.

It’s mind numbing how he’s thrusting into you, not realising how you’re drooling over it. Pussy throbbing at the way he slides into you, the feeling of being so full and split open the only thing on your mind. It can’t feel this good, why does it feel this good? The kind of sex that has you forgetting you’ve ever had sex before. Getting dicked down so good that you can’t even think of ever wanting anything but this.

Toji notices how drunk on him you are, “Hah– Good, doll?”

“Ah huh,” you nod deliriously at him, it’s all you’re really capable of.

Skin slapping against skin fills the room, his brutal thrusts echoing throughout your barely furnished apartment. His ego growing tenfold by the stupid look on your face, your pussy leaving a creamy white ring around the base of his cock driving him insane. Fucking you is messy, and he can’t help the fact that he’s obsessed with that. Loving the way you still try to grind up into him. Failing every time with the way he’s folded you, so needy for more that it’s adorable.

You’re hot and wet and so so snug that he feels like he’s dreaming, hooked on the way your pussy sucks him right back in as soon as he’s pulling out. Taking him so well despite the way you’re struggling to fit all of him, not that you mind, so blissed out and greedy that all you do is moan and pull at the sheets.

Cheeks tear stained at this point, orgasm so close if your stuttered breaths and shaking thighs are anything to go by. He keeps his thrusts the same, not changing anything about the way he’s fucking into you harshly, building you up so quickly that you’re dizzy.

Your back arches up into him, your tits presented to him so enticingly that he feels disappointed he can’t put his mouth on them right now.

“You’re s–so cute, doll,” he compliments, “Fuck– so greedy.”

His deep voice and crude praise send you over the edge, cunt clamping down so tight around him that he struggles to fuck you through your orgasm. Cumming around him so divinely that he couldn’t stop the moans tumbling from his lips even if he thought to. The sounds he makes stick inside your head, brain foggy as you cum but distinctly picking up on the moans he lets out. Pretty and arousing, you wish he had made more sounds for you.

Even as you come down, he keeps fucking you, fervent and desperate as he pummels into you over and over. New headboard slamming into the wall loudly as he fucks you, probably has been the whole time and you’re only just now registering it. Your eyes are bleary from the tears you’ve spilt, you want to rock down into him, wanting him to finish inside you so badly that it’s a feral kind of need clawing at your insides.

It’s insane how good he looks while he fucks into you, his lips parted slightly as he watches the way he stuffs his cock back into you over and over. Abs tense with his movements, eyes lazy and blown out, body sweaty from the exertion of holding you in a mating press while fucking you diabolically. His tongue runs along his lower lip, and you involuntarily clench around him, making him moan weakly, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Glancing up at you, his eyes look wild, “You’re so adorable when you’re crying for me.”

“Toji,” It’s pathetic and pouted back at him, mind too broken to say much else.

He groans at you, “Ohh fuck!–”

The way your lower lip wobbles so pitifully when whining his name has him blowing his load, not even expecting it himself as he cums deeps inside you. When he realises, he slams his hips to yours, wanting it so deep inside that you’ll feel him for days after. His pelvis grinds into you and you practically purr at it, the stimulation against your clit has your cunt fluttering around him.

He's so sensitive he nearly whimpers at how perfect you feel around him, unwilling to move immediately, truly too obsessed with how you feel around him. The only thing prompting him to pull back being the uncomfortable way he’s folded you in half, lifting his weight off you, he allows your legs to drop.

Eyes locked onto your pussy when he pulls out, watching the way his cum leaks from your hole and down onto your bed, adding to the mess already there from the sloppy way he’s fucked you. Compelled by greed and his horny brain, he uses his fingers to scoop up his seed and push it back into you. Fingers pushing into your cunt and relishing in the way you jump at the intrusion.

“Don’t want it going to waste now do we, doll?”

“You’re a– hah– freak,” you whine at him.

“You fuckin’ like it,” he slips his two fingers deep inside and curls them, “Bet if I hadn’t pinned you, you’d be a little freak yourself.”

Your hips grind down into his hand, apparently insatiable and willing to cum for him for the third time tonight. Needy all over again that it’s almost embarrassing how willing to be fucked by his fingers you are. If Toji didn’t seem so keen to give you what you wanted you’d probably feel ashamed of how you twitch down onto his digits soaked in a mix of both your cum.

You gasp at him, “It’s– ah!– too much.”

“See…” he grins, “…You say that, but you’re rutting down into me so needily that I’m not sure I believe you.”

He enjoys the way your overstimulated body jerks at his touch, cunt swallowing his fingers happily. The sight of your overfilled pussy trying to push his cum out only for his fingers to shove it back in making his chest vibrate with groans. His thumb rubs into your clit and you whine pathetically at him, your hand clamping over your mouth as your toes curl.

So soon after your last orgasm that you’re finishing with barely any work from him, your walls gripping him as you whimper into your palm. Thighs trembling from the force of it, you can’t even hear anything, gaze so bleary that you’re unable to see for a few moments. Toji doesn’t stop moving his hand until you go limp on the bed, your breaths heaved as you struggle to collect yourself.

When he groans, you open your eyes to watch the way he sucks on his fingers. Cleaning them of the lewd mess from the both of you, he’s smug when he sees the way he’s flustered you with his actions.

“You’re so gross,” you whinge at him.

