#love letters :: 💌

[bckysbunny]

Hi Bunnie <3 I miss you something awful today

@brooklyn-duo

hi daddy ♡ you’re missing little old me?

[immoral-stranger]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Word count: 5k

Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.

A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡

The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it. 

“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers. 

You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”

“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”

“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up. 

She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”

You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”

“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”

You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”

Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”

Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.” 

As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath. 

She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl. 

Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common. 

“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations. 

“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him. 

Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound. 

Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.” 

They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter. 

“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat. 

“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”

“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.

“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”

You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.

In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting. 

As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink. 

With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it. 

Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall. 

It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen. 

“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove. 

“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?” 

“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”

“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.

“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly. 

Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.

You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. 

Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”

“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.” 

Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?” 

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”

The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that. 

“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.” 

Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have. 

“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.” 

Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?” 

“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task. 

“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.” 

You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared. 

“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste. 

Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.” 

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again. 

Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.

“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?” 

“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes. 

For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. 

When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles. 

And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere. 

You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story. 

“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.

Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia. 

You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”

“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed. 

Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.” 

The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water. 

“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions. 

For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others. 

Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.

“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 

The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned. 

You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon. 

“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared. 

“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.

You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop. 

“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.” 

Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.” 

Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”

“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.” 

“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.

Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.” 

“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”

Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.

You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month. 

As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself. 

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.

Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.

He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.

“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.

“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.

Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”

He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.

The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.

What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.

Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.

“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone. 

“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again. 

Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend? 

“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”

He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.

“A cute one, too,” you admitted. 

Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.

“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.” 

Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”

Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door. 

“Did you forget something?”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him. 

Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”

For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening. 

“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.

He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?” 

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.

“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”

Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.

Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.

“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.

“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”

Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.

You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.

“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”

Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”

Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him. 

Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.” 

“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly. 

“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle. 

“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.” 

For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.

“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”

“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”

Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”

He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”

You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket. 

This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress

[morriemonnie]

HELLOOOO SURPRISE !! i forgot to post this here but ... !! i'm working on a new fruitcake fic !! and i had already published chapter 1 yesterday ... so come take a look if you'd like :9 !

🌻 link to chapter 1 | https://archiveofourown.org/works/65499649/chapters/168689377#workskin

[drunk-on-dk]

About Cheol / Jeonghan! If it’s okay to send nsfw thoughts, I’ve just been thinking really hard about being a major brat to Cheol, teasing him and talking back, and him finally breaking and being like “You better watch it or I’ll fuck the attitude out of you” and it has me so 🥴 like please yes 🥺

hello lovely anon! YESSSSS pls I am always open to nsfw thoughts, and I LOVE this thought so much. I had so much fun writing this drabble, I really hope you enjoy this!!

Tags/genre: Smut (minors do not interact, 18+ ONLY), pure filth!, angsty? (not really, but he likes to rile you up and vice versa), established relationship, female!reader (girlfriend used as a term, she/her pronouns) c/w: dom!Seungcheol, switch!reader, reader is brat ofc, Seungcheol is a bit possessive and rough, a hint of dumbification, thigh fucking, unprotected sex (stay safe besties!), pet names (fem receiving): baby, good girl

“It’s embarrassing, Seungcheol,” you groan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you march ahead of your boyfriend into the apartment. Regardless of his close proximity, you attempt to slam the door behind you, admittedly a bit out of character for you, but you were fed up with his behavior tonight.

Seungcheol isn’t fazed, his firm palm meets the cool wood of the door before you can shut him out, allowing him to slip in behind you. Biting his tongue, he observes as you pry your heels off, swallowing a groan when your dress rides a bit higher up your thighs. 

With a huff, you turn to face Seungcheol, discontented to find him standing cooly in your entry way, hands shoved in his pockets and looking smug as ever. The dark look in his eyes poses a challenge, and you know your own orbs reflect the same look. 

In fact, this whole night was a challenge for him. A challenge to see just how worked up he could get you until you broke. His sweet, little girlfriend who didn’t have an angry bone in her body. Except for when he gets you riled up, which he is finding isn’t that hard to do with a little teasing. 

“Humor me, baby,” Seungcheol chortles, a distinct dryness in comparison to his usual laugh that makes you feel even more enraged. However, there is a playful lilt to his voice. “What was so embarrassing?” 

“Don’t mock me,” you bite, rolling your eyes yet again and wandering to the kitchen, filling up a cup of water and chugging it in an attempt to cool down. Seungcheol follows closely behind, the amused smirk on his face only making your blood boil again. 

The island counter is the only thing that keeps the distance between you and Seungcheol. Both of your hands are splayed out on the marble, using the surface as a means to support yourself as you come face to face with the man that has riled you up all night. 

Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, analyzing your boyfriend as he mirrors you, his eyes leisurely examining your form until they land on the valley between your breasts. 

