#all i know is that it was long and frustrating and the word makes me shudder years later

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

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

Based on this request

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

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

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

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

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

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

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

“On me, Lewis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then prove it.”

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches. “What?”

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

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

“Dead serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

One Year Later

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you doing this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Tonight is one of those nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How incredible you are.”

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

“Max, I …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

***

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s do it,” you say.

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

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

A girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max.”

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

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

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

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

But she does come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max-”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Nine Months Later

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

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

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

He knows what he has to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“About?”

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

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

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

“Ready for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears sting your eyes again, but this time they’re tears of joy. “Max,” you whisper, your voice catching. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he says, his words a soft promise against your skin.

And as you drift off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll face it together.

***

The room buzzes with an electric energy, the kind that only the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony can create. It’s a night to honor champions, to toast to a season of victories, and to revel in the highs of motorsport. The crowd is a mix of drivers, team principals, engineers, and journalists, all dressed to the nines. You’re seated in the front row, a place reserved for the most important people in the room.

Max is on stage, holding his freshly polished World Championship trophy, the applause still roaring from the moment his name was called. His tuxedo fits him like a glove, and there’s a boyish grin on his face that makes him look impossibly proud — and a little nervous.

In your lap, your daughter wiggles, her tiny hands clutching at the hem of your sparkling gown. She’s too young to understand what’s happening, but the excitement of the room has her wide-eyed and curious. You adjust her slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as you watch Max step up to the microphone.

“Wow,” Max begins, his voice carrying over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “What a year. What a … career.”

There’s a ripple of surprise at his choice of words. You feel it too, a sharp intake of breath as he pauses. He hasn’t told anyone outside of your family and a select few about his decision yet, and it hits you that this is the moment.

“I want to start by saying thank you,” Max continues, his accent thick with emotion. “To everyone who made this season possible. To my team at Red Bull — Christian, Helmut, GP, the engineers, the mechanics — every single person who has been part of this journey. We did this together. Five championships in the last five years … it still feels surreal.”

The room breaks into another round of applause, but Max raises a hand to quiet them.

“But tonight isn’t just about this trophy or this season,” he says, his voice steady despite the emotion creeping into it. “It’s about something bigger. About knowing when it’s time to close one chapter and start another.”

Your heart races, and you tighten your hold on your daughter as Max’s words hang in the air.

“When I was a kid, all I ever wanted was to race,” Max says, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “I grew up at circuits, watching my dad, dreaming of being in Formula 1. And for the last decade, this sport has been my whole life. It’s given me everything. It’s taught me more than I ever imagined — about hard work, about resilience, about pushing beyond what you think is possible.”

He pauses, his eyes flicking down to where you’re sitting. The faintest smile plays on his lips as your gazes meet, and you see the love and certainty there.

“But these past two years,” he continues, his voice softening, “I learned something else. That as much as I love this sport, there’s something I love more. Someone I love more.”

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, heads turning to you. You feel your cheeks flush, but you keep your focus on Max, your heart pounding.

“Last season, I became a father,” Max says, his tone warming with pride. “And it changed everything. It changed the way I see the world, the way I see myself, and the way I think about my future. I realized that as much as I love racing, I don’t want to miss the little moments … the things that really matter.”

The room falls completely silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

“So,” Max says, his voice unwavering now, “tonight, as I accept this trophy, I also want to announce that this was my last season in Formula 1.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by stunned silence. Your daughter squirms in your arms, oblivious to the magnitude of what’s just been said.

Max smiles faintly, taking in the shocked faces in the room. “I know it might seem sudden,” he says, “but this is something I’ve thought about for a long time. I’ve achieved everything I could have dreamed of in this sport. I’ve worked with the best team in the world, competed against the best drivers in the world, and I leave with no regrets. But now, it’s time for me to focus on the next chapter of my life. On my family.”

He glances down at you again, and this time his gaze lingers. “Y/N, you and our daughter … you’re my everything. You’ve given me a reason to look beyond the racetrack, and for that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Your vision blurs with tears, and you can’t help but smile up at him. The crowd erupts into applause, some people rising to their feet in admiration and respect.

After a moment, Max raises a hand again, signaling for quiet. “I want to thank the fans,” he says, his voice growing steadier. “You’ve been with me through every win, every loss, every crazy overtake and late-breaking move. You’ve pushed me to be better every single day. And while I won’t be on the grid next season, I’ll always be part of this sport. It’s in my blood, and it always will be.”

The applause grows even louder this time, the room filling with a wave of emotion and admiration. You clap along, your daughter bouncing slightly in your arms at the sound.

When Max steps down from the stage, he comes straight to you. The cameras follow his every move, the flashes almost blinding as he crouches in front of you.

“You okay?” He asks, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

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

He reaches for your daughter, lifting her into his arms with ease. She giggles, grabbing at the shiny lapel of his tuxedo, and Max laughs softly, the sound breaking through the tension in the room.

“We did it,” he says, his eyes locking with yours.

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We did,” you whisper back.

***

The rest of the night is a blur of congratulations, handshakes, and emotional farewells. But through it all, Max stays by your side, his arm around your waist or his hand in yours.

As the event winds down, you find yourselves back in the car, your daughter sleeping peacefully in her car seat. The city lights blur past the windows, and Max leans back against the seat, exhaling deeply.

“That went better than I thought,” he says, his voice tinged with relief.

“You were incredible,” you tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He glances down at you, his expression soft. “Are you happy?”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “More than I ever thought I could be.”

And as the car carries you through the quiet streets, you realize that this is just the beginning of a new adventure — the one Max always knew was waiting for him.

***

Two Years Later

Lewis doesn’t plan to be on this street. He’s never liked taking the busy Monaco thoroughfares, even after all these years of calling the principality home. But a morning run had turned into aimless wandering, and now he’s here, jogging along the promenade, music blasting in his ears, trying to clear his head.

The past two years since Max retired have been strange. No fierce wheel-to-wheel battles with Verstappen, no reminders on the track of the rivalry that defined his career for so long. And yet, Max still lingers in his thoughts — like an echo, a shadow, a specter. Every headline about the Verstappens pops up in his feed: Max is spotted at home with his family. Max is thriving in retirement.

But it’s not Max that Lewis thinks about most. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Lewis slows his pace as he nears the bakery that used to be your favorite. He has no idea if you still come here, or if Monaco even feels like home to you anymore. He shakes his head, chastising himself for thinking like this. You’re gone. You’ve been gone.

But then, he hears it. A child’s voice, high-pitched and sweet, chattering happily. He instinctively looks over, and his feet stop moving altogether.

There you are.

You’re walking hand-in-hand with Max. Max, who looks completely at peace, a little older but no less recognizable. Beside him, a little girl. She’s animated as she talks to him, her tiny hand curled securely around his. And then, there’s the stroller. A navy blue, high-tech design Lewis recognizes from catalogs. Inside is a baby boy, fast asleep, his chubby face serene as he snoozes against the soft fabric.

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

You don’t see him. You’re busy talking to Max, laughing at something he says. You’re dressed casually, a flowy sundress swaying around your knees, sunglasses perched on your nose. Your free hand rests on the stroller handle, the gesture almost instinctive. The sight of you like this — effortless, happy, and surrounded by a family — sends a sharp pang through Lewis’ chest.

It’s everything he could’ve had. Everything he pushed away.

His feet are rooted to the spot. He should turn around, jog in the other direction, forget he ever saw you. But he can’t. He watches, transfixed, as your daughter stops mid-sentence to look up at you. “Mama,” she says brightly, tugging Max’s hand. “Can I have a croissant?”

Max chuckles. “You already had one,” he tells her, his voice gentle.

“But they’re so good!” She says, throwing her head back dramatically.

Lewis can’t stop staring. The little girl is Max’s spitting image, but there’s something about her smile, the way her nose scrunches, that reminds him of you.

And then, she notices him.

Your daughter’s bright eyes land on Lewis, and she grins like she’s just seen a new friend. “Hello!” She says, waving enthusiastically with her free hand.

You glance up, confused at first, following her gaze. Lewis freezes.

But it’s not him you’re looking at. It’s a man unloading bags from his car in front of him, and you nod politely before turning back to Max and your daughter.

Lewis exhales shakily, a mix of relief and a pang of disappointment. He steps back, half-hidden by the awning of a nearby café, watching as you and Max resume walking.

The little girl waves once more, still beaming, before Max gently nudges her along. “Come on, prinsesje,” he says. “Let’s not keep your brother waiting for his nap to be over.”

Lewis stays there, unmoving, as you all walk away. He watches the way Max leans toward you, saying something that makes you laugh again. He watches the way your daughter skips a little ahead, still clutching Max’s hand, her voice bubbling with excitement as she points to a pigeon fluttering by. And he watches you look down at the stroller, adjusting the blanket over the baby boy who sleeps so peacefully, oblivious to everything around him.

It’s a picture-perfect scene. A life filled with love and joy, one that Lewis now realizes — painfully, completely — he could have been part of.

The memories flood in uninvited.

The nights spent on this same Monaco promenade with you, your hand slipping into his as you admired the lights reflecting off the water. The quiet mornings when you’d sit at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and talking about what life might look like after racing. The promises he made and didn’t keep.

He thinks about the last time he saw you, about the anger and hurt in your eyes, about the way he walked out that night because he couldn’t bring himself to say the words you needed to hear. And now, here you are — walking down this same street with someone who isn’t afraid to put you first.

Lewis sinks onto a nearby bench, running a hand over his face. His chest feels tight, his breathing shallow. He thinks he’s moved on, that he’s made peace with the choices he’s made. But seeing you, seeing your family — it’s a wound he didn’t even realize was still open.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the spot where you disappeared from view. Minutes? Hours? Long enough for his playlist to loop back to the beginning.

A group of tourists wanders past, laughing and snapping photos of the marina. Lewis doesn’t look up. He stays on the bench, shoulders slumped, the weight of what he’s lost pressing down on him.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the sun is setting over Monaco, casting the city in hues of orange and gold. He heads straight for the balcony, leaning heavily on the railing as he stares out at the water.

It should be a beautiful view, but tonight it feels empty.

For years, racing has been his everything. It’s been his escape, his purpose, his identity. But now, for the first time, he wonders if it was worth it.

Because no trophy, no title, no amount of glory could fill the space you once inhabited.

And for the first time, Lewis feels like the one who’s been left behind.

[leclerc-hs]

tides of us - ln4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader summary: in which you and lando have phd's in getting underneath each other's skin. warnings: language, NOT PROOFREAD, smut under the cut!!!, bad writing? word count: 11.4k.... author's note: surprise shawtyyyy. MY FIRST EVER LANDO FIC (pls be kind to me). i really went a little crazy on this piece. PLEASE let me know what you think. hearing back is what keeps me writing for y'all xoxo

taglist: @f1fantasys @n3versatisfied @alishamai

Lando is pissed off.

The morning had been difficult since the moment he woke; late, with his phone on low battery, and four missed calls from Max.

He groaned as he rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders before it had truly even begun. The chaotic rush to get out of bed, the frantic search for his charger, and the constant buzzing of his phone— everything, it seemed, was working against him.

“Max,” Lando snapped into the phone, voice low but clipped. “What time is it?”

On the other end, Max’s voice came through—slightly amused but with an underlying tone of urgency. “Mate, we need to talk. It’s important. Where are you?”

His feet barely made a sound as he strode through the hallway, phone pressed against his ear with a growing sense of irritation. His shirt was still half hanging off him as he stepped into the kitchen.

Lando’s gaze flickered over to you and Pietra, the laughter in the air making him feel more disconnected. He wasn’t in the mood for this. His gaze landed on you again, and for a brief moment, he just stood there, watching.

“Listen, I need to tell you about-“ Max began.

“What is she doing here?”

Lando didn’t know who he was asking. Whether it was you, Pietra, or Max, he wasn’t sure. Max’s voice became nothing but unheard chatter after the words ‘needs to stay with you’ were said into his ear as you finally turn around and met his gaze. And for a mere moment, everything seemed to stop. You didn’t look scared, or confused, but something in your eyes made Lando realize just how ridiculous this all was.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his face with one hand, then muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “Forget it.”

Lando moved with a cold, almost mechanical precision, his frustration hanging in the air like a thick fog. His hands were steady as he reached for a water bottle in the fridge, but his mind was racing, thoughts darting between everything that had gone wrong that morning, the calls, the uncertainty, and now you.

He took a long gulp from the bottle, the cool water doing little to settle the heat in his chest from your mere presence. When he finally lowered the bottle, he glanced back at you, but your gaze was already on him. It was quiet now, the chatter between you and Pietra paused.

