Latest Posts by blackswanmary - Page 3

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.

FWB!Soap x InloveFem!Reader.

+18 content warning

FWB!Soap who claims to not feel romantic feelings for you, saying that he sees you as a friend and values your friendship too much to try and have a serious relationship with you. It's meaningless sex at the end of the day (at least to him), just using each other to not spend the night alone.

FWB!Soap spends most of his paid leave in your bedroom, secluded from the friends he claims to have apart from you, fucking you in every position he can manhandle your body into, your legs over his shoulder, pulling you by your arms so you don’t fall in while he fucks you standing doggy.

FWB!Soap really likes to spend his free time with his cock buried in one of your three holes, making you sob from pleasure and pain while he gets off by the way tears run down your eyes, overstimulated and spent yet still letting him do whatever he wants with you, a true sweetheart you are.

FWB!Soap who would rather kill every man that tries to court you than find another person to fuck while not being in a serious relationship, he values you too much to let another man have you (but he doesn’t love you, right?) so it’s a back and forth between talking you into not going on dates, threatening guys who approach you when you are out with him and as a last resort, talking shit about you behind your back to them when you invite them to your shared apartment. warning them about how crazy you get when you enter a relationship (you are a fucking angel, soap knows that but he doesn’t want other guys to know)

FWB!Soap who thinks he is the only one allowed to fuck other people, going out to clubs and fucking girls in a dark alleyway, (he would never bring them to your apartment) the smells of a woman’s perfume lingering on his shirt and the hickeys on his neck a clear evidence that he went and fuck someone who isn’t you. it hurts when he does it, he knows how much it breaks your heart, he has listened to you sob at night more times than he can count every time he has returned with hickeys and lipstick stains.

FWB!Soap who after he hears you crying because of him tries to cheer you up, buying you gifts of your special interest or hobbies. inviting you to eat dinner at the fancy restaurant you don’t go to often because of the high prices. and he treats you wonderfully, princess treatment to its max extent, doing everything he can to soothe the ache in your heart from knowing he fucks other girls even though you’re not a couple.

FWB!Soap who is aware of the vicious cycle he trapped himself in, fucking you for days straight, going out and fucking another girl, listening to you cry when you see the hickeys, and doing everything he can to make you feel better, hating how much he hurts you without meaning to before repeating it all again.

FWB!Soap gets undeniably scared at times, fearing you will get tired of him and his actions. he knows what he is doing is wrong but is so fucking hard for him to be in a committed relationship being constantly deployed to different countries. he tried it once and it didn’t work out, so why try again? He has you after all, and being friends with benefits fills his basic needs for the most part.

FWB!Soap is so painfully oblivious to the signals he and you give. Of course, he holds your hand when you're out in public because you get lost easily, walks closer to the street because is safer for you, stands behind you so creeps don’t look at your ass, kisses your forehead every once in a while when he’s talking to someone so you know he isn’t ignoring you.

FWB!Soap does the absolute max to be a good “friend” to you and make you feel loved since being friends with benefits with him makes it impossible for you to get a boyfriend. he knows he’s compensating you for the pain he causes you, and trust him, he does love you but he doesn’t love you. (that’s what he tells himself)

FWB!Soap who after speaking to Ghost and feels nothing short of a piece of shit for the dynamic of your situationship. “you’re going to lose her, Johnny” Simon oh so generously said to him after hearing Soap rant for almost 20 minutes about how he had taken you out to eat because he felt guilty for making you cry once again. (he is a piece of shit to the core)

FWB!Soap comes home after being deployed for almost three weeks only to see a man in your apartment, sitting on the couch like he owns the place while you come out for the kitchen with a bowl full of popcorn, surprised to see Soap standing at the door, not expecting he would be back so soon but happy regardless of his arrival.

“Johnny!” you high pitch squeal fills his ears and he feels hot from anger and joy, he lets you jump on his arms, hugging him the best you can with the height difference, his gear still on, a gun tucked on his belt holster while he hugs you back, staring darkly at the guy on the couch he is already planning how to kill. “hi bonnie” he answers a few seconds later, pulling away from the hug, his hands on your hips so you can’t move away, claiming possession of you to the man sitting not even 10 feet away from him.

He knows he shouldn’t be selfish and let you move on from him, but he is a new man after speaking to Ghost. He swears by it. He knows he loves you, he knows he wants a future with you so why don’t you wait for him just a little bit longer, why jump at the first opportunity you had to find another man? He had never brought any woman home, so why did you bring someone? you’re not playing fair, at least not by the game he put you in forcefully.

And he feels murderous, truly psychotic but doesn’t act on it, no. He would never subject you to that side of him, instead he decided to play just as dirty as you had done. “Why don’t you tell me who's your friend, Bonnie, aye?” he asks, manhandling you softly so you turn around to face the man on the couch who is awfully quiet. Soap guides you, making you walk forward, his hands not leaving your hips.

“he’s Matt, he’s one of my brother's friends” Your sweet voice rings he’s ears and for a moment he thinks that maybe this isn’t a date then, that maybe your brother’s friend just decided to visit you but Soap isn’t that fucking dumb, not when it comes to see the intentions guys have with you. “Matt, this is Johnny my…friend” you add a few seconds later, hesitating on what to call Soap, because sure, you are friends, but you also fuck, cuddle and go out on dates that neither of you ever actually called dates but the implication is there, all that is lacking is the title soap refuses to give to everything he does with you and to you.

you rather not be here in this situation, knowing how soap can get when you meet up with friends he doesn’t know about, and he wasn't even meant to come home today, not even this week and you had questions as to why he had returned so early but it wasn’t the right moment to ask, not with how fucking serious soap sounded (he is never serious around you)

“figured that one out quickly, love” Matt responds, a chuckle leaving his lips even though to Soap nothing was fucking funny right now, quite the opposite but he decides to play along with the clear joke of a man you let into your home. he does want to ripe his throat off because he called you Love and he might as well just do it (when you aren’t present of course.)

Soap sets one of his hands on his gun, moving to stand beside you so the guy can see he’s armed and isn’t afraid to kill him, he had his hands stained with people’s blood, what’s another life to take, everything for you, anything for you. defending an ownership of you he didn’t have.

“don’t mean to kick ya out mate but I rather you go, need to talk to my girl, aye?” Soap says, trying to be polite but he doesn’t give a shit if it comes out as him kicking Matt out, he is kicking him out after all, just with much kinder words for your well-being, not because he respects or wants to be him to the piece of shit on your couch.

And you caught onto Soap truly meant quickly, but it’s all overpowered by the fact he called you his girl, his fucking girl. and you know that with him you shouldn’t get your hopes high no matter how much he sweet talks you and calls you his, he’s done it before and not held up to the name he gave you.

FWB!Soap is a complicated mess when it comes to feelings and showing you how much he loves you because he truly doesn’t do well in relationships and doesn't want to break your heart. God knows how much he hates to see you hurting because of him. But maybe tonight he can’t stop caring for a few hours, just enough time to get rid of that stupid friend of yours and make sure he doesn’t ever appear in your life again, you don’t want a guy like him around, one who doesn’t respect Soap as your lover even though he isn’t.

FWB!Soap really hates breaking your heart, but he acts upon what’s best for you and your tears are a price worth paying so you can live your best life. The death of Matt shouldn’t come as a shock to you, but it does. Because although you know what Soap is capable of, you don’t expect him to just kill someone because they were interested in you and didn't shy away from trying and taking you away from him.

FWB!Soap who realizes that it’s time to make you his, because even though he doesn’t mind killing people to make you his, still is a fucking difficult job to find ways to dispose of the bodies without leaving evidence of his doing.

Boyfriend!Soap who ends up killing a few more people once he already made you his girlfriend but gladly does so when men come too close to you and are too bold and actually threaten your relationship with Soap. Maybe he should move you to a small city in Scotland, marry you, and give you a kid so you’re too busy being devoted to your family to ever notice how there are better men than Soap interested in you.

Simon had always known he was possessive, but this… this was something new. It all started during a rambling, half-drunk conversation with Soap, the kind they’d both forget by morning—except for one comment that had lodged itself in Simon’s mind like a splinter.

“Lass can’t forget you if she’s knocked up with your baby,” Soap had muttered with a lopsided grin, slurring just enough to make Simon dismiss it at first.

At first.

Simon knew you’d never forget him, no matter how long he was deployed. He trusted you, loved you in ways he couldn’t always put into words. But once the thought was planted, he couldn’t forget it. Maybe deep down it was the fear you’d leave or just the desire to know that you were fully his, round with his child, but whatever it was, when he got notified of an upcoming assignment, he knew he was gonna damn well try.

Which is how you ended up here now, pressed into the mattress beneath him, his broad chest blanketing your back as his lips dragged heatedly along your neck. He reaches around, pulling your body up enough for you to stabilise yourself as he roughly palms your breasts, tweaking your nipples between his fingers as he continues to rut against you.

He's been at it for hours, fucking you with a relentless intensity, determined to fill you with every drop of his cum before he leaves. You’ve lost count at this point, never knowing he could go for so many repeated rounds but you certainly know it now as you feel his cum run down your thighs, the squelching noise every time he fucks back into you, a combination of your arousal and how many loads he’s given you so far tonight.

"Fuuck-" he groans, his voice low and gravelly with desire. "Gonna knock you up so good. Gonna make sure you're round with my baby by the time I get back."

He pulls out, his cock sliding from your well-fucked hole 

He stares down at your pussy, mesmerised by the sight of it dripping with his cum. He leans down, his face mere inches from it as his heated breath ghosts your folds. He watches, transfixed, as another thick spurt of his previous load oozes out of you.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. "Look at that. Look at what you do to me."

He reaches out, his fingers gently parting your swollen lips to get a better look. He teases your entrance, circling it slowly before scooping up some of the cum that's leaking out and guiding it back in with his middle and ring finger.

He pushes his fingers deeper, scissoring them to work his own cum back inside you. He wants to make sure every last drop takes.

"Gonna plug you up-" he growls, his voice rough with lust. "Keep you nice and full of me.”

He withdraws them, glistening with the thick, pearly fluid before bringing them up to your mouth, pressing his fingers against your lips.

"Go on-" he purrs as he slowly pushes his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean. You can taste the saltiness of his cum mixed with the musky scent of your arousal. It's a heady combination that makes your head spin.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice rough with approval. "Such a good girl for me."

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, only to bring them back down to your pussy. He circles your clit with them, the slickness of his cum providing the perfect lubrication before he gestures for you to roll onto your back.

He straightens back up as he slides the head of his aching cock through your folds, nudging the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that do nothing to satisfy the ache inside you.

"Y’not going anywhere," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Not after this- fuck -you’re not leaving me…You can’t–”

You could hear the subtle desperation in his words, a fear that you'd abandon him. He needed to know that you would be here, waiting for him, even when he was deployed.

He kisses desperately, trying to put every fiber of his being into this kiss, hoping to portray even a fraction of the strong love he felt for you. His hips start to move again, his cock sliding into you with a groan. He sets a slow, deep pace, each thrust deliberate and purposeful as he works himself in and out of you.

"Fuck, I love you," he grunts, the words torn from him. "Love you so fucking much…You're my everything, I swear I’ll never let you down-"

He wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible, fingers digging into your flesh as he impales you on his thick cock over and over again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead pressed against yours. "So fucking tight and wet for me. Always so ready for my cock, god you’re perfect-."

He adjusts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts so that he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. Your back arches off the bed as your nails rake down his back and you moan wantonly.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice husky with desire. "Gonna' fill you up so good. Gotta make sure it takes before I leave-

His hips piston faster, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He's getting close, you can tell by the way his muscles tense, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

"Gonna cum," he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Shit- fuck-”

He buries himself to the hilt, incoherent mutterings rolling off his tongue as his cock pulses, filling you with another thick load. He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans as you feel it, hot and heavy, painting your insides white. He collapses on top of you, all his weight heavy upon you, though you don't mind at all, arms wrapping tightly about him.

He stays buried inside of you, his now softening cock still buried deep within you. He rests his forehead against yours as his breath comes in short pants, trying to catch his breath.

"I meant what I said, you know…gonna' make you mine in every way possible," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he lifts some of his weight off of you. "Want you to have my baby- And when I come back, I'm gonna marry you because I’m completely yours and I want you to be fully mine, officially."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

© ghostsanctity → do not copy or translate any of my works

The Way

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex!reader, Charles Leclerc x reader

Authors Note: yo soy tired | multiple fics in a week who is this diva

Warnings: Break-ups, cursing, max is an angsty boy, not proofread

Word Count: 4.5k

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: You and max had been in love once upon a time. Now, well…. It was never supposed to be this way.

It was never supposed to be this way.

When you and Max had started dating, you hadn’t planned for it to end with a messy breakup that had both of you looking the other way with even a mention of the other’s name.

You’d like to preface by saying the breakup wasn’t your fault. At least, not entirely. You were just done dealing with the way Max constantly put you on the back burner for racing, even with you in a car just a few garages down from his own.

Last season, it hadn’t been that much of a problem. In a Williams, you weren’t often faced with the Red Bull drivers. They were fighting for podiums, you were fighting to even be in the points.

But in the offseason, you had been moved to Mercedes. Now, he was all you could see.

The press seemed to have caught wind of your break-up as well because, as opposed to before, now it felt like you were placed in the same conference as him every. Single. Time.

You’re not sure if it’s all bad, though. Because now, you get to see the look on his face when reporters comment on the unprecedented pace of the Mercedes while Max is stuck with comments on Red Bull’s recent dip in performance.

“You’ve won again,” The reporter starts, smiling at you as he stands, “That’s three wins in a row and three 1-2’s in a row as well. What do you have to credit for this sudden switch in Mercedes’s luck?”

You smile as he talks, lips forming a sharp grin, your thoughts barely held back, “Well, we could start with thanking me, no?”

You say it jokingly, some laughs echoing around the small one as you say it. George, who’s sat next to you, pats your shoulder proudly. Max is sat on his other side, having gotten a p-3 in the race. But, from what you heard, it was no easy feat, he’d fought the car the entire time, having had to rely on both the Ferrari’s DNFing to get the podium. Even then, he’d finished thirty seconds off of George.

“But I’d say it’s a combination of things,” you begin again, taking the question seriously this time, “The team is great, the car gets better every weekend, me and George are both putting in maximum effort week in and week out to maximize our performance. It also sometimes just comes down to relying on our competition to do worse than us. Recently, it has seemed like we are just running better than some other teams.”

If people want to see that as a did, you’ll let them. You were never one to mince words. Especially not about Max. Never about him.

The journalist seems pleased, most likely already picking out adjectives he’ll use to describe your tone when he writes his article. Snide, petty, confident, arrogant. You wouldn’t mind any of the above, truly.

The line of questioning moves, reporters turning to Max. That’s when you stop listening. You didn’t mind knowing he could see you succeeding right in front of him but even looking in his direction still makes your stomach turn.

You don’t look his way, don’t listen when they ask him about the race, don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want to see his features, set up in a way he only looks when he’s deep in focus. A face you had stared at many a night, watching as he told you every detail about the race from his point of view, his fingers fidgeting with whatever was nearest by. You were never sure if he even knew he was doing it. You’d stare and he’d talk. Then, he’d pause his rambling, noticing your stare, and a grin would paint his face. Then he’d lean in, laughing as you tried to pretend you hadn’t been enchanted by his features as he talked.

So, when Max starts talking, you lean back in your seat, hiding behind George. Your eyes drift close and you try to pretend you're anywhere else, not listening to your ex-boyfriend try to save face in front of tens of cameras.

You can’t really believe that, at one point, you’d been happy. Mentioning his name had once upon a time made you the happiest person on earth. Now, the name fills you with a sense of dread and you can feel the unresolved anger bubbling just under the surface.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

Max is fuming.

It seemed, these days, he always was. But, right now, at this moment, he’s angrier than usual.

He’d finally won. Thirteen races deep into the season, he had finally won. It hadn’t been easy. He wouldn’t have won, if it weren’t for Mercedes double pitting just before a safety car had given the rest of the grid free pit stops.

Then, you and George had gotten taken out by a rogue Alpine and a Haas, the pink car trying to overtake the Haas and missing, sending the American car into the back of George, who had no choice but to watch as his car careened into your own.

So, having no sight of a black race suit on the podium, Max was happy.

He’d won, getting to celebrate with the Ferraris, a pair of people he held in the highest esteem, a racing legend and one of his closest friends.

It was a nice podium too! His team had come, he’d relished in the sound of the Dutch anthem as it blasted around the track, fans and team members in Red Bull gear all celebrating the long-awaited win.

It was what happened after that had made his anger spike so badly.

Max is walking off the podium when it happens. His skin is sticky and his hair is damp, his face still flushed with the heat of the race. He’s a little light-headed, the warmth in the car still sticking around to make him a little dizzy.

But he’s happy, a feeling he could get used to feeling again. It seemed like it had been so long. So long since he truly felt joy coursing through his veins.

He walks down the steps, prepared to hand his trophy off to a Red Bull employee to handle it for him. The empty champagne bottle had already been taken from him, whisked off to be discarded.

Lewis is walking just in front of him and he knows Charles is drifting behind him, having walked off last. Lewis gets down the steps, waving a goodbye to the Dutch man with a smile, walking off to, no-doubt, clean up from the event.

After saying bye to the Brit, Max turns to where he knew Charles had been, ready to comment on the race. But where Charles should be is nothing but empty air.

He glances around, looking for his friend. What he’s met with makes his eye practically twitch. Maybe it does twitch, he’s not in a right enough mind to know.

He sees Charles, turned away from his gaze, his red suit the only thing on display to the room. What gets max, though, is the arms wrapped around the Monagasque’s neck, black sleeves adorned with sponsors making it obvious just who the arms belong to.

Max isn’t sure if Charles knows that he can see the two of you. If he does know, he’d surely be getting an earful from the Dutch man for knowingly putting him through this. But Max is pretty sure he’s unaware when a laugh echoes between the two of you and suddenly you’re unwrapping yourself from around his neck and grasping his hand in your own, promptly setting off down the hall, pulling him along with you. He lets you, prompting a wide smile on your lips, something he hadn’t seen in such close proximity in a while.

It makes him angry. Everything about it.

The way you don’t seem to care that you lost, when every loss of his own had plagued Max’s mind like a disease, resting in the back of his head and ruining every thought.

The way you seem happy now, even without Max. You seem to have moved on, finding happiness somewhere else when Max hadn’t even gotten a whiff of it until he had crossed that finish line first.

The way Charles seems to think this is okay, letting himself get involved with his close friend’s ex-girlfriend, someone he knew Max wasn’t completely detached from.

