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vettelsvee · 2 months ago

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THIS IS MUCH BETTER THAN DRIVING | Sebastian Vettel

Red Bull (2011) Sebastian Vettel x Female best friend, Red Bull race engineer intern!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb helping you to improve your driving skills ends up in you both teasing each other and him teaching you how to masturbate (and then you beg him to eat you out) ↳ Part of HISTORY SERIES

WORD COUNT: 5133

WARNINGS: Smut (guided masturbation with Seb teaching how to do it, and oral sex, female receiving and teasing of male receiving at the end), curse words, lots and lots of teasing and sexual tension. Also a bit fluffy with Seb being a golden retriever :)

VEE'S NOTES: Seb content from Race of Champions has me over the moon. I'm not going thought a nice time in uni and my personal life and overall feel like a failure not gonna lie, but here I am! Apologies for not having updated in quite a long time but didn't feel in the mood to do so and didn't have time as well, so hope you like this one <3 ↳ TALK TO ME! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

You had a feeling long before Seb came to your house that he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. However, it wasn’t until you saw how effortlessly he blended in not just with your family, but also with Hanna, his ex girlfriend, when you all met up at Heppenheim before leaving for Hungary, that you realized you didn’t want to waste a single second away from the Red Bull driver.

That’s why, when he decided, almost impulsively, to take a flight at the beginning of August with just a suitcase, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You were in complete shock when you saw Seb standing at your front door, unable to believe he had traveled all the way to your country without telling you. More than that, you had no idea how he managed to keep it a secret, just so he could spend almost a month by your side. Your uncles reacted in a similar way, though not as positively.

If it hadn’t been for your aunt allowing him to stay in your room, without caring that you’d be sharing the same bed, your uncle would have undoubtedly sent him to a hotel since he had made it very clear that his house was not one.

During the nearly month-long stay at the Y/L/N household in Linz, the plan remained intact, though with small adjustments along the way. Weekly trips to the cinema became a routine. You both started acting like a couple, even if you weren’t one… yet. Grocery shopping together almost every day, looking after your younger sister as if she was your own daughter...

And then there was the driving test. Seb somehow convinced you to take the practical exam before your theory license expired. You had agreed, reluctantly, but only under one condition: he would be the one to teach you.

And so, there you were. The roles reversed. You, behind the wheel. Sebastian Vettel, Formula 1 world champion chasing his second championship, in the passenger seat, giving you instructions and trying to stay patient. But judging by the way the car jerked every time you overcorrected in the practice lot, it was obvious: you worked much better the other way around, giving him instructions on the radio during Grand Prix weekends.

You were good at a lot of things. Driving just wasn’t one of them.

“Why the fuck does the car keep stalling?!”

The frustrated hits against the steering wheel, along with the sudden brake, made Seb grip the headrest of his seat as if that would somehow help him.

“Relax, Y/N. You just need to release the clutch a little more smoothly, not so abruptly,” he corrected you, hoping he was right. “Rushing it won’t make the car go any faster.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, expert,” you huffed, restarting the engine.

It was almost funny how you were in an empty street at the very end of your homwtown with barely any people or traffic, yet you were still more nervous than you should be, losing the self-control you always claimed to have.

You had no idea what you were going to do in two days when you had to take the test with the examiner sitting behind your driving instructor.

“I don’t get why this is so complicated,” you nodded toward the uphill road in front of you. “You make it look so easy…”

“With the Red Bull car or my regular one?”

“Both,” you confirmed. “God, I’m so clumsy…”

He barely held back a laugh because, despite your frustration, you looked adorable. And, at the same time, the whole situation felt too surreal to be real.

He knew you could do it. You just needed to trust yourself a little more.

“You’ll get better with practice. Practice makes perfect. Besides, the driving test is just a formality: passing doesn’t mean you actually know how to drive,” he added.

“Are you telling me that if I somehow pass next Thursday, they’ll give me a license to drive alone, even though I don’t really know how?”

“Well, if you say it that way…”

“Then what’s the point of all this?” you muttered. “Are you going to keep driving with me until I do everything right?”

He told you with a low voice that yes, even though he was really thinking no. And, secretly, hoping that you’d manage to stop correctly at the stop sign on the hill.

“Listen, Seb,” you called, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “If I do this correctly, you owe me a kiss,” you motioned toward the stop sign.

He raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement flashing across his face.

He would give you whatever you wanted if you did it right. And if you didn’t…

Well, he’d still give it to you.

“Seriously, Y/N? Exchanging a proper start for a kiss?”

“What did you expect then, a million euros?”

Seb didn’t answer because, honestly, he had expected a different kind of suggestion… but it’s not like he didn’t like the one you proposed.

“Sounds good to me,” he finally answered.

“Is that all you’re going to say? I’m sure you thought I’d suggest not just a kiss but a full session of undetermined length.”

Even with your eyes still fixed on the road, the playful glint in them was undeniable, and the way your cheeks were turning red only confirmed the obvious: you were starting to tease him.

“Oh, I already took that for granted. That was always going to happen after dinner, sweetheart. It’s been our routine every night…”

“Since we first tried it at the cinema a week ago,” you finished for him.

You continued driving, and this time, without a trace of nerves or stalls, you ascended the hill effortlessly.

You pressed the brake, turned to face him, and a knowing smile curled on your lips.

“Looks like you really have everything under control now,” he acknowledged, making your smile widen even more.

“So… are you going to give me my kiss?”

Tilting his head slightly, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned toward you, slow yet eager. His hand found the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and with your hands gripping your seat, you closed the remaining space between you.

What caught you completely off guard was that he ended the kiss before either of you truly wanted to.

“That’s it? you asked, a little disappointed. “I thought I deserved a little… more.”

And just like that, playful you was back at it again.

“Oh, yeah? And how much more are we talking about?” Seb asked, mimicking your voice.

“Not too much. Just enough to prove to me that driving fast cars isn’t the only thing you’re good at.”

The driver raised an eyebrow, pretending not to know where you were going with this. You shot him a mischievous smile, one that told him you wanted something more. Something that maybe, just maybe… you weren’t quite ready for yet.

Or at least, Seb didn’t think you were.

“Why don’t we head back home, sunshine?” you suggested.

You were bored of driving around in circles. He probably was too, but your sudden suggestion caught him off guard. He glanced at his phone, checking the time, and deep down, it made sense. It was almost 7 PM, dinnertime. And you never, ever, delayed a meal.

“Sure, but let me drive,” Seb declared. There was no way in hell he was letting you take the wheel for the trip back.

“No,” you stated firmly. “I have to pass the test.”

“And you think driving illegally is the best idea you’ve ever had? Being risky is going to help you pass?”

“Yes.”

Y/N Y/L/N, of course, the queen of stubbornness.

He eventually gave in, albeit reluctantly, already knowing it was a terrible idea.

And, of course, it was.

Every turn you took, every straight path you followed, kept him on high alert. The streets were narrow, probably too narrow for someone with almost no driving experience. His fingers clutched the edge of his seat, though he tried his best to appear unfazed. The last thing he wanted was to show any fear, but every small jolt you made caused one in him as well.

“Do it right, Y/N,” he said when you ignored a yield sign, nearly colliding with an oncoming car.

The distressed sigh you let out told him he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. But it was the sharp gasp you let out when you scraped the side mirror of the car next to you, followed by an irritating screeching noise, that sent Seb into full-blown panic mode.

“Seb!”

Without a second thought, he unbuckled and jumped out, yanking open the driver’s side door. You were frozen, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, if you weren’t already in one.

“Y/N, calm down. It’s okay”,

Yeah, sure, as if a girl without a driver’s license damaging someone else’s car was totally fine.

“You need to get out of the car, sweetheart,” Seb told you with steady voice, calming his nerves.

Shaking, sniffling, and wiping at the steady stream of tears falling down your face, you barely seemed to process his words. He forced himself to stay calm as he gently unbuckled your seatbelt, his hands steadying yours as they trembled uncontrollably.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding you to the passenger seat. “Buckle up. It’s okay, alright? We’re going home.”

The alarm was still blaring, and the panic hadn’t left your face. He knew he had to act fast, and although what he was about to do wasn’t exactly the right thing, it was the only solution he could think of at the moment.

He silently promised himself he’d come back tomorrow to pay for the damages, pretending that he had been the one responsible for them.

Once he was seated behind the wheel, he wasted no time getting the car moving, maybe a little too fast, because in a matter of minutes you were back home.

“Seb, I’m going to jail!” you wailed as you stumbled out of the car. “They’re going to fail me when they find out what happened!”

“Hey, don’t be like that, you’re not going to jail, and you’re not failing any test,” Seb reassured, stepping beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It was just a small mistake. Better now than during the actual test.”

You nodded through your sobs, and he could only pray that your uncle wouldn’t be too mad about the scratches on his car because, as far as everyone else was concerned, Sebastian Vettel had been the one driving your uncle’s car the entire time.

"Darling, everyone makes mistakes," he continued, "and the important thing is that you learn from them. You're not going to jail for breaking a mirror, okay?" You nodded again. "We probably just need to talk to the car’s owner and that's it, really"

"What owner of what car do you need to talk to, Vettel?"

The door swung open abruptly, revealing Hans Y/L/N, your uncle, standing with his arms crossed and a completely serious expression. You started to hesitate, stepping closer to me in a rather suggestive way, making it more than clear that you were guilty of something.

"It was my fault, Mr. Y/L/N," Seb answered quickly. "I accidentally hit a car's mirror," he began lying, "and no matter how much we've searched, we haven't found the owner. Tomorrow, I'll go and take responsibility for the damage, and I'll also take the car to the shop to get the scratches fixed," he explained.

Your uncle gave him an unfriendly look. He raised his eyebrow, and if there was one thing Seb'd learned these past few days, it was that said gesture meant an interrogation was about to begin.

"So, you decided to play Brian O’Conner from those Vin Diesel movies Amelie’s obsessed with, huh? What exactly were you doing with my car? Or, better yet, inside my car?"

"We were just heading home, sir. I had no other intention beyond taking your niece for a drive around the town."

"And you don’t have other intentions that include to fuck her? Because that's often what your looks suggest."

You tensed beside him. Deep down, you knew that comment hadn’t been meant to be mean, but at the same time it annoyed Seb that he had made it.

Johanna, your aunt, appeared on the scene, and you both couldn't do anything but mentally thank her for showing up before Seb said something inappropriate.

"Leave the kids alone, Hans. Sebastian is not like that with my Y/N," the woman stated, shooting daggers at her husband as she positioned herself between you both. "Now, are you two hungry?"

"God, yes," Seb answered.

"No. I'm going to bed."

With that final sentence following his, you lowered your head and silently headed upstairs directly to your room.

"What's wrong with her now?" your uncle motioned toward the path you had just taken.

"She had a bad day," Seb replied, ignoring Hans' tone. "Would it be possible for me to take Y/N’s dinner up to her room?" Then, he hesitantly asked your aunt.

She nodded understandingly and quickly began placing two plates of mashed potatoes, boiled sausages, peas, a few pieces of bread and utensils on a tray.

"Don’t do anything crazy, Vettel," your uncle told Seb, calmly r. "The mashed potatoes are for eating, not for smearing all over my niece and then—"

"Hans, that's enough!"

Seb climbed the stairs with the dinner tray in hand, worried about you and hoping you weren’t hearing the argument your aunt and uncle had started in the kitchen.

When he knocked on your door, you opened it. Your expression was something Seb couldn't quite define, but it was definitely different from before. It was more… happy. You eagerly closed the door, and as soon as he set the food down on your desk and turned back to ask if you were okay, you threw yourself at him.

You started kissing Seb like your life depended on it. This was the first time your kisses didn’t show love. This time, they were something else. Lust and the desire to take a step forward in your still unofficial relationship were what made you be devouring each other hungrily, as if your lives depended on it.

"But weren’t you…?" Seb tried to ask, pulling back slightly.

"The only sadness I faked was not being able to kiss you like we just did before," you stated. "I wanted this, not a fucking argument about a broken mirror with my crazy old uncle."

Seb started wondering what was behind that confidence you had suddenly gained in just minutes.

Carefully, Seb pressed you against the wall. His hands moved from your face to your waist, beginning to explore up and down. Yours remained on the German’s chest, but as soon as he started sucking on your neck, they left that position and went straight to his hair, playing with it. Uncontrollable moans escaped your lips, growing faster and louder, and Seb had no choice but to not just ask but beg you to be quiet.

You couldn’t get caught in the act, especially not after today's little accident.

He could see how your nipples, previously hidden, were already visible behind the fabric of your dress. Seb kissed you again to now focus on your breasts. He massaged them slowly, almost to torture you, and with the tip of his forefingers he ran the aureole of each one of them and then went on to stimulate your nipples even more.

“God, Seb, don't stop... Go on… Don’t you dare to stop…”

With gasping sighs, like your breathing, your pleas made Seb want to make you his. To lay you down on the bed, climb on top of you to position his member at your entrance and take you slowly, leisurely, making you at last one in the way he had been wanting so much lately.

However, Seb knew you weren't ready for that yet.

“We have to stop, babe,” he whispered, abandoning what heI was doing to focus solely on looking at you. “I want you to be sure about this. I don't want our first time…”

“Seb, I am. I need you to fuck me,” you interrupted, clearly begging him for it.

Hearing you talk so dirty made Seb feel the size of my cock grow dizzily under his boxer shorts. He had never heard you talk like that, and he was more than convinced that he had just unlocked a new guilty pleasure from you.

“Please, Sebastian, fuck me….”

Seb tried to think rationally, but it was becoming increasingly impossible. He couldn't do it; not when he felt that she you not yet recovered from all you had been through after dating Mark, and were getting carried away with excitement.

Your eyes were fixed on his, and all they gave off was desire. You could have sworn Seb’s showed the same thing. He wanted, more than anyone, for you to take the next step, but one of you had to keep it cool so as not to hurt the other.

It hurt him, for the most part, to know that you were behaving that way because you felt you owed it to him for your previous reaction when you arrived home.

Anyway, that made you try to think as fast as he could, looking for the most viable alternative. Seb knew you had to explore each other little by little, and that was supposed to suit you....

There, the idea that he considered to be the idea had just popped into his mind.

Carefully, Seb pulled you away from him. With your hair disheveled, but still beautiful, and with your arms crossed and your face unfriendly, you stood next to the bed. Your eyes threw what seemed to be invisible knives at Seb. He ignored that, and positioned himself on your bed so that his back was completely against the headboard and your legs were spread wide enough for you to sit between them.

“Sit here,” he spoke to you as calmly as he could while controlling his excitement and taking off at the same time his shirt and belt since he couldn't stand the heat anymore.

He didn't seem to understand what you had said, so you repeated it again to him:

“I want you to fuck me, Sebastian, not play games to keep me entertained,” you replied, not seeming to understand what he was getting at.

Seb didn't answer you because I knew that, if he did, you would end up getting into a quarrel in which both of you would come out badly: you, for having spoken badly to Seb for no reason, and him for having made you feel uncomfortable when the only thing he want was, precisely, the opposite.

“Will you let me give you a blowjob at least?” you suggested again as if you felt it was a way to pay for something.

Again, no answer from his side. Instead, he simply tried not to say yes and just avoided making eye contact with you as he repositioned himself a little better.

“Seb, please…”

“We have time for everything, love, so you don't want to be in a hurry to try to please me or do other things,” he explained. “Sit here between my legs, please.”

As he thought, you had regretted it. The calm tone of his voice caused you to uncross your arms and change your expression to a more relaxed one. Seb could have sworn it was a very happy one. You ended up positioning yourself where he told you, dropping backwards onto his chest and trying your best to not hurt him.

“Are you wearing underwear?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Could you take it off for me, love? “

Without answering him, knowing exactly what he was referring to, you arched your back slightly and took your panties off, letting them drop to the floor shyly. Then, you leaned back against Seb and, him, carefully, spread your legs a little.

“I need you to stand up a little more, honey,” he said, and you did exactly that.” Now, give me your hand.”

“Why…?” you questioned, sounding a bit insecure.

“I'm going to teach you how to pleasure yourself so that when I can't pleasure you, which I hope is never, you can do it for me.”

Seb’s confession left you with no words. You raised your head to look at him, probably not very convinced of what he had just told you.

“There's no need for this, Seb. What happened before was just…”

“I know you want to do this as much as I do, Y/N, but I want you to do it before I do it to you,” Seb interrupted you. “But really, if you want us to stop all you have to do is tell me.

You said nothing else. Shyly, you gave Seb your left hand and, as soon as he took it, he left a kiss on the top as he squeezed it tightly. He left another on you forehead, and he heard you catch your breath as you began to gently direct it below your stomach.

“Seb, can I stay dressed?” you blurted out of nowhere.

Seb knew why you had just said that, and he couldn't help but feel bad for you.

“Sure, yeah, whatever makes you feel more comfortable darling,” he replied, trying not to break down because it hurt him to see you so insecure. “I'm always going to respect your boundaries, Y/N. Really, if you don't want to do this...”

“No,” you cut him off, stroking his cheek. ”I want to. I want to be yours in every way, and this is one of them. It's just that..”

“It's just what, Y/N?”

“Forget it…”

After that last word, he again sought approval in your gaze. With a nod, Seb brought your hands to the inside of your pussy and began to gently run your fingertips over the labia majora.

“My advice is to start here first. Little by little…”

“And no hurry,” you finished for him.

“Exactly. Once you think the time is right, move on to the labia minora, which is this,” Seb then ran your fingers over the outer area of your intimacy, a soft moan coming out of your mouth. “Give yourself love, find what you like, and from there, play with yourself however you want.”

For the next few minutes he changed rhythms, directions, and he would even go so far as to say Seb tried new things he thought you might like for when we had more contact.

His index finger, though really both of yours, went all at once to your clit, which already seemed to be a little swollen with excitement.

“This little guy is becoming your newest best friend, alright?”

Your gasping moan gave him the reason and enough encouragement to start massaging it slowly and torturously.

“This is what will give you the most pleasure,” Seb explained, trying to increase the rhythm a little. “When you have stimulated the previous areas, go to this one.”

“And can't I go to this one directly?” you asked curiously, playing with your innocence.

“You can, but you won't be as wet as you are now.”

Seb put aside the rubbing to the spot to run it lightly over your pussy, which was wetter than he was expecting.

“See? This is what playing with you has done to you, love,”he told you.

“And can't I do it any other way?”

“Of course. There are a thousand more ways to make you cum, Y/N,” both of your fingers returned to the bundle of nerves. The speed increased, and your gasping breaths began to take over. ”Trust me when I’ll be showing you every single one of the ways when I make you cum.”

You shared no more words. You simply confined yourselves to your very own pleasure.

Seb’s movements were faster, and also slower. The squeeze to the clit went from more to less, the other way around, and you traced so many geometric shapes on it that you were sure you even made some of them up.

Seb felt his dick getting more and more bigger, and he knew that was only going to have more than consequences, but he didn't give a fuck in that moment.

He just wanted to make you cum and make you feel in ways you probably didn’t feel like while dating Mark.

Your moans turned to screaming whispers in a low tone. You couldn’t stop moaning Seb’s name, and you felt like you were about to pass out. He knew you would go further when, with your free arm, you reached around Seb’s neck and tried to grab his hair, but failed in the attempt because you arched your back too much from the pleasure. All Seb could do was kiss you in the meantime to silence your upcoming moans, who almost made you scream.

The moment you cummed and moaned loudly his name, between kisses, he knew he had made the right decision.

“Fuck, Seb…” was all you could say as you recovered.

“Did you like it? Did we do it right?”

“Is this... having an orgasm? I didn’t have the same ones with… you know.”

The embarrassment with which you wanted to know that made Seb want to hug you. He ended up doing so because deep down, you had him on your feet.

He was crazy over you, and moments like these made him crazy about waiting for the right moment to ask you the question.

“Yes, that's having an orgasm,” he confirmed.

You stood in front of Seb, sitting cross-legged, looking at him as if you wanted to tell him something. Then, you shook your head and hid your face behind your hands, a bit ashamed of the thoughts you were having.

“What's the matter, honey?” Seb asked, pulling your hands away and making you look at him.

“I'm so embarrassed to ask you this, but... do you think you could do it now... with your mouth?”

“You don't even have to ask me that, love. I'm here to do whatever you want. I thought you already knew that.”

Seb placed a chaste kiss on your lips. He got off the bed and, carefully, laid you down and gently dragged you so that your legs fell over the edge of the surface. Seb began to leave a trail of kisses on your inner thighs, and your sighs became like music to his ears once again.

Seb noticed how you incorporated a bit, using your elbows as a foothold to see everything.

“If you want me to stop, all you have to do is tell me, okay?”

You nodded and didn't have to tell him anything else.

Seb wrapped his arms around your legs and ran his tongue over her pussy without previous warning, catching you completely off guard. He noticed how his nose brushed your clit as his tongue was centered on your entrance.

His name, once again, came out of your mouth without any warning, and he loved that.

He devoted himself entirely to devouring you with increasing eagerness, opening and closing his mouth as he filled you with pleasure. Seb massaged your entrance with his tongue. He sucked your bundle of nerves between the strokes of, in that moment, the various letters of the alphabet over it, and did his best not to add his fingers to the equation because it had been enough discovering for that day, and he wanted to take things step by step with you.

Your back arched rather aggressively, and Seb even had to place one of his hands on your lower stomach to keep you on the mattress.

“That's right, babe. You're doing great.”

After leaving you a small kiss where his hand was placed, Seb went back to my work.

Now, his gaze held yours as he ate you like it was a once in a lifetime luxury. Seb could feel that you were just about to cum, and that only made him self-impose an increase in speed.

Seb decided to only move his lips and tongue quickly, focusing exclusively on your clit. You grabbed his hair and pulled his locks, then placed the palm of your hand on his head and brought it even closer, if possible, to your pussy.

No words needed. Seb quickly took the hint. He gripped your waist tightly as he kept your legs from closing, and continued his work.

He looked at you again, his eyes begging, aiming you to cum, to squeal, whatever you wanted, if you wanted to, not caring about what your family thought of what we were doing if they heard you both.

“My God, Sebastian Vettel!”

After those words, writhing as Seb never imagined you would despite being subjected to his grip, he felt your orgasm taking you over.

Seb took the remains of your cum, enjoying the first taste of it. The same happened to you when he kissed you. You tasted yourself for the first time as well and seemed to enjoy it. You got drunk a few nights ago, so you ended up spilling to Seb that Webber had never done anything to please you like what Vettel just did to you, and it was the same with the few guys you hooked up with for a few months.

After sharing a few more kisses, Seb got up and took you by your waist carefully, making you both collapse on the bed. Most of your clothes were still on, and you didn't have, nor did you feel, the need to get rid of them because your intimacy went far beyond your bodies being just one.

“Have these two been good enough for being the first ones?” he wanted to know, referring to the orgasms. He put an arm under your body and almost forced you to snuggle into his chest.

“Good enough?” you lifted your head, staring at himself while putting your lips together. “This is much better than driving, Seb.”

“Does that mean you want to do it again some other time? Or what...?”

“It means it's your turn now,” you declared, sitting up and positioning yourself on your knees between Seb’s legs, playing with the edge of his pants. "Then, we can repeat as many times as you want. The night is long, sunshine, so let me make you feel good now. Don’t I deserve it after being a very, bad girl today?”

365 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 6 months ago

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i crumble completely (when you cry)

pairing: sebastian sallow x fem ravenclaw reader

summary: there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

a/n: hogwarts legacy was 70% off, i bought it and it's good but not good enough in all the ways that matter so im fixing it for myself. no i dont know why this is where my inspo is when i have so much unfinished stuff but just go with it

wc: 2.1k

warning(s): angst but hurt/comfort angst! a more in depth scriptorium scene so crucio is used but this is from seb's pov so lighter descriptions of all that fun stuff

“Ominis, you have to.”

“I’m not doing it!” he exclaimed. “What do you not get?”

“Would you rather die here?” Sebastian spat. “Because if you don’t, that’s what will happen. And I’ve become rather fond of my life over these past few minutes.”

“I refuse to use dark magic,” Ominis seethed. “You of all people should understand, Sebastian!”

“I don’t understand why you’d let us die instead of casting one spell!”

He barked an incredulous laugh. “It is not just one spell! God, you—”

“Can you do it?”

Sebastian’s anger faltered for a moment when you spoke up, and he frowned when he saw you were looking at him. “What?”

“Can you do it?” you repeated. “Can you cast the curse?”

“I—” His mouth fell open and shut as he looked between you and Ominis, before they finally settled on you. “—I think so. Not well, but—”

“Then you can do it,” you said. “Cast it on me, and we’ll be out of this mess.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he said your name in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

You stared at him. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ominis cut in. “I know what it feels like—you’re not putting yourself through that. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.” You gestured at the letters on the ground, his aunt’s last mark on the world. “You’ve got the answer right here, and a willing victim. What are you waiting for?”

Sebastian grimaced. “Calling yourself a victim isn’t helping.”

“The only reason you’re willing is because you don’t know what you’re signing up for.” Ominis’s blank gaze pointed at the ground, but his sharp words hit you all the same. “It’s unimaginable, excruciating pain. Every one of your nerves exploding, your bones being crushed to dust, your blood turning to fire. You will never forget what it feels like.”

