#sees his reflection in the window and well...

[cherrygarcia-07]

hi gorgeous! idk if this is like a good a idea for you to write of anything, but maybe some Spencer fluff when he sees his ex again after like a long time, and they are still into each other and maybe at some point Penelope founds out or he tells her or something and she's just like "OMG! you have to get back with her!!!!" or something like that, idk. just leave your creativity flow

Thank you so much for the req I loved writing this one so much!! I hope you like it!! And thank you for letting me include Penelope she’s lowkey my favourite to write for lol❤️

The Road Back To You // Spencer Reid☕️

Synopsis: After a painful breakup, Spencer realises he’s still hopelessly in love with you. With some encouragement (and meddling) from Penelope he finds himself on your doorstep, desperate to win you back.

Pairing: s6! spencer reid x ex girlfriend! reader (ft everyones favourite matchmaker, Penelope Garcia)

Genre: fluff… well he’s a sad little yearner for a while but it has a happy ending i promise!!

Word Count: 5.8k

Notes/Tags: Swearing once. Spencer yearns like crazy. He’s a little sad sorry but he’s okay at the end. Spencer is awkward as hell and has zero game but we love him. Talks about Haley’s death. Otters mentioned! Gay people mentioned! I honestly don’t have much to say but I like this one a lot!!!

masterlist // if you enjoy pls reblog!! it helps so much!!

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Otters are often seen as a symbol of love. They’re affectionate and many species mate for life making them synonymous with soulmates in a lot of people’s hearts. In February you can find them plastered all over Valentine’s Day cards, hand in hand as they drift on their backs together and refuse to let the water pull them apart. Of course many animals mate for life, it’s not anything otter specific- in fact it’s not even true for all otter species- but you always had a thing for them.

Your mug still sat on the counter in Spencer’s kitchen, two little cartoon otters fading away on the front with the words ‘otterly in love’ printed beneath them in a curly font. Just a few months ago you’d been perched on the counter yourself, tea-filled mug in your hand as you prattled on about the TV show you were currently watching. Spencer was stood opposite you, coffee in his own mug as he listened intently, truthfully not knowing what you were talking about but grinning stupidly all the same. Two opposites so similar. Now it just sat there empty and useless reflecting how Spencer felt every time he looked at it but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. There were traces of you everywhere all over his apartment, the ghost of someone who wasn’t dead floating around mockingly with every note still pinned up on his fridge with a silly magnet and every book of yours still tucked between his on his shelves. He was haunted by his own regrets.

It had been an ugly breakup, but not in the traditional sense. There was no screaming or shouting, no throwing or shattering. It was ugly in a quiet way, in the tears that dripped down your cheeks, the soundless begs for him to stay. A silent exit that felt louder than any argument you could’ve had instead- that you wish you’d had instead. A door that closed softly, sympathetically, behind him as he left that somehow felt like a slam that rocked its hinges. It was ugly in the feeling it gave the two of you deep in your hearts; that dull, agonising ache where you just wished the circumstances could be different. It was shortly after Haley’s funeral- after seeing what the job had cost Hotch, Spencer began to put up walls. He thought he was protecting you, you had thought he was protecting himself.

He saw your face everywhere he went. When he walked past your favourite bookstore and gazed into the window like he just couldn’t help himself he saw you scanning the shelves, brows pinched in concentration and your lips moving in silence as you read the titles along the spines with your finger hovering in the air in front of each book. He saw your face light up when you found what you wanted, excitedly but carefully prying the book from the shelf before running over to where he stood, usually by the foreign classics, to show him. He saw how his own face softened as you pressed your shoulder to his, smiling softly as you rambled and flicked through the pages of the book you were now holding between the two of you. The bell above the door rang out, harmonising with your airy laughter as he watched the two of you stroll out onto the street arm in arm, the book he’d bought you tucked tightly under your other arm before the memory faded into nothing, leaving the street empty before him.

It was like that no matter where he went; the café where you had met, the park you two would take evening strolls in after work, hell even in the grocery store he could swear he could see your hair whip through the air as you turned the corner of the aisle, the sleeve of your favourite jacket riding up your arm as you reached for something on a too-high shelf, your perpetually untied shoe laces trailing the floor as you stood on tip toes and-

Oh fuck, it actually is you.

Spencer froze where he stood, or at least he’s pretty sure he did. All he could hear in that moment was the static buzzing in his brain, like a thousand tiny Spencers were running around frantically screaming and shouting up there. His jaw hung open, eyes wide and dumb as he watched you turn towards him almost in slow motion, hair falling around your face like a picture frame. Your mouth was moving but no sound was coming out, at least not that he could hear. All he could focus on was the shape of your lips- so familiar yet now so foreign. Those lips he’d kissed more times than he could count, those lips that had always beamed in his direction except for the last time he’d seen them when they trembled and shook at his words.

“Spencer?” They called out. Your voice was muffled and hazy in his ears like he was only semi-conscious, but God did the sound of his name from your lips feel like heaven. You were staring at him, blinking expectedly like you were waiting for him to do something. “Spencer, you called my name.”

“I did?” He squeaked, voice hoarse as he forced it out. Did he? He cringed at himself for a moment before clearing his throat awkwardly, feigning confidence. “I did. Yes, I did, um-”

What are you doing? Say hello. Ask her how she is. Tell her you miss her. Sweep her off of her feet and tell her you’ll never let her go again.

“Your shoelace is untied.” Idiot.

You hesitated for a moment, visibly confused before glancing down at your shoe, kicking your leg out slightly so that your laces hung in the air between you. You were wearing your converse- the pair you’d bought to match Spencer’s. He noticed.

“Yeah, I know.” You replied, offering him an awkward smile. “You’d think I’d have learned by now, with the way you always panicked every time I tripped on the street.”

Panicked. Past tense.

“I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” He spoke quietly. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. A thick, mournful silence stretched out between you, saying everything neither of you could voice aloud. Like Haley. Both of your gazes dropped to the floor, to your matching converse, before flickering back to each other at the same time. Perfectly in sync.

“It’s good to see you, Spencer.” You piped up eventually, your voice cutting through the tension slightly. He tried to ignore the stinging feeling in his chest hearing his full name instead of your usual ‘Spence’.

“It’s good to see you too.” He responded, a fond smile pulling at his lips despite everything. He just couldn’t help it when it came to you. “Really good.”

“How have you been? How’s work?” You asked, voice cracking slightly at the last word.

“I’ve been ok.” Not great, not good or fine. Just ok. “Work is… work.” His voice trailed off, not wanting to discuss the very thing that had split you apart. The very thing that had you standing away from each other making small talk instead of walking hand in hand through the aisles as you picked out what you were going to cook together that night.

“Ohmygod!” You chirped suddenly, a hint of excitement in your voice that lifted the tension just a tad. “You cut your hair!” Without thinking, like it was instinct, your hands flew up to his head, twirling a short curl around your finger. Spencer had to fight his eyelids as they threatened to flutter shut but he couldn’t stop the content sigh that left his lips- your hands in his hair felt like home.

“Yeah I did.” He breathed, leaning into your touch ever so slightly. “You always said it was getting too long.”

He remembers the way you used to sit with your legs swung over his lap as you toyed with his hair while some movie or TV show was forgotten in the background. One hand would be resting on your knee, the other wrapped around your back holding you close to him as you teased him, adoration lacing through your sarcasm.

“I’m serious, Spence, you could braid it!” You had laughed, holding his hair up in a ponytail, your hands a makeshift hair tie.

“You’re being dramatic.” He’d argued back, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed the butterflies in his stomach as your fingertips grazed his neck.

“Oh yeah?” You’d challenged, hopping off of his lap and sprinting to the bathroom as he laughed after you from his spot on the couch. You came back brandishing a handful of colourful hair ties and hair clips, a mischievous smile plastered on your face.

Not long after you were leaning back against the arm of the couch, a camera in your hands as you laughed wildly at him, dolled up and blushing as he tried and failed to hide his face with his hands, giggling just as much as you until your cheeks ached.

Now, with your fingers still in his hair, the memory wrapped itself around Spencer’s heart like a rope, squeezing it as it pulled and pulled, threatening to rip it out of his chest entirely.

“Well I think it suits you.” You said softly. You didn’t pull your hand away. Instead you let it fall reluctantly, fingers brushing against the curve of his cheek, so gently that if he wasn’t so in tune with your movements he would’ve missed it completely, before dropping to his shoulder and eventually back at your side as if it never happened.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“It um-” Spencer began, trying to swallow the inexplicable feeling causing a lump in his throat, “my head gets cold sometimes now.” He mumbled, cringing at himself for the odd response. But you laughed.

You laughed that lovely, radiant laugh. The one so heavenly he was sure it would put the angels to shame. God, he wanted to hear that blissful sound for the rest of his life. His gaze shyly dropped from your face, no longer able to handle looking into those eyes that he used to get lost in for hours- he still would if given the opportunity, if it didn’t hurt so much to do so now. That was when he saw it, glistening between your collarbones, framed by your body and shining bright and beautiful. The necklace he gave you on your first anniversary. You were still wearing it.

Spencer breathed in sharply, brows pinched and nose scrunched as he dropped his gaze fully to the floor, the sound of your laughter still ringing in his ears as he blinked back tears. He let himself wonder for just a second about if you felt the same way. If you saw his face in strangers on the street, or if you heard his voice in your head when you were re reading the books he bought you. He thought about whether you still slept on the left side of the bed, or if you stayed in the middle now there was no him to make space for. Did you go back to hugging that stuffed animal you swore you’d outgrown now you didn’t have his side to curl into? Did you leave for work on time now that he wasn’t there begging you to stay in bed with him for just five more minutes as he peppered you with sleepy kisses?

A voice sharply pulled him out of his trance. Not your voice, no- not that serene melody that lead him anywhere with a gentle touch. This was a harsh, grating voice that yanked him out of his thoughts with so much force he almost face planted the floor. This was a man’s voice. Calling your name. His heart sank at the small smile that bloomed on your face as you turned to face the mystery man, and somehow the glow of your necklace- of Spencer’s necklace- seemed to dim against your skin.

“I’ll be right there, Nathan, I’m sorry.” You called back apologetically, waving at him in reassurance before he disappeared back around the corner of the aisle.

I’m sorry.

Spencer whispered the words to himself while your back was still turned to him, the words burning in the back of his throat. He suddenly felt foolish, like a burden mixing you up in his silly fantasies when you had clearly moved on in your life, yet he couldn’t help the way his body relaxed at the scent of your perfume floating through the air as you spun back to face him.

“I better get going.”

“You better get going.”

The two of you spoke in unison. Under any other circumstances Spencer would’ve found it funny how in sync you always were, how perfectly you slotted together like you were practically just one being. But now, his heart sank further, drowning in memories of you. Suffocating. Now it felt like a mockery. Like the current was too strong no matter how hard he grasped your hand, it was pulling you away from him.

“Yeah.” You breathed, almost remorsefully. You bit your lip, your hand flinching hesitantly before reaching out and resting on Spencer’s arm, your thumb rubbing small circles against his cardigan instinctively. “It was really nice to see you, I mean it.”

“It was nice to see you too.” He croaked, trying not to focus on the weight of your hand against him. Clearing his throat he spoke again, unsure whether he wanted to let you go or not. “It’s been a while.” He added wistfully.

“Yeah, it has. It definitely takes me a lot longer to proofread my work before I send it in now.” You chuckled airily, emptily, as you reminisced about the two of you cramped into one chair at his desk in the low lamp light of his apartment.

Spencer didn’t smile back. “I hope you’re doing okay.” He whispered, just loud enough, as he waved goodbye and turned on his heel, not waiting to hear your response. He just needed to get out of there. He didn’t see the way your hand lingered in the air for a moment after he left, how you stared blankly at the spot where he’d stood before forcing yourself to walk away.

The next day at work, he was somber. He was slumped at his desk, letting his coffee run cold as his hands ran through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, sighing to himself as he tried to force himself to think about anything but you. Everything around him felt as if it were in greyscale, even the Rubiks cube he kept on his desk seemed unsolvable as the blocks all faded into indistinguishable shades of lifelessness, so to say he was surprised when a bumble of colours came strutting into his peripheral would be an understatement.

“Okay,” Penelope’s voice sighed as her neon pink heels clicked to a halt at Spencer’s desk. “Spill. What’s wrong, boy wonder.” She asked softly, tapping his hand with the fuzzy topper of her pencil.

“Nothing’s wrong.” He lied, although he didn’t even believe it himself.

“You’re dragging your feet about the place and you’re giving me those little puppy dog eyes of yours and it’s hurting me, Reid, it’s hurting me.” She spoke sadly, pausing to perch herself on the edge of his desk and forcing him to look at her with a gentle tap of his nose. “I just want to wrap you up in a hug if I knew you wouldn’t freak out that I’m carrying all the icky public transport germs on my clothes.”

He smiled briefly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Really, I’m fine, Garcia.”

“No, you’re not.” She spoke a little firmer, suddenly jumping to her feet. “In fact, up, come on. Come with me.”

Impatiently, she waved her hands in the air as she gestured for him to stand before beckoning him to follow her as her heels began clacking towards her office, Spencer trailing begrudgingly behind her. He really didn’t want to talk about it, but only a fool would dare try and escape Penelope once she was committed to taking care of them. In her office, she practically forced him into her desk chair, the wheels spinning it side to side as he adjusted himself. His eyes trailed the army of colourful trinkets and toys lining her workspace, though they couldn’t quite distract him from the bold FBI logo bitterly blinking back at him at all angles from the monitors all around.

“Okay, I have my therapist hat on,” she began, comically adjusting her headband on her head, “talk to me.”

“I’m just in one of those moods, I guess.” Spencer murmured, avoiding her gaze and picking up a small plushie kitten from the desk and turning it over in his hands as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“Uh-uh. No. You’ve got this sad, heartbroken little look in your eyes that pulls on my little heartstrings. I haven’t seen that look since- oh.” She cut herself off quietly, her eyes softening in understanding. “Is it her?”

Swallowing his emotions Spencer nodded, still focusing on the toy in his hands. “I saw her yesterday.”

“Oh!” She repeated, squealing a little as she clasped her hands together excitedly before she remembered the situation and promptly dropped her hands back to her lap. “Oh. Right, right.”

“Right.” Spencer echoed solemnly.

“How’d it go?” Penelope asked tenderly after a brief silence, scooting slightly closer in her own chair.

He shifted in his seat, squeezing his eyes shut as he contemplated whether or not he wanted to tell the truth. Honestly, he wasn’t really sure how it went. He knows how it felt for him, like every last bit of hope for the two of you had been squeezed out of him, but he frustratingly couldn’t get a read on you. Nor had he stopped thinking about you since.

“It was alright, at first. It was a little awkward on my part,” he scrunched up his nose, cringing at himself in retrospect, “and kind of sad but… nice.”

Penelope nodded along empathetically. “But then?”

“But then,” Spencer trailed off, stilling the toy cat in his hands before setting it down in defeat. “She was with somebody else.”

“Oh, honey.” She cooed, taking the plushie out of his lap and holding his hand instead. He usually wasn’t one to accept such gestures but in the moment it was comforting. “Tell me everything. Every word.”

“I mean I don’t regret what happened,” Spencer began after recounting the events to her, “at least I don’t think I do. I could never regret protecting her and keeping her safe but just seeing her there with him made me-“

“Jealous?” She cut in, raising a brow at him.

“What? No, not jealous, just-“ he tried to defend himself but he couldn’t think of anything else to say that could explain the ugly feeling bubbling in his chest, heinous and spitting like poison. Maybe he was jealous.

“Jealous.” She repeated, punctuating herself with another tap of her fuzzy pencil. “It’s okay, Reid. It’s normal. And for what it’s worth I think she’s totally still into you.”

“What?” Spencer squeaked, finally meeting her gaze with an incredulous look. “That’s- that’s ridiculous, Garcia.”

“Sweetheart,” She began, her voice taking on an ever so slightly teasing tone, “she was wearing your matching shoes.”

“They’re practical shoes.”

“She was still wearing your necklace.”

“Maybe she just liked how it looked with her outfit.”

“With her hoodie and converse? Yeah, sure.” Penelope cocked her eyebrow at him again, smirking slightly as she tilted her head at him. “Reid. My dear boy wonder. She played with your hair.”

“She was just commenting on my haircut,” Spencer insisted through stuttering words and burning cheeks, “that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, come on!” She sighed, exasperated as she through her hands up. “That is classic, textbook I’m-still-in-love-with-my-ex-boyfriend. It’s yearning 101!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but there was no stopping the romance-loving adrenaline rushing through the veins of the meddling woman before him.

“You have to go after her.”

Spencer’s jaw dropped, mouth opening and closing rapidly like a fish as he blinked repeatedly in tandem. He was malfunctioning, evidently. “What? No!” He yelped, voice several octaves higher than before. “Garcia that’s crazy! Thats-“

“Genius!” She finished for him, a maniacal glimmer in her wild eyes as she beamed. “Oh it’s the perfect rom-com scenario.” She mused, clasping her hands together.

“I don’t watch romantic comedies.” Spencer replied deadpan. He bit back the word anymore. He used to, with you.

“This is the scene where the guy chases the girl through the rain,” Penelope began, ignoring him entirely, “or the scene where he jumps in a taxi and throws money at the cabbie and runs through the airport screaming her name right before she gets on the plane.”

“Plane? But she isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh, will you shush? I’m being romantic. Something you should be doing with little miss love of your life right now.”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, sinking down in his chair and swivelling side to side in thought. “She’s moved on, Garcia.”

The defeated croak in his voice weighed heavy on Penelope’s heart. She often felt other people’s emotions in full force as if they were her own, something she saw both as her detriment and as her greatest triumph. But right now as she watched her heartbroken baby brother shrink into himself she wanted nothing more than to fix everything for him.