More than anything, it’s the way that Max can’t stop thinking about it. The sight is burned into his mind, he can practically see it on the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. The sound of your laugh mixed with Charles’s echoes in his brain, taunting him, making him insane. He can still see your hands, running through the hair at the nape of Charles’s neck, not even caring that he was, no doubt, dripping with sweat and champagne. It’s the sight of you two running off, Charles letting you lead him away immediately after the race, something Max had never let you do, the Dutch man too laser-focused on celebrating his win to indulge you for even a second.

In hindsight, he should have been celebrating with you. The love of his life. That’s what these guys lived for, right? Stepping out of the car or off the podium and straight into the arms of the person they love, all cares forgotten in that hold.

Now that he no longer had the thrill of winning to hold him over, he truly felt the absence you had left in his life. Every day, he tried to move on. But you were still ingrained in his life, in him.

He found hair ties sometimes. In the glove box of a car he hadn’t driven in a while, hiding on a ledge in his shower, deep in the pockets of his jeans. They all reminded him of you. They all got thrown away.

You haunt him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

“Charles!” You’re laughing, running through the paddock, Charles hot on your heels.

It had started as a joke. He’d made some self-deprecating comment about his hair, made in passing. You, apparently to your detriment, had agreed with his comment, causing your own giggle.

Charles, ever the prideful, had scoffed, promptly trying to tackle you onto the couch of his driver's room. You’d escaped, running out of his room.

That’s how you got to this point, laughing loudly as Charles tried to navigate his way past the crowd, weaving between bodies and people who just couldn’t seem to get the hint that they should get out of the way.

You look behind you to see how close he is, not realizing until it’s too late that you’re about to run into someone. The someone in question moves away after the impact but you’re still hurtling toward the ground. But the hit never comes. Instead, your arm is caught and suddenly you're pulled up and spun into a pair of arms, holding you close, strong but gentle.

Charles looks down at you, a smile ghosting onto his lips, “Got you.”

You smile softly as well, looking up into his eyes, “You did.”

You stay there for a few moments, simply basking in the other’s presence. It had been a while since you had let yourself be happy like this.

What had started as a way to get back at Max had become your life, body, and soul. The way Charles held you could become your religion, the words he whispered at night your bible. You could worship at the altar of this love until the end of your days, your only sin being not devoting yourself sooner.

Charles is perfect. Attentive, kind, caring, a good listener, and, most importantly, he didn’t ignore you. Didn’t pretend like you didn’t exist at the paddock, knowing just as well as you do that this world is as much your own as it is his.

Your hands, that had been resting against his chest, reach back to pull his arm off of your shoulder, your fingers ghosting along the skin of his arm until they reach his wrist. You look up at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before your attention turns back to his arm or, more specifically, the dainty black band around it. You hook your finger on the edge of it, pulling it off of his wrist and holding the hair tie between your fingers.

You were about to put your hair up, knowing you were about to escape and run from him again. But he didn’t need to know your motives, he just carried a hair tie with him all the time, having barely taken it off since the first time you’d handed it to him.

Once the hair tie is securely in your hair, you’re off again, Charles figuring out your ruse just a second too late. His realization is accompanied by the shout of your name, a laugh, and his own run as he tries, and mostly fails, to catch up to you.

It was lovely.

For everyone except one person. The very person you had run into a few minutes prior before not even noticing who you’d clashed with, not even bothering to utter an apology in his direction.

For what it’s worth, Max had walked away as soon as he could, retreating to the Red Bull hospitality he’d just come out of, having to pretend he wasn’t staring (or seething).

He had tried so hard not to think about you. God, he’d actually thought he was succeeding too!

Then the very god who’s name he’d just used in vain had quite literally thrown you at him, your perfect boyfriend in tow. If that’s even what you guys are. Neither of you had commented on it and the media hadn’t gotten enough of a rumour to ask.

Had he done something to deserve this? Had he cursed some god that had come back to haunt him? They wouldn’t be the only one haunting him, it seemed. You are everywhere.

On podiums, in interviews, on billboards, magazines, social media, parades, events completely unrelated to F1, everywhere. He couldn’t avoid you. No matter how hard he tried.

This had to be some sort of eternal punishment.

He used to be the person you’d run to after a good result, looking for solace in his arms.

Now, you didn’t even notice it was him even when you ran smack-dab into him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

If there was some deity out there that hates Max, the same one must love you.

Because you couldn’t think of a better conference than the one you were in right now. The top three: you, Charles, Max. All together on one couch. What could go wrong?

Max’s jaw is set, his eyebrows forming a straight line, betraying just how angry he is to be up here with the two of you.

Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. A grin is on his lips, his hair ruffled from his helmet (and your hands), his face full of the post-podium glow, his skin flushed and, thankfully, no longer sticky with champagne. He occasionally leans over to whisper something to you, his words much quieter than the giggles they cause.

You don’t know if Max is looking. You don’t care, really. Well, you care in the sense that you would love for max to be fuming on the other side of that couch. But you don’t care in the sense that it wasn’t your priority in your interactions with Charles. Not anymore.

The questions start, most being aimed toward the winner of the race, Charles, sitting next to you.

A question gets aimed at Max and Charles, not truly listening, takes the distraction of the audience to lightly grasp your hand in his own, before looking back to Max. You know he isn’t doing it to rile things up. He’s just happy and he wants to be happy with you.

It’s when Max is done talking and the attention is brought back to you for a question, does the reporter take pause. You can see the gears turning in his head, eyes flickering between your faces and your intertwined hands.

You pretend they haven’t noticed, raising your eyebrows to prompt the reporter to ask a question.

He does, an edge of humor in his voice, “First off, you two have anything you want to tell us?”

Laughs echo around the small room and you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips, “Nope.”

The reporter narrows his eyes, his grin not fading in the slightest, “Well then, I want to ask what fuels you when you race. You seemed so alive out there, so exciting, I wanted to ask what has changed.”

You can’t help yourself, your smile widening exponentially despite your best efforts, “Well, I’m just very happy, I guess. I know I’m not known as the most smiley person but life has just…. Been treating me very well recently.”

The reporter nods, smirking as his eyes pass between you and Charles, “Anything to do with a certain Monegasque?”

Charles, ever the comedian, furrows his eyebrows, muttering a quick “Who?” Under his breath, making you snort.

“Um-,” you start, trying your hardest not to laugh. Then, you look to your side and Charles is just staring at you, the softest look on his face as he watches you speak, “No comment.”

That’s enough for the reporter, who sits down, happy with the information he had managed to get.

The rest of the conference runs quickly, questions being split between the three of you pretty evenly.

You and Charles leave together, hands clasped together as he spins you around, asking you questions about evening plans between well-timed spins, both of you moving in some kind of child-like joy.

There’s a song playing from a speaker somewhere, a soft, floaty rhythm that fuels your movements. It’s almost psychic, the way you both move in tune with the other.

Max had never liked to dance, writing it off as silly or frivolous. You’d offer him your hand and he’d wave it away, leaning away from your hand and unknowingly leaning farther away from your relationship as he did. It couldn’t have hurt him to entertain your happiness just for once during your time together. But apparently it did, based on how he’d react like you had burnt him whenever you even suggested dancing.

Now, Charles was spinning you around without you even having to ask, humming along to the song playing through a speaker in an unknown location, eyes locked on you to trail your every movement.

It wouldn’t be so bad if this isthe way it was always meant to be.

——

The last time you think about Max in any significant way is a relatively inconspicuous day.

It’s a race weekend, just like any other. But this time, your home race. You were always fond of these weekends, when you get to be in your own country, racing on home soil, knowing the people in the stands, the people of your country, are rooting for you.

The past two seasons you’d been racing at the track, Max had won both times, getting to raise his fist in celebration in front of your fans, in front of your country.

Maybe that’s what makes you want the win so bad. What makes you try and overtake just a tad bit too aggressively, what makes Max go off the track, losing the position to you, Charles and Lewis funneling past him as well.

To anyone watching the race, it would look like a clean overtake, Max just having lost control over the car. But you knew what it was. You had known Max. Maybe not now, but once upon a time you had, and you also knew exactly what to do to make him stumble.

You hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to send him off. You also knew you weren’t going to get penalized for it. If you had any focus that wasn’t already on the race, you’d probably feel decently guilty. But your race engineer chalks it up to a racing incident, focusing your attention on Carlos in front of you, the only thing between yourself and a win.

In the end, after a well-executed overtake and your simply outpacing the Ferraris, you take the win.

It’s euphoric, if you had to describe it. Flags of your country wave in the stands, signs with your face and shirts adorned with the Mercedes logo decorate the crowds.

You quickly stand on top of your car, holding your arms out to the crowd around you, relishing in the sound of their cheers and screams.

Charles is standing next to your car when you turn to the side and you let him catch you as you jump down. You throw yourself into his hug, grasping him tightly as he rocks you back and forth. You can barely hear him through both your helmets, the words “I love you” just barely passing through.

He leans back, flipping up his visor and pushing yours up as well. His eyes lock on your own, fueling the tears already pooling in your eyes.

You know you have to pull away eventually and when you do, Lewis is standing behind you, quick to pull you into a tight hug. He knows how much this means to you. In your time in the Ferrari hospitality, he had become quite close to you, quickly becoming one of your closest friends.

He lets you go after a few seconds, shouting something about being proud of you through your helmets.

Once he’s dropped you, you turn toward your team, running straight into their arms. It’s something that could never be replicated, the joy you feel in this moment. You were with the people you love the most, succeeding at the thing you love the most in the place you love the most. It’s a perfect moment.

You eventually have to pull yourself from the grasps of their team, Toto landing a particularly spirited pat on your head as you do, making you laugh.

You let Charles walk you over to get weighed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, Lewis walking along on their other side. It’s nice, having people that care about you like this.

George is in the room when you go to get weighed. He hugs you, you smile and hug him back, whispering a quick “thank you” to the older man. He smiles back, patting you on the back before falling back into conversation with Lewis.

You pass through the process passively, not bothering to pay too much attention to the room around you, your brain somewhere else. Somewhere floating.

Then you’re up on the podium and everything comes back into focus.

Your anthem is playing, the music floating through your head, bringing every happy memory here back into the forefront of your mind.

They hand you your trophy. It feels like it fits in your hands perfectly. You stare down at it, trying to memorize every detail before you set it down, replacing it with the oversized bottle of champagne.

Charles is standing beside you, though you’re not looking at him. You know he’s looking at you but you can’t tear your gaze away from the crowd below, spreading out across the track, shouting your name.

Then, the champagne comes. You don’t even fight it as Lewis and Charles both immediately aim for you. You can’t do anything to get away so you let the alcohol hit you, the liquid seeping into the fabric of your fireproofs and causing a chill to run through your skin.

You try your hardest to aim the bottle onto the Ferrari’s, giving up when you can’t beat them, instead aiming the bottle onto your team down below.

After the bottles have run out, you’re left standing, sipping on the champagne that is left and trying not to feel the cold liquid on your skin. It almost feels lonely, just for a second.

But then Charles is there, wrapping an arm around your waist and looking out onto the crowd with you. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting you bask in the sound of your name being cheered by thousands of people.

Lewis pats you on the back as he walks by, prompting you both to snap out of your staring, looking at each other with matching smiles.

As for Max, he’s below, standing on the edge of the crowd, not a part of the celebration, not sharing in the joy.

He had finished fifth, but he didn’t care about that now. Now, he only cares about you. The vision of you, grinning on the podium, eyes welling with tears as you look out on the crowd chanting your name. The sight of Charles pulling you into his arms, landing a warm kiss on the top of your head just before he pulls you off the podium, disappearing down the steps.

He wanted to be mad, he really did. He wanted to storm over and yell at you for passing him the way you had. But, to the outward eye, there was nothing wrong with the pass. Yelling at you would involve admitting that your only crime here was knowing him better than anyone, a fact he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Besides, he couldn’t be mad. No matter how much he tried to be, he just isn’t. Not at you, at least. Maybe at Charles. Maybe at Carlos who had fended him off for 6 laps at the end. Maybe at the car for just being disappointing. But not at you. The anger would be misplaced. Fueled by the fact that he had lost you and couldn’t do anything about it.

His race engineer had tried to support him, Liam had tried to distract him. But he wasn’t having it. He couldn’t have it when you were looking at Charles like that.

He knows that, in another life, it would have been him standing next to you, by your side for your big moment. He refuses to acknowledge the idea that he probably wouldn’t have stayed by your side, his feet carrying him off the podium quickly, racking his brain to figure out why he hadn’t won instead of celebrating the fact that you had.

But it could have been him. It should have been.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t.

You have moved on. Found happiness in Charles. True, real happiness.

That’s when Max realizes, maybe this is the way it was always meant to be.

——

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽 (𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓷-𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓷𝓲𝓴𝓴𝓲 𝓼𝓲𝔁𝔁 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂)

your innocence drives nikki wild

warnings: slight angst, disgusting smut, corruption kink

tagging: @southerntigress @cigrttsftrsx @unknownperson246 @n1kkisixxspersonalchewtoy & @jules-sixx who might be interested in reading this! 😘

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗ ╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗ ╔═*.·:·.✧

You are visiting your best friend Frankie, staying with her and her single father since your parents are away on a business trip. It was over 100 degree heat in the month of August, you only wore a short pink plaid skirt and a camisole, deciding to not wear any panties or bra as you wanted your skin to breathe.

You walk in the house when Frankie answers the door hugging her like you’ve been decades apart. She goes to settle in the living room as you walk through the kitchen to get to the guest bedroom. Stopping in your tracks, you notice Frankie’s father Nikki making himself a cup of coffee. A topless women with a clear blue shall and panties from Victoria Secret comes into the room with a smile in her eyes, walking up to Nikki, she passionately kisses him sticking her tongue in his mouth as you watch while whimpering, feeling yourself get wet. You quickly get out of your trance and leave the kitchen to go to the bedroom that is waiting for you.

When you get to your bedroom, your heart skips a beat as you think about Nikki and the unknown woman. You drop your things on the ground and grab a pillow, lightly rubbing your breast as you guide your dripping wetness on the pillow, fucking yourself as you think about Nikki. You blush hard when you orgasm, liquid spraying out of you. You pant softly as you get yourself together.

Meanwhile, Frankie got a phone call from a mutual friend who told her, a boy she likes was at a local party and she needed to hurry if she wanted to meet up with him. Frankie was known to be an impatient person which was one of her flaws, she totally forgot about you, grabbing her Gucci messenger bag and running out the door before anyone saw her.

You walk back to the living room and see that Frankie is nowhere to be found. You were friends with her for only a short while so you didn’t know her bad habits about forgetting people. You sit on the couch as you start crying, your mascara running down your cheeks. You were hauntingly beautiful. Nikki walked into the room slowly when he heard your soft cries, wondered what happened as he sits with you without saying a word, taking you in his arms you lean into him and let all your sadness out.

“Hey sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He whispers to you.

“Oh, people always forget me. I didn’t realize Frankie would too.”

You gaze at his lips as you gasp for breath. Nikki knew his feelings towards you were wrong, but you looked so innocent and lost. He wanted to corrupt you so badly, he could literally taste you.

He puts his hand lovingly on your cheek, turning your face towards him as his fingers lightly rub your lips. You find yourself sucking his fingers getting them nice and wet, you moan as you feel your nipples erect wanting him to touch you under your skirt. Your face literally begging to be ruined.

Nikki creeps his wet fingers up on your thigh as you slowly start to pant. Getting closer to where you need him. He rubs your naked pussy up and down as he feels you squirt little droplets of cum. You need him to finger you, so you begin to rock against his fingers, moaning. Soon he rubs his fingers inside of you, laughing as his other hand chokes you. You know you’re going to burst at any moment. Nikki literally rips your skirt off as your cum sprays on his jeans. Your skin is glowing as you come down from your sexual high.

You lick Nikki’s tongue as you deeply kiss him, getting lost in a hazy feeling. Your hands finding his belt, you free him from his jeans and boxers. Seeing pre-cum drip from his dick. You slowly sit on him as he enters you. He takes his hands and roughly starts to fuck you, his hands leaving bruises on your skin. He is so fucking turned on by your innocence that he squirts his load inside your womb until you go blind with desire.

Both you and Nikki move to the guest bedroom to cuddle as your body feels broken by the most freaky encounter you never knew was possible.

the end

WHOOOO MADE THIS HAHAHAHA

Whoever took these pics of him is my new idol

Axl funny moment

You’re Mine | Josh Lambert x Reader

fandom : Insidious (especially Chapter 2)

pairing : Possessed!Josh Lambert x Fem!reader

summary : You knew Josh when you were little. Two of you grew up together with Josh’s mother. You are an orphan and your mother used to be Josh’s mother’s best friend. You’ve known since childhood that Josh can see ghosts, more specifically the ghost of a woman who always bothers him. You two went through that kind of thing until you grew up and got engaged. But you didn’t expect that what happened to Josh this time was the worst….

Except you fuck Josh while he’s still possessed.

warning ⚠️ : Josh being possessive. sexually explicit content, fingering, rough and angry sex, unprotected sex, p in v sex.

That morning was the peak when you felt that the person sleeping with you was not really your fiancé, but someone else. Since Elise died, you have had an uneasy feeling that you swore you didn't want your hunch to be true, but as each day goes by Josh's behavior, you are increasingly convinced that your hunch about Josh killing Elise is probably true.

And now you feel so afraid of your own fiancé.

Josh hugged you from behind, his pale face exposed to the morning sun through the window, smiled at you, “I want to make hot coffee, do you want it too, hun?”

You rubbed your eyes, took off the blanket that was originally on your body then you said, “I hate coffee, do you remember?” you said quietly. You were a little scared by the change in Josh’s expression. You know that your fiancé is being possessed, but you have no other choice, you have to assume you don’t know anything for your own safety.

“Tea with a less sugar is enough for me.” you said again, then Josh smiled broadly and kissed your lips gently.

Since Elise's death, the most different thing that you feel about your fiancé is that he hasn’t slept with you again. Of course sex isn’t everything in your life, and you don’t mind if your partner just wants to cuddle and kiss while sleeping all night, but this isn’t like Josh Lambert at all. So far, you have never asked to have sex openly through words, but what you have done is only through touch.

You once tried to have a hot and intense kiss with your fiancé and started touching his cock, but he just smiled and didn’t seems care about it.

“thank you,” you said in a low voice as Josh handed you a cup hot tea.

You and Josh sat at the dining table, facing each other, you said, “Josh… I want to come with you to buy some breakfast on the road later. I haven’t had time to buy food supplies. When you get to school, can I borrow your car to go to the Grocery Store?”

“Yes, yes of course hun..”

Josh smiled, holding your hand gently. You act very awkward in front of him, how could it not be? You literally live at home with your fiancé who is being possessed. But then again, you have no choice, you have to stay calm, until you can contact his mother.