“Look,” he muttered finally, turning towards you, his voice lower than before but still carrying a sharp edge, “I don’t even care to ask what you’re doing in my kitchen.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to defuse the tension he felt deep in his bones whenever you were around. “Just stay out of my way.”

He heard Pietra’s exasperated groan from beside you, but it barely registered. His focus was solely on you. The sound of your laugh, the way you smacked Pietra’s stomach and shot him that big sarcastic smile.

His gaze locked on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur around the edges, like he was seeing through a fogged window. The anger, the frustration, the lust — none of it mattered. You had this effect on him, like his emotions narrowed into a single, overwhelming force, and it was as if nothing else existed when you were in the room.

He hated it. He hated how you could make him feel so raw, so exposed, with just a look or a word. But in that instant, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he’d been wrong. That maybe he’d overreacted— again.

But pride kept his mouth shut. 

You smacked Pietra’s stomach with the biggest smile you could muster on your face. “Of course, Your Highness.”

His jaw tightened at the edge in your voice. It was always like this with you— too many layers of sarcasm, too many walls that kept him at a distance. He hated it, but there was something about the way you challenged him, the way you never let him get away with being too much of an asshole, that both irritated and intrigued him. 

And ninety nine percent of the time, he’ll meet you right in the middle. But today— today, he didn’t have the energy.

He couldn’t deal with you, not today.

-

It had always been this way— tension, banter, sharp words laced with sarcasm, and that constant push-pull between wanting to tear each other apart or tear each other’s clothes off. The first time you met, it was a disaster. Lando had been too cocky, too full of himself, and you? You’d been the perfect counter to his arrogance. Quick-witted, just as stubborn, not willing to back down even a little. It was like two forces colliding, neither willing to give an inch.

And somehow, that collision had set the stage for everything that came after.

There were moments—brief, fleeting moments— when you’d find yourselves actually getting along. Moments when you could talk without that edge, when you almost felt like you could understand each other. But those moments always felt like they were just around the corner from the next argument or snarky remark.

It was a dance. One he was growing exhausted by, but couldn’t quit. Quite like an addiction. Something that kept him coming back, even when every part of him screamed to walk away.

The sound of the front door slamming was enough to rattle you and Pietra as you leaned back in your stool and looked at her with a shrug.

“You guys fight like a married couple.”

“Don’t ever mention me and Lando with the word marriage in a sentence again.” You feigned vomiting.

Pietra let out a loud laugh, rolling her eyes at your dramatic reaction. “Okay, okay, point taken,” she said, holding her hands up in a mock surrender. “But seriously, I’ve never seen two people who clearly hate each other but also can’t seem to stay away from each other.”

You glanced towards the door where Lando had just stormed out, the sound of it slamming still echoing in the air. Your eyes narrowed, your annoyance with him still simmering beneath the surface. The last thing you wanted was to be compared to a married couple, especially not with him. But Pietra wasn’t wrong, at least not totally.

-

To say that you and Lando never got along was somewhat of a lie. Sure, most of the time there was an undercurrent of challenge between you two. But if you were being honest with yourself, there were always moments that managed to slip between the cracks of your usual arguments.

It was post-Max’s birthday bash, and the night had taken its toll—everyone was absolutely smashed. The music had faded into the background, the party winding down, and now it was just you and Lando in the kitchen, standing side by side as you both rummaged through the fridge for something to soak up the alcohol. The usual tension between you two felt different tonight, lighter, almost non-existent— probably because of the drinks coursing through your veins.

The fridge light bathed the kitchen in a soft, yellow glow as you both reached for the last slice of pizza at the same time. Your fingers brushed against his, the accidental contact sharp enough to send a jolt through you. You both froze, the moment stretching out between you like a beat of silence. You could feel the warmth of his hand against yours, the proximity suddenly making the air feel thick. 

You pulled your hand back first, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned back slightly, trying to mask the awkwardness with your usual sharpness. “So, you were eyeing that, huh?” You said with feigned offense.

Lando wants to blame it on the alcohol. Wants to chalk up the rush of heat, the confusion clouding his thoughts, the throb he feels in his cock, to the drinks he’s had all night. It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? Easier than admitting it was you— the way your laugh slipped under his skin, the way your nose crinkled after pretending to like a drink, the way your eyes were heavy with that loopy, contented look, like you were floating in your own little world.

His gaze flickers to yours, and there’s something in it—something that makes your pulse quicken against your will. He raises an eyebrow, pulling the pizza closer to him like he’s staking a claim on it. “I mean, it was there, wasn’t it?,” he says, his voice light, but there’s a trace of something else behind the teasing. His gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, and for the first time, the playful banter almost felt real. “I think I deserve it more, anyway.”

You cross your arms, the fridge light casting a harsh glow against you, trying to look unimpressed. “Yeah? And why is that?” 

He grins, clearly enjoying the banter. Then he leans in just a little closer, that confident smirk never leaving his face. “Because, unlike you, I’m a growing athlete.” He winks, as if that settles everything.

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.

“Well, you know you love it.” He says with a grin, his usual cocky confidence softened by the easy humor currently wavering between the two of you.

Before you can respond, he takes a dramatic bite of the pizza, his eyes  dancing with mischief. “What?” He says through a mouthful. “I'm just making sure it tastes as good as it looks.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin that pulls at your lips betrays you. Yeah, it was definitely the alcohol. 

Without warning, Lando brings the partially-eaten slice to your lips, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a dare in them, an unspoken challenge. Like he’s testing you. As if you would ever place your lips where his had just been.

But you’re not about to let him off the hook that easily.

You meet his gaze, a smirk tugging at your lips, and you lean in deliberately, pressing your mouth to the exact spot where he’d just bitten. Slowly, you take a bite, never breaking eye contact.

You pull back, making the moment drag out a little longer than it should. Then, as you pull the pizza from your mouth, you exaggerate the motion, letting out a playful, dramatic moan.The taste of the pizza lingers as your eyes stay locked on his. A small dot of sauce is left at the corner of your lips, the perfect bait.

Lando’s breath catches at the sight, his chest tightening as his gaze drops to your lips. He doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s doing until his thumb is moving toward your mouth, gently swiping the sauce away. His touch is soft, almost hesitant, but it lingers— just a second too long. His fingers stay there, a slight heat emanating from the contact, as his eyes darken, drawn to your lips like he’s waiting for something.

You find yourself getting dizzy when he swipes it up, waiting patiently for you to make a move. But your brain is short-circuiting as you stand there frozen like a deer in headlights.

Lando tugs the tiniest smirk on the corner of his lips.

“Open,” he said, voice low, almost hushed, as if the words held more weight than the simple request.

You froze for a moment, uncertainty flickering in your chest. But that hesitation was fleeting. Your mouth parted almost instantly—partly out of shock, but also because, deep down, you knew you wanted this. You’d known it for a while, even if you’d been too stubborn to admit it before. But tonight, with the alcohol swirling through your veins and the tension between you two reaching a breaking a point, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

His thumb, warm and steady, presses against the softness of your lower lip before sinking inside, brushing against your tongue. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine. “Suck.”

Oh my god.

It takes a moment to realize what is actually happening. That Lando’s thumb is really pressed against your tongue right now. That you’re innately curling your tongue around his knuckle without so much as a inkling of hesitation. What is going on?

The sauce is long gone by now, but you don’t want the way Lando is looking at your mouth to end. So you suck. Hard.

A deep guttural groan slips past Lando’s lips. Along with a soft “fuck”.

Lando pulls his finger from your mouth, smearing the saliva across your lips, before pushing it back in with a little more force than before, pressing your tongue down. 

Its only when the unmistakable sound of a loud laugh echoes from the hallway, followed by the soft shuffle of feet, that the spell is broken. Pietra and Max appear in the doorway, wrapped in their own world, oblivious.

Lando’s thumb retreats suddenly, leaving a faint tingle where it had been. He takes a few steps back, his posture stiffening as he puts space between the two of you. The slice of pizza, once held so carefully, has fallen unnoticed to the floor.

“There you guys are,” Pietra giggles, her voice light and carefree, as Max leans heavily against her. He presses a soft kiss to the back of her neck, the PDA so natural between them that you and Lando have long since grown accustomed to it. “What are you doing?”

Your mind is still spinning, trying desperately to untangle fragments of the moment. It’s as if you’ve been pulled to an alternate dimension, struggling to regain your bearings.

Lando, a little too quickly, blurts out, “Pizza!” His voice louder than usual, almost too eager, and the sharp sound makes you flinch, jolting you into full awareness.

“Yeah, pizza,” you echo, your words clumsy, as you scramble to find a sense of normalcy in this moment.

You watch as Pietra’s gaze drops to the floor where the pizza slice rests, barely touched, and then back to you and Lando. Her eyes narrow slightly, but her smile remains in place. 

-

The dinner party was in full swing, with guests chatting and laughing around the table, but at the far end of the room, Lando and you were locked in a standoff. The small, crowded space was a perfect breeding ground for irritation— just enough people to make it awkward, not enough to escape the tension between you two.

“You seriously had to make that comment in front of everyone?” Lando’s voice was low, dangerous, his jaw clenched tight as he stood rigid, his hands balled at his sides.

You didn’t flinch. You never did when it came to him. “What, didn’t think it was funny?” The words cut through the air like a knife, your tone dripping with its usual sarcasm.

Lando’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a tight humorless sneer. “It wasn’t funny. It was humiliating. But of course, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Always try to make me look like the bad guy.”

You take a step closer, your heart hammering in your chest, but your voice steady, if not a little venomous. “Excuse me? I didn’t hear you complaining when you were bragging to the guys about your revolving door of women.”

Lando’s face twisted, the smirk now gone, replaced by a bitter glare. “Some of these guys are my co-workers.” His voice was a low growl, the frustration pouring from him. “You love making a scene, don’t you?”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your words with the kind of anger you’d been trying to suppress for hours. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that pointing out the obvious was such a crime. You are a joke, Lando.”

Lando’s nostrils flared, his posture stiffening as he takes a step forward. The anger between you two was palpable, raw, like a wound that had festered for too long. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re so good at pushing people away, it’s no wonder you struggle to keep anyone near.” He spat, the words hitting you like a harsh slap.

You could feel your own chest tightening, the urge to fight back stronger than ever. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to push you away if you weren’t so fucking insufferable,” You shot back, your voice trembling with barely contained rage. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else—just because you’re the Lando Norris.” You say it with so much hatred in your voice, so much disgust.

Lando’s face turns red with anger, his fists tightening as if he is about to lash out. “You don’t know anything about me!” He hisses, stepping closer. “You don’t know anything. You’re too busy judging everyone, pretending like you understand.”

Liar.

“Maybe that’s because you’re impossible to understand!” You shot back, your voice cracking. 

Liar.

Lando’s chest was burning, and for a second, you thought you saw something else in his expression— something deeper, darker. But before you could say another word, the sharp sound of Pietra’s voice cut through the tension, her words laced with frustration.

“You two are exhausting,” she muttered, her hands on her hips as she walks towards you, shaking her head. “Can’t you go five minutes without fighting?”

Max, standing beside her, gave you both a pointed, unimpressed look. “Seriously, take it outside or something.”

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating, as you and Lando stood there, completely unaware of how much attention you were drawing. 

With a frustrated sigh, Lando turned his back to you, muttering something under his breath as he took a step away, the coldness in his voice unmistakable. “No need,” he said with a forced smile, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

But you could see right through it. You could see the anger still simmering just below the surface, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break. He had turned it on— flipped the switch to happy, charming Lando that everyone adored—but you knew better. You knew this wasn’t over.

You stayed frozen in place, staring at his retreating form, your blood still boiling, your heart still racing. The party resumed around you, as if nothing had happened, but the cracks between you two had deepened, and the weight of everything unsaid felt unbearable.

-

It was an unsettling realization— almost an entire week has passed without so much as a glimpse of Lando. Not that you were actively looking for him. Still, you were staying at his place for the time being, yet it felt as though he had vanished entirely.

The dinner party had been a mess— more than just the awkward silence that had followed after Lando’s sudden retreat, more than the strained smiles and forced laughter. It had felt like a pressure cooker, each moment pressing closer to explosion. 

You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t mind the distance, that you needed it too. After all, how could you process anything when the tension between you two was so thick it felt suffocating?

-

The apartment balcony door creaks as you slide it open, and the cool night air hits you like a breath of fresh tension. You pause for a moment, taking in the city’s quiet hum from the balcony, when the sound of footsteps from behind you pulls you back into the reality of where you stand. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Lando.