“You said his name was Nathan?” She asked, although she already knew, as she spun to face her monitor, pulling her keyboard towards her as her eyes locked onto the screen with laser focus.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, concerned at the sudden steel emotion hardening her features. “You can’t just cyber stalk everyone you deem an inconvenience- that’s a gross misuse of FBI resources.”

Penelope said nothing but held up a finger with authority, effectively shushing him though he still glanced over his shoulder nervously like he was expecting the door to be broken down any second. In just a few seconds her expression melted, a satisfied look taking over instead as she smirked, tilting the screen away from him with her perfect pink nails.

“You swear they were together?” She asked, an amused lilt in her voice that had Spencer furrowing his brows in confusion. She was practically vibrating with excitement.

“I think so.” He replied warily, eyes darting between her face and her death grip on the edge of the monitor.

“Well…” She sighed dramatically, though the grin on her face only grew wider. “Nathan’s boyfriend isn’t going to be too happy about that.”

Slowly, she spun the monitor back to face him, revealing a social media post. Sure enough, Nathan was stood looking positively ecstatic, arm around another man and hugging him close. Warm candles lit up the room around them, illuminating the balloons strung up on the wall and the roses on the table. Beneath the photo in the caption read the words ‘happy anniversary, baby” with a string of heart emojis.

Despite his protests to Penelope’s sleuthing Spencer felt a weight lift off of his chest, chuckling to himself slightly and he’d never been so happy to be wrong about something in his life. He was just a friend.

“You already let her go once,” she began, speaking gently again, “you can’t afford to let her go again.” Her hand let go of the monitor, instead coming to rest on Spencer’s shoulder.

“But I can’t afford to lose her forever, either.” He uttered, voice broken with something between heartbreak and regret. “I can’t afford to mix her up in this world. To lose her like-” He stopped speaking abruptly, like the thought of it was too painful to even force the words out.

“Like Haley.” Penelope finished for him again, rubbing his shoulder as he dropped his eyes to the floor. “I get it, sweetie, I do. But are you really going to let her walk away forever over a possibility?”

“If it saves her life, of course.”

“I don’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, Reid, but you can’t guarantee anybodies life.” He nodded heavily, it was a reality the whole team was unfortunately all too aware of. “It’s not promised to anyone, whether you’re with her or not, so don’t let it get in the way.”

“I love her.” Spencer declared. Crisp and final.

“So go get her.” Penelope bumped his shoulder lightly in encouragement. “If not for you then for me, I miss my girl’s night partner.”

“I never stopped you from seeing her?” He turned to look at her, mentally running through every conversation they’d had about you incase he ever insinuated that without realising.

“I know but it’s basic girl code! Have you never seen a rom-com in your life? I could never do that to you.” She held a hand to her heart dramatically, like she was making an oath.

“Girl code?” Spencer echoed, confused, “but I’m not a-“

“Reid.” Penelope firmly planted both hands on his shoulders as she spun him in his chair until they were perfectly opposite each other, staring into his eyes sternly. “Go. Get. Her.”

“We still have 5 hours of work left.” He mumbled nervously.

“After work, genius. After work.”

“Right.”

Later that evening, after pacing around his apartment for what felt like an agonisingly long time, Spencer found himself outside of your door. Actually, he’d been there for so long he was half worried a neighbour was going to spot him outside of the window and call the police on him for loitering, but he just couldn’t work up the courage to knock on your door. The last time he had been here still haunted him and every time he looked up at the door he saw himself walking out of it, tears rolling down your face as you stood on the other side. Instead, he fumbled with the edges of his sleeves, repeatedly tightening and loosening his tie and occasionally reaching down into his bag and running his fingers along your mug tucked safely within one of his sweaters so that it didn’t shatter on the way over.

Desperately trying to calm his breathing, he finally made his way up the stairs, his legs trembling and threatening to give out beneath him with every step. Taking a deep breath, he reached out a shaking hand and gave three brave knocks on the wood, trying to ignore the nausea clawing at him from the inside.

He almost stopped breathing entirely when the door swung open moments later. There you stood. Perfect, ethereal you. The light of your hallway illuminated you in an angelic glow, a halo-like ring shining in your hair and Spencer swore in that moment that he had died and gone to heaven. You were only in your sweats and an old t shirt, glasses on and hair thrown up in a lazy ponytail, but he thought you were the most bewitching thing he had ever seen or that he ever would see for as long as he lived (which may not be very long given the way he was still holding his breath).

“Spencer?” Your voice was music to his ears. Raspy and sleepy in a way that had him wanting to tuck you into bed with a sweet goodnight kiss.

“Hi.” He barely managed, voice hoarse and jaw hanging open.

“Are you okay?” You asked, shifting your weight where you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, I um-“ He started, losing momentum very quickly. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I’m sorry.”

You bit your lip, stifling back a chuckle. Even in your situation it was impossible not to fall for his loveable awkwardness, just the sheer Spencer-ness of it all. Before you had a chance to second guess yourself you were stepping to the side, holding your door open just a bit wider and gesturing for him to come in. He followed immediately, a precious look of disbelief on his face as you shut the door behind him. It felt weird yet comfortable to have him back in your space. Before the breakup, these walls had seen all of your movie nights and every meal you began to cook together before getting distracted dancing around the kitchen in the glow of the refrigerator light. It had heard every word, every compliment, every joke, every time you laughed or cried together, every soft snore as you slept tangled up in each other’s arms. Welcoming him in felt like welcoming him home.

“I’m sorry to stop by when it’s so late.” He found his voice eventually as he followed you into the living room. “You can tell me to leave if you need to.”

“Don’t be silly.” You smiled, sitting down on the couch. Carefully, he lowered himself beside you, keeping a respectable distance but you caught the way his fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out for you. “I’d never turn you away, Spence.”

Spence. You didn’t mean to say it. It just slipped out. But you didn’t take it back.

“I wanted to apologise.” He fought his nerves and looked straight in your eyes, holding your gaze with a serious look that you couldn’t quite place.

“For what?” You tilted your head, unable to pull your eyes away.

“For everything.” The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch in your throat, the emotion in his words unearthing every feeling you thought you’d buried. “For leaving. Especially for how I left.”

“Spencer, I-“

“I thought I was protecting you. I thought that by letting you go I was keeping you safe, that I was doing what was right. But when I saw you yesterday… I realised I still love you. I mean, I knew I still loved you- God did I know- but I think I was denying just how much.” Your heart thudded in your chest, as did his, but he forced himself to keep going. “And maybe it’s selfish but I just can’t keep going around seeing your face everywhere I go, hearing your voice in every book I read, feeling your touch when it’s not there.”

He broke eye contact for just a second, glancing around at the room he’d once called his second home, and when he looked back at you there were tears in his eyes.

“You don’t have to accept my apology,” he continued, voice beginning to hollow, “but I just had to tell you. I had to try.”

To your surprise, there were tears forming in your own eyes. You hadn’t even felt them creeping up on you, no sting in your lash line before the drops were rolling down your cheek. Without thinking, like it was instinct to take care of you, Spencer reached forward to wipe them away and you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. His fingertips brushed against your face, the warmth sending a jolt through you that had you wanting to jump into his arms and kiss him until the break up was completely and utterly forgotten- but a small part of you was still hurting. And that part of you recoiled. You tried to speak, but the words came out hoarse.

“I understand.” You whispered. “It’s okay, Spencer.”

“No, no it’s not.” He insisted, voice low but firm.

“No, it’s not.” You admitted faintly, folding your hands in your lap. “But if you want to fix things… I’m willing to let you try.”

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, his chest deflating so fast he thought it might collapse in on itself. His fingers twitched again, the nerves shooting through him as he processed your words.

“Thank you.” He breathed, barely audible at all. “Thank you so much. Thank you.” He repeated it over and over again like a prayer. He wasn’t even sure who he was thanking, you or whatever cosmic forces of the universe had decided to grace him with your existence in the first place.

“I’ve missed you too.” You moved along the couch until your knees were touching, and with bated breath you took his shaking hand in yours and admired how perfectly they fit together, like they were moulded just for one another. “I miss you every time I wake up alone from a bad dream and you’re not there to read me back to sleep. I miss you every time I smell coffee and it’s not coming from your mug, from your hands. I miss you all the damn time, Spence.”

He raised your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss so soft yet so full of raw emotion to your knuckles and you realised he was crying too.

“I swear, you’ll never have to miss me again. I’m not going anywhere this time, I promise.” And he meant it. He meant it with every fibre of his being.

“Good.” Was all you could muster. You believed him, and that was all that mattered.

A sentimental silence fell over the room as you both sat with your hands still entwined, except now your head was on his shoulder and he was pressing tender kisses into your hair the way he always used to. After a while, he jolted upright suddenly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small object wrapped in blue tissue paper, which he carefully ripped off.

A smile pulled at you before you could register it as you saw the little cartoon otters on your favourite mug. You’d left it at his apartment the last time you saw him before the break up and hadn’t had the courage to ask for it back, leaving it behind alongside everything you’d left unsaid.

“I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to say what I planned to,” Spencer started, laughing at himself quietly. “So I thought I’d return your mug. Just incase I needed an excuse as to why I was here.”

You found yourself laughing too, heart blooming with adoration for your silly, awkward genius. “You can keep it.” You mused, resting your head back on his shoulder like it belonged there. “You’ll need it next time I’m at your place.”

Next time. Future tense.

A lovesick grin grew on Spencer’s face as he settled into you, to say he was in love with you would be underselling it. He was completely, inescapably enamoured with you- smitten, besotted, infatuated- there was no word in any language that could describe the depth of the love he felt. With a full heart, he took your hand in his once again and this time he vowed he would never let it go again, no matter how hard the current pulled.

-

[doucmyheart]

beneath you, the boat sways gently with the currents of the water, floating across a lily laden river

such a breathtaking sight, truly. no way you’d be able to find scenery as beautiful as this in snezhnaya, though…. seeing flurries of snow from a palace window, foggy with your warm breath, could be just as beautiful, you think.

you’re so enthralled with the pure life surrounding you that you fail to notice scaramouche, lazily turning away from his reflection in the water to gaze at your face.

like this, he can practically see the whole world reflect in your eyes and find comfort in the warmth of your heart; your heart which beats with purity and innocence, untainted, as he’d wish it’d stay forever.

forever, you’d stay with him— forever, you’d let him guide you, show you the true meaning of life, give you your many firsts, and depend on him as if independence meant nothing to you.

you drag a finger along the water’s surface to pick at a pink flower adorning a lily pad, and turn back to tuck it behind scaramouche’s ear, his hat being well long discarded to the opposite end of the boat

“what are you doing?..” he mutters, eyebrows furrowing, yet you can’t take him too seriously, because all you can see is the soft light from the fireflies reflect and dance across his face, painting it in gorgeous hues of teals and golds.

“i read somewhere that pink lilies symbolize rebirth and what-not…” you explain sheepishly, mindlessly rubbing at the smudged red liner around his eyes.

suddenly, he pulls you down to lay beside you, the boat shaking a bit from the movement, and for a second, you think it might sink; at least you’ll go down together…

“i hope you know how much effort it is to keep you safe,” he whispers while holding you close to his chest, wrapping you in his embrace and pressing a light kiss to the top of your head

his main focus is still you; no matter how beautiful the world may seem, it’s nothing but fleeting compared to keeping you so closely wrapped around his finger.

even if the boat had sunk earlier, it’s the best way to die, he thinks,

because then, your bodies would remain together until the very last second; eventually becoming one with the waters and carried along into the ocean, consumed by the fish, and beginning an eternal cycle of rebirth, symbolizing that not even death could take him away from you.

[gohyemi]

mission abort !! signal failed! L.S.M

⋆ ��𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff, humour

⋆ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: seokmin x reader

taglist: @ateez-atiny380 @lilydaisylily @dreamingofpcy @sumzysworld @mxnhoeuwu @notanotherbigfangirl

a/n: INSERTING SECOND MALE LEAD, THIS STORY MAY GET PROLONGED

<<PART 1. PART 3>>

.ೃ࿔☼*:･ part 2

The Day After

Y/N woke up with heavy eyes and an even heavier heart.

She shuffled toward the mirror and winced. “Aisshh… now I can’t even see properly,” she mumbled, noticing the puffiness around her eyes.

Reaching into the freezer, she grabbed a cold spoon and pressed it gently over her lids—willing the swelling to go down along with the ache in her chest.

But no amount of cold metal could numb what she was feeling inside.

She moved through her morning routine in silence. Washed her face, applied her skincare, dabbed on a bit more concealer than usual, and did her makeup with extra care—not to impress anyone, but to hold herself together. When she finished, she took a deep breath and slapped both cheeks lightly.

“You can do it, Yoon Y/N,” she told her reflection, forcing a small smile. “Let’s move on.”

.ೃ࿔☼*:･

The classroom buzzed lightly when she arrived. Students chatting, chairs dragging, morning energy humming in the air.

And the very first person she saw?

“Y/Nnie~!”

It was him—Lee Seokmin.

Of course.

He was already grinning, waving at her from his seat like nothing had happened.

‘How can I move on when you still greet me like that?’ she mentally groaned. Still, she managed to return his smile, just enough to pass off as friendly. But it didn’t reach her eyes.

He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh! By the way, what’s the tea?” he asked, leaning closer across his desk. “I couldn’t come yesterday… I, uh… overslept~” He scratched the back of his head, clearly a little sheepish.

Y/N blinked. Her smile stayed, but her heart sank.

That was it? Overslept?

No text. No apology last night. Just… overslept?

The ache returned—dull but sharp enough to remind her why she’d decided to let go.

She nodded slowly, her tone light but distant. “Oh… it wasn’t important.”

Seokmin chuckled softly, still clueless. “Okay, good. I was scared I missed some serious drama.”

Y/N just hummed and took her seat, eyes turning to the window.

Outside, the sky was clear and bright. And inside, she told herself again—

Let’s move on.

.ೃ࿔☼*:･

“You got your answer?”

Y/N nodded quietly.

She was now tucked away in the corner of the university library, her usual study nook—though she wasn’t here for studying. She had spotted Jeonghan, head down on an open textbook, clearly mid-nap in his signature “I'm awake but not really” position.

She hesitated at first, but something in her chest told her she needed to let it out. So she sat beside him and told him everything—about the planned confession, the missed meet-up, and the excuse that followed.

To her surprise, Jeonghan didn’t crack a joke or tease her. He listened. Really listened.

After a pause, he opened one sleepy eye and said quietly, “But… you still didn’t say it to his face.”

Y/N sighed, groaning as she dropped her head onto the table, hiding her face in her folded arms. “How could I, Han?” she murmured. “When he couldn’t even bother to show up for something so simple... that said enough, didn’t it? It showed me exactly where I stand in his life. Just… a friend. One of many!”

The people surround hushing them.

Jeonghan bowed in apology, and he let out a sigh. 'Poor y/n'

He just reached out and gently patted her back in silent comfort.

But then, his eyes lit up.

A slow, mischievous smile crept onto his face—the kind that made Y/N lift her head just enough to squint at him suspiciously.

“What?” she mumbled, still half-buried in disappointment.

He leaned in closer and grinned, voice low but full of intent. “I might have an idea… a very Jeonghan idea.”

Y/N blinked. “Should I be scared?”

He laughed softly. “Probably. But maybe it’s time he gets a little wake-up call.” Now she is interested

“Well… if he really does like you, though.” Jeonghan’s words hung in the air casually, but they landed hard on Y/N’s already wounded heart.

She groaned in response and dropped her head back onto the library table, muffling her feelings into the woodgrain. Jeonghan chuckled, patting her back again like she was a tired kitten.

“So,” she said from under her arms, voice muffled, “what exactly is this genius idea of yours?”

.ೃ࿔☼*:･

“You need to do all the things you usually do for Seokmin… to another guy,” Jeonghan said confidently, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“And lucky you, I have the perfect candidate.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh. She still didn’t fully get what he was scheming, but her heart was too numb to argue.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Just like always, Y/N stood near the hallway, the exact spot she’d usually wait for Seokmin. She held her bag casually, pretending not to be scanning for him.

“First, you just wait,” Jeonghan had said. “And when he shows up—that’s when you reject.”

She spotted him. Seokmin was walking her way, waving with that bright, effortless smile that always made her knees weak.

“Y/Nnie~! You waited? Let’s go—practice starts soon!”

She steadied her breath. Now or never.

She straightened and met his gaze. “Sorry, Seokmin-ah. I have other plans today.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Ah… really? With who?”

Before she could even speak, another voice answered smoothly from beside her.

“With me.”

Both of them turned.

Standing there was none other than Seungcheol—hands in his pockets, relaxed but confident. His gaze was calm, but the way he positioned himself beside Y/N made one thing clear: this wasn’t random.

“She has plans with me,” he repeated with a small smile.

“Then… the SOS will come.” Jeonghan grinned with folded arms

Y/N stiffened slightly, trying to play it cool, but her heart was screaming.

‘Oh my god… who is this bad boy. Is this the help that Han told me?’ she monologued, cheeks warm with fluster.

For a second, Seokmin looked genuinely taken aback. His easy smile faltered, his posture straightened, like something had clicked—but only for a moment.

Then he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, that’s a shame. Well, see you later, Y/Nnie~” he said with that same familiar tone, before adding, “Have fun, hyung~”

And with that, he walked away—faster than usual.

Y/N stood frozen, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing louder than her own heartbeat.

Beside her, Seungcheol glanced down and asked quietly, “You okay?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

Seungcheol let out a soft giggle, then called out into the empty hallway, “Yah, Yoon Jeonghan, come out!”

A loud rustling sound followed before Jeonghan popped out from behind the trash can, dusting off his pants as he strolled over with a proud grin. “Tada!! Your SOS help has arrived!”