“How fucking horny are you that we had to leave early from party with all your friends?”

Seungcheol sucks in a breath, loving the way your crude words make his dick stir in the confines of his pants. Even though he’s getting exactly what he wished for, he can’t help but be slightly annoyed by how bratty you’ve been since you’ve left the party. Not after you teased him all night with your fleeting touches and flirty eyes. 

“How fucking horny are you that you kept eye fucking me in front of my friends?” He bites back, and you let out a faux scandalized gasp. Still, you don’t break eye contact with him as you carefully think of your next words.  “Isn’t that what you like though, Cheollie?” You coo unsympathetically at your characteristically possessive boyfriend. Your tone sends an annoyed shiver through Seungcheol’s spine, but it goes straight to his dick. “So fucking needy, I can’t even spend five minutes talking with Wonwoo. Can’t even laugh at Jeonghan’s jokes without your hand wandering down to my ass.”

Seungcheol has been eerily smug since you got home, but this makes him growl, ears turning red as he threatens, “you better watch your mouth, baby, or I’ll fuck the attitude right out of you.” 

“Know what’s embarrassing?” You challenge, seeing just how far you can push him until he gives you exactly what you want. Two can play at this game, and you’ve seen through his antics all night. “How you always have to make a scene to let everyone know you’re the one who gets to fuck me. Don’t worry, I plan on making sure you fuck me. Don’t act like I won’t get exactly what I want. ” 

In record speed, Seungcheol is rounding the corner of the island, rough hands on your lower back as he bends you over the counter. One hand circles the base of your neck, keeping your cheek pressed against the countertop as Seungcheol presses the bulge in his pants directly between the backs of your thighs. 

“Such a brat,” Seungcheol seethes, hot breath against your neck as he leans over you, listening for your little whimpers at his sudden display of strength. “What makes you think I’ll fuck you now?” 

“As if you could resist,” you mutter, voice strained when Seungcheol’s hand massages the plush of your ass and his hips rut into yours. You do your best to roll your hips back towards his for some relief, but the force of his body keeps you against the counter. 

“Seems like I have more self control than you do,” he quips, hand releasing the back of your neck when you attempt to grab onto him from behind, only for him to catch your hands and bring them back to the countertop. “If you keep your hands on this counter like a good girl, I’ll think about fucking you.”

You whine, abiding to this one command because you do want to be fucked tonight. Your clammy hands stay glued to the marble, the cold surface stinging your sensitive skin and heating beneath you. 

“Good girl,” Seungcheol hums and you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to keep your mouth shut. His hands begin to work at your dress, lifting the bottom hem until it gathers at your waist, exposing your entire ass to your boyfriend, your panty-clad cunt on display for Seungcheol’s viewing pleasure only. 

It’s incriminating how slick your thighs are near your core, panties dampened, the AC in your apartment making you shudder as you’re exposed, and it pulls an incredulous laugh from his chest. He coos, “you’re soaked, your panties are absolutely ruined.”

His fingers skim over your folds, the ghost of his fingertips leaving a warm streak on your panties and you muffle a moan. 

“Don’t be so quiet, baby,” Seungcheol demands, pointer and middle fingers pressing firmly against your clit, evoking a lewd moan from the delicious pressure. “Good. Fucking. Girl.” Seungcheol’s fingers circle your throbbing nub harder with each word, content with your noises and rewarding you with more pressure. 

It’s embarrassing when your thighs begin to shake, the altercation tonight with Seungcheol was enough to turn you on, but now that you have his hands right where you need him, you orgasm unexpectedly fast as he continues to stimulate your clit. Your walls clamp around nothing as the explosion of pleasure wracks your body, gushing into your panties and a high-pitched moan escapes you. 

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol’s laugh is patronizing, knowing exactly what just happened, but he continues to press against your clit, the circles sending aftershock waves of pleasure through you. “You’ve got to be kidding me, baby.” 

Your knuckles and fingertips are practically white from trying to grip the flat counter, and you finally lose control of your hands, darting back to grab at Seungcheol’s wrist, trying to keep him from overstimulating you. 

This was obviously not the right move on your end, earning another strike from Seungcheol as he grabs your wrists, this time keeping them pinned to the counter.

“What did I fucking say?” Seungcheol scolds, his voice venomous as he moves both wrists to one hand, pressing you uncomfortably against the counter and your hips dig into the corner, but the pain oddly brings pleasure. You can hear his other hand begin to work at his belt, eliciting a cry from you in anticipation, but you know it won’t be good for you, not when you’ve disobeyed him yet again. 

“My hands,” you whimper, pussy throbbing in need when you feel Seungcheol’s heavy cock against your thighs, his pre-cum leaving a warm, sticky spot on the back of your thighs. “I’ll keep them against the counter. I’m sorry, Cheollie.” 