You hesitate before slowly turning, your pulse quickening just a little at the sight of him standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking impossibly composed—as if he hadn’t been anything but a stranger to you for the last week. His hair is messy, as usual, falling over his forehead like it always does when he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes lock onto yours, sharp and calculating. There’s no hint of the playful teasing that usually dances there— just a cold, clipped edge. A part of you feels the sting, but you refuse to let it show.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, as if waiting for something to fall into place. His gaze flickers down to your outfit, the sharp cut of your dress, the way it hugs your frame. His eyes linger, just a moment too long. Theres something unreadable in his stare, but its gone before you can truly grasp it.

His chest feels tight, the burn simmering just beneath the surface. It’s an ache he’s learned to ignore. You’re impossible to ignore. 

His thoughts scramble, trying to piece together something, anything, to get him back on steady ground. It shouldn’t bother him. He shouldn’t even care.

But God, it does.

You straighten your posture, trying to shake the weight of his gaze. “I’m just about to head out,” you say, the words feeling almost too light for how heavy everything suddenly feels. You keep your voice steady, refusing to let the knot in your stomach show. He knows you too well to let any cracks slip by.

“Right.” His voice low, casual, but the way he says it doesn’t match the steel edge behind it. He pushes himself off the doorframe, taking a slow step forward, and the space between you feels too small, too intimate.

He tilts his head, his eyes scanning you with that familiar coolness. “Big night?” He’s not asking about the plans. He already knows the answer, or at least he thinks he does.

“Just dinner,” you say, but the words come out too sharp, too dismissive, like you’re avoiding saying anything else. Avoiding the reality that you’re stepping out the door, and he’s still standing there— distant, closed off, and, for the first time, entirely unreadable to you.

His hands are tucked into his pockets, the tension in his jaw hard enough to snap if he moved the wrong way. The silence between you is loud, almost deafening, a total opposite of the usual banter that defines the strange rhythm you share. You can feel him trying to hold back, just as much as you are.

His gaze flickers down for a second, and then he looks back up, meeting your eyes, and for the briefest of moments, there’s something close to what looks like vulnerability, like he wants to say more but can’t. Like he’s trying to insert himself into your brain and figure out what’s going on in your head. He doesn’t reach for the words he’s dying to say, and you don’t either.

You shift on your feet as you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. The last thing you want to admit is just how much the silence between you has been eating at you.

“Have a good night,” he says, and his voice is tight, the words formal, distant—as if the slight tension in his shoulders is something he’s trying to hide.

You pause, staring at him for just a beat longer than is comfortable, and then you nod, your throat tight as you force out the words, “You too.”

And with that, you step past him, brushing so close that your shoulder grazes against his arm. You had almost convinced yourself that you’d made it past the worst of it, that you guys were back to normal. But then, just as you’re about to step out of his vicinity, you feel it.

His hand.

It’s quick, a sharp tug at your wrist that halts you in place. His grip is firm, but not aggressive— more like a desperate plea.

You freeze. Lando’s fingers wrap around your wrist with an intensity that almost makes you forget where you are. He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t have to. His pulse is quick under your skin.

You turn to meet his gaze. His eyes are darker now, more intense, but there’s something softer too.

“There’s a spare key on entry table for you. Keep it.” 

The sentence lands like a stone, cold and distant, when you’re hoping for something else. You were hoping for an argument, a confession, an apology— but not this.

An apology? From Lando? You laughed to yourself, but its bitter and dies in your throat. It’s almost laughable, the thought go him apologizing, like you could ever expect him to admit fault in anything. He’s always had a way of deflecting, of twisting words until they meant something else, until he was the charming asshole again and you were left wondering if you’d imagined everything.

Lando never apologizes. He never needs to. That’s part of the game, part of the push and pull that you two share. You fight, you argue, you tear each other down in the best and worst ways, but somehow, you always find your way back to the same place. 

You nod, quick and sharp, a simple gesture to acknowledge the words, but it feels hollow.

“Don’t wait up,” You joke, the words coming out a little too forced, a way to reclaim some semblance of normalcy, erasing the awkward space with a quip.

Lando’s gaze softens just a fraction, a flicker of something familiar returning as his lips twitch into the faintest smirk. It’s not much—just the smallest shift— but it feels like a breath of air. 

“Yeah, as if,” he replies, the sarcasm back in full force.

And with that, you step into the night, the door clicking shut behind you.

-

The restaurant buzzes with life, the clink of silverware and hum of voices filling the space as you sit at the round table with your friends. The sun is high, glittering through the windows and casting warm, golden patches across the wooden table. It’s the perfect lunch spot, lively and bright— but all you can focus on is Lando’s gaze burning your skin whenever you aren’t looking.

You try to focus on the conversation, on the joke that your friend just cracked, but every time you glance up, Lando’s eyes are already on you. His jaw clenches just a little when he takes a sip of his drink, and you can see the tension in his posture.

Another gaze at Lando, and it’s like you’ve been slapped back into reality. His gaze flickers quickly before he focuses on his phone again. His thumb taps the screen with purpose, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the furrow in his brow. 

His fingers move quickly over the phone, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. Max chimes in then, pulling him deeper into a conversation.

Mia’s voice pulls you back, and you force yourself to focus on her.

“So, come on. Spill.” She urges, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “how was your date last week? We’re dying for more details.”

Pietra chimes in, her voice light and teasing. “Yeah, seriously. He was so hot. I can’t even—“ She catches herself, looking over at Max as he side eyes her. “Oh, you know I love you. Now hush.” Pietra waves him off playfully, but her eyes are still on you, expectant, waiting for you to continue. 

Lando’s still playing the part, pretending like he’s not listening, but he can feel the irritation stirring in his chest at the mere mention of your date.

“Well…” You swallow, trying to keep your tone light as you picked up your mimosa, taking a quick sip before placing it back on the table. “It was nice. We had dinner, talked a bit…” You trail off.

It’s not like it was a bad date—far from it— but the way Lando’s eyes keep flickering back to you, the way his jaw clenches just a little tighter, it’s like everything’s suddenly wrong.

“Nice? Just nice?” Mia’s voice pulls back, her expression teasing as she crosses her arms, clearly unimpressed with your vague answer. “Come on. We need more than that!”

Max’s gaze flicks to Lando, and you notice the way his eyes narrow slightly, that familiar edge to his expression that suggests he’s just as aware of the growing tension between the two of you. You can feel him pulling away from the conversation. His fingers tap once again on the rim of his glass, but it’s harder this time— almost angry.

He didn’t care. He told himself that a thousand times. He hated you, or at least he was supposed to.

He was supposed to laugh off the bickering, keep things casual. That’s what it was supposed to be with you. A dynamic filled with nothing but playful jabs, insults, the kind of messy, tangled friendship that made sense to no one but the two of you.

But now? Now, every glance from you, every word you said, twisted something inside of him. It was a slow burn, the kind that spread through him quietly but powerfully, a pressure building beneath his skin. He tried to ignore it, tried to turn his focus back to the conversation with Max, but all he could think about was the way your laugh echoed in the back of his mind as you chatted with the girls.

He doesn’t want to care, but he does. Why?

He’s supposed to hate you. He wants to hate you. So why does it feel like something else is gnawing at him instead?

“It’s not like it will last long,” Lando adds, the words like a bitter aftertaste. They sting in the way only a deliberate jab can, meant to sink into your skin and burn as they make their way under your ribs.

The moment they leave his mouth, a silence settles. He doesn’t want to see the hurt flicker across your face, doesn’t want to feel anything that might suggest he crossed a line. And yet, his pulse quickens, a tight knot of unease forming in the back of his throat.

“Seriously, Lando?” Mia’s voice cuts through the silence, her tone sharp and incredulous. She leans forward, clearly annoyed by the bite in his words. Pietra follows suit, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern.

Everyone knew that the two of you fought, but Lando was never a dick like this in front of everyone. Your fights were usually more playful, more teasing.

“It’s fine. Ignore him.” Your voice comes out a little too quick, a little too sharp, but you don’t care. You force a smile, though it feels brittle on your lips.

Just another stupid fight. The same back-and-forth you’ve been doing for forever.

But it’s not.

-

Mornings are routine. You both rise at your own pace, not a word exchanged. The sound of coffee brewing fills the kitchen as you both move in sync, neither of you needing to ask for the things you want— Lando’s mug always pulled from the top cupboard, your cereal bowl set in the same spot on the counter. You don’t look at each other, but the air between you feels…habitual.

Sometimes, Lando will pull the milk from the fridge and hand it to you with no words. You just move around each other, existing in the same space.

Evenings are a little different. Lando will crash onto the couch, usually with his headphones on, diving into whatever he’s binge-watching. You’ll be in the kitchen, making dinner, the clatter of utensils and the hum of the stove filling the air. 

Occasionally, you’ll both look up, catch each other’s eyes for split second, and then quickly look away.

Dinner, if it happens at the same time, is pretty quiet. Lando eats his food quickly, never really talking about the day. 

Tonight, was a little different.

You’re curled up on the couch, lost in your book, one leg tucked under as you read with a concentrated frown. Lando, on the other hand, is sprawled across the other end of the couch, remote in hand, eyes glued to the screen.

“So, what’s the book about this time?” Lando’s voice is playful. He’s not really looking at you, more like staring at the screen, but he knows you’ll respond. You always do.

You don’t look up, eyes scanning the page. “It’s about a woman who solves mysteries while also balancing her dysfunctional life. You wouldn’t understand.”

He scoffs, but there’s a smirk on his face. “What, like you solving mysteries? I can barely get you to figure out where I left the remote.”

You finally glance over the top of your book, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wants to kiss you in this moment. It’s like an itch under his skin. 

“I can find the remote just fine, thank you very much. It’s just that you leave it in the most random places.”

He turns to face you now, his expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Yeah, because the fridge is totally where I’d put it.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you spend majority of the day looking for it only to find it buried under a pile of laundry.”

“Don’t even start with me about laundry, Lando,” you shoot back. “If you less time working out and binge-watching every season of whatever show you’re obsessed with this week, maybe the laundry wouldn’t look like a crime scene.”

His grin widens, clearly enjoying this. “Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you did laundry instead of curling up with your book every night, we wouldn’t have to live in a mountain of socks.”

You can’t help but laugh, lowering your book just enough to shoot him a playful glare. “Well, maybe if you didn’t leave half your wardrobe in the living room, I’d have a clean place to actually read.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that this is your apartment too.” He says, raising a brow.

You roll your eyes, feeling your smile tug at your lips despite yourself. “I’ll be out of your hair in a week.”

A week. You’re leaving in a week. It’s so matter-of-fact, but in that moment, it lands like a punch to the gut.

Lando’s heart skips a beat at the thought. A week?

Did you get back together with your ex? Did you find a place so soon? A million questions ran through Lando’s brain.

“Wait, what?” His voice is quieter now, not his usual teasing tone.

You glance up at him, a raised eyebrow signaling curiosity. “What?”

“I—” Lando cuts himself off mid-sentence, the words faltering as he glances away, as if he's sorting through a million things in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. A quiet, nervous chuckle escapes him, but it’s strained, almost like he’s trying to laugh off something he doesn’t want to confront. “I mean… a week? Really?”

You pause for a moment, the question lingering in the air between you. You try to keep your expression neutral, but the unexpectedness of his reaction hits you harder than you want to admit. “Yeah. What’s the big deal?” you reply, tilting your head slightly, keeping your voice light, but the quiet edge of confusion still wraps around your words.

Lando hesitates again, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, clearly uncomfortable in a way you don’t often see. He seems to be weighing whether he should say more, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “I don’t know. Just… don’t rush it, alright? I mean, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

The room feels suddenly smaller. His words, unguarded, hang in the air like a challenge to everything you thought you knew about the dynamic between you two. You stare at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see the vulnerability that always hides beneath his sarcasm and bravado. The surprise in your eyes is so clear, it almost hurts. What exactly is he saying right now?

Lando clears his throat, breaking the tension for a split second, but his gaze flickers anywhere but at you. He shifts awkwardly, his voice losing its usual edge as he continues, his words trailing off like he’s unsure how to finish the thought. “I mean, it’s not like you’re in my way here. It’s your choice, but…” His voice falters. His entire demeanor feels rawer than usual, like he's exposing something that wasn’t meant to see the light of day.

You bite your lip, trying to swallow the shock, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. Your mind is racing, caught between wanting to ask more, to make sure you didn’t misinterpret his words, but at the same time, something inside you is afraid of hearing too much.