Y/N gave him a look, somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Seriously? Behind the trash can?”

Jeonghan only winked. She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. She turned toward Seungcheol and extended her hand.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Thanks for being part of this ridiculous plan.”

Seungcheol accepted her handshake with a charming grin. “Seungcheol. Nice to meet you.”

“Call him Ddaddu or Cherry—it’s tradition!”

Before Y/N could react, Seungcheol grabbed Jeonghan in a playful headlock. “Do not listen to this clown.”

Jeonghan groaned dramatically in his grip while laughing. “I’m just helping the vibe, okay?!”

Seungcheol looked back at Y/N and, with a lopsided smile, added, “But really… if you want to, it’s okay for me.”

Y/N laughed, finally easing up from the awkward tension earlier. This may have started as a plan—but for the first time in a while, she felt light.

And maybe… this was the beginning of something new. -tbc-

.ೃ࿔☼*:･

[shouyuus]

*pokes head in through door* hellooo for the time writing game could I get rafayel or suo w/ 1:00am please? thank you! ^-^

writing/warmup game closed!

rafayel; 1:00am --

"time slows down when you're underwater."

you shift in the tangle of foam-white sheets, the linens pooling around you both even as rafayel stares up at the ceiling. moonlight streams through the floor-length windows, carving the room into fourths -- outside, sea laps softly at the shore, it's glassy surface broken only by the shimmer of reflected stars.

"yeah, that makes sense," you say, curling onto your side, tracing a light finger along rafayel's chest. he shifts closer to you, an arm looped around your body.

"it's so strange... how fast things move up here..." he muses, a smile ghosting his lips. you glance up, watching the moonlight as it silvers the tips of his lashes and lights the pools of his well-deep eyes.

"well... you know how it is, mr. famous painter -- we've got places to go, people to see," you say, grinning as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.

at this, rafayel chuckles, turning to slate you a sidelong look.

"you would've made a beautiful lemurian princess," he muses, turning to face you proper, his back to the starry night, his face cast in long, elegant shadows. like this, his amethyst eyes seem to shine with a light all their own, the way the ocean emits it's own, seemingly depthless glow.

"is that you're way of saying i'm not so beautiful as a human?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

"no," he answers, his voice somehow graver than his usual good-natured whine, "just that... sometimes... when i close my eyes, i think i can see it -- the two of us, somewhere beneath the waves, where forever doesn't seem so out of reach..."

you press in close, graze your lips against his, watch as his midnight lashes flicker open again.

"i can't say i'm the world's best swimmer but... the way i see it, forever's always been right here --" you clutch his hand in yours, pressing it to your chest, holding on like the press of palm on palm is something sacred, "between the two of us..."

rafayel's smile is nothing short of luminous as he leans in to kiss you again, his lips warm and soft, his tongue, when it presses into your mouth, is weighted with a wordless kind of longing.

"yeah..." he breathes, nodding when he finally pulls back, "i guess you're right..."

you let out a tiny laugh, hooking your ankle over his as he pulls you ever closer, your bodies pressing together, hip to hip and chest to chest.

"and i'm sure if i practice hard enough," you say, grinning as rafayel rolls back, pulling you up to straddle his waist, "my swimming will get better too."

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Embers and Ebony

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Summary: pro hero!reader having to go undercover and snuggle up to Dabi in order to infiltrate the league, the first chapter for this blurp and commission for @purgatoryvisitor 🩵

Warnings: slight descriptions of violence/injury; I also took a lot of creative liberty with OC's and stuff so that's fun; language; lots of exposition

Word Count: 3.6k

The Hero Public Safety Commission's office had always freaked you out. 

It was a building that continually radiated a strong chill, even in the Summer. Titanium guarded each side of the skyscraper, making it look more like a prison than an actual agency. Automatic doors opened proudly once you scaled the concrete stairs. However, their compliance seemed less like a welcome, but rather a goading dare to enter for anyone who didn’t belong there. 

Come on in, their creaking hinges whispered. Find out what happens. 

The inside was no different. 

A high temperature did nothing to quell the coldness brimming through the metal walls and marble tile. They echoed underneath the heels of your boots and bounced off the hallway corners. White lights, far too blinding to be practical, illuminated the surface, leaving nowhere for you to hide. In fact, the floor seemed to have been recently polished, its pristine shine reflecting your image to the plethora of security cameras hiding between every few meters. 

The newly scrubbed surface seemed to be the job of Kaho, a pop of color within this world of silver. Even the dark navy cleaning uniform she wore did nothing to dull her radiant hues, which seemed to glow so much brighter in an arctic desert like this. As she waved in your direction, a gaggle of brightly painted bracelets jingled against her wrist. 

You lowered your hood and offered her a mouthed ‘sorry’ for walking over her newly mopped tile while walking by, to which the elderly woman waved off with a jolly grin. 

Her cheerfulness quelled the gargling pile of nerves in your stomach a little. Still, the quiet, bubbling heat continued to gnaw at your abdomen. It didn’t matter how many times you opened the doors to the penthouse office. 

You would always cross them uneasily.

Rin Tsunahito was a stern looking man with black hair slowly speckling into silver. At first glance, some may have theorized that age had hardened him. However, he had always been this way, as long as you had known him at least, harsh lines and angles carved from duty only accentuated by time. Even as a teenager, he had seemed light years away from you, despite the actual difference being somewhere around thirty five years. 

Another thirty five and he would probably still be here, sitting atop his leather throne and piercing his subjects with those bright green eyes. He was much like the building in that way; cold, but unmoving, a pillar of responsibility surrounded by a world of chaos.

The man seemed to be an extension of the room he inhabited as well. He embodied the precision in which each stack of paper on his desk had been perfectly aligned, the way his name plaque had been strictly positioned to be in the exact middle of it. The suit he wore had not even a speck of lint or hair, as stainless as the shining windows that allowed the dark gray of a rainy afternoon to illuminate the room. 

That emerald glare seemed to dull just slightly when you walked in, serious expression softening just the tiniest bit for less than a moment. It was just barely noticeable, but you had trained your vision to catch it, to crave the way those wrinkled brows would smooth over before folding back. “You’re here. Good.”

Waiting, you allowed the silence to fill the space between you for a moment before making sure that he wasn’t going to continue. Talking over your superior was a devastating mistake that you had learned to avoid. “I read that you needed to see me?”

He nodded. “I have a new mission for you.”

Two of his fingers, the middle and pointer had been slashed off, supposedly years ago while dealing with a particularly violent interrogation, if you chose to believe any of the stories the HPSC staff would tell. They had been replaced with metal prosthetics. One worker in particular had spread the story that if Rin took them off, and you got close enough to look, you might see the barely noticeable indentation of teeth left behind on the lacerated flesh. 

The steel glinted in the overhead light as the digits grazed over a stack of folders, carefully deciding on the correct one before picking it up. With his other, less titanium endowed hand, he beckoned you forward.

Taking the invitation, you slowly began to ascend the short set of steps leading up to his desk. During your first week here, you had always thought that the room was far too big for a single person, regardless of whether or not that individual happened to be the Commission's director of hero services and coordination. But you shortly began to realize just how much space his personality took up. It seemed to permeate the air whenever you opened the door, filling your lungs with a sparking mixture of excitement and nerves. 

That feeling only grew stronger as you carefully accepted the file from him, twisting the clasp and opening it up just as you had many times before. 

And just as those times before, the giant word ‘Nyx’ had been printed out in bold Times New Roman font, your legal name typed much smaller to the right of it. Below, a black and white image of you was displayed next to a plethora of additional information like your age, status, and, undeniably most important, your quirk. 

Usually, the rest of the content was filled with information, either on a group or the specific members that would be subject to your infiltration. This instance was no different, although it still had you pausing as you soaked in the data. 

The images before you were ones that you had seen scattered across wanted posters and news stations alike in the past few weeks. The first paper sported an extremely blurry photograph, like it had been captured by someone either very nervous or in a hurry. Still, it was easy to see the pale blue locks and milky skin. 

The next didn’t even have a face at all, but rather an inky cloud of swirling violet along with a golden pair of eyes. Unfortunately, whatever printer this had been created from didn’t do the character justice, those pupil-less flames a muted excuse for the usual glow that you had seen on the television.

You looked up at your boss. “The League of Villains?” He just stared back at you, waiting for a sign of displeasure or hesitancy. Instead, you offered him a look of determination. “How would you like me to get in?”

Generally, you would be tasked with the specifics.

Be creative, he might say. Just try to help us keep any casualties to a minimum.

This time seemed to be different. “Use the Cremation Villain.”

Clearly, the shock must have broken through your dutiful, indifferent expression based on the short frown Rin shot back at you. You voiced your surprise regardless. “What? You’re talking about-”

“Dabi, yes. I’m sure you heard of him.” Those steel fingers ruffled through the stack of papers you were holding, drawing out the one with your specific target's information. “We’ve received intel that he has been regularly attending a certain bar on the outside of the city. As of now, he’s our best shot at getting into the League.”

Your eyes flit over the parchment, taking in the information. His criminal moniker had been bolded just like yours, but ‘legal name unknown’ had been branded beneath. 

‘Unknown’ seemed to be a common theme concerning his data.

At least, until it got to the ‘wanted for’ section. 

Phrases such as serial murder, arson, and torture were easy standouts. 

“Fifty percent of the villains in this city are homicidal maniacs. The other half are self-righteous psychopaths who believe they can heal society by taking out heroes,” Rin continued as you read. “Your target is a bit of both. Use that.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you began to flick through the papers once more, this time settling on a teenage blonde with fangs and a bright grin. 

“You’re about the same age. I’m positive you won’t have an issue using that as well.” 

That definitely made you look up. “And you’re talking about…”

The stream of questions seemed to be gnawing at his patience, emerald eyes narrowing in a way that made your stomach curl. “Seduce him. This wouldn’t be the first time.”

It hadn’t been. 

But those times had been easy. 

Simple.

A bunch of lower grade criminals who couldn’t beat you on their best day. Maybe a drug dealer or quirk smuggler. At worst, it had been a member of the Italian mafia that had sent you on a flight across Europe. 

This was different. 

This was a murderer; a prominent member of one of the most infamous groups in Japan, one that had been known specifically for killing people like you. 

Being an underground hero meant that you had specialized in undercover missions more than a few times. Over the years, you had become bodyguards, celebrity guests, and lackeys. Each mask fit your face perfectly, seeing as it had been kept a secret for your entire career. 

And anyone who had been given the pleasure of linking it to your real identity was secure behind bars. 

“Do we have a problem?”

The comment pulled you back from your thoughts, back to that stern, glaring face that tugged an immediate response from you. “No, sir.”

“Good. I’ll have more information sent over by tomorrow night.” Gaze falling over your form, Rin took a moment before giving you a small nod. “Dismissed.”

That tiny dip, his own discrete way of saying ‘I believe in you,’ followed you out of the office, a beacon of light blinking amidst the murky pool of unease. 

Still, that luminance continued to dim as you left the HPSC office, its muted glow slowing flickering out and leaving no distraction from the situation you had found yourself in.

⭒∘☽☾∘⭒

The first time you had met Dabi was around three months ago. 

Well, ‘met’ was technically a strong word, but you couldn’t exactly come up with another term to describe the interactions.

As an underground hero, most of your time had been spent taking care of the dirty jobs the more popular pros couldn’t be bothered with. It wasn’t anything that you minded; working within the shadows had been something written within the strands of your DNA. Your role was something more akin to a legally endorsed vigilante, seeing that fifty percent of the police force didn’t even know who you really were. You didn’t receive any public applause or acknowledgement, but you personally didn’t care one way or another.

But it was always a nice change when you were blessed with a different opportunity. 

That day had been one of them.

Apparently, you had been one of the only heroes within a mile of the attack. To be honest, you hadn’t actually been on the clock, but you had been trained to keep a pack of all your essentials whenever you were away from the commissioner's office. It had taken seconds to pull the suit from your bag and slip it on, the ebony fabric light and tailored to be donned quickly whenever the time came.

With the slightest bit of grief, you left behind your street clothes and container of takeout you had specifically decided to brave the public streets for before sprinting toward the chaos. Thankfully, there was still enough light left in the day to have darkness pooling in the corners of the isolated alley. You jumped into one of the shadows, allowing your form to coagulate with the murky gloom and sweep you in the direction of incomprehensible yelling.

Smoke assaulted your senses when you pulled back out of the shade, creeping in through the mesh of your mask to tingle your throat. The sound of screaming came next, piercing through the air and cacophony of madness around you. 

Civilians were running in all directions from what appeared to be the center of the havoc, one of the newer hero agencies that had grown popular due to their more recently hired tree-manipulating pro. Now, the shining windows covering the building had been blasted apart, their shards of glass littering the sidewalk. They crackled and popped under the feet of office workers and the general public alike as they fled the scene. 

As they passed, you silently stole three of the shadows they left behind, drawing them upward from the concrete until they began to forge dark figures.

Their inky forms stared at you with eyeless faces, attentive and ready for whatever command you would issue. Without having to speak, you sent them off toward the crumbling structure to make sure there wasn’t anyone left trapped inside. Each was just slightly different from the next, the contrasting features stemming from something as simple as an outline of a baseball cap or baggie sweater their original owner might have been wearing. Regardless, they worked perfectly in tandem, accepting you as their similarly clad leader.

Your wardrobe was fairly small, so it didn’t really have much competition, but your hero suit was probably your favorite piece of clothing, an opinion that would probably withstand time, even if you someday found yourself with an extensive closet. The material was surprisingly breathable, even with the short hood and mask that ran over your face. With the way it completely enclosed your body, it even made it difficult to distinguish between you and your shadow soldiers on a dark night. The outfit covered every inch of your flesh like a second skin, barely noticeable yet protective against anything from flames to acid.

That statement was meant quite literally, seeing as once while on a mission to catch a group lacing pain reliever pills in order to destroy a pharmaceutical company by killing its patients, one of the offenders had tried to overcome you by tipping a vat of cyanide in your direction. 

Obviously, it hadn’t worked, yet you were grateful to the commission designers regardless.

But unfortunately, just as some bullet proof vests were not similarly immune to the slashes of a knife, your costume had been designed with the idea that you, a professional, would be quick enough to avoid most sharp force objects. 

Today, you hadn’t been.

It was an explosion that had gotten you, or more specifically the giant chunk of cement it had seen barreling your way. The concrete had been blasted apart, sending pieces spiraling toward a haggle of young children screaming in tearful terror. 

Arms outstretched, your reach elongated towards them as you drew from any shadows that the evening sunset had painted across the city-scape. The darkness curled around the rock like vines and then you pulled, yanking it away from the group and back into the ground with a thump. 

A small sigh of relief stole your attention just long enough for you to barely notice another wayward lump of blasted sidewalk careening your way. 

If you had been any slower, it might have decapitated you completely. It just barely missed you, the jagged edge slightly grazing across your face and leaving a small, scarlet scratch in its wake.

Thankfully, the wound wouldn’t scar, especially with some aloe and time spent in the medical wing. However, the actual scrape wasn’t what worried you, but rather the small strip of fabric of your mask that had been torn away in the process. It left a diagonal opening on part of your face exposed, specifically the upper part of your nose and right eye. 

There was barely enough time to worry about that, however, and you turned your attention to a flipped over minivan caught beneath a fallen lamp post. 

With a giant yank, the wispy fingers of your quirk were able to tug the light away from the car, allowing you to pry open the dented doors and help the elderly couple out. The silver haired man grabbed his husband once they were on solid ground and dragged him away with a rapid thank you shouted in your direction, the latter clutching his partner's arm with hands clasped in fervent prayer.

You moved on to a fallen teenager whose leg seemed to be twisted in an unholy angle. With a flick of your finger, two shadows tore away from the ankles of a duo sprinting past. Both soldiers glided to either side of the boy, wrapping a wispy arm under his shoulders before carefully lifting him and whisking him away.

Whenever you were chosen to participate in a more publicly visible fight, the message that came along with it was always clear: don’t make a scene. 

Press was a nasty, probing beast, sinking its claws to any new heroic face with a flashy power it could find. From the distance, you could begin to hear the clicking call of their camera shutters, a noise that you had been explicitly ordered to avoid at all costs.

Thankfully, more pros had begun to arrive, giving you leeway to make a quiet exit as soon as possible. 

Your value was founded in the concept of secrecy, something the commission was desperate to preserve. Getting civilians to safety then hightailing it out was your one and only task. 

However, it was almost impossible to look away when you saw the League arrive. 

It had only been a few weeks since they had made their debut in the media, but it hadn’t taken long for their story to spread like a disease. It infected the public’s sense of peace, keeping families indoors after nightfall and hero agencies in constant disarray from the impending threat they posed. 

The one with periwinkle curls was easy to recognize, especially with the plethora of pale, amputated hands covering every foot of his sickly body. Some of the others were just minor league criminals you'd seen as well, probably picked up by the group with the promise of more power. 

But there was one that you couldn’t place. He must have been new. The dark purple scars lining the flesh of his hands, neck, and face would have been hard to forget. The rest of skin was covered by a white shirt and long black coat, but you were almost sure that the marks would continue to trail throughout the entirety of his form. 

That's when he lifted a hand towards what you noticed to be the older couple from earlier. 

The silver haired man seemed to have tripped, his partner continuing to mutter prayers as he attempted to hoist him up. It seemed to be no avail and a bright blue fire crackled to life in the cradle of their assailants touch. 

It was almost instinctive, the way you raised an arm of your own, grasping at any remaining sparks of power you had left. The shadows shot up from the corners of the streets and out through your fingers, creating an ocean of pure black that washed over them. Your waves were strong enough to push them out of the way, but amply gentle in order to keep their aging bones from being crushed under the sweeping tide. 