You know sorry isn’t enough, not when the tip of his length is prodding between your legs, lubricated by the slick that couldn’t even be contained by your panties, and you already have an idea of what your punishment will be. 

“Does my brat need dick that bad?” he grunts, his length fucking between the plush of your thighs and you ache for him, crying out apologies against the counter. 

It’s maddening feeling the drag of his cock between your thighs so close to your core, his brooding tip skimming your clit with each thrust. His grunts of satisfaction are enough to make you feel desperate, absolutely dumb for cock as he teases you with what you want the most. 

“Who’s needy now?” He groans when you start begging, shuddering when you flex your muscles around his cock. 

“Still y-you,” you cry out, barely stuttering the words out, still attempting to challenge your boyfriend. “Resorting to fucking my thighs when you could be fucking my pussy.” 

“Fuck, who knew you could be so damn bratty,” Seungcheol grits, not exactly pleased with your response, but it’s exactly what he needs to hear to fuck you into oblivion. He’s finally releasing your hands, yanking your panties down your legs before pulling you upright, and turning you around to face him. He grips your chin between his fingers, a stormy look in his eyes, but you can tell he’s absolutely infatuated with you. 

You look so messy, teary-eyed as you stare into his dark orbs, and soon he’s smashing his lips against yours. He’s devouring you like a man starved, tongue clashing with yours and soon he’s grabbing you by the thighs, lifting you up before placing you on the counter. He’s perfectly slotted between you, hands massaging at your thighs as yours roam over his entire body, landing in his dark locks and pulling at the hair, eliciting a groan from him. 

Seungcheol’s cock is lined up perfectly with your inviting hole, but he has yet to give you what you want, too lost in kissing you. You pull away, a pathetic whine reminding him of what he promised, “fuck me stupid, Cheol.”

Without warning, Seungcheol sheathes his entire length inside of you, pulling a loud cry from you. His hands grip tightly at your ass, keeping you pressed against him as he fills you completely. 

Immediately, you’re like putty in his hands, head lolling back at the sudden pleasure of feeling him so deep inside of you. There is no hesitation in his movements, Seungcheol barely gives you time to adjust, but he’s not worried when your body takes him this easily, like you’re made perfectly for him. 

His plump lips are on your neck, leaving hot trails of saliva as he mercilessly thrusts his cock between your gummy walls, his arms the only thing keeping you sitting upright and pressed against his body. He feels too good, all encompassing as he repeatedly hits the sweet spot deep inside of you. 

You’re blabbering words of nothing, apologizing for being such a brat, and Seungcheol’s breathing gets heavier with every word that tumbles past your lips. His dick is throbbing inside of you as your walls grip his length, rutting into you with a new fervor as your words become incoherent, fingernails digging into his shoulders as you clamp around him. 

It feels too fucking good for him, loving the way you give in to him, knowing you are approaching your high soon enough and his thumb finds it way to your clit, pulling his favorite cry of pleasure from you yet again. 

“Fuck,” Seungcheol groans, staring down at the space between your two bodies, right where his cock enters you with each lewd sound, and where his thumb works aggressively against your clit. “So fucking pretty, my good girl.” 

“Please,” you mewl, desperate to cum, but squeezing your muscles to prevent yourself from releasing unexpectedly again. 

“No more attitude, baby,” his voice is horse, and you know he’s nearing his high soon as well. 

“No more,” you parrot, lips attaching to his jaw as you near the brink of pleasure, desperate for your release. 

“I love you so damn much,” he groans, nose nudging yours and chasing your lips. He fills you so well with each thrust, your walls are throbbing uncontrollably, his words only egging you on. “Drive me so fucking crazy,” he pants between kisses, finally giving in to you. “Go on, baby, finish for me.”

Just like that, the flood gates are released and you’re washed over with immense pleasure, walls spasming around Seungcheol’s cock as he follows suit, filling your pussy with his hot cum and groaning into your shoulder. 

“Love you too, Cheol,” your voice is weak as he slowly fucks his cum between your folds, his softening cock pulling out and stepping back to look at the damage done. He looks divine, absolutely fucked out with flushed cheeks and messy hair, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. 

That’s until Seungcheol is helping you clean up, soothing the bruises on your hips left from the counter, and pulling you onto the couch for a late night movie. 

“Aren’t you glad we left the party early?” Seungcheol’s words pull a snort from your lips, earning an incredulous look from you. 

“You know what,” you hum, wary of his cheeky comment. “I’m starting to think you like it when I give you an attitude.”

Seungcheol’s smug smile and silence says enough.