Lando rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated by the silence that’s settled between you. His usual bravado is cracking, his carefully constructed walls slipping just a bit. “Look, forget it,” he mutters, quickly backpedaling, the familiar deflection creeping back into his voice. But there’s a tremor in it, a slight crack that betrays the vulnerability he’s trying so desperately to hide. “It’s nothing.”

The weight of the moment lingers between you, heavy and thick. You’re fighting to keep your composure, but his words are chipping away at the routine, at the easy distance you’ve always maintained. You can feel something shifting in him, and if you're being honest, it shifts in you too.

You can't help but tease him, just to deflect from the heaviness he’s left hanging in the air. “Is the Lando Norris telling me that he’s actually okay with me in his personal space?” you ask, feigning shock, raising your brows in exaggerated disbelief. “Well then, I must! Thank you, Your Highness,” you add with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

But it’s a moment too late—Lando's lips twitch, and that familiar smile finally breaks through. It’s small, but it’s real. The tension dissipates, but something else remains. He looks at you, and for just a heartbeat, he lets his guard down, dropping the sarcasm. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, half smiling. “But I guess I’ll survive you for a little while longer.”

-

You don’t know when it happened, but somewhere between the third and fourth drink, the bitterness in your chest had started to settle into something darker, something more dangerous. You glance back toward to reserved booth, just for a moment—just enough to catch the scene that you already knew was unfolding, but still had to see for yourself.

Lando’s laugh, that easy, carefree laugh, rang out over the pumping music of the bar. He was practically hanging all over her—his hand on her thigh, his body pressed against her’s. It should’ve been something you could brush off. Something you used to actually pay no mind to. 

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the glass in front of you. The guy next to you, some acquaintance from the group, grinned at you. “Another round?” His voice was too loud, but it didn’t matter.

You nodded, trying to shake off the discomfort eating at you. “Sure, why not?”

The bartender slid the next round across the counter, and you downed the glass almost immediately, the burn of the alcohol hitting your throat like it might do something— like it might fix something.

Nick’s hand is now on your back, guiding you through the mass of bodies as you both step onto the semi-crowded dance floor. His fingers are light against your skin, but there’s something about his touch that feels different. But tonight, you don’t care. It’s not about him; its about the fact you cant stop thinking about the way Lando looked at the girl in the booth. The way he ignored you, like you were scum on the bottom of his shoe almost.

You find yourself pressing closer to Nick as the beat drops, your body swaying with the music, the alcohol in your system making everything feel a little more intense. He grins, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in. His lips find yours before you even know what’s happening—fast, heated.

For a second, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, trying to silence the voice in the back of your head. 

But then, a forceful shove breaks through the fog, and you stumble back, your breath catching in your throat as a hand reaches for you, steadying you. And you find yourself staring at the angry face of Lando.

“What the hell?” Nick mutters, his voice low but full of confusion.

Lando doesn’t even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on you. He looks pissed—furious, even—and there’s something dangerous in the way his eyes bore into yours.

“What the fuck is this?” Lando’s voice is tight, barely controlled, as his eyes finally flick to Nick.

“We’re just having fun,” you say, your voice a little too sharp, too defensive. 

Lando’s eyes narrow, his posture rigid, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingers back to you like he’s trying to figure you out.

You can’t help but feel a little thrill in the way his attention is all on you.

“You don’t need to do this,” he mutters, his words a mix of frustration and something else—something you can’t decipher.

You know what he’s talking about. The drink in your hand, the kiss with Nick. It’s messy. It’s reckless. But Lando, of all people, should know that you’ve been drowning lately. That your recent break-up—hell everything—has been eating at you, pulling you under. And crashing at his place? It wasn’t just because you had nowhere else to go—it was because, your friends knew you needed someone around.

You try to look away, but you can’t. His eyes hold you captive, and for a moment, you swear you see something break behind them—longing? You’re not sure.

“I can do whatever I want,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended, but you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

Lando doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. His breath is warm against your skin as he leans down towards you. 

“Yeah, I guess you can,” he says softly, his voice almost dangerous. He looks down at you for a long, drawn-out second, his fingers flexing at his sights, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and drag you out of here. But instead, he steps back, his gaze softening, his jaw relaxing ever so slightly.

He gives you one last, searing look, before he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, your heart racing, your mind reeling.

Nick glances at you, clearly unsettled by the scene, but you barely notice.

The music continues to pulse around you, but all you can hear is the sound of your own breath and the quiet pounding of your heart.

-

The night air is cool against your skin, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement as you and Lando stumble back toward the apartment. You’re both slightly drunk, more than a little tipsy, still in that pleasantly buzzed state where everything feels lighter, more carefree.

You both move to the kitchen, in dire need of a snack to soak up the alcohol. He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you rummage through the fridge.

“You going to see Nick again?” He asks, eyes still on you.

“Yeah, I might,” you reply trying to sound casual, but theres an edge to your voice that you can’t hide. “What’s it to you?”

He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something passing though his eyes. None of which you see, you’re too focused on scanning the fridge. “Nothing. Just…” He begins, struggling to come up with a reason.

“I’m just having fun, Lando. I’m not yours to keep tabs on.” You turn to face him now, leaving the fridge wide open as you bask in its light.

The words are sharper than you intended, but they’re out before you can stop them.

Lando stands there, his expression unreadable, before he finally uncrosses his arms. He takes a slow step forward, his gaze flicking down for just a moment before he looks back up at you, his voice low. “I didn’t say you were.”

Lando swore he could’ve passed out right then and there. Not because of what you said, but because of the overwhelming sense of deja-vu that washed over him. He blinked, the scene in front of him shifting for a moment, and he was back there— a year ago, in the same kitchen, the same familiar silence between you two.

You stood there, just like now, same expression in your eyes, only this time there was no pizza sauce on the corner of your lips. But still, he remembered it. 

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the image away, trying to clear his head, trying to prevent the hardening of his cock as he thought of your tongue wrapped around his fingers with an eagerness.

He dropped his head back, pinching his eyes shut, with a low groan.

He’s so fucked.

-

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sparkling sea as the yacht cut through the water effortlessly. The salty breeze whipped through your hair, making you laugh as you leaned over the railing, the fresh air filling your lungs. You’ve been needing this— a break. Just a few days to recharge with friends, laughter, and some much-needed distance from everything else.

You were surprised to see how well it was going. Sure, you’d been hesitant about this trip, especially with lando on board. But so far? Everything felt…easy. You caught Lando’s gaze from across the deck as he cracked open a cold drink, his usual smirk pulling at his lips as he noticed you watching. His swim shorts hung low on his hips, his tanned skin glowing seamlessly in the sun with unbuttoned white linen shirt slung over his shoulders.

It was days of nothing but sunbathing, dinners, and resting. It was probably the most carefree you have ever felt. 

The music from the speakers drifted lazily across the deck, and you caught yourself moving to they rhythm of it, not caring if anyone was watching. The sun was working its magic, loosening every knot of tension in your body. 

“We should definitely black out tonight,” Pietra laughs, bringing a shot of tequila to her lips and then carelessly throwing her hands in the air to the sound of the music.

Lando couldn’t help but stare at the way your eyes crinkled as you smiled, and his chest tightened. 

“You in, Lando?” She teased, her grin mischievous as the rather large group of friends littered the boat in shouts and squeals.

Lando blinked, a little too lost in the way you tilted your head back, taking the tequila shot and laughing freely. He cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure, why not?” He muttered, his lips slowly curling into a small smile.

-

The night had stretched on longer than you’d anticipated, the laughter and music fading into the background as the alcohol worked its way through you. The yacht was quiet now, with only the sound of the waves gently lapping against the hull. The rest of the group had scattered, some slumped on the couches, others finding spots to crash under the stars. You, however, were a little too tipsy to be completely asleep.

The hallway was dimly lit as you made your way past the scattered rooms. You had intended to go to your own—at least, thats what you thought until you remembered someone had made themselves at home there, sprawled across your bed with no intention of moving.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, peeping your head into all the rooms until you finally found an empty one. Without so much though, you pushed it open, your movements uncoordinated, and stepped inside before throwing yourself happily onto the empty bed.

“I always knew you’d end up in my bed.” 

You barely registered the sight before sitting up with a small shriek that was quickly cut off as Lando grasped your wrist pulling you towards him and covering your mouth. “God, can you ever just be quiet.”

The room was bathed in soft shadows, the low hum of the yacht's engine barely reaching your ears as the night stretched on, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. The alcohol buzz still lingered in your veins, but the proximity of Lando, the heat of his body near yours, made it hard to focus on anything else.

You blinked again, trying to shake off the fog, but his figure still stood out clearly in the dim light. His shirt carelessly thrown across the room and his shorts discarded at the foot of the bed only made him feel more real, more present in this moment. The way his body filled the space, the way his eyes burned into you—he was magnetic, and you couldn’t look away.

Lando caught your gaze, his expression lazy but full of something else, something you couldn’t quite name. A smirk played at the edges of his lips as he leaned back, watching you carefully, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. 

“Someone’s in my room.”

Your heart was racing, and for a second, you couldn’t remember why you had come here in the first place. Not with the way he was looking at you. His voice, low and teasing, sent a shiver down your spine. But you couldn’t quite process it—everything in your head seemed clouded, tangled between confusion and something else that pulled at your chest.

You opened your mouth to speak again but the words were caught in your throat, your body reacting instead. You simply sat there, feeling the weight of his gaze, and the distance between you both seemed to collapse.

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your moment of hesitation. “Right,” he murmured, pushing himself up onto his elbows, the light catching his bare chest as he leaned forward slightly. “And here I thought you just wanted in my bed.”

Your stomach flipped at his teasing tone, but you didn’t have the energy to argue or deflect. You were too caught in the pull of the moment. Too caught in the way his voice sent shivers through your body, the way his eyes held yours so intently.

“I didn’t…” you began, but your voice faltered, and instead of finishing the sentence, you just let out a long, unsteady breath. Without thinking, you collapsed next to him on the bed, your body sinking into the soft sheets. The coolness of the fabric did nothing to offset the heat that spread through you.

He didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze lingered on you, intense and searching.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you muttered, trying to steady your breath, the words coming out more like a half-baked excuse than a statement of fact.

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes studying you, weighing something in the space between you. Then, his lips parted into a slow, deliberate grin.

“It means nothing,” he agreed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way he looked at you, the way his eyes darkened just the slightest bit, made it clear that he knew it meant something—even if neither of you were ready to admit it.

-

The thing about Lando is…his body has a mind of its own in the early hours of the morning. The sun has barely peeped over the horizon when he feels the throb of his cock against the band of his underwear. The pressure of something pressed against him that he involuntarily flexes his hips forward, a soft groan pushing past his lips.

You stirred slowly, on the verge of breaking a sweat from how warm it was. Why was it so warm?

You felt hot all over. Your nipples were hard, the pressure of a bulge grinding into your backside, and the warmth of a body brewed a seeping hot energy low in your tummy. 

Your brain was foggy, barely aware of what was happening. All you knew is that you needed this. 

A hand caressed your waist, slipping under your t-shirt, grazing along the softness of your skin until it reached the cusp of your breast, the pinching of one of your nipples had you pushing back into his groin with a soft moan. 

It took a few moments for your body to fully understand what was happening. For your brain to catch up with your body as Lando slowly grinded his hips into you, his fingers toying with your nipples.

You both were too sleepy to care. Too horny to care.

“Wait,-“

“Shh.” Lando cuts you off, trailing his hand up to your neck, and squeezing it just enough to elicit a soft moan from you. “No thoughts. Just feel, yeah?”

Yes.

“This means nothing.” You moaned, your hand reaching behind your head, grasping the back of Lando’s neck to pull him closer, to cradle you closer.

His heavy breaths were hot in your ear, and only made you burn hotter. 

He slipped his hand down further, his fingers trailing down and slipping past the band of your sleep shorts. It wasn’t until you felt his fingers press small circles to your lace covered core that it had you arching your backside even harder against his groin, your fingers tightening over the curls that fell on the back of his neck.

“This means nothing, yeah?” His voice was hot in your ear.

 “My God, you’re fucking soaked.” He let out a guttural groan.

His fingers trail back and forth, spreading your slick, before he pushes a finger in. You’re a mess. Nothing but moans as he pulls his finger out, coating your clit, and pushing back in.

“Bet I could slip right into you,” His words are broken by heavy breaths, like he’s struggling to control himself. “Take m’cock so easily. Would stretch you nice and good, mm.”