Sapphires flames rushed by the pair, just barely missing the newly singed soles of their shoes. 

The villain seemed surprised for a moment, palm curling in distaste as his gaze traveled towards the direction of his victims' salvation. 

Over to you. 

There was another flash of azure that had you freezing, but it didn’t seem to be stemming from his hand. No, was coming from his eyes, a pair of glowing cerulean irises that pierced right through you.

That icy glare froze the blood in your veins, a horrendous juxtaposition to the stream of flooding heat he had just released. Suddenly, the small rip in your mask made you feel all too exposed as that glare trailed over your form. 

Shit

Shit Shit Shit Shit

Rin’s voice laced over your own. 

Get out of there

The villain had trapped your gaze in his just long enough for Kamui Woods, the shiny new hero at this agency, to curl the couple into the tender confines of his branches and whisk them away to safety. You just barely caught them in a tearful embrace as the timbers encapsulated their shaking form. 

The scarred man seemed to have noticed as well, glancing back for a moment, a motion that had you jumping back into the shadows and swimming away to solitude. Screams and explosions began to melt away from your ears as you traversed back toward the alleyway, the knowledge that more heroes were arriving to take care of the situation stifling the needful ache to go back and help stinging in your chest.

Your body had begun to shake when you pulled away from the gloom. The scene had left a distasteful mix of unease and exhaust that rumbled in your stomach throughout the entire journey home.

It wasn’t until you actually arrived back to your room that you were able to take a real breath, knowing that there was no way that the chaos of today would have followed you back. Still, you couldn’t seem to shake the feeling tickling your skin. 

And those eyes. 

Those blue, glowing irises burned into the back of your eyelids, clutching onto your consciousness as you slowly allowed the sweet relief of sleep to encapsulate you, hoping that by tomorrow, you might forget their simmering glow and the way he looked at that couple before attempting to set them ablaze. 

Pure indifference. 

It was at the moment that you realized just how grateful you were to be working out of the spotlight, away from any fight that would include the League. 

You never wanted to see him again.

[isles-of-man]

Lorcan felt something primal tear through him at her words. Yours. The surrender in her voice ignited a possessive hunger he couldn't control. He gripped her hips harder, fingers digging into soft flesh as he pulled her back against him.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice rough with need. Without waiting for her response, he withdrew and yanked her upright, spinning her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city lights below. "I want you to see what you do to me."

He pressed her against the cold glass, her breasts flattening against its surface, her breath fogging the window. The contrast of her heated skin against the cool pane made her gasp. Lorcan kicked her legs wider apart, one hand tangling in her hair while the other snaked around to grip her throat.

"Look at you," he growled, his lips brushing her ear as he positioned himself behind her. "So fucking perfect. So desperate for my cock."

His reflection stared back at them in the darkened glass—his eyes wild, possessive, watching her face contort with pleasure as he pushed back inside her with one brutal thrust. The city sprawled beneath them, oblivious to their depravity.

"Anyone could see you like this," he taunted, setting a merciless pace. "See how well you take me. How much do you need it?" He growled. "You're going to come like this for me."

Polly couldn’t speak at first — only breathe, only feel. Her moans came in broken waves with every deep, punishing thrust, each one punched out of her lungs as Lorcan filled her over and over again. Her palms braced against the mattress, knuckles white, as her body arched beneath him, instinctively offering more, needing more. Her cheek was pressed to the sheets, her lips parted as soft, helpless sounds spilled out of her — high, breathy, desperate.

“Lorcan,” she gasped, voice ragged, almost lost in the rhythm of his body slamming against hers. “I can’t— I need—” But the rest dissolved into a strangled moan as his hand pressed into her back, holding her still, taking her the way she’d wanted him to for so long. The stretch, the weight of him, the filth of it—it lit something deep and aching inside her.

Every thrust dragged another sweet cry from her lips. Every inch he filled her with made her shake. And when his voice growled against her ear, when he called her princess, she whimpered — not from pain, but from sheer pleasure. The name ruined her. Her legs trembled. Her body tightened around him. Her voice broke open. “Yes, fuck, yes— yours,” she cried out, the confession ripping from her like she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m yours, don’t stop, please, don’t ever stop…”

She sobbed out another moan, lost in it now, body slick and burning, every nerve alight and tuned to him. She gave him everything — her cries, her body, her surrender — and she didn’t hold back.

[thedevilinmybrain]

Okok so my instinct is to request mafia world stuff cause no one does it like you BUT I know you’re already working on that fic so I will wait patiently 🫡

Sooo for today … may I request something vampire flavored ?? I don’t have thoughts beyond that tbh so you’re welcome to make it your own. Maybe vamp Louis. And established relationship ?? And human Harry ?? I honestly don’t know plsss I’ll take anything.

Thank you!!

i do love a good vampire au. fun fact, the first fan fic i ever wrote was a vampire fic waaaay back when i wrote for a different bandom. so many years ago. i hope you like this!

Stomping the snow from his boots, Harry toes them off and leaves them on the small mat by the door, hangs his coat above it on the hook. Work was too long today and the train was delayed, which only added another layer to an already exhausting day. Harry doesn't even think he's fully aware of himself as he sets the kettle on, thumbs through the mail he snagged on his way in. He's just starting to open up a letter from his building's management when something catches his eye. In the reflection of the glass on the microwave door, Harry can see out that his bedroom door is opening, slowly back until it bumps into the opposite wall.

Fear settles over him like a too warm shawl, grips his chest and breaks goosebumps over his arms. His neighborhood isn't that nice and he's heard rumors of break ins all over town. He thought he locked up when he left but Harry's building is old and not all the windows latch that tight. Reaching over, Harry slips his hand around the large butcher's knife sitting in the block on the counter, drawing it out.

It's only a few steps to his bedroom from his open kitchenette and Harry doesn't think he breathes the whole time. He just needs to check, needs to know if it's being irrational or it's the wind or someone's in there. He doesn't even have anything worth taking. An old 2016 MacBook? Thrifted and tattered Prada boots? He works in a bar and lounge. He isn't exactly making millions.

Steeling his nerves as much as he can, Harry holds the blade to his chest, ready to swing as with a sharp inhale - he throws his bedroom door open.

A lot of things happen at once.

Harry lets out a scream that is way too loud and way too high pitched considering he's a fully grown man of twenty three. At the same time, the man who was lounging on his bed - idly thumbing through a romance novel that Harry definitely didn't buy on a whim and then loved - scrambles up with a cackle, his head tossed back in glee. There isn't even a light on in the bedroom. He was reading in the dark.

"God damn it Louis!" Harry hollers, half-heartedly swinging the knife towards him, more embarrassed than truly angry. "I told you to stop doing that!"

"I wasn't doing anything!" Louis defends, reaches back to slip a piece of paper into his book to hold his place. "I was waiting for you!"

"Why didn't you come greet me at the door?" Harry only has one full breath before there are hands on his cheeks, pushing him back and into the newly opened door frame.

"Because I'm not a dog." Louis coos, kisses over Harry's mouth as he reaches one hand down and takes the knife from him. "Why are you trying to stab me? I'm already undead. You can't make me more undead."

"Well, I could try." Harry huffs, rolling his eyes, but he accepts the cool press of Louis' lips on his, shivers when he feels his fangs drag over Harry's tongue - not enough to break skin but still deadly.

"I'm sorry baby. That was mean of me." Louis murmurs, tosses the knife up on the dresser so his free hand can pet down Harry's chest, settling over his rapidly beating heart. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I didn't know it was you. It could have been anyone. A robber or a murderer." Harry huffs, fingers trailing over the soft fabric of Louis' sweater. "What if someone was here to kill me?"

"You really think I would let that happen?" Louis tuts softly, wrapping a curl around his finger. "You're mine, darling. Don't you know what that means?"

Harry just looks at him, gives a small shake of his head, a little mesmerized at the way the red ring gleams around Louis' pupil. It glows in the dark bedroom, like an animal's eyes caught in headlights, only lit from within. And all too well, Harry knows he's not standing with someone of this world.

"Silly human. Of course you don't." Louis kisses Harry's forehead, slipping his hand into Harry's. "Don't worry your little mortal head about it, okay? Let's get you settled in for the night."

[chillentertainer]

thinkin' about a little bellesco bodyswap au! bellini and tedesco have yet another fight, and this one's got a vicious fucking bite to it. even lawrence is surprised at how down and dirty and personal it gets. doesn't help that they a) both lost out on the papacy but b) had a drunk hook-up following the conclave that neither have yet to acknowledge. innocent, having witnessed this, prays one night for God to help reconcile his cardinals.

god, in all of his infinite wisdom (or maybe gabriel's, what a little trickster!) decides the solution is to for bellini and tedesco to walk a mile in each other's shoes.

cue freaky friday, lent edition

[torchickentacos]

me after my mom called and said 'hey I found this old canon eos 400D with a bunch of lenses if you're interested'

[thebirdandhersong]

layers of school and family and health issues and future planning and final exam stress aside, do you ever feel like there is a long ongoing scream inside of you that seems to have no end ha haaaa

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

Summary: your first love was a seven-time world champion with a chip on his shoulder who would stop at nothing to finally get that eighth … even at the expense of you. Your second (and last) love is a five-time world champion with racing in his blood who proves, once and for all, that he would give it all up for you without even being asked … and regret absolutely nothing

Based on this request

The rain taps softly against the glass walls of the penthouse. The lights of Monaco shimmer beyond the windows, reflections dancing across the polished floor like scattered stars.

You sit cross-legged on the oversized couch, Lewis sprawled beside you, his legs stretched out, an arm slung casually over the backrest. He’s scrolling through his phone, something about sector times and telemetry, but his attention isn’t fully there. Not tonight.

“Lewis,” you say, gently nudging his side with your foot.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

You nudge him harder, and this time he glances your way, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?”

“I need you to focus for, like, five minutes.”

“I am focusing,” he says, holding up his phone as evidence. “Race prep.”

“On me, Lewis.”

That gets his attention. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, screen still glowing with data, and leans back, giving you his full, undivided gaze. “Alright, I’m all yours. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate for a moment, fingers curling into the soft fabric of your sweater. The words are there, sitting heavy on your tongue, but saying them feels like stepping off the edge of something solid. Still, you’ve been together for almost six years. If you can’t have this conversation with him now, when can you?

“I’ve been thinking,” you start, your voice steady but quiet, “about us. About the future.”

Lewis tilts his head, curiosity flickering across his face. “What about it?”

You take a deep breath. “I want to get married, Lewis. I want to have a family. With you.”

His expression shifts, not into shock or annoyance, but something harder to read. He doesn’t respond right away, which only makes the silence stretch uncomfortably between you.

“I know the timing’s not perfect,” you add quickly, trying to fill the gap. “I know you’re in the middle of-”

“The most important season of my career?” He finishes for you, a wry smile softening his tone.

“Yeah, that.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Babe, it’s not that I don’t want those things with you. I do. You know I do.”

“Do I?” The question slips out before you can stop it, and you see the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“Of course you do,” he says, his voice low, almost defensive. “Six years. That’s not nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. But sometimes it feels like we’re stuck in the same place. Like we’re … waiting for something that never comes.”

Lewis scrubs a hand down his face, the faintest hint of frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “It’s not that simple, love. You know how much this season means to me. Winning an eighth title, it’s history. Legacy. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about after that?” You press, leaning closer. “What happens when you get it? Then what?”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he looks almost … unsure. It’s a rare thing, seeing Lewis Hamilton unsure of anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’ve never really thought about it. Not in detail.”

“Well, maybe you should,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “Because I have. And I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with just being … your girlfriend forever.”

Lewis winces at the word, like it stings. “That’s not what you are to me. You’re everything. You know that.”

“Then prove it.”

He leans back again, running both hands through his hair as he exhales sharply. “God, you don’t make this easy, do you?”

“It’s not supposed to be easy. It’s supposed to be real.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to solve some impossible puzzle. Then, slowly, he nods.

“Okay,” he says, his voice steady now, resolute. “When I win this season — when I get that eighth title — I’ll retire.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, a small, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I’ll retire. I’ll hang up my helmet, put a ring on your finger, and we’ll start trying for that family you’ve been dreaming about.”

You stare at him, equal parts stunned and skeptical. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Lewis, you can’t just say that to shut me up.”

“I’m not trying to shut you up,” he says, reaching for your hand. His fingers are warm, steady, and when he looks at you now, there’s no hesitation, no uncertainty. “I’m saying it because I mean it. When I win, it’ll be the perfect ending. The perfect time to step away. And then it’s just us. No races, no travel, no distractions. Just you and me.”

“And a baby,” you add, because if you’re going to dream, you might as well dream big.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and pulls you closer until you’re half in his lap. “And a baby,” he agrees.

It feels like a promise, one sealed with the way he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you like they’re anchoring you to him.

But somewhere, deep down, a small, cautious voice whispers: what if he doesn’t win?

***

The suite is silent except for the faint hum of the minibar fridge and the muffled sounds of celebration filtering in from somewhere outside. It’s as if the entire world is rejoicing, but here, in the confines of this hotel room, everything feels like it’s crumbling.

Lewis hasn’t said a word since you got back. He walked in, dropped his helmet bag by the door, and slumped onto the edge of the bed, still in his team gear. His shoulders are hunched, his head bowed, his hands clasped tightly between his knees.

You stand a few feet away, arms crossed over your chest, unsure whether to approach him or leave him to his thoughts. The weight in the room is unbearable, pressing down on your chest until it’s hard to breathe.

“Lewis,” you say softly, testing the waters.

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

You take a tentative step closer. “I know it hurts-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, cutting you off. His voice is hoarse, raw from the screams and protests he let out over the radio hours ago. He still hasn’t looked up.

You flinch but press on, refusing to let the conversation die. “I’m just trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to help,” he snaps, finally lifting his head. His eyes are bloodshot, his expression a mix of devastation and barely restrained fury. “It’s done. Over. What’s there to say?”

Your heart twists at the sight of him like this — so broken, so unlike the unshakable man you’ve always known. “I just thought-”

“Don’t you get it?” He interrupts, his voice rising. He stands abruptly, towering over you, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to sit here and dissect how it all fell apart. I want to forget.”

You step back, your own emotions starting to fray at the edges. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. You need to face it.”

“And what good would that do?” He shoots back, pacing the room now like a caged animal. “Would it give me my title? My win? Would it change the fact that I got robbed tonight?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speaks.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Me too.”

The silence stretches again, but this time it’s different. More fragile. You can feel it cracking under the weight of what you need to say next.

“Lewis,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “About what we talked about. Before …”

He stops pacing, turning to look at you with a frown. “What?”

“A few weeks ago,” you clarify, taking a shaky breath. “You said when you won, you’d retire. That we’d start … building a life together.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as he stares at you.

“I know you didn’t win,” you continue hesitantly, “but does that really change anything? Can’t we still-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply, holding up a hand. His expression is hard now, a stark contrast to the vulnerability he showed earlier. “Don’t do this right now.”

“Why not?” You ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “Because it’s not convenient? Because it’s easier to bury yourself in racing than deal with what’s happening between us?”

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice rising again.

“Isn’t it?” You challenge, taking a step closer. “You made me a promise. And now, what? You’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen because things didn’t go your way?”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it. You’ve never understood. Racing isn’t just something I do — it’s who I am. Walking away now, without that eighth championship … I can’t. I won’t.”

Your chest tightens, and you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “So what about me? What about us? Do we just stay on pause forever while you chase this thing that might never happen?”

His face twists with something you can’t quite place — anger, regret, maybe both. “This isn’t just about you,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve given everything to this sport. Everything. And I’m not quitting until I finish what I started.”

“So I’m just supposed to wait?” You ask, your voice cracking. “How long, Lewis? Another year? Two? Five? When is it going to be enough?”

“I don’t know!” He shouts, the words bursting out of him like a dam breaking. “I don’t know, alright?”

The room falls silent again, the weight of his outburst settling over both of you.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters after a moment, shaking his head. “Not right now.”

Before you can say another word, he grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

“Lewis, wait,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Don’t walk away from this. From me.”

He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn around. “I just need some air,” he says, his tone clipped.

And then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality that makes you flinch.

You stand there for a moment, frozen, staring at the door as if willing him to come back. But the only sound is the muffled celebration outside, a cruel reminder of everything that’s been lost tonight.

Finally, your legs give out, and you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears come. They’re hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wrack your body.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of it. You were supposed to be celebrating together, planning your future, looking ahead to the life you’d been dreaming of for so long.

But instead, it feels like everything is slipping through your fingers, and no matter how hard you try to hold on, it’s all crumbling around you.

You don’t know how long you sit there, crying into the silence, but when the tears finally stop, you’re left with an emptiness that feels even worse.

And for the first time in six years, you wonder if maybe Lewis Hamilton isn’t the man you thought he was. Or maybe he is, and that’s the problem.

***

One Year Later

The glass facade of the clinic looms above you, pristine and intimidating. Every time you glance at the sign — Centre de Fertilité de Monaco written in bold looping letters — your stomach churns. You’ve been standing outside for almost fifteen minutes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

The city is alive around you, luxury cars humming down the streets, the faint sound of waves crashing against the marina in the distance. But you feel like you’re in a bubble, trapped in your own swirling thoughts.

This is what you want. You’ve thought about it a hundred times, planned every detail, read every article, and filled out every form. And yet, your feet refuse to move.

“Just go inside,” you whisper to yourself, though the words feel hollow.

You take a step toward the door, but your hand falters just shy of the handle.

“Y/N?”

The voice is familiar, low and slightly accented, and it stops you in your tracks. You turn to see Max Verstappen standing a few feet away, a look of surprise etched across his face. He’s dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s no mistaking him.

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

He takes a step closer, his brows knitting together. “What are you doing here?”