[luvrodite]

I could never be roommate’s with Jason because I wouldn’t be able to stop blushing around him. I wonder if he would tease his roommate if they kept blushing or stumbling over their words.

oh he 100% does he’s such a shit about it. i can imagine him catching you out and instead of saying anything he just keeps doing whatever it is that’s flustering you because he finds your reactions so amusing

close proximity? he’s moving closer and pretending to be oblivious. shirtless? he’s subtly flexing and stretching so you can stare at him more.

i hate him

[dawns-breath]

How does His Highness of Cstrum Kremnos express his affections to you?

How obvious are they to onlookers?

What's one of the most special/memorable moments of affection?

Fifi, hi!!! Thank you so much for sending me this!!1! 💗💗💗

His Highness, Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos... watch me call him that when he annoys me just to make him angry 🤭 I do love pressing his buttons! But it's mutual, so I get it thrown back in my face

His affections tend to mostly be done in private, so they are not at all obvious to onlookers, unless you know him. So it's really obvious to all the Chrysos Heirs. He looks at me and his face softens just a smidge. They know.

Or he has a hand on my back when we're walking through a crowd. Might well be taken as him trying to hurry me along, but in reality he likes having a hand on me to make sure we don't get separated. I weave in and out of the crowd better than he does, so that hand on my back -sometimes with a finger or two looped around the seam of my dress- ensures that he knows where I am. And tugging on my dress lets me know that he needs me to stop for a moment.

He's a lot more unreserved in private. He's big on touch so he's usually always touching me in some way. An arm looped around my shoulder or a hand on my thigh of we're sitting next to each other. Fingers entwined whenever he can. His hip pressed against mine if we're standing side-by-side. He gets almost sappy at times 🥹

The most memorable moment of affection was probably the very first. We got separated on our first expedition, and we both thought that the other person was dead. When we saw each other again, he hugged me without any reservation and refused to let go. He kept repeating 'I thought I lost you' over and over again. I had to pry myself loose. I didn't want to, but he was injured and -immortal or not- he still needed bandages.

[meewz]

HIDOHDISJ9S THIS IS VERY OUT OF THE BLUE

but I got a new ship obsession? Literally because I dreamt about it? And I need ur opinion 👀 (with or without nsfw idc I just need more of this-)

Yakumo x Quincy x Dante

I cannot explain it I can only point at them and hope you see my vision 😔💔

OOOOHHH WHAT WAS YOUR DREAM ABOUT TELL ME TELL ME!!!

alas i am: unfortunately the worst person to ask for opinions on dante ships because i barely know dante??? as a character???? let alone anything to do with him sexually. he is a mysterious and wild beast to me, i admire him from afar and yet, for reasons unknown, i cannot get any closer to him. we will have to consult some dante experts on this topic!!!

but vaguely, with my limited understanding of dante and my experience with quinte and yakudante?? i can see it. i am picking up what you’re putting down.

dante gets to act confident in quincy’s presence because he assumes the shy, meek yakumo doesn’t know anymore about sex that he does. unlike quincy, who everyone knows is experienced and good at using every part of his body, yakumo.. yakumo’s probably just as much as a virgin as dante is!!! and technically he’s right, it’s just that yakumo’s strong desire to make his partner(s) feel good makes him an excellent learner, meanwhile dante’s stubbornness and unwillingness to accept the fact that he’s not great at everything on the first try isn’t a weakness is.. well. he winds up in situations like this.

regardless, dante thinks he has yakumo under control, he thinks he knows how this interaction is going to go, only for quincy to smirk in that stupid attractive way he does because the difference between normal yakumo and yakumo in the bedroom is like night and day. dante has no idea what he’s getting into.

needless to say dante learns quite a few things, from both quincy and yakumo. quincy’s a good and patient teacher, while yakumo and his unexpectedly lewd but honest reactions are wonderful motivation. he begins to understand that not immediately knowing what his partner(s) love isn’t a weakness, but rather an opportunity to improve. he’s not going to be perfect at everything on the first try, and that’s okay. no one’s going to judge him if he makes a mistake, or fumbles, or shows vulnerability.

maybe he also cries a little along the way. who’s to say ♡

[va11ievenom]

snapped this photo of u 2day

whoooaaaa when did you take this picture of me ... crazy

[sugarcandydoll]

hi dolly I'm trying to enter my girly era and you clearly know a lot about it based on your aesthetic and stuff! I was wondering if you could give me some advice or tips on being more girly and hyper feminine?🩷

aww aww angel im so flattered omgg ♡🎀 but don't think im the perfect example of a girly girl cause im so messy n emotional n disorganized :(♡ but i do love pinky n glam fashion n aesthetics hehe so i can totally share some tips on that ♡👛 also pls pls remember there is no right way to be a girly girl ♡💞 those are just tips n advice from my own experience abt what makes me feel girly n happy hehe ♡👼🏼