When you arrived at school, you got out of the car. Josh, with his face still looking deathly pale, smiled at you as you adjusted his tie. He touched your face really gently, and then kissed your lips. He did a French kiss by playing with his tongue, you breathlessly said, “stop...Josh...stop. We’re at school.”

Students passed by you and Josh and they giggled and smiled.

You smiled at him, “you are a teacher, there are a right time when we do that. Now go, be a good teacher and not mislead.” You said while pushing Josh’s back.

“Your woman is very sexy, sir!” said a student passing them with his gang. That guy chewed his gum while staring at your butt.

Josh turned his head and looked at the child angrily. you say, "please don't get carried away."

Josh didn't say anything, he just stared at the child's back as he walked further away from them. You noticed that Josh was looking at the man with hatred.

“Josh…”

“I want to go first, it's my time to teach.” said Josh briefly.

When Josh was about to leave, you patted his shoulder, “I’m sorry, I almost forgot to put the breakfast we bought earlier in your bag.” You said, then quickly opened the car door and took the lunch box containing gourmet sandwiches.

“Just give me that…” you said, grabbing his briefcase and opening it.

You gasped and were shocked when you were about to put Josh’s breakfast into his bag. You almost dropped the bag, he was really confused.

“Are you okay, hun?” Josh asked with a confused face.

You covered your mouth, your body felt cold sweat now. Because what you see is a sharp knife inserted between the book and the document paper.

You were so shocked that you couldn't even speak a word. With a shaking body and very scared, you opened the car door and locked it as you got into the car.

“What’s wrong, hun? What’s wrong!” Josh asked, his facial expression changed to anger, and became so scary.

He hit the car window several times, “What's wrong? You can talk to me, don’t just go away!” When you started driving your car, he was still trying to open the car door and hit the car window, but you quickly left the school.

You shed your tears. Your body is still frozen, and you are very, very scared. As you drive, you turn on your phone and open Lorraine Lambert’s number to call her.

It didn't take long, after the cellphone rang, Lorraine voice began to be heard amidst your sobs.

“What's wrong, Y/N? What's wrong with you?” Lorraine asked panicked.

“I saw a knife in Josh's bag earlier, and… and I….” you stopped because you feel out of breath.

Lorraine from the phone line tried to calm you down, “Please calm down, I know you’re very scared right now...” said Lorraine, you turned the steering wheel of your car to the right, towards a quieter road.

“I’m going to your house now, please be careful on the road.” said Lorraine then quickly turned off the phone.

When you got home, you saw Lorraine waiting for you in the yard. You quickly ran and hugged her. Your body is shaking because you’re still very scared. You guys went into the house and from there you told Lorraine everything.

“I think that when Josh went into that other world, something else came back.”

I know, I can feel. I think he's possessed. you said while lowering your head, “He’s different, I... I feel like I live in this house with a stranger.”

“You have to leave this house quickly.” said Lorraine in a serious tone.

“No, I’m fine. I can live with him as if nothing had ever happened before,” you said, wiping your tears, “I know he’s there, Mom, I know,” you said. You really consider Lorraine like your own mother, considering that she also raised you.

“Y/N…. you have to be careful. I will ask them for help, you hold on.”

You hated that this was all happening to you again, but you had no other choice.

After a long conversation that morning, now Lorraine has left you alone at home. This is your decision, to face everything alone. Even though you are often haunted and followed by the ghost of a woman dressed in white, you are okay with that and you know you can survive in that house until...

You feel someone’s breath on your chest then the breath moves towards your neck. A soft and seductive breath making you wake up and realize that you were fast asleep on the couch after Lorraine’s visit.

You saw those blue eyes that looked so perfect with that deathly pale face that showed so much lust.

Without warning, Josh grabbed your body which was still on the couch. He bit your neck aggressively and full of lust. You froze, and surprisingly, you didn’t fight back at all. You just woke up and suddenly your fiancé who is being possessed is try to fuck you after you haven’t done it for a long time.

You know that he’s being possessed, but you’re suddenly weak, because miss that body…

and that dick.

“Hun, I’m really sorry... I should have explained to you about earlier. What you see… it was a carving knife. The art teacher there asked me to bring an art carving knife for wood carving leather crafts, because I used to have one..” Josh said in a very soft voice against your cheek.

“No, it wasn’t a carving knife, I saw it!” you said trying to defend yourself.

But Josh held your body, “Shhhh, hun, please stop being like this. You left me like before, all this time you were also scared and paranoid.”

“No, but…” you said but Josh quickly covered your lips with his index finger, “don't ruin this moment, bitch.”

Josh’s expression changed drastically to become very scary. He bit your neck causing you to let out a moan from your mouth. He put his body on top of you, his lips moved to your jaw and he kissed and lick your jaw very aggressively.

You felt Josh’s breath rising and falling on your neck and jaw. He said, “Your fragrance makes me even more crazy… than what I did before.”

You don’t understand what Josh means, about what crazy things he did before. You try to fight him, but you can’t. You were too weak for him, and he put you in paradise.

Josh’s right hand entered your thin shirt and he immediately opened your bra from behind. His fingers traced the perfect shape of your breasts through your shirt, and he played with your nipples with lazy movements.

You can’t deny it. He look dead and pale but that made him look even hot.

Josh opened your thin shirt roughly, almost tearing it. He unbuttoned your pants, and now inserted his fingers into your clit. He played with your clit then inserted two fingers into your pussy, he’s making you moan so loud.

He looks at you with a satisfied smile because he has made your pussy very wet.

Josh opened your leggings roughly. He starts to take out his hard cock and insert it into your vagina very quickly.

You can feel the couch that you’re laying on is very wet now. Josh fucked you very fast. Makes you moan very loudly all the way to the end of the room. Josh- who incidentally you know that he’s not really Josh because he’s being possessed, honestly…. whoever he is now, he fucks you really good.

“You’ve been waiting a long time for my cock into your pussy, right… slut?” said Josh then he started to speed up his movements. “You know what I’m doing, but you choose to stay here because you are a miserable bitch who wants me to fuck so hard like this?”

Josh kissed your lips very aggressively, then he choke your neck. He speeds up the movement of his hard big cock in you, making you even more out of breath because he’s choking you harder.

“Please...” you groaned, trying to pull Josh’s hands away which were choking your neck.

You thought at that moment he was going to kill you, but apparently he didn’t. He released the choke when he was cum in you.

Josh this time hugged your body, and continued his movements, which this time were gentler than before, he continued without removing his cock from inside you. It's like, he won’t stop until you’re completely cum.

“Why are you so beautiful...”Josh said hoarsely in your ear, he kept kissing your lips brutally, “you’re mine, no one can see your body and praise you except me.” Josh said against your lips.

He bites your neck again, and now your neck is very visible with red marks. You felt his big cock speed up in your pussy, and Josh kissed your jaw, you were instantly at your climax. Josh quickly takes his cock out of your pussy and then you cum everywhere.

Josh kissed you, “It was all worth it.”

You looked away and said, "Josh.. what were you doing before?” You emphasized the last word as he said it earlier.

Josh smiled as if he didn't know anything, “What? What do you mean?”

THE END.

Oi diva sou eu denovo,andei pensando em um Enzo todo submisso a mulher,com aquela cara de coitado,daqueles que choram por medo de perder a mulher,eu amo um homem com cara de coitado.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐀, aqui está! Desculpa a demora, tô tendo ideias muito mirabolantes e complicadas de se passar para a escrita 😭 mas acredito que consegui passar essa vibe Enzo homem pobre carente da coitadolandia que prefere morrer do que perder a mulher dele em vida, que faria de tudo por ela e deixa ela ser o mulherão que ela é.

^᪲notas da autora: homem bobo carente pela esposa em quantidade exorbitante!, homem romântico e escritor de cartinha para a lobinha dele!, 40's!, guerra com tempo encurtado!, enzo militar!, muito choro e alegria!, citação de sangue e feridas!, sexo!, sexo desprotegido (já sabem meu aviso, né lsdnetes?)!

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ você pede e a vampgi escreve.

𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐎 era 1944 e o mundo se desmoronava em ruínas. Os lares haviam sido rachados com as dores e sangramentos da Segunda Guerra Mundial. Os homens lutavam no campo de batalha, distantes de seus lares, das esposas e filhos, enquanto as mulheres tentavam manter a esperança viva nas pequenas cartas que, vez ou outra, chegavam com notícias de seus amados. Muitos soldados se mostravam inabaláveis diante do horror, mas a maioria não conseguia esconder as lágrimas quando encarava a iminência da morte.

Naquela tarde, na minúscula base médica no front latino -americano, lotada e onde o cheiro do sangue misturava-se ao odor forte de medicamentos e à fumaça que parecia impregnar cada canto; Soldados estadunidenses, brasileiros e de outros países da América passavam de um lado para o outro entre a vida e a morte. Enzo Vogrincic estava quase sem forças. Seu corpo estava encostado em uma parede manchada de mãos ensanguentadas, provavelmente de algum outro soldado ou médico que falhou em manter a vida. A camisa do uniforme verde camufla dele estava toda ensanguentada de batalhas passadas, mas seu ombro esquerdo estava com uma mancha de um sangue vivo e molhado.

Ele respirava ofegante, mas sua dor física era insignificante comparada ao medo que o corroía por dentro. Seus olhos de uma cor entre um tom de castanho médio e o mel estavam marejados, vermelhos e vidrados no além. A mandíbula travada denunciava o ranger dos dentes e escancarava a dificuldade de não soluçar tanto. Ele chorava.

De repente, um soldado chamando Fernando, muita das vezes sério, mas bom e compreensivo, se aproximou numa tentativa de acalmar os ânimos feridos em latência de seu amigo. Ele conhecia Enzo de antes da guerra, em encontros familiares, na casa de ambos onde suas respectivas esposas riram e conversaram bastante. Sabia da força de vontade e resistência do uruguaio, mas também sabia que a guerra cobrava um preço até dos mais bravos cavaleiros.

"Aguente firme, meu companheiro. Já já você vai ser atendido". Fernando disse quase gentil. Preocupado, sabia que Enzo era um dos melhores homens deles em campo.

"Não é a bala...". Enzo murmurou baixinho, a voz cortando enquanto afundava a cabeça nas mãos calejadas. "Porra, não é só isso, Fernando".

Fernando o olhou meio de lado, sem entender muito do que se tratava. "Então... o que é?".

"E se eu morrer, e se eu me for sem sequer poder dizer novamente o quanto eu a amo? Minha florcita, Fernando... ela é tudo para mim".

Um outro soldado, que deitado em um catre de madeira caindo aos pedaços, de perna ferida e gemidos profundos de dor, balbucionou em lamentação algo sobre ter força e coragem, sobre não deixar os seus demônios tomarem conta de tudo. Enzo riu em meio a tantas lágrimas.

Ele enxugou o rosto na manga comprida que cobria seu antebraço, mas logo outras mais velozes caíram. "Vocês não entendem. Minha esposa... ela". Parou, com um fungada baixinha, se sentindo completamente despedaçado. "Ela é a coisa mais linda que existe. Os olhinhos dela... tão escuros, como jabuticabas". A voz entrecortou uma vez e ele se lembrou de você. Da sua imagem, da sua risada. Ele se lembrou de como você sempre o esperava. Do sabor de seus bolos, do seu tempero tão gostoso. "E o cabelo dela... enrolado, sabe? Sempre com aqueles bobs, tão formosa, tão... minha. E se eu nunca mais viver isso?".

A frase era cheia de chamego, de dengo, da realidade do quanto Enzo era completamente devoto por você. Agarrado a sua beleza e sua alma como uma âncora. E o silêncio que se seguiu foi uma reação disso. Todos ali tinham algo ou alguém para qual voltar depois do céu nublado, mas Enzo não se importava em transparecer esse processo com mais tristeza.

Logo os médicos chegaram. Revestidos com linhas, pinças e um único propósito: salvar o maior número de vidas. Um deles levou Enzo para uma sala menor. Tinha um catre pequeno no canto, pior do que o do soldado que recitou sobre força, e sentado, observou a área médica.

Em uma mesinha próxima, uma bacia com água fervente e álcool era usada para esterelizar os utensílios. Ali também tinham um frasco éter, bandagens e mais. O médico estava concentrado, abrindo alguns botões do uniforme de Enzo até poder tirar a manga e expor a ferida. Foi com um pedaço de gaze umidecido em algo que evitou maior infecção no ombro afetado do soldado.

Ele percebeu os olhos marejados de Vogrincic, mas não comentou. Todos ali tinham as suas vezes de cair em prantos. E a escassez de matérias mais eficazes, levou o velho no jaleco a usar o resquício de éter para dar uma anestesia geral em Enzo, visto que o estado emocional poderia comprometer a situação e piorar ainda mais a dor.

Enquanto se encarregava de tirar a bala, o senhorzinho, de cabelos brancos e muito vivido, encontrou algo que o fez repensar suas escolhas de vida. No bolso do uniforme de Enzo, uma carta intacta, não lida por ninguém a não ser a mente de seu próprio escritor. O envelope externo tinha um prólogo da mensagem.

"De um homem comum, para seu grande amor.

Eternamente seu marido,

Enzo V".

Ele pensou que talvez a pessoa destinada para ler aquele papel, nunca fosse receber essa carta. Mas provavelmente pôde sentir o amor de Enzo Vogrincic durante grande parte de sua vida. E sim, você sentiu. Ele sorriu, e guardou a carta novamente no mesmo bolsinho.

__________

Quase três anos de guerra depois, ele voltava. Após tanto sangue e bombardeios, o mundo tinha conseguido subir minimamente até a paz. A guerra finalmente acabou e os céus estavam limpos. Os soldados estavam animados, alguns tinham um dedo a menos, um olho ferido. Outros sequer puderam voltar vivos. Mas Enzo tinha pelo o que agradecer, depois de todo aquele tempo de agonia estava voltando para os braços de sua florcita.

Olhando para o horizonte belo atrás da janela, ele sorriu para a vida. "Me espere, pode ser na estação, ou até em nossa casinha... só me espere, minha amada. Eu voltarei hoje". E então, o trem embarcou em viagem.

Em uma manhã límpida, o sol brilhava mais, como se até ele parecesse saber da chegada da paz naquele lugar. A cidade de Montevidéu estava em um alvoroço. Mulheres de toda a cidade, sendo elas, filhas, mães, esposas, vestidas com a elegância da época e com sorrisos mais que afetuosos se reuniam na estação ferroviária do centro da cidade. Você sequer tinha conseguido dormir naquela noite, o coração quase explodindo de tanta saudade.

Colocou seu melhor vestido, um na altura dos joelhos, de um tecido de poá, muito gostoso e leve. O favorito de Enzo. Ele dizia que a florcita dele ficava mais formosa com aquele vestido. Acompanhado de um cinto fininho, é claro.

Já na estação, se podia ver muitas mulheres despedaçadas, que provavelmente já sabiam da morte de seus homens, e só esperavam o uniforme deles como uma triste e fervorosa lembrança do que eles tinham feito para um mundo melhor. Sem respostas e apenas uma esperança guardada no peito, se sentou em um banco.

"Volte para mim, meu marido. Volte que eu te tomo em meus braços". Rezava para si.

De longe era possível ouvir os cantos felizes dos soldados, as vozes roucas que ressoavam ao som de alguma música de Frank Sinatra. Mas foi no barulho da locomotiva, que então, anunciou a parada. O trem finalmente chegava em Montevidéu e de lá de dentro, a festa parecia grande.

Os soldados estavam dançando de um lado para o outro, em fim, em paz. De repente, um ajudante do motorista começou a entrar em cada um dos vagões e em todos, suas palavras calmas eram as mesmas. "Peguem suas coisas rapazes, e voltem para a felicidade". Enzo tomou aquelas palavras como suas, as repetiu para os amigos próximos, as lágrimas voltando as olhos bonitos enquanto suas mãos tremiam na alça das malas.

Sem seguir ordens ou serem finos e educados, todos eles desceram, se esbarrando e até malas caindo. E de repente não havia sequer espaço na estação. Os homens corriam e seguravam suas mulheres nos braços, beijavam suas filhas com saudades e sentiam o carinho de suas mães. Enquanto outras passavam pela dor da perda. A mala na mão de Enzo vacilou dos dedos trêmulos quando te viu e as suas pernas também. Você usava o vestido de poá favorito dele, você se lembrou. Tinha prometido que usaria exatamente aquele na volta dele.

Estava linda. Estava estonteante, como uma princesinha e as lágrimas desceram forte pelas bochechas dele. Quando estava um pouco mais perto de ti, se deixou cair. Em uns tropeços de ansiedade e o peso das bagagens trazidas, ele se deixou deslizar até os seus pés.

Com joelhos no chão, ele segurava em seu vestido, as mãos fortes até demais que pareciam só matar a saudade quando cravadas em seu corpo. "Florcita... minha amada e formosa florcita". O rosto vermelho do homem se enterrou nas suas mãos delicadas quando você resolveu se ajoelhar perante dele, ele amou sentir o seu toque outra vez, sentiu falta dele. Seus lábios se arrastaram por sua pele, ele beijou ali como se tivesse encontrado um bom minério. Com um biquinho nos lábios marcados pela demora desse reencontro, os olhos ardentes, ele sussurrou. "Eu voltei... para nós. E-eu disse que voltaria".

Rindo para os ventos da cidade, você não demorou em rodar as mãos pelo rosto de Enzo, para beijar aqueles cabelos cheios dele. Para o levantar.

Já estando de pé, o uruguaio te abraçava, te tocava com o pensamento mais leve de todos. Sabendo que ele poderia não estar mais ali, mas estava. Você deslizou um dedo pelos lábios de seu marido e logo deixou um beijo meio tímido e marejados de lágrimas ali. Manchando a boca dele, que te olhava como um bebê. "Sim! Sim, você voltou, meu querido". Exclamou.

Ganhando mais ânimo, Enzo te ergueu no ar mesmo aos beijos, e a girou contra ele em um momento quase íntimo para uma demostração pública, mas ele nem sequer se importou. Um pouco tontos, perderam o equilíbrio ali e acabaram no chão, mas aquela pequena dor não afetou nenhum dos dois. E ao invés disso, a risada de vocês se misturou com choro e contra seus lábios, em meio a um beijo do século, ele respondeu.

"Eu sou e serei eternamente seu, florcita".

Mesmo estando no chão, o soldado não resistiu em ficar assim por mais um pouco, abraçados, ele te colocou para se sentar no colo dele e acariciou seu belo rostinho. "Somente seu". Tinha um tom brincante, porém choroso em sua voz. Ele com um semblante de menino perdido, admirava-te, os seus olhos de jabuticaba madura iluminando a vida dele.

Quando estavam finalmente em casa, sem uniformes ou amarras, não demorou para cair em dengo. Em um estado de completa exaustão, o homem apenas sorriu enquanto a seguia para cada quanto da casa de vocês. Quando você descia para a cozinha, ele descia, quando ia ao banheiro ou para o quintal, ele ia igual. Naquele momento em questão, você preparava a massa do bolo favorito dele, de trigo com brigadeiro de maracujá.