You glance at the clinic sign and then back at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It’s, uh … personal.”

Max’s eyes narrow slightly, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression. “Personal enough that you’re standing outside looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Your face heats, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself, as if that could shield you from his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He pauses, studying you. Then his eyes flicker to the sign again, and something seems to click. “Wait … are you-”

“Yes,” you blurt, cutting him off. There’s no point in pretending now. “I’m here to get artificially inseminated.”

Max blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh.”

You look away, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Lots of women do it.”

“Without anyone here to support you?” He asks, his tone soft but pointed.

You shrug, your voice defensive. “It’s my decision.”

Max doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally look back at him, he’s frowning. “Why?”

The question catches you off guard. “Why what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want a baby,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you can’t … I don’t know, meet someone?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right, because it’s that easy.”

Max shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, Max,” you snap, your patience wearing thin. “I’ve been serious about this for a long time. Just because my relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I should have to give up on what I want.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he says quietly, “So you and Lewis really broke up.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The mention of Lewis still feels like a punch to the gut, even after all this time. “Yeah. A while ago.”

Max hesitates, his hands shoved into his pockets. “And now you’re just … what? Picking a random donor from a catalog and hoping for the best?”

The words sting, and you glare at him. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He presses, his voice still calm but insistent. “You deserve more than that. You deserve more than a child fathered by some random man you only know as lines of descriptions on paper.”

That’s the moment you break. The tears you’ve been holding back for weeks, maybe even months, come flooding out. You cover your face with your hands, trying to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use.

“Hey,” Max says quickly, stepping closer. “Hey, don’t-”

But you can’t stop. It’s all too much — Lewis, the clinic, the choices you’ve had to make on your own.

“I just want-” you choke out, but the words dissolve into another sob.

“Come here,” Max says softly, wrapping an arm around your back and gently tugging you closer. You collapse against him, your face buried in his shoulder as the tears keep coming.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles over your back. His hoodie smells faintly of cologne and something clean, like fresh laundry.

After a while, your sobs start to quiet, and you manage to pull back, wiping at your face. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” Max says, his voice low. He tilts his head, his blue eyes soft but serious. “You’re clearly not in the right state of mind to be making life-changing decisions.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Look,” he says, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do this. I’m saying maybe today isn’t the day. You’re upset. And I don’t think you should do something this big while you’re feeling like this.”

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

“My apartment is just around the corner,” he continues. “Why don’t we go there? We can talk, or not talk. Whatever you want. But at least give yourself a little time to think.”

You hesitate, glancing back at the clinic. The weight of the decision presses heavily on you, but so does the thought of going through with it now, like this.

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

Max nods, a small, reassuring smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Come on.”

He keeps his hand on your back as he guides you down the street, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel entirely alone.

***

Max’s apartment is modern, sleek, and surprisingly warm. The large windows overlook the Monaco skyline, the twinkling lights of the city reflecting off the sea in the distance. You sit on the plush gray couch, clutching a mug of tea Max handed you just moments ago. The ceramic is warm in your hands, grounding you as the weight of everything presses down on your chest.

Max settles in the armchair across from you, his long legs stretched out, one elbow resting on the armrest as he watches you carefully. He hasn’t said much since you got here, and you’re grateful for it. But now, with the tea steeping between your fingers and his steady gaze on you, you feel the urge to fill the silence.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max shrugs lightly, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Start anywhere.”

You exhale shakily, staring into the dark liquid in your mug. “Lewis and I were together for six years. Six years of my life … and for a long time, I thought we wanted the same things.”

Max’s brows knit together, but he stays quiet, letting you continue.

“I thought we were building something together,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to get married. I wanted kids. He said he did, too. But there was always something in the way — another season, another championship, another goal. And I kept waiting because I believed in him, in us.”

Your voice cracks, and you take a sip of the tea, letting the warmth soothe your throat. Max leans forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that’s both comforting and unnerving.

“And then last year …” You pause, trying to steady your voice. “He promised me that if he won his eighth title, he’d retire. That we’d finally start the life we talked about. And I believed him. I really believed him.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his knuckles pressing against his chin as he listens.

“But he didn’t win,” you continue, the memory still fresh, still raw. “And instead of keeping his promise, he said he couldn’t walk away. Not without that eighth.”

“Unbelievable,” Max mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

You glance at him, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “I thought maybe I could wait. Maybe I could put my dreams on hold for him a little longer. But it wasn’t just about the title — it was about him always choosing racing over me, over us.”

Max leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “So you broke up.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say, your voice trembling. “I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who would never choose me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. You’ve said them to yourself before, in the quiet of your bedroom, in the midst of sleepless nights, but saying them out loud now feels different. More final.

“And now you’re here,” Max says after a moment, gesturing faintly toward the direction of the clinic outside the windows.

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes again. “I still want a family. I’ve always wanted that. And after everything with Lewis, I realized I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone else. If I want a baby, I have to make it happen myself.”

Max stares at you, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I get it,” he says finally. “I do. But … I don’t know. It just feels wrong. Like, you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you say, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not everyone gets a happy ending. Some of us just have to make do with what we have.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward again. “That’s not what I mean. I mean someone like you shouldn’t have to settle for this. You’re smart, beautiful, caring. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Hell, if it were me-”

He stops abruptly, his face coloring slightly as if realizing what he’s about to say.

“If it were you, what?” You ask, your voice softer now, curious.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “If it were me, I wouldn’t have made you wait. I wouldn’t have let you go, period. I would’ve dropped everything the second I got out of the car in Abu Dhabi.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut — not because they hurt, but because they’re so unexpected, so honest.

“You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, though your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

Max’s gaze is unwavering. “I do. You deserve someone who sees you as their priority, not as something they’ll get to when it’s convenient. If I had someone like you …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t need anything else.”

The room falls silent, and you don’t know what to say. Your hands tighten around the mug, and you feel your cheeks flush under his intense stare.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, leaning back. “That probably crossed a line.”

“No,” you say quickly, surprising even yourself. “It’s … nice to hear. I guess I just don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” He asks, his brows furrowing.

“Because if that were true, Lewis wouldn’t have left,” you admit, your voice breaking. “If I were really worth all that, he wouldn’t have walked away.”

Max shakes his head vehemently, leaning forward again. “That’s not on you. That’s on him. He couldn’t see what he had. That’s his loss, not yours.”

You blink back tears, his words cutting through the doubt and self-blame you’ve been carrying for so long.

“Look,” Max says softly, his voice gentle now. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I know it feels like it, but you’re not. And whatever you decide to do, just … don’t rush into it because you think you have to. You’ve got time, and you’ve got people who care about you.”

The sincerity in his voice almost breaks you all over again. You nod, unable to speak, and Max offers you a small, reassuring smile.

“Finish your tea,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something stronger. Tea’s good for a talk, but this feels like a whiskey kind of conversation.”

You laugh softly, the sound surprising you. For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

***

The first time you showed up at Max’s apartment unannounced, it was a particularly bad day. The ache in your chest had been unbearable, the quiet of your own place suffocating. You hadn’t even thought twice before texting him: You home?

His response came within seconds. Always. Door’s open.

You found him lounging on the couch, his two bengals sprawled out lazily beside him. When he saw you, he didn’t ask questions. He just stood, grabbed two Red Bulls from the fridge, and let you curl up on the floor to play with Jimmy and Sassy while he sat nearby, chatting about nothing in particular until the knot in your chest loosened.

It became a ritual after that. On the days when life felt too heavy, you’d make your way to Max’s. Sometimes you’d talk, sometimes you wouldn’t. But more often than not, you’d end up on the floor with the cats while Max watched with quiet amusement.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jimmy pounces on the feather toy you’re dragging across the rug, his sleek body moving with a precision that reminds you of Max on the track. Sassy, the more aloof of the two, lounges nearby, watching her brother with disdain until she decides to join in.

You’re lying on your back now, laughing as the two cats leap over you, chasing the toy you’re holding above your head. It’s the first time you’ve laughed all day, maybe all week, and it feels good.

“Careful, Jimmy,” Max calls from the couch, his voice warm with affection. “She’s not a scratching post.”

You tilt your head to look at him, still holding the toy above you. He’s sitting sideways, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Jimmy would never hurt me,” you say, grinning as the cat lands lightly on your stomach before darting off again.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Max warns, shaking his head. “He’s a menace.”

“He’s perfect,” you counter, turning your attention back to the cats.

Max chuckles softly, but he doesn’t respond. You’re too distracted by Sassy’s sudden burst of energy to notice the way his gaze lingers on you, the way his smile fades into something softer, something deeper.

After a while, you sit up, your hair slightly disheveled and your cheeks flushed from laughing. Jimmy jumps into your lap, purring contentedly as you stroke his fur.

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are warm, almost tender, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Nothing,” he says finally, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re just … happy. I like seeing you like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance away, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s the cats,” you say lightly, trying to brush it off. “They’re good for my mental health.”

“It’s not just the cats,” Max says, and there’s something in his tone that makes you look at him again.

He’s leaning forward slightly now, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze locked on yours. You feel your breath catch, the air in the room shifting, thickening.

“Max …” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence.

“You don’t see it, do you?” He says softly, his voice almost reverent.

“See what?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How incredible you are.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable. You stare at him, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Max, I …”

Before you can finish, he’s on the floor in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, and you don’t pull away.

“You’re amazing,” he says, his eyes searching yours. “You’re strong, and kind, and funny, and … God, Y/N, do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you forget how to speak.

“Max,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “This … this is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He asks, his hand still resting against your cheek.

“Because I don’t want to ruin this,” you admit, your eyes filling with tears. “You’ve been my rock these past few months. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” he says firmly. “I promise you, you won’t. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You’re silent, your heart warring with your head. But when he leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours, all your doubts fade away.

The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand sliding into your hair as he pours everything he’s been holding back into the kiss.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Max chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah. Wow.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. This wasn’t what you expected when you came here tonight, but now that it’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice filled with uncertainty.

“It’s okay,” he says, cutting you off. “We’ll figure this out, whatever it is. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

And to your surprise, despite the broken promises still shattered beneath your feet, you really do believe him.

***

The bedroom is bathed in the soft golden glow of the evening lights spilling through the windows. The Monaco skyline twinkles faintly in the distance, but you’re not paying attention to it. You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, his warmth seeping into you as his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back.

You’re lying on your side, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His free hand brushes through your hair, the motion slow and soothing. Every so often, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head or your temple, murmuring something sweet against your skin.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

“I’m just … content,” you reply, tilting your head to look up at him. “This is nice.”

He smiles down at you, his blue eyes soft with affection. “Yeah, it is.”

His fingers trail up to your jaw, tilting your face up so he can kiss you. It’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and sends warmth blooming in your chest.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours, his breath fanning against your skin. “You know, I could get used to this,” he says, a playful lilt in his voice.

“You mean you’re not used to it already?” You tease, nudging him lightly.

“I mean forever,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, your fingers idly tracing the lines of his collarbone. “Forever sounds nice.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing and the occasional distant hum of the city below.

After a moment, you glance up at him, your heart beating a little faster. “Max?”

“Hmm?” He hums, his fingers still trailing along your back.

“Have you ever thought about … kids?” You ask hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stills for a moment, his hand pausing mid-motion before he shifts slightly to look down at you. “Kids?”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Like, have you ever thought about having them?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his brows furrowing slightly as if considering your question. Then, to your surprise, he lets out a soft laugh.

“Honestly?” He says, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I’ve thought about it pretty much daily since I met you.”

Your eyes widen, and you push yourself up onto your elbow to look at him more closely. “Seriously?”

He chuckles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it before. But now? With you? I think about it all the time.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling at his words.

“I know it sounds crazy,” he continues, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “We haven’t been together that long, but … I don’t know. When you know, you know, right?”

You nod, unable to speak, your throat tight with emotion.

“And I know,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re it for me, Y/N. There’s no one else. There’s never going to be anyone else.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you laugh softly, leaning into his touch. “You’re really something, Max Verstappen.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice steady and sure. “So … what do you think? Would you want to have a baby with me?”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The question is so outlandish, so unexpected, and yet it feels right.

“You’re serious?” You ask, your voice trembling.

“Dead serious,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re going to be an amazing mom. I can already see it.”

You laugh, covering your face with your hands as the weight of his words sinks in. “This is insane.”

“Maybe,” he says, pulling your hands away from your face. “But it feels right, doesn’t it?”

You look at him, at the way his eyes shine with hope and love, and you know he’s right.

“It does,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

He beams, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “So … is that a yes?”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, Max. Let’s have a baby.”

He kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you closer. The kiss is different this time — deeper, more urgent, filled with the promise of what’s to come.

When you pull back, you’re both grinning like fools, your foreheads pressed together as you laugh softly.

“This is happening,” he says, his voice filled with awe.

“It is,” you reply, your heart swelling with joy.

“And just so you know,” he adds, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I’m not leaving this bed until we make it happen.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, flipping you onto your back as his lips find yours again.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever, filled with laughter, whispered promises, and the kind of love that feels like forever.

***

The moment you see the two pink lines on the test, your heart stops. For a second, you don’t breathe, don’t blink, don’t move. Then, a rush of emotions crashes over you all at once — joy, disbelief, terror, excitement. You sit on the edge of the tub in your bathroom, staring at the test in your shaking hands, trying to make sense of it.

“Max,” you whisper to yourself, and the thought of him steadies you.

He’s in the kitchen when you step out, his back to you as he busies himself with something at the stove. The faint smell of eggs and toast fills the air, but you can barely focus on it. Your hand tightens around the test in your pocket.

“Morning,” he says when he hears your footsteps, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

You don’t answer, your feet rooted to the floor.

“Y/N?” He says, turning fully to face you now. “Everything okay?”

You nod, though you’re pretty sure you don’t look convincing. Your chest feels tight, and suddenly, you don’t know how to say the words.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

His hands find yours, grounding you in the way only he can. You take a deep breath and pull the test out of your pocket, holding it up between you.

Max stares at it for a moment, his eyes wide.

“Is that-”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “It’s positive.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then, a slow, disbelieving grin spreads across his face.

“We’re having a baby?” He asks, his voice almost a whisper.

You nod, your own tears welling up as you watch his expression shift from shock to pure, unfiltered joy.

“We’re having a baby,” you repeat, the words finally sinking in.

Max lets out a breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground. “Oh my God, Y/N, we’re having a baby!”

You laugh through your tears, clinging to him as he spins you around. When he finally sets you down, his hands frame your face, his eyes searching yours.

“Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you need anything? Oh my God, we need to call the doctor, right? That’s what we do next?”

“Max,” you say, cutting him off with a laugh. “I’m okay. We’ll figure it all out.”

“Okay,” he says, nodding quickly. “Okay. But, wow … we’re having a baby.”

The way he says it, like he can’t quite believe it, makes your heart swell.

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

Max surprises you at every turn. Where you once thought the worlds of racing and family couldn’t coexist, he proves you wrong with every thoughtful gesture, every sacrifice, every time he puts you first.

At first, you hesitate to bring it up. You know how important racing is to him, how much of his life has been dedicated to it. You don’t want to be a distraction, don’t want to pull him away from something he loves.

But Max is quick to shut down any of those thoughts.

“You and this baby come first,” he says one night, his hand resting gently on your still-flat stomach. “Always.”

You blink at him, your throat tight. “You don’t have to say that, Max. I know how much racing means to you.”

“And I know how much you mean to me,” he counters, his voice firm. “This doesn’t have to be one or the other. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

And he does.

***

You don’t feel ready to travel yet, and Max doesn’t push you. He understands when you tell him you’re not ready to face the paddock, to face him. It’s still too raw, too soon. Max doesn’t question it.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing your forehead. “You don’t need to explain. You do what’s best for you. I’ll come to you.”

And he does.

Even in the middle of the season, when his schedule is packed and his commitments are endless, Max never misses a single appointment. He’s always there, whether it’s for the early check-ups or the first ultrasound.

“Can you believe that’s our baby?” He whispers during the first scan, his voice filled with awe as he watches the tiny flicker of the heartbeat on the monitor.

You can’t answer, your own emotions overwhelming you. Instead, you squeeze his hand, and he leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

***

The weeks pass, and soon it’s time for the big ultrasound — the one where you’ll finally learn the baby’s gender. Max is in São Paulo for the Brazilian Grand Prix, and you’ve convinced yourself he won’t make it back in time.

“It’s okay,” you tell him over the phone the night before. “You’ve got a race to focus on. I’ll record everything for you.”

“Y/N,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not missing this.”

“But-”

“I’ll be there,” he promises. “Trust me.”

True to his word, Max walks into the clinic the next afternoon, still in his favorite set of sweats for traveling, his hair slightly disheveled from the flight.

“Max,” you say, standing up from your chair in the waiting room, your heart swelling at the sight of him. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” he says, pulling you into his arms. “I told you I would.”

The ultrasound room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the machine and the occasional click of the technician’s keyboard. You’re lying on the examination table, Max sitting beside you, holding your hand tightly.

“Are you ready to find out?” The technician asks, her eyes crinkling with a warm smile.

You glance at Max, and he nods, his excitement barely contained.

“Let’s do it,” you say.

The technician moves the wand across your stomach, and a moment later, the screen lights up with the image of your baby.

“Congratulations,” she says, her smile widening. “It’s a girl.”

A girl.

Max lets out a laugh, his hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares at the screen. “A girl,” he repeats, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re having a girl.”

You laugh through your tears, your heart full to bursting. Max leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose, your lips.

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

“For what?” You ask, your own voice shaky.

“For this. For her. For everything,” he says, his eyes shining as he looks at you.

You don’t have the words to respond, so you just squeeze his hand, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

And in that moment, you realize: Max was right. Racing and family don’t have to be at odds. They can coexist, as long as you have someone who’s willing to make it work. And Max? He’s more than willing. He’s all in. Always.