🎀 Fashion

browse outfits on pinterest n make moodboards to find ur style hehe ♡ shein is also amazing for finding cute girly pieces for cheap!! i usually shop my pinky n barbiecore outfits from shein!! ♡ if u want inspo here is a link to my pinterest fashion board ♡ i love wearing crop tops, matching sets, cute dresses n skirts, white tights w heart patterns ♡ for my comfy n lazy day i go along with pink graphic sweatshirt w cute print on it like bambi or disney princess hehehe ♡ also get cute lingerie n pjs it's gonna make u feel like a lil princess ♡

🎀 Makeup

if ur into makeup, play with different look n choose whatever makes u feel the prettiest! ♡ my personal fav makeup look is a full face of makeup with frosty pink eyeshadow ♡ lots of white highlight on inner corners of eyes n nose tip ♡ black winged eyeliner ♡ white eyeliner on waterline ♡ cat eye faux lashes ♡ lots of blush, n too faced lip plumping gloss along with pinky lipstick hehe ♡ i also sometimes wear brown circle lenses to give that dolly look to my eyes ♡

🎀 Hair

pls pls take care of ur hair (it's smth i need to get better at cause i fried my hair w bleach) my fav hair care tip is too deep oil it w coconut oil ♡ choose a shampoo & conditioner that smells good n works for u ♡ if ur into dyeing ur hair play w colors hehe ♡ i personally loved a reddish brown and then later a light blonde on me ♡👸🏼💕 but now wanna switch things up cause blonde maintainance is getting too expensive n i feel bad wasting soo much of my dad's money on my hair :( so i might get back to like a caramel brown hehe ♡ i also love curling my hair n putting hair extensions n cute girly accessories like bows n pink barretes n huge pink scrunchies ♡

🎀 Nails

get ur nails n toes done often hehe ♡💅🏼 i love the whole salon experience of mani/pedi but since i don't work anymore n live w my parents i wanna be more frugal :(♡ so press ons are my bffs hehehe n i love putting press ons on my toes too hehe ♡ u can find a lot of cute press on nails on amazon n etsy ♡ i usually go for pink medium length nails either plain or w a cute pattern n rhinestones ♡ i sometimes love going with colors like red, baby blue, purple, n a leopard pattern too hehe ♡ my fav nail shape is coffin or stiletto ♡ but go along with whatever makes ur hands look pretty ♡🫶🏼💗

🎀 Accessories

get cute jewelery n accessories hehehe ♡🧁 i usually buy my cutesy pink jewelry from shein ♡ n i love carrying pink bags n purses ♡ my fav for school is definitely my victoria's secret's carry all pink tote hehehe ♡ i also love wearing rings n toe rings n anklets w little bells on it to jingle when i walk hehe ♡ also also i love getting a necklace w my fav fictional character's initial on it oops ♡ i also love wearing cute pink hair accessories like bows n barrettes n huge pink scrunchie ♡ or if i want my hair up i use a huge pink claw clip ♡

🎀 Smelling Good

perfumes n bodymists are the best hehehe ♡ explore different scents at shops n figure out what u like best!! ♡ my current favs are strawberry snowflakes by bbw & pure seduction shimmer mist by victoria's secret, & tease sugar fleur by victoria's secret ♡ usually go w super super sweet or fruity scents but u don't have to angel ♡🍰 florals n fresh scents are sooo cute too just go along w whatever feels the most you n the best in ur opinion hehe ♡

[immoral-stranger]

𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 (𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮) // 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟖. 🧣 “I wanna be alone. Alone with you, does that make sense?” – Billie Eilish, Hostage.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: General depression, anxiety, and sadness, nothing too specific. No she/her pronouns used so maybe afab or gn reader, but I mention them wearing a bra and putting their hair up. Non-sexual nudity.

A/N: Sometimes you need to let yourself be sad for things to become better. Dedicated to all my depressed homies, hope you're doing okay ♡

Oscar could sense it the second he stepped inside the flat and locked the door behind him. No music playing. No background noise from the TV airing your favourite show. The stillness felt like a vacuum, unsettling in its stark contrast to the usual atmosphere. If he didn’t know you so well, he might’ve thought you weren’t home. But the telltale signs of your presence were undeniable—your shoes neatly placed in the entryway, your coat on its designated hook, and your bag resting on the floor—all painting the domestic picture of two people sharing a home. 

He usually loved coming home at the end of a long day. Even more so when he was away for weeks on end, racing around the world. The flat was modest and cosy, rather than the luxury Monaco seemed to be covered in. It was a testament to the both of you—to your love of vibrant patterns and Oscar’s preference for muted hues. Oscar had made places all around the world his place of living, but he had never felt as at home as he did in the place he now shared with you. 

Yet, tonight it felt hollow. Oscar stood in the entryway for a long moment, adjusting to the surprising quietness. He dropped his keys into the ceramic dish by the door, the clink echoing unnaturally in the silence.

You were home. Oscar knew it. But your silence was deafening. 