He only laughs as he gets off the bed and ransacks your apartment for something to wipe the pair of you down with. Touch gentle as he wipes between your legs with the cloth he’s found. Despite how careful he is with you, you flinch, so sensitive that you feel like you might break.

Once he’s cleaned you enough, he flops down beside you and pulls you to him, “Think we broke it in enough?”

You consider, “I don’t know… we might have to do that all again.”

“Because the beds not broken in or because you wanna get dicked down again?”

“Just wanna see if it’s like that every time.”

“It’ll be better,” he speaks low, “I went easy on you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, taking him for his word, “Then… next time?”

“Next time,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m taking you out on a date first.” Not able to leave it as a nice moment, he adds, “And then I’m taking you back to my place to make you properly beg for it.”

“You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe but it’ll feel real good,” he chuckles.

You roll your eyes at him, “Fine but you gotta help with all the rest of my furniture.”

“Doll, with the state of your bed before I came over, I almost feel obligated to,” smooth in how he says, “I don’t wanna be visiting such a sad apartment all the time.”

He’s as presumptuous as ever but you don’t feel the need to point that out to him, since he’s right and all.

𝐀/𝐍: this was supposed to be up before christmas but then i had to do things to prep for it UGH... as per usual this fic was only meant to be like... 5k maybe a little less and i got carried away hehe. anyways,, happy holidays all !!! i hope you enjoy !!! <3

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[navybrat817]

Jawbreaker

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky put a mouthy rookie in his place. Word Count: Over 800 Warnings: Established relationship, mention of injury, misogyny, punching, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes defending you (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm dedicating this to @whisperlullaby , who got to read this in advance, because she deserves this man (along with the rest of you). ❤️Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A small part of Bucky felt bad as he idly wiped his hand with a towel. A very small part.

He didn’t want people to fear him because of his past and he refused to let it define him. That meant that he tried his best to avoid violent tactics unless absolutely necessary.

But today, well, fuck that. The fucker had it coming.

Steve stood in front of him, his blue eyes narrowed as he waited for his best friend to acknowledge him.

Oh, Bucky expected some sort of reprimand, but he was sure Steve would change his tune in a minute or so.

“You gonna ask me what happened, punk, or glare at me until I talk?” He asked, tossing the towel away.

The blonde huffed out a laugh, but he didn’t look amused. “Why did you break that rookie’s jaw?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What’s the phrase? He fucked around and found out.”

You would’ve been proud of him for that reference.

Steve shook his head when Sam burst out laughing a few feet away. “Sam, please,” he begged, though his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “What did the guy do?”

A bitter taste flooded Bucky’s mouth as anger coursed through his veins again. He inhaled as he thought of your sweet smile and soft touch before he exhaled, the storm inside of him calming.

“Buck, you gotta tell us something,” Steve urged, needing some sort of information to try and do some damage control.

The brunette straightened up to look his friend in the eyes, wanting him to see the fury beneath the cold mask. “He told my girl to throw an apron on and get back in the kitchen when she went to spar.”

You, one of the most capable agents Bucky had ever known.

You, who had shown nothing but kindness to everyone, even when they didn’t deserve it.

The person Bucky was lucky enough to call his other half. His better half.

And some asshole rookie had the gall to treat you as if you didn’t belong there with the rest of them.

Sam was no longer laughing. Steve’s jaw clenched in understanding.

Bucky swallowed, that fury threatening to surface again as he remembered the hurt that filled your eyes at the comment. “You know I’d support anything she wants to do, whether that’s working or staying at home. It doesn’t give some prick the right to make her feel bad for her decision.”

“You know I don’t like bullies, but breaking his jaw?” Steve questioned. The guy deserved it, but did the punishment actually fit the crime?

“When she walked away, he said to come back when she was ready to see what a real man could do for her,” he said, the words coming out like a snarl.

The way you tensed up, fear and disgust flickering on your face, he didn’t think. A switch inside of him went off and he swung.

The fucker was lucky that all he got was a broken jaw. He could’ve done so much worse.

And it wasn’t that you couldn’t defend yourself because you could, but you shouldn’t have to put up with garbage like that.

A cracking sound echoed in the room before he realized he crushed the armrest of his seat. “Fuck. I’ll pay for that,” he mumbled, kicking a bit of the broken piece with his boot. “Can you just tell me how much trouble I’m in so I can get back to my girl?”

He didn’t care if he they suspended or even fired him as long as he got back to you.

The room stayed silent before Sam mused, “Technically, what the rookie did counts as harassment.”

Steve nodded. “And I’m sure Nat can persuade him not to sue for the injury he received,” he added, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll take care of it, Buck. Just. No more breaking jaws, okay?”

“When it comes to my girl, I make no promises,” Bucky smiled, his heart racing at the thought of you. “And maybe he’ll think twice before he opens his mouth again.”

“The damage you did, I don’t think he can open his mouth at all,” Sam mumbled.

Bucky’s phone went off before he could comment, his heart swelling as he read your text. He had to bite back a groan, too.

“Thank you again, Jawbreaker. I love you and I’ll be on my knees waiting for you.”

You wanted to thank him not just with words, but with your body and heart. It all belonged to him, like he belonged to you.

And he didn’t need to tell Steve and Sam what the message said since it was just for the two of you. “Love you, too, baby. Nothing to thank me for, but I’m on my way. Be ready.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maybe we'll see how you "thank" Bucky down the road. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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