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the chill settling over you. “Well, it’s either that or we sit around here until we die.”

“Even if he wanted to—”

“Which I don’t!” Sebastian cut in.

“He would have to really mean it,” Ominis finished.

“Again, which I don’t!” he exclaimed.

“That just means it won’t hurt as much,” you said. “Should take away some of your reservations.”

Sebastian huffed. “There is something wrong with you.”

“And you were all for this when it would be Ominis casting it on me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I— I figured he would cast it on me!” His eyes widened. “I— I could teach it to you, and you could cast it on me!”

“Will the two of you stop bickering?” Ominis asked. “It’s not making this any better.”

“Of course,” you nodded. “Sebastian will cast the Cruciatus Curse on me, and we’ll be out of here. Okay?”

Sebastian stared at you, your steely gaze having already met his. You’d always been stubborn, unyielding—he’d known it since you bested him in a duel in your first ever meeting.

Ravenclaw hardheadedness, he figured. Always assuming you knew best (you usually did), that you were right (you usually were), that you could handle whatever ended up in your path (you usually could).

And here you were, standing right in front of him, those determined eyes unwavering as you practically begged him to cast an Unforgivable Curse on you.

Did you know that he wasn’t even sure he could cast it on you? Not just because it was near unthinkable, but because he had no idea if he could scrounge up enough ill will towards you to even partially want to hurt you.

Did you know that you were the reason he’d started doing better in classes? That, no matter how much he complained about your study sessions together, that he could have been doing something much more productive, he treasured every moment with you?

Did you even know that the mere thought of causing you pain made him want to retch? That, yes, he may very well choose death over imparting the torture curse on you?

Did you even know how he felt about you?

Sebastian pulled his wand out his robes, his grip tightening in an effort to stop his hand from shaking. “You’re sure about this.”

You nodded. “It won’t leave any physical wounds. It’ll be over sooner than you know it.”

He huffed as he glanced away. “You shouldn’t be the one reassuring me.”

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged. “Just… buy me a pint of butterbeer when we get out of here. Then we’ll be square.”

“You’re not exactly aiming high,” Sebastian said wryly.

You smiled. “My mum always told me it was the simple things. Now, do it before I lose my nerve.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, once, twice, three times as he adjusted his hold on his wand. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember the wand movement, but instead, he saw your face.

The first time he met you, when you embarrassed him in front of the whole class by beating him ina duel. When you asked him to take you to Hogsmeade for the first time, and you ended up taking down a troll—how beautiful you looked with the glow of exertion beneath your skin, when you turned to him with the widest (and maybe first) smile he’d ever seen from you in the wake of your efforts.

How could he do something like this to you?

He pushed the doubt down. There was no other way. You wanted him to do it—wanted him to save them all from a very boring, very preventable death.

Something in the scriptorium could save Anne. That was worth anything.

Sebastian took in a deep breath. He brought forth every negative thought—the goblin that cursed his sister, his housemates that believed in nothing but blood purity, his uncle that refused to believe in him, refused to even try to save Anne.

None of it to do with you, who had done nothing but support him since you helped him up from the ground after pummeling him into it, but he tried to project it onto you anyways.

He raised his wand.

He opened his eyes—your gaze hadn’t moved. They showed no fear, no anger, no emotion at all but steely determination.

“Crucio!”

Red light arced from his wand to your body. You crumpled to your knees the instant the spell reached you, skull-splintering screams echoing throughout the small room as the curse wrapped its way around you.

Your scarf fell from your neck, your robes pooled around you, your knees and palms scraped the stone as you tried to support yourself in any way. Your agonized wails were deafening, and Sebastian nearly lost it right then and there, nausea rising in his throat. Ominis’s blank, widened gaze fell on the wall, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to keep his expression even.

You were one of the strongest people Sebastian knew. Always infallible, always so smart, so level headed in the face of his impulsivity. Naturally gifted at magic, and somehow willing to tolerate him. And he’d been forced to reduce you to this.

But it worked. Your screams of pure torment unlocked something in Salazar Slytherin’s sick design, and the door of tortured faces pulsed with red energy before sliding into the stone.

Sebastian rushed over the moment the door started to open, his wand falling from his grasp in his haste and his eyes wide with fear and concern. He went to touch you, but stopped just before he could—he didn’t want to hurt you more. Your entire body rose and fell with your beleaguered breaths as you rolled on your side, your every movement labored.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I— I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t respond, the pain still arcing its way through your body despite the curse being done. You inhaled sharply as your eyes screwed shut, and you nodded.

“You’re clearly not okay.” The slight waver in Ominis’s voice betrayed his unaffected stature. “That was remarkably stupid.”

“Ominis—” Sebastian started, but you shook your head.

“It worked,” you interrupted as you lifted a shaky hand to point at the now revealed scriptorium. “Couldn’t… couldn’t be too stupid… could it?”

“There is something wrong with you,” he whispered. You could only manage a pained laugh at his words.

Sebastian stayed there with you as you fought through the last few convulsions—he said nothing when you grabbed his hand, bit back his wince when you squeezed tighter than a vice. After what you just went through, he could bear something so small.

Your breathing was still labored when he finally helped you up. Your legs nearly collapsed beneath you, but he kept you upright.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, desperate to reassure you. “You— you’re okay.”

“I told you I would be,” you said.

“You did,” he conceded. “I keep forgetting you’re always right.”

He got the slightest smile from you at that. Sebastian glanced over when he heard footsteps, and he saw Ominis approaching. His whole body still held a tenseness, but he was sure it was for a different reason this time.

“…You took that well,” he finally said, and he held out your scarf.

Again, another laugh and another wince. “I really didn’t. But thank you.”

You reached for the scarf, but Sebastian got to it first. He gently draped it around your neck, taking special care to keep the Ravenclaw emblem in the front. You had a lot of pride in your house.

“How’s that?” he asked softly.

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

He nodded too, and Ominis cleared his throat. Sebastian turned back to him, his cheeks tinted slightly pink. Ominis held his wand, and he took it back before shoving it back into his robes. Casting any sort of spell felt dirtied right now.

“Thank you,” he said. “I… I’m sorry about all this.”

“…Thank you,” Ominis echoed. “Let’s just get out of here before any more of Slytherin’s tricks find us.”

“No arguments here,” you mumbled.

Ominis walked in, and though your eyes followed him, you lingered back with Sebastian. He still supported you, one of his arms interlocked with yours. A part of him was worried that you would collapse again the second he stepped away. He could feel your chilled skin even through your robes—no wonder you always wore your scarf. You ran colder than a mermaid.

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian said quietly.

“You already said that.”

“Because it’s true,” he said. “These curses are unforgivable for a reason. You never should have had to go through this.”

“Well, I forgive you,” you said. “We had no choice, and I asked you to do it. And,” you gave him a wry look, “it didn’t hurt that much, so you clearly didn’t mean it.”

He couldn’t even laugh at that—he kept hearing your piercing screams, agony beyond all reason. He would surely hear them for weeks to come in his sleep, see your prone form every time he closed his eyes.

He felt you nudge him in the side. “Hey. Perk up. I’m okay. Besides,” you gave him a sideways smile, “Rowena would be proud. Anything in the name of knowledge, eh?”

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and he shook his head. “There’s—”

“Something wrong with me, I know. That’s the third time today.” You tilted your head towards the scriptorium. “Now, shall we get what we suffered for?”

Sebastian nodded, and the two of you walked in, him still supporting you. Ominis had already made his way up the stairs—he really did want to get out as soon as possible. You had your wand in your free hand and had already murmured a quick Revelio, eyes darting around in an effort to unearth any secrets.

“That brain of yours never stops, does it?”

Your lips quirked. “Never.”

Another beat of silence as you searched the alcoves together. He couldn’t help but watch you—you were a Ravenclaw in her natural habitat. Your brow creased just so, your pretty features honed to a single point of focus, cycling through all your thoughts at breakneck speed despite what you just went through. It made his heart swell with something he couldn’t quite name, right beside a gnawing hole filled with guilt.

“I really do owe you a pint,” Sebastian murmured.

You laughed. Lighter, this time, and with only the slightest grimace. “Make that two.”

A smile crossed his lips without him even thinking. Sebastian was so glad he had you in his life—he was only sorry he had to wait until fifth year.

“Deal.”

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy x reader #hogwarts legacy x you #sebastian sallow hogwarts legacy #h

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 months ago

Note

anything you want i did see a video where he was saying you hurt my darling to Rockwood and my did things to my heart

By Right of Blood | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

RAHHHH THIS WAS FUN. I LOVE PROTECTIVE SEB. I HOPE YOU ENJOY. I admit, I got carried away and this ended up longer than I anticipated which is why it took me a hot minute to get to this but I hope it was worth it!

Fair warning: this fic is realllllly just a lot of angry, protective seb + fighting/action; very little fluff/romance/etc until the very end

A very special thank you to @newdreamlove95 for reading this over and helping me revise before posting! <3

Words: ~13,000

Tags: Violence, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Canon Divergence, Post Hogwarts, Auror Seb, Auror MC, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Confessions

The ruin was ancient—far older than the maps suggested.

You exhaled, the sound swallowed by the dense, humid air of the underground chamber. The magic here was thick, pressing against your skin like something alive. It whispered at the edges of your mind, hinting at an enchantment cast long ago.

Your wand's light flickered against the damp stone as you stepped forward, careful, methodical. Runes lined the archways, warnings etched in a dialect you barely recognized. You traced your fingers over them, murmuring a translation under your breath.

Do not enter. Do not disturb what has been sealed.

A warning, not unlike many you had seen before.

You had been breaking curses for years, navigating the remnants of forgotten civilizations, dismantling traps left behind by those who feared their own creations. It was dirty, dangerous work—but it suited you, kept you sharp, fulfilled your unquenchable need for adventure.

This ruin was no different.

The patterns in the stone, the way the air hummed—there was something familiar about it.

Ancient magic.

You stepped toward the center of the chamber, fingers brushing the edges of an inscription half-buried beneath the dust of centuries.

Then, you heard a sound.

Faint, but unmistakable. Not a ghost. Not an animal. Not the whisper of long-dead magic. It was the slow, deliberate scuff of boots against stone.

Someone was here.

You whirled around, wand gripped tightly, heart immediately hammering against your ribs, adrenaline spiking.

"Identify yourself."

The laugh that followed was slow, low at first but rising, curling around you like smoke.

You recognized it immediately. It was a sound that haunted your nightmares, woven into memories you had long tried to bury. The echo of it sent something sharp and cold twisting in your gut.

From the darkness, a figure stepped into the dim glow of your wandlight.

“Hello, love.”

Your grip on your wand tightened.

“I have to say,” the man mused, tilting his head as though appraising you, “I was beginning to think I’d never get the chance to see you again. You’ve been quite the slippery little thing, haven’t you?”

Your blood ran cold, but you kept your stance firm, refusing to let him see the way his presence set every nerve in your body alight with warning.

“You should be dead,” you said evenly.

“Should be,” he echoed, almost lazily. “But I’ve always been a difficult man to kill.”

His eyes flickered over you, and something dark and satisfied curled at the edges of his expression.

“And you—still sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” His gaze drifted to the ruins around you. “I wonder… is it curiosity that brought you here? Or instinct?”

Your pulse roared in your ears, but you held steady.

“You’re a fool if you think you’ll walk away from this,” you said, voice low, dangerous. “The Ministry has been hunting you for years. You won’t leave these ruins alive.”

Another laugh.

“Oh, I rather think I will,” he replied, tipping his head in amusement. “And you, my dear, will be coming with me, in due time of course.”

The words had barely left his mouth before you moved.

Your wand cut through the air, the incantation forming on your lips—but the curse never left your tongue, because he was faster:

"Crucio."

Pain exploded through you, tremendous and searing. Your knees buckled. Your wand slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly against the stone as your body hit the ground. Every muscle seized, your spine arching against the agony as if to escape the pain.

The world blurred, your vision tunneling as your screams echoed off the cavern walls.

It felt endless.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling, nerves raw and burning in the aftermath. The cold stone beneath you did nothing to ground you, nothing to dull the lingering agony that curled through every inch of you like a live wire.

Boots scraped against stone.

Through the haze, you saw a second figure step beside you. You tried to move. To reach for your wand. To fight. But before you could, a boot connected with your face and pain erupted again—sharp and immediate, snapping your head to the side.

A burst of light—too bright, too fast—as your skull cracked against the stone.

The last thing you heard before everything plunged into darkness was a voice, smooth and satisfied.

"Sleep tight, love."

Victor Rookwood was a ghost story.

A name spoken in hushed tones, a shadow that stretched long over the years, fading in and out of whispered rumors like a specter that refused to be laid to rest. He had haunted the edges of Ministry investigations, slipping through the cracks, a vanishing act so seamless that some believed he had died in hiding. Others swore he had fled the country, abandoning his tattered empire to rot. There were even those who claimed he had gone mad—driven into the depths of some forsaken ruin, a king without a throne, wasting away in solitude.

But Sebastian Sallow knew better.

Rookwood was too proud, too vain, too damn angry to let himself rot in obscurity. He had spent a lifetime clawing his way into power—he would not fade quietly into the dark.

Sebastian told you once, in passing, that the Ministry still had a standing order to find him. That somewhere, someone was always searching. But he never told you that he was the one leading the hunt. That it was his team tracking every cold lead, every whispered sighting, every scrap of intelligence that might finally drag the bastard into the light. He never told you that he had spent every fucking year since leaving Hogwarts with a singular purpose: to make sure the ghosts that haunted you never had the chance to crawl out of the dark.

Because no matter how many years passed, no matter how much you tried to leave it behind, there was one person tied to Rookwood’s downfall more than anyone else:

You.

It was why Sebastian had never questioned your decision to become a cursebreaker instead of an Auror, even when others did. Even when they called it a waste of talent. He knew why. Knew what the rebellion had taken from you—what ancient magic had cost you.

And it was why he hadn’t wanted you going alone.

Southern Scotland. Uncharted ruins. A job you couldn’t pass up.

“I don’t like it,” he had told you before you left, arms crossed, jaw tight with unease.

“You don’t like anything that involves me going anywhere alone,” you had pointed out, amused, packing your satchel with methodical efficiency.

Sebastian’s scowl had deepened. “And for good reason.”

He wasn’t wrong. Cursebreaking was dangerous by nature.

And what you didn't know was that to Sebastian, this wasn’t just another expedition. He had waded through enough bodies in his time as an Auror to recognize a pattern when he saw one, and of one thing he was certain: Rookwood’s activities had increased lately.

Small things, at first—whispers in Knockturn Alley, Ministry research going missing. Then the disappearances started. Then the unsolved cases, scattered across the country, all tied together by the same faint, rotten thread. His team of Aurors was finding bodies again, burned and mutilated in ways that were too familiar. The signs were all there—Rookwood was growing bolder, the noose of his ambition tightening.

And now you were gone.

A simple owl was all Sebastian had asked for. A brief message—I’m fine. Don’t worry. Still working. It was the bare minimum, a compromise between his paranoia and your stubborn insistence that you could take care of yourself.

But the hours stretched long, the silence thickening into something unbearable.

No owl. No sign of you. And Sebastian knew. Fuck, he knew.

Victor Rookwood had you.

He'd gone through every logical excuse—maybe you’d finished late, maybe found something interesting in the ruins and got sidetracked. You had taken worse risks before, pushed the limits of your own survival in ways that made him grit his teeth and call you reckless. But you were also experienced. Brilliant. And you knew the weight of promises made to the people who worried about you.

You wouldn’t forget to owl him.

Sebastian shot up from his chair so violently that it scraped across the floor, nearly toppling over. Across the room, a few of his fellow Aurors glanced up from their desks, but no one said anything. They had learned by now that when Sebastian moved with that particular kind of urgency, it was better to stay out of his way.

He stormed through the office, his mind already sharpening, already forming the next steps: he needed resources. He needed names. He needed your fucking location.

Sebastian tore through the corridors of the Ministry, moving fast enough to nearly knock over a passing file clerk. Papers went flying, a startled protest rose behind him, but he barely muttered an apology before pressing forward, his pulse a sharp, insistent drumbeat in his ears.

The Department of Cursebreaking was quieter than his own, filled with scholars and field researchers instead of hardened Aurors. Less war, more history. It had always suited Ominis.

Sebastian stepped into his friend's office without knocking.

Ominis was already standing, his chair pushed back, his posture rigid.

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. “She’s missing.”

“I know. I tried contacting her this morning,” Ominis replied, his voice tight, each syllable measured, controlled. “No response. And there were traces of magical interference, which means whatever happened to her—” He cut himself off, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His breath came a little too sharply through his nose. “It wasn’t an accident.”

Sebastian already knew that.

"Not shit," he snapped, voice raw, hoarse. His hands curled into fists at his sides, shaking with barely restrained fury. "Rookwood has her."

Ominis exhaled sharply through his nose, unreadable behind the usual mask of quiet control—but Sebastian knew him too well. He saw the tension in the way he stood, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his jaw clenched just a fraction tighter. Ominis was worried.

Good. He should be.

Still, when he spoke, his voice was measured, deliberate. "Sebastian—"

"Don’t tell me to calm down," Sebastian cut in, already knowing what was coming. "Don’t—don’t say that I should sit tight and be rational and fucking wait while Rookwood—" His breath hitched, and he turned away sharply, hands raking through his hair. "Fuck."

Ominis’ shoulders stiffened, but his voice remained level. "I'm worried too," he said, quieter this time, as if the weight of the words might reach Sebastian through the haze of his anger. "But we can’t do anything rash. You don’t know what you’re walking into, and—"

"Rookwood has her, Ominis." Sebastian turned back to him, his gaze wild and desperate. "You know what that means."

Ominis did know. Knew it all too well. Knew what Rookwood was capable of. Knew what he had done to people before. Knew what he would do now, given the chance.

And worst of all—knew exactly what you meant to Sebastian.

He had always known.

Had seen it written in every unspoken word, every sharp breath, every stupid reckless thing Sebastian had done for you since they were teenagers. It was in the way he watched you when you weren’t looking, the way he always reached for his wand at the first sign of trouble, the way his whole world seemed to orient around you without him even realizing it.

And now you were gone.

"Sebastian—"

"We don't have time to wait!" Sebastian interrupted, his voice raw, shaking. "We don't even know how long she's been missing. She could’ve been taken yesterday, she could be—" His throat tightened, something painful lodging there. "We don’t know, Ominis. And you’re asking me to fucking wait?!"

Ominis exhaled through his nose, struggling for calm. "Your team is in the field," he pointed out, even, steady. "They need to be here. You need them."

Sebastian shook his head, laughing bitterly. "I need to go. Now. Before it's too late."

"You’re talking about storming into a situation blind. Without backup. Without a plan. Do you hear yourself?" Ominis’ voice sharpened. "Do you even care if you survive this?"

Sebastian stilled.

And that—that—was what made Ominis go still, too.

Because Sebastian didn’t answer. His breathing was too fast, his fists still clenched at his sides, and in his silence, Ominis knew.

Sebastian wasn’t thinking about himself at all.

Sebastian had never been good at restraint, had never known how to stop when it came to the people he loved. He had already proven, again and again, that there was nothing—nothing—he wouldn’t do if someone he loved was in danger. And you—

You were everything.

"Sebastian, please," Ominis tried again, softer this time, stepping closer. "You going in alone is exactly what Rookwood would want."

Sebastian let out a sharp, bitter exhale. "Rookwood wants her, Ominis," he spat, voice hoarse. "And I’ll be damned if I let him have her."

Ominis hesitated. Because the truth was, Sebastian was right. They didn’t have time.

But Ominis also knew, with every shred of certainty in his body, that if Sebastian went now—alone, reckless, half-mad with fury—he might never come back.

But the Auror was already moving.

"Owl my team," he said, reaching for the door and ignoring Ominis's protests. "But I'm not waiting for them."

He stormed into the hallway, his mind a razor-sharp edge of focus. He didn’t know where you were, but he knew where to start.

The ruins. That was where Rookwood had found you. But Sebastian had never seen the ruins himself, had never been there. He couldn't apparate to a place he didn’t know.

Which meant he needed someone who did: your apprentice, Elias Vane.

Sebastian found him in the far corner of the Cursebreaking Department, hunched over a desk littered with notes, open grimoires, and a cup of tea, long forgotten.

Vane was young—barely out of Hogwarts—but sharp. Talented. You had spoken well of him before, praised his instinct, his skill. Reckless, yes, but capable. A good cursebreaker.

And right now, Sebastian needed him.

He didn’t slow as he approached, didn’t stop. His hands slammed against the desk with enough force to rattle the inkpot and send a loose parchment fluttering to the floor.

Vane jolted, eyes snapping up in alarm. “Shit—”

“You’re coming with me,” Sebastian said, voice cold, clipped. His pulse roared in his ears. No time. No patience. “Now.”

Vane blinked, still disoriented. “What—?”

“The ruins,” Sebastian snapped. “The ones she went to. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

Vane’s expression flickered with confusion, then something like wariness. “Y-yeah, once, during the initial survey, but—”

“Then you’re taking me there.”

Vane frowned, still catching up. “Wait—why? Where’s—”

“She’s missing,” Sebastian cut in, his voice like flint. “No owl. No sign of her.” He straightened, shoving back from the desk. “We need to leave. Now.”

Vane paled. He scrambled to his feet, knocking over the inkpot in the process, but didn’t even glance at it. “She—she’s missing? But—” His voice dropped to something unsure, something unsteady. “She’s good at this, Sallow. If something happened—”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. His breath came sharp through his nose.

“She didn’t just get lost,” he said, voice dangerously low. “She was taken.”

Vane hesitated, but whatever he saw in Sebastian’s expression had him snapping his mouth shut and nodding. “Alright. But if she’s just holed up in some side chamber taking notes, she’s going to kill us both for interrupting her.”

Sebastian didn’t respond.

He prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that was the case, but the dread clawing at his chest told him otherwise.

He stepped closer, gripping Vane’s arm.

“Hold tight,” Vane murmured before twisting his wand.

The world cracked apart, then Sebastian’s boots hit the stone with a sharp thud.

The ruins loomed before him, vast and desolate, and he felt it. Something was wrong.

Sebastian had been in enough places touched by dark magic to recognize the suffocating stillness that hung in the air. It was the kind of silence that only followed violence. The kind that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He turned in a slow circle, scanning the surroundings while Vane exhaled beside him, eyes sweeping over the ruins. “She's supposed to be here,” he murmured. “She would have left something behind. Campfire. Equipment. A bloody note.”

Sebastian was already moving toward the mouth of the cave, his boots crunching over loose gravel as he walked. His pulse pounded, his grip tightening on his wand.

Then he saw it.

Boot prints. Many boot prints.

His stomach twisted as he crouched, fingers brushing over the disturbed earth.

Vane stepped up behind him. “What is it?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. A sick feeling clawed up his throat. The confirmation of what he already knew. You'd been ambushed. The evidence was right in front of him.

Victor Rookwood had been here.

Sebastian turned to Vane, voice tight with barely restrained fury. “Tell me everything she was researching.”

Vane swallowed. “Uh, ancient warding magic. Something about sealed vaults. She was trying to cross-reference Keeper records with—”

Ancient warding magic. The same damn thing Rookwood had been stealing from Ministry archives for months.

“Fuck.” Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, his pulse roaring.

He knew what Rookwood wanted, and it wasn’t just revenge. It was your magic—the same power you had buried, the same magic Victor had lost in the rebellion. The bastard had played a long game. He had waited, plotted, and then, the moment you had gotten too close—

He had taken you.

Sebastian turned to Vane, who was still pale, eyes darting to the boot prints in the dirt. The young cursebreaker swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably under his unwavering stare.

“You’re going back to the Ministry,” Sebastian ordered.

Vane blinked. “What? No, I—”

“Go back,” Sebastian repeated, stepping closer, his grip tightening around his wand. “Go to Ominis. Tell him everything we saw here. He’ll know what to do.”

“But—”

Sebastian didn’t have time for hesitation. “You’ll just get in my way.”

Vane recoiled slightly, offense flashing across his face, but Sebastian didn’t let up.

"This isn’t some damn expedition," his voice was low, razor-sharp. "Do you honestly believe that when it comes down to it, you can make the call? That you can put someone in the ground before they do the same to you?" He stepped closer, eyes burning with intensity. "Because that’s what this is. It’s not research. It’s war. And I don’t have time to babysit you."

Vane opened his mouth, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, something in his face crumbling as the weight of reality settled in.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, forcing himself to pull back. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter.

“You want to help? Find Ominis.”

Vane hesitated for only a second longer before nodding, his face grim. “What are you going to do?”

Sebastian barely hesitated. “I’m going after her.”

Vane’s frown deepened. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Sebastian cut him off, his voice low, lethal. “And I will.”

Something in his expression must have made it clear that there was no point arguing, because Vane exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re mad.”

Sebastian didn’t bother denying it. Instead, he turned his back on the younger man and stalked toward the deeper ruins, the weight of his purpose pressing like a blade against his ribs.