Oscar was the opposite of you in many ways—he spoke in measured tones, listened to music through headphones instead of speakers, and navigated social events with an easygoing detachment. He was content in the background. 

You were loud, not in an obnoxious or annoying way, but in the sense that you could always be heard. It was one of the things Oscar had grown to love most about you. You would hum along to songs even if you didn’t know them. You’d laugh so loud and genuinely that tears would run down your cheeks and your stomach would cramp, making strangers turn their heads. You were the light of every party, for everyone to see and enjoy, and it didn’t even look like you were trying. The most bittersweet pain Oscar knew was how his jaw would hurt from smiling at you, whatever it was you were doing. 

That was why your silence was deafening to him and quite telling. It wasn’t the absence of noise; it was the absence of you.

In the beginning, you had tried to hide it from him, saying that you had other plans when he asked to hang out or saying that you were sick and didn’t want him to catch it too, since his job was so important and you didn’t want that on your conscience.

But you never did have plans, and you weren’t sick. At least not in a contagious way. 

Oscar sensed it even then, though he didn’t understand the full scope until you moved in together, when you no longer could hide or lie your way through it. You got sad. That was the simple explanation. You carried the world on your shoulders—of expectations, of ambition, of other people’s happiness—so when it inevitably spilled over, you got sad. 

The kind of sadness that couldn’t be explained or easily understood by others. The kind that showed through your eyes and your actions, dulling your light and silencing your words. Your silence meant sadness, and Oscar hated the way it hollowed out the vibrant person he adored.

Kicking off his own shoes and throwing his belongings on the ground, Oscar then made his way to where he knew you would be, your shared bedroom. The door was ajar, and he paused briefly, his hand resting on the doorframe. Inside, the room was dim, the curtains drawn closed. He could just about make out the shape of you, curled up on the bed. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle. 

You didn’t answer. Silence, that was all that existed. 

The sheets were a crumpled cocoon of fabric, but no warmth reached you, like a black hole swallowed any light that seeped through the curtains. You’d had one of those days when even breathing felt like a monumental task, each inhale a reminder of the weight pressing on your chest.

“Can I come in?” 

You remained a dark blob of a body, tangled in the mess of wrinkled white bed sheets, red-eyed and weary. You didn’t have the energy to say yes, but you didn’t need to. He understood.

Quietly, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, sealing out the rest of the world. He crossed the floor with deliberate care, as though afraid a sudden movement might shatter you entirely. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let his presence speak where words couldn’t.

When you still didn’t react, Oscar did the only thing he could think of doing—he crawled into bed next to you, not saying another word. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the warmth of his body gradually reached through the layers of cold that clung to you.

The quiet felt less oppressive, softened by his steady breathing and the faint creak of the bed frame as he settled in. You didn’t move, but you showed no complaints when he wrapped his arms around you, letting you rest upon his chest, the steady sound of his heartbeat under your ear a constant rhythm. 

After what felt like an eternity, you spoke. “I’m okay.” 

Oscar tilted his head toward you, his brow furrowed but his expression still gentle. “No, you’re not. But that’s okay.” 

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat loosening just slightly. He always had a way of seeing right through the lies you told yourself. You let out a shaky breath, the calming kind to stop tears from falling. 

“Rough day?” he asked. 

“Rough life,” you mumbled. Your eyes stayed fixed on a spot somewhere in the distance, far beyond the four walls of the room. “I should just pull myself together, but I don’t know how. I just turn into such a fucking bother.” 

Oscar shifted, tensing up as his hand reached out to lightly brush your hair back from your face. “Hey,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “Don’t hide from me. You could never bother me. I want to help and care for you.””

“You shouldn’t have to.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes tightly, a tear slipping out and disappearing into a wet spot on Oscar’s t-shirt. “I should be able to do it myself.”

Oscar let the silence stretch between you for a moment, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your shoulder. “Maybe,” he said at last. “Maybe one day you’ll feel like you can do it yourself. But right now, you don’t have to do it alone. Right now, I’m here for you.”

You didn’t answer. Not that you had to. It wasn’t the easiest of things to talk about, or accept the fact that people around you were kind enough to be supportive. Not all people, but Oscar at least. There was a shame connected to it—of how certain adults just kept on going without stopping and how you had never managed to belong to that group. You still felt like a teenager thrown into a life with responsibilities and expectations far beyond what was possible. 

Accepting weakness, or showing the need for help, never came naturally, but almost always forcefully—when the leaking crack that was your life finally had overflowed the bucket that stood beneath it, catching droplets. 

It was the kind of thing you could overthink into oblivion. What your own personal failures would cost the people around you. How it would affect them in ways you couldn’t directly see. And if this would change their opinion of you, that you really were such a fucking bother. 