***

It’s been a long start to the season, and the 2024 championship is already shaping up to be a nail-biter. The RB20 is much more unwieldy than its predecessor, the points gap narrowing with a DNF in Australia. The pressure is on, and you know it. Max knows it too.

But despite everything — the late nights, the media frenzy, the endless travel — he never wavers in his commitment to you and the baby. Even as the world watches him fight for the title, Max’s focus always returns home.

As your due date approaches, the Japan Grand Prix weekend looms closer on the calendar. Suzuka is pivotal, everyone says. The kind of race that could determine the championship. The team is counting on Max to deliver.

But Max doesn’t seem fazed by any of it when you bring it up one evening in bed, your hand resting on your swollen belly while his fingers gently trace circles over the skin.

“You know Suzuka’s right around the corner,” you say hesitantly, watching his expression.

“Hmm,” he hums, his eyes focused on your stomach, his lips quirking into a small smile when he feels a kick.

“Max.”

He glances up at you, his gaze softening. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I just … I know it’s an important race. And my due date is so close. What if-”

“I’m not going to Japan,” he says firmly, cutting you off before you can spiral.

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“I’ve already told Christian and Helmut. They’re putting Liam in the car for the weekend.”

“Max,” you whisper, your heart swelling. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, his voice steady. “This is our daughter we’re talking about. There’s no way I’m missing her arrival, not for any race, not for anything.”

Tears sting at your eyes, and you blink them back quickly. “But the championship-”

“Doesn’t matter as much as this,” he interrupts again, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Y/N, I love racing, but you and our baby? You’re everything. You’re my world. If I have to miss a race, so be it.”

You stare at him, your throat tight, and you can’t stop the tears this time. “I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “I love you too. More than anything.”

***

When the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix arrives, you’re still pregnant, and Max is at your side, refusing to let you lift a finger.

The race plays out on the television in the background while Max spends most of the day doting on you. He rubs your feet, makes you tea, and checks on the hospital bag for the millionth time, making sure everything is in order.

“Max, sit down,” you say, laughing softly as you watch him double-check the contents of the bag again.

“I just want to make sure we’re ready,” he says, zipping it up and placing it neatly by the door.

“We’re ready,” you assure him, patting the space next to you on the couch.

He finally sits, pulling you close and resting his hand on your belly. “You’re sure she’s not coming today?”

“She’s not on your schedule, Verstappen,” you tease, and he laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple.

***

But she does come.

Two days later, in the early hours of the morning, the first contraction wakes you. At first, you’re too groggy to register what’s happening, but when the second one hits, you gasp, clutching at the sheets.

“Max,” you manage to get out, shaking his shoulder.

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think … I think it’s time,” you say, your voice trembling.

Max is on his feet in an instant, grabbing the hospital bag and helping you out of bed with remarkable calmness for someone who was sound asleep just seconds ago.

“You okay?” He asks, his arm around your waist as he guides you to the car.

You nod, though your breaths are shallow. “Yeah. Just … hurry.”

***

The hours in the delivery room pass in a blur of pain and anticipation. Max never leaves your side, his hand gripping yours tightly through every contraction, his voice steady and reassuring as he encourages you.

“You’re amazing,” he says, brushing the hair from your sweaty forehead. “You’ve got this. Just a little more, liefje. You’re so strong.”

When the moment finally comes, and the sound of your daughter’s first cries fills the room, both of you dissolve into tears.

“She’s here,” Max whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s really here.”

The nurse places the tiny, wriggling bundle in your arms, and you look down at her, overwhelmed by a love so powerful it takes your breath away. Max leans over your shoulder, his face close to hers, his tears falling freely now.

“She’s perfect,” he says, his voice breaking.

You glance up at him, your heart swelling as you see the pure adoration on his face. “She looks like you.”

“She looks like us,” he corrects, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her cheek.

***

When the nurse takes her to be weighed and cleaned up, Max stands frozen for a moment, watching her with wide eyes. Then, when they bring her back, he hesitates.

“You want to hold her?” You ask, smiling through your exhaustion.

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the most precious thing in the world. “Can I?”

“Of course,” you say, carefully passing her to him.

Max cradles her in his arms, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving her face. He looks utterly awestruck, his tears still streaming down his cheeks as he rocks her gently.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m your papa. And I already love you more than anything.”

Your heart clenches as you watch him, the way he holds her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing in the world.

“You okay?” You ask softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He nods, but when he looks at you, his expression is serious. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “If you or she ever said the word, I’d stop. I’d walk away from racing tomorrow and never look back.”

“Max-”

“I mean it,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I don’t need any of it. All I need is right here.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as you reach for his hand, your fingers lacing through his. “You don’t have to stop, Max. I don’t want you to. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” he says, his gaze dropping back to your daughter. “You and her — you’re everything.”

The three of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other and the overwhelming love that fills the room.

And as you watch Max rock your daughter, his eyes shining with tears and joy, you realize that this is it — this is the life you always dreamed of.

***

The Australian Grand Prix marks the beginning of the 2025 season, and the paddock is alive with its usual chaos: reporters shouting questions, cameras flashing, and engineers rushing to and from garages. But for you, it feels like an entirely different world as you step onto the paddock with your daughter perched on your hip.

She’s bundled in a tiny Red Bull jacket Max had custom-made, her baby blue eyes wide as she takes in the flurry of activity around her. She giggles as a gust of wind tousles her fine blonde curls, and you can’t help but smile, brushing them back into place.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Max, who stands beside you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back.

He glances at you, his expression soft but resolute. “You’re my family. I want everyone to know.”

Your chest tightens, equal parts touched and nervous. “It’s just … people are going to talk.”

“Let them,” Max says simply, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then he shifts his attention to your daughter, gently tickling her chin. “Aren’t they, prinsesje? Let them say what they want.”

Her delighted squeal pulls a laugh from him, and for a moment, your nerves melt away.

But the attention is immediate. As soon as you cross into the paddock, a ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd. Photographers pause, their lenses snapping up. Team personnel do double takes. Whispers spread like wildfire.

You’re prepared for it — at least, as much as you can be. What you’re not prepared for is running into Lewis.

You spot him before he sees you, standing just outside the Ferrari hospitality area in conversation with Fred Vasseur. Your stomach twists as you consider turning around, but before you can move, Lewis glances up.

He freezes.

His gaze locks on you, then drops to the baby in your arms, and his expression shifts from shock to something darker. He mutters something to Fred and strides toward you, his movements purposeful and tense.

“Y/N,” he says, stopping a few feet away. His eyes flicker to Max, who hasn’t left your side, and then back to you. “What … what’s this?”

You take a steadying breath. “Hello, Lewis.”

He ignores the pleasantries, his attention fixed on the child in your arms. “Is that your-” He stops, his jaw tightening. “Is that his?”

Max steps forward slightly, his hand now firm on your back. “Yes,” he says evenly, his voice calm but unyielding. “She is ours.”

Lewis’s eyes narrow, his gaze darting between you and Max. “How long has this been going on?”

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

“How long?” He snaps, his tone sharper now.

You glance at Max, who gives you a reassuring nod. Turning back to Lewis, you say, “A little over two and a half years.”

Lewis exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to process the information. “Two and a half years. So, what? You moved on that fast?”

“Don’t do that,” you say quietly, your grip tightening on your daughter. “It wasn’t fast. You know that.”

“Do I?” His voice is bitter, his expression unreadable. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks like you didn’t waste any time replacing me.”

Max stiffens beside you, but you place a hand on his arm, silently urging him to let you handle it.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I moved on. There’s a difference.”

His gaze softens for a moment, flickering with something like hurt. But then he looks at Max again, and the hardness returns. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, your chin lifting.

Lewis laughs bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Lewis,” Max interjects, his tone measured but with an edge of steel. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her. And our daughter.”

“Your daughter,” Lewis repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. And you think this is going to work? Bringing her into this circus?”

Max’s jaw tightens, but he stays calm. “It’s already working. She’s happy. We’re happy.”

Lewis scoffs, his eyes narrowing. “You think this is happiness? Dragging a baby into this environment? Do you even understand what kind of life you’re giving her?”

You step forward before Max can respond, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Don’t you dare judge me. You don’t get to do that. Not after everything.”

Lewis falters, his anger giving way to a flicker of guilt. “I’m not trying to-”

“Yes, you are,” you interrupt. “I get it, okay? You’re hurt. But you don’t get to stand there and act like you know what’s best for me or my family. Not anymore.”

There’s a long, tense silence. Finally, Lewis looks away, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just … I didn’t think it would end like this,” he mutters.

Neither did you. But you don’t say it. Instead, you adjust your daughter in your arms, her tiny fingers clutching at your jacket, grounding you.

���It’s not about how it ended,” you say softly. “It’s about how we move forward.”

Lewis looks at you, and for a moment, you see the man you loved — the man who promised you a future he could never give. His eyes drop to your daughter, and his expression shifts, softening in a way that makes your heart ache.

“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly, almost reluctantly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Max steps closer, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently. “We should go,” he says, his voice low but kind.

You nod, giving Lewis one last look before turning away.

***

In the Red Bull motorhome, you sink into a chair, your emotions crashing over you. Max kneels in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studies your face.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You nod, though tears blur your vision. “It’s just … hard. Seeing him. The way he looked at me.”

Max leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your guilt, not your sadness. Nothing. You’re here with me now, with our daughter. That’s all that matters.”

His words soothe you, and you reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice unwavering. Then he glances at your daughter, who’s dozing peacefully in her stroller. “And I love her more than anything.”

You smile through your tears, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. No matter what challenges lie ahead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

Nine Months Later

The final race of the 2025 season is a sea of chaos and celebration. The Yas Marina Circuit glows under the floodlights, the air electric with cheers as Max steps onto the top of the podium for the fifth time in his career. Champagne sprays from the bottles, glistening under the lights, but Max barely seems to notice.

His eyes search through the crowd, scanning the blur of faces until they land on you. There you are, cradling your daughter in your arms, her little Red Bull ear protectors sitting snugly over her head. She’s clapping her hands in that uncoordinated, infant-like way that makes his chest ache with love. And you — God, you. Your smile is soft but radiant, tears glinting in your eyes as you look up at him.

Max feels his heart tighten, his grip on the champagne bottle slackening. He’s been chasing dreams for as long as he can remember — titles, wins, perfection on the track. But now, looking at you and the life you’ve built together, he knows none of it compares to what he has waiting for him off the podium.

He knows what he has to do.

As the podium ceremony winds down, Max fumbles at the inside pocket of his race suit. His fingers brush over the small velvet box he’s carried with him for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This is it. There’s no better time.

Lando Norris, standing to Max’s right after clinching second place, notices his movement and raises a brow. “What are you up to?”

Max doesn’t answer, too focused on what’s coming next. His fingers close around the box, and his pulse quickens.

He steps forward, champagne still dripping from his suit, and motions to the crowd below. “Can we … can someone help her up here?” He calls, his voice cracking slightly with emotion.

You blink, confused, as several Red Bull mechanics glance at each other before moving to you. One of them gestures toward the podium. “Come on,” he says, grinning. “You’re part of this moment.”

“What? No, I-” you stammer, clutching your daughter closer. “I’m fine here-”

“Y/N,” Max says from above, his voice carrying across the noise. His tone is warm but insistent. “Please. Come up.”

Your heart races as you glance around, overwhelmed by the attention, but the mechanics are already helping guide you to the platform. Before you know it, you’re being hoisted onto the podium, your feet landing on the cool metal as you steady yourself.

Max steps toward you, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze is tender, but there’s a flicker of nerves there, too. The crowd’s roar dulls in your ears as he takes a deep breath, his focus entirely on you.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice trembling slightly. He drops to one knee, the champagne bottle rolling away unnoticed. In his hand is the small velvet box, now open to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

“Y/N,” Max says again, louder this time, his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I once thought winning a championship would be the best moment of my life. But then I saw you. Holding our daughter, looking at me like that, and I realized the best thing I’ve ever done has nothing to do with racing. It’s us. It’s you. It’s her.”

Tears blur your vision, your hand covering your mouth as you stare down at him.

“I love you,” he continues, his voice cracking. “I love you more than anything in this world. You’ve given me everything I never knew I needed. You’re my family, Y/N, and I don’t want to wait another second to make it official.”

He swallows hard, his hands shaking as he holds the ring toward you. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, everything seems to stop. The crowd, the cameras, the other drivers — it all fades away. All you can see is Max, his face open and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. The man who’s always so composed under pressure, the fierce competitor, is looking at you with nothing but love and hope.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Then, louder. “Yes, Max. Yes!”

The crowd explodes into cheers as Max lets out a breathless laugh, his face lighting up in relief and joy. He stands quickly, wrapping one arm around your waist while slipping the ring onto your finger with the other. It fits perfectly.

Before you can say anything else, Max cups your face and kisses you, his lips warm and urgent against yours. The kiss is met with an even louder roar from the crowd, but all you can focus on is him — the way his hands tremble slightly, the way he pulls you closer as if afraid to let go.

Your daughter giggles in your arms, and Max pulls back just enough to glance down at her. He grins, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “What do you think, prinsesje? Did Papa do okay?”

She babbles something incomprehensible, and the three of you laugh.

***

Later, in the quiet of his driver’s room, the chaos of the podium ceremony behind you, Max pulls you into his lap as you sit together on the small sofa. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her stroller nearby, her tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm.

Max toys with the ring on your finger, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I’ve won a lot of things in my life. But this … this is my greatest victory.”

You smile, resting your forehead against his. “You’re pretty good at making me cry today, Verstappen.”

He chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Get used to it. I plan on spending the rest of my life making you cry happy tears.”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Good. Because I plan on spending the rest of my life loving you.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you. “Deal.”

And in that moment, with Max holding you close and your daughter sleeping nearby, you realize that this — this is your podium. Your victory. Your forever.

***

The night is impossibly quiet for Abu Dhabi, the hum of the city dulled by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. The celebrations are over, the crowds dispersed, and now it’s just the three of you. Your daughter sleeps soundly in her cot near the foot of the bed, her tiny face relaxed in peaceful dreams.

You’re wrapped up in Max’s arms, the weight of the day finally catching up with both of you. His chest is warm against your back, his heartbeat steady as his fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm. The ring on your finger catches the faint glow of the bedside lamp, a small, perfect reminder of the life-changing moment you shared hours ago.

“You’re quiet,” you murmur, shifting slightly to glance up at him.

Max’s gaze is soft, his blue eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. “Just thinking,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse from the day’s shouting and champagne sprays.

“About?”

He pauses, his fingers stilling on your skin. You can feel the hesitation in him, the way his body tenses ever so slightly. It’s not like Max to be unsure — he’s always been decisive, charging into life with the same fearless determination he has on the track.

“Max?” You press gently, turning fully to face him now. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhales a long breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he starts, his accent curling warmly around the words. “But after today … I think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

His hand moves to yours, thumb brushing over the ring he gave you just hours earlier. He stares at it for a moment before meeting your gaze, his eyes clear and steady.

“I’m going to retire,” he says softly.

The words hit you like a jolt. For a second, you’re sure you misheard him. “Retire?” You repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Max,” you say, your brow furrowing. “You just won your fifth title. You’re at the peak of your career. Why would you …”

He shifts slightly, sitting up so he can look at you more directly. “Because I don’t need it anymore,” he says simply. “I’ve achieved everything I ever wanted in racing. More than I ever thought I could. But now …” He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to the cot where your daughter sleeps. “Now I have something I want more.”

Your chest tightens, emotions swirling in a chaotic mess you can’t quite untangle. “Are you sure? I mean, Max, this is huge. Racing has been your entire life.”

“I know,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And I’ll always love it. But I don’t want to spend the next ten or fifteen years chasing something I don’t need, not when it means missing out on moments with you. With her.” He nods toward your daughter, his face softening.

You sit there in stunned silence, trying to process what he’s saying. “But what about the team? And your fans? You love the thrill of it, the competition-”

“Y/N,” he cuts you off gently, reaching for your hand again. “I love you more. I love our family more. And I don’t want to be the kind of dad who’s always gone, always distracted. I’ve seen what that does. I don’t want that for her.”

His words hit you square in the chest, a wave of emotion crashing over you. Tears prick at your eyes as you search his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all you see is love and certainty.

“You’re really serious about this,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

He nods. “I’ve thought about it for months. After last season, I told myself I’d give it one more year. One more title. And then I’d walk away. Today, seeing you and her in the crowd, knowing everything we’ve built together … it made me realize I’m ready.”

You reach up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “Max … I don’t even know what to say.”

“Say you’re okay with it,” he says, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Say you’ll let me stay home and annoy you every day.”

A laugh escapes you, watery but real. “I think I can handle that.”

He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because this is what I want, Y/N. You, her, our life together. That’s enough for me. More than enough.”

For a while, you just sit there in the quiet, wrapped up in each other. Your mind is still racing, but your heart feels full, overflowing with love for the man beside you.

“So,” you say after a moment, your voice lighter, “what’s the plan? Are you going to call Christian in the middle of the night and drop this bombshell on him?”

Max chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I’ll give him a day or two to recover from the title celebrations first. Then I’ll tell him.”

“And how do you think he’s going to take it?”

“Oh, he’ll try to talk me out of it,” Max says, rolling his eyes. “He’ll tell me I’m too young, that I’ve got years left in me, that I can win even more. But I’ve already made up my mind.”

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “He’s going to miss you. They all will.”

“I’ll miss them too,” he admits. “But this isn’t goodbye forever. I’ll still be around — just not on the grid.”

“And me?” You ask, your voice teasing. “What if I’m not ready to have you home all the time?”