Behind him, he heard Vane mutter a curse before taking out his wand. “If you get yourself killed, I’m not explaining it to Gaunt.”

Sebastian didn’t answer.

With a sharp crack, Vane disapparated, leaving Sebastian alone.

The silence pressed in immediately, thick and smothering as he moved deeper. He took a slow breath, centering himself. He had to think. Had to move quickly.

Rookwood had taken you, that much was clear. But where?

His eyes swept over the ruined chamber, cataloging every detail with a hunter’s precision. The boot prints led toward the collapsed corridor ahead, vanishing deeper into the tunnel. There were too many to count—at least half a dozen men. Maybe more.

Sebastian followed them without hesitation, his movements sure.

The ruins stretched ahead, the air thick with humidity and the musty scent of mildew. Ancient carvings lined the stone, half-obscured by moss and time. The dampness clung to his skin, the scent of earth and decay filling his lungs.

Then, as he stepped into a large cavern, he stopped abruptly, his breath catching.

Blood.

It wasn’t a lot—just a smear, a faint streak against the stone floor—but it was enough.

He dropped to a knee. There were boot prints everywhere, some overlapping, some leading deeper into the ruins. And the blood... he ran a finger through the smear. Still tacky. It was fresh. Recent.

Yours?

His gut roared at the thought, a sickening, lurching thing as he forced himself to breathe.

Every instinct screamed at him to run, to tear through these tunnels and hunt them down—but he couldn’t afford recklessness. Not yet, anyway.

Instead, he straightened, rolling his shoulders back, steadying the fire burning in his chest. His wand was firm in his grip, his fingers still slick with the tacky smear of blood. He wiped them against his coat absently, his mind already working through the possibilities.

There were too many boot prints to count, but the path was clear. They hadn’t been subtle—there was no need. No one else was supposed to be here. No one was supposed to find you.

And yet, here he was.

Sebastian followed the trail. The air grew colder the deeper he went, the damp walls pressing inward like silent sentinels. The corridor narrowed, the carved runes along the stone becoming more intricate.

He stiffened at the echo of a sound ahead.

Low voices, faint but distinct. Men speaking in hushed tones as they walked, their words carried along the tunnel by the damp echo of stone.

Sebastian pressed himself against the wall, listening.

“—still unconscious. Probably won’t wake for a while.”

A rush of relief nearly buckled his knees. Unconscious. That meant you were still alive.

Another voice scoffed, rough and unimpressed. “You kicked her too hard. The boss wanted her awake.”

Sebastian’s grip on his wand turned to iron.

They had hit you.

A red haze crawled up the edges of his vision, something sharp and vicious curling in his gut, coiling around his ribs like a beast that had been waiting for the right moment to sink its teeth in.

Sebastian had never been afraid of the dark.

And he had never been afraid to become it.

He inhaled, long and slow, pushing the fire in his chest into something controlled, something sharp, then he moved. Silent. Swift. A shadow among the ruins.

The two men were just ahead, walking side by side, their pace easy, relaxed—unaware. Their figures flickered in the dim torchlight, heavy boots scuffing against the stone floor, their cloaks shifting with the movement.

Sebastian didn’t hesitate.

A flick of his wand, and the first man barely had time to choke before he collapsed, soundlessly paralyzed, his body hitting the ground in a dead weight.

Sebastian was already moving onto the next one.

The second man turned, mouth opening to shout, but Sebastian was faster. His wand slashed through the air.

"Diffindo."

The spell tore through the air. The man barely had time to gasp before a deep, jagged gash split across his chest, blooming red.

Sebastian stepped forward, pressing his boot against the man’s throat as he writhed, choking on his own blood. The dying wizard’s fingers scrabbled weakly against the stone, his panicked eyes meeting Sebastian’s.

Sebastian knelt over him, his wand pressed hard beneath his chin.

“Where is she?”

The man’s mouth opened, but only a wet, gurgling sound escaped.

Sebastian lifted his foot just slightly, allowing the man just enough space to take a breath. “Where. Is. She?” he repeated.

The man clawed weakly at his boot, his breath rattling in his chest.

Sebastian sighed, almost disappointed. He lifted his wand, tilting his head slightly. Then, without a flicker of hesitation—

"Petrificus Totalus."

The man’s body went rigid in an instant, his limbs locking at unnatural angles as the spell took hold. His eyes, wide and frantic, remained the only thing still able to move.

Sebastian watched, impassive, as blood continued to seep from the wound at the man’s side, pooling beneath him, soaking into the cracks of the ancient stone.

Helpless. Still.

The man would bleed out, unable to move, unable to take any action to save himself. And Sebastian didn’t care.

He moved deeper into the cave, following the footsteps. All the while, his sense of dread only grew, thrumming in the walls, in the air, in his bones, suffocating, unnatural, and reeking of something vile.

Then Sebastian heard it.

Laughter.

Low, amused voices, men speaking in tones that dripped with cruel delight. The sound sent ice through Sebastian’s veins. He pressed forward, inching closer to the chamber ahead. The tunnel widened into an open space, wandlight flickering against damp stone.

He counted five—no, six men, their postures relaxed, cocky. Unbothered.

Then he saw you.

Chained to a crumbling stone pillar, arms bound above your head, wrists rubbed raw and bloody against thick iron cuffs. Your head hung forward, temple bleeding, dark streaks cutting across the bruised, pallid skin of your face. Your breathing was slow, shallow. Unconscious.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.

One of the men—tall, broad-shouldered, his cloak hanging open over grimy leathers—stepped closer to where you hung limp against the pillar, head tilted at a sickeningly casual angle. His wand was holstered, his hands free, because why would he need his wand for this?

His fingers found your jaw, tilting your head up so he could get a better look.

"Such a pretty little thing, eh?"

For a moment, Sebastian couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

His entire body was coiled so tightly with rage that he thought he might shatter from it, might detonate with the sheer force of it.

Another man scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “Wouldn’t give the likes of us a second look, though,” he muttered. “Fucking arrogant bitch."

The first man’s fingers drifted lower, tracing the delicate curve of your throat, brushing past your collarbone, slow and deliberate.

"Doesn’t matter, does it?" Another man chuckled. "She ain't gonna fight back. And the boss ain’t ready for her yet."

A smirk.

"So, boys—who wants a turn first?"

Sebastian moved.

No thought. No hesitation. Only rage.

The first man—the one touching you—never stood a chance.

A bolt of magic ripped through his chest, so fast, so brutal, that he didn’t even have time to scream. The impact shattered his ribs, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the chamber as his body crumpled, folding in on itself before it hit the ground.

The second man turned, his mouth opening in shock, powerless as Sebastian twisted his wand and sent a curse flying.

It struck the man mid-turn, his body arching backward, spine bending at a grotesque, impossible angle. He let out a choked, gurgling wheeze before collapsing in a twitching, broken heap.

Then the chamber erupted.

Shouts. The sharp scrape of boots against stone. Panicked movement.

Sebastian was still moving, weaving between them like death incarnate.

A man raised his wand, but Sebastian didn’t let him speak.

"Confringo."

A scream tore through the cavern, raw and agonized as fire consumed him. He collapsed against the stone, his fingers clawing at his skin like he could rip the pain out of himself.

Sebastian turned, already raising his wand for the next.

Another man lunged, his own wand slashing through the air, but Sebastian deflected him effortlessly, stepping into his guard before driving his knee hard into his gut. The man doubled over with a strangled grunt, but Sebastian wasn’t done—he slammed the hilt of his wand against the side of his skull, sending him sprawling.

A sharp movement to his left—

Sebastian pivoted, casting Expulso with enough force to send the next man flying into the cavern wall.

The impact was sickening. A wet, meaty sound, bones crunching on impact. Blood smeared against the stone as the man slumped, unmoving.

The chamber fell into silence.

Heavy. Dripping.

Sebastian was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious bursts. His wand was still raised, fingers tight around the handle. The taste of iron burned at the back of his throat, the air thick with the stench of sweat and blood and fire.

And yet it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

His gaze snapped to the last man, who was trembling now, wand unsteady in his grip, eyes darting toward the exit, toward the ruins of his comrades, and then to Sebastian.

Sebastian took a slow, measured step forward.

The man sucked in a breath, his grip tightening on his wand, and then he moved.

Not toward Sebastian. Not to fight.

To you.

Sebastian’s blood ran cold. He saw it—the way the man lunged, wand flicking upward at just the right angle—

Apparition.

Sebastian didn’t think. He lunged, too.

His fingers snatched at the bastard’s cloak, curling tight in the fabric just as the magic took hold.

The world twisted. Everything spun, a brutal, suffocating force yanking him forward, ripping him from solid ground and into the crushing void of nonexistence.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the world righted itself.

Sebastian’s boots slammed onto solid ground. Cold air hit his face. The scent of damp earth, of moss and rain, filled his lungs.

They were outside.

Deep in the woods, far from the ruins. The sky overhead was dark, moonlight barely slipping through the heavy canopy of trees.

The man who had taken you staggered forward, thrown off balance by the rough landing. Sebastian wasted no time. His wand was already raised, his fury razor-sharp.

"Bombarda!"

The spell struck the man mid-turn, ripping him off his feet and sending him crashing into the nearest tree. His body crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Then silence.

Sebastian stood in the stillness, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls, his wand still raised, his fingers locked in a death grip around the handle. His heart was a drumbeat in his ears, fast and erratic, each pulse laced with fury, with need.

The bastard was dead. Good.

He turned.

His stomach plummeted.

You were in a heap on the ground, crumpled atop a bed of damp, decaying leaves. Your body was limp, your arms still bound, your deathly skin pale beneath the bruises and blood smeared across your face. The rise and fall of your chest was slow—too slow.

Sebastian’s fury shattered, replaced instantly by fear.

“Fuck, no, no, no—”

He dropped to his knees beside you.

“Come on, love,” he muttered, his voice shaking despite himself. “You’re alright. You have to be alright.”

He swore, frustration thick in his throat, turning his attention to the shackles. He had to get these off you.

His wand cut through the air again—Finite Incantatem. No reaction. Alohomora. Not even a flicker.

Sebastian’s jaw locked. Fuck magic, then.

He tossed his wand aside and lunged for the shackles, fingers digging into the rusted iron, trying to pry them off with brute strength alone.

The moment his skin touched the metal, a biting cold leached into him, unnatural and parasitic.

Sebastian gasped, his muscles seizing, his breath hitching as a sickly, creeping energy seeped into his fingertips, curling through his veins like poison. It crawled up his arms, pulling, draining—a deep, gnawing hunger that seemed to suck the very life from his bones.

Cursed. It was cursed.

Sebastian ripped his hands away, staggering backward, his breath coming too fast, too shallow. His fingers tingled where they had touched the shackles, as if something had tried to stay inside him, tried to take root.

“Fuck,” he swore again, running a trembling hand through his hair, trying to clear the dizzy haze the metal had left behind.

Then—

A twig snapped.

Sebastian froze.

“Well, well,” a voice drawled. “Isn’t this touching?”

Sebastian turned slowly, wand raised, heart pounding in his chest like war drums.

Victor Rookwood stood at the edge of the clearing, half-shrouded in shadow, his coat hanging open over the fine but worn layers beneath.

“You certainly do make things interesting, Mr. Sallow.” His tone was almost amused, but his eyes burned with something colder. “I do wonder, though—was it bravery or foolishness that brought you here? Love certainly makes people do strange things.”

Sebastian didn’t answer.

He stood, wand still raised. His heart was a hammer in his chest, the weight of it crushing against his ribs, but his grip remained steady, his fingers curled tight around his wand.

Rookwood was watching him like a cat might watch a cornered mouse. His posture was relaxed, his stance loose, his wand held low like it was barely worth lifting. A show of control. A show of patience.

Sebastian had seen men like him before.

Men who spoke in honeyed words while they bled people dry. Men who lied with a smile, who thrived on games, on power, on knowing they were one step ahead.

Sebastian exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing himself to think.

He hasn’t killed her. That was the first fact that mattered. If Rookwood wanted you dead, you would already be gone. Instead, you were here, bound and unconscious, but alive.

Which meant Rookwood needed you. And if he needed you—then he wasn’t as in control as he wanted Sebastian to think.

Rookwood’s smirk deepened, as if he could see the thoughts forming in real-time. “Not even a word?” He tsked softly, shaking his head. “I must say, Sallow, I expected more given your reputation."

Sebastian didn't falter. “Let her go.”

Rookwood let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. “Ah. Straight to business.” His gaze flicked toward you, still slumped in the dirt, before returning to Sebastian. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

Sebastian’s grip on his wand tightened. “Then I'll kill you where you stand.”

Rookwood actually laughed at that. A slow, smug sound, low and indulgent. “Oh, you could.” He gestured vaguely, as if the idea was nothing more than a passing thought. “But let’s be realistic, shall we? You and I both know it’s not that simple. The curse on those shackles won’t lift without me.”

Sebastian stiffened. Shit.

"So tell me, Sallow," Rookwood’s voice was unhurried, easy, as if they were discussing the weather over tea. "What’s the play here?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. Didn’t shift. Didn’t so much as breathe the wrong way.

It was obvious now.

This wasn’t just a fight. This was a game. A dangerous, calculated game, and if Sebastian wanted to win, if he wanted to get you out of here alive, then he had to play it right.

Rookwood watched him, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Do you even know what those shackles are doing to her?” His tone was conversational. “I imagine you’ve already felt it yourself. That creeping little rot in your bones.” He tsked, shaking his head. “Must be excruciating, hm?”

Sebastian barely stopped himself from looking at you. Because that was what Rookwood wanted, wasn’t it? To make him look. To make him see how helpless you were, to force him to feel that panic tighten around his throat like a noose.

But the problem was Rookwood wasn’t lying. You were dying. Slowly, yes, but it was happening. So what the fuck was the right move here?

Every instinct in Sebastian's body screamed to attack, to kill him where he stood, but if the curse needed to be lifted manually, then Sebastian might as well carve your fucking tombstone himself.

His fingers twitched. He forced himself to breathe.

“Fine,” he bit out. “What do you want?”

Rookwood’s smirk deepened, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Now you’re speaking my language.” He took a slow step forward, watching Sebastian like a cat toying with a mouse. “It’s simple, really. You’ve been such a thorn in my side. Constantly investigating me, tracking me down, sending your little Auror friends after me." His expression darkened, the amusement fading into something more calculating. "So, here’s my offer: you leave. You walk away. You stop chasing me, stop meddling in my affairs, and, most importantly—” His gaze flicked toward you, still slumped and dying in the dirt. “—you forget you ever saw me. And when I'm finished with her, you'll get her back alive."

The words slithered through the cold night air, wrapping around Sebastian like a chokehold. His stomach twisted, nausea curling tight beneath his ribs, but his face remained unreadable.

“I think,” Sebastian said slowly, voice even, steady, “that you have me confused with someone who bargains.”

Rookwood’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something else beneath it now. A flicker of something colder.

“Oh?” he mused, tilting his head, as if truly considering. “Then I suppose I'll just need to persuade you."

A curse slammed into Sebastian’s chest before he could react.

Pain exploded through his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs in a sharp, violent burst. The force of the spell sent him flying, his body crashing against the damp earth, his wand slipping from his grip and skidding across the forest floor.

For a moment, his vision swam—dark spots blooming at the edges, the world tilting on its axis. Cold night air bit at his skin, but his chest burned, ribs screaming with each ragged inhale.

Rookwood was on him in an instant.

A boot slammed down against Sebastian’s wrist, grinding it into the dirt, keeping him pinned, helpless, his wand just out of reach.

“I should’ve known better than to waste time talking,” Rookwood muttered, his voice low, almost disappointed. "Men like you—"

Sebastian moved. Fast.

Before Rookwood could finish his sentence, Sebastian wrenched his body to the side, twisting hard despite the searing pain in his ribs. He gritted his teeth, ignored the screaming protest of his muscles, and lunged—

His hand snatched at Rookwood’s ankle, yanking with every ounce of strength he had. The older man staggered, his balance thrown, his weight shifting just enough—

Sebastian ripped himself free, shoving himself up from the ground in a single fluid motion. His shoulder slammed into Rookwood’s torso, driving him backward, but the older man recovered fast.

Rookwood’s wand snapped up. Sebastian ducked. A jet of red light seared past his ear, narrowly missing him, splintering the bark of a nearby tree.

Sebastian didn’t let him cast again.

He surged forward, slamming into him, sending them both sprawling into the dirt in a brutal scramble.

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as Sebastian's his fist connected with Rookwood’s face. Blood smeared across his knuckles, and Sebastian pressed forward, his other hand grappling for Victor’s wand, fingers brushing against the handle.

Then pain erupted through his side.

Sebastian gasped, his body jerking as something hot and burning sliced through his ribs.

Rookwood had a knife. A dirty, wicked-looking thing that he'd hidden beneath his coat.

Sebastian’s chest rose and fell in sharp, heaving breaths, his ribs screaming, his side burning where the knife had carved through him. His wand was still somewhere in the dirt, just out of reach. He shoved Rookwood back and forced himself upright, muscles trembling from the effort.

Rookwood now stood a few feet away, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

And he was grinning.

“That’s quite the right hook you’ve got there,” he mused, flexing his jaw. “And here I was beginning to think the Ministry had gone soft.”

Sebastian said nothing. His breath came slow and deliberate, fingers twitching for his wand—

Rookwood smirked.

“Eight years,” he mused, pacing leisurely in front of him. "It took you eight years to finally come face to face with me. Your entire career’s work—tracking me, investigating me, sending your little Auror friends after me.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And yet, despite all that effort, here we are. And I must say—” He tutted, tilting his head. “It’s a bit of a shame, isn’t it? That you're just so bloody weak."

Sebastian clenched his jaw so tight it ached.

Rookwood continued, his voice smooth, almost pitying. “The Ministry is so slow, isn’t it? Always a step behind. Always cleaning up messes instead of preventing them.” His smile widened. “It took you eight years to catch up to me. And now you’re here. Wandless. Bleeding. Powerless.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists.

“You talk too much,” he rasped, his voice raw.

Rookwood chuckled. "Personally, I think I'm being quite charitable, Sebastian. Your life is about to end, surely you want to know what it is I've been working towards all this time, hm?"

Sebastian swallowed against the sharp taste of blood at the back of his throat.

“Ancient magic is such a fascinating thing, don’t you think?” Rookwood mused. "Older than the Ministry. Older than the Hogwarts founders. Power that predates our understanding of what magic even is.”

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He was listening. Because that was the thing about men like Rookwood, they always wanted an audience, and right now, every second he spent talking was another second Sebastian had to think.

Rookwood exhaled, long and thoughtful, tilting his head. “You know, the real shame of it is that she never even stopped to consider what that power could do if properly harnessed." His gaze flicked toward you, still unmoving in the dirt. “She feels it. Wields it. And yet was still too much of a coward to reach for its full potential."

Sebastian forced himself to breathe, slow and steady. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Rookwood tutted, shaking his head. “Come now, you already know.” He gestured broadly, as if to the very world around them. “The Repository. Sealed. Hidden away. Even though ancient magic is my goddamn birthright.” He clicked his tongue. “The Ministry likes to pretend she warded it off for good. How naive."

Sebastian inconspicuously scanned the forest floor for his wand, finally locating the green and black handle laying a couple meters to his right.

“The problem, of course,” Rookwood went on, “is that the only one who can open it is her."

His gaze flicked toward you again.

“Because she’s special. I imagine you’ve known that for a long time." Rookwood's smirk deepened.

“So what?” Sebastian spat. “You think she’s just going to help you?”

Rookwood chuckled. “Oh, Sebastian.”

Sebastian hated how easily he said his name.

“She doesn’t need to help me," Rookwood continued. "She simply needs to be there.”

A cold dread curled at the base of Sebastian’s spine. “What the fuck are you saying?”

Rookwood hummed. “I’m saying that she is the key. Quite literally. You see, I don’t need her consent. I don’t need her to willingly give me anything." He tilted his head. "I just need her alive long enough to get me in."

Sebastian’s vision went red. His mind screamed for him to move. To lunge. To tear Rookwood apart.

Eight years ago, before Auror training, before he had learned restraint, he would have. He would have thrown himself at Rookwood with all the reckless fury he had in him, would have clawed and ripped and killed him with his bare hands if he had to.

And it would have gotten him killed.

But now—

Now, something cold settled into his chest. Not quieting his rage. Not taming it, but focusing it.

Sebastian couldn’t afford to be reckless, not while he was wandless and bleeding and Rookwood held a winning hand. He just needed to break Rookwood’s composure. Needed to goad him into making a mistake.

Then he’d gut him.

Sebastian exhaled slowly through his nose. His gaze flicked toward his wand, half-buried in damp earth.

"Must be exhausting," Sebastian said, forcing a breath past the sharp pain in his ribs. "Still clinging to old failures, knowing you were bested by a fifteen-year-old all those years ago."

Rookwood’s jaw tensed. Sebastian smirked.

"You’re desperate," Sebastian continued breathlessly. "That’s why you need her. Ancient magic is beyond you, and you know it. You’re just a desperate, pathetic bastard trying to steal power he doesn’t understand."

That did it.

Rookwood’s eyes darkened with something dangerous.

Sebastian had seconds. Maybe less.

Rookwood lunged, knife in hand—but this time, Sebastian was ready. His heel dug into the dirt, and he dove sideways, landing with a heavy thud.

His fingers wrapped around his wand, and before Rookwood could even think, Sebastian flicked his wand, "Depulso!"

The force of the spell slammed into Rookwood’s chest, sending him staggering back. He barely had time to recover before Sebastian staggered to his feet.

"Expelliarmus!"

Rookwood’s blade flew from his grasp, falling to the ground, and for the first time, Rookwood looked genuinely surprised.

But Sebastian wasn’t finished.

"Bombarda!"

The force of the blast sent Rookwood hurtling backward, his body slamming into a tree. Leaves floated down around him, and he collapsed to the ground, coughing violently.

Sebastian stalked toward him, wand steady, fury burning white-hot through his veins.

"Like I said, you talk too much," he growled.

Rookwood lifted his head, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, his smirk weak but still present. "And you… are entirely too predictable."

Before Sebastian could react, Rookwood’s fingers barely twitched with wandless magic—and you flew across the clearing. The air whooshed past, and in an instant, you were wrenched from where you lay and pulled into Rookwood’s grasp like a ragdoll.

No.

No, no, no.

Sebastian's fingers flexed around his wand, and the rest of him—his body, his mind, his fury—all locked into place, caged by the sight of you limp in Rookwood’s arms, unconscious, barely breathing.

Rookwood smirked, his hand curling around your throat—not tightly, not choking, but firm enough to send a clear message.

Sebastian's mind raced, working through every possible scenario, every hex, every fucking spell that could fix this—

But there was nothing. Not while Rookwood held you like a human fucking shield.

Sebastian’s grip on his wand tightened. "You're going to let her go."

Rookwood smirked, tilting his head. "And what, pray tell, will you do if I don’t?"

Sebastian gritted his teeth. He forced himself to breathe, to keep his expression blank, to push back the fear clawing at his throat. He couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t give Rookwood anything.

"I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Rookwood laughed a full-bodied laugh, low and indulgent, like this was entertainment to him.

“You are delightful,” he mused. "Truly."

Sebastian’s pulse was a steady, furious drumbeat in his ears. He needed a plan. Needed to separate you from him.

Rookwood adjusted his grip on you, keeping you firmly between himself and Sebastian. "Tell me—are you willing to gamble with her life?" He hummed, considering. “Because I will snap her neck if you make a single wrong move."

Sebastian felt sick. His muscles were coiled tight, his every instinct screaming to act, to fight, to rip Rookwood apart piece by piece—

He forced himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's bluffing.

"You won't do it," he said, voice low, razor-sharp.

Rookwood lifted a brow. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because you need her alive. You said it yourself."

Rookwood hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "That’s true. I do need her."

Sebastian could feel the shift, the subtle tug-of-war, the way Rookwood was toying with him.

"But you—" he tightened his grip around throat. "—you need her more."

Sebastian’s wand was steady, unwavering, but inside—inside, something cracked.

The bastard would kill you.

Because the game had changed.

This was no longer about Rookwood getting you to the Repository.

No.

This was about Rookwood staying alive.

Sebastian hadn’t realized it at first, hadn’t put the pieces together because of the rage clouding his vision. But now, with Rookwood wandless, his weapon gone, his body pressed against the bark of a tree with you limp in his grasp—

Now, Sebastian saw it.

Rookwood wasn’t in control anymore. He was stalling. Because of course he was. He was self-important, arrogant, an entitled little bastard who thought the world owed him its power. Your death would be an inconvenience to him, yes—a massive fucking setback to his ambitions—but between your death and his?

There was no question which life he valued more.

Sebastian swallowed against the raw fury pressing against his throat.

“You’re scared,” he said.

Rookwood’s smirk twitched, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Sebastian took a slow step forward.

“You should be.”

Rookwood adjusted his grip on you slightly, shifting his stance. “Bold of you to say, given the circumstances.”

Sebastian tilted his head just slightly, eyes locked onto his. “Is it?”

Rookwood’s fingers flexed against your throat, as if he thought the subtle pressure might rattle Sebastian. Might make him desperate.