Oscar watched you zone out completely, like you’d gone somewhere else momentarily, so far lost in your own thoughts that you weren’t present in the room with him. He brought you out of it with a gentle caress of your cheek, wiping your tears with the pad of his thumb and cradling your jaw to make you look at him. 

“I’m sorry that this ruins your plans,” you said slowly. 

He had forgotten about his plans the moment he got home and could sense your silence. It was some opening of some exhibition that one of McLaren’s sponsors was putting on. It said quite a lot about his feelings about going in the first place—that you were the one to remind him of it and that he probably would’ve forgotten it otherwise. There was no way in hell that he would be going now, to a place where he would be bored out of his mind, when you were at home in this state. 

Oscar lightly shook his head at the thought. “Don’t even think of that. You are my plans now.”

And while it should’ve made you feel chosen and cared for, it also showed the sacrifices he was making just to be with you when you weren’t strong enough to be on your own. 

“Do you want to talk more about why you feel this way?” Oscar’s voice was soft, careful not to disrupt the fragile peace that seemed to linger in the room. He didn’t want to push too hard, but he couldn’t help wanting to reach the parts of you that felt unreachable. “We can talk now, or later, or… not at all if you don’t want to. I just want you to know I’m here to listen.”

You hesitated, your lips parting as though you wanted to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you shifted slightly, curling closer into his chest. You shook your head slightly. “I just… wanna be alone,” you exhaled loudly. “Alone with you, does that make sense?”

“It does,” Oscar replied. “It makes perfect sense.” 

He felt the same in many ways. Whilst your feeling of needing to be alone came from a point of exhaustion, his probably came from introversion. Whatever it stemmed from, it was necessary at times to just be in the place where you felt most comfortable and not question it further. 

“You wanna take a nap and then order some food?” he asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, trying to bring a bit of normalcy to the moment.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Can we watch a movie too?” 

“Whatever you want,” he agreed, placing a light kiss on your forehead before he shifted, propping himself up slightly. “Come on, let’s get you changed.” 

“Oscar…” you protested weakly.

He stood up from the bed, carefully when placing the comforter back down to not disturb you. With swift movements, like he’d done it times and times before, he picked out your favourite hoodie of his and a pair of pyjama pants that had probably belonged to him too at some point but were now mainly worn by you. 

“I’ve seen you naked a million times before, and I know you can’t sleep in slacks and a button-up,” he explained with a small smile, standing by the side of the bed, a hand reached out for you to grab. 

Reluctantly, you let him help you sit up. Business casual attire wasn’t meant for sleeping. 

Oscar’s movements were gentle, each touch soft and unhurried. He reached for the first button of your shirt, his fingers brushing lightly against your stomach as he worked his way down. Once the shirt slipped off your shoulders, he set it aside carefully to not wrinkle it further. 

“Arms up,” he murmured softly. You obeyed, letting his arms reach around your body to unclasp your bra, pulling it off your chest. His touch was respectful and tender—a way nudity never used to feel like. He then pulled the hoodie over your head, the soft fabric settling around you like a hug.

He reached for the zipper of your trousers, pausing to meet your eyes for permission. You gave him a small nod, and he eased them off, replacing them with the pajama pants he had set aside, tying the drawstring at your waist. The process was intimate in its simplicity. 

When Oscar finished, he reached for a silk scrunchie from the bedside table. You kept them everywhere, to the point where he had one in his bedside drawer. “Let me,” he said softly, gathering your hair with careful hands. He smoothed it back, twisting it into a loose bun that kept it out of your face.

You felt the corners of your lips twitch into the faintest smile. “You’re good at this,” you murmured.

“Because I know you,” Oscar replied with a soft chuckle. “You’re all set now.”

You fell back on the bed somewhat dramatically, letting the covers puff up around you. Oscar got back in next to you, tucking the both of you in, in a cocoon of warmth. His arms cradled your body, his lips lingering briefly in a kiss against your clothed shoulder. “Now, we sleep.”

. . . 

Later, the two of you lay on the couch, a blanket draped over you as the warm glow of the TV illuminated the room. Toy Story played softly in the background, its familiar characters offering a gentle distraction. It was a comfort film, something easy, something that didn’t demand too much from you.

Oscar held you close, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. One of his hands had found its way under the hoodie you were wearing, his fingertips drawing lazy, soothing circles against your back. 

As Buzz Lightyear declared his mission to infinity and beyond, you turned your head slightly to glance at Oscar, your chin resting on his sternum. His face was relaxed, his attention split between the movie and you. It struck you then, how content he seemed just to be here, with you, even after the long day he must have had.

“I love you, no matter what. You know that, right?” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the hum of the TV.

Your heart clenched, but not in the way it had all day. This was different. It was from the sheer weight of feeling understood and accepted.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice soft. You scooted upward to kiss him gently, mumbling out words between touches. “To infinity and beyond.” 