You outright cried at his vulgar words, slipping your hand from the nape of his neck to the waistband of your sleep shorts and underwear, slipping them down enough to leave you bare. The cool air of the room did nothing for you as your skin burned against his touch. His fingers pushing in and out of your core with such a lazy pace, it had you pushing your hips onto his fingers to try to speed it up.

“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue. “So impatient.”

“Now look who needs to shut up,” You knit your eyebrows together in frustration.

“More.” You needed more. 

He pulls his fingers from you, slipping his underwear low enough to finally free his cock from the tight fabric that was nearly suffocating him. “So demanding.”

Pumping himself a few times, you feel him slip his cock in between the folds of you, coating himself in you. Teasing you.

“Lando, I swear to-“ 

He pushes himself in a single thrust, bottoming out as you both exhaled sharply. 

It started out with slow and lazy thrusts, both of you nothing but groans and sweaty bodies pressed together. The sun began peeping through the tiny window of the bedroom, casting a soft glow on both of you, tangled in the white sheets of his bed.

“That’s it…feel so good f’me,” His voice was like pure sex in your ear as he slowly thrust his hips into you.

Feeling your heat wrapped around him was something he never want to end. How your perfect cunt swallowed him up.

He hummed in your ear, pressing hot open mouth kisses to the crevice of your exposed neck for him as you laid on your side. So compliant.

It reached a point where neither of you could no longer take it. The force of Lando’s hips driving harder with each calculated thrust he could maneuver as he pushed your shoulder down into the mattress, hovering over your backside he fucked into you hard.

His hips were merciless, like he couldn’t slow down if he wanted to. You felt too good. You were too good.

His hand pressed into the back of your skull, pushing your face into the mattress as it muffled out your moans.

“You take it so nice,” He groans, his head lulled forward as he leans over your frame. Sweat begins to perspire on his skin, the veins in his neck more prominent as he works himself towards the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Full speed with no warning as you spasm around his cock, sending him tumbling over the edge to his as he pulls out quickly, hot spurts of it landing onto your lower back.

“Christ,” He breathes through a small laugh.

You lay limply on the bed, your eyes following as Lando collapses next to you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You open your mouth to say something as it finally dawns on you what just occurred but Lando cuts you off.

“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be,” He stares at the ceiling as he mutters the words, his eyes half-lidded in contentment.

You close your mouth.

“No thoughts, just touch.” You repeat his previous words. Like it’s some silent agreement. Some inside joke.

-

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking car,” Max groans as he flops down onto one of the cushioned seats at one of the yacht’s dining tables.

You glance around, scanning the whereabouts of everyone, and everyone looks like a complete train wreck, to say the least.

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, stretching out endlessly above you, and for a moment you just smiled to yourself.

Lando was sprawled out across from you, lounging on one of the nearby deck chairs. He had on his sunglasses, his legs stretched out and his shirt unbuttoned, looking as laid-back as ever. His usual smirk was there, though this time is was softened.

Pietra called out from across the deck, her voice awfully cheerful compared to everyone who was hungover. “Let’s have a fucking day!”

Max groaned, burying his head into the crevices of his folded arms. “It’s gonna be a long fucking day, innit?”

-

The heat of the afternoon sun and the gentle rocking of the yacht had you longing for a cool dip in the ocean. After hours of lounging on the deck, you and Lando exchanged glances, both of you clearly getting restless as most of the others napped or played card games at the table.

“You know,” Lando started, his voice playful, “the water’s looking pretty great right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look but also nodding your head in agreement. You stood up, slipping your white cover up over your head with ease, before striding toward the edge of the deck, your feet already starting to get warm from the sun-kissed wood.

The skimpy black string bikini leaves little to the imagination as you wiggle out of the cover-up, and Lando swears he might just collapse at the sight of it.

Lando follows, a wide grin growing as he matches your pace, before reaches for the back of your legs and slips you over his shoulder with ease. 

“Lando!” You shout. But it’s no use. You don’t even get to finish yelling his name before you are sent over the deck’s edge, plunging into the water with Lando glued to your body. “You’re insane!” You sputter, wiping salt water from your eyes, and though you’re furious, you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

“What? You weren’t gonna jump in?” He teases, his voice light, but theres a glint in his eye.

You both tread the water for a moment, floating side by side, as the sound of the ocean mutes the sound of your friends yelling over a deck of cards. 

Lando smirks, tilting his head, his usual dark unruly curls, now slightly lightened from the days spent in the sun, is slicked back and dripping from the dive. 

Your stomach flips as he draws a little closer, and for a moment you can’t help but think back to earlier this morning. The way he spread you out and filled you with his cock. 

Lando reaches out, his fingers brushing your skin lightly, sending a shiver through you that you can’t quite shake off. 

He notices the glaze in your eyes, the way the goosebumps form on your skin from his touch, and the way your nipples have pebbled through the thin material of your bikini. He leans in a little, just enough that his lips hover near your ear. His breath warm against your skin as he speaks, his tone almost a whisper, “Can’t stop thinking about earlier. Your cute little moans. Need to hear more of ‘em.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, and you feel a rush of heat spread through you.

“Come to my room tonight, yeah?”

-

You really don’t know what you were doing. The soft creak of the yacht’s deck is the only sound that accompanies you as you slip down the hallway, heart pounding faster than normal. The dim lighting in the hallway barely registers in your mind as you stop in front of Lando’s door, a quiet exhale leaving your lips. You’d convinced yourself you were just going to sneak in, just to talk for a little while, but now you’re here. Again.

Everyone left to go out on the land, while you and Lando decided to hang back. No one suspected a thing, not that it mattered if they did.

Lando shifts on the bed, his eyes still fixed on the TV screen, as you quietly close the door behind you. You take a few steps forward, just close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating from where he’s lying. 

Lando finally glances over, a lazy grin spread across his face as he watches you slip into his bed. “Wanna watch a movie?”

You nod, making yourself comfortable, leaning back onto the bed and propping yourself up on your elbow. Lando all but gives you one minute, before he’s pulling you closer, and tucking you under his arm. His body heat mingles with yours, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It just feels natural—like this is the way it was almost meant to be.

-

“You seriously think that was a good ending?” Lando’s voice is incredulous. “That was such a cop-out! It doesn’t make any sense. That’s just lazy!”

“Lazy?” You laugh. “It’s a story about life, Lando. About how not everything can be wrapped up in a nice little bow. Sometimes, you don’t get closure. Sometimes you don’t get any answers. That’s the point!”

Lando pushes himself up. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Whats the point of it all if the story doesn’t actually go anywhere? It just—ends.”

Your heart is pounding now, you don’t even know how something as simple as a movie ending resulted in you two fighting. But it was no surprise. You guys loved to argue.

It was almost like your own version of….foreplay?

“You’re so stubborn,” You spit, releasing a sarcastic laugh. “You can’t just let something be, can you? You always have to control it, make it fit your idea of how things should go.”

Lando reaches towards you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he corners you up against the plush pillows of his bed. “And you think you’re any different?” His voice is low, dangerously calm now. “You think you have all the answers to who I am, hm?”

“Fine,” You snap. His chest is just centimeters from yours. “Maybe I don’t. But at least I’m not acting like the world owes me something. Maybe that’s why you’re always so angry.”

He leans forward, his breath hitting your face. “I’m angry?” Lando’s voice drops to a whisper. “Maybe I’m angry because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when it comes to you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You blink, suddenly aware of just how close you are, how he’s looking at you with something completely different in his eyes now.

“Maybe I’m angry because the only time I’ve managed to get your slutty little mouth to shut up was by having my fingers in it. Or with my cock shoved up your cunt.”

And then, without warning, Lando moves. It’s fast, but not reckless. He reaches for you, one hand grasping the back of your neck as he leans in, just close enough to where your lips can brush against each others.

“Tell me you want this again.” His voice is low, rough.

Your breath catches in your throat. You try to speak, but the words come out as nothing but a shaky exhale. You want to tell him yes, to beg him to close the distance, but you’re paralyzed. Is this really happening…again?

Lando brushes his lips against the apples of your cheeks before bringing them to the crevice of your ear.

“C’mon, tell me you want this as badly as I do, yeah?” 

You nod. “Please.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he’s there—his lips against yours, hard, desperate, and all-consuming.

It’s not a kiss; it’s a collision— a meeting of two forces that have been fighting against each other for far too long. His mouth is warm, and when it presses against yours, its with such an intensity that you feel the world shift. He’s taking, but he’s giving just as much. His hand slips down to the crevice of your waist, squeezing whatever he can get his hands on.

The kiss deepens, and its not soft anymore—its needy, frantic, each of you chasing something that’s been building for ages. The fingers of his other hand curl into your hair, tugging you even closer, until you feel like you might melt into him. You respond in kind, hands moving to his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, your palms feeling the heat of his skin. You want more.

You’re not quite sure how it happened but one moment you’re pressed against the plush material of the mattress clothed, and the next your clothes are strewn across the room with Lando pressed between your legs.

Lando lowers his face, and you’re happy to find that the curls of his hair tickle at your face when his lips meet yours again.

He kisses you like he has all the time in the world; like he should be doing nothing else but kissing you for the rest of his life. His hands move to your hips as his tongue glides our from his mouth in-between your lips, to meet with yours. 

You taste sweet against his tongue and your gasp is muffled by his tongue as he presses his hardened cock right into your warm center. You tighten your legs around his hips, and buck up against him with a small moan stuck in your throat.

He pulls apart from your lips, much to his dismay, but still hovers over you and trails his lips across your face, down to your neck. 

“You argue too much with this mouth,” He mutters, raising his arm over his head to remove the black t-shirt that adorned his body. 

You feel flustered and hot all over as you nod in agreement, pulling at the fabric of your lacy bra that was left on.

His thumb traces the pout of your lips, a dribble of saliva smearing over them from your recent make-out. “Should put it to other uses, yeah?”

Your eyes lock with his as you nod. Utterly speechless but the clench you feel in your stomach and the heat between your legs more than enough for you to realize just how turned on you are.

“Would you like that, baby?” Lando lets the pet name slip mindlessly, it stirs a swirl of butterflies in your tummy. “Just let me shove my cock in your mouth whenever I need you to shut up? Anything to fill your throat up, yeah?”

You audibly moaned at the thought. Yes.

The smirk that tugs on his mouth is almost lethal and you swear he might just be your undoing in this moment.

“No thoughts. Just touch?”

“No thoughts. Just touch.” You confirmed.

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you. 

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning. 

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway. 

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway. 

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.” 

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.” 

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock. 

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock. 

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead. 

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered. 

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion. 

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. 

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket. 

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?” 

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant. 

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all. 

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits. 

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand. 

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.” 

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically. 

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you. 

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam. 

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you. 

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you. 

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her. 

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief. 

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow. 

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option. 

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short. 

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan. 

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score. 

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style. 

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11. 

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it. 

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again. 

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall. 

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them. 

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus. 

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace. 

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate. 

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer. 

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground. 

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck. 

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house. 

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home. 

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree. 

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return. 

“A million dollars.” 

“Done.” 

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more. 

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests. 

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.” 

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request. 

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?” 

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. 

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.” 

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck. 

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun. 

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation. 

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life. 

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.  

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions. 

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will. 

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no. 

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded. 

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake. 

“You threatened an old man with a gun…” 

“Yes.” Kieran responded. 

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief. 

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected. 

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one. 

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about’ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find. 

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?” 

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right? 

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed. 

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress. 

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?” 

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.” 

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.” 

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair. 

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question. 

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others. 

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued. 

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling. 

“You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her. 

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod. 

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.” 

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.” 

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.” 

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom. 

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other. 

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing. 

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added. 

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.” 

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.” 

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb. 

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year. 

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too. 

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.” 

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you. 

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office. 

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting. 

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile. 

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary. 

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ. 

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left. 

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now. 

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence. 

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity. 

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly. 

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings. 

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour. 

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours. 

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s  voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday. 

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive. 

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic. 

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk. 

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?” 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them. 

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head. 

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go. 

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed. 

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.” 

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life. 

 _______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb. 

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response. 

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. 

“Order whatever you’d like.” 

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu. 

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied. 

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny. 

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne. 

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand. 

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with. 

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course. 

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead. 

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.  

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night. 

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter . 

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare. 

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours. 

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down.  “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.” 

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry. 

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural. 

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free. 

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break. 

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare. 

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment. 

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name. 

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you. 

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war. 

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.” 

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.” 

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.” 

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption. 

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice. 

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw. 

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset. 

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately. 

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne. 