But Sebastian didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he let his gaze flick—just for a second—toward Rookwood’s empty hands. Just a cornered rat, grasping for anything to keep himself from getting eaten alive.

“Do you know what I think, Rookwood?”

The bastard said nothing. Sebastian smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make it mocking.

“I think you know you’re already dead.”

He could see the moment Rookwood understood. The moment his arrogance cracked, the moment he finally saw the board for what it was, and realized he was out of moves.

Sebastian lunged forward, his hands fisting into the fabric of Rookwoods coat in a white-knuckled grip as he dragged him forward and apparated.

The world lurched.

Magic pulled tight around Sebastian’s ribs, wrapping around him like a vice as the weight of Apparition crashed over them both. He pulled Rookwood with him, his grip unbreakable.

And then they landed.

The world snapped back into focus. The bright light, the desks, the walls lined with maps and case files. The scent of ink, parchment, and freshly brewed tea clashed violently with the blood and dirt smeared across his skin.

The Auror Department had been buzzing before—anxious, tense conversation rippling through the air as Sebastian’s team and Ominis scrambled to form a plan to go after him.

But now? The second they appeared—Sebastian, you, and Rookwood—

Silence.

Total. Utter. Fucking. Silence.

And then—

Chaos. Pandemonium.

A crash of chairs and desks as Aurors surged forward, wands raised.

"GET HIM RESTRAINED!"

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

"IS THAT—? THAT'S ROOKWOOD!"

Sebastian staggered, his grip ripping away from Rookwood as Aurors descended on the bastard like a pack of wolves, yanking his arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees as enchanted restraints snapped tight around his wrists.

Sebastian's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling in sharp, furious bursts, his fingers shaking from the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins.

Then Rookwood laughed. A slow, breathy chuckle, low and condescending, even now, even fucking now, after everything.

Sebastian's wand clattered to the ground as his rage overcame him, his fist connecting with Rookwood’s face before anyone could react.

The impact was brutal. A sickening crack as knuckles met bone, as Rookwood’s head snapped to the side. Blood splattered against the Auror Department’s pristine floors.

Another hit. Another.

Sebastian didn’t stop. Didn’t think. Just swung.

Again.

And again.

"You filthy fucking bastard!" Sebastian roared. His voice was hoarse, frantic, furious. His hands ached, knuckles split and raw from the force of his own rage.

Rookwood spat blood, still grinning, his lips split, his nose crooked from the sheer force of Sebastian’s attack.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" he rasped, voice wheezing from the damage.

A snarl ripped from Sebastian’s throat as he drove his fists into Rookwood’s face, over and over. Blood splattered across his knuckles, staining his skin, but it wasn’t enough. The world had narrowed into a singular, blistering point of rage—a fire that burned so hot it consumed everything else.

Because Rookwood took you. He hurt you. He was going to kill you.

And Sebastian couldn’t fucking stand it.

The room around him was filled with shouts and barked orders and hands gripping at his coat, but none of it registered.

All he could see was Rookwood. Bloodied. Laughing.

Even as multiple sets of hands dragged him backward, it didn’t matter. Sebastian fought against them with everything he had, his body twisting, muscles coiled tight with rage, his knuckles dripping with blood—his own, Rookwood’s, he didn’t fucking care.

"Get off me!" he snarled, wrenching free for just a second—just enough to grab the bastard by the collar and slam his head back against the floor, hard enough to hear the crack of impact.

Rookwood let out a wet, choking sound, blood bubbling between his teeth, but that smirk—that fucking smirk was still there.

“Sebastian, enough!” Ominis yelled—but even he didn’t sound convinced it would work.

Sebastian twisted, his hand snapping toward his wand on the floor, fingers closing around the handle, the weight of it grounding him, feeding into the burning need.

"Crucio."

Rookwood screamed.

A raw, inhuman sound, his back arching violently, his limbs spasming against the enchanted restraints, his body writhing in agony as the curse took hold.

Sebastian watched. Breathing heavy. Eyes dark. Hands steady. And fuck, it was satisfying.

No one moved. No one dared move.

Aurors, seasoned war-hardened witches and wizards, stood still, stunned into silence, their wands raised but motionless.

Ominis—Ominis—was silent.

Sebastian didn’t care. Didn’t feel a damn thing beyond the pure, burning relief of watching Rookwood suffer. Of watching him break. Of making sure the last thing this filthy fucking bastard felt before he died was pain.

When he finally dropped the curse, the silence was suffocating.

The only sound left was Rookwood’s ragged, shaking breath, the way his body twitched, the way he tried and failed to push himself upright.

Sebastian crouched low, gripping Rookwood’s collar in his fists, jerking him just slightly forward—enough to make sure he was listening.

And then, voice low, voice calm, voice filled with everything he meant—

"You were dead the second you laid a fucking finger on her."

Rookwood’s eyes barely flickered. His mouth opened, but whatever smug retort had been forming died the second he saw the way Sebastian lifted his wand.

A breath. A heartbeat. Then—

"Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light.

Rookwood’s body jerked and then stilled. Lifeless. Dead.

The room remained silent. No one moved. No one spoke.

Sebastian didn’t feel an ounce of fucking regret.

And then—

"Sebastian."

Ominis’ voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Sebastian turned, slow, sluggish, like his body hadn’t quite caught up to the sheer finality of what had just happened.

His gaze landed on you.

Still on the floor. Still unconscious. Still dying.

"Fuck—" He dropped to his knees beside you so fast the impact jarred through his bones, but he didn’t care, couldn’t care—his hands were already reaching, shaking, desperate as they curled around your wrists, your shoulders, cupping your face, tilting your head back slightly, searching for any sign—anything—that you were still with him.

"Come on, love," he muttered, barely aware of his own voice, the way it cracked, the way his breath came too fast, too sharp. His thumb brushed against your cheek, tracing the bruises, the cold sweat on your skin. "You’re alright. You’re gonna be alright."

No reaction. His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Ominis—" his voice cracked, breath hitching, and then he was looking up, wild-eyed, desperate. "Ominis."

Ominis was still standing in place, his wand gripped tight in his hands, the only sign that he was even processing what had just happened.

Sebastian didn’t have time for that.

"The shackles," he rushed, words tumbling out too fast, too frantic. "They’re cursed. They’re killing her—I tried to take them off, and I—" He swallowed, shaking his head. "Do something!"

Ominis hesitated.

Sebastian saw it. Saw the way his lips parted, saw the way his fingers twitched, the uncertainty bleeding into his normally measured expression.

Sebastian lost it.

"You’re a fucking Cursebreaker, Ominis!" he roared, his voice cracking with something raw and ragged. "So do something!"

Ominis' mouth pressed into a thin line, his expression grim, but finally—finally—he moved.

He dropped beside Sebastian, already drawing his wand, already tracing over the metal shackles with precise, practiced movements. His lips moved in near-silent incantations, magic thrumming low and steady through the air, golden light weaving intricate, delicate patterns against the iron.

Meanwhile, Sebastian snapped his head up, wild, furious, helpless.

"Someone get the fucking Healers!" he barked, his voice a whip crack in the stunned silence. "NOW!"

Aurors scrambled. People rushed, bodies moving too slow, too fucking slow, and Sebastian turned back to you, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, your jaw, pleading.

"Come on, love," he whispered, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body. "Come back to me."

Ominis was still working, his wand tracing over the metal in sharp, methodical movements, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"I need time," Ominis muttered, his voice tight. "It’s layered magic—whoever did this knew what they were doing."

"We don’t have time!" Sebastian snapped. "She doesn’t have time!"

And he didn’t mean to—he didn’t mean to lash out at Ominis, but fuck, he was drowning in this, the weight of everything crushing him, suffocating him. Because he had been here before. Kneeling over someone he loved, begging the universe to give him one more chance.

Anne, after she was cursed—her body wracked with pain, her screams tearing through his skull, his useless hands gripping hers as she trembled beneath his touch.

His parents—dead before he even got to try to save them.

And now you.

The realization hit him, slamming into his ribs like a blade—sharp, vicious, undeniable.

You were everything. Had always been everything.

Ten years.

Ten fucking years of standing beside you, watching you grow into the force you were now. Ten years of chasing the same battles, fighting the same wars, of laughing together, bleeding together, of existing in a world where, no matter what happened, no matter who came after you, he had always been there. You had always been there.

And not once—not once—had he ever fucking said it. Not once had he looked at you and admitted what had been rotting inside of him since the day he met you.

That he loved you. Had always loved you.

And now, when you were slipping away from him—when your body was cold beneath his hands, when your lips were parted but there was no sound, no whisper of recognition, no sign that you even knew he was there—

Sebastian realized he might never get the fucking chance.

His jaw locked. His breath hitched.

"Ominis," he said again, voice raw, pleading, his entire body vibrating with the weight of everything he never said. "Please—"

"I'm working as fast as I can," Ominis snapped, but even he sounded frayed at the edges, his voice tighter than usual, his magic straining against the curse.

Sebastian gritted his teeth, fingers clenching around your wrist, grounding himself in the weak, faint pulse beneath your skin.

Still there. Still beating.

But for how long?

"She's dying," Sebastian whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "She’s dying, and I can’t—I can’t fucking—" His voice broke, sharp and raw, and fuck—he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore.

Ominis’ jaw tightened, his wand moving faster, the golden light flaring brighter against the rusted iron of the shackles.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Because Ominis could feel it too.

The same dread. The same fear.

Sebastian swallowed, his throat aching, his lungs burning with every sharp inhale. He wanted to scream. Wanted to fight something, wanted to rip the world apart until it gave you back to him.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was sit there, gripping your hand too tight, his fingers threading through yours as if holding you hard enough would tether you here, force you to stay.

"Please," he murmured, barely a whisper, forehead pressed against your temple, pleading into your skin. "I need you."

More than he had ever needed anything.

Ominis swore under his breath, shifting as the shackles clicked, magic flaring violently before it shattered, sending a wave of heat pulsing outward, knocking dust from the ceiling.

The spell broke.

Sebastian jerked forward, pulling you into him as life snapped back into your body. Your limbs twitched. Your breath hitched. Your pulse jumped beneath his fingertips.

"Thank fuck—" Sebastian’s grip tightened, his body curling around you, anchoring you against him like he could force your soul to stay inside your fucking body.

"Sebastian," Ominis muttered, voice thick, tired. "She still needs—"

Finally, the Healers rushed in.

Sebastian barely registered them. His arms were still locked around you, his body curled over yours, keeping you anchored against him like some desperate, helpless thing.

"Sir," a sharp voice cut through the air, firm but cautious. "We need to assess her condition."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t even acknowledge them. One of the Healers reached for his shoulder, intending to physically pry him off—

"Don’t bother." Ominis's voice was sharp. A clear warning.

The Healers hesitated.

"He’s not going to let go," Ominis said, voice resigned. "So don’t waste time arguing. Just work around him."

Sebastian heard that. Felt it. But his grip didn’t loosen. Not even as hands moved over your body, casting diagnostic spells, pressing against your ribs, checking for internal damage. Not even as a warm glow filled the air, as magic hummed through you, as one of the Healers sighed in relief and muttered something about stabilization.

Another set of hands pressed against him this time—his ribs, his chest, fuck—he barely managed to bite back a hiss when something sharp burned at his side.

Right. He’d been stabbed.

Healers were already diagnosing him, murmuring between themselves, muttering about blood loss and fractured ribs.

Sebastian barely processed it. His eyes were on you. Only on you. The rise and fall of your chest.

"You’re gonna be fine," he whispered against your temple, barely audible, his voice still raw, still thick with something unbearable. "You’re okay."

The Healers worked. The Aurors still lingered. The world around him was moving, spinning, shifting—

"Sebastian."

Sebastian finally looked up.

Ominis was standing now, his wand gripped in one hand, his face carved from stone, but Sebastian knew him too well.

There was tension there. A weight behind his expression that was dangerous.

"I’m going to fix this," Ominis said simply.

Sebastian frowned, his mind still sluggish, too caught up in you, in keeping you here, to fully process what he meant.

Then it hit him.

Crucio.Avada Kedavra.

Sebastian had cast two Unforgivables in the middle of the fucking Auror Department.

Ominis sighed, running a hand down his face before muttering, "Merlin, you make my life impossible."

Sebastian managed a short, breathless laugh.

"Don’t move," Ominis said. "Stay with her."

Sebastian didn’t plan on going anywhere.

Ominis exhaled through his nose, turning on his heel, and then he was gone, already making his way across the room, already stepping into whatever bureaucratic fucking mess Sebastian had left behind, already handling it.

One of the Healers, still somewhat exasperated by the fact that Sebastian refused to let go of you, sighed. "Sir, can you stand?"

Sebastian barely glanced up. His fingers were still curled around yours, tightly, like if he so much as loosened his grip, you’d disappear.

"Yes."

The Healers exchanged looks, clearly unconvinced. One of them muttered something under her breath, but aloud, she only said:

"Then follow us. She’s stable, but both of you need to be under observation. And we’ll need to speak with her when she wakes."

Sebastian forced himself to his feet, his body screaming in protest, his ribs aching, his knuckles raw, his vision swimming for just a second before he locked his knees and shoved through the pain so he could carry you down the hall.

He hardly remembered the walk to the Hospital Wing.

All he knew was that the moment you were in a bed, he was there. Hovering. Watching. And when they tried leading him to another bed across the room, he tugged his own bed directly next to yours.

The Healers sighed. One pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering, "For the love of Merlin—"

But they let him.

They moved around him, murmuring amongst themselves as they worked—closing the gash along his ribs with precise, practiced wand movements, mending the bruised muscle beneath his skin, forcing him to drink something vile that numbed the throbbing pain in his knuckles. Someone cast a spell to soothe the soreness weighing down his body. Someone else checked his vitals.

It all blurred together.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the room settled into silence.

The Healers left.

The heavy weight of magic in the air dissipated, leaving behind only the dim glow of the lanterns and the quiet hum of distant voices from the hall.

Sebastian lay still. Exhausted. Sore.

His body felt like it had been dragged through hell. Every inch of him ached, the phantom pain of adrenaline still lingering in his bones, his knuckles still raw despite the Healers' best efforts. But his mind—

His mind wouldn’t stop.

He stared at the ceiling, watching the patterns in the stone swirl and shift under the flickering light, but all he could see was you.

The moment he realized you were gone. The blood smeared across the ruins. The way your body looked lifeless under the weight of those cursed shackles. The fucking fear. How close he had come to losing you.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the sheets, his nails digging into the fabric as his chest tightened with something raw, something suffocating.

He was never going to let this happen again. Never. He would never go another day without telling you the truth: that he loved you. That he had always loved you. That you were the only thing in this godforsaken world that mattered.

His head turned, gaze drifting to you. Still asleep. Still too pale.

But alive.

The breath that left his lungs was shaky, uneven. A ghost of a thing. Then—

A movement. A stir.

Sebastian’s eyes snapped to your hand, watching as your fingers twitched against the blankets.

He shot up immediately, the sudden movement making his ribs scream in protest, but he ignored it, pushing himself onto his elbows, heart slamming against his ribs as he watched you.

Your eyelashes fluttered. Your head shifted slightly against the pillow. And then your eyes opened.

Sebastian froze.

For a moment, his brain refused to process what was happening. He had spent the last eternity—hours but what felt like years—trapped in a suffocating haze of fear, pain, and fury. But then your eyes opened.

His chest caved in.

"Fuck—" The word barely left his lips, broken and shaky, a raw, wrecked thing. He hadn’t even realized he was gripping the sheets, white-knuckled, his entire body locked so tightly with tension that now—now that you were looking at him, alive, breathing—he thought he might actually fall apart.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the lump clawing up his throat. He had to keep his voice steady. He had to.

"Hey, sweetheart," he rasped, and fuck—he wasn’t doing a good job of it, wasn’t doing a good job of anything, because his breath shook the second the words left him, and suddenly it was taking every bit of strength in his body to keep himself together.

Your brow furrowed, your eyes dazed, unfocused, barely tracking his face as you blinked sluggishly.

"Sebastian?" Your voice was hoarse, raw from disuse, but it was you. It was your voice, alive, and he nearly lost himself right then and there.

"Yeah, love," he breathed, nodding quickly, reaching for your hand as if trying to ground himself, as if trying to make sure you stayed here, tethered, with him. "I’m here."

You exhaled a slow, uneven breath, eyes darting around the unfamiliar room, blinking as you tried to place yourself. "Where—" A pause. A slow inhale. "What happened?"

Sebastian opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat tightening.

Where the fuck did he start? How did he say it? That you had been taken, that you had been chained up and cursed and dying in his arms, that he had nearly lost you—

That he had murdered a man because of it.

"You—" His voice cracked. He sucked in a sharp breath, exhaling through his nose, forcing himself to steady. "You scared the shit out of me, that’s what happened."

Your brow furrowed again, still groggy, still trying to process. Then, after a long pause, you sighed, your voice scratchy.

"You look like shit."

A wet, breathless laugh punched out of him before he could stop it, something caught between relief and absolute fucking devastation.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Sebastian moved, shifting onto his knees, ignoring the way his ribs screamed in protest, the way his body ached from the fight, from the blood loss, from every single fucking injury he had ignored.

It didn’t matter. Nothing fucking mattered except you.

Sebastian climbed over the narrow gap between the beds and into yours.

"Seb—"

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you, pressing himself against you.

His body curled over yours, his fingers clutching too tight, his face burying into the crook of your neck.

"You scared me," he whispered against your skin, voice wrecked, trembling. "You scared me so fucking bad."

You shifted slightly beside him, your body still sluggish, still weak from everything, but your hand moved, sliding up to rest against the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, your touch so fucking gentle it made his chest ache.

"I’m here, Sebastian," you murmured.

His breath hitched. Then he broke.

A sharp, ragged inhale. A violent, shuddering exhale. His fingers fisted into your clothes, gripping so tightly it felt like he was holding on for dear life.

And then the first tear slipped free.

It hit the bare skin of your shoulder, vanishing into the fabric of your hospital gown, but another followed. And another. His face twisted, his breath coming uneven, shaky—his entire body trembling with the force of what he had been holding back for hours.

His chest ached, physically ached, with the sheer weight of it all. With the terror. With the helplessness. With the image of you—chained, barely breathing, slipping away from him—burned into the back of his skull like a nightmare that would never fade.

A choked, wrecked sound clawed its way up his throat, something between a sob and a breathless gasp, and fuck—he couldn’t stop it.

His shoulders shook as more tears spilled over, hot and unchecked, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he cried.

He hadn’t cried in years.

Not when he had stood over Solomon’s lifeless body. Not when he had nearly lost himself to grief, to rage, to everything wrong inside him. But this—

His breath stuttered again, a broken, gasping thing, his tears falling freely now, soaking into your skin as he held you so tightly it should have hurt, but you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t tell him to stop. You just let him.

"I love you," he whispered, voice cracked, wrecked, barely more than a breath against your shoulder. "I love you so fucking much. I’m sorry I never said it sooner."

His entire body shuddered with the weight of it. With the relief. With the fear. With the unbearable, suffocating truth of how close he had come to never being able to say it at all.

He felt your fingers twitch against his back, hesitant but there, like you weren’t sure what to do with him like this—because this was something no one had ever seen.

Sebastian breaking. Sebastian weeping. Sebastian, who had spent years hiding behind sharp grins and reckless bravado, now unraveling, falling apart in your arms.

And he didn’t care, because fuck hiding. You had almost died, and he had almost never gotten the chance to tell you.

So he did. Again.

"I love you."

He had never meant anything more in his entire fucking life.

Sebastian felt your fingers tighten against his back, your grip weak but still there, still trying. It was barely anything, just the faintest pressure against his spine, but it sent something wrecked and aching curling through his chest, something raw and unbearable.

You were holding him.

And after a beat, after a long, quiet moment, you pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

There were tears in your eyes. Not from pain, not from fear—but something else. Something that made his pulse trip over itself, something raw, something knowing.

Your lips parted, voice hoarse, cracked, still heavy with exhaustion.

"I remember now," you murmured, blinking slowly, your expression distant for a moment as if piecing it together in real-time. "It was Rookwood."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, something tight in his chest releasing at your words—relief, fury, heartbreak, he wasn’t even sure what the fuck it was. He just knew he never wanted to hear that fucking name again.

His hand came up, his fingers ghosting over your cheek, his touch almost desperate in its gentleness,

"He’s dead."

You blinked at him, your breath hitching just slightly as his words settled over you. Then something shifted in your expression. Not relief, not satisfaction, but a quiet, unshaken certainty.

Because of course he was.

Your lips curled—just barely, wobbly and weak and so fucking beautiful it made his chest ache.

"You came after me," you murmured, like it was something you’d just now realized, something that settled over you like a slow-burning warmth.

Sebastian let out a sharp, breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly, his lips pressing together for a moment before he said, "Of course I did." His voice was still hoarse, still raw from everything, but there was something steady beneath it. Something true. "I’d follow you anywhere."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just looked at him. Really looked at him.

"I love you too."

Sebastian swore the entire fucking world stopped. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse stuttering violently in his chest, his entire body locking up because—

You loved him too.

His eyes burned, his throat tightened, his fingers shook where they were still clutching onto you.

And then—he was kissing you.

Soft, desperate, aching.

His hands cupped your face like you were something holy, something irreplaceable, his lips pressing against yours like he was trying to carve himself into your very fucking soul.

It was a kiss that held everything—the fear, the relief, the love neither of you had spoken aloud until now. It was unsteady, a little broken, but it was real.

When he finally pulled back, it was only because you both needed air, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath still uneven. His thumb brushed against your cheek, so painfully gentle it made something deep inside you ache.

“You’re still shaking,” you whispered.

Sebastian let out a soft, breathless laugh, one that barely even sounded like him. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice raw. “I think I’m gonna be shaking for a while.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. It was just the sound of your breathing, the distant murmur of voices outside the infirmary walls, the rhythmic, steadying beat of your heart against his. The world had been so loud—so chaotic, so terrifying—but here, in this fragile, stolen moment, there was only silence. Only you and him.

Then, softly, you said, “I’m okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, like he wasn’t sure he believed you, like he wasn’t sure he ever would, but his fingers tightened against your back, and after a moment, he just nodded.

“Yeah. But I’m still never letting you out of my sight again.”

A weak laugh tumbled from your lips, breathless and exhausted, but real. “I figured.”

Sebastian huffed, but there was something warm beneath the sound, something a little less raw now, a little less wrecked. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss against your temple, letting it rest there, like a silent promise.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he muttered against your skin.

Your fingers curled in his shirt again, holding him close, feeling the steady, unshaken certainty in his words.

“Good.”

393 notes · View notes

viennakarma · 1 year ago

Text

Everything I Wanted III.

LESTAPPEN x READER (PART 3/FINALE)

Summary: Your journey to become a Motorsport legend wasn't easy, especially when your path clashed with your greatest rivals, Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

Word count: 10k

Tags: Driver reader, mentions of crash, angst, abusive parent, daddy issues, trust issues, character death (not reader), cursing, strong rivalry, misogyny in motorsport, invasive media, aggressive fans, reader suffers with cyberbullying and hate, smut, female reader, +18, unprotected sex, voyeurism, exhibtionism, edging, filthy, porn with plot, queer! everyone, polyamory lestappen, bit of dirty talking, pet names, open ending, HEA, not beta read

Relationships: Lestappen x Reader

Mentor!Kimi Raikkonen x Reader

Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Lewis Hamilton x Platonic!Reader

Notes: this is full of motorsport inaccuracies, just go with the vibes please. There are also a few inaccuracies regarding other drivers' lives, but they are just to fit the story. This chapter is a tiny bit angsty. Maybe I should've mentioned it before, but both Max and Charles are single in this story. I'm sorry if it feels rushed or if it has any mistakes, I just let my heart go with the flow!

Find me on Twitter!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You spend a few days in some happy daze, just shamelessly bashing in your Championship. Everyone knew because you were positively giddy during the last race week in Abu Dhabi, you were seen smiling more during that one week than you had been seen smiling in your three years of Formula 1.

Some of the drivers were even more amicable towards you and your closest friends were even teasing you all the time, calling you Champion so they could see you blush and giggle.

“Hey there, Champ,” Lewis would greet you.

“Buenos días, campeona,” Fernando would say and laugh at your reaction.

Lando even joked to some reporter that you were in love with the championship.

There was a dinner organized by the drivers to say farewell to Sebastian. Despite knowing most drivers confirmed their presence there, you planned to go and leave early because you always felt left out whenever most drivers got together.

That’s why you texted Lewis to ask what he was wearing that night, and you ended up wearing high waisted suede pants, and a white T-shirt, finishing with a classic black scarpin in your feet and a purse.

Since you and Nando were in the same hotel, you decided to go together with his driver. Only when you got to the car, Charles was also inside the car, and you had to sit quietly by his side, his thigh brushing yours. Nando was in the passenger seat, and you started small talk with him to diffuse the tension he was unaware was happening in the backseat. You were engaged in conversation with Nando when you felt Charles fingers touching your knee. Jolting, you immediately slapped his hand away.

“You ok there?” Nando asked from the front of the car.

“Uh, yes! Just an- annoying mosquito!” You said, faking a smile.