Agarrado por detrás de ti, as mãos fortes de Enzo na sua cintura enquanto o rosto se entregava ao bom cheiro do perfume que marcava o seu pescoço. "Você vai fazer bolo?". Ele perguntou, olhando de mansinho para a panela.

"Vou sim, meu bem". Ele te apertou ainda mais contra ele e tudo que respondeu antes de seguir o interessante aroma de seu pescoço foi um... "Eu gosto do seu bolo".

"Todos os dias, há treze anos, você diz essa mesma frase".

"Eu sei". Beijou seu ombro delicadamente e encostando a bochecha ali, ele te olhava enquanto o bolo era preparado. Você era tão linda, a mulher mais formosa e a flor mais cheirosa de Montevidéu. A música abafada pelo rádio que precisava de consertos o animava, e ele balançava o corpo junto ao seu em meio a risadas.

Mais tarde, naquele mesmo dia ainda, Enzo adormeceu completamente no chão mesmo da sala de estar, só com a brisa do ventilador e uma calça de tecido macio, e enquanto você dobrava as roupas que estavam separadas para ir a máquina de lavar, encontrou algo que você não esperava.

A carta. Com um cuidado para não rasgá-la, desdobrou o papel para ler, mas tudo que encontrou foram as mais belas e românticas das palavras do mundo. Transcritas naquele pedaço de papel amarelo, em uma letra rebuscada e culta, a carta dizia:

"Minha doce esposa,

Sei que essas palavras podem nunca chegar até você, mas preciso escrevê-las. Preciso, pelo menos, tentar. Eu estou sentado num lugar onde a dor e o desespero tomam conta de todos. Meu ombro está ferido, mas a maior ferida está no meu peito. É o medo de não poder voltar para você.

Porque você é tudo que eu tenho de mais precioso. Sempre foi. Quando fecho os olhos, vejo seus olhinhos de jabuticaba brilhando, vejo os cachinhos que você enrola nos bobs com tanto cuidado... E meu coração dói por saber que posso nunca mais tocar seu rosto.

Eu rezo para que Deus me permita voltar, para que eu possa segurar as tuas mãos de novo. Mas, se isso não acontecer, saiba que te amei com cada parte de mim. Você é a razão de eu estar aqui hoje, lutando. De eu ser quem sou.

Eu queria poder te abraçar agora, sentir seu cheiro, ouvir sua risada... Você é surreal, minha florcita, etérea demais. Minha mulherzinha. Se eu não voltar, por favor, prometa que será feliz. Viva por nós dois.

Com todo o amor que cabe em meu peito,

Enzo V".

E então, você chorou. Por ler o medo de Enzo de te perder, pelo sentimento tão latente que ele ainda tinha por você. Sempre teria. Porque soldado ou não, Enzo Vogrincic, não poderia em nenhuma circunstância, ser definido de outra maneira a não ser, completamente seu.

A carta foi guardada na gaveta da cômoda, entre as suas vestes, segura e que você um dia, diria abertamente a ele que havia sido tocada por suas palavras.

Bônus.

Quando finalmente então, Enzo acordou, a casinha estava em um silêncio confortável. A sala de estar era iluminada apenas por um pequeno abajur, seu corpo estava coberto por um macio lençol que você havia deixado sobre ele ainda quando era cedo. Ele sentia sua cabeça pesada, ainda um pouco grogue graças ao sono e com alguns segundos de recobrar o equilíbrio, se ergueu. O uruguaio te chamou uma vez, "Florcita". Te chamou outra. E você nada.

Com um bico do tamanho do mundo nos lábios, andou de um lado para o outro nos cômodos da casa, foi ao banheiro da área de baixo, na cozinha, no quintal. Logo, só restava um lugar, o quarto de vocês.

"Florcita? Minha formosa florcita?". Disse ao entrar, batendo na porta baixinho para avisar da sua presença. E você não estava na cama. Pensando um pouquinho onde estaria, ele se surpreendeu com o barulho do chuveiro caindo no azulejo do banheiro. Sorriu.

Vogrincic sentiu o seu pobre coração quase parar. Tirando a calça do seu pijama e a cueca junto, o homem caminhou nu até o banheiro com passos de cachorrinho, leves e que não fossem bem ouvidos por você.

Assim que entrou, derreteu completamente com a visão de você. Com o shampoo no cabelo, os olhinhos fechados. A mente dele não conseguia processar direito quando olhava para você. Seu corpo era muito, para um homem tão pouco como ele. Ele caminhou e entrou no box, tomando o seu corpo nos braços dele.

"Enzo!". Você gritou surpresa, apertando ainda mais os seus olhos.

Ele beijou seu pescoçinho, deslizando devagar a língua ali e deixando uma marquinha vermelinha, te trazendo cada vez mais contra ele. "Oi", sussurrou todo carente. "Preciso de você... deixa eu te comer, florcita". Pediu. Ele lhe ajudou a tirar o shampoo e suspirou quando você abriu um olho.

Sua cabeça encostou no peito dele, quando o uruguaio a prendeu contra a parede. Aquele seu olhar, aquela maldita transição entre a sua doçura usual e o tesão deixava ele completamente aos seus pés. Podia fazer tudo que você o pedisse. Ele ficou assim agarradinho por alguns minutos, mas não demorou para sentir o pau dele roçando a parte interna de sua coxa.

"Deixa, florcita... eu preciso sentir você me apertando... por favor".

Acenando suavemente, você percebeu como os olhos dele te admiravam por completo, as sobrancelhas franzida quase como se implorasse para foder você depois de dois anos e nove meses longe por conta daquela miserável guerra. Você talvez, não soubesse como fazia feliz a esse uruguaio, você ser a mulher dele. Como ele poderia morrer, mas não viver sem você.

Enzo te pegou no colo com uma facilidade indescritível, sem dar a mínima para o banho, desligou o chuveiro. Ele te guiou até a cama, a deitando com aquele carinho que foi sempre parte dos momentos quentes de vocês. A expressão amoada, de pobre coitado, denunciava o amor que residia naquele homem louco por você.

Ele se sentou na cama, as pernas grossonas bem abertas para que você pudesse encaixar a sua bucetinha no pau dele com a extrema perfeição. "Vem, senta em mim, mi florcita".

Com uma risadinha, que levou o arzinho da sua respiração para o rosto dele pela proximidade, você engatinhou para se sentar no colo do seu marido, uma perninha de cada lado antes de segurar o membro dele daquele jeitinho que o fazia agarrar mais forte seu quadril, e gemer baixinho e rouco no seu ouvido. Sem fazer muito alarde, você o encaixou no seu buraquinho carente, e sentou nele para que ele sentisse seu apertinho. O que você fazia com ele, a forma como você se movia sobre ele, como acelerava e desacelerava e encaixava o pau dele todinho dentro de você o deixava alucinando. Você era a dona daquele homem.

"M-mi amor... assim- eu te amo". Ele gemia, se encostando na cabeceira da cama, como quem sabe a esposa que tem, apenas relaxando enquanto você montava em Enzo com o conhecimento de quem tem um homem na palma da sua mão.

Seus gemidos faziam ele gemer mais, e suas mãos no peito dele faziam as dele apertar ainda mais seu quadril. Você acelerava, cada cavalgada que carregava menos fôlego, porém mais velocidade.

E no fim da noite, depois de quase três anos de angústia tenebrosa, Enzo Vogrincic se sentia realizado por estar de volta. Dormindo bem agarradinhos, o pau do homem ainda dentro de você, ele sabia que tinha o ouro da vida.

Você adormeceu de conchinha com ele e ainda de olhos abertos, mas quase caindo em sono, ele deixou um beijo na sua bochecha. "Até amanhã, esposa. Irei sonhar com você".

^᪲𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄 — Prontinho, revisado e depois de muitas lágrimas. Espero que esteja ao seu gosto, @lilablanc.

My parents have a “Festivus” party every year and this year I found this sign on their bedroom door

okay... hear me out, friends to lovers with franco.. but a little more ✨spicy✨

you meet at a party of a mutual friend after a few friendly encounters before and at somepoint the conversation shifts to sexual experience. reader gets some kinks exposed and franco is very intrigued by that, suggesting he's very interested in exploring those kinks and more with them👀

You'd met Franco a few times, through mutual friends. And every single time there was a spark.  

Tonight was no different.  

Warnings: discussion around lots of kinks, smut, choking, restraints, mirror sex, recording, as usual too many petnames, sort of edging?, multiple orgasms, kinda unhinged at the end, Franco is a flirt and a tease, alcohol, friends to lovers I guess although the lovers part isn't really discussed  

Each time you came into contact with each other, your friends would roll their eyes at the shameless flirting. 

But every time it fizzled out when the evening ended and you would both go your separate ways with a shake of the hand and a “it's been a pleasure”. 

Tonight Franco was determined to not let you go that easily. 

He had a plan. Which was basically, go in early, and go in hard. 

So to speak. 

Very early on, he’d made you take a few shots with him to loosen you both up, then all but dragged you over to a couch to plant you on his lap. 

“Let’s talk” he said, grabbing a large glass of something you both could share as you yapped. 

And yap you did, about anything and everything, for hours. 

His hands wandered over your bare thighs and you kept slapping them away, giggling about how you were in public. But he could see the blush creep onto your cheeks every time, he could see how much you were definitely tempted. 

He just needed to find a way to make you give in to temptation. 

Ideas trotted around his brain, until one of your mutual, and very drunk at this point, friends came over and begged you to play a game of ‘never have I ever’. 

You and Franco rolled your eyes at the childish suggestion, but followed, and somehow ended up on opposite sides of the circle on the floor of the large living room. 

You all had glasses at varying degrees of fullness while the questions remained mild. 

Then it was your best friend’s turn, and she nudged your side cheekily, looking straight at Franco when she said “Never have I ever... had sex in a car”  

Franco’s eyes narrowed at her as he took a sip, and everyone cheered loudly at him. A couple of others in the circle followed and took sips of their own drinks. 

He looked at you and you giggled at him. “You haven’t?” he mouthed over the noise and you shook your head. 

He shrugged with a shy smile and the game moved on. 

Until your same best friend, obviously trying to achieve something with her questions, asked a question obviously aimed at you, this time. 

“Never have I ever had sex in front of a mirror!” 

She looked excessively proud of herself, and you huffed and took a sip, glancing at Franco, who did not drink but was looking at you with a raised eyebrow. 

You winked and shrugged at him, turning to your friend who looked slightly dissapointed. 

“What are you trying to do mate?” 

She giggled. “I’m playing a game with Gaby!” she motioned to Franco’s friend, sitting a few spaces to your right “First one who manages to find something that you and Franco have both done, wins” 

You scoffed at their ridiculous antics. “Jesus, you two are unbelievable” 

The game continued, your friends finding increasingly ridiculous things to say. 

“Face time sex!” (you drank to that one) 

“Choking!” (you both drank and Gaby cheered) 

“Anal!” and Franco drank hesitantly, but when someone asked “giving or recieving?” he blushed and quickly changed the subject. 

As the questions went on, you noticed a trend. You were drinking at almost every single one, and Franco... well he was getting increasingly flustered every time he noticed you take a sip. 

So far he’d learned you liked dirty talk, mirrors, spanking,  being filmed (his dick twitched at that one), and your favourite position was bent over (it apparently didn’t matter what). 

Gaby shrugged, apparently out of ideas of dirty things to say and most of the others seemed to have given up, so the game ended and you got up to get more drinks from the kitchen. 

Franco followed eagerly, ignoring the knowing looks from his peers. 

“Any other kinks I should know about?” he sidled up to you, leaning an arm on the counter. 

“I don’t know why you should know about any of my kinks, frankly” you feigned nonchalance by taking another gulp of your drink and looking away. But the façade crumbled when you choked in response to his next words. 

“I want to know what you like.” he purred, leaning in closer to your ear “I want to know everything about you, and that includes how to please you” 

You were blushing furiously. How dare he be so smooth. 

“After tonight you know more than enough, don’t you think?” your breath hitched when one of his hands brushed your exposed thigh. 

“Aaah, come on” he groaned “there has to be something else, something you haven’t said yet”  

His face was inches from yours, your breaths mingling as the tension in the kitchen rose to unbearable levels. 

“I’ll tell you what.” you gulped, mesmerised by his eyes boring into yours “if you’re still interested when you’re sober, come over to my place and I’ll show you” 

His pupils dilated and he licked his lips as he took in your words.  

“Okay” he said simply. 

But neither of you made any effort to move away from each other, in fact, you could swear he was getting closer. 

His eyes flicked to your lips briefly, he was breathing hard and his brows were furrowed together in slight frustration. 

“Can I at least kiss you?” he whispered and the slight nod you responded with was enough for him to crash his lips to yours. 

It was desperate and messy, but terribly satisfying as you both felt months of tension finally snapping and becoming something real. 

Reflecting back on it the next day, you barely remembered it, and you definitely didn’t remember the offer you made him. 

Several aspirins and a shower had done the trick to avoid a hangover, but your memories didn’t really come back as you went about your day. 

It wasn’t until the evening, and you were just about ready to order take out, when you recieved a text. 

“Can I come over now? I’m sober ;)" 

You gasped as last night’s conversation came back to you in pieces, and your fingers typed out a response before your brain even had a chance to think of something less desperate. 

“Was about to order food, but I’m sure you’ll taste better” 

He saw the message, and you waited several minutes, but the reply never came. 

You started getting worried so you sent another. 

“Franco?”  

He saw it immediately, and the answer came soon after. 

“Cant type driving” 

You laughed at his eagerness and sat down on your couch, scrolling through your phone while you waited. 

It felt like an eternity before you heard the screech of tyres sliding on the road, and you instinctively knew it was him. 

Your suspicions were confirmed when he rapped on your door with enough force to definitely warrant you checking for damage to his knuckles. 

You opened the door for him and he was about to step forward immediately, but he froze mid-step and his breath hitched when his eyes fell on you. 

You frowned at him gaping at you and looked down at yourself. 

“What- what’s the matter?” 

His gaze softened and he stepped closer to you, lifting you up by your thighs and kicking the door shut behind him as he carried you inside. 

“I have never seen you without makeup...” he muttered, and you blushed at the realisation.  

“Oh... uhmm” you squirmed but his hold tightened on your body, holding you up with his impressive strength, unmoving in the middle of your messy living room. But you were the only thing he was able to look at. 

 “You are so beautiful” he wasn’t exactly helping your blushing, but it was nice to be appreciated. 

“We would make the most beautiful babies” he muttered and you burst out laughing at the out of pocket comment. 

He chuckled at himself and let you down, but didn’t let go of his his hold on you. 

“You gonna stand there and look stupid or are you going to kiss me?” you asked and he gasped softly in mock offence, but did lean down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. 

You could by the way he kissed you that there was a deep hunger inside him, and you were equally hungry for him, so the kiss quickly deepened as you pawed at each other. 

“Franco” you panted “The bedroom is that way” 

You pointed to the hallway and he nodded, picking you up again and carrying you all the way to your bed. 

He set you down, and kneeled on the floor between your legs. 

“You remember our conversation from yesterday?” 

You bit your lip “Yeah, why?” 

He smiled evilly. 

“Then you remember that you need to tell me another one of your kinks”  

You groaned, blushing at the memory. Right. 

“I uhh… I can't remember which ones you already know about…” 

He smiled and climbed onto the bed, caging you in underneath him. 

“Then tell me a few, and I'll tell you which ones I want to try” 

He leaned down to kiss you softly before sitting up, legs either side of your hips so that you couldn't squirm away and escape. 

Your blush was slowly deepening and Franco melted, seeing you so shy under him even though he knew you were filthy was really getting him going. 

“What is it, querida? Cat got your tongue?”  

He chuckled, trailing a hand up your body until it reached your neck, and he wrapped it around your throat. 

Your breath hitched and he smirked. 

“I seem to remember you liking this one. Tell me, what else is there?” 

You gulped, and he felt it under his hand, which turned him on even more for some reason. 

“Uhm… well I like it rough.” 

He smiled and leaned down to peck your cheek. 

“That's a start… anything more specific you want me to do to you?” he whispered in your ear and you shivered at his tone. 

“I like… being tied up. Restrained.”  

He hummed as he kissed down the skin of your neck. “Carry on” 

“I uhh… like being spanked” you said breathlessly “and also…” 

You turned your head to the side and he followed your gaze. 

To the left of your bed was a massive mirror. 

Your eyes met in the refection and he chuckled. 

“Ah yes I remember…” he looked back at you and you looked up at him “and I remember something about… filming?” 

You bit your lip and nodded. 

“Tell me about that” he muttered breathlessly. 

“Well, the idea that you'd find me appealing enough to want to record me- it turns me on. Like that you'd like it enough to want to be able to rewatch the moment whenever you want… I don't know it's silly I guess” 

You hid behind your hands, which was not the right thing to do because Franco caught your wrists and pressed them into the bed above your head. 

“You are beautiful enough to record, and I would be a lucky man to have proof of what I'm about to do to you.” He hovered menacingly, his irises black with desire “and if you feel the need to hide yourself, then I am definitely going to tie your arms behind your back.” 

You gasped and he crawled off the bed. “Now strip” 

You ended up naked, on his lap with his hands running up and down your body in an effort to drive you to the brink of madness. 

And it was working. 

He had indeed tied your hands behind your back, just for the fun of it, to give him a taste of what you would let him do to you in the future. 

His eyes drifted to the mirror, which you had your back to, while he was facing it, and he groaned at the image. 

“Mi vida” he pressed a kiss to your lips “Can I take a picture? You look so good on top of me like this”  

You glanced back at the mirror and smiled. 

“Of course”  

He grabbed his phone and snapped a quick picture before tossing it further up the bed, for later. 

His clothed cock was starting to hurt, so he made quick work of his boxers and poisitioned his tip at your entrance. 

“You ready?” he winked, and you nodded, sinking down on him, inch by glorious inch until you were fully seated on his lap. 

You moaned low in your throat. He felt so good inside you, so perfect, you had to take a few seconds to recompose yourself. 

He bounced you on his lap a few times and you whined loudly in response.  

You let out little cut off ahh, aah, ahh's on every bounce and you could feel him deep inside you. 

His hands were on your hips to steady you as he grinned like a devil, continuing his movements. 

It was overwhelming, your legs were already jelly so you couldn't control the pace, you were just a dead weight for him to use as he pleased while he watched your tits bounce as he pounded into you from below. 

You couldn't even use his chest to stabilise yourself given that your hands were tied, so you let him bounce you like a ragdoll, hoping that your loud cries wouldn't disturb the neighbours. 