Max grins, his hand sliding around your waist to pull you closer. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

As the night stretches on, the weight of the day starts to fade, replaced by a quiet sense of peace. Max lies back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you’re nestled against his side.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy but warm, “I used to think racing was everything. That I’d be lost without it.”

“And now?” You ask, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

“Now I know it was just a part of me. A big part, yeah, but not the most important one. Not anymore.” He pauses, his hand brushing over your hair. “You and her … you’re my everything now.”

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, your throat too tight with emotion to speak.

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.

[cherie-doll]

LADS: When You Don't Give Them Attention

༻ Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb ༺

₊˚✧ Xavier just wanted a few moments with you, despite how heavy his eyelids felt and how he should be resting in bed right now; he knew he wouldn't rest peacefully until you came to bed with him. Usually, he wouldn't even stay up waiting for you, but he felt particularly clingy tonight for some reason. It's like falling asleep with your favorite plushie from when you were a kid; you no longer needed it, but it still provided a sense of security and comfort that nothing else could replicate. Xavier kept coming up with excuses to get up, like going to the kitchen for a glass of water, or needing an extra blanket, etc... all just so he could walk by you sitting in the living room with a reading light on. What was so interesting about that book? But you had become so absorbed into the story you hadn't even realized how late it had gotten!

₊ ೀ Zayne tries his best to respond to all the messages you spam him with. Right after he finishes work he picks up his phone to read all the messages you sent him. You know he's not going to respond right away, so you usually get busy doing something else while you wait for that notification from Zayne to arrive. He's answered all your messages and tries calling only for you to not answer. He frowns, slightly disappointed; as he's used to you picking up right away. He's already thinking of what restaurant you'll visit when he passes by you sitting contently on a bench at the park. You don't even notice his gaze lingering on you as you're too busy trying to make friends with a pigeon. Zayne is amused that you managed to occupy yourself long enough that you don't even notice him standing directly behind you. Which when you do feel him you startle.

༄༢ུ࿓ Rafayel will let you know when he's feeling ignored. He's overdramatic and sassy and won't shut up about it. You're seriously tired and trying your best to finish your work, it's not like you're ignoring him on purpose! "I know, I know" as he complains about the fact that you told him you'd be done 20 minutes ago and it's been wayyy longer than that. If only you could close your laptop and cuddle and spend some time with him. Instead, you're stuck stressing over work. Seeing your furrowed eyebrows he decides to stop pouting and instead help you. The corners of this mouth go up in a soft smile as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I think this is good for us both." Perhaps he did help boost your productivity so you were able to finish early.

ᨳ᭬ Sylus knows every game and trick of yours, so he thinks you not answering his knock right away is you playing a prank of some sort on him. He waits a few more moments, the image of you giggling behind the door in his mind. But there's silence, not a sound when he rings the doorbell. He looks around and peeks in through one of the windows, well thankfully, he knows the code to unlock your door. He walks into your apartment and hears shuffling and plates clattering in the kitchen. There you are with headphones on, completely unaware of your surroundings as you unload the dishwasher and hum to yourself. You don't even feel his tapping on your shoulder nor do you turn right away when you spot his face reflected on a spoon. Suddenly, you feel his hands coming to the sides of your head, removing your headphones and his laugh is heard clearly.

❦ Caleb would come home and wait for when you would run into his arms like you usually did. But he's a little confused when he doesn't hear your footsteps nor you calling out his name. Maybe you were occupied with something? He roams the house; checking each room he passes looking for you. He tilts his head at not seeing you in your usual spots; you're not in your favorite armchair, nor are you in the kitchen grabbing a snack, and you're not in the bedroom either. Like a lost puppy, he stands confused in the house, not knowing where you could've gone. How strange of you... when suddenly he catches a glimpse of you through the window. You're peacefully gazing at the sky, headphones on and completely unaware of Caleb's presence. He decides not to disturb you and observes how serene this scene looks.

[shotmrmiller]

god going on a date with johnny whom you matched on tinder and he's the type of guy you avoid like the plague; jaw-dropping good looks, cheeky ㅤㅤsmiles, hits the gym more in a week than you've done all year and worst of all, could charm the pants off a snake.

so it's truly no wonder that you end up letting him bury his face between your thighs and lap at your glistening sex until your moans almost turn into screams and you haven't even left the bar's driveway, then left to watch johnny wipe the condensation off the windshield with a spare shirt so he can drive you home all the while his chin drips with your slick.

he fucks you against the front door once inside, legs hooked over his arms, then again over your couch, hand curled around your throat, and again, in front of your full length mirror while he tells you how pretty you look taking all of him, to look at how pretty you look, his crystalline eyes latching onto yours through the reflection, pretty as a peach.

then he leaves you with his spend sticking your thighs together, a languid kiss that tastes of you, and with his personal number on a scrap piece of paper.

and that's the last you hear of him. he'd said that he's quite a busy man, military and whatnot, and all in all, while you'd raked your nails down his back on the first date, it had been a date. you require more than good sex to get into a committed relationship.

a swipe of your thumb brings up tinder again, and you match with another bloke not your type. big, broad man, biceps the size of your thighs with a deadpan stare that sees right through false bravado. but he's doesn't seem to care in the slightest that he makes you nervous, doesn't care that you stutter out responses to his rather abnormal questions.

simon takes you home and sits eerily silent with his hands dwarfing the steering wheel as you chew on your lip before tentatively inviting him in for a nightcap, and you must be the luckiest person on the planet because he's just as devoted to your pleasure as your last partner.

he brings you peak after peak with his tongue, his fingers, swirls your pearl with the tip of his misaligned nose. then he lets you be on top first, concentration knitting your brows togethee as you try to fit all of him in and pride warms your cheeks when you can hear his teeth audibly grind as his fingers bite into the soft of your waist once you take him to the root, thighs flush against his hips.

you come undone more times than you can count, the neighbors more than likely knowing his name by the time he walks out the front door (after checking the locks on your windows) and that's that.

until it isn't because a text from johnny awakens your phone screen, an invite to a restaurant downtown next saturday, one you've only ever fancied of eating at and well-

a date is a date, isn't it?

you tell him to pick you up at seven and he tells you to wear something you wouldn't mind letting him keep underneath, preferably something in red. (must've seen that particular number while you looked for some sleeping shorts before he left that night.)

hopefully you won't feel too bad breaking things off with whoever doesn't ask you to be theirs first.

(simon and johnny fuck each other to the thought of you back at base, simon's fist viciously tight around johnny's cock as he's got him drooling into the flattened pillow, almost like she's fucking you too, eh, johnny?)

[fairy-angel222]

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃? 𝐈’𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹

prisoner! sukuna x psychologist! reader

✧ synopsis: you’ve been assigned to the supposed most ‘dangerous’ prisoner, sukuna. but what happens when you two start to fall for each other instead?

✧ cw: smut, quick paced, semi public sex, risky sex, choking, kissing, pussy eating, blow jobs, breeding, creampie, fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, age gap

✧ wc: 4.7k

✧ a/n: i am not a doctor and i am especially not specialized in psychology. i have made up all of this. also don’t sleep with murderers unless it’s sukuna

Your heels clicked loudly on the stained prison tiles. The echo of your soft footsteps trailing along the narrow walls of the enclosed hallway.

Sukuna.

That was the prisoner you were assigned to. A man who had killed more people than you’d met in your entire life as a doctor, a psychologist at that. So you’d met a lot of people.

Two guards trailed closely behind you, glaring warningly at the inmates who smirked as you walked past the line of cells. A collection of whistles and cheers sounding at the mere sight of a woman as attractive as yourself.

How long had it been since they’d seen one after all.

“Hey Doc… you sure you wanna take this case.. i mean, i don’t doubt ya or anything but this one.. he’s bad. Dangerous.”

“Now what kind of doctor would i be if i feared a little danger. He’s still a patient.” You smiled, ignoring the way your hairs stood as you were led deeper into the institution. The part where they held those deemed a danger to society.

Those who had a no chance of even seeing sunlight again.

You were nervous, your heart thumping loudly in your chest when you scanned your surroundings. There weren’t any cells. There were only.. rooms. Fully enclosed rooms with a singular window for passing food.

Every part of your being begged for you to turn around and run. To not even interact with whoever sat on the other side of that door. And you froze when bright red eyes pierced into yours. The rest of his face casted behind a dark shadow as his head tilted back. Giving you sight to the small smirk creeping onto his features.

“Doc, i really think that-” It was the other guard who spoke up. Both of them holding nothing on their features but fear. It was clear that they never even bothered with Sukuna. The rumors had been enough to make every guard turn a blind eye.

“Hey, it’s fine. Okay? This is what i do.” It really was. The guard gave you a curt nod and a sigh when you clasped both his hands in your smaller one. Offering him a reassuring nod.

“If anything happens, us and about five others are stationed close. Good luck Doc.”

You gave him a small thanks, your head held high as the door was pulled open roughly. Revealing a pink haired man who sat on his bed against the walls, his eyebrow raising when you dared to step inside. Nodding to the guard to close the door.

You might as well have been a dead woman.

“You’re scared.” His deep voice rung out, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled out a small chair that was tucked away near the sink.

“And how do you know, Sukuna?” Your tone was steady, letting out a breath when the shakiness you felt wasn’t reflected in your voice.

Sukuna hummed, his smirk widening when you spoke to him like a normal being. To stuttering, no harshness. Just your sweet voice saying his name. “I can smell it, Doc.” He loved the way you tried to hide your squirm under his gaze.

“So, Sukuna. Tell me something about yourself.” You steered away from his accusation, holding eye contact even when he leaned forward. Taking you in from head to toe. You were hot, he liked that. You seemed to like being confident too. And God did you smell fucking delicious.

He wanted to eat you alive.

Break you.

Use you.

He really did. But you were so fascinating, and he’d only just met you. Who knew how entertaining you could be.

“I’ve killed people.” He was blunt, eyes almost begging you to keep asking these ridiculous questions. It was making his cock twitch.

“Well Sukuna, that is common knowledge, don’t ya think? I wanna know something else.. tell me a secret hmm?” You leaned forward with a smile, elbows rested on your knees as you looked to him for a response.

He reciprocated your actions, leaning forward until you felt his hot breath fan over your face. “A secret huh? Alright Doc..” he watched as your breathing sped up, using every strength in your body to not pull back. You were brave, he liked that. “I surprisingly don’t wanna kill you right now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I said right now, didn’t say anything about later.” He pushed away from you, one of his knees up to his chest when he leaned back against the concrete wall behind him. “Let me ask you, Doctor. Are you stupid?”

Your head tilted at where this was going. You were supposed to be the one asking the questions. But a conversation was two sided, this would’ve made things easier. “I’d like to believe not. Why do you ask?”

“Because you really think that if i try to kill you, some measly guards would come to your rescue.” He scoffed.

“But you don’t want to kill me. That’s all that matters.”

Fair.

Sukuna watched as you took a quick peek down at his files. There was something that you missed, that much was evident. “Finally found it huh?”

“I haven’t found anything that i didn’t see before.” You objected, glancing to the door with your lip hanging loosely between your teeth.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” He demanded lowly, watching with lidded eyes as you let your plump bottom lip, slick after running your tongue over it, fall back into place. Sukuna breathed deeply, finally looking away from you as he swallowed hard. Closing his eyes with his head rested behind him.

There was something about you that he wanted a taste of. It was driving him crazy..er, “I never did anything to these other doctors. They were just weak. Got scared way too fast.”

“And what did you do to scare them away?”

“Nothing.” He spat, “They came in here acting all high and mighty, talked to me like i was beneath them. So i simply didn’t bother to hide how much i wanted to strangle them. And somehow that makes me the bad guy right Doc?”

You shook your head, “No, you have a right to respect too. They should never have treated you as unequals.” Lying was all in the job description.

“Good try Doc. But you and i both know that’s a load of crap.” He finally peeled his eyes back open, and you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to how attractive he was in the dim light. He was extremely built, and had the facial structure that made you clench your thighs. “Now, we gonna finish our game of twenty one questions or not?”

He was actually being cooperative.

“Yes we are. How about i start?”

“I’ll start.” There was no room for objection in his tone. “What’s your name?”

You contemplated whether to tell him or not, eventually letting it out with ease. Though you missed the small smile tugging at his lips when he muttered a small “cute.”

“My turn, what was your childhood like?” You watched his face grow cold, a small glare being directed at anything in the room but you. “Next question.”

“Sukuna..”

“I said next question. How old are you?”

You sighed, “I’m twenty eight.” His eyes widened, that was extremely young for a doctor. “Is there one good memory you have from before you killed for the first time?”

“I had twin kittens. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You were taken aback by the question, mouth opening and closing a few times before you chuckled. “No. I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Good.”

You jumped when the door was yanked open, the guard eyeing Sukuna warily before nodded to you. “Your time’s up, Doc.”

“Oh, already? Could we get just a few more minutes?”

“You know how dangerous he is Doc.. we can’t risk it.”

“You heard the man. I’m dangerous, Doctor.”

You nibbled at your lips softly, and Sukuna fought a groan as you did exactly what he warned you not to. Standing up, you gave Sukuna a warm smile, the gesture making his stomach get all weird inside. “Goodbye until our next session Sukuna.”

He only hummed, the door being shut behind you as you were led away.

It was back to darkness.

There was more than enough light, sure. But it suddenly felt so empty without you there.

—

You couldn’t keep Sukuna off your mind when you arrived home. A part of you just really wanted to figure him out. The other actually liked his company.

You must’ve been so sick in the head. Splashing your face with cold water as you mentally scolded yourself. What was wrong with you? He was a criminal.

—

The next morning you walked the path that you had taken the previous day to get to Sukuna. This time without the guards following you.

There was only one who stood outside of the door to let you in with a small nod of acknowledgement.

Sukuna’s head perked up at the familiar clicking of those heels you wore. His signature smirk on his face as he stared you down. “Just couldn’t get enough huh Doc? Aren’t you forgetting that i’m dangerous?”

You took a seat, no file in had this time. “Good morning Sukuna, how are you?”

“If i said better now that you’re here, would that be cliché?”

You laughed, an actual laugh. A sweet one that made his heart flutter the tiniest bit while blood rushed to his groin.

“It’s very good to see you too. How about we get started yeah?” You paused as you collected your thoughts. “You seem to be heavily affected by people calling you.. dangerous. Why?”

“Everybody is dangerous. It just takes pushing at the right buttons to get it out of them. Half of the people here have done just as bad as i have yet i’m the only dangerous one. Makes so much sense right?.”

He shook his head. “Tell me Doctor, do you really think i just happened to get caught? That i couldn’t get out of this damn place if i wanted too? Hell, tell me you realize that i could drop a good twenty more bodies right here, right now.”

You shifted in your seat. “I think that you let yourself get caught because you’re tired. Because there’s a small sense of peace you get from being in here. And i think that you aren’t trying to leave because you don’t want to.”

“You almost had it Doc. See, i was well on my way out until you came. So i might stick around for just a little bit longer.”

Your heart fluttered, for you? Giving up on fighting the rational side of you as you continued to engage in conversation. Getting Sukuna to slowly open up to you more.

“Do you have any friends Sukuna?”

“I don’t consider people friends. They just exist alongside me.”

“If I asked you to be your friend, what would you say?” It was routine, but you really were curious.

“I’d say you came be whatever you want to be Doc.”

Another flutter.

“Have you ever been in love Sukuna?”

He was silent, jaw clenching as his gaze got harsh. “Next question.”

“What was she like?”

“I said next fucking question Doctor.”

“And i said, what was she like?” You leaned forward, pressing for him to answer the question.

“You’re stubborn aren’t you? I wonder what my hand would loom like around that pretty little neck.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeling from beneath his lips as he brought his face to yours. “She was a lot like you.”

“What happened to her?” You knew how touchy that question would’ve been.

“Nothing. The bitch left.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry.”

He stared at you in confusion, “I never said she died.”

“Yes. But that’s only physically. When she broke your heart she died to you. And that hurts just as bad.”

He was silent, studying your eyes. Trying to get a read on you. “What else do you want to know Doc?”

You were getting somewhere.

Sukuna found you smart. Thought that you knew a lot. Found it hot how good you were at cracking him. But it pissed him off that the one thing you didn’t seem to pick up was how much it hurt to watch you leave at the end of each session.

—

A week later had led to a Monday morning where you hadn’t gone to the prison. You had quite an agenda for the day that could cost you your job if you didn’t get it done.

That was something Sukuna was obviously clueless about. It was why he thought you’d just decided to up and go after he had just started liking to have you around. After he’d started opening up to you.

It was also why he was causing a fit. Yelling at guards to get you to him now. That he wanted to see you. Needed to see you. A line of men laying knocked out atop each other from being sent to ‘handle’ the crazed prisoner.

Would you really not come back? Would you really abandon him? It seemed like that was common with the people he cared even the slightest for.

Sukuna’s fist met the wall near his bed, knuckles bloodied as he cracked into the hard surface. Chest heaving up and down heavily when his hands reached to tug at strands of pink.

He blinked when he heard the clicking of heels on the tiles. Immediately scowling at the unfamiliarity of them. “Who the fuck is this?” He growled through the small window.

“This is Dr Smith, she’s-”

“I don’t fucking care who she is. Bring me my doctor. Now.”

—

Back at your flat, you dropped the piles of paper in front of you at the sound of your phone ringing.

It was a number you didn’t have saved.

“Hello, Doctor ___ speaking- yes? Oh my. I- i am so sorry. Yes, i will be there right away.”

What had you done?

You practically ran through the halls after parking outside the building. Finding many guards posted outside his door with guns in hand. Some of them spotting very black and blue eyes.

“You can all go now.” You panted, it was clear that you had been in a hurry. “Please.”

They all shared a look, finally walking away and allowing you to slowly open the door.

“Where were you?”