Charles pouted, crossing his arms and pointedly looking to the window of his side.

As the three of you arrived there, half of the grid was already there, seated and chatting. Lewis welcomed you first, warning that he purposefully invited Sebastian to arrive thirty minutes later, so he was the last to arrive. As you sat beside Nando, you noticed how Charles sat beside you again, facing Pierre across the table, and you ended up facing Max. Your eyes met, but you looked away, deciding to focus on conversation with Nando and Lando, who was in front of him.

When Seb arrived, he was welcomed with a round of applause, which made his cheeks redden a little as he laughed. The dinner went well, and you shared red wine with a few of the others, some of them preferred other drinks. It was nice chatting with everyone, and it was the first time you really felt part of the group, everyone together laughing and eating.

“Y/N, who’s your idol from this table?” Carlos asked with a smirk.

“You wanna put me in trouble,” you eyed around. Everyone knew that the people you were closest with, Lewis, Seb and Nando were your racing idols.

“Come on, your favorite, Lewis, Seb or Fernando?” Lando joined in, and the others joined too, egging you on.

“Kimi is my favorite,” you muttered before taking a sip of your wine. Everyone started shouting and calling you a liar, “fine, fine, it doesn’t mean I’m not a big fan of the other two, but growing up, I’ve always wanted to race like Fernando.”

“And now you do,” Fernando said, raising his glass in a toast, which honestly made you blush. Everyone started making fun of you because you were shy and giggly.

You ended up staying until the end, when everyone had to leave to get a good night of sleep for the free practices the next day.

Race day there was a small ceremony to say goodbye to Sebastian, and it was the only part of the week that made you a little sad, even though part of you were really happy knowing he would get to spend time with his family and dedicate himself to his projects of sustainability. When the drivers made a little corridor to applaud him, Sebastian hugged you and you felt a little teary eyed.

The race was great, and you put some effort into winning that one, because you wanted to finish the season with a bang. And a bang it was, holding the P1 trophy again, kissing it and then raising it high as homage to mom.

After the season ended officially, you went straight to Woking to visit the factory and thank everyone personally for making you a car fast enough to make you the champion. Then you had a few media commitments, had to go over some marketing and legal meetings about brands deals and whatnot interested in your image.

Finally, by the beginning of December, you went back to Monaco and slept in for a few days, relaxing body and mind.

When Lando found out you were living in Monaco, he invited you to a padel match, and despite not knowing the game very well, you never said no to any form of competitive sport that could take your mind off things.

“I’ll let you know, I’m a fast learner, Landito.” You pointed when he gave you a padel racket.

“Come on, you have 20 minutes to learn the basics before our competition is here,” he said.

“Oh, we’ll be playing as duos?” You smiled, letting him lead you to the court.

Lando taught you the basics for a while, and you were getting the hang of it when you heard voices behind you. You stopped short as you noticed your competition were Charles and Max, and as they saw you, they too seemed surprised.

“Hello,” you greeted them with a nod.

Luckily Lando didn’t waste any time with pleasantries and went straight to the game. Which was great, since that was a language you could speak. You soon noticed Charles and Max had a bit more experience than you, so you had to up your game a bit, using strategy to outsmart them.

You and Lando won three games and Charles and Max won four.

As you finished, you went to the net and shook their hands. Max stared at you intensely, but you ignored him and went grab your bag.

“You’re leaving?” Lando asked, “we were going to grab a snack after.”

“Oh, um, yeah- I gotta go, I still have a lot to do around the apartment and I’m waiting for some furniture to arrive,” you gave an excuse.

“You’re living in Monaco?” Charles asked, visibly surprised at the info.

“Yeah. So, bye. Thanks for the game.” You started walking away, but Lando jogged to catch up to you.

“Hey, uh- text me when you’re free this weekend. I wanted to talk to you privately about… McLaren” he whispered your team’s name and you raised an eyebrow, you had no idea what he wanted to talk about, but you nodded.

Lando ended up coming over to your apartment Saturday afternoon, he helped you paint your living room walls a soft green, and after you finished, you were eating a few snacks when he finally said what he wanted to talk about.

“So, I know that legally we shouldn’t be talking about it, but- for how long is your new contract with McLaren?” He breached the subject. You paused.

“What? You know my contract ends by the end of next season.”

“Yeah but- the new one-”

He silenced himself abruptly, probably realizing you didn’t get a new one. You pressed your lips in a thin line. You had a contract similar to Lando’s, that would end by the end of next year. But now- now Lando had been offered a renovation, and you weren’t.

“They offered you an extension already?” You asked, shocked.

“No- I mean- It’s just-” Lando realized by your face that he had fucked up.

“Lando.”

“Yes, from 2024 on, with possible extensions,” He said, apologetically.

“Oh” you whispered.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sure they are just taking their time putting your contract together since you’re, you know, the world champion,” Lando startled rambling, until his phone started ringing, “I’m sorry, I gotta go, I’m streaming tonight and I need to set up. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m sure they’ll offer your renewal soon.”

You bid him goodbye, still processing his words. You tried to be reasonable and not be upset, but the prospect of not receiving a proposal being the world champion didn’t sit right with you. You meditated, thinking to not let that get to you, but a few days before the FIA Gala, you received a proposal from Mercedes, and another from Aston Martin. Both were great, great contracts. They offered a lot of money, security and great publicity.

The night of the Gala, you went all out. Amanda helped you hire a glam team, so you had make up, hair and stylists helping you dress. You wore a silver dress, long with a high slit on the leg, black heels, and your hair was short now, shoulder length and dyed black. You wanted a femme fatale look, and that’s what you got.

Unfortunately, Kimi and Minttu couldn’t go with you, and you didn’t bother to find a date, opting to go by yourself. When you arrived at the ceremony, all eyes were on you. You posed a little by the red carpet and answered a few questions about the championship.

During the ceremony you sat with Lewis, chatting up until the main awards were called. You watched as Charles went up the stage for the third place trophy, he was handsome wearing some designer suit and tie, and glasses that made him even more attractive. He said a couple of words, before making his way down. Then was Max, wearing a gorgeous tux, perfectly tailored to his shoulders and waist. While he was talking, you fixed the bust of your dress and waited for your name to be called alongside the words world champion.

When you got to the stairs, Max was down there, and he offered you a gentlemanly arm to help you up, you hesitated for a brief second but then accepted, letting him guide you up the steps.

Your eyes were on the beautiful trophy. The smile on your face was big, almost giddy, as you went on the stage. You kissed your trophy, leaving a red lipstick stain on the side of it, and you stopped by the mic. After a brief second to recollect your thoughts, you sighed.

“Wow! It’s such an honor to receive this as a token of my hard work and all my years facing pushback for this dream,” you smiled down at the trophy, “I’ll try and keep it brief. I know I have already said some of this, but I’d like to thank my team, not only for making this amazing car that became part of me during this season, but also for giving me a chance three years ago. Thanks to Jace and Amanda, who were such great help this year. I’d like to thank Kimi for seeing me when I was on the brink of giving up and when no scouts looked in my direction, and Minttu for taking me in as one of her own,” you put a hand on your chest, above your heart as your voice choked a little, heavy with emotion, “Thank you, Sebastian and Fernando for accepting my friendship when everyone else turned their backs on me,” you found them both around the crowd, Nando sending you a wink, and Sebastian smiling wildly, “and last but not least, I’d like to thank my mum for working hard to put a roof over my head and food on the table while I was out there hustling for my dream.”

Everyone clapped and you waited for the applause to die down. You could end your speech there, but you wouldn’t be the Lioness if you did.

“Oh, and for those who said I wasn’t gonna go far�� You can suck my-” you interrupted yourself, showing your tongue cheekily, making almost everyone in the room laugh.

That night you drank, danced and sang like never before. You woke up hungover and a little blacked out, not remembering the whole night, only some glimpses of it.

You stayed the Holidays with Kimi and his family, and despite being invited by Lando to a big New Year’s Eve party, you opted for a chill celebration. You still found time to send Sebastian and his family some Christmas presents and you managed to go karting with Fernando on his track in Asturias.

After meeting with Fernando, you went on a solo trip around Spain, visiting cities and learning a little bit about history while practicing your spanish. You also tried a few hobbies, out of curiosity. You tried playing tennis, skydiving and surfing.

Soon, you were back in Monaco to resume your training for next season and traveling to Woking to see your new car. You also sat with Amanda and your lawyer, and accepted a few brand deals, one for makeup and another for a big fashion brand. You were genuinely happy with both, you always wanted to get into fashion but never had the time or knack for it, but now with your deal, they would link you to a stylist and give you outfit options.

You entered the new season fresh, feeling good not only about your talent as a racing driver, but about your looks and new style, feeling that your championship could finally back you up.

Only if the media got the memo.

“Y/N do you believe when people attribute your championship win to Verstappen’s mistake?”

You felt fire in your throat, anger bubbling up.

“No, I believe I won the championship because I drove well the whole season. I attribute my championship to myself, my talent and my hard work,” your tone was harsh, and you didn’t even bother to sound pleasant, “I wonder if this was asked to every other Formula 1 champion of the world or just me?”

You huffed, putting your mic down, and you saw Fernando leaning towards you to whisper, “it’s good to have the Lioness back.”

It was different seeing Nando wearing green now and Sebastian’s absence was noticed from day one. He had sent you a text wishing good luck in the season.

There was also a weird shift that you noticed soon, right in the first few races. The rivalry between Max and Charles had been placated a little. They were still rivals on the track, but out of it, they were seen chatting and discussing, all in good spirits and friendly. Whatever rift had caused the tension all these years was apparently mended. So now, they were only your rivals, together against the greater evil. You.

Without a win in the first three races that season, you were sure something was wrong. Could it be your car, but it could also be you.

You came out of debriefing feeling a stress induced headache starting. You walked around the paddock aimlessly, just trying to clear your head and not face any photographer or reporter. That’s why you were around the moving boxes and trucks, trying to find a secluded spot to breathe and meditate.

Unfortunately, you ended up facing two people pressed against a wall. Frowning, you tried to understand what was going on, when you realized it was Max and Charles. Their sides were pressed on each other, but what caught your attention was that they were holding hands, whispering to each other.

You paused, trying to make sense of it. And then Max caressed Charles’ jaw. Then you decided, it was none of your business whatever they did.

Turning around, you were leaving when you stepped on something and it broke loudly. You just kept walking away, not looking back, you were almost leaving the lot when someone held your wrist, making you turn back around.

“Wait, Y/N, we- we can-” Charles’ voice failed him, visibly nervous.

“We can buy your silence,” Max added, suddenly. You frowned, shaking your head.

“I didn’t see anything,” you muttered trying to walk away, but now Max also held your other wrist.

“Say your price,” Max pressed further, making you angry.

“I don’t know what kind of psycho you take me for, but I didn’t see anything,” you say, suggestively, “I wouldn’t want someone to out me, and I wouldn’t do that to anyone else either. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Fuck,” Max whispered, letting go of your hand.

“You- you promise?” Charles asked, still not letting go of you.

“I swear on my mom’s grave.” You said softly just because you could understand their fear, you knew first hand how cruel the motorsport world could be. Whatever was going on between them was none of your business.

You left without another word, hoping they believed you.

The season kept going, and your car wasn’t as good as the year before which was really upsetting you and forcing you to work even harder to match your quality the previous year.

But also both Max and Charles stopped publicly taunting you, making people wonder if your rivalry had ended. It was annoying because that dynamic was all that you’ve known from them, and the fact that they stopped shading you because they were scared to anger you and you eventually exposed them to the world was even more annoying. You wondered if you should talk to them, to let them know it was never coming out of your mouth.

You decided silence was the best course of action. You had enough problems with your car as it was.

Before the fifth race of the season, all the drivers were called for a meeting, to talk about a few safety measures that were being put in place for paddock safety. You sat through it quietly, only listening to the FIA representative. You knew that meeting was because of what had happened to you in Zandvoort the year before, you had taken your complaints to the FIA and miraculously, they had abided by it.

You left the meeting as soon as it was over, walking away. But then, you touched your wrist as a nervous tic.

No. No.

You noticed you didn’t have your watch with you the moment you left the building, patting your pockets to make sure it wasn’t there as you ran right back to the meeting room where the drivers debrief had been.

As soon as you entered, you saw both Max and Charles checking the watch, the monegasque was the one holding it.

“Hey, uh-” you paused, trying to not sound rude, “that’s mine, can I have it back?”

Charles looked at you with that smirk as Max moved away a few steps. Charles opened his hand in your direction, handing you the watch. But as you were to grab it, he pulled back and threw it. You froze, seeing the watching flying directly into Max’s awaiting hands behind you.

“Please, don't-” you gasped as Max pretended to throw it back to Charles. But he didn’t, he just extended his open hand to you, probably noticing the worry in your face.

Skittishly, you got closer to him and grabbed the watch from his hand. He didn’t pull away like Charles had done.

But as you pulled it back, your own hand slipped the watch, and you eyed it with horror as it hit the ground immediately breaking the crystal. You felt like your heart was breaking along with your mom’s watch.

“No, no,” you whispered, kneeling down to take it back.

“Hey, what is happ-” you heard Lewis’ voice entering the room but he stopped short as he saw you almost crying on the floor. He immediately helped you get up.

Both Max and Charles were shocked, still rooted to the spot as it was the first time they ever saw you show any kind of extreme emotion, and the pain in your eyes made both of them get filled with guilt.

You stood up still holding the watch in your hand as a fragile thing, pretty much like your heart.

“Hey, kiddo. Come on,” Lewis put an arm around your shoulders, pushing you away softly after giving the other two drivers a nasty glare.

You didn’t try to get it fixed, and you still wore it even with the crystal shattered. You knew it was a relic, vintage and probably handmade since it was generations in your family. But also you were too emotionally attached to it to get rid of the watch.

After the race, once you got a P2, finally, you went to the hotel, skipping the celebration the team wanted to throw for you but still picking the bill for their night out.

It was late at night when you were rewatching the race, trying to see whatever mistake caused you to miss that P1 that was just within reach but you didn’t manage to take it. You were taking notes, typing in your laptop, when a knock on your door interrupted. You had already ordered room service, but sometimes Amanda did it for you if she thought you weren’t eating enough.

You opened the door to be faced with Max and Charles.

“Can we come in?” Charles asked, and confused, you opened the door wider to let them in.

“We came to apologize about the watch, we’re sorry.” Max started, looking at Charles for his cue.

“That was really immature of us, sorry,” Charles added.

“It’s alright,” you sighed, a little tired, “it’s not your fault, really. I dropped it, not you.”

“But it wouldn’t have happened if we just didn’t mess around with you.”

You sighed again, despite being sad about the watch, you didn’t really blame them for it. Charles took your hand suddenly, making you stare up at them, both of them looking at the broken watch you were still wearing. Max opened the bag and handed you a small box. It was a Rolex.

“We’re really sorry, Y/N,” he handed you the watch. You stared at the box, taking it as a sign of good faith from them.

“Thanks,” you whispered, “I was just eating, you wanna join me?”

They nodded, uncertain. They followed you to the en-suite, the most recent race paused on the TV. You closed your laptop.

“I appreciate the gesture, but-” you unclasped the watch in your wrist, handing it to Charles who was sitting closer to you, “it has emotional value, it was mum’s.”

You waited as they read the inscription, Charles gasping when he realized it had way more value to you than the stupidly expensive Rolex they managed to buy you. Running his thumb on the inscription, Max looked at you.

“I know a guy back home, he- he can fix the crystal,” Max told you, “would you trust me to take it to get fixed? It’s the least I could do.”

“You don’t have to,” you shook your head, “I don’t blame you for breaking it.”

“Please?” Max asked, and something inside you spread warmth in your chest.

“Fine,” you sighed, seeing Max pocket your watch in his bag, “please, help yourselves.”

They went to the table of room service and grabbed a bit of food. They sat around.

“You were rewatching the race?”

“Yeah, I like taking notes, seeing what I can improve…”

You closed your laptop and the TV, not wanting them to check your confidential information.

“How are you feeling this year?” Max asked, awkwardly trying to start a conversation.

“I’m alright, I guess. I mean, the car could be better,” you shrugged.

“And about your mom?” Charles looked at you intently.

“It’s grief, right?” You blinked slowly, “it comes and goes in waves. Sometimes they’re tiny waves breaking on your ankles, and sometimes it feels like you’re going to drown in them.”

There’s a brief silence, but when you meet his eyes, Charles’ eyes shine in understanding.

“I know.”

Max managed to change topics, talking about the track, the race and his impressions. Was a safe topic, lighter. You didn’t notice how, but you three ended up sitting in a small circle on the floor. Max was passionately talking about track adherence, and he was so focused on his explanation that it was actually funny. You eyed Charles, and you two bursted out laughing, which made Max stop, looking at you confused.

When you stopped laughing, sitting straight, Charles was suddenly very close. Way closer than before. His face was just a few centimeters away from yours, and it made you dizzy.

You snapped your head to Max, who was looking at you with just as much desire as Charles. He nodded to you, giving you permission.

Charles held your face and kissed you, softly and tentatively. You broke the kiss, looking from Charles’ beautiful eyes to Max’s. You watched as Max shifted closer to you, holding your jaw as he kissed you too.

You couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening, but you were very shocked and equally turned on.

Max’s hand slid from your jaw, down to your neck, and you were still wide eyed, your breathing progressively more shallow. You felt Charles behind you, his hand on your waist, pressing softly. You closed your eyes as Max slowly closed the distance between you again, and you felt his lips pressing against yours. With shaky fingers, your hands trailed beneath his shirt, up his back, nails grazing his skin. While you opened your mouth to deepen the kiss, you moaned, feeling Charles leaving open mouthed kisses to your neck and shoulder, goosebumps rising in your skin. It was overwhelming, because they were everywhere, hands, lips and bodies stealing your breath. Everything was so hot, you felt like removing your clothes and the pulsing in your shamelessly wet panties.

“Take it off,” Max breathed after breaking the kiss, he helped the monegasque, who quickly tore your clothes leaving you only in panties. Max pushed you until your back was on the floor, and he and Charles were kneeling on each side of your body. “Charlie, come kiss her.”

Charles laid down, kissing you gently first, then deepening the kiss until you were pawing his waist and torso under his shirt. Seeing your struggle, he removed the shirt himself, while Max watched, running both hands up and down your thighs. Max suddenly pulled Charles closer, kissing him, their kiss was just as hard and messy as the kisses they had given you. Seeing the way their lips explored each other made you even wetter, and you couldn’t help but run your finger above your slit, your pussy still clothed. They removed each other’s clothes very fast.

They stopped, and Max soon removed your panties, laying between your legs. You moaned as his tongue lapped at your pussy, tentatively and Charles leaned down to kiss you again. Your heart was running insane, so fast you thought it would stop. Charles went lower and mouthed at your nipples, and you reached for his cock.

“Spit,” you ordered Charles, offering the palm of your hand. A little hesitantly, he did, a glob of spit on the palm of your hand and you grabbed his cock again, and he moaned out loud feeling the glide of your hand.

You felt one of Max’s fingers inside you, twisting so good that you had to hold his head, grinding your hips into him. The pleasure of Max working your cunt was so blinding that you lost focus on the handjob, but it didn’t deter Charles, who just decided to fuck into your hand.

You looked down, just to see Max looking straight at you through his lashes. He sucked at your clit, watching you writhe and come undone, grinding your hips on his face, wetting half of his face as he devoured you.

“Charlie will fuck you now, yeah?” Max asked as you recovered, and he carried you to the couch, positioned you on his lap, facing Charles, who just knelt between your legs.

Charles filled you up in one swift movement, and you moaned at the tight fit, melting into Max just behind you, holding you firmly, one hand on your neck, the other across your abdomen. The dutch kissed your neck, biting and sucking your skin, but his eyes trained on the way Charles’ hips started moving into you, you pulled Max’s hand that was on your neck and put it over your mouth, to muffle your moans, he pushed two fingers in your mouth and you sucked. The pressure was deliriously good, and Charles kept blabbering about how good you felt, and how warm was your cunt, and you were making him feel so good, mixed with lots of french expletives. Charles pressed further, his chest against yours as he found Max over your shoulder and kissed him. You felt Max’s hand that was between your bodies, find its way to your clit, rubbing in circles and pushing you even faster to your second orgasm, drooling over the fingers he still had in your mouth, you hips shaking so much you were rubbing Max’s cock with your ass, at the same time that Charles came crashing down, filling you up as he moaned out loud.

“My turn now, yes?” Max said, repositioning you like a ragdoll, while Charles laid down, pulling you on all fours on top of him, as Max took his turn behind you.

Charles pulled your face closer, kissing you all sloppy and open mouthed as Max filled you up to the hilt, making your knees shake. As if he knew, and he probably did, Charles held your hips up when Max started pistoning into you, fucking you so good you could only hold onto Charles and bite into his shoulders to keep yourself from being too loud.

You did not sleep that night. Max and Charles’ stamina wa otherworldly, and you three kept fucking until morning came. Sometimes you just watched them, sometimes you took one while the other rested, sometimes you took them at the same time. With them, you tried more adventurous positions than you had tried your entire life. They had a different way of finding out the workings of your body, of discovering the rhythm you liked and the sound of your moaning echoing on the walls.

The second time they slipped into your room was almost three weeks later, under the guise that they wanted to give your watch back now fixed.

After a little chit chat Max pulled you into his lap and Charles pressed his chest to your back and in minutes you three were naked, touching and kissing and moaning into each other's mouth.

It became some sort of routine, every few weeks, they would sneak into your room, and you’d bang them any way you wanted.

Then they would stay more, bring dinner or put on a movie. They would snuggle with you in bed while the movie played, Max holding your thigh softly and you playing with Charles’ hair. It was good to unwind and forget about Formula 1.

Every day, after they left, you’d whisper to yourself.

“Don’t get too attached, Y/N. They’re your rivals.”

You didn’t want to poison all the sexy moments and all the tranquility they made you feel, but at the same time, you didn’t want to get too caught up in this. It should be fun, but it couldn’t be more than that.

Racing was never a topic of conversation between you, not only because those few hours together were sacred but also because all three of you were rivals and were in different teams, which could get very messy, very quickly.

Eventually, after Barcelona, McLaren brought a new upgrade. Which for you, it was a godsend. Finally, you could get back on your feet again. The car felt lighter and you had much more control. And in Montreal, you finally got the first win of the season. A huge weight was lifted from your shoulders and you even cried a couple of tears finishing the race first for the first time that year. And it was also the first 1-2 you and Lando had ever, which was even more reason for celebration.

You and Lando ended up closing a club for your celebration, inviting the whole team.

Max and Charles were there too, and they spent most of the night in a booth, chatting among other drivers. You knew they were watching you even pretending not to, and it was a matter of time until they had drunk enough to approach you. So you decided to not stay late and just leave.

You bid Lando goodbye quickly, telling him you were tired even if it was relatively early for a clubbing night. As you made your way to the most discreet exit, you felt a hand on your forearm, pulling you to a corner, and you were faced with both Charles and Max.

“Leaving so soon, chéri?” Charles asked, eyes glossy and probably a little tipsy.

“We came here to celebrate you,” Max said, one hand going around your waist. Wide eyed, you immediately pushed his hand away, taking a step back. They were confused.

“Not here. Too public, someone might see us, or even take pictures.”

“Don’t be like that, there is no one around now,” Charles pointed around, and granted, it was really empty on that side of the club, but anyone could walk in any moment.

“I can’t,” you shook your head, “not in public.”

“You’re ashamed of us?” Max squinted, looking into your eyes.

“I never said that. I can’t risk anything happening to my image just because I wanted to screw someone.”

“So that’s how you see us? A good fuck and nothing else?” Max pressed you further.

“Again,” you repeated slowly, your patience running thin, “that’s not what I said,” there was a tense pause and you pinched the bridge of your nose, “look, we all had more than enough to drink, and this is not the moment or the place for this conversation.”

“No, no,” Charles shook his head, “I believe you made yourself clear enough.”

With that, they walked away clearly pissed with you. Going back to the hotel, you knew there was nothing you could do at that moment to change their minds. They wouldn’t understand your point of view that easily, not only because they were drunk, but also because they weren’t a woman in Formula 1. Everyone fed off your failures like vultures, and if it leaked that you were going out not only with one, but with two other drivers, you knew you could kiss your career goodbye.

The media was never the kindest to you, and the majority of the fans weren’t either, so you knew how it would look if anyone found out about you three. They already call you slut without any knowledge of your romantic history, they would ruin your life if they were to know. And most certainly question not only your seat in Formula 1 but also your World Championship.

You just hoped you could explain that to Charles and Max when they were with clear heads.

Only you didn’t.

They never came back to your room, nor did they answer your texts.

Two entire weeks passed with only anguish gnawing at your insides, trying to reach them privately, but failing miserably. They were not only ignoring you, but also avoiding you. You couldn’t take it anymore, so in Austria, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You’d corner the first one you saw.

And that was Charles right before the drivers parade. You were the first ones to get there, which gave you some sense of privacy, well, as much as you could.

“You need to listen to me, this is a misunderstanding, Charles.”