Eventually he stopped bouncing you and just rolled his hips lazily, making sure to hit all those spots inside you that would drive you wild. 

Your legs trembled and you whimpered pathetically.  

“Franco… please, I'm so close” 

He cooed and bounced you a couple of times to tease you and you mewled at the stimulation. 

“What do you need, baby?” 

You looked down at him, grinding your hips in circles in search of friction. 

“I need you to touch me, please I can't do it with my hands tied” you whined, frustration evident in your voice. 

He chuckled meanly and rubbed his hands over your stomach, up to cup your tits and tease your nipples, with that devilish grin still on his face. 

“Francoooo…” you whined and he laughed, the movement making you bounce slightly. 

“What? You didn't tell me where to touch, you need to be more specific” 

You eyes shot daggers at him and he just laughed at you, one of his hands going up to hold your neck firmly in his grasp, while his hips continued their maddening grind. 

He squeezed, very briefly cutting off your air flow and you moaned. 

“Tell me” he teased “Where do you want me to touch you?” 

“My- my pussy, please Franco”  

His hips bucked involuntarily at your whiny voice. He didn't know he'd be so turned on by you submitting so completely to him. 

“I need to come, please touch me, please” you chanted like a prayer as you got closer to the edge, but you needed that little extra push that you couldn’t do yourself. 

“Here?” 

The hand that wasn't around your neck travelled south, and his thumb ghosted over your clit as you gasped “yes! Yes please, right there”  

Tears were threatening to fall down your cheeks as you got more desperate, and you looked so pathetic he gave in to your pleading. He used his thumb to rub circles on that tight bundle of nerves, and bounced you gently on his cock at the same time. 

You all but shrieked, as you curled over on yourself when your orgasm hit, it was so strong. 

Your whole body was clenching and shuddering as the intense pleasure washed over you in waves. 

Before you could slump over completely, Franco lifted you up and flipped you so that you could lie on the bed while you slowly regained the feeling in your limbs. 

“Jesus Christ, Franco” you sounded winded and he chuckled. 

“Oh I am not done with you yet” 

Your head whipped up, and indeed he was still hard, admiring you from above while stroked himself lazily. 

Your eyes widened and you realised the man in front of you was a tad more sadistic than you thought. 

He helped you get off the bed and kneel on the floor, this time facing the mirror. 

“Look at yourself. Look how beautiful you are” he muttered from behind you as he untied your hands. 

“Now bend over darling, but keep your eyes focused on the mirror while I fuck you” 

You whimpered, doing as you were told as you leaned on your elbows, arching your back so that you could look at what he was doing in the mirror. 

Thank god for carpeted floors, because you were going to be quite bruised at the end of this. 

He snatched his phone off the bed, opening the camera app and looked at you. 

“I would be a fool not to film this, you are so pretty and exposed like this” he ran a finger up the inside of your thigh, gathering the evidence of your previous orgasm and bringing it to his lips. 

He pushed his cock inside you in one swift move, making sure the camera picked up the way your cunt swallowed him in greedily. 

Every thrust echoed in the room because of how wet your thighs were, and it was only getting worse because with this angle, he was hitting your g-spot dead on. 

“Fuck!” you hissed, and Franco could tell you were having trouble keeping your head up, so his other hand came to tangle in your hair and pull it up himself. 

That made your back arch even more and the angle hit deeper inside you. 

He filmed the way your breaths were coming out fast and uneven as your lidded eyes stared at him through the reflection. 

Franco could feel himself getting close, so he flipped the camera and leaned over you to prop his phone up against the mirror. 

He wrapped his arms around you, one coming back up to hold you up by your neck, the other going down to circle your clit once again. In this position he could use the leverage to pound into you harder than ever, moans tumbling from you both freely. 

It was almost animalistic, they way he rutted into you, and all you could do was take it. 

Your eyes met in the mirror, and he leaned in to pant in your ear “Look at the camera when you come, baby. I want to see it” 

He kissed your cheek sweetly and the contrast in behaviour sent you barreling into your second orgasm, gushing around him as he bullied his cock into you as hard as he dared, and with the noises you were making, you were definitely going to get a complaint from the neighbours. 

It only took a few more thrusts for Franco to come inside you with a deep groan. 

He held you like that, both of you panting and coming down from your orgasms as you waited for your breathing to even out. 

“Please tell me you're done now” you panted. 

He chuckled and kissed your cheek again.  

“For tonight, yes” 

You gave him an unimpressed look while he pulled out and reached for his phone to turn the video off. 

“What? Did you not enjoy tonight?” he asked with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes at him. 

“I think the wet spot on the carpet speaks for itself” 

He giggled, wrapping you in his arms and kissing you deeply. 

“Well, we will be making more wet spots tomorrow” he said cockily. 

You hummed and looked up at him mischievously, giving him a quick peck before making your way towards the bathroom for a well deserved shower. 

His gaze followed your movements questioningly. 

“I suppose we'll be seeing who exactly will be making the wet spots, you just wait!”  

You called out the next words from the bathroom, and he froze, remembering what he'd admitted to the night before. 

“Until I get the strap-on out!…” 

In Ho headcanons | (NSFW)

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (player 001/the front man) x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, dub/noncon, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. thanos story in the works rn!! I have writers block so to help a little I'm making some hcs 4 this baddie (prob ooc)

hwang inho, the man that protected you from Thanos and his stupid friend during the first day of the games. he shoo'ed them away. stopping their harassment and took you with him with the rest of the group

hwang inho, the man that gives you his milk. reassuring you every time that its okay for you to have it, and it'll help you get stronger.

hwang inho, the man that checks up on you throughout the night. standing over you to make sure you're getting your nights rests. making sure no creeps try touching your delicate skin.

hwang inho, the man that lets touches linger a little longer than they should, whether its on your hands, thighs, waist..his touches feel more than platonic

hwang inho, the man that tells the guards to make sure you stay safe, to kill a player that hasn't broken the rules if they had to. anything to make sure you stay safe.

hwang inho, the man that would excuse himself to the bathroom just to touch himself to the thought of you. whether its your calm voice or plush hands that feel so soft and delicate...he just couldn't help it.

hwang inho, the man that squeezes your thighs when no ones looking...and when you express discomfort he used his past generosity as an excuse for it.

hwang inho, the man that will kiss you in the middle of the night with no warning. telling you to be quiet and take the kiss because if it were any other man it would've been worse.

hwang inho, the man that will find the perfect timing to sneak away from everyone else with you. he'll make you strip for him in the bathroom. savoring every inch of your body before he sends you away, leaving him in there alone to masturbate.

hwang inho, the man that wont let you sleep. he'll grope and squeeze your thighs, tits and ass. feeling you up while you hold in tears.

hwang inho, the man that reminds you this is your fault when you cry to him during a bathroom strip session. expressing how uncomfortable this makes you and how you don't want it anymore.

hwang inho, the man that will tell you nothing in the world is free. and your body will be the payment he receives for being so generous with you.

hwang inho, the man that gets hard thinking about your age gap. how youre only 19 and he's in his 40's..he loves it.

hwang inho, the man that slips his fingers inside of you when the lights are off, fingering you aggressively. reminding you once again that it'd be so much worse if he wasn't such a nice man.

hwang inho, the man that captures you during the raid against the guards. forcing you to stare into the eyes of your past friends as he kills them.

hwang inho, the man that keeps you as his pet after the games end. reminding you you're lucky because he spoils you with money.

hwang inho, the man that doesn't let you socialize with anyone after he's gotten his grip on you.

Another not: this one is pretty short compared to my last fic, this was to just try n get me out of writers block. expect a Thanos fic to pop up tmr. sorry if this sucked/was ooc, I tried my best T T~~

Hello! I would like to make a request about Dae-Ho, a character I love. I would like the story to show how Dae-Ho and the reader develop a special connection during the games, despite being on opposite sides. She is part of Thanos' team, but they still interact frequently. On one of those nights, they kiss and promise to get to know each other better once it's all over. However, that promise is not fulfilled because she dies in the carousel game.

I hope this story fits the bill. Happy holidays! <3

Anything Is Possible?

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- You are number 230's, rapper Choi Su-bong, sister. Just because you are on 'Thanos Team', does that mean you can Dae-Ho cant get together? Will you survive long enough?

Warnings- Squid Games, Angst, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- I combined this ask with another anon request, "badass reader and daeho! maybe she is related to 100 and that's why the romance is kind of forbidden but she doesn't agree with his actions and thinks daeho is very cute. I would love a first kiss between the two, which she initiated and he was all embarrassed but really excited" I hope y'all don't mind, they were very similar!

Word Count- 4,605

"What is your problem!" You found yourself yelling at your brother. While this was not uncommon, the situation surely was. Thanos the rapper, or just known as Choi Su-bong to you, had pushed several people down on purpose. This killed them in the Red light, Green light game.

"You killed them!" You continued, though he did not seem to care.

"Look, as far as 'The Thanos' is concerned, each body means more cash for MOI!" He spoke, uncaring.

"Oh, and if it was me, would you let me get shot!" You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down.

He looked around, checking for any guards. He then slipped out his cross form under his shirt. You knew he had some kind of drug in there.

"Look, if it will shut you up, you can have one. But keep your mouth closed!" He ushered his cross in your direction. You rolled your eyes.

"I'd like to at least be aware of my surrounding in a death defying game!" "Shhh, Shhhh!" His face scrunched up as he looked at you, offended. He thought someone might have been drawn to your choice words.

You scoffed and walked off, sitting on the edge of a bed to catch a train of thought.

With a puff, you pressed your head into your hands. Could you really go on like this? Risking your life? Then it hit you, your life was over either way. Loan sharks were bound to kill you the second you left... Might as well go out with a bang?

The gruesome thought lingered until you felt the bed sink next to you.

"Thanos, I don't want to-" You looked up to not see your brother. Instead a man with a '388' on his jacket.

"Well I'm not sure who 'Thanos' is, but are you doing okay?" He looked genuinely concerned.

You started at him for a second, "Like fifty people just died..."

He faltered, "W-well yeah... Obviously you aren't okay... I just, I saw you arguing with that guy... The one with purple hair." You sigh again at his response. Well, this might be the last conversation you ever have. Why not be an open book!

"That's my brother. He thinks since he got one hit song, he can boss anyone around." You again rolled your eyes at the thought of him.

"Oh... I see. I-I have three older sisters, I know how it can get." He said, trying to offer you some sort of condolence.

You gave a side smile at him, appreciative of his efforts. "Thanks... What got you into these games?" You figured there's no reason for 'proper exchanges.' What was the point anymore?

He seemed ashamed at the question. "Sorry, if it makes you feel any better- I'm about 30 million won in debt. Some online crypto coin my brother swindled me into. Lost big time." You explained.

He shook his head, "No, no, its fine. See, I was a marine. Couldn't find a job after I got out. Guess I just got carried away with the wrong people... Got into some bad loans."

You gave a sympathetic face. "That sucks..." He just nodded sheepishly.

A silence fell between you two, but it wasn't awkward or annoying. It just...was.

"Well, uh, which are you going to vote?" He asked like it had been on the tip of his tongue all day.

As the Guards had told us earlier, we would get a chance to vote before the next game. Stay or Go.

"My brother seems pretty adamant on staying... And I honestly don't think it would be smart to piss him off anymore. He's got me in his little clique already." You didn't really know which one you would have chosen if the vote was anonymous.

He nodded in understanding. "I mean, I don't have a groupie or anything. But, you could stick with me if you wanted."

Your heart fluttered. Looking up at him, you seemed to just notice how handsome he was... Then reality hit.

"I deeply appreciate that... But I think you might have better odds without me. Choi- uh Thanos, would probably do something to you... I don't really want to risk it, I'm sorry." You knew that you really did want to be on his team, but you also knew how your brother was.

He had a slight look of defeat on his face, "I get it. I feel confident about the next game. I mean, if they're all children games, how hard can it be? I'll vote the same as you."

You agreed, "Then, maybe I can talk to Thanos? See if he wants another member?" You smiled at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, happily, but the two of you were interrupted when the pink guards came back in. Letting everyone know it was time to vote.

"See ya on the other side." You said, standing up to rejoin Thanos. Plus his newly acquired group of 3.

"Yes ma'am!" He responded, giving a small salute. You just laughed as you glanced at him a last time.

------------------------------------------

"Are you crazy!" Thanos whisper-yelled at you, turning the two of you away from the group. "Are you tryna embarrass me in front of my boys!" He scolded you like a child. His arms and shoulders going up.

"It's not that big of a deal, he was a marine, he could be good for us." Thanos just "tsked' in response.

"No. We are already perfecto. No more room." He said as-a-matter-of-fact. His arms making an 'X.'

You turned and looked at the two men staring at you. "Thanos, there are four of us in total. What if the next game is five players!"

"Huh, and what if its four! Then I'd be pushing YOU out, Cause of ya mouth." He made faces at you, then laughed loudly. "I'm just joking sistah! I'd only do that if you really pissed me off.... We are sticking to four." His expression turned serious.

"Fine."

At a mere coincidence, you turned around and saw '388' staring at you. You mouthed a 'sorry' and shook your head. Signalling Thanos said 'no.'

He nodded, then smiled at you anyways. At that, you watched him walk over and sit with a group of 'X's.

------------------------------------------

The lights soon went out. You laid back in your bed, trying to get some kind of sleep. It was useless, especially when you heard a 'psst' right next to you.

You turned your head, playing cool, even though it did startle you a bit. "Shh, It's just me." The voice rang familiar, and when you squinted your eyes in the dark your made out number 388's face. He was on his knees, crouched down next to your bed.

"What are you doing!" You whispered at him, sitting up quickly. Thanos and his two members were just a bed away.

"Shhhh, I have something to tell you." He said, his hands were waving slightly, a nervous tick.

You eyed him, moving closer. "What?"

"One of the guys has played these before. He said he won the games...That he knows which one is next."

Your hands rise to rub sleep from your eyes, "Really? You think he's telling the truth?"

With a frantic nod he continues, "It was the guy who knew about the Red light, Green light. Number 456."

You looked down, "Why are you telling me this..." You questioned, unaware of any kind of unconditional kindness.

"I want you to survive, why else?" You locked eyes with him. They were honest and pure.

"Well, what's the next game?" You didn't know how to respond to such generosity. For all he knew you would stab him in the back. Not that you could bring yourself to, not after he snuck over to tell you.

"He said its Dalgona. Ya know, the game where you scratch out the candy shape?" You knew the game, having played it in your youth.

"Make sure you pick the Triangle. It's the easiest one." You nodded.

At that, a shuffle made both of you turn your head. Thanos moved in his sleep, rolling over. His eyes were closed, but he was now facing you.

"You better go, in case he wakes up." You warned, not wanting any drama.

His head shook in agreeance, he raised to walk off.

"Wait!" You whispered, he looked back. "What's your name?"

"Dae-Ho. Dae-ho Kang."

"Thank you, Dae-ho..." The corners of your face rose, almost grinning at yourself saying his name.

He gave a small wave of his hand, another salute. You suppressed a giggle, and laid back down. Sleep came easier this time...

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your second game, this game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

You looked around, Dalgona was not a team game. Had Dae-Ho lied to you? No, why else would he sneak over in the middle of the night. It didn't make sense. Maybe 456 was lying?

"Should have listened to me, now we have to find another person." You remarked to your brother, smugly.

"Trust trust, my skeptic sister. Thanos has got this under control!" He spoke about himself, immediately levitating to the closest attractive women. You, once again, found yourself rolling your eyes.

"Señorita, excuse me?" You wanted to physically face palm at his attempt at a pickup line.

------------------------------------------

Quickly enough, time selection was up. Everyone was orderly sat in their groups. Conveniently, Dae-Ho and his group sat behind you.

"Dae-Ho." You called, moving to be in his range of sight.

"Ahh, hey!" He said, excitedly. His demeanor changing from skittish when he saw you.

"So, what happened to Dalgona?" You asked, not blaming him- just curious.

He gave an unsure face, equally as confused. "He said the games must not be the same. I'm sorry."

"What for?" You beamed, knowing it was not his fault.

He laughed, "I guess I don't know.."

You just shook your head humorously. "Which game are you going to do?"

"Uhmm, Gong-Gi... My sister's played it a lot, so I'm used to it."

"They've got me doing spinning top. I was never any good at Gong-Gi." You made a glance to Thanos, he was high out of his mind. You caught him slipping Nam-Gyu a pill. He didn't notice you talking to Dae-Ho.

"I wish you the best of luck!" He gave a quick bow of the head.

------------------------------------------

The game went smoothly enough. Though, it took much longer than Red light, Green light. Watching all of the teams go one at a time was excruciating.

A handful of words exchanged with Dae-Ho while waiting was calming, it grounded you. He had nothing to gain by helping you, he simply did. It was flattering.

You and Dae-Ho had figured out that his team was going last. It was nerve-wracking to think about him not making it. No one had ever effected you like this before...

Eventually your team went, suffering frequent verbal degration from Thanos and Nam-Gyu. Thankfully your team made it with 8 seconds to spare. Too close for your comfort.

The worst part came when you had to wait. You felt like you could hear a large clock ticking right by your ear.

Would Dae-Ho's team make it? You didn't doubt his Gong-Gi skills, but he was dependent on the skills of his team mates as well. It was terrifying to think they were shot with not enough time to complete the games.

You couldn't bare Thanos bantering, he complained about every survivor. It just made you more paranoid about Dae-Ho's possible death.

Trying to settle your mind, you stepped away from your group, preferring to sit by yourself on the edge on the steps. You picked at your nails, praying he would make it.

Minutes and minutes went by. No one had come out in a while. Was the game finished? Did they die?

Just as you were about to return to your brother hopeless, one last group appeared.

A gasp left you as you watched Dae-Ho's team emerge. You stood up, cheering with a handful of other players. Your hands were clasped gleefully In front of you.

Dae-Ho's gaze was fixed on you, he chuckled. His first raised in victory.

You gave him a salute back.

------------------------------------------

You managed to slip away from Thanos. He was too busy hitting on Se-Mi. You were grateful for her, it took some of the pressure and attention off of you. You had to remember to thank her later.

"Dae-Ho!" You called out, he turned around and stepped away from his group.

"You were amazing! You went 'Wooshhh' and got the top first try!" He was practically bouncing on his heels. He mimicked the process of spinning a top with his hands and body.

"Thank you, Thank you." You pretended like you were bowing to an applauding audience.

"How did Gong-Gi go?" You asked, antsy. He rubbed the back on his neck.

He grinned deep, "Would you believe me if I said I got it first try too?"

Your face lit up, "Really!"

"I swear it!" He placed a hand across his chest.

You gave a quick clap to him, "I knew you could do it!"

You felt like a schoolgirl again. Talking to Dae-Ho made you feel like a blushing bride. He was such a ray of light and hope for you.