“I’m really sorry Sukuna. I was so busy today and-” you gasped when a hand reached out to wrap around your neck. Slamming you into the wall behind you with his face buried in your neck.

Sukuna inhaled your floral scent, groaning to himself as his grip on your delicate skin tightened. “So you just left me here today? Am i not as important as your other little patients? Is that it hmm?”

Deep down, you had hurt his feelings. And he couldn’t help the way he clung to you as your hand lifted to his cheek. Turning his face to look down at yours.

“N-no i promise you. You’re just as important as anyone else. I would have never missed our session if i didn’t have to.”

“Make it up to me.”

It was the perfect opportunity.

“W-what?”

“Strip for me Doctor.” He let go of your neck, letting you catch your breath while looking up at him timidly.

“Sukuna..”

“Why so shy now doctor? We both know you want to.”

You shook your head, shrinking under his gaze with a protesting whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sukuna. This is very unprofession— ahh.”

Sukuna brought his knee up between your thighs, pressing it into your clothed clit. His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin as he breathed deeply. “You can always leave if you want to. I’m used to that after all.”

You shifted on your feet when your back arched. A small whine leaving your mouth when he pulled away from you and gestured to the door.

He smirked, “Blouse first.”

You bit your lip, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was on display. The heavy swell of your breasts causing Sukuna’s mouth to water when he nodded to the bra.

With your eyes still on his you let your breasts spring out of their confinement. Two pert nipples pointing right at him as his dick rose. His hand palming himself under the pair of black pants with a shiver. “C’mere.”

You walked over to him on shaky legs. Sitting down on his lap with your head to the floor. “Uh uh,” His hand reached under the your chin to force your eyes back on his. “None of that Doc.”

You moaned when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples. Sucking your breast into his mouth while he palmed at the other. “These are even more perfect outside that tight fucking shit of yours.”

Sukuna watched as you shivered when he ran his finger down your belly. Cupping your clothed cunt with the jerk of his hips into your ass. “Fuck.. take that off.”

You hurriedly peeled off your pants, Sukuna’s pupils dilating at the sight of your lace panties. “Wore this just f’me hmm Doc? All this for Mr Dangerous.” He groaned out.

Sukuan didn’t give you a chance to respond before flipping you onto the hard mattress they called a bed. Lifting your heel clad feet onto his shoulders with his head hovering over your pussy. His tongue darting out to lick at the wet spot building from your arousal. “You’re real dirty f’ a doctor.” He teased, glancing behind him with a chuckle. “Imagine if you got caught.”

Your eyes shot up to the small window, taking note of the vacant corridor as per your request.

“God, you smell so fucking good. Wanna devour that pretty pussy.” He breathed, large hand ripping the flimsy fabric to expose your glistening folds. “Hmm, this wet all for me.”

You mewled when his long tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Swirling around your clit before sloppily dipping into your hole. His hums sending vibrations through your clit as he lapped at your dripping slick.

“Sukuna—” you mewled, back arching as you reached for his hair. Tugging softly with the curl of your toes when his tongue and fingers swapped places. The two joints fucking up roughly into your g spot as he sucked noisily at your clit. “F-fuckk, nngh— so good.” You cried out, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as your body filled with pleasure.

“Yeah? You like that Doc? Bet you wanna get that greedy cunt stuffed right after.” He grunted, your eyes rolling back in a string of muffled moans as your other hand shot up to your lips.

Your legs began to tremble, Sukuna’s smirk growing wider and wider until he stopped his movements. Watching as you blinked down at him with a sniffled whine.

“You left me. You know how much that fucking hurt? I thought i would never see you again.”

“I’m-”

“You’re sorry. Yeah, yeah.. i know.” He rolled his eyes, crawling over your body with a sigh. Using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear before pressing his lips to yours. Making you taste yourself on his tongue.

You fell deeper into the kiss, eyes closing in satisfaction as his lips moves hungrily on yours. Pulling away with a string of salvia connected you to him.

“Let’s reverse the roles yeah?” He whispered, standing up to sit in the chair that you usually sat in. “So, my adorable little patient.. put these tiny fingers to work on that clit of yours. I want you to make yourself cum.”

You whimpered, your fingers immediately meeting your sensitive clit with a shiver.

“You know what to do.” He encouraged. Your fingers beginning to rub small circles on the small bud before speeding up. Little gasps and moans falling past your lips as your stomach burned with heat.

Your eyes locking onto Sukuna’s red ones as his head tilted. Just like it had the first day you met him. “Ahh, K-kuna. Fuckk.” You cried, head falling back with your eyes still on his. The primal look in his eyes making your insides flutter as he did nothing but watch you. Not even freeing his painfully hard cock.

“Sukuna— c-can’t. Can’t hold it.” Your voice cracked, body shaking lightly as your orgasm washed over you.

“Yes you can.”

“Nngh, can’t Kuna. Need to let go.”

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity, your breathing getting heavy as you desperately waited on his permission.

He leaned his head back, eyes boring into your fingers working your wet cunt before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You came with a silent moan, body spasming uncontrollably as your pussy leaked onto his only pair of sheets.

“Dirty, dirty girl. Look at that mess.” You shied away feom his gaze. “And look at how hard you made me. Come fix it.”

You stood on wobbly feet, barely able to balance in your heels as you fell to your knees before him. Looking up at him through your lashes while pulling down his pants.

You blinked at the mere size of his bulge. He was huge. Tugging off his underwear to reveal his thick, veiny length. Pointing up to the sky with a fiery red tip. “Suck.”

You took him past your lips, barely able to take even half of him before he hit the back of your throat. Your fist stroking all the parts of him you couldn’t take.

Sukuna groaned, head flinging back with another strained one at how good your mouth felt. “S-shit doc. You really got a mouth on ya.” He gasped, eyes meeting yours as you attempted to take him down your throat. Your drool coating both your lips and his cock as you lewdly sucked him off.

He took your head into his hold, letting you do your own thing as he grunted with each jerk of his hips. Defined abs tensing when he grew closer to his release.

“Fuck Doc, gon’ shoot my cum down that tight throat of yours.” He breathed. Holding you down onto him as you gagged and sputtered lightly, Sukuna’s cock twitching before you felt the warm liquid run down your throat.

“Wish i could fuck that pussy so bad.” He let go of your head, wiping a drop of his cum from your chin before pushing his finger past your lips. Watching as you sighed in content while sucking every last drop. “It’s too bad that in about one minute those guards are gonna come get you Doc. Our session is over.”

You had no time to question how he knew. Scurrying to redress with widened eyes.

Sukuna may not have had a clock. Nor was he able to distinctly see the sun rise and set. But he’d learned to count the seconds when you were around. He knew how much time he had with you.

“And… now.”

At that very moment the door swung open. Sukuna having easily pulled back up his pants after giving you your seat back. Both of you looking as professional as you possibly could.

“See you tomorrow Doc.” He smiled innocently, watching as you scrambled out while avoiding his eyes.

You really fucked up now.

It was hard to keep him out of your mind before. But now, trying was futile. You’d gotten a taste and you needed more. Which was why your brain would not let you close your eyes without thinking of him fucking you.

—

The next morning you bit back a whimper as your clit was caught between your rubbing thighs. You had worn a tight pencil skirt with no panties. Just for Sukuna.

You were thankful that the guards had complied to your wishes of them leaving.

You wanted to stop yourself. To go back home and forget about the red eyed prisoner. He may not have been dangerous to you physically. But to your heart and mind.. he’d be the death of you.

When the door closed behind you, you found yourself bring pushed roughly into the same wall as last time. Sukuna letting out an animalistic groan as he captured your lips on his. Kissing you so much more feverishly than yesterday.

“You don’t know how much i need you. Didn’t even sleep last night.” He panted, turning you around so that your chest rested against the concrete surface. “Missed you so much Doc.” His voice softened, kissing down your neck while grinding up into you. His fingers finding their way under your skirt with a smirk against your skin. “And i thought you couldn’t get any dirtier.. no panties huh?”

You moaned when he prodded at your already dripping cunt. The thought of him being enough to have gotten you soaked. “Shit- tell me what you want Doc. Let me hear you say it.” He growled lowly, ready to snap the second the words left your mouth.

“Please— please fuck me.”

Sukuna hungrily shoved your skirt up. The fabric bunching at your hips as he freed his aching cock. Both of you letting out a noise of satisfaction when he sunk into you, his large hands holding tightly onto your hips to pull you into him. Your back arching as your hands shot out to the wall for support.

“O-ohh God.” You cried loudly, your lips parted in shaky moans as Sukuna’s cock rammed deep near the entrance of your cervix. His veins grazing at your g spot as the fat girth stretched you to your limit.

“Nah baby, ‘s only me.”

“Kunaa— so goood- ahhh.” Tears pooled in your eyes, Sukuna’s hand reaching into your hair to pull you back into his chest. Your nails clawing at the wall in front of you as he destroyed yours.

“Taking me so fucking well. Shit- pussy’s so damn snug.” He husked, hips snapping noisily into yours as he fucked into your walls mercilessly. Basking in the sounds of your choked screams and mewls. The way you sobbed underneath him when your knees buckled.

He was fucking you so hard and deep. Better than anything you’d felt before. His cock slamming into all the places that would drive you crazy.

“The day you fucking leave me i will break outta here Doc. And i will find you. You’re mine got it?” There was a certain seriousness in his voice that made goosebumps arise on your skin. Your salty tears mixing with your drool as they ran down your flushed face.

“And when i do get outta here you’re gonna have my baby Doc. ‘M gonna fuck you again and again till’ i eventually give you my fuck—ing kid.” His breathing became ragged, your body rocking forward with each of his movements.

He smirked. “I’ve fucked ya this dumb already?” His cock twitching inside you as your body moved with his cock like a fleshlight. Your vision blurred as your head grew light, dizzy. You couldn’t think, every roll of Sukuna’s hips clouding your mind as you let an incoherent babble drip off your tongue. Shakily chanting his name when he reached forward to pinch at your clit.

“Look at you. Look so pretty underneath me like this.” His free hand snaked up to your neck, groaning loudly at the feeling of your heart beat on his skin. Pulling you up so your back rested flat against his broad chest, wandering lips meeting your exposed collarbone. “Let go f’me.”

Your body quivered as you tightened around him. Letting out a whimper-like cry as you came messily on his cock. A breathy moan of his own sounding in your ear when his thrusts began to get sloppy.

“Kunaaa.. inside. Want you inside. ‘M on the pill.” You begged, legs giving way as he held you flush against him.

“Whatever you want, Doc.” Slowly coming to a halt as he buried himself inside your warmth, tongue darting out to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Feeling his cock swell as he pumped you full of his cum. Painted your gummy walls in nothing but white

“Looks like i’m sending you back with my cum dripping down your thighs.” He pulled out with a grin. His cum leaking out of your fluttering cunt in small spurts when he used his hands to knead at the flesh of your ass. “Hottest thing i’ve seen in a while.. after you of course.”

You hummed, eyes shutting as you fell into him. Feeling the thick substance slowly dripping down your legs while spreading over your sticky folds. Sukuna stumbled back onto his bed with you on top of him. Your face nestling into his chest with a soft smile. “Hey Doc.. i love ya but those guards are gon’ be back soon.”

‘So worth it.’ Was the one thought branding itself into your mind as your body registered the rough, lust filled fuck.

“Shit.”

—

You and Sukuna had gotten so much closer over yet another week. You had never believed in falling in love that quickly until now. You couldn’t help it. You felt so much better when he was around. Seeing him was the highlight of your day- especially now that you’d convinced for longer sessions.

He felt the same way. You were the second person he had fallen in love with and somehow even harder. You made his heart.. swell. And he was serious about busting out to start a life with you.

“So, your first love. We never finished talking about her.” You smirked, notepad back in hand as you did your job. Sukuna having been stealing small kisses from you between every question.

“How about we forget about my first love and focus on my current one. You.”

[aethercoreheart]

caleb | 6:36 PM

"Can you come get me?"

Your voice cracks at the end of your question, and you have to stifle a sob. Before you even finish what you're saying, Caleb's voice speaks up on the other end of the line, resolute and firm.

"I have your location. I'll be there in five."

---

You don't say anything as you climb into the passenger seat of Caleb's car. He watches you put your seatbelt on wordlessly. You look out the window as he pulls out and starts driving, afraid that if you look at him, the tears would just start falling. Your eyes glaze over as the buildings pass by, and soon they start to become a gray blur.

Your hands are on your lap, and you hadn't realized how tightly you were clenching them until Caleb reaches over the console and takes one of yours in his. His fingers find their way between yours, and he tightens his grip on your hand, clasping it gently. He gives your hand a soft pump, and you return it, your chest suddenly feeling a little lighter.

You both stay silent as he continues to drive, one of his hands on the steering wheel and the other still holding yours.

Caleb breaks the silence first. "You want to talk about it?"

You keep your eyes trained on the buildings outside. You shake your head in response.

"Okay, that's fine," Caleb says simply.

The buildings disappear as Caleb enters the freeway, and your gaze shifts to the setting sun in the horizon. Your head is still clouded by troubled thoughts, but they disappear briefly when you notice that Caleb drives past the exit he was supposed to take.

You turn to look at him, but he just smirks, keeping his focus on the road ahead.

"Relax, we're just going to take a little detour. It won't take long, I promise."

---

You're not sure where it is that Caleb takes you, but you end up at an empty parking lot underneath the bridge spanning the city river. Caleb exits on the driver's side, and in a few seconds, he's opening the passenger door.

He extends a hand to you. "Come on, I have something to show you."

You take it, and let him lead you from the car to the stairs at the bottom of the bridge. You follow him as he heads up the stairs, and steps onto the pedestrian walkway part of the bridge. Soon, you are met with a spectacular view. The sun has sunk well below the horizon, but the sky is still a deep purple, dotted by the first few bright stars of the night. The moon has also started rising, its reflection becoming brighter on the surface of the river. In the distance, you see the city skyline, the city lights just blinking to life.

You can't help but gasp, entranced by the sights in front of you. Caleb watches you take it in, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The both of you stay there, leaning over the railing, watching as the sky becomes darker and the lights become brighter.

You don't realize how cold it has gotten - in your rush to get Caleb to come pick you up, you had forgotten to take a jacket. You shudder involuntarily, the chill settling deeper into your skin. Caleb is immediately removing his leather jacket, and then drapes it over the railing. He then removes his hoodie, leaving him just wearing his shirt. He passes the hoodie to you, and you take it, immediately putting it on. You pull it over your head and take a deep breath in. The hoodie smells like him - slightly smoky and sweet, like cinnamon. He puts his jacket back on, and you lean against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

"Thank you," you whisper, suddenly feeling the lump in your throat again.

He takes your hand, his thumb rubbing gently strokes into it. You feel him press his lips against the top of your head, whispering into your hair.

"I'll come get you, no matter where you are, Pipsqueak."

[dante-mightdie]

Girl if you don’t give us some more low self esteem reader x price i think i’m gonna die 😫😫 genuinely one of my favs!!

john who finally convinces our lovely low self esteem reader to let him take her out and when the time comes, he’s outside your door all suited and booted. expensive bouquet in his hand as he shifts on his feet, anxiously waiting for you to open the door

it’s been ten minutes since he rung the doorbell. ten minutes since you text him saying you’d be down in a second. he understands that sometimes a lady needs time getting ready but now you aren’t even responding to his messages checking on you

he can’t see you pacing from your bathroom back to your bedroom, pulling and twisting at your outfit until it ‘fits right’. cursing under your breath each time you apply more lip gloss or mascara, only to end up smudging your makeup and ruining it

he can’t see the tears welling in your eyes each time you catch your reflection and you just can’t do it. nothing is working because of you. and john is going to see that. john is going to see you. and you just can’t have that so you leave him down there, waiting for you as you sniffle and pull at your hair in frustration

so he calls you, stepping back to see if your upstairs light was still on as the ringing drones on in his ear. and when you do finally pick up, the first thing he’s greeted with is sniffles

“h-hi john…” you say, a nervous laugh following. before he can ask if you’re okay, you speak again. “m’really sorry to do this but… uhm…”

“love?” he cuts you off, a gentle tone in his voice so you know he’s not upset. a few seconds silence follows before you sniffle again

“yeah?” he can hear the sadness in your voice, the uncertainty. his eyes flick up once more to look at the light coming from your upstairs window

“come open the door, yeah? let me see ya, doll… been waiting all week to see that pretty smile just one more time.” the heat pooling in your stomach at his sweet words causes more tears to leak down your cheeks

you don’t know why he’s any different to the other guys you’ve shut down. you don’t know why you agree to see him and shuffle downstairs to open the door

but that kind smile he throws your way when you finally open the door is enough to make your lip wobble a little more so he distracts you with the bouquet of your favourite flowers

“how did you know-?” you’re ready to question him, and he can see the little glint in your eye. runaway thoughts of maybe this guy is a stalker who’s been watching you. not some prince charming like you’d be reluctantly convincing yourself.

“I asked ya friends at the bar when I was getting your drinks. wanted to know what I should get you for our first date.” there’s a proud beam in his smile, like he knows he’s won you over a little there

“You hadn’t even asked me out yet…” you giggle slightly, sniffling before looking down at the stunning arrangement of flowers

“don’t matter, darling. I knew I was going to the second I saw you…” he states it like it’s obvious, like you should know he was going to pursue you. his hand reaches up to wipe your teary cheeks before offering you his arm to take

“hang on let me change.” you go to turn but he stops you, shaking his head and taking the initiative to wrap your arm in his

“none of that. you look beautiful…” you hate the way his words turn you to mush inside. you hate yourself for falling for it, for leaving yourself vulnerable to his sweet words and charming smile

but you don’t hate him, and the attention he gives you so you figure one date with the handsome man who bought you a drink couldn’t hurt