But he straight up ignored you, not even bothering to look in your direction. With a heavy heart, you nodded, moving away from him. Making peace with the fact that maybe this was the end of your little affair. They had not understood you, and had ignored all your efforts to explain, closing the door of whatever was going on.

Resolute, you decided that maybe it was for the best. If they couldn’t understand where you were coming from, then better say farewell already. But you couldn’t help that anguishing feeling in your stomach.

It showed to be true during the race, when you were P4 fighting to get into the podium at least. Max was P3, and he fought tooth and nail to not allow you to pass, even if you had the pace to overtake him. You tried a risky move, one you had learned from Fernando Alonso. Pretend you’re going to overtake on one side, let him defend that side, then push your car to the other side and dive for the position.

You almost did the full move, but when you were going for the position, Max just pushed his car into your side, which caused you to lose control and you spun to the gravel. You just decelerated as much as you could. You left the car and went back to the pits with the help of marshals. You didn’t bother to even look into Max’s direction, feeling your eyes getting teary. You weighted with your helmet on, and only took it off inside the garage, because you didn’t want people to see you cry.

It was relatively normal to DFN because of a crash, and given the history of rivalry between you and Max, it was also very common to collide with him. What made you upset wasn’t him protecting his position, but him purposefully taking you out, like he was just getting back at you because he was angry. You had left enough space for him. Despite the overtaking maneuver being a little risky, you never once got close enough to him that you could cause an accident. He had not slipped and lost control. He had not tried to avoid you. He just ran straight into your sidepod.

“What happened today?” A reporter asked you when you went to the post race interviews.

“What is there to say? I think the images speak for themselves.” You shrugged, feeling tired but not wanting to give the media too much as to not cause a PR nightmare to Amanda.

“Seems like the FIA will investigate Max Verstappen because of today’s incident.” Someone else mentioned, and you couldn’t help but scoff.

“I’m sure they will,” you muttered, voice laced with sarcasm.

The debriefing was just as bad with your Team Principal calling you out in front of the whole team not only for damaging your car but also for putting yourself at risk like that.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, I did what any other driver would do in my position!” You sighed trying to calm down, “don’t make me quote Ayrton Senna to you. If you no longer go for a gap that exists, then you’re no longer a racing driver. You and everyone saw that Verstappen didn’t have the pace to match me, so he just plunged into me to take me out!”

God, you needed an ice bath. And maybe a new punchbag.

You were getting ready to leave when Max came up to you. You didn’t say anything to him, you honestly didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. You just wanted to go home and cry under the shower.

He was red in the face and looked distressed. You couldn’t help but feel defensive, holding your bag to your chest.

“I really don’t want to talk to you right now,” you said, trying to walk away but he blocked your path.

“Listen,” he started and the moment he raised his hand to remove his cap, it triggered you, and you flinched as if he was gonna hit you.

He stopped immediately, because he knew that was a trauma response. He knew that him being angry must have reminded you of your father growing up. He knew all that because he too, sometimes, had this kind of knee jerk reaction.

But you felt sick to your stomach. It wasn’t intentional, but it made you look like you believed he would’ve hit you, and rationally you knew he wouldn’t do that. But your stupid body did.

You avoided Max and walked away as fast as you could.

Back in the hotel you just packed your bags and left, going straight to the airport to fly back to Monaco. You were exhausted by the time you made it home, but you still took a shower and cried a couple of tears under the streaming water.

In bed, you tried to convince yourself this ending for your fling with them was for the best. It was too complicated anyway.

And you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t miss the feel of Max’s lips against your neck, or the feel of your hands pulling Charles’ hair softly. Or the way Charles used to mumble French mindlessly whenever he was concentrating on something. Or how often Max would do his maxplaining with his vast knowledge of the most random topics.

Your body was so tired but your mind just did not shut off.

You were a couple of hours into staring at the ceiling when the doorbell rang. Carefully, you went there, it was the middle of the night, so you checked the door camera to see both Max and Charles by the door.

Slowly, you opened to them. You swallowed, waiting for them to say something. You felt so vulnerable, this knot in your stomach had been tormenting you since the day they walked away.

“I’m- we’re really sorry,” Max started.

“For ignoring you and mistreating you and never once giving you the chance to explain your side,” Charles took a small step inside.

It was like a dam broke, and you ran into their embrace, sobbing. All three of you hugged, Charles with a comforting hand on your back and Max kissing the side of your head. They patiently waited for you to calm down, and then closed the door and walked you to the sofa.

“I missed you,” you murmured, holding Max’s jaw to peck his lips, doing the same to Charles, “I’m so sorry about everything.”

“Can we talk?” Charles asked, “you said it was a misunderstanding.”

You nodded, taking your phone from your room. You sat on the coffee table as you gave them your phone with your instagram profile opened.

“Check the comments on my last post,” you pointed and they sat side by side scrolling through it, the horror on their faces getting worse every second they kept going.

You knew the kind of comments you had on your profile. Hateful, hurtful comments. It had been that way since you made it into Formula 1.

“What a slut” “I bet there’s a reason why Charles hates her” “She never deserved that championship! #Retire” “Ugly bitch” “Whose dick she had to blow to get a seat?” “Overrated dumb whore” “I bet she tried to fuck her way through the grid, that’s why most of them hate her” “Max should’ve crashed into her harder”

It was nothing new to you, Kimi and your PR team had prepared you for years for this type of treatment. And you honestly had grown used to it, learning to ignore.

“This is disgusting, Y/N!” Charles exclaimed, trying to put the phone away, but Max snatched it back, still reading the comments.

“That’s just a regular Monday for me,” you shrugged, “I’m not trying to victimize myself or anything, but-”

“You are a victim, this is not okay!” Charles said.

“What I wanted to say is, I can’t risk us going public. This is what I face just for doing my job, and it would get so much worse if people ever found out. They already believe I fucked my way to the top, to them, we would just confirm their suspicions,” you felt Charles holding your hand for comfort, “it is very different for a woman. And I adore what we have, but I can't put you above my career and my dreams.”

Max extended his hand to you, and you grasped it, letting him pull you to sit between them. Charles kissed your cheek.

“We would never ask you to do such a thing,” Max said.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see what you are going through with the media and our fans.” Charles muttered, pulling your hair back with a hand, and holding your waist with the other.

“We missed you,” Max whispered against the other side of your neck.

In a couple of minutes they had you spread open on the sofa, Charles’ head between your legs and Max’s lips latched on to your nipples. They made sure to apologize orgasm after orgasm, cooing your moaning mess and kissing you stupid.

Routine went back to normal after that. You still didn’t name your affair and decided that for now, it was better this way.

With the upgraded car, you actually managed to pick up the pace and find yourself rising up the standings.

Silverstone was promising, being one of your favorite tracks, and one you knew you could win again this year. You did great both of the free practices, trying to keep your focus now more than ever, to get a chance at the championship again. There were specific races that you’d amp up your security team for safety, but Silverstone wasn’t one of them.

Qualifying day, you went to the track early morning, to meet with your team, talk about the results of free practices and your input. As you walked to your garage quietly chatting on the phone, you felt a hand on your arm, pulling you aside. You yelped, jerking around and you ended up facing the person. A man, and it took you a couple of seconds to recognize all the gray hair, but the evil eyes were still very much the same.

It had been more than a decade since you saw your father for the last time. Gasping, you took a step back to walk away, but he gripped your forearm, forcing you back.

Funny how fear worked, you hadn’t seen him for years, and you always imagined that now that you were all grown up, you’d be fearless, a big girl, brave and face your father head on. But it wasn’t how things happened. Immediately your fight or fight kicked in. Your eyes darted around, trying to catch someone you knew or someone from security.

“Let. Go.” You said, with gritted teeth.

“Is that how you greet your father?” He said, and you pulled your hand from his grasp.

“I don’t have one,” you spat, anger rising in your chest, hand in hand with fear. You wanted to bolt, to ban him from your life forever, to cry and shout all at once.

“I made you. I spent thousands investing in your career so you could be here, a little gratitude would be good,” he said with a fake smile, and it disgusted you.

“I’ll never attribute my success to you, you disgusting piece of-”

He held your face with a hand, pressing your jaw with such force that it made you stumble a step back. You gripped his wrist, trying to pull away but he pressed your face harder, pressing your head against the wall.

“Very careful how you speak to me!” He rasped, gritted teeth and all, “you little shit, you think you are better than me? I turned you into who you are! The least you own me-”

“I owe you shit!” You said, and spat on his face.

“I gave money and a house to that whore you called a mother-”

You snapped, getting a hold of the fear, and you punched him in the face, hard enough for him to get away and you get space to run. You took one single step when you stumbled into someone, and your eyes found Max.

It was a brief second between looking at you, looking behind you and recognising your father. Recovering from your punch, your father tried to get to you again, but Max stood between the two of you, pushing your father’s chest so he stumbled back. Charles arrived soon after with security, as Max explained that this man was to be escorted out and never allowed to come back.

“Chéri, are you ok?” Charles asked, seeing you taking a step back and leaning against the wall.

You nodded, trying to talk but your voice caught on your throat, trying to make sense of what was happening. Your legs gave in and you slid down until you were sitting on the floor.

“Amour, talk to me, hey-” Charles was worried, you were pale and shaking. Max also knelt down beside you, holding your face to try and see if your father had hurt you.

“Get him out,” you said, and Max nodded, going to talk with security.

“Amour-”

“Guys, there’s cameras around the corner!” Lewis showed up out of nowhere.

“I’m fine,” you managed to blurt, holding on the wall to stand up.

“Hey, hey-” Charles tried to hold your arm but you took a step back.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, walking away back into the garage.

Your mind was spinning, all over the place, and through text you told Charles and Max that you were fine and wanted to be alone. The qualifying was a shitshow. Your mind was completely all over the place, and even making it to Q2, you couldn’t go farther than P14, it felt like the car wasn’t responding to your commands.

You came out of qualy completely pissed. At your father, for showing up and ruining your good streak of races. At yourself, for letting him get to your head, for still giving him so much power over you. You walked away without a second thought, went to your room and kicked your boots off.

Press talk was another shit. You couldn’t pay attention to most questions, gave monosyllabic answers, and couldn’t explain why your qualifying performance was so bad compared to the rest of the year.

You just apologized to your team during debriefing, and silently acquiesced to whatever the strategy for the race was. Kimi had texted you asking about what happened, you didn’t want to talk to him just yet.

You were getting ready to leave for the day, when Fernando came into your room.

“I don’t want to talk, Nando,” you held your bag, not even bothering to look at him.

“Good, because I do the talking then. Go, sit down.” He pretty much ordered, his face stony and serious in a way you hadn't seen before. “What happened today?”

“I’ve got a lot going on,” it was all you said.

“Your father showed up, messed with your head and with your confidence,” Fernando said, with the certainty of someone who knew you really well. You wondered if the whole grid knew about your father’s presence today. You gulped. “Look, this is something you will master with time, but I’m going to tell you now. When you put your helmet on and get in the car, you’re a racer, nothing more. Your problems, your worries, they stay back and they never cross your mind for the entirety of the race. Out on the track, you’re one with the car, doing your best is the only thing that matters.” Fernando pressed his index finger softly to your forehead, as if he was quite literally putting it in your head, “Clear. Your. Mind.”

You sniffled, wiping the one tear that came down. Fernando’s face softened, but you knew he wanted only the best for you. And he was right. You kept giving your father this power. You handed him the power. You couldn’t keep letting him get away with it. This was the one thing you knew you were good at, your calling, your destiny and all your hard work. And you’d be damned if your father would keep a hold over your life.

“Clear my mind,” you inhaled, nodding.

You did your best to study your strategy for the day, to focus on what you could do to achieve the best result.

Early the next morning, you went to the FIA, to request access to the camera footage to find images of the altercation between you and your father the day before. The representative you talked to was initially reluctant but once you told him what had happened, he was quick to help you. You explained that it was for the better that none of that came to light, and hopefully you could get your father to be completely banned from Formula One. The representative prepared a report and assured you that your complaint would be taken seriously and they’d work on the matter as fast and as discreetly as possible.

You went to meet your team and go over and over plan A, B and C. When you got in the car, ready to race, you still hadn’t talked with Max or Charles, and you were hopeful to catch them after. Attaching the helmet, you breathed in, slowly, remembering Fernando’s words.

Clear your mind.

You raced like there was no tomorrow, only thinking of the next turn and the next car you had to overtake, you didn’t think of who it was or when, you just did it. In the future, that race was going down in history as a masterclass in overtaking and taking every little opportunity thrown your way. The time passed really fast, and when you came to be, you heard Jace screaming in your ears that you had made it. You had made it to P1 and taken the checkered flag.

Your voice was shaky as you thanked the team and Jace on the radio.

When you left, running towards your team, they congratulated you and despite the great desire to run towards Max and Charles, who were on the podium with you, you somehow managed to find Fernando. You ran towards him, jumping in his arms, not even minding the way your helmets hit with a loud thud. He hugged you, removing your feet from the ground.

“Thank you! Gracias, muchas gracias, Fernando!” You shouted hoping he could hear you with both visors up.

He patted your shoulder as you had to run back to get weighted and to post-race interview.

“Wow, I’m at a loss for words right now! You were a true Lioness during this race! Can you tell us what happened after the difficult Qualy yesterday?” Jenson Button was the one to ask.

“I was in a difficult place yesterday, and I’m very thankful for a pep talk Fernando Alonso gave me, that helped me get back into my jam!” You said, breathless, wiping sweat from your forehead, “I’m also grateful to my team for making the car that matched my energy and focus today!”

“And what did Fernando tell you?” Jenson asked, probably out of curiosity.

“Well, I can’t go out telling my secrets, can I? My rivals are all around!” You winked, and left a laughing Jenson behind.

In the cooldown room, where Max and Charles were already watching a montage with all your overtakes on a screen, you walked up to Charles, taking his hand. He looked a little concerned as you had agreed to keep your relationship private. Max joined, patting a hand on your back, and the three of you made a little triangle.

You looked at them with so much adoration, that it hit Max right in the chest and he wanted nothing more than to hold your face and kiss you silly. Charles held his breath for a brief second, being in the moment with the two of you.

“You were brilliant, today,” Charles muttered, low and hoping no mic would catch the sound.

“Unbelievable, Lioness.” Max also said with a discreet wink, then taking a step back and interrupting the moment.

That wasn’t your first podium, nor your first win, but something was different when you kissed the trophy and raised it to the sky. You felt like you’d taken back control of your life and your career. There was nothing that could actually stop you if you put your mind to it, and you knew now. You shitty father couldn’t squander your dreams when you were fourteen, and he couldn’t do it now either. You were so much bigger than him, greater than that pathetic man could ever be.

And you didn’t need him.

You had a mother that, despite not being there anymore, but she’d always be in your heart, a constant source of strength and faith. You had Kimi, who believed you when no one else did, who put his own hand over fire for you. You had Fernando, Seb and Lewis, your idols in this sport, and such good friends. You had Charles and Max, your lovers, and hopefully your future.

That night, as you were laying down in your suite, sandwiched between the two men that stole your heart, came the email with your renewal contract proposition. A five year offer, possible extensions, to make you the face of your McLaren.

You made love with Charles and Max with renewed energy, enjoying yourself and the feel of their love for you. It was just the assurance you needed to say the words.

“I love you. I love you two very much,” you whispered, running your hand through both their hairs, “I can’t promise much right at this moment, like a normal, public, relationship yet, but I do love you.”

“We know. We love you too.” Max whispered and Charles took your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“We love you too much to risk you facing awful dangerous things just so we could call you ours publicly,” Charles agreed.

That year, you didn’t get a second championship as you had dreamed, but you proudly stood with your P2 trophy during the FIA’s Prize Giving Ceremony, your chest swelling with pride as you watched Charles’ beaming face with the P1 trophy.

There was some renewed sense of purpose in yourself as you held the trophy, and in your heart, this one meant just as much as the champion trophy you had gotten the year before. This year you had overcome all the demons that had controlled you for a long time, this year you had not only learned to live with the undying love for your mom, but you had also learned about new forms of love. You had somehow rekindled that love for racing, for believing you were the best and could prove it amidst adversity.

And of course, many adversities were still to come, but now you were sure you had in yourself the power to face them.

When the next season started, you had your eyes on the prize.

Even spending a great amount of winter break with your boyfriends, they were still your rivals on track.

You were fixing your suit on the pitlane when they walked up to you.

“I hope you know this championship is mine,” Max said with a smirk. You caught his playful tone fairly quickly.

“Well, I am the current champion of the world, so we’ll see about that,” Charles crossed his arms.

“Boys, no crying when I leave the both of you eating dust, yeah?” You added, biting back a giggle.

“Baby, go easy on us,” Max joked, and you shook your head.

“Never going easy on my rivals,” You added with a whisper, “not even when they’re my handsome boyfriends.”

“See you after the finish line,” Charles winked, and they both walked away.

“Hope you enjoy the view of my rear!” You said, and they left, laughing.

Always rivals, but much more than that.

NOTE: If you want to know why I chose to end the story this way, or have any questions about the characters future, or any random headcanons, drop by my inbox and I'll try to answer most! Thank you so much for the support in this little adventure! Thank you to everyone who dropped a little ask/message asking for more, I'll try and answer you if I haven't yet! (also, sorry if i missed any tag)

TAG LIST: @be-your-coffee-pot @supremebaddietrash @mellowarcadefun @cmleitora @kyuupidwrites @80sloverry @newlifeforus @soulaires @hrrorflm @redwolfxx @icarus-nex @jenniferrvsesi @bborra @leilanixx @hc-dutch @withyoutilltheendodthismess @is-just-a @freetimemachinequeen @saturnchase @butterfly-lover @eddiesbitch83 @elliott-calls @nb26fort @wcnorris @vellicora @mac-daddy-210 @hiraethrhapsody @losore-prone @gills-lounge @enrapturedbythemoon @formula1mount @mightiestheroes @cherry-piee @chezmardybum @whodis-26 @mortallyblueninja @f1mockingjay @dance-the-painting @chanshintien @magical-spit @splaterparty0-0 @maxv33rtappen @heyheyheyggg @mindflay3r @janeholt3 @lightdragonrayne @always-spaced-out @papayatifosi @formulas-bitch @ruleroftheuniverse @raizelchrysanderoctavius @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @alishamai @lanando4 @dark-night-sky-99 @comfortzonequeen @honethatty12 @urfavnoirette

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #lestappen #charles leclerc x you #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula one #lewis hamilton #fernando alonso #lestappen x reader #lestappen x you #Spotify

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formulakracing · 11 months ago

Text

"you belong here" - s.v.

pairing: gf!reader x aston martin!sebastian vettel

word count: 1.5k

warnings: (slight) age gap relationship, a little bit of cursing here and there, seb being absolutely down bad for the reader, some (slight) angst, the general public being judgmental, (slight) slut shaming, the drivers being little shits (as always), yadayadayada

a/n: i am a perfectionist when it comes to writing personalities, mannerisms, cadences of words, etc. so if i happened to not do the best job with this fic, please be patient with me!!! this is my first time writing for seb!!! i am open to feedback!!! <3

"okay, from the top. how many drivers are there?"

"twenty."

"nope!" he shakes his head, his lips curling into a smug smirk, "there are nineteen drivers. sorry love, but you were incorrect."

"sebastian," you scoff, rolling your eyes, "you needed to specify if you were included. because if you weren't included, there would be nineteen other drivers. if you were, there would be twenty."

"that's why it's called a trick question," his hand squeezes yours, "your hands are clammy, by the way."

"maybe because i'm nervous?" you counter, "this is my first time tagging along to a grand prix, you know."

"i know," he brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it tenderly, "i'm sorry for being a little pest."

"you're not a pest," your heart swells at the gesture, "i'm just anxious to meet everyone, that's all."

"oh they'll love you," confidence oozes out of his words, "i have no doubts about that."

sebastian vettel, four time world drivers' champion, was your boyfriend of the last year or so. the two of you met online, as you had slid into his dms on instagram after a very intoxicated evening out with friends.

since you had a love for formula one since you were a teenager, you admired drivers such as lewis hamilton, nico rosberg, daniel ricciardo, and well, sebastian.

you weren't quite sure where the love for the sport came from, but you could remember the sleepless nights you spent on youtube, eagerly clicking through racing highlights through various grand prixes. the sleepovers where your friends would be doing makeovers on you or painting your nails as you chattered about all of the driver drama and lore.

so, when you learned that mr. vettel was very single, and very open to the world of dating, you decided to shoot your shot. it took about six or seven drinks, but you mustered the courage to type out those fateful words.

i heard your single. we should change that.

shockingly, you received a response not too long after sending the message.

i believe it's *you're and not your. why should i take you up on your offer? you're a very beautiful woman but i need a little more information before i take you out on a date. ;)

from that message, the two of you chatted constantly, getting to know one another in-between shifts at your job, and his free time between races, press conferences, and training sessions.

eventually, he asked for your number, requesting a facetime call. you obliged, the two of you talking for hours upon hours that night. only a week or so later, he flew you out to his place in switzerland, requesting that you spend the weekend with him.

you did, falling for him the moment you met him in person. well, not like it was difficult by any means. with his charming aura and goofy persona, you felt comfortable almost immediately, letting your walls come crashing down.

nothing was too much or too out-of-pocket. you could make all of the vulgar jokes you wished, and he would laugh right along, only escalating the joke further. you could cry on his shoulder about anything, and he would happily rub your back, wiping away the tears that fell. he would hold you every night you slept together, not letting go until you wriggled away in the mornings.

and now, here you were, hand-in-hand as you entered the paddock. your heart skips a beat as your gaze falls on lance stroll, sebastian's fellow driver and teammate.

upon seeing you, his mouth curves into a bright smile, "look who it is!"

"i know you're not that excited to see me," sebastian pouts, "or did you really miss me that much?"

lance rolls his eyes at sebastian, sticking out his right hand, "good morning! i'm lance. i'm the other aston martin driver. well, you probably already know that."

"it's nice to meet you," you suppress a giggle, "i've heard a lot about you!"

"oh have you?" lance arches a brow, turning to sebastian, "have you been talking shit?"

"always pooks," sebastian chuckles, "not really. i just happen to talk a lot about racing. i'm sure she's tired of it by now."

"oh never," you flash sebastian a radiant grin, "i never get tired of all of the racing talk. i've loved formula one since i was about thirteen or so."

"that's awesome!" lance gushes, "you have yourself a keeper then, seb."

"i know i do," you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder, "should we go meet some fans? i promise they won't bite."

"fans?" you echo, a shiver running down your spine.

"well yeah," lance nods, "we have some time before we need to meet up with everyone. we usually chat with some fans, hand out some autographs. nothing too serious or glamorous."

"if you say so," you mumble, the words so quiet you were shocked you heard them.

it wasn't like you were dreading interacting with fans, it was just that you were a bit daunted by the idea.

ever since sebastian went public with you about a month ago, the reaction from the public was mixed. one half was adamant that you were too young for the driver, as there was an almost fifteen year age gap between the two of you. the plethora of negative comments that flooded the comment section of your instagram posts was almost too much to bear.

the other half, however, was very supportive, voicing that they "shipped" the two of you or that you were good for the driver. some comments even went as far to say that you were "a breath of fresh air", and that sebastian needed someone like you in his life.

yet, as the three of you stroll out of the paddock, you hoped for the latter. that the fans would be kind, welcoming you with open arms.

you could only dream, right?

"sebastian!"

"sebastian over here!"

voices flurry about, calling from all directions. everywhere all around, it was almost a sea of green, fans donning aston martin gear from head to toe. people of all ages flooded your field of vision, children hoisted on their parents shoulders to men and women in their seventies, maybe even their eighties.

"baby, can i see your purse?" his breath fans against your ear, snapping out of your trance.

"yeah," you nod, fumbling with your bag, "y-you need your sharpie, right?"

"hey," fingers find yours, intertwining them together, "it's just you and i. forget everyone else. just think about you and i."

"it's hard to-" you protest, yet you're swiftly cut off by a voice rising above the midst of the crowd.

"who invited the slut?"

sebastian's brows furrow, his eyes narrowing into slits, "what the fuck?"

more voices cut in, jeering.

"put her back in her crib! where she belongs!"

"you heard what i said! who invited that slut beside you?"

"goddamn," lance mutters under his breath, "what the fuck are they on right now?"

tears well up, threatening to spill over as you duck your head, lower lip trembling. sebastian senses your energy shift, wrapping a protective arm around your waist. he pulls you in close, pressing gentle kisses along your temple.

"come on, let's go back to the paddock. you don't deserve this."

lance flashes you a sympathetic glance before raising a hand, giving the crowd the finger, "whoever said that, this is for you!"

every aspect of the walk back is blurred as the tears fall. your lips are sealed tightly shut, suppressing the sobs rising in your chest.

you were barely here an hour and fans were already heckling you.

could you even last the weekend here?

did you even belong here?

"hey," his voice is soft, "come here."

blinking, you realize that he had taken you back to his motorhome, a private space for just the two of you. his arms are open, inviting you in. you nearly collapse into his chest, burying your head in it as he rubs your back.

"i'm so sorry."

"you don't have to be sorry," you shrug, swallowing the lump in your throat, "they're right. i don't belong here."