"What do you think the next game is?" He questioned, taking a seat on a step by the large doors.

You thought for a second, "I don't know, Maybe some kind of mind game. Since the last two have been really physical."

He nodded, "Yeah, maybe, maybe. Thats smart thinking."

You joined him on the step facing him. While you were about to change the conversation, you overheard a few people talk about what they were voting next. It reminded you of the real life-or-death situation you were in.

"So, d'ya think you're going to change your vote?" You became more solemn.

"...Yeah, I just... The others have convinced me. I mean, truly, I shouldn't have voted 'stay' in the first place..." He looked down, almost as if he had disappointed you.

"Honestly, Dae-Ho... I want to leave too... But, but, what if I press 'leave', and we still have to continue the games. Then Thanos would be pissed, and deep down I need him. He's still my brother." You hated the fact, but you were scared of what Thanos would do.

Dae-Ho thought for a moment. He mumbled something you didn't quite catch. "What?" He stood up.

"I can protect you. Honest. With my life." Your breath hitched, you stood up as well.

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "Oh Dae-Ho... That's just the thing. I can't have you risking your life. Not for me."

He gently lifted your hands into his. "You are worth risking my life for."

"Dae-Ho, you don't even know my name." Your voice quivered.

He nodded quick, "Then lets change that. What's your name." You bit your bottom lip before telling him.

"Now, I can defend you from Thanos. He won't do anything to do." He ended with your name, it sounded angelic coming from his mouth.

"I'm sorry... I just... can't." You let go of his hands, fully set on walking away. But, he stopped you. He grasped your shoulder.

"Please don't go. I'll stop talking about it, I swear." He pleaded. He truly just wanted to be with you, he was content with you.

And you were with him.

You closed your eyes, shook your head. You fought off any kind of objection. "Okay."

The two of you talked and talked, time ran past. You no longer seemed to worry about the games, just that you knew you wanted to stay with Dae-Ho.

Until, the large doors opened and the pink guards once again announced a vote.

You said a quick 'goodbye' to Dae-ho, hoping the games wouldn't continue. Even if you never saw him again, at least he would be alive.

------------------------------------------

Much to your dismay, the games would continue another round. The vote wasn't even close this time. It was almost relieving, knowing that your vote was not the determining factor.

Once again, the lights went out to signify the night. You noticed teams were huddling together for protection, taking shifts and keeping watch. It was getting more serious as each hour went by. You could not find rest, feeling extremely uneasy.

While you tried to find some sort of reassurance in Thanos, he was fast asleep. You decided to take your chance and go see Dae-Ho. Just as he had done for you.

You knew the general area where his group was, but couldn't make out specific people in the dark. Not from your distance.

You racked up the nerve to quietly shuffle over. Your socks helping to muffle any noise.

"Shh, someone is coming." You heard a man whisper, it was 456. You could see the large numbers next to the 'O' on his jacket.

"I-is Dae-Ho with you..." You ask, shakily.

"And what do you want with him?" A man next to 456 spoke, defensively.

"I- Hes my friend, I need to talk to him." You tried, fiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah, Sure he is. You're probably trying to get in and take one of us out, huh!" The man 390 rose, acting like he was ready to fight.

You stepped back, "No, really, I swear I'm not!"

You heard your name, a confused Dae-Ho crawled out from under a bed. "Dae-Ho, please tell them in not trying to kill any of you."

"What?" He was still weary from sleep, rubbing his eyes. Once he saw the position you and 390 were in, He quickly stepped between the two of you.

"No, No, she wouldn't do that. Really, whatever shes saying she's telling the truth." Dae-Ho came to your rescue.

"Can we talk Dae-Ho?" You stepped closer to him, both of your hands gently resting on his arm. He nodded rapidly, stepping away from his group.

The two of you found a cluster of abandoned beds, and sat on the floor between them

"Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?" He looked you over for any visible infliction's.

"No, no I'm fine..." You pulled your knees to your chest. "I just wanted to see you." You felt silly once it left your lips.

His face flushed beet red, you could even tell in the dark. His hair falling in his face made you reach a hand out and brush it back. "O-oh"

"You never told me what you think the next game is, Dae-Ho." You needed a distraction.

He shook his head, like he was getting some thoughts out. "I have no idea... I just hope its an easy one. Gi-Hun, uh 456, said that they've already played Tug-of-war, Marbles, and some kind of glass stepping game. So, uh, I would assume none of those would repeat."

"I'm glad I missed Tug-of-war... That would mean the number of survivors would be half..." You thought.

He changed the subject, beginning with your name. "What's wrong? I know you said you wanted to see me, but, I guess I don't understand why."

"Dae-Ho, I don't really know why either. I just, wanted to be with you. I feel safe with you. I feel like I'm alone anytime you walk away..." You blinked away a stray tear.

Dae-Ho was lost in thought, he had thought his feelings weren't reciprocated. Maybe they were after all?

He didn't have time to speak, because you have lounged yourself forward in a burst of confidence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pushed him to the floor. He was laid on his back with you on top of him, as you pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

His eyes widened, his body went rigid. When you pulled away to look at him, he stammered. "I-I, Uhm."

At his reaction you pulled away quickly, "I'm so sorry, I thought-"

"Can you please do that again." He was now giddy, a fat smile on his face. Excitement radiated out of him. "A-are you sure.. You seemed so..."

"No, no, you just caught me off guard, please, please kiss me again." He scrambled to a sit, hoping you would come closer again.

With a refound joy, you moved closer. This time you went slow, making sure to bask in the moment. You once again wrapped your arms around Dea-Ho's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're perfect.." He mumbled against your lips. Though, he felt something wet on his face. He pulled away, his eyes soft, "Whats wrong?"

You sniffled, "Promise me. Promise me, that after everything is over, that we will find each other." You asked, pressing your cheek against his.

"I swear it, I swear we will meet after the games." He leaned in for another kiss.

------------------------------------------

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Okay, this one seemed safe. You had a large group, this can work. You tried to be positive, you had someone to look forward to after the game.

"Heyyy, we'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" Thanos went on, trying to hype everyone up. The only one who was just as high as him was Nam-Gyu. It worried you that he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but at least he wasn't on your tail about everything.

"Please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

You nodded, understanding the rules. Everyone gathered to the platform. You noticed groups staying together, huddling close.

While following Thanos, you passed Dae-Ho's group, you caught his eye and gave him a small salute. It seemed the two of you now had an inside joke.

"Let the game, begin."

At the jump and pull of the platform, you almost lost your balance. You reached a hand out and held onto your brother. He looked over at you, for a split second he actually seemed like your brother. He was there for you.

That's until a muffled snort came from Nam-Gyu. Thanos pushed your hand off, laughing at you.

You sighed and thought of a smart remark, but the platform stopped spinning and a 'Ten' rang out.

Thanos laughed loudly, "We needa four!!" He screamed, shaking his face all about.

"Were four!" A man yelled back, and Thanos took off running. Your eyes widened and you ran after him. "Run, Hurry!" You yelled at Se-Mi, who had stopped to grab Min-Su.

Luckily everyone had made it to the room, just as the door shut the timer went off. The door locked shut. You peaked out of the doors small slit. You didn't see Dae-Ho. A good sign.

Multiple gunshots rang out, each making your body jolt.

"Ha Ha! My family! We did it!" Thanos bantered, clapping some of the men on their backs.

When the doors finally opened again, you looked around. You looked and looked for Dae-Ho. Finally sighing in relief when you saw him. He ran over to you.

"You're okay, thank God!" He hugged you, you held him tight.

You swallowed hard, "It's not over yet. I'll find you after the next round!" You said, quickly finding Thanos again.

"Yeahhhh! Easyyy!" Him and Nam-Gyu joked back and forth. They started dancing to the music as the platform started rotating again.

'Four'

Thanos stopped and looked at his group for a minute. "Gyeong-su, you're with me!" He grabbed his hand, pulling him.

"Damn!" Nam-Gyu said, gripping your arm and pulling you. While you were happy to be chosen, you were worried for Min-su and Se-Mi.

"Lets goooo!" Thanos yelled once we were all in the room.

"Thanos what was that! Gyeong-su over me!" You pointed your finger at him.

"I swear I thought I was pulling you! Besides, you gotta stop running your mouth. You made it, you're fine!"

You couldn't believe what he was saying. Sure, he talked a lot about leaving you. But it was always just talk? Right?

The door opened once again, you were thankful to be away from Thanos. Your new objective was to find Dae-Ho now.

This time, the second you saw him- you ran to him. You no longer cared about what Thanos thought, nor what he'd do.

"I'm so happy to see you." Dae-Ho mumbled into your hair, which his face had been shoved into right after you ran into his arms.

"I have to stay with you, Thanos tried to leave me. I can't make it with him." Dae-Ho didn't hesitate, and pulled you over to his group.

Though, Thanos didn't like that. "Yo, brotha. What're you doing with my sister!" He tried to shove Dae-Ho, but he was bigger and stronger.

The platform started to spin.

"Leave her alone, you obviously cant take care of your sister." He ushered you behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about bro! I save her, shes only alive because of me and Nam-Gyu!" He argued, leaving out the crucial part of information where he wasn't the one who grabbed you.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I will keep her safe now, you can mind your own business and get along with Nam-Gyu."

They continued to yell and argue over the carousel's music, it was difficult to hear them. Until,

'Three'

Thanos gripped one of your arms, Dae-Ho held another.

"Thanos, let go!" You yelled, trying to pull from his grasp.

It was chaotic, screaming was heard around you. "Dae-Ho, this way!" Two men yelled out, Dae-Ho twisted his head but didn't move.

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't be the reason Dae-Ho would die. You were all running out of time.

"Dae-Ho, go. Please! I'll go with Thanos and Nam-Gyu!"

"I'm not leaving you!" He was adamant about protecting you. Damned everyone else.

"If you don't go, we will all die. Time is running out!" Dae-Ho battled internally, you let go of his hand.

"Go! It's okay, I'll see you in a minute!"

He didn't want to leave, he couldn't. But you made him. When he slowly walked backwards, you let out a relived sigh. You then turned to run with Thanos. Nam-Gyu was already in a room, his yelling ushering you two forward.

It was going to be okay, The three of you in a room. Everything was fine. There was time.

Until, Nam-Gyu moved out of the way... Gyeong-su was behind him... There was already two in the room. Thanos ran in, not thinking twice.

Your running came to a stop right outside of the door. Where Thanos himself had closed it on you.

A "NO!" Was heard from across the room. It was Dae-Ho. He tried to come to you, but he was too far.

Player 456 and player 001 were pulling him into a room. Forcing the door shut. You could see Dae-Ho looking out of the door slit, his hands peaking out as well.

You didn't turn to see what Thanos might have been doing. You didn't care. Not anymore.

You just wanted your last moment to be looking at the most handsome man you'd ever met. His soft eyes were filled with tears as he watched you.

You weren't upset, not scared, not nervous. Not anymore.

It would all be over soon.

You gave him one last salute before a loud bang rang out.

A/N- Not going to lie ya'll, I ate that up. But I still love hearing y'all's constructive criticism! Please LMK if you want to be added to my tag list, TYSM for reading!

Dae-Ho Taglist- @fuzzyscissorsmakerpie-blog @thethreeeyed-raven

➳ the set up — rafe cameron

no bc this gif was perfect for this :3

ᡣ𐭩 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: rafe cameron x virgin!reader

ᡣ𐭩 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.9k

ᡣ𐭩 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control), mentions of fem!masturbation, mentions of vomit, uses of c word (you’ll never read my smut that doesn’t have it lmao), loss of v-card, cussing, soft!rafe (w/reader only, duh ;)), mentions of being a prude (reader basically calls herself that), let me know if i forgot any!

ᡣ𐭩 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: based on this ask!

ᡣ𐭩 𝐀/𝐍: i swear this sucks, i hope you guys like it 😖 i’m sorry this took me so long!

your body laid on the tanning chair, the blazing heat of the sun making your skin ignite. today was the hottest day outer banks had had in years. the heatwave was forcing several people indoors, except you and sarah. the two of you found this as the perfect opportunity to fill up the pool a bit with cold hose water and swim to your hearts content.

but eventually the heat caught up to you and you were miserable now. the water wasn't even helping and you were far past the point of tanning. you were going to fry like a lobster had you sat out here any longer.

"sarah, i'm going in," you groaned, pushing off the chair and standing up. your body tingles, your vision seeing black for a moment. fuck, it is way too hot out here.

"yeah, i'm right behind you," she yawns from her tanning chair. standing up lazily and following you into the nice, cool air conditioned home.

"phew!" you say happily, the cold air hitting your skin felt like absolutely heaven. sarah closes the door behind her, her eyes hooded and lazy. the two of you walk into the kitchen, where you meet kelce and rafe standing around the island with waters in their hands.

"hello, boys," you smile happily at them, reaching across the island and grabbing a piece of candy from the bowl. popping it into your mouth, you look at rafe who's already looking at you... worriedly?

"what? what's wrong?" you question, knitting your brows as you stare at him in confusion.

"are you like... okay?" he asks, taking in your slightly sunburnt features. across your nose and the tops of your cheeks were red as well as your shoulders.

"why do you care?" sarah sneers, shutting the fridge with a gatorade in hand. you look at her before looking back at rafe.

"fuck off, sarah," rafe rolls his eyes shaking his head in annoyance. you snort at his attitude shaking your head as you turn your attention back to sarah.

"i'm going up to my room. meet me up there," she says before walking off and disappearing up the stairs. kelce looks at rafe and nods, walking away without saying another word. what the fuck?

"we have some aloe vera in the fridge, you want me to grab you some?" rafe asks softly, pointing to the fridge.

"that would be lovely," you sighed, resting your elbows on the counter, your chin in your hands. rafe walks over to the fridge and grabs out the clear bottle that displayed the green liquid. he sets it down on the counter and slides it over to you. you thank him and pick up the bottle, pouring a generous amount into your hands and spreading the cooling liquid across your cheeks and shoulders. thanking rafe, you hand him the bottle back and sulk upstairs to spend the rest of the evening with sarah.

sarah and you eventually took a nap, the sun had gotten the best of you. you both awoke from the nap closer to seven, turning on some movies on sarah's tv and trying to ignore your burning sunburns.

rafe had gotten up from his nap as well, walking to the bathroom when he heard you and sarah talking in her room, her door cracked open. normally, he'd ignore girl chatter or drama, but two words caught his attention. jj, and virginity, all in one sentence. one same fucking sentence.

"seriously, i think jj would be the perfect person for you to lose your virginity to! he's so sweet and caring, he'd take good care of you!" sarah chirps. she had lost her virginity to john b which left you, embarrassingly so. you weren't opposed to losing your virginity to jj, you just didn't want it to feel like some charity case.

rafe stood outside the door, brows furrow in anger. she was trying to set you up to lose your virginity to some dirty pogue? he couldn't believe you were even on board with the idea... what he would do would bust down this door and scold the two of you for the ludicrous idea. but he had a better idea instead. retreating back into his room, he planned exactly how he was going to do this.

11 p.m. had rolled around and you were struggling to fall asleep. sarah was passed out as of 20 minutes ago, but you lay there staring at the ceiling, blinking. it was the damn nap you took earlier that's got your sleep schedule all fucked up now.

suddenly, sarah’s door opened slowly. your breathing caught in your throat, your entire body tensing as you watching a figure slowly and sneakily walk into sarah's room. you debated screaming for help and waiting to see who the hell was trying to sneak into sarah's room. but as the figure emerged further into the room, the moonlight from sarah's window casted over the persons face.

"rafe?" you whisper shout. he puts a finger to his lips, shushing you. you look at him confused and still coming down from adrenaline. he motions for you to come with him and now you're really confused... and scared. you quietly crawl out of sarah's bed, tiptoeing out the door and into the hall with rafe. you shut sarah's door quietly, following rafe into the privacy of his own room.

once you're in his room, he turns to you, biting his fingernail anxiously. "close the door," he mumbles, looking up at the door. you are even more confused now. confused and terrified, why did he want you to shut the door?

"if i shut the door will you tell me what this is about?" you ask. he nods and you sigh, turning around and shutting his door all the way. you turn back to him, your heart racing.

"are you really going to lose your virginity to jj?" he asks, his blue eyes stare into yours. oh he's serious?

"my God, rafe! that's what this is about?" you walk up to him and shove him back. he stumbles for a moment but easily regains balance, continuing to eye you down.  how dare he? he had the audacity to not only spy on you and sarah, but coming into her room like a serial killer and demand you come with him?

"yeah," he nods his head, his voice laced with attitude. "that's what this is about,"

"rafe, this is none of your business," you shake your head, crossing your arms. he rolls his eyes, which only makes you want to shove him again.

"yes it is, actually," he shrugs.

"oh really? how?" you test, your jaw clenching with anger.

"lose your virginity to me," the words knock the wind out of you. your mind dizzy, your body feeling fuzzy and lightheaded. what did he just say? did he just say what you think he said?

"w-what?" you stare at him, completely shocked. why would he want you to lose your virginity to him?

"you heard me. lose your virginity to me," he steps closer, your throat closing and you're not sure if you could continue this conversation. this felt so forbidden, you now worried sarah would randomly wake up and somehow find you in here... having a loss of virginity talk with her older brother.

"why would i do that?" you ask.

"why not? you've known me since you were in grade school. i'm trustworthy and you're a lot more comfortable with me than jj," rafe states, and he's not wrong... about any of it. losing your virginity to rafe would be ideal in the sense that you've known him so long and your comfortable with him... but it would also be terrible because this is your best friends older brother. her annoying, douchebag older brother, though he wasn't much of a douche to you.

"rafe, i-" but he cuts you off, eyes narrowing on your lips.

"kiss me, and then you can decide if jj is the better option," he smirks. oof he's even cockier than you thought... you don't think that was even possible. what? one kiss and you'll be hooked? is that what he's trying to say?

"rafe, i'm not-," you put your hand out, shaking your head as you back up.

"just kiss me, damnit," he walks up to you, closing all space between the two of you, his lips pressing to yours desperately. his hands tangle in your hair, earning a moan from you. fuck, he's good. he smiles into the kiss, knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring your mouth, tongue running softly along your bottom lip. your arms wrapped around his neck, standing on your tip toes to deepen the kiss. rafe’s hands take a fistful of hair and squeeze earning another guttural moan from you. fuck you were so hot, he thought. fuck, he’s so hot, you thought.

rafe pulls away after a few moments, resting his forehead on yours, both of you panting from that kiss, “you’re sure you’re okay with this?" he asks, his thumb stroking your sunburnt cheek softly. you bit your lip anxiously, nodding.