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded. 

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back. 

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material. 

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind. 

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.  

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was. 

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left. 

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.” 

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew. 

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?” 

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well. 

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces. 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged. 

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies. 

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.” 

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work. 

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided. 

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast. 

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner. 

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before. 

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see. 

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory. 

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet. 

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide. 

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked. 

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused. 

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now. 

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?” 

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand. 

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.  

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave. 

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him. 

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game. 

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features. 

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions. 

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.” 

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important. 

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?” 

All sound came to a stifling halt. 

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus. 

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”  

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned. 

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse. 

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return. 

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism. 

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side. 

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth. 

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued. 

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.” 

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms. 

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream. 

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time. 

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?” 

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success. 

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves. 

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

— That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about. 

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk. 

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands. 

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you. 

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store. 

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead. 

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship. 

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick. 

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice. 

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress. 

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.” 

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose. 

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace. 

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?” 

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone. 

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight. 

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response. 

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his. 

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane. 

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy. 

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise. 

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice. 

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date. 

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind. 

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away. 

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him. 

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse. 

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.  

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them. 

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly. 

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart. 

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next. 

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent. 

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you. 

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!” 

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back. 

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts. 

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.” 

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear. 

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone. 

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful. 

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you. 

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time. 

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality. 

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you. 

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible. 

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary. 

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt. 

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.” 

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex. 

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.” 

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again. 

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.” 

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.” 

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this. 

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet. 

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop. 

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that. 

Tag list: @blue-sky336 @sei-chuun @astolary @luna-looniesblog @rainkissedberries @syluslittlecrows @escape-your-nightmare @mangooes @bibistarx @kathypellar @stxrrielle @mansonofmadness @babygirl-panda19 @wegottastayfocus @zoezhive @futurecorpse92 @diabolichii @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @cathuggnbear @blue-serendipity @huuvu @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @sh3sa1dwhat @justpassingdontworry @sylustoru @poptrim @mikachux3 @thargelalia @eolivy @vyntheria @dana-nite @miffysoo @babyx91 @fealy @sillyfreakfanparty @cassiesversion @serenity-loves-red @nommingonfood @sylusgirlie7 @browneyedgirl22 @silverbrain

Sorry if you were tagged but didn't get a notif, I think some of you might have your tags off because your blog wasn't coming up for me >:c

[missarchive]

motel six

spencer reid

cw; spencer reid x fem!reader, spencer gets caught jacking off, cowgirl, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, softdom!reader, sub!spencer, one bed troupe, oral (m. receiving), aftercare, unprotected p in v, spencer’s a little desperate and awkward (what’s new)

an; HIII ALLL!!! This is based on an ask I received earlier this month, but I have had a few similar ones so I finally made a fic for them. The truth is that I have been seeing a beautiful woman and she is taking up most of my time. BUT- I managed to sneak this one in. I will start posting more consistently again now that my writer’s block has finally disappeared. As always, please leave some feedback if you liked it (if you didn’t just know you’re stepping on my hopes and dreams). Love and miss u guys xoxo

wc; around 3k

Your stomach twists. A long day chasing leads and poring over case files has already left you drained, and now you have to share a room with someone? You glance around at your teammates, who are pairing off with little hesitation. Morgan claims a room with Rossi. Hotch and JJ take another. Emily and Garcia get the third. That leaves…

You turn your head just as Spencer Reid—resident genius, profiler extraordinaire, and your usual case partner—adjusts the strap of his bag with an unmistakable grimace. His hazel eyes dart to yours before flicking away, his jaw tightening.

Of course.

"Looks like it's you and me, Reid," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he nods stiffly and brushes past you toward the room number scribbled on the keycard sleeve. Your stomach sinks further, but you push down the unease and follow.

The room is as underwhelming as expected: beige walls, scratchy-looking blankets, and a single queen bed shoved against one side. A rickety wooden chair sits near the window, but otherwise, the space is cramped.

Spencer stops in the doorway, his whole body tensing. "You take the bed. I’ll sleep in the chair."

You frown. "Reid, that thing looks like it’ll collapse if you breathe on it too hard. We can just—"

"I said I’ll sleep in the chair," he snaps, dropping his go-bag by the door.

The sharpness in his voice catches you off guard. Spencer is always a little awkward, sometimes distant, but rarely outright rude. You watch as he rubs his temple, his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if he might crack a tooth. He looks… angry. At you?

"Okay," you say slowly. "Did I do something?"

"No," he bites out. "Just drop it."

You exhale sharply, irritation flaring. "Spencer, we’re both exhausted. If something’s wrong, you can just—"

"Just leave it alone, Y/N."

His words are clipped, final. You stare at him for a moment, searching his face for an answer, but he won’t meet your gaze. The room suddenly feels suffocating.

Fine. If he wants to be an ass, let him.

"I’m going outside," you mutter, grabbing your jacket. "Maybe by the time I get back, you’ll have figured out how to use your words like an adult."

You don’t wait for a response before stepping out into the cool night air.

The motel parking lot is nearly empty, save for the team's vehicles and a couple of semi-trucks parked along the far end. You breathe in the crisp air, letting it wash away some of the frustration bubbling inside you.

Spencer’s behavior isn’t just annoying—it stings. You thought the two of you were friends. Sure, he can be awkward and distant, but he’s never been outright cruel before. Whatever is bothering him, he clearly doesn’t want to share it with you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering as the cold seeps through your thin jacket. After a few minutes, your irritation starts to wane, replaced by exhaustion. You don’t have the energy to stay mad, and honestly, all you want is to collapse into bed and sleep for at least twelve hours.

With a sigh, you make your way back toward the room. The hallway is silent, the only sound your footsteps against the aging carpet. You reach for the door handle but freeze as a muffled noise seeps through the thin walls.

A low, breathy moan.

Your heart stutters.

You strain to listen, barely breathing as another quiet sound follows—one you recognize immediately.

A strangled gasp, unmistakably Spencer’s.

Heat rushes to your face as your brain supplies every possible explanation, each one more embarrassing than the last. You should walk away. You should turn around and pretend you never heard anything. But your hand stays frozen on the doorknob, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Another moan drifts through the door, this one louder. You swallow against the sudden lump in your throat.

"Fuck," Spencer gasps. "O-oh god— please."

His voice is low, rough. Desperate.

You grip the doorknob tighter, debating for what feels like an eternity. Should you walk away? Or—

You ease the door open, pressing your hand against it as if to stop yourself from charging forward. Spencer’s back is to you, his head thrown back as he works himself over, his hand moving in rapid strokes.

You can’t help it—you step further into the room, drinking in the sight of him.

He’s sprawled on the bed, shirtless and pale in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. His arm muscles are tense, sweat dripping down the side of his face. The blanket is thrown back, revealing his naked lower half: his long legs, his perfect hands—

His cock, thick and wet between his fingers.

You feel a rush of arousal at the sight, your blood pulsing hot. This is so wrong. So inappropriate. He’s your teammate, for god’s sake, and yet—

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to walk away.

Spencer's hips jerk upwards, his body shuddering with pleasure. "Y/N," he gasps again, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyelids flutter shut, his brows drawn together.

"Y/N, fuck, please—" His hand moves faster, stroking himself with a rough desperation that makes your breath hitch. You can’t look away as he thrusts against his grip, his hips writhing, his spine arched.

"Ah- fuck," he gasps, his body tensing, his fist tightening around himself. His mouth falls open, his eyes squeezing shut as he comes with a strangled moan.

You press your hand over your mouth, holding back a whimper of your own as you watch him.

Spencer sags against the mattress, his chest heaving. He's so fucking beautiful, and—

And you’re still standing here, watching him.

Your eyes dart to his face, and your stomach plummets as he turns his head.

He opens his eyes, and you meet his gaze across the room.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Then you both leap into action.

He scrambles upright, fumbling for the blanket to cover himself. You jump backward, tripping over the threshold and landing hard on your ass.

"Shit," you hiss, wincing at the pain that shoots up your tailbone. "Shit. I—fuck, I’m sorry. I should—"

"Y/N," Spencer says in a strangled voice. "I—I thought you were gone. I didn’t know you were—"

He trails off, looking anywhere but at you. You struggle to your feet, smoothing your clothes down self-consciously. This is awkward as hell.

"I thought you were asleep," you admit, wincing. "I didn’t mean to—"

Spencer draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. He looks so fucking embarrassed, and you can't blame him.

You should say something. Apologize. You should put him at ease—

But the sight of him still has your pulse hammering.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down your racing thoughts. "I’m sorry, Spencer. I really am. I don’t mean—this is just—"

He raises his head, his eyes searching your face. "What were you doing, standing there?" he asks softly.

You swallow against the lump in your throat. "I don’t know," you whisper. "It was wrong, what I did. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have watched you. I’m sorry."

Spencer lowers his gaze, his face still flushed. "What if I wanted you to?" he mumbles.

Your heart jumps. "What?"

"I wanted you to watch me," he says louder, his eyes darting up to meet yours. "I’ve been wanting you to for weeks, ever since you asked me to take over the case files."

"What?" you repeat stupidly.

Spencer shifts, his cheeks flushing a deep red. "I started—I started thinking about you. Fantasizing about you. You touching me, kissing me— everything."

Oh.

You stare at him, trying to process. "Reid," you say softly. "I—"

"Don’t apologize," he says quickly. "It’s not your fault, I just—I wanted you. So fucking bad. I thought that sleeping next to you would be—"

"What?" you prompt gently.

He exhales sharply. "That it would be uncomfortable," he says in a rough whisper. "That it would drive me crazy. That maybe you’d—maybe you’d feel it too."

His gaze flicks up to yours again, full of hope.

Your heart races. "Is that what you want?" you ask, stepping forward.

Spencer's breath hitches, his fingers tightening around his knees. "Yes," he rasps. "Oh fuck, yes. If you—Y/N, I’ll do anything you want. Just—just don’t leave me alone again. Please."

His words send a surge of pleasure through your veins. The sight of him, desperate and pleading, is almost too much to bear.

"Spencer," you whisper, taking another step forward. "Come here."

He scrambles to his feet, rushing toward you. You meet him halfway, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. He melts against you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck with a sigh.

"I can’t believe you saw that," he murmurs into your skin.

"I can’t believe I did either," you admit with a chuckle. "But I’m glad I did."

Spencer raises his head, his hazel eyes searching yours. "You are?"

You nod, smiling softly. "Yes."

His face flushes. "Do—do you want to watch me again?"

You smile wider. "Maybe later," you tease. "Right now, I think it’s my turn."

Spencer's eyes widen as you press him backwards, onto the bed. "I thought you were tired," he murmurs, his voice already thickening with arousal.

"I am," you agree, smiling. "But this is more important." You drop your jacket onto the floor, pulling off your shirt and jeans in quick motions. Spencer's eyes dart down to take in the sight of your naked body, and you flush at his hungry gaze.

He groans, throwing his head back against the pillow as you climb on top of him.

It takes a lot to shock Spencer Reid. But you're definitely up for the challenge. The look on his face is priceless as you take his cock in your mouth, not wasting any more time. His hips buck against the mattress, his hands threading into your hair.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Oh my god. Y/N."

He tangles his fingers in your hair, urging you on as you work him over. He's so responsive, moaning and gasping and whining—fuck, it's a beautiful sound.

You work him deeper, taking

Spencer moans loudly as you take him deeper, his thighs trembling. "Y/N, oh fuck, I—fuck—"

You press one hand against his hip, holding him steady as you swirl your tongue over the underside of his cock. Spencer bucks against your grip, his fingers tightening in your hair. He's still so sensitive from his previous release, but he's still getting harder—thicker—by the second.

You run your tongue along the underside of his cock, teasing the spot behind the head.

"Oh fuck," Spencer gasps, his voice broken. "Y/N, please—please don’t stop. I’m going to— ah."

You press your other hand against his stomach, feeling the muscles contract. His whole body is straining upwards, his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut.

You take him all the way in, swallowing around his length as you work your lips over his shaft. Spencer comes with a cry, his hips jerking as he empties down your throat. You swallow every drop, holding his gaze as you slowly pull back.

"Touch," he rasps, his fingers searching for your own.

You swallow against the ache in your throat and smile up at him, lacing your fingers with his. "How are you feeling?" you ask, running your thumb over his hand, keeping your voice soft as to not disturb the air.

Spencer sighs, though not out of exhaustion, you assume he’s still taking everything in as you see his head rolling against the pillow. "It’s never felt like that before."