"stop that," fingers grasp your chin, tilting your head up, "you do belong here. you belong here just as much as anyone else does. i need you here."

"you promise?"

"i promise baby," sebastian tucks a few wisps of hair behind your ear, "you're irreplaceable. who cares what they think? just focus on me. it's just you and i this weekend, okay?"

"okay," you nod, sniffling slightly.

"you know what i think?" he leans in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

"what?" you inquire, the tears dissipating as he brings you in closer.

"they're just jealous that i have the most breathtaking, stunning, kindest, funniest girlfriend in the whole wide world. and no one, i mean no one, can take that away from me. you're mine baby. and nothing is ever going to change that."

you find yourself nearly crumbling into his chest once again, "you mean that?"

"of course i do. now, let's go try this again. if anyone is rude or hateful, i'll just spit on them, okay?"

#sebastian vettel #seb vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #f1 #formula one #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel x y/n #aston martin #aston martin racing

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disneyprincemuke · 1 year ago

Text

ice man * femdriver

(series masterlist) | (📂 a day in the life)

sebastian grins, turning his gaze away from the man jabbing his finger into the table. he rests his eyes on her, lips parted as she attentively tries and takes in all the information unloaded on her.

“wait,” she raises her hand slightly. “am i allowed to curse on tv?”

kimi turns to sebastian with a stare. “they brainwashed her already. not much we can do.”

“no,” sebastian mutters, patting his friend on the shoulder. “she will listen to you. she listens to anyone who’s been in formula 1.”

kimi turns back to her, already nodding with a small excited smile on her face. “he’s right — i am very impressionable at my big age,” she says. “i didn’t know i can curse on tv.”

“it’s frowned upon,” kimi points out with a small smile. he is holding back laughter from her wide eyes and enthusiasm. “but nobody ever said you can’t do it.”

“oh. can i walk away from interviewers?” she tilts her head, chewing on her bottom lip as she thinks. “they can get a tad misogynistic at times.”

“why walk away?” kimi laughs, leaning back in his seat. “ask them to fuck off.”

worry flashes on her face. “that’s a bit mean.”

“they’re looking down on you for being a woman and you think asking them to fuck off is mean?” kimi raises an eyebrow. her eyes dart up to meet his, her eyebrows shooting up as she processes his words. “exactly.”

“i didn’t know i could do that,” she whispers. “but isn’t that a bit much for now? they already are not very fond of my presence in the sport.”

kimi shakes his head, closing his eyes as he disapproves her worries. “who is getting paid to drive cars and travel to countries with all expenses paid?”

“me?”

“correct answer.” kimi sighs. “so why care about what other people have to say?”

“i,” she trails off, “i have this thing.”

“you just go around thinking about other people’s feelings all the time?” kimi raises an eyebrow. “how do you get anything done?”

“it’s hard,” she admits in a cry, throwing her arms in the air and slumping her shoulders. she clears her throat and sits up. “but you’re right. you’re right! i’m getting paid to be here! this is my job! i should be able to react how i see fit if someone is being mean to me!”

kimi claps. “yes! exactly! defend yourself if you need to.”

she hums, pursing her lips to one side. “question: if i crash-“

“try your best not to crash.”

“obviously, seb. my question is: if i crash, can i also walk away to get ice cream? like you did in malaysia?”

he folds his arms over his chest. “apparently you cannot do that anymore. i’m sorry, kid.”

“outrageous,” she scoffs, shaking her head. she presses her lips together and perks up again. “can i meet your ice baby?”

kimi turns to sebastian. “what does she mean?”

“your baby,” sebastian laughs, hearing you talk about how cute kimi’s child is. “she is very good with kids.”

kimi looks at her, smile wavering as he points at her. “you want my advice, kid?”

“of course!”

“don’t have kids.”

she smiles, gesturing to the room around her. “i wouldn’t exchange this for anything else.” she glances at her watch and sighs. “i don’t want to have to leave. but i promised susie and marta lunch before the f1 acad finale.”

“aw,” kimi coos. “i’ll be in the paddocks all weekend with seb, you know. i won’t disappear into thin air if i leave your sight.”

“i know! but i’ve been waiting all year to meet you!” she gushes, hands cupping her cheeks as she grins at him dreamily. “i watched you growing up! i loved you!”

kimi laughs — the kind that sebastian rarely hears, a genuine smile and his eyes crinkling at her. “kid, we’re going to dinner tonight. i promise i’ll even send you back to your hotel room.”

“okay!” she squeaks, pushing her chair back and springing to her feet. “pick a restaurant, okay! maybe if i eat like you, i’d be just like you.”

kimi smiles with a nod. he watches her round the table, bending down to press a kiss on seb’s cheek. he turns his head expectedly at her, raising his chin and leaning in slightly.

she giggles airily, hesitantly moving over to press a kiss on his cheek. she jogs towards the door of sebastian’s office, tripping on her feet along the way.

she turns around one last time. “i’ll see you later, dads!”

she extends her hand to wave at them before closing the door. a moment of silence passes the empty room, but the remnants of her smile and enthusiasm still remain in the room.

“she’s going to be amazing, you know.”

“i know,” sebastian smiles proudly, nodding. “she’s a future world champion, you reckon?”

“absolutely,” kimi nods. “you vouched for the right person, seb. good job.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @inejismywife @meadghcavanagh @2bormaybenot @love4lando

#sebastian vettel x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #f1 female driver #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke vr #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke f1

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princessconsuela120 · 1 year ago

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✰ ALL MY LOVE ✰

—✰

Summary: after the amortentia lesson, you avoid Sebastian, afraid of what you smelt in your potion.

Warnings: Cursing, nothing it’s so cute and fluffy

Authors Note: I love Sebastian so much. Be ready for Seb content guys!

—✰

SINCE DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ART CLASS, almost three classes ago now, Sebastian had been following you around like a lost puppy. To every class you had together, he’d watch as you squeezed yourself into a seat next to someone, so he wouldn’t be able to sit beside you. After DADA class, usually you and Sebastian would be inseparable, seeing as you shared the rest of your schedule, but not today. Or yesterday, or all of this week now that Sebastian thought of it. Every since last Wednesday actually, it seemed you just didn’t speak to him the same as you usually did. So now that you were taking your usual midday stroll into the room of requirements to feed your beasts, Sebastian had decided to catch you off guard.

You weren’t even entirely sure how he had managed to sneak into the room of requirements, seeing as it was an exclusive room Professor Weasley had sectioned it off just for your spell practice and vivariums. And now Sebastian had you cornered in the room, causing you to grow angrily.

“Sebastian please…” you whispered, pushing him away to no avail. He was set in place like a statue, unmoveable.

“Then why have you been ignoring me!” He shouted angrily, making you sigh, shaking your head as you looked to the ground.

“I haven’t been ignoring you!” You replied shortly, finally meeting Sebastian’s eyes to see the hint of fear on his expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is there a new word for not speaking to someone and avoiding them for weeks!?” He replied sarcastically, making you roll your eyes.

“You know you’re starting to get really annoying.” You said, pushing him back as you begin walking out the room.

“I’m getting annoying?” He took a step back, shaking his head with shock. “I’m getting annoying?! Why the bloody hell have you been avoiding me y/n!?” He shouted, making you clench your fists as you whip you’re hair around to look at him.

“You wanna know why I’m avoiding you Sebastian, fine.” You shook you head, holding your hands out before letting them fall angrily at your sides. “I smelt you in my amortentia potion. Yeah. I smelt, honey dukes chocolate, peaches, and wet pavement.” You explained, sighing as you continued, now avoiding Sebastians eyes. “And you know what else I smelt? I smelt, old books, and the dust from old rocks, and slight smoke, the kind that wafts off clothes.” You explained.

Now that one took you a second to realize it was Sebastian. Until you realized, the dust was the undercroft, and the books and fire was Sebastian. He was always finding new books in the library, books that usually smelt of old parchment. And the fire, from confringo, the spell Sebastian had taught you last year. The one spell that you see him use on every mission you’ve ever gone on together.

“And I smelt teakwood, and Bergamot.” You said, now meeting his eyes, you heart breaking at the thought that now your friendship was fractured. “Smells I know you smell like, because i only know what those are because Anne had explained to me when she forced you to start wearing cologne.” You said, pointing a finger hard on Sebastian’s chest. It was quiet for a moment, as the two of you looked at each other. Sharing empty soft glances of worry, until you finally had enough

“Well, say something!” You shouted, making Sebastian stutter in response.

“I-I um.”

“You forced me to say it, didn’t you? Isn’t it what you wanted me to say?” You yelled, shaking your head with an eye roll. You met his expression again to see him smirking evilly, making you scoff. “Why are you smirking? Stop that.” You said, pointing at him.

“Stop what?” He asked, his smirk growing wider.

“Stop smirking.”

“So you smelt me huh?”

“You’re such a dog Sebastian.” You said with an eye roll, pushing him.

“Last I checked I was a man. A rather handsome one at that.” He teased, looking down his body as you rolled your eyes again.

“Oh please, I’ve fought prettier trolls.” You teased, as Sebastian stepped closer to you.

“They must have been very good looking trolls then.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Look, Sebastian, I don’t want this to be awkward between us now. You’re my best friend, there’s no reason why things should be weird…” you explained, pinching your forehead with worry.

“Do you know what I smelt in my amortentia?” He whispered, making you shake your head.

“I don’t know, gasoline probably.”

His nose scrunched up with disgust.

“Ew, gasoline?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t know Sebastian, every man in that class smelt gasoline.”

“Well I didn’t. I smelt quill ink, and butter beer. And the smell of old dusty rocks.” He explained, making you sigh as you stared at the ground.

“Cause of the undercroft I’m sure.”

“And you know what else?” He asked, interrupting you before you could continue.

“You don’t have to do this Sebastian..” you whispered. You felt Sebastian lift your chin gently, causing you to look up at him.

“Fire. I smelt fire. The kind of fire that you smell the second you light a candle opera.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” You asked, your heart beating faster every moment his hand held your chin.

“You really don’t understand?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled softly.

“You smelt fire, what’s there to understand?”

“Do you not remember, when I had taught you spells in the undercroft? Freshly lit candle operas, and old rocks.” He explained, smiling happily as he remembered.

“That doesn’t mean anything..” you said, but Sebastian shook his head, holding your hands.

“Right, it doesn’t. Until I realized that I also smelt vanilla, and lilacs. And a hint of strawberry mango.”

He smiled wider, chuckling to himself.

“Now, I know that smell couldn’t be anyone else. Because I also know that you are the only girl in all of Hogwarts who buys strawberry mango chapstick.”

“How do you…”

“I know that, because everytime I’m looking at your lips thinking about kissing you, you put that exact chapstick on.”

The room felt heavy, you smiled at him in response. Your cheeks were now a dark red hue, and you couldn’t help but let out a small huff of air as you felt your chest start closing in.

“And the smell drives me mad, y/n.” He said, getting closer. He grabbed your cheeks.

“Sebastian…” you mumbled, holding his wrists with your hands as he looked at you adoringly.

“I’ve loved you, since you walked into defense against the dark arts two years ago, and wiped the floor with my arse in front of everyone. The only reason I even realized you had been avoiding me, is because I spent every second of every day anticipating your presence. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this strongly about anyone before, at all. Never in a million years would I have dreamt that you would smell even a hint of me in your potion.” He explained, causing you to smile as your heart melted.

“Who said I smelt you?” You asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow at him as he laughed.

“Only the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You blushed even deeper, before he pulled you into a kiss, his hands holding both your cheeks to pull you in.

“Hand them over Gaunt.” You heard Anne mumble from behind you both, as Ominis grunted.

“Blasted.” He said, though it came out muffled since you could barely hear them from where they stood. You also had been too enamored in Sebastian’s kiss.

“You may know your friends, but I know my brother. He wouldn’t let love get away from him.”

“He let it get away for two years.” Ominous teased, the sound of clanging money being heard as Sebastian pulled away.

“Would you two please be quiet? I’m trying to make out here.” He teased, pulling you back in with a smirk.

“We have to deal with that now?” Ominis said, scoffing loudly as Anne chuckled.

“It’s better than the two of them mindlessly pining for each other.”

“Is it?” Ominis asked, causing you to pull away, leaning your forehead against Sebastian’s as you both erupted into giggles. All your love, he owned all your love, and your life. You owed this boy your whole years at Hogwarts. You couldn’t be happier that finally you could call him yours.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow

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skitskatdacat63 · 1 year ago

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Looking at the Austrian crown: 🥰😁😊😚😍

Drawing the Austrian crown: 😟☹️😥😢😰

Please someone save me, why did I do this to myself, look at this thing

#catie: has never draw a crown in her life besides sketching and chibis #also catie: instantly decides to try to draw the most complicated one #im cursing you rudolph ii why did you have to be so tasteful #i still dont know tho if this is easier or harder than the holy roman empire crown #i think the general shape of the empire one is easier but the details are harder? idk honestly #and the crown im drawing is barely in any paintings UGHHHHH #even the professional painters looked at this and were like yeah nah im just putting that in the background #i don't wanna just give up and take it out of the painting bcs i think its cool #but idk if i can draw this 😭 its so complicated #its not even entirely historically accurate for seb to be wearing it #BIT I WANT HIM TOO SIB SOB SOB BCS IRS SO PRETTY #theres paintings of past emperors wearing the emperor crown so really i should be drawing that #but the austrian one is so much prettier 😭#so basically this crown was used as a personal crown by one emperor until the empire collapsed and then it became the imperial crown #so like techinally yeah seb shouldnt be wearing it bcs its for austria not the empire #but like cmon...in this au hes the type to wear a crown casually bcs bling bling yknow #but i am constantly cursed by historical accuracy #IDK WHAT TO DRAWWWWWWW #bcs i already drew the other austrian imperial stuff so i want the crown to match but ughhhhhh #catie.rambling.txt

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deepestnightcolor · 1 month ago

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i’m not asking i’m BEGGING for a fic about sam getting all worked up in the saloon bc you just won’t stop teasing him so he brings you to the bathroom and goes crazy on you. bonus points if someone almost walks in 🙏🙏 you’re an angel btw

☾ ꜱɴᴀᴘ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: Wellp. I don't know why I always make Sebastian listening in, but. Heh. Whoops.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 2461 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Teasing, edging, orgasm denial, cursing, dirty talk, semi public sex, being caught fucking, Seb is a tease as well, cream pie, kind of a little humiliation.

Why did your hand have to feel so good? Why did you always know just how to touch him? No, scratch that. This was not the problem. He loved how you touched him. The more important question was this: Why the hell were you devious enough to touch him just right in the fucking saloon? Even worse, why the hell were you devilish enough to do so when Sebastian was sitting right across from you? At the beginning of the night, he had been able to handle it. It was just you squeezing and stroking his thigh after all, maybe nuzzling your cute little nose against his neck here and there. Easy. Light work no reaction type of shit. And now? Now he was sitting there, face flushed, and a drop of sweat having caught in his brow. He had gotten hard long ago; the moment you had returned from the bathroom and had dropped your little panties into his lap when you had sat down next to him again, to be more exact. He was sitting there with a cock aching from oversensitivity, caused by countless times of being pushed close to the edge, just for you to remove your hand. But even then, you didn’t give him a fucking break; no. As soon as the orgasm had gotten out of reach again, your hand was back, stroking and touch, finding the leaky tip of his dick and rubbing the fabric of his boxers against it. “You good, man?” It was the first time in a while Sebastian had directed his attention to him again, because Sam had logged off the conversation ages ago, too busy on focusing to not moan out loud. Which was why the blond needed to clear his throat a few times before he could even think about answering. “Yeah, Sammy. You good? You have been so quiet? Don’t you feel good?” Oh, you fucking devil. The look he shot you must have been charged with energy, because his friend let out a soft laugh. “Damn, dude. You grumpy or some shit?” “No,” Sam pressed out, and of course you had to be a fucking bitch about it, thumb pressing down on his red tip the moment he had opened his mouth. He hadn’t been able to stop the whimper from rolling off his tongue, and no matter how much he prayed, the look on Sebastian’s face told him it had been exactly as audible as it had sounded. “Sam-“

“Just feeling a bit light-headed,” Sam forced through grit teeth, trying to keep his eyes focused on the black-haired male to keep them from rolling into the back of his skull. “Do you want me to get you a water?” Fuck. Fuck, no. He wanted to get home, rip off your clothes and sink his fat dick into the pussy that you had told him was so wet for him. “I think that would be nice,” you mused. God, how did you do it? How did you manage to make your voice sound so empathetic, so genuinely concerned while you knew very damn well you were the root of this? Seb gave a slow nod, seemingly unsure, yet he scooted out of his booth, making his way iver to Gunther. Sam took in a deep breath, trying to regain even just an ounce of his composure, but this poor guy failed miserably. Especially when he heard your voice, all chipper and happy: “You look so good like this, you know that? All desperate to cum, and even more desperate to not let Sebastian know anything.” Another deep breath, but you just had to giggle as you rubbed over his tip again, didn’t you? Just had to push and prod him toward the edge again, right? “Fuck this,” he suddenly snapped, standing up with more force than he had estimated, making you look up at him with widened eyes. “I am going to the bathroom now. And you better follow me,” he hissed, tugging down his white shirt before heading toward the back, leaving you behind a little bewildered. You hadn’t expected that this would have caused Sam to snap, but you took it. Standing up and following after the blond, not even caring about leaving behind a confused little Sebastian. And if you had cared? Then you had forgotten about him the moment Sam’s lips collied with yours in a messy kiss, his tongue not only licking over your tongue, but also your teeth oh so desperately. “Sam,” you tried, wanted to apologize for pushing him so far. Instead, you were turned around and pressed against the sink, Sam’s hands flipping up your skirt, and without hesitation, his hand came down on your soft skin, having you gasp out under the pressure of the slap. “Fuck, look at that ass jiggle,” he growled, another smack coming down, his cock twitching for the billionth time that night, especially when you whined again. “Not so funny when you are the one being teased, huh?” He whispered, pressing the bulge in his pants right against your bare cunt. He was trying to be just a little mean – you had teased him all night, after all! But Sammy was very well aware that he couldn’t keep up this act for long, not when he could have you like this. Not when you looked so pretty for him. Oh God, you were so fucking gorgeous. It was hard to believe that you were able to be such a fucking devil. A devil that was now arching her back to push back against the quick little grinds he gave you, a devil that had him close to breaking.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed, deciding on a whim that this was enough. He could not possibly take any more pending up, he needed that bare little pussy right fucking now. The sound of his belt and zipper went well with your panting and little huffs as you tried to push back against him, just to whine when you realized that Sam was holding you pinned against the sink, too scared of finally busting if you touched his abused dick even one more time. Even pulling his boxers down just enough felt like almost too much, making him hiss when the wet fabric finally was removed from his drooling head. “Sam, please-“ another sentence you didn’t get to finish, another sentence interrupted by a moan as you felt the pressure of his cock against your wet, sloppy hole. “You are drenched,” Sam hissed between heavy breaths, his Adam’s apple hobbling under the pressure gulps of air he had to suck only to not cum on the spot. You nodded in response, your fingers tightening around the rim of the sink, your own breathing now laboured, only for you to hold your breath when Sam suddenly pushed forward. You had expected him to enter you slowly, and he did! For the first half, at least. You cried out when a strong thrust suddenly had your boyfriend stretch you thin, his pulsing cock plunged into your walls. And just like you had done before, Sam didn’t even think about giving you a break. Oh, no. “You can be such a little slut,” he whispered as his lips found your neck, peppering quick, wet kisses over your skin, “making me so hard right in front of my best friend. Was it worth it, huh? Was this what you wanted? To be fucked in a tiny little bathroom?” You didn’t even know what to say, didn’t even want to say anything; not when Sam fucked into you like this. Deep and hard, balls smacking against your skin so lewdly. “Feel how hard you got me? God, I could fucking cum from just looking at you, but you don’t deserve it yet. Put so much effort in denying my orgasms, after all.” Maybe he was being a bit mean, especially now that he was picking up the pace of his thrusts, allowing his rock-hard dick to bully our gushy little cunt, but you definitely deserved it after torturing him all night. And you took it so well, too! Moaning for him like there weren’t any people on the other side of the door. Neither of you cared; too engulfed by bow the other felt, by how you sounded.

Another wet lick to your neck, another bite. Fuck, you felt heavenly. Squeezing his dick perfectly right, like your pussy was sucking him off. It was only natural that he wasn’t able to refrain himself from going faster, that he needed to bully your perfect fucking cunt. “Fuck, baby!” He yelped, his chest pressing against your back as he sucked a hickey into your skin, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh just for the hell of it, just to hear that tiny little squeak escape you. “That’s it, that’s fucking it, keep squeezin’ me like that, God, fuck, I am gonna fill this pretty little pussy up with so much cum, make you sit out there with it leaking out of you- anghh~ like that idea? Yeah? You clenched ‘round me, baby. Like it so much, yeah? Want to be my dirty little whore?” Even if you had the words to respond to that, you certainly didn’t have the will for it. Not when Sam’s thrusts had your body shaking, not when the metal of then piercing pressed against your walls so delicately. You much rather moaned his name, small sobs falling from your lips just for you to bite your lower one, You were so perfect to him, it was no wonder he was salivating like this. You had his cock throbbing with your sounds alone, and then you also had the audacity to look so good as he was fucking you. He wouldn’t last long, even in his pussy-drunken mind, he knew that his orgasm was close. His dick was too sensitive, and you just felt too good for his balls not to pull tight, for his tip not to leak pre-cum that mixed with your sweet juices. “Sammyyyyy,” you whined, and oh, how he knew that whine. It was slurred, and drawn out, followed by a hiccupped moan. You were close yourself, but too fucking drunk on dick to tell him. Hell, he loved you. “Cum for me,” he whispered through the strain of a groan, his fingernails digging into your hips as he pounded into you, abusing spots that made you see stars. “Cum for me like, baby. Cum all over my fat cock, let them fucking know who’s fucking you so damn fucking well.” The mixture of sounds that followed was almost deadly, urging him to fuck you faster; thrusts having turned into reckless pounding, the blond being desperate to have his cum milked by your clenching pussy. You sobbed as one of your hands wandered between your legs, giving your swollen clit a few desperate flicks, your back already arching in as your tried to grind back, so close to the edge you could already taste it on your tongue, you were close, so close- “Guys? You in there? Did Sam fucking faint?” Fuck. Sebastian. You had forgotten about Sebastian. “Seb-“ You tried, but a hand clasped over your mouth almost immediately. “No! I am fine! Go away!” Your boyfriend barked, his hips never even slowing, making you go cross eyed when his hand replaced yours, rubbing those quick circles into your clit. You started up that squirming again, the grinds, the desperate humps, your need to cum overweighing trying to stay hidden. The whimper that left you was loud, even though you were being muffled, and it didn’t help the situation, Sam’s dick throbbing at the thought of Seb slowly realizing what was happening. Seb, who still hadn’t left. “You sure? Is she okay-“ “Fuck!” Sam groaned out, the way your cunt clenched not helping at all. “She is feeling good!” He barked back, making you whine against his hand again, the high-pitched moan that was breathed into his palm oh so needy. “Cum baby, come on, cum for me,” he urged you, making you nod with a sob. One last thrust, and it was over for you. Cunt spasming around Sam’s pretty dick, drenching around him. “She’s feeling very good,” Sam laughed through laboured whines, just in case his bestie still hadn’t gotten the hint.

“Mhhhm!” You croaked through your tears, poor pussy squeezing the life out of Sam’s dick. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, he was going to cum. “Guys-“ Seb again, and the thought of Sebastian hearing you come undone for him, was all it took for Sam to burst. A low groan filled the room, high in pitch as he came inside of you, his hips shaking as his cock twitched with each spurt of cum that filled your gorgeous cum, claiming it as his. That wasn’t enough for Sam, though. He needed it as deep inside of you as humanly, needed you stuffed. Which wasn’t hard given with how much he came, but still. Hips shakily kept thrusting inside of you, until he finally was milked dry, the mess you two created already leaking out of you when he pulled back.

You stood there for a moment with Sam holding you up lazily, his lips finding your neck to press gentle kisses into the skin again, only hearing your heavy breathing and heart beats. “Wait,” the blond murmured after a while, pulling some of the hand towels from the dispenser, holding it under the sink to makeshift clean you up. “there we go. It’s not much, but it will do until we are back in the booth.” “Back in the booth?” “Yep.” “But- uh- I am so…full.” “I know.” You swallowed thickly, turning around to find your boyfriend grinning at you with a cocked vrow. “Well, maybe it will work. Can you give me my panties?” “Nope.” Sam chuckled at the look of surprise on your face, slowly leaning down so his hot breath was fanning your face. “You are going to sit out there and face Sebastian with your cunt stuffed full of cum, trying your best to hold those pretty little legs together and think about what you did tonight. And only then you might get back your panties on our way home.” You swallowed thickly, but Sam’s lips kissing yours took away your ability to answer before he pulled away to fix himself back into his pants, opening the door once you were decent. He walked out almost confidently, just to bump right on into his best friend. “Seb! The fuck are you still doing here?” “Well, I thought you were dizzy,” Seb said with a grin, head tilted to the side, “just making sure neither of you fainted in there.”