"then lie down," he instructs gently, motioning to the bed. you pulled away from his strong, tall torso, slowly walking to the bed. you were anxious about this... it was your first time obviously and you had no clue how it would go... awkward? painful? terrible in general?

as you laid down, rafe slipped off his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. your eyes widened the moment you saw his cock spring free. no, no fucking way. that is not fitting in your vagina. he was thick, and long... something sarah mentioned was the perfect combination but now here it was in front of you and you were terrified. this was going to hurt.

rafe, not noticing your distressed state, crawled on the bed, hovering over you. it was then he noticed the scared look on your face. "what's wrong?" he asks brows furrowed.

"rafe, that's not going to fit!" you exclaimed, which only earned laughter from him. he was laughing? really?

rafe tried to hide his laughter by burying his face into your neck but you already knew, and you weren't happy, why was he laughing?

"what's so funny?" you whined, shoving him.

"i'm sorry baby, it's not funny," he shakes his head trying to cease the laughter and red face. attempting to keep a straight face. he continues, "you're just cute," he smiles. you cross your arms, pouting.

"oh, c'mon, don't be like that," he says, pulling your arms away from your chest. "let me make you feel good,"

his words turned you on and despite him laughing at your "cuteness" *eyeroll* you were lucky to have rafe here right now instead of anyone else.

"you're on birth control?" he clarifies, and you nod. he wraps his fingers around the waistband of your sweatpants and pulls them down along with your thong. tossing the clothing on the floor next to his, he stares at your pink pussy in awe.

"what? what's wrong?" now it had become your turn to ask what the heck was going on in his head.

"so pretty," he murmurs, his finger grazing along your folds. the action causes you to shudder, biting your lip harshly. you had never been touched by anyone else either. it has always been you doing it.

rafe looks back up at you, leaning down and pressing a long kiss to your lips. your heart was beating out of your chest, your mouth dry and mind fuzzy. what would this mean? once you lose your virginity to rafe, what does this mean for you two? what about you and sarah? would she never speak to you again?

"hey," rafe's voice catches you attention, your eyes snapping back to. "don't overthink, it's gonna be okay," he nods reassuringly. how did he know you so well?

you nod, and allow for him to continue. he scoots up a little further and nudges your legs apart. your breathing became heavier as he lined his cock  up at your entrance. he looks at you again, his eyes told you he wanted to fuck you senselessly, but that he wouldn’t.

"are you ready?" he whispered, his cool breath fanning across your face and making you shiver. you weren’t ready, but you also knew that if you walked out of here right now, you’d never be ready, the anxiety in the moment was overwhelming. you felt sick, thrilled, scared, you had a rush of so many emotions and they all spanned within just a few moments,

pushing all feelings aside, you nodded for rafe to continue, praying you don’t throw up all over him. your heart beat against your ribs, and you were positive rafe could hear how loud it was.

rafe looks down, admiring one last time how your virgin cunt looked. he watched between your bodies, the way his cock lined up as he pushed in gently. he looked up at you immediately for permission to continue. your face was scrunched up, your eyebrows furrowed deeply as you concentrated on the newfound feeling. you opened your eyes to look at him, his face was sweet, you knew he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable or hurt you.

“go,” you nod approval, rafe’s head dipping back down to watch as he pushes his cock in further, continuing to push in until you either stopped him, or he couldn’t fit anymore. you clutched onto his shoulders, whimpering out as your cunt stretched to accommodate him. tears welling in your eyes, you gasped.

rafe peppered kisses all over your body in attempt to calm you down and ease you more into it. he was having a hard time keeping his composure with how tightly your cunt was squeezing him. he was about to bust even without moving.

“rafe,” you breathed out, your fingers moving from his shoulders and entangling in his hair. his blue eyes opened, narrowing on your own eyes. “move, please,” you urge him, needing to feel something more than the constantly stinging of him stretching your walls. he nods, leaning in to capture your soft lips in another kiss, his nose brushing against yours.

rafe pulls out a little, slowly pushing back in. your arm wraps around his back, nails digging into his back as you whine into the kiss. rafe pulls away, groaning.

“i’m not going to last long, not with the way you’re squeezin’ me,” he murmured, looking down to where your bodies connect. something about his words ignited a fire in you, your walls clenching around in arousal.

“f-fuck,” he groaned, falling down and burying his head into your neck. as he continued to thrust into your aching hole, you felt your body becoming overwhelmed, your stomach tightening at the feeling of your orgasm approaching.

“rafe,” you warned him.

“yep, i’m right there baby,” he moaned, holding his breath as you clenched unbelievably tight around his thick cock. which you were still surprised had even fit.

you moaned into rafe’s ear and that sent him over the edge. the sound of you being pleasured by him, the fact that he took your virginity just now, everything about this intimate moment had his cum shooting deep inside your puffy cunt. his thrusts got sloppy and longer, fucking the rest of his cum into you as you came hard around his cock. your fingernails dug into his back, crescent shaped marks indenting his back as you came harder than you ever have. fuck, you thought masturbation orgasms were nice. but this orgasm had you seeing stars. what a fucking prude you were.

the sounds of both of you panting had filled the room, rafe still on top of you and inside you. you kept your arms wrapped loosely around his back, keeping him close to you as you closed your eyes, relishing in everything that just happened.

slowly, rafe peeled his body away from you, pulling his shaft out at the same time. you winced at the stinging pain again, rafe apologizing as he continued to pull out. he plopped down beside you on the bed, immediately pulling you into him.

“how was it?” he asked, still breathing heavily. you snuggled further into his chest, your hand resting on his toned abs.

“perfect,” you smiled, thinking back to it again. this was probably something that would replay in your mind in a never ending loop.

“yeah?” he smiled, kissing your head. you nodded again, watching your fingers trace shapes on his abdomen. you were still confused as to how things would go from here. would you and rafe never speak of this again? act like nothing happened? would you two end up together, maybe only become friends with benefits? the anxiety of what next was beginning to stress you out, so you pushed them aside for now, feeling your eyes growing tired.

“i’m too tired and sore to walk back to sarah’s room,” you groaned, earning a chuckle from rafe. he pulled you in tightly for a side hug, “just go to sleep. i’ll carry you back in there later,” he said quietly, kissing your head as you closed your eyes and dreamed of your first time with rafe… again.

🏷️ @jjmaybankisbae @drewstarkeysbae @f4ll-for-you @angelofcigs @spookyscaryspoon

Yeah she’s pretty, she’s my wife…

Lance Stroll x Reader

Note: During the Canadian GP 2024

Y/N stepped out of the car; her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she tried to open the umbrella. The rain still had not let up.

“I promise, I don’t need you to come out to get me, I can find the garage” She tried to calm the worrying of her husband.

Husband, the word still felt strange seeing as they had only been married for a week, it was a small intimate wedding just your two families and a few friends in the backyard of your childhood home. It had not been planned out the way you wanted. Lance was home from Monaco, you were finally done with your studies. He’s proposed the year before, and you had promised once you earned your degree you’d take time off to plan the wedding; however, what you truly wanted was to be married, no lavish party, nothing but being surrounded by the people you love with the man you love before he was jetting off to race around the world again. Your relationship with Lance was not a secret but you two did your best not to bring any media attention to you; it was the one thing you had asked of him when you started dating.

“Okay” he says “but come find me or dad as soon as you get to Aston”

“Promise, love you” you smile and hung up before swiping your pass to get into the paddock.

You quickly made your way in; happy that no one paid no mind to you, probably thinking you were another fan. However, the happiness quickly disappeared as a heavy gust of wind blew the umbrella from your hand; plus your lack of knowledge as to where the Aston Martin hospitality; you hadn’t realized how hard it would be to make your way around; usually you were with Lawrence or Chloe or friends when you came to races, this time you were on your own and now soaking wet.

“Damn it” you mumbled as you took shelter into the closet building; McLaren.

“Hello there” A British voice called out to you, one you recognize from the radio messages and interviews, Lando Norris.

“Hi” you swiped the damp hair from your eyes and looked up at him “sorry I’m just waiting out the rain” you offered a smile.

“Come in then, I’ll get you something warm to wear and some coffee” you’ve heard a lot about Lando, many rumors of how flirtatious and a player he was, but online chatter didn’t matter to you, Lance had said that Lando is nice, they weren’t friends but friendly enough; he was a good guy that people love to give a shitty reputation to. So following your gut and your husbands approval of Lando, you wondered further into the building.

“Nando fan?” He made small talk as he handed you a towel he’d gotta from a bench near by, with the down pour it made sense for the hospitality buildings to have towels ready for those soaked to the bones.

“Lance” you answered, clearly Lando was not one of the few drivers on the grid that knew you, Este, Mick and Fernando being the only 3 that were at your wedding.

“Stroll has really pretty fans, I’ll have to ask him how” Lando joked as you tried to dry your hair.

You chuckled, not wanting to say much more “thanks for this”

“Coffee?”

“I would love some but don’t you have a race to get ready for? I don’t want to keep you”

“It’s all good we have some time plus the rain is holding up the start”

“Coffee then” Y/N answered after taking a peak outside where the rain still hasn’t let up.

“You should let me get you a change of hoodie too, I think papaya if more you color”

“I’m sure Lance would not be happy if I showed up in uh papaya; he did invite me today after all” Y/N smiled, kindly declining Landos offer and hoping he’d take the hint without her having to confirm anything.

But he stayed clueless “I’m sure he’d be fine, plus you could stay and be my good luck charm for the race” oh boy.

Quickly you sent a text to Lawrence not wanting to bother Lance to send someone to pick you up from McLaren.

Y/N continued to talk to Lando, steering the conversation to a safer topic, racing in the wet conditions. She listened as he went on, politely asking questions at the right time, nodding along. Thankfully it didn’t take long for her recuse to arrive.

“Y/N, kid there you are” Lawrence Stroll himself called out.

“Mr Stroll” Lando stood to shake the older man’s hand “how are you”

“Good good, just here to safely deliver my daughter to Lance, he’s being to stress the entire garage out” Lawrence had always fondly referred to Y/N as his second daughter.

“Thanks for the towel and coffee Lando, good luck with you race today” Y/N bid farewell to the driver, leaving him with one mission in mind, talk to Lance, get her number.

-

The drivers parade was, well wet and cold; Lance was dreading it: hoping that it could end as quickly as possible. He didn’t get to spend as much time with you as he’d like before he was being ushered away from pre race briefings, meeting with their celebrity guests and the usual.

Standing on the back of the open air van he huddled to one corner waving to fans in the grandstands as they drove by.

“Hey man” Lance looked up skeptically as Lando Norris approached him. Usually it was Esteban or Fernando that took the space by his side so seeing Lando left him a little confused.

“So your sister is she single?” Lando did not beat around the bush, he kept a smile on his face as he waved to fans as well.

“You know Chloe is married?”

“No not Chloe, your other sister, Y/N she’s really gorgeous and we had a nice chat today, but I I couldn’t tell if she was interested”

“Y/N?” Lance questioned again, looking at Este who was listening in for some help. Este shrugged.

“Yeah, I know it’s probably weird and all if you don’t want to give me her number but she’s really pretty dude and I would love to get to know her”

“Yeah dude I agree, Y/N is really pretty” Lance smirked, oh this would be fun.

“…yeah”

“But she’s not my sister, she’s my wife” Lance grinned.

“Whoa Lance what was that” Will Buxton stopped his interview with Fernando to cut in “Mr stroll care to elaborate?”

Normally, Lance would have shut it down, not wanting to put you on blast, but he couldn’t help himself. “Oh I was just telling Lando here about my gorgeous new bride, married one week today, she’s in the garage right now, and I’m just happy to have her here for our home race” Lance smiled to the camera.

Once the cameras had panned away, lando looked at Lance apologetically. “I had no idea”

“It’s okay, she is very pretty and probably super pissed at me”

-

Back at the garage Y/N couldn’t help but smile. She loved her husband so much her heart could burst from her chest, she could not be happier.

Rodrick Heffley headcanons [2]

author's note: some more headcanons because i'm surprised by how many people liked the first ones

here's the first part

----------------------

His main love language is acts of service

and maybe physical touch.

Rodrick is always making sure you have your favourite snack

or that you ate in general.

He'll definitely play the drums while you're in the same room as him

when it's late at night and he finds you asleep while he'd been playing he's gonna be surprised

maybe even worried

but he ends up sleeping next to you.

Sometimes he makes bad jokes

or sometimes they're too mean

but he doesn't realize it until you bring that up

then he will awkwardly apologise.

He always had a messy room

even when his mom tried to tidy it

but when you come over

he'll try to make it look as clean as possible

just for you.

Rodrick is not the type for big dates

he prefers "doing nothing" dates

or nap dates

but when you two just started dating

or even before that

he'd put up the most absurd things just to impress you.

Anyways

one time you and him were at his place

sitting on the couch

just watching a movie (that you forced Rodrick to watch)

and suddenly he pulled you into a side hug

like tight

and right in that moment Greg came in

because he wanted to play videogames

but then he saw the two of you hugging like that

and he had to record this moment

and show it to everyone in front of Rodrick

just to embarass him

and that's exactly what happened.

Right in front of his parents too.

They didn't react too much

because they already knew you two were together

but it still amde Rodrick embarassed

and of course think about revenge.

befire taking his revenge he told you the wole plan

even if you kept telling him it was useless

but...yeah he didn't really listen to you.

overall he can be sweet

just not in front of the others.

----------------------

hope you like it, please leave a heart ❤️

໒ — LOSER RODRICK THOTS

rodrick heffley x fem!reader | duration: 637

warnings: minors and ageless blogs do not interact! | sfw/nsfw, fluff, mention of jerking off, slight mention of oral ( r rec ), + slight p in v.

notes: nonnie, i hope you like this, very nervous as this is my first fic for roddy my beloved. this is also my first time writing loser bf!character so i hope i did good and will improve as i continue.

masterlist 𐙚 previous fic 𐙚 taglist

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who loves jerking off to women magazines every night as he's imagining you in his mind wearing the bikinis that the models are wearing.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who has to spend his money on new magazines as the ones he is using is covered with his cum. Sometimes he seems to get carry away when his mind is on you.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who puts off cleaning to the last minute so he have to quickly hide the cum fill magazines under his mattress to avoid you ever finding them but he is not good at hiding all of them.

“Do you want something to drink?” He questions as he got off his bed. “Yes, some juice would be fine, please.”

Rodrick kisses your cheek briefly before running up his stairs, your cheeks heat up as you lay back in his bed onto his pillow which makes a weird crinkling noise causing you to sprint up.

“What was that?” You ask yourself as you inspect the pillow, noticing something is inside the pillowcase. You pull out the magazine from inside it.

Your eyes widen from the state of it especially when your fingers touch a white stain that was on the cover, it was sticky and it seemed fresh too as if he did it before you came over.

The sound of the door opening frightens you a bit as you drop the magazine under the bed, kicking it under so he doesn't know you found it, you lay back onto his bed with your phone in your hand pretending that you have been scrolling through it while he was away.

"Thanks babe," you praise as you reach for the cup, watching how his smile grows and you can’t help but let a smirk play on your lips.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who thinks his flirting is what made you love him so much but in all honesty, his cuteness is what made you fall for him — instead of telling him that, you make him think that it was the flirting to boost his ego.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who has to sneak you into the house late at night after the two of you came from a party in order not to wake his parents up.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who's claiming he will move out but currently loving the freebies he have at his parents house. You carry a love and hate relationship with it as you love the thrill of sneaking in but you hate the fact you have to be super quiet — if the two of you were at your place, you can make all the noise you can with a slight complaint from the neighbors.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who is a noisy whimpering mess in bed as he gets so pussy drunk. It is hot knowing that you could have him putty in your hands just by the sight of her.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who's sloppy at eating pussy that after you come, your juices would be all on his face but he doesn't stop going down at you, slurping up every last drop.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who's still learning how to please you just right as he pounds deep inside of your core, maintaining eye contact with you.

"Roddy... please can you angle yourself a bit," you mewl as you look up at him with half lidded eyes, loving the sounds of his groans that escape his mouth; fixing his angle just as you request, hitting all the right spots.

𖧧 — Loser bf!Rodrick who isn’t perfect at everything but you didn't let that stop you from falling in love with him as you just need to teach him a few things. He is all yours and nothing else matters to you.

comment section: @cherriespopsicle.

end of video. — all rights reserved © starriisarchives 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

you were too sweet to greg and rodrick hated it.

don’t get him wrong, rodrick loved how sweet you were, how you’d come to his stupid “family events” when his mom invited you even though he would tell you over and over you don’t have to come, how you help him study n’ kiss him when he gets something right, how you always give him constant compliments on his eyeliner when you don’t do it for him.

he loved it all, but not when you were nice to his brother. his snotty nosed, fuck faced brother. rodrick would complain about your babying of his brother, but you would shrug it off and say you weren’t babying him.

you were though. the way you would practically do anything for the little shit if he asked made rodrick sick. “you’re babying him,” rodrick scolded, sharing a glance between you and his younger brother as you ran your fingers through gergs' hair, trying to make it not as messy after rodrick had pushed him. satisfied with gergs' hair, you’d pull away from him and grin at rodrick.

“i am not, just trying to help,” you said, moving over to rodricks' side to kiss his cheek. rodricks' eyes would still linger on greg with watchful, squinted eyes and greg would only grin.

this was the first time greg had leverage over this brother. real leverage, and he loved it. no, greg didn't just like you for the leverage but because he actually really liked you for rodrick. he didn't completely understand why you liked his older brother, but you were definitely better than heather hills. way, way better. the constant “babying” was what he loved the most about you— right next to how beautiful he thought your eyes were.

anytime greg knew for a fact rodrick was gonna try to kill him, he’d threaten him with a call from you. “rodrick, i-i swear you don’t let me out… i-i’ll call her!” it wouldn’t scare rodrick, he’d only laugh from outside of this bedroom door and say, “gonna call my own girlfriend on me? i am soo scared. with what phone?”

yeah, most of the time it didn’t work, but when you’d came over, he’d tell you had happened and what your boyfriend had done to him. rodrick would, of course, deny, deny, deny and try to get you on his side, but it never worked, you would hug greg close to your chest and tell rodrick to apologize. rodrick would allow a fake apology to roll off of his tongue and suck his teeth, mumbling about how you’re babying him again.

greg would only grin and stick out his tongue at Rodrick as you hugged him.