You grin. "Glad I could help."

He shifts, reaching for his discarded pants on the floor. "We should—we should clean up," he mumbles, his eyes darting to yours. He flushes when he sees your expression, and his face turns even redder as you realize what he’s doing.

"Reid," you laugh. "Are you really reaching for tissues right now?"

His ears turn bright red. "Well, what—what else am I supposed to do?"

You shift, straddling his hips as you lean down. "How about we do something else," you murmur. You kiss his jawline, working your way down his neck.

"Like what?" he asks in a breathy voice.

"Like this," you reply. You shift, taking his cock inside you. Spencer's breath hitches, and he groans at the feel of you surrounding him. You clasp his shoulders as you begin to move, his hands falling to your hips. He gasps with each thrust, his eyes falling shut as his head lolls back against the pillow.

"Y/N," he whimpers, his fingers digging into your skin. “I don’t know if I can-."

You ride him harder, sliding up and down his cock. “Yes you can, baby. I know you can give me one more,” Spencer's hips rock upwards to meet you, his breath coming in broken gasps.

His fingers tighten around your hips, holding you close as he thrusts upwards.

You’re both panting and gasping now as you chase the peak. You're so close. So fucking close.

"Please—" Spencer groans. "Y/N. I'm—fuck, I'm coming."

You feel him spasm inside you, his fingers tightening almost painfully around your hips. You groan, your movements slowing as you ride him through his orgasm. Spencer's eyes are closed, his mouth open as he gasps for air. His body trembles beneath you, and you feel a surge of satisfaction as you reach yours, too.

You slump forward, catching yourself on his shoulders as you press your forehead against his. He opens his eyes and smiles at you, a warm expression that makes your chest ache.

"Hi," he murmurs softly.

"Hi Spencer." You smile back.

You both lay there for a moment, enjoying the weight of each other’s bodies. Finally, you roll off him, stretching out next to him on the creaky motel bed.

You reach for him, pulling him into your arms as you smile. He nestles against you, his arm snaking around your waist as he presses his face against your chest.

You wrap your arm around him, whispering soft praise into his hair as you stroke his skin gently. He relaxes further, his body growing heavy with sleep.

The mattress is uncomfortable, the sheets too thin. But somehow, you feel more at ease than you have in weeks.

Spencer Reid is a brilliant man. But he’s also really fucking good at other things too. And you’re excited to find out what else he’s good at.

You smile to yourself, your chest warm with affection.

"Goodnight, Reid," you whisper into his hair.

He hums a soft reply, his breathing already slowing. You wrap your arm tighter around him, closing your eyes and letting yourself drift off into sleep. Tomorrow, the case will continue, and so will your job. But right now, you have Spencer in your arms.

And that’s more than enough. You smile again, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you drift off to sleep. This room might not be perfect. But it’s home for the moment, and that’s all you need. You drift off to sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Spencer's heartbeat against your chest.

[hivemuthur]

request where viktorxfemale reader and reader is very shy and hides her face/closes her eyes all the time during sex, maybe when she is not having sex she is more braty/confident. like when she is covering her face viktor forces her to look at him.

Hi Anon! Here's your request:

Mind Holds The Key

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! soft dom Viktor, from warnings we could throw in light orgasm denial and many of my recent works have praise kink, it snuck its way to here as well :v

word count: 4K

author’s note: Title from My Body Is A Cage song (like, it perfectly depicts what Reader might be feeling).

artist on X

—

It happens every time.

You release a breath when his head dips into the crook of your neck—what a blessing. A moment of reprieve, in which teeth meet skin, and you can slide your hand from his back to shield your eyes.

Before he knows it, you come undone, and Viktor follows, searching for your gaze that’s nowhere to be found. Instead of the two big eyes he longs to see, all he gets are your knuckles—five little peepers acting as a barrier between you. It makes him feel lonely.

At first, he doesn’t quite catch it. Could be that you’re so overtaken with pleasure that your body acts on instinct, independent of your mind. Could be that you’re shy—though that hardly aligns with the way you carry yourself day to day. Could be that his bedroom face is outright hideous, but he fucks you so well you don’t have the heart to tell him. Could be plenty of things, some of which he doesn’t dare to entertain.

At first, he tries peacefully—gentle handholding, nuzzling, foreheads touching. But as soon as he stops you from covering your face, you simply close your eyes instead. Or, if he noses at you, you nose him back, and though he can’t see, he knows by the tickle of your eyelashes against his cheek that your lids are squeezed shut.

Until today.

The setup is nearly perfect—you straddling him, arms caged in by his, no space left between you to hide. Yet, just as your face starts to wrinkle in that beautiful way he adores, you find a way out. You dip your head into the small gap between you, leaving only the parting of your hair in his view.

So he stops.

Moreover, he untangles his arms from you completely, making you whine at the loss of contact and, worse, the loss of your impending orgasm as his hands still your hips. And maybe it isn’t entirely worth it, but at least now you’re looking at him. Your lips part at the sight.

There’s something vulnerable in the way he stares at you—wounded, raw. A flicker of fear flashes across your chest.

You cup his cheeks, your voice quick and searching. “Are you in pain?”

He exhales sharply, eyes darting down. “Am I so horrendous to look at?” His fingers twitch at your sides, but his grip remains loose, as if he’s suddenly unsure whether to hold you at all.

Your brows pinch together in disbelief. “Viktor… you are gorgeous. What are you talking about?”

Some of the lead in his stomach melts away at that. So, it isn’t his face. “Then why won’t you ever look at me?”

“I…” Shit. That didn’t take long. “I am…” You try to wiggle your way out of it, avoiding the weight of his scrutiny, but ultimately, you give up with a small, quiet, “… shy.”

A breathy chuckle escapes him, his shoulders shaking. “Lásko, you are many things, and shy is not one of them.” His mind flickers back to all the times you’ve been anything but—bratty, teasing, unafraid to push him.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I am a shy lover,” you whisper weakly, and at that, Viktor twitches inside you. His fingers flex against your wrists, his gaze heavy with thought.

Then, his eyebrows scrunch in curiosity, and he asks, almost stupidly, “Why?”

You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. He watches you, waiting for an answer, and his voice softens when he adds, “What makes you embarrassed?”

You groan in frustration, covering your eyes again as if to hide from him. “I don’t know... It’s like... oh, having an autopsy, for lack of better words. An autopsy of the soul. I can’t stand it.”

Viktor pauses, his expression thoughtful, before he leans in, his voice low and inviting. “Would you be willing to… experiment?” The edge of a smirk plays at his lips.

You narrow your eyes, scepticism rising. “Does your experiment include torture?”

He hums, tilting his head in playful consideration. “Eh… maybe a little.” His hand moves to rest gently on your cheek, a soft brush of his thumb has you blushing. “Hopefully,” he murmurs, his touch tender, “it will get the key from here.” A finger is pressed to your forehead. “To unlock this.” His finger then moves to point directly at your heart.

At the sight of your questioning eyes, excitement surges through him. Another thing to unravel about you—how thrilling. He almost doesn’t want to leave the warmth you’ve enveloped him in, but the urge to explore and understand is stronger. So, with a small nudge of his hips, he says, “Up, up.”

A groan escapes him when you slide off and shimmy up against the headboard. You hug your knees, awaiting instructions, and Viktor—oh, his eyes glint the same way they do when he’s on the brink of something, just this time, love and affection seep through the scientific interest.

He nestles beside you, smiling at the hungry glances you steal toward his thighs. He presses a kiss to your neck, a caress to your calves, before whispering, “Relax. Open your legs for me.”

Like a rusty hinge, you part your thighs—barely enough to accommodate his palm. He nudges your knees further apart until one rests against his leg, the other sinking into the covers. A warm, flat palm runs up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and already, you shudder and squeeze your eyes shut.

“No, none of that,” Viktor chides, and the fingers that had caressed you come to wrap around your throat—a gentle touch, guiding. “If you stop looking, I stop touching. Do you understand?”

You nod timidly, and Viktor tsks. “Words?”

“I understand,” you murmur.

“Very well.” One last soft kiss, before his hand slides down your torso, back between your legs.

His touch is gentle at first, fingers teasing along your seam, inquisitive and exact. He finds your clit easily and you gasp at the first press, coaxing a grateful smile to Viktor’s lips. He watches your expressions shifting from the tremble of your lips to your brows pulling together with a serious face, studying and memorizing you. Three thoughtful fingers rub your pussy around, nudging the spot you want him at the most with each movement, and your stomach begins to coil with heat. Your thighs shift from idle rest to being spread apart with intent, and your hand braces against his stomach. His eyes remain on you, darkening with each broken gasp that escapes your lips.

This is truly horrendous. Pleasure knots in your chest, tangled with a fear that comes from an unknown place. There’s no hiding from him like this, and for a moment, you don’t even try. Your body freezes—caught between fight and flight—and you force yourself not to blink. Your eyes glaze over, breaths come in shallow gasps, and you don’t know if it’s the fear of losing his touch or of being seen like this.

“There you are,” he murmurs, and he means your gaze. You realise you’ve been looking at him, truly looking, and the thought makes your stomach twist.

It’s too much.

The closer you get, the heavier the shame coils in your chest. Like a hand gripping your throat, squeezing until every reaction feels unbearably raw, exposed. Your body betrays you—hips rolling into his touch, thighs twitching under his hand, voice catching in soft, needy sounds. And Viktor, he drinks it in with dark, fascinated eyes, his other hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, squeezing affectionately.

“So beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

But you do.

Because the heat rising isn’t just pleasure—it’s mortification, vulnerability crackling over your skin. It builds and builds, cresting unbearably high, and just as the wave is about to break, your hand shoots up, shielding your face in a blind, instinctive act of self-preservation.

The loss is instant.

Viktor’s hand retreats from between your legs, leaving you aching and throbbing. Your breath stutters, body jolting at the sudden lack of touch. It takes you a moment to realise why—why the bliss has been so abruptly stolen from you. And when you do, your stomach drops.

You peek through your fingers to find him watching you, expression unreadable but firm. His hand hovers over your lower belly, waiting. Viktor doesn’t speak. He simply watches you, patient and ready.

It’s your choice.

Slowly, hesitantly, your fingers slip from your face, down to your chest, over your ribs, clutching at the sheets instead. You force yourself to look at him.

Viktor smiles, pleased. He brings a hand back to your thigh, thumb stroking the inside in a slow, grounding motion. He leans in, lips ghosting over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers before giving back what he took away—and more.

Oh, and his hand comes right where you need it, sliding between your thick lips with ease, gathering your wetness with a slick sound as he pushes a finger inside you. He moves in and out slowly, adds another, and drinks in the sight of your mouth falling open, your eyes locked onto his.

Viktor tells himself this is not about him, that this is about you—about him holding your hand as you battle something unnecessary within yourself. And yet, he cannot help the way his hips rut into your thigh, the heavy press of his cock against your flesh. It is so very hot, this soul-baring unravelling of yours, that he almost allows you to close your eyes for a second too long.

A gentle tsk of his tongue brings you back, and to keep your hands from twitching, you clasp one against his cheek while the other rests at his waist.

You focus on the feeling, on the rhythm. You rock your hips to meet him, the heel of his palm catching your clit with each slide of his fingers, and the familiar pressure returns. Your eyes itch to go shut, the skin of your hand tingles, and you wonder if it’s contagious—if Viktor’s skin will prickle in goosebumps because of you. A strangled sound escapes you, discomfort bleeding into pleasure, and Viktor is there to guide you through it.

"Stay with me, almost there," he coos, brushing his nose against yours.

You press your foreheads together, cross your eyes to keep them fixed on his, and he is so grateful. Pride softens his face as he murmurs lovingly, "You are doing so well."

It’s almost easy like this. Something shifts.

The tension in your chest doesn’t vanish, but  loosens, just enough for you to take a deeper breath. With Viktor’s forehead pressed to yours, his voice low and steady, his touch never faltering, the fear that once curled around being seen begins to unravel.

You blink up at him, chest rising and falling in quick succession, and when your lips part, your voice is barely there. “More.”

The word spills into his mouth, and Viktor drinks it all up. His breath hitches, a tremor runs through him, and for a brief moment, he closes his eyes, overcome by something he cannot name. When he looks at you again, it is with a hunger edged in devotion.

“Oh, lásko,” he breathes, and his fingers move with new purpose. His palm catches your clit just right, his rhythm unfaltering. “You are—ah—so good for me.”

Your body tightens in response. You can hear him now—not just his words, but the small, ruined sounds he makes when you clench around his fingers. He moans when you do, his hips pressing just a little harder into your thigh, like he cannot help himself.