Suddenly, however, something shifted. Their eyes met, and the men seemed to communicate in silence before slowly turning to you, eyes landing on your legs. A smile formed on their faces and with another look at the other, they were bumping their fists together. All at once you knew with certainty: things had turned.

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #stardew valley smut #sdv smut #stardew valley sam #sdv sam #stardew valley sam x reader #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley sam x reader smut #sdv sam x reader smut #sam sdv x reader #sam stardew valley x reader #sam sdv smut

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starkwlkr · 2 years ago

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annoying little brothers | f1

female driver x f1 drivers (platonic) (same age as daniel so 33)

Y/N L/N BEING THE FUNNIEST DRIVER ON THE GRID

The video starts of with a press conference from the United States Grand Prix. Y/n was seated with Charles, Pierre, Daniel and Sebastian her being in the middle of all the men who she considered her brothers.

She was listening to all the questions the men were receiving from how they thought they were going to do, how’s the team doing, etc. But when a reported finally asked her a question, she completely blanked.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about my son. We were supposed to get breakfast together and he hasn’t texted me back. I haven’t seen Lando all day.” Y/‘ said making the drivers and reporters laugh.

“When did you adopt Lando? I wasn’t aware.” Daniel played along.

“2019. He was actually lost when I met him. It was during the Australian Grand Prix, his first f1 race. I found him and we did the Melbourne walk together and I’ve just kind of adopted ever since. So if any of you bully my son, I’m coming after you.” Y/n explained.

“He’s probably texting you right now saying ‘stop embarrassing me, mom!’” Sebastian went on.

“Wait, he’s over there!” Pierre spotted the Brit rushing towards their direction.

“He’s alive!” Charles cheered.

Finally, Lando arrived to their interview area with a box from a a bakery in his hand. “Sorry, I have to drop this off. We’ll get breakfast tomorrow. I got you pastries.” Lando gave Y/n the box and a hug then he was off since he was late for his interview.

“You’ve raised your son well.” The reporter joked.

“That was all me, I needed no help.”

The next clip was a fan video from 2021. Y/n had just finished her date with a guy and now she was signing autographs and taking photos with a group of girls. The girls had just finished their meals at a restaurant when they spotted the f1 driver leaving with a guy. The politely asked for a photo, which y/n was more than glad to take. Her date stepped aside to give them a moment.

“Sorry to interrupt your date.” A girl apologized for her and all her friends.

“Nothing to be sorry about, honey. I’m actually nervous because I don’t know how the date went. I’m horrible at first dates so this is kinda making me less stressed.” Y/n admitted. The girls laughed as y/n signed a girls phone case.

“Has he met Lando?” Another girl asked knowing how close y/n and lando are.

“Not yet. I’m afraid that Lando might scare him off. Everyone on the grid might, especially seb. He will definitely give him one of those ‘treat her right or I will run you over’ speeches.” Y/n signed another phone case.

“Does he knows you’re famous?”

“Oh god, no! I told him I was unemployed and that a sugar daddy was giving me money. I’m surprised he still agreed to come on this date with me.” Y/n chuckled.

Months later, the guy ended up being y/n’s boyfriend. He even attended the British Grand Prix where he finally met Lando, who was actually the one to tell him to treat y/n right or he would run him over.

The next clip started off with the intro to grill the grid. The challenge was to guess the driver’s numbers, something that y/n was semi confident about.

“So we start off with my man, Danny, number three.” She wrote down on her clipboard. “Four, my son, Lando. Also ever since I met Lando I’ve been seeing the number four quite often. It’s scary actually. Can’t decide if Lando put a curse on me or not.”

“Would he do that?”

“He shouldn’t,” y/n raised her voice slightly. “Anyways, next is … oh! Seb! I don’t know why I couldn’t think of him right away. Then we have latifi at number six then kimi at seven.” She continued writing down the names.

“Nine ….Mazepin.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes since her and the driver were never on good terms.

“Ten, my favorite frenchie well one of, we treat everyone nice here, gasly.” Y/n winked at the camera. “Eleven, the mexican minister of defense, Perez. And then we have me! Thirteen!”

“Do you think Lando got your number right?”

“I don’t doubt him ever.”

“Thirteen, my mother! Everyone better get that right.” Lando pointed at the camera menacingly.

“Fourteen, Alonzo. Sixteen, Leclerc Charles. Eighteen, stroll and twenty two!” Y/n sang the number in the tune of taylor swift’s song. “Yuki! Thirty one, Esteban, my other frenchie. Thirty three, max does he have a middle name verstappen.”

“Have you noticed that you haven’t gotten any wrong yet?”

“I’m just the best, that’s why.” Y/n laughed. “Forty four, the seven time world champion, sir lewis hamilton. Fourty seven, mick mick mick. I love to say his name.”

Y/n had completely forgotten she had to be writing the names down. She was having too much fun.

“Fifty five, carlos smooth operator sainz jr. sixty three, the man with two first names, russell george.” Y/n said as she looked down at the numbers on the paper.

“Do you know his middle name?”

Y/n gasped. “Is it another first name?”

“I believe it’s William.”

“Three names!? It sounds so british.” Y/n chuckled. “Um, seventy seven valtteri, right?” Y/n saw the interviewer nod. “I was getting worried my streak would be broken. And ninety nine, antonio!”

“You got all of them!” Everyone in the room cheered.

“Did anyone else get them all?” Y/n asked.

“Daniel did.”

“Of course. He’s good with numbers.”

The next clip was from the same grill the grid video but it was a blooper. Lando had arrived right as y/n finished filming and handed her a water bottle.

“Did you get my number?” Lando asked curiously.

“Yeah, ninety five, right? Cause you’re a McQueen fan.” Y/n teased as she grabbed the bottle from lando’s hand.

“Yeah, you remembered!” Lando played along “how did she really do?” He asked.

“She got them all right.”

“Really? I’ve got a smart mother!” Lando high fived the woman.

“It’s because I’ve got a photographic memory.” Y/n nodded with the most serious face on.

“Do you really?” Lando asked. He was surprised to hear that.

“No, I just love to lie.”

The next clip started with Daniel and Lando standing next to boards with their 2022 rankings. As predicted, Daniel and Lando’s part of the interview was mostly filled with them drawing over each other’s pictures.

Daniel them knocked over Lando’s rankings to the ground. “That’s how I feel.”

“That was the worst timing ever. Y/n is walking this way.” Lando told Daniel, who immediately picked up the board.

“Are those your rankings?” Y/n asked as she approached the duo. She then noticed that the setup and quickly apologized to the camera man. “Sorry, I’m just curious now.”

“Are you proud of me?” Lando asked, standing next to her and throwing his arm over her shoulder.

“When am I not? Wait, except that time you pushed me into my birthday cake.” Y/n pinched his side. “Can I see the pen?” She asked the guys, Lando gave her his.

“She’s adding to our masterpieces. This piece will be worth millions years from now.” Daniel said.

Y/n then scribbled little stars around Lando’s head and then signed it at the top. “Actually you both look great in your pictures. Did they use photoshop?”

“Excuse me, this is all natural.”

“Y/n! Hi, hello. What’s going on here?” Martin brundle asked the woman as she walked with her mom and pr manager, Lucy.

“Martin! It’s been a while, nothing much. How are you?” Y/n hugged the former racing driver. “This is my mom, she’s been wanting to meet you.”

“Mrs. l/n, hello. Welcome, how are you?” Martin greeted the older woman.

“Great. I’m here supporting my girl. It’s been a wonderful weekend.” Y/n’s mom smiled.

“Are you aware that you have a grandson that drives for McLaren?” Martin asked making all three ladies laugh.

“Yes, Lando is a very lovely young man.”

“How does it feel to have a daughter and grandson in f1?” Martin asked in a serious tone.

“Amazing. I’m super proud of both of them.”

“Thank you ladies for your time. Have a wonderful day.” Martin smiled at them, but before he could leave, y/n gave him a hug goodbye.

“Take care, Martin!” Y/n waved to the man and left with her mom and Lucy.

“She wins everything. Give her all the trophies. Everything is hers.” Martin said to the camera.

The final clip was consisted of y/n after a race getting interviewed.

“Do you often see your father?” Someone asked from the back.

“No, actually we’re just good friends.”

“What’s your opinion on the president of the United States?” Asked the same person.

“I don’t think about him.”

“What’s going on between max verstappen and lewis hamilton?”

“I don’t know, I just work here.”

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ramp-it-up · 7 months ago

Text

Knock You Down: IV

Photo credit to @thebluemage. Edit mine.

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Finally! Date Number Threeeeee!

This is a follow up to Part III

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This is the final part! (For now) I think that this is one that I will definitely write in answer to asks. I just love these two so so much! Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. SMUT!!!! The end of the Slow burn, now it's burning very fast 😅. Cursing, flirting, jealousy, apologies, Bucky cooking (a warning!), kissing, dry humping, dirty talk in both English and Romanian, voice kink, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected sex (yay Bucky!) And these two are so fucking fluffy. I'm scared, y'all. I want it to be good enough for the build up.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

As soon as he entered the Brownsville Arts and Culture Center, James Bucky Barnes was hot. Blood was rushing to his ears and he needed a drink. He wasn’t sick; his symptoms were all due to you.

The black dress that adorned your body contained all of his hopes and dreams, but you seemed to be flirting with another man, twirling for him and then giving him a hug. To add insult to injury, you had the nerve to laugh and smile with the punk.

You in that black dress was everything in the world that Bucky could want, except maybe you out of that black dress. As his eyes traced down your form, he noticed the 5 inch red bottoms that you had on. Yes. You, out of that dress with just the red bottoms. That was what he needed in his life.

But first, he had to take care of that other man.

—-

“Benson’s work emphasizes the subjects’ spiritual essence over their physical appearance, don’t you think?”

You turned around at the sound of the deep baritone.

“Well hello, Mr. Rogers. How are you today? Delivering an art analysis given to you by AI? Oh. I forgot. You are an ‘art dealer.’ An art dealer who goes to Soul Cycle in Brownsville all of a sudden?”

Steve clutched his heart.

“Ah. I’m hurt, Y/N. I thought we were cool. But I guess I deserved the air quotes. I do actually love art. I took some art classes when I was a kid and I still love to sketch.”

“Hmmmph. Okay. I’ll give you that. But how is it that you popped up in my Soul Cycle class? Don’t play me, Steven.”

Steve raised his eyebrow at you and grinned. He understood why Buckiy was so drawn to you. Not only were you gorgeous, you were a spitfire. That was hot.

“I would never try to play you, Y/N. I also actually love Soul Cycle. Used to teach a class in Park Slope.”

“I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?”

Steve’s eyes slid over you appraisingly.

“Speaking of. You look very, very nice today.”

You twirled for him, feeling as safe as you would your brother.

“Nice. Okay, listen. I’m sorry about the other day. I was just trying to protect my friend. And you.”

Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never seen Bucky like this. He’s never been this smitten with someone before and let them into his life. But I get it now.”

Steve’s blue eyes were almost as beautiful as Bucky’s.

“Bucky is my family. Since we were kids. He’s always taken care of me. And I will do anything for him.”

He raised his eyebrow at you.

“I can see now that means that I will do anything for you, because I have a feeling that you’re gonna be around a lot. So do you forgive me?”

You considered Steve. He was not too different from his best friend, and you couldn’t hold a grudge. Not after Bucky laid it all out to you last night You opened your arms.

“Let’s hug it out.”

Steve chuckled and gathered you into his warm embrace. You pulled back and giggled, grinning at him.

“So what makes you think I’m gonna be hanging around?”

“Well, judging from the look on Bucky’s face, he’s serious about you.”

Steve nodded behind you, toward the door. You looked that way and saw James Bucky Barnes headed straight for you.

And he didn’t look happy.

—--

“Good morning, Frumoasă. You look stunning today. The exhibit is amazing, the space looks great and it seems that the right people are in the building.”

Bucky came up and placed his hand on the small of your back as he spoke to you, ignoring Steve. His blue eyes were storm clouds at the moment, and his touch was electric.

“Thank you, James. You’re so observant, I appreciate that. And you look very handsome today.”

You looked him up and down and bit your lip, meeting his gaze and the way he kept eye contact as he inclined his head in response.

Bucky was attractive as hell in his black on black shirt, blazer and slacks. You noticed that his collar was unbuttoned; the medallion hanging on his chest made you want to take it between your teeth. You stared at it for a moment, imagining such a scenario where that could happen and then met his eyes again, prompting desire to roll through you as Bucky licked his lips. He was right there with you.

You smiled at him in a way that you didn’t smile at Steve. Who was Steve Rogers, anyway? You could hardly remember meeting him as your mind went to the feel of being in Bucky Barnes’ arms.

You sensed an air of proprietariness as Bucky took your hand and kissed it, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Possessive Bucky Barnes felt like a sin you wanted to indulge in. You cleared your throat and looked at Steve, as if surprised to find him still standing there, watching the show.

“Well, I see some board members over there, I’m going to go do my job. Talk to you later, boys.”

You walked away and gave them a wink over your shoulder, and you caught both of them looking at your ass. You shook your head and chuckled as you went on your way.

“You trying to steal my girl?”

Everyone stopped when Steve laughed, his deep boom a distraction. Bucky still wasn’t amused.

“Oh. So you’re in love.”

“What?”

“You’ve never worried about me taking your leftovers or vice versa before. Hell, we’ve even shared–”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bucky snapped at Steve who put his hands up.

“Whoa, there. Just yanking your chain, buddy; I know she’s special. I wouldn’t dream of making a move on her. Not that she knows I’m alive. When you walked up, I thought I was going to have to take off my jacket so you two could fuck on the floor.”

Bucky was barely listening to Steve as his eyes followed you around the room. One thing Steve said was echoing in his mind: “So you’re in love.”

—-

You floated through the rest of the day on a cloud. The exhibit was a smashing success with the

Board of Directors in attendance. Securing Howard Benson’s penultimate work from Rebirth was the feather in your cap.

And you had Bucky to thank for it.

Bucky’s visit was also a hit; he and Steve charmed the board members with the help of Sam and Nat, who arrived later. They all made amends for what occurred that week and you were left very impressed with James Barnes.

After a couple of hours at the event, Bucky came over to let you know he was leaving.

“I will see you later, Frumoasă. I have much to prepare for tonight. Nico will pick you up at 7:30.”

“See you soon, James.”

He kissed your hand again.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

—---

“It is actually insanely attractive how you handled yourself in the kitchen.”

You were seated with Bucky on his couch in his living room, looking over the New York skyline from his Brooklyn penthouse. The dessert had been delicious and the wine in your hand was spectacular.

“I was sure you’d order something in and just play it off. But I watched you create a meal in front of me, and I should have known that if you said you were going to cook, that you would do just that.”

Bucky’s heart beat double time at what you were saying. He wanted so much for tonight, but most of all, he wanted it to flow naturally. He saw that you were relaxed and open to him, which pleased him immensely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Frumoasă. I enjoy cooking for my friends and family. Cooking for a beautiful woman is a treat.”

Bucky’s eyes slid over your form. You had changed to jeans and a color block sweater that just put your cleavage out there for the world, which was Bucky Barnes, to see. You also wore the same red bottoms from that day, and Bucky was beginning to think he had a foot fetish as you took them off at his entryway.

You took a sip of wine.

“How often do you do that? Cook for a woman?”

You barely hid your curiosity.

Bucky smiled and drained his glass, reaching over to refill it.

“Not as often as you’d think. Never had any other woman over here. Food is not usually the top priority with them.”

You pouted, which was so cute. Your spark of jealousy inspired Bucky.

“But I don’t want to talk about anyone else. Tonight is about me and you.”

Any uncertainty that arose was quelled by his assertion. You grew warm, so you finished your wine and rose to go to the window.

“This is the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen.”

“Absolutely agree.”

You looked behind you and Bucky was still sitting on the couch, hands spread out on the back of it, checking you out. You gave him one of your adorable smiles and he came to stand behind you, and took you in his arms.

“I want you to know that you deserve everything, Y/N. To be cheered on and protected every day. And thoroughly ruined every night.”

You turned around and his hands went to your hips. It was the perfect moment.

“James?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

Bucky’s eyes dilated, and he moved his hand to your cheek. He licked his lips as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Ah, Frumoasă. I thought you’d never ask.”

His first movement was a subtle brush of your lips. He pulled back to assess the situation, and you didn’t know why, but that made your nipples tighten into stiff peaks. You gasped as Bucky watched you hungrily.

The air seemed to change around you, and you shivered. He lowered his head so his lips could meet yours again, and this time his mouth was gentle but demanding. You gasped at the spike of electricity that flared between you and Bucky took the opportunity to dip his tongue into your mouth, scorching your lips and soul. With a low groan, he shifted your angle, bending you backward a little to kiss you deeper and ripping a moan from you as you melted against him.

Good lord, could the man kiss.

At that point, he was holding you up, one hand on your hip and one hand on the back of your head as you molded yourself against him. Bucky’s fingers dug into you, sure to leave bruises the next day. You relished the thought as you moaned into his mouth again, giving him the opportunity to continue destroying your soul.

Bucky dragged his lips from yours reluctantly and stared at you, eyes almost black with desire. He brought his thumb up and wiped the moisture from your bottom lip. Motivated, you captured his digit, drawing it into the hot wetness of your mouth. He stared at you, mouth open, as you looked him straight in the eye and started sucking.

Bucky moaned as he pushed his thumb deeper into your mouth, and walked you back to the couch. He extracted his finger, watching the show your lips put on as he pulled it out, leaving them in a delectable pout.

“More,” Bucky demanded as he crouched down and took your head in both hands as he kissed you again.

His hands wound up in your hair, tugging gently, then on your back, then your ass as you arched your back to fill his palms. Bucky picked you up, then deposited you on his lap as he sat down on the couch, and you felt how aroused he was. His thick length was where you needed him most.

“Fuck! That feels good.”

Bucky was watching you grind on him like it was the best show on earth. Then he looked up at you.

“Yes, yes it does.”

He leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his teeth, a preview of how rough he wanted to be with you. Then, he went in for another kiss. That continued for a good five minutes until he pulled away to stare at your swollen lips, and down to your cleavage, which was practically in his face.

When his eyes met yours, you were entranced.

“You good? You want this to happen?”

You nodded and took his hands in yours, guiding them up to your breasts, squeezing yourself with his hands. You rolled your hips, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Like you said, James. More.”

You continued to grind on him, causing him to just gape at your body moving on his.

“I’ve dreamed of this so many times…”

“Yes? Tell me about your dreams, Baby.”

His hands moved to find your nipples through the lace of your bra and the wool of your sweater. He found them in no time, and pinched them lightly, then more roughly when you moaned.

“Mmmmnnnn. So fucking hot.”

Bucky kissed you again and then pulled away as he stared you down and tortured you.

“I dream about marking you up,” he kissed your neck under your chin, “to your clavicle,” a kiss there, “and all over this beautiful flesh until I get to your nipples.”

He looked at you for any signs of discomfort as he slipped his hands under your sweater to find the thin lace there. He found your hard peaks again and started rolling them both in his fingers.

“Then I want to kiss and suck them until you come in my arms.”

“Holy god, Jamie….”

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the second pet name you called him and continued.

“Wake up so fucking hard every morning since I met you. Then, I daydream about how wet and tight you will be after I made you cum, and how good it would feel to… to give you my cock. Do y’like that idea, Frumoasă?”

“Y-yesssss!”

“O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă.”

You almost came right then.

“D-don’t know what you said, but yes to whatever you just suggested.”

Bucky pulled you to him, and then chuckled into your ear.

“It means that I want to make you cum over and over again on my cock.”

You were already making a mess in your jeans, but you knew he could feel you soaking them at the moment.

“Please. Give it to me?”

Bucky groaned and kissed you again, this time encircling your waist in his grip and pressing you down on his bulge.

“You know I can’t deny you anything. Are you certain?”

“Yes, James. Please…”

He lifted you easily, kissing you as he walked you down the hall to his bedroom, depositing you on his bed.

“Y’look so fucking good.”

He crawled toward you on the bed and settled between your thighs as you hitched your leg over his. You pressed your core against his bulge and it had you muttering.

“Too many clothes.”

Bucky leaned up and you were fumbling with his button and he with yours. You looked up and laughed.

“Maybe faster the other way.”

“Agreed.”

You two made quick work of your own garments, flinging them around the room between frenzied kisses. The way your eyes widened when Bucky got naked made his chest swell. He wanted you to always look at him like that.

“Wow…,” you said as your eyes roamed his physique.

His cock seemed massive as it slapped him on the abs.

“Wow, indeed,” replied Bucky as he took you in hungrily.

Your white lace underwear looked amazing against your skin and against your cunt it served to make him hungry.

He moved toward you again, kissing up your leg until he got to the edge of your panties and nudged his nose there, making you squirm.

“Smell so good, look so good…”

Bucky kissed at the edge of your underwear,

“I just know you’re gonna taste good too..”

He moved to the center of you, placing a kiss over your lace-covered sodden slit. Then, he looked up at you and smirked before he leaned down and licked you over your panties.

“Fuck.”

He pulled your panties to the side and gazed at you there.

Those blue eyes threatened to steal your soul as he gazed at you and confessed, “This is the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen,” and proceeded to lick a rude stripe up the center of you after he tore your panties away.

“Oh my god, James.”

You rolled your hips again and reached down to feel Bucky’s soft hair. He pulled your hips closer and his lips suckled you with more pressure, adding one finger, then two to stretch you out.

“Gotta get you ready for me, my love.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you moaned through Bucky thrusting his tongue inside you, then pulling back to focus on your clit.

“I c-can’t.. I–”

“Give me my cum, Frumoasă!”

You locked eyes with him as he buried his face in your cunt and shook against him as you came embarrassingly fast, pulling on his messed up curls.

“So fucking delicious. Taste.”

He took your head in both hands and kissed you deeply, and you responded by sucking your essence off of his tongue. You reached down and started stroking his cock, overjoyed and a little bit scared that your fingers didn’t meet around him as he unclasped your bra.

Bucky whimpered as your thumb came up and stroked his sensitive head, spreading his precum over the wide, mushroom cap.

“You’re so fucking huge, Bucky…”

Bucky pulled you toward him as he reached into his bedside drawer for a condom and a bottle.

“And you’re so wet, Furmoasa. We will make this work. Believe me…”

You continued to stroke and watched him as he brought the wrapper to his teeth and him tearing it open was about the hottest act of sexual protection you’d ever seen. Somehow, your mouth ended up sucking his tip as you watched his eyes roll back into his skull.

“That beautiful mouth…”

Bucky put his hand on your head as you tasted him experimentally, wondering if you’d ever be able to take it all. He seemed to read your mind as he spoke next.

“Don’t worry, I plan on us having a lot of practice with this later, but if you don’t let me put this condom on, I’m gonna cum all over your face, Frumoasă…”

You looked up at him and grinned as his cock jumped in your mouth, but you finally pulled off of him with a pop.

“I need to feel you around me when I cum love. S’all I’ve been dreaming of all week.”

Now his chest was heaving as he rolled the condom on, and he pushed you back onto the bed as his hand went to your core once again. You were even wetter than before and Bucky smiled at you, lining up and kissing you on the forehead as he began to breach your folds.

When he slid inside, your fingernails curled into his shoulders and your eyes grew wide. Bucky stopped, concentrating while his cock pumped, barely inside you.

“There is nothing. In the world. Like being inside your soft, wet, cunt.”

“Fuckkkkk!”

You became even wetter and he slid fully inside you. There, Bucky waited for you to get adjusted around him.

“So fucking tight. And hot. Just like I knew you would be.”

“More, Jamie!”

Smiling, Bucky started moving and you gripped him as he stroked in and out.

“Please don’t stop. Harder!”

Bucky grabbed the headboard and gave you what you wanted. His other hand pulled your hair and his strokes became more intense.

“Wanted to last longer, but I can’t, Baby. So beautiful. Pussy made for me. Cuming soon, but later… O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă. I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

You orgasm whited out your vision and your throat burned as you screamed. Bucky roared, filling the condom with copious amounts of cum. Your cunt was milking him and he hoped it would hold. He stayed sunk into you as long as he could before he had to get up and rid himself of the prophylactic.

He was only in the en suite for a few minutes as you floated in and out of sleep, lust drunk and exhausted.

Bucky climbed back into bed and got both of you situated under the covers, whispering in your ear.

“Stay tonight.”

“Of course. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Both of you chuckled, because you knew it was true. Bucky kissed your ear and waited for your breath to even out. When he thought you were asleep, he whispered again.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Frumoasă.”

“You are exactly who you need to be, James Barnes. Just keep moving forward. Tomorrow is another day to do that.”

After a few more minutes, you spoke again.

“Tomorrow will only be a week that we’ve known each other. Imagine that.”

Bucky buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Guess I better wait until tomorrow to ask you to marry me.”

You laughed a sleepy laugh.

“You got jokes.”

“You know me, Frumoasă. A professional comedian.”

But somewhere in the dark of Bucky Barnes’ closet, a diamond found some light and sparkled.

——

The next morning is here ;)

Please, please! Let me know!

#ramp-it-up falloween 24 #falloween #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #seb stan #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff

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