Oscar chuckled, a sound that warmed the coldest of places. “Cheesy,” he teased lightly, but his eyes told you he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You leaned into him, feeling lighter than you had all day. And as Buzz and Woody’s adventures continued to unfold on the screen, you felt okay. Not entirely, not permanently, but enough to hold onto for now. Enough to gather courage to work through these emotions bit by bit as time went on. 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡

౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress

[morriemonnie]

HELLO !! chapter 2 is out !! now !! now now !! thank you so much for being patient with me :9 !

🌻 link to chapter 2 | https://archiveofourown.org/works/65499649/chapters/168982405#workskin

i know the gif is really crunchy and gritty i had to compress it to hell and back to be able to post this

[luvrodite]

thinking about laying your head on jason's lap while he's reading his book and playing with your hair..

sobs into my pillow this is all i want please

just...dozy afternoons when the sun is light and pleasant as it comes through the window. maybe you're at his apartment, where he's pushed his bed against the window and it's made a pretty little sunspot that spans across his entire, ridiculously large bed that you tease him for because one man does not need a bed that big. but he always just looks at you and grins a little and says it's because he knew he'd have you to share it with and you fake being sick because it's so utterly corny but it gives you butterflies all the same.

anyway. classes are out for the afternoon and you've come back to his, had lunch and the mid-afternoon sleepiness hits but you aren't fully tired yet, so the both of you are just curled up in his bed. he'd just done the laundry last night so the sheets smell clean and fresh, and they're so soft–perks of dating a rich boy, i guess, thousand thread count sheets that you consider nicking if the both of you ever break up.

he's got your head in his lap, fingers tracing over your hairline and temple as he reads one of his books. occasionally, he'll lift his hand and the scratch of pen against paper will fill the silence. you're dozing on and off, warmed by the sun and the faint detergent smell that reaches your nose.

i imagine if you've got your hair in braids, he'll run his fingers over the woven strands and fiddle with a braid aimlessly, maybe twirl it gently around a finger. fingers scratching lightly at your scalp, at the nape of your neck.

[dawns-breath]

BUSINESSMAN JING YUAN AU?? i would love to hear more!! what kind of business? how do you two meet? o:

Zee!! good evening, how are you tonight? 💗

I haven't decided what kind of business for the business man au, maybe something in finance... 🤔 not matter what, he owns the business.

We meet in a bar. I was meant to go on a date with another guy but he cancelled on me last minute. Jing Yuan sees me looking sad so he decides to turn my night around and take me out for dinner in my date's place.

One date leads to many more 🤭

It's not super fleshed out yet. I should write it at some point tho. Thank you so much for asking!!! 💗💗💗

[loveydoveylex]

My dear Lex! How you've been?

I hope you're doing well... I miss you a lot! Rescuing the Teensies is taking me longer than I expected, but with Globox's help, I might come home sooner!

I can't wait to have you in my arms! Sleeping is not the same if you are not by my side... So wait for me a little while longer, okay buddy?

Take care. I love you.

-Rayman.

oooOHHH MY GOODNESSSSSSS... 💞💓💝💘💖💗💕💝💖

I LOVE YOU TOO BABY OF COURSE I'LL WAIT FOR YOU, I'D WAIT AN ENTIRE LIFETIME IF I HAD TO ❤️❤️❤️ I got so hAPPY AND GIDDY AND EXCITED UPON READING THIS THAT I. HAD TO LEAN IN TO KISS MY GODDAMN TABLE. BECAUSE I DESPERATELY JUST NEEDED TO. KISS. HBJFBDHJBFJSFSDFG.

ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH, I'M GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT THIS WHEN I HEAD TO SLEEP NOW... 🥺🥺🥺🫶 I'm SOFT!!!

[satorus-princess]

OMG ALSO

I WATCHED THE FROG SCENE

fuck romeo and juliet i wanna call my mans dick n balls decent sized too :[

YES I WAS WAITING FOR YOU TO WATCH THAT SCENE DKSJGSKDGJSDK

a decent sized frog who said romance was dead 🙂‍↔️

god jinshi in that scene had me fangirling so bad or just like that whole trip was my favourite

[satorus-mochi]

I ATE YOUR BED CHEM NOTES UP BTW

sometimes i forget about that fic bc it’s been a while but that just made me obsessed all over again thank you 🩷🩷🩷

i’m also very happy u clocked that satoru is a famous and good actor and can’t stick to the fucking script around her he’s so ridiculous and that was on purpose 🙂‍↕️

HEHEHE well i ate your bed chem series up i loveeee your satoru so much, you write him so well i can imagine him doing exactly what you write 🙂‍↕️ my ari, i should be the one thanking YOU for writing it

HES SO IN LOVE AND RIDICULOUS THOUGH THAT MAN <///3 i love how down bad he is, he can't even stick to the script ugh i love it and him and you