“I am gonna kill you,” rodrick would mouth, pointing at him.

something that is so canon? loser! rodrick’s cool girlfriend being everybody’s favorite person in some way shape or form.

come on, rodrick is such a loser for you already. his heart thumping out of his chest at the smallest look of you even though you’ve been dating for so long. of course, everyone around him adores you!

manny loves to give you grabby hands when your even remotely close to him. he’ll babble and say your name so cutely until you give in and sit him on your hip. even when you’re even simply being mentioned he’s grinning and repeating your name.

greg who prefers you over his older brother. you’re always on his side and so so nice to him. always giving him a smile that makes him a bit dazed every time he sees you. so dazed that, him and his friends have developed a small crushes on you. all of them always waving when they see you so they get a smile. especially rowely who smiles the biggest and chirag who gives you the most unique compliments. you never hear but everytime chirag sees you and rodrick together, he always gives the slyest comments like, “if he has a chance with her, we all might not be doomed.”

rodrick’s band mates who say they hate you but deep down don’t. they hate that you can take him away from practice with just a simple call or text but you have to remember they’re losers just like your boyfriend so of course they droll all over you. always questioning how their leader got someone so pretty and they can’t.

susan adores you. there is never a day where she hasn’t complimented something about you when she sees you. asks you all the time to come do things with her that her boys won’t. shows you embarrassing photos of rodrick when he was younger and laughs at them with you. and yes, she has secretly thought about how cute your kids will be.

frank who always has this puzzled look on his face when he sees you because are you a robot secretly? how are you in love with rodrick of all people? always tenses up and gives you a sheepish smile when rodrick says something stupid, almost hoping you didn’t hear it and won’t leave him. wants you to stay forever so rodrick won’t throw anymore stupid parties.

jeff hardy x fem!mcmahon!reader with “But i love him! I don’t care.” ?

But I love him || Jeff Hardy x Reader

Summary: Your dad is not happy when he catches you and Jeff kissing in the Hardy Boyz's locker room.

The air in the Hardy Boyz' locker room was charged with a blend of emotions. Jeff Hardy, the charismatic enigma, and you, Vince McMahon's daughter, had been harboring a secret love for some time now. Your heart raced whenever you were near him, and today, your connection had reached a pivotal point.

As the door to the locker room closed, Jeff moved closer, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The anticipation was palpable, and with a shared look, you both surrendered to the inevitable.

Your lips met his in a passionate kiss, a connection that had been growing between you two. The world outside seemed to fade as you got lost in each other.

But the tranquility was short-lived.

In a whirl of chaos, the door burst open, and there stood your father, Vince McMahon, a livid expression on his face. His booming voice cut through the room.

"What in the hell is going on here?!"

Startled and disoriented, you and Jeff broke apart, guilt and fear washing over you. Your father's presence was imposing, his temper evident in the rigid lines of his face and the fiery look in his eyes.

He stormed into the room, his voice raised in anger. "You, young lady, should know better. Kissing a wrestler in his locker room! Have you lost your mind?"

You struggled to find words, to justify the intense emotions you felt for Jeff, but your father wasn't in a mood to listen.

"But I love him! I don't care!" you finally protested, your voice cracking with desperation.

Vince's anger didn't waver, but he appeared taken aback by your defiant response. He had expected compliance, not resistance. Still, his concern was clear as he addressed you.

"Love? You don't know what love is," he retorted, exasperated. "This is not about love. It's about you rebelling against me, making rash decisions that could damage your reputation and the company's. This... infatuation with Jeff Hardy is over."

The room hung heavy with tension as your father ordered you to leave with him. He didn't give you a chance to respond, forcefully pulling you away from Jeff and leading you out of the locker room.

As you left, Jeff's voice called after you, filled with desperation and love, "We'll get through this baby, no matter what!"

But for now, you were caught in the whirlwind of your father's disapproval, your heart aching with the knowledge that your love for Jeff Hardy had just taken an unprecedented hit.

Say What You Feel Inside

(not my gif!)

Bret Hart x McMahon sister reader (one shot)

[Also available of Archive of Our Own!]

Word count: ~1.2k

Tags: Public displays of affection, fluff, arguing, misunderstandings, flirting, declarations of love, family fluff

Summary:

As the oldest McMahon sister, your relationship with Bret Hart is fun, frustrating, and surprisingly sweet.

(Thank you for the request, anon!)

Continuar lendo

hi can i please request bret hart x reader hcs? tysm - ✌️peace anon

ᨳ᭬(੭˘͈ᵕ˘͈)੭ 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐂𝐬  ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ

⠀⠀⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪ ⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪⠀

peace anon, i am forever in your debt for requesting 🫶 writing this gave 10 more years to my life

[ eating together ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

Bret loves it when you two eat together. No matter if it's in a five-star restaurant or eating takeout on the couch. He feels more at ease when he knows you've eaten.

[ touchy ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

Being on the road for most of the year, Bret misses your touch every second he's away from you. Whenever he's home, he sticks close to you. He hugs you from behind, holds your hand under the dining table, draws little hearts on the skin of your thighs with his thumb. It reminds him that he's actually home and that you're beside him.

[ "that's my girl" ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

He constantly talks about you to his family and friends. And he has the stupidest love-struck smile when he does.

[ fingers in your hair ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

He reads before he sleeps. You jokingly call him an old man for doing that. He enjoys doing it in bed with the light on the bedside table. He especially enjoys it when you're on his lap, his fingers in your hair as he reads to you.

[ photograph ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

He has a picture of you in his wallet. It's a Polaroid photo he shot himself. It's not the best photo of you, it's a bit blurred and your hair's a mess. The photo's corners are folded and creased too. You tell him to change it for something better but he refuses.

[ you're his muse ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

He draws sometimes. You're his muse and his sketchbook is full of portraits of you. He says it's for practice but he just likes an excuse to stare at you and take in every detail on your face and body.

[ possessive ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

Bret's possessive when it comes to you but he's not one to publicly show it. But whenever you're backstage at a house show, Bret would grab you by the waist and pull you closer to him. He would place his hand on your lower back while you stand. He would put his hand on the back of your neck will you're walking.

[ clothes ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

He lets you wear his clothes and some of them would eventually be yours since you never returned them. Bret doesn't mind it. You mostly borrow his jackets because you like how big they are on you. Bret loves it for the same reason.

[ little things ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 ]

It's the little things that you enjoy whenever you're with him. How he would kiss your bare shoulder after clasping your necklace on you. How he would redo your hair when he notices a strand out of place. How he would make you a cup of coffee first thing in the morning before he makes his own cup. All that stuff

₍ᵔ·͈༝·͈ᵔ₎ ♡̸ᵎᵎ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝑯𝑪𝒔  ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ

⠀⠀⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪ ⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪⠀

well. this was a trip to write. deadass had to take breaks and scream into my pillow, dying from embarrassment. anyways, enjoy my little funky monkes

forewarning: smut (duh), some language

[ exhibitionism and degradation ]

dark hallways, parked cars, unlocked doors, and hotel balconies. the idea of being caught while he's deep inside you ignites something within Shawn. and he tries to chase that feeling every chance he gets. you often find yourself pinned against the large window of your shared hotel room, his fingers in your mouth as the occasional sound of footsteps behind the door make your heart stutter. he would lean close to your ear and call you a slut, his slut. wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. he gets a thrill when he's thrusting into you and a knock on the door would push you two to a sudden halt. that doesn't stop Shawn though. his thrusts would go faster, enjoying how tears would fall down your cheeks as he goes deeper, his hips snapping harder than it did before. he does his best to make you moan, to let whoever was at your hotel door to know that you belong to him. "god, you're so needy" "nothing but a slut for my cock" "so pretty with my cum in you"

[ hair pulling and marking ]

shawn's mouth would explore every surface on your body, his teeth grazing against your flesh. he's addicted to leaving bite marks on your thighs and hand prints on your waist. In turn, you'd leave claw marks running down his back and hickeys on his neck. he's rough. his hands don't shy away from you and they'll eventually find themselves in your hair, tugging your head back as he licks down your chest. he'd pay extra attention to your breasts, taking the time to make your nipples red and sensitive with his fingers and tongue until you're mewling and shuddering. shawn would hold your hair back with one hand as his other hand would trace his cock along your lips. he loves the way you moan when he pulls on your hair, pulling even harder to get you to tighten your legs around his hips. he doesn't hide the love marks you give him. as much as he enjoys letting people know you're his, he also loves to let them know that he's yours.

[ edging and teasing ]

shawn likes the control he has on you. to see you cry and lose your breath because of him and to have the power to make you beg for more. he'll fuck you just right, thrust into you and abruptly stop just before you climax. the way you cry out and how your jaw drops is just enough for him to thrust into you again. the whole process repeats itself until both of you are breathless and overstimulated. he won't let you cum until you're sobbing. he loves cumming on your stomach and the small of your back the most.

ok we have shawnie boy smut hcs but now imma need the original babygirl bret - ✌️ peace anon

𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒄𝒔

:: peace anon please forgive my absence 😔

warnings: smut (duh)

[praise]

Seeing you in a skirt does something to Bret. The way the edge of the fabric brushes against your thighs, how it contrasts with your skin. He doesn't waste time to push you down onto the bed when the two of you are finally alone in your hotel room. With his hand on your calf, he settles between your legs and kisses the back of your knees. Seeing you underneath him with his shadow looming over you sends a thrill up Bret's spine. Lowers his head and leaves bite marks on your thighs, leaving your legs trembling in his hands. His one hand on the small of your back, guiding you down his cock as his other hand settles on your nape and pulls you to his lips. His mouth would trail down to your neck, peppering your skin with gentle bites and kisses. He holds you close and whispers praises to your ear until you're sobbing into his shoulder. "You're doing so well, baby" "such a good cocksleeve for me" "I love you so much". They pour out of his mouth in groans and pants. His thrusts would abandon its constant rhythm for something more sloppy and desperate. And when you two are coming down from your climaxes, Bret rolls you two over until you're sitting on his lap. He shoots you a smile and fiddles with the skirt you still wore, ruined and spoiled. "You're so beautiful"

[marking]

Bret's hands have their place on your neck. He loves the hitch in your breath when he settles his hand on your nape. Loves the look of his fingers curling around the curve of your neck. Loves the quiet keens that escape your lips when he tightens his grip on your throat and ruts inside you. His hands like to wander on your body and memorize how it feels. And once he's done that, he marks your flesh with his hands until you're littered with hand prints. His hands would trail to your chest, his tongue following soon after. He'll move to your waist, then to your hips. He loves to mark you all over, to show people you belong to him.

[daddy kink]

Bret's Adams apple bobs when he swallows thickly, his hips snap to a halt and fully sheathed inside you. He looks at you with hooded eyes and thumbs your bottom lip. He gently tugs on your hair, leans closer to you, and whispers, "say it again". He presses his forehead to yours, "say it again" "please daddy". Bret's body heats up and he groans, quickening his pace. Your moans are drowned by the bed creaking beneath you.

₍ᵔ·͈༝·͈ᵔ₎ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒏 𝑯𝑪𝒔 ♡̸ ꒷꒦˓

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒘𝒏'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓 ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

⠀⠀⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪ ⊹ . : 𖥔˖࣪   ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 *  ˖ 𓏲࣪⠀

ahaha heyyyy how you guys doin? i totally didn't disappear off the face of this app. ya girl decided to shift to medical biology instead of pharmacy because pharmacy ain't it fjfjfj. anyways, have fun with this babes.

you became shawn's manager to keep him in check. he thrived under the spotlight but he was too reckless, pissing off his opponents with his in-ring antics. you were there to compensate for his lack of brain cells. it was comedic (at least that's what vince tells you) to have you not fall for the heartbreak kid's charm and have Shawn constantly try to woo you. it doesn't work— for the most part.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

shawn dances around you during his entrance to try and get you to crack a smile. after you've warmed up to him, kayfabe-wise, you dance with him after he wins a match.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

shawn does your hair. he called your hair a birds nest once and you almost shoved your hairbrush down his throat.

"if you think it's bad, why don't you do it?!"

"gladly!"

as much as you hate to admit it, shawn knows his way around a hairbrush. he purposely makes your hair a /little/ bit worse than his ("i want the cameras to focus on me, not yo—aCk"). he makes sure your hair styles match most of the time. if he has braids, you have braids. if he has his hair down, you have your hair down. he thinks it's cute but god forbid he gives you a mullet.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

he practices his promos with you backstage. the both of you usually sit across from each other, script in your hands. he insisted that he doesn't need to practice but you just raise your brow for him to pull out a steel chair to sit on.

"you sound constipated"

"well duh, i'm with you"

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

if it wasn't obvious enough, you tease each other a lot. it's insufferable.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

he's protective of you. shawn would immediately be by your side when he notices someone bothering you, both backstage and ringside.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

you usually hold shawn's championship belts for him during his matches. he does this thing where he goes to you just to see his reflection on the belt. he would let you wear his belt sometimes too, "pretty girl, pretty gold. makes sense to me"

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

he's insistent you give him a kiss on the cheek for good luck before every match. and his insistence would often be left unanswered. until that one time you did and he was left red in the face for a whole 10 minutes.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

shawn is the reason why you know ABBA's entire discography. he doesn't stop singing it even though he doesn't sound as good as he thinks he is. you bought him an ABBA cd for his birthday once and he's never left home without it.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

you guys match colors. diesel calls the both of you, "Tweedledee and Tweedledum" because of it.

˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅

shawns a sucker for attention. he would just be practicing his moves in a ring while youre reading a magazine. you could hear the mat shake before shawn goes, "did you see that yn?? did you see m—"

"yeah i did, that's great buddy"

you didn't.

IM SO UPSET /j

I wanted to just make a silly video like ‘haha guys look wrestling is sooo gay’ but this has turned out to unironically be the best thing I’ve ever made and I’m so upset about it /j

TAGS: @outsiderswolfpac

shawn michaels

wwf monday night raw — december 16, 1996

NSFW Alphabet SHAWN MICHEALS HEADCANONS

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

Shawn’s a cuddled. He’d never admit that shit out loud but he LOVES to be in your skin after sex. He wants to be under you and babied. Tell anyone and he’d deny it all.

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

Shawn’s favorite body part of his is his hands. He loves how much bigger they are compared to yours and he loves when you grab his hand when you’re nervous or scared.

His favorite body part of yours is your ass. It doesn’t matter how small it is or how big it is. Shawn is an ass man. He’s always smacking it when you walk down the gorilla with him.

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

Shawn likes to come on you. Specifically on your face and tits. He doesn’t know if it’s some territorial thing or what but he loves to cum in your underwear and make you wear them out.

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

Shawn likes to spit in your mouth. He once was really amped after a match and caught dragged you into his locker room “Open up baby.” You open your mouth and feel his warm spit hit your tongue. “Swallow.” It’s more of a demand than anything.

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

He’s extremely experienced he’s older than you and has definitely had a many trips around the sun lol.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Shawn’s favorite position is doggy. He loves hitting it from behind then pulling you up for a sloppy kiss. Sometimes he makes you arch your back more and you can almost feel him In your tummy.

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

Shawn is kinda goofy. More so during foreplay he’ll crack a shitty joke and chuckle in between pecks.

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

Shawn is decently well groomed. He’s a pretty boy so he keeps up with his appearance. He grows a lot of hair there so he keeps it neatly trimmed.

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

He’s a lot softer during intimacy. He gives you sweet kisses and everything is so much more sensual.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He masturbates a lot when you’re not around. He’s crazy about you so he’s not going touch another woman.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Shawn has a brat taming kink. He lowkey loves it when you get an attitude because it gives him an excuse to remind you why you should be a good girl.

He has marking kink. He purposefully puts hickeys in visible spots so he can make sure everyone sees them

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He likes to pull you into the broom closets backstage and fuck you against the wall “sssh if you get too loud somebody might hear you pretty.” Shawn would cover your mouth as he stroked deeper inside of you with a shit eating grin. He would let you walk out with a panty full of cum to his dressing room.

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

When you wear skimpy little ring outfits. Honestly he loves when you wear skimpy outfits no matter what. He likes for guys to know they can look but not touch. He likes when you tug on his hair something about just gets him going in all the right places.

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

He does not do anything to do with pee or poop.

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

Shawn likes to receive. He likes to see you gagging on his dick with tears running down your face. You’re such a pretty girl choking on him.

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

Shawn rough and slow. He wants you to enjoy every damn moment with him but he just likes it a little rough it general. He can’t help himself. Seeing the way you squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lips as he gives you agonizing slow strokes.

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

Shawn is always up for a quickie even at the most inappropriate of times and you regularly have to tell him no you will not meet him the McDonalds bathroom. As Paul sits obliviously next to you.

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

Shawn is a risk taker he once convinced you to let him fuck with the curtains open in your hotel room. It was thrilling hoping nobody peered up and saw your tits squished against the glass as Shawn took you from behind.

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

Shawn can go two rounds sometimes 3. Mostly two though he has a lot of energy and you’re his favorite stress ball.

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

He once bought you vibrating panties and made you walk down the gorilla with him. It’s the only toy he uses on you and god does he use it at the most inconvenient times.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Tease should be his middle fucking name. He’s always placing little kisses on your sweet spot. He’s rubbing your thigh under the table and feeling up your ass while taking pictures with fans.

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

Shawn’s a vocal boy and you love it. The way he fists your hair as he lets out a throaty groan. How he lets out pretty moan when you suck the tip just right.

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

He once fucked you in Hunter’s locker room. You wouldn’t call it your finest hour. He thinks fondly on it lol.

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

Shawn has a pretty dick. It’s pretty thick with one vein going up the under side of it and flushed tip when he’s hard.

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

Shawn is always down to fuck. When he hurt his back he almost begged you with puppy dog eyes to ride him.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Almost immediately after. He’s a huge on cuddling even when you whine to try and get up and take a shower he’s not having it. He pulls you close mumbles something about tomorrow and passes out on your stomach.

Dating Shawn Michaels Headcanons

When you first met him you thought he was a prick and he absolutely was one. You tried to avoid him because you heard the rumors about him being an asshole

You avoiding him definitely made him like you more. Shawn never realized it until he met you but he definitely enjoys the chase.

He finally gets you alone and for once doesnt act like a jerk off. He’s very nice even if it is just to get you to talk to him.

When you guys finally hit it off you try to keep things lowkey but that doesn’t work for Shawn. You’re pretty hot shit yourself and he wants everyone to know you’re with him.

He likes to grab you by the waist when he catches other guys looking at you backstage. He makes a show of grabbing your waist and giving it a little squeeze.

Being lowkey goes out of the window with Shawn. He makes you share a locker room with him. He won’t admit but he’s paranoid about guys trying to hit on you when he’s not around.

Taking care of him when his habits get a bit too out of hand. You always pull his hair back for him while he vomits in the toilet.

When no one is around you call him sugar. Shawn loves when you baby him after he’s feeling like shit and you call him that. “Come here sugar.” Just like that he’s slinking in the bed next to you while you play in his hair.

He asks you to move in with him fairly early into your relationship. He knows you’re the one and he wants to be under you all the time when he’s not on the road. Eventually he asks you to start traveling and staying in his hotels too.

Shawn loves that you’re different in that you’re honest with him. He might not like it and may even throw a little bitch fit but he knows you mean well.

Everyone is unsure how Shawn managed to bag you. He’s a major a- hole you’re a pretty little thing who’s pretty sweet for a top earner. None of the arrogance of your partner.