“You feel—” He swallows a groan, his hand flexing at your waist. “So perfect like this. My girl.”

A fresh wave of pleasure crashes over you. You chase it without hesitation, without shame. Viktor sees it—feels it—the way you arch, the way your nails press into his skin. His praise comes unfiltered now, spoken through shaky breaths, his own pleasure evident in the rasp of his voice.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his fingers curling deep. “You are taking me so well. Stay with me, stay—”

You do. You do, because somehow, with him, it’s easier.

The tension coils tight, unbearably so, and your breath is gone from your lungs. He feels it—sees it—his free hand tightening around your neck, his forehead still pressed to yours. His lips part, his eyes burn into yours, and when you finally break, it is with him watching you, holding you, staring into your soul.

You shudder, a soft cry spilling from your lips, and Viktor groans—low and guttural—as he works you through it, whispering your name, a quiet thank you falling in between.

“And that’s a sight to behold,” he says finally, his voice rough with need. “Thank you, my love.”

You smile faintly, still feeling the aftershocks, but your playful side returns. “Sorry, did you think we are done now?” You curl your legs up, wrapping your arms around him, pressing a kiss just under his ear, feeling the heat of his skin against yours.

“Oh?” Viktor’s breath hitches as he feels the press of your lips on him. It seems that through being lost in your head, you missed all the pretty faces he makes. You run your finger up and down his length, watching how his body reacts to your touch, feeling the contrast between tenderness and the lingering ache of want.

You meet his gaze, your voice meant to be teasing but it’s a plea. “Would you be willing to experiment further?”

Viktor’s pulse quickens at your words, his body taut and ardent when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, and then he rolls over, trapping you beneath him. His lips find yours in a kiss that is deep, desperate, and full of hunger.

“Yes, yes, please,” he breathes against your mouth, his voice longing. He kisses you again and again, his lips trailing across your face, worshipping the skin beneath them as he murmurs praises, each one an attempt to convey what he's feeling, almost successful.

To see and to be seen—what a feeling, you think. What a tremendous thing it is to have your heart unlocked with the key his fingers plucked from your mind. Crushing.

[bu3ck3r]

always us

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 3k

summary: paige and azzi confront their fears and reaffirm their deep commitment to one another

It had been a long, tense few days, and the silence between Paige and Azzi had become a weight too heavy to bear. The usual hum of laughter and gentle teasing that defined their relationship had been replaced by an uncomfortable quiet that neither of them knew how to fill.

It had started so innocuously, just a small misunderstanding, a passing comment that should have been forgotten, but it had festered. Neither of them had backed down, neither of them had apologized. And now, sitting across from one another in their small dorm, the space between them felt wider than it ever had before.

Paige ran her fingers through her hair, the familiar motion one of her many nervous habits, but this time, it only served to irritate her further. She could feel the frustration building in her chest like a slow burning fire, the heat of it rising with each tick of the clock on the wall.

"Why do you always do this?" Paige's voice was quiet but sharp, the words cutting through the heavy silence.

Azzi's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do what, Paige?" she asked, the edge to her tone betraying the calm front she was trying to maintain. "What exactly do you mean by always?"

Paige swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing, but she couldn't stop now. The words had to come out, even if they felt like daggers. "Why do you shut me out every time something happens? You just... retreat, and I have to chase after you, but you don’t let me in."

Azzi looked away, eyes dropping to her hands. The confession struck a nerve, one that had been tender for a while now. “I don’t shut you out. I just... I can’t deal with everything at once, okay?” she murmured, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability that she rarely showed.

Paige felt the sting of those words, the realization hitting her that, perhaps, Azzi wasn’t as strong as she appeared. But that didn’t make it easier. "I can’t always be the one trying to fix things, Azzi. I can’t keep doing this. You say you need space, but all I’m asking for is to be there for you when you’re hurting. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Paige’s heart raced, her breath shallow as the emotions swirled around her. She had never felt so... powerless. The intensity of her feelings, hurt, anger, confusion, flooded her.

Azzi stood abruptly, walking to the window as if the view could offer her some relief. “You think I don’t want you there? You think I don’t want to be open with you?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly swallowed, her back to Paige.

Paige stood up, the impulse to move toward Azzi like a magnet pulling at her. "Then why do you push me away?" she asked, her voice breaking as she stepped closer, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over.

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she stared out the window, a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "Because I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that I’m going to hurt you, that I’m not enough for you, and I don’t know how to be everything you need me to be. I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve. I never learned how to be... this vulnerable."

Paige froze, the words hitting her like a physical blow. "Scared?" she repeated softly, her eyes welling up as she processed what Azzi had just said. “Azzi, you’re not gonna hurt me. But pushing me away, keeping me at arm’s length... that’s what hurts me. It breaks my heart every time.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as she finally turned to face Paige, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Please can we just stop talking about it right now," she whispered, her voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I need to think, please give me space.”

…

The sound of a basketball echoed through the empty UConn practice gym. The steady rhythm of dribbling, the squeak of sneakers against polished hardwood, the sharp breath of exertion everything about Paige’s movements screamed frustration.

Her blonde ponytail bounced as she moved, her body working on autopilot. Dribble, crossover, step-back jumper. The ball swished through the net with perfect precision, but she barely acknowledged it. The burn in her muscles wasn’t enough to drown out the ache in her chest.

She was angry. And hurt.

She and Azzi had argued before, sure. They were passionate and stubborn, so sometimes that led to disagreements. But this? This had been different.

This had felt like a crack in something she thought was unbreakable.

The gym doors creaked open behind her, and Paige’s grip on the ball tightened. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. The air shifted, her entire body reacting to the presence of the one person who could unravel her in an instant.

“Paige,” Azzi’s voice was soft, careful.

Paige exhaled sharply, bouncing the ball once before tossing it aside. She finally turned around, her blue eyes locking onto Azzi’s.

Azzi looked hesitant, arms crossed over her chest like she was bracing for impact. “Can we talk?”

Paige scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “Now you want to talk?” Her voice was laced with bitterness, but underneath it was something more vulnerable.

Azzi flinched at her tone. “Paige, please.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get to do this,” she said, voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to shut me out, walk away, and then just show up like nothing happened.”

Azzi looked away, guilt written all over her face. “I know,” she murmured. “I messed up.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her frustration bubbling over. “Do you even know what it felt like last night? To stand there, telling you how much I need you, and then just watch you walk away?” Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated how raw she sounded.

Azzi took a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh. “But you did. You always do this, Azzi. Every time things get hard, you shut down. You don’t talk to me, you don’t let me in you just leave me standing there, wondering if I said something wrong. Wondering if I’m too much for you.”

Azzi’s face crumpled. “Paige, no—”

“Then why do you do it?” Paige interrupted, blinking rapidly as the emotions threatened to spill over.

Azzi swallowed, looking down at her hands. “Because I’m scared.”

Paige stilled, her breath catching in her throat. “…Scared of what?”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Of losing you.”

Paige felt something in her chest tighten.

Azzi exhaled shakily, finally meeting Paige’s eyes again. “I love you so much, Paige. It terrifies me. Because what if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess this up? What if I hurt you so badly one day that you decide I’m not worth it?”

Paige’s heart ached at the sheer vulnerability in Azzi’s voice.

“I shut down because I don’t know how to handle it,” Azzi admitted. “But I see now that walking away only hurts you more. And I never, ever want to be the reason you feel like you’re not enough. Because you are, Paige. You always have been.”

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek before she could stop it. Azzi’s face crumbled at the sight, and she took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

This time, Paige didn’t move away.

Azzi reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Paige let out a shaky breath, squeezing Azzi’s hand like it was the only thing grounding her. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Azzi. I just need you to let me in.”

Azzi nodded, her grip tightening. “I will. I swear.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the gym.

Azzi’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to touch Paige’s arm, her fingers light, barely brushing against her skin. “You’re not alone,” Azzi said, her voice steady now, filled with determination. “I’m here. I always will be. I just—” She faltered, her lips parting slightly. “I just need you to know that I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it the way I should.”

Paige’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Azzi’s words, and before she could stop herself, she stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I love you too,” Paige whispered, her voice low. The words felt like they’d been stuck in her throat, but saying them now, with Azzi standing so close, felt like an exhale she didn’t realize she needed. “I need you to show me though. I need to know you’re here.”

Azzi looked into her eyes, her gaze searching. Slowly, Azzi’s hands moved to Paige’s face, gently cupping her cheeks, her thumbs tracing circles on her skin. The softness of Azzi’s touch made Paige’s heart flutter, but it also made something inside her stir a longing that had been building for so long.

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Always.”

And then, without another word, Azzi’s lips found Paige’s in a kiss that was everything Paige had been craving. It started slow, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But soon, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Azzi’s hands slid into Paige’s hair, pulling her closer, and Paige responded in kind, her arms winding around Azzi’s waist, bringing her even closer.

Every kiss, every touch, felt like a promise. A promise that they were here. That they were in this together.

Azzi pulled back for a moment, her chest heaving with breath. “Paige, I… I need you,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “I’ve needed you so badly, but I’ve been afraid. Afraid I might push you away.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, her hands moving to Azzi’s back, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her shirt. “You won’t,” Paige murmured. “You never will.”

Paige’s hands slipped lower, resting on Azzi’s hips, her touch gentle but insistent. There was a tenderness in her movements, but also an undeniable hunger. The way her fingers traced the curve of Azzi’s body made her heart race, her body reacting without thinking.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige guided Azzi toward the bench at the side of the court. She gently sat down, pulling Azzi to straddle her lap. The position felt intimate, natural, but there was something else, a need between them, an unspoken longing that was growing stronger with every moment.

Azzi’s hands slid down to Paige’s shoulders, her fingers lightly grazing the fabric of Paige’s shirt before pushing it up, inch by inch. Paige lifted her arms, allowing Azzi to pull it off completely, revealing her arms, the soft glow of her skin in the dim light of the gym. Azzi couldn’t stop herself from running her hands over Paige’s bare skin, her fingertips tracing the lines of her muscles, feeling the warmth of her body.

Azzi leaned forward, capturing Paige’s lips again, the kiss deepening as Paige’s hands moved to Azzi’s shirt, tugging it up over her head. Their lips never parted, their movements eager but tender, as if they both wanted to savor every second.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Paige’s gaze was intense, filled with both love and longing. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I need to be sure, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her hands caressing Paige’s face. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, appreciative smile before she kissed Azzi again. This time, the kiss was filled with a deeper passion, a more urgent desire. Paige’s hands explored every inch of Azzi’s body, memorizing the feel of her as if they had all the time in the world. But neither of them could deny the tension that had been building between them for so long.

Every touch felt electric. Every kiss was a promise, a reaffirmation of their love, their bond. Paige’s hands slid lower, tracing the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, tugging them down slowly, deliberately. Azzi shivered at the sensation, her breath hitching as Paige’s fingertips grazed over her skin, sending sparks through her body.

“Paige…” Azzi gasped, her body arching into Paige’s touch.

“Shh,” Paige murmured softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear, her hands steady and sure. “I’ve got you.”

Azzi sighed contentedly, resting her head against Paige’s shoulder as they stood in the quiet gym, wrapped up in each other.

Then, Paige hesitated before asking, “Can I hold you?”

Azzi’s defenses crumbled completely. Without a word, she stepped into Paige’s arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Paige wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly, like she never wanted to let go.

Azzi closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of Paige’sd skin—vanilla and something undeniably her. The warmth of her embrace, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against Paige’s own, was more comforting than anything words could provide.

Azzi pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Paige’s head, murmuring, “I love you.”

Paige exhaled against her, nuzzling closer. “I love you too.”

For a long time, they stayed like that, swaying slightly as if they were the only two people in the world.

Then, Azzi pulled back just enough to cup Paige’s face in her hands. “I’m never walking away from you again,” she whispered.

Paige searched her eyes, looking for hesitation. There was none.

A slow, soft smile broke across her face. “Good.”

Because at the end of the day, no matter how messy things got, they would always find their way back to each other.

[bloodlinesgirly]

Make up sex- Roman Reigns

18+ warnings: Cursing, unprotected sex, toxicity?, makeup sex, pnv, cunnilingus, no caps intended, pet names, daddy kink, slight breeding kink

A/N: it’s been so long i’m sorry, i haven’t had much interest in writing lately but im trying to get back into it!! sorry for any mistakes

word count:1240

“i’m not dealing with this right now” you roll your eyes, the scoff you let out just fueling him even more.

“yeah keep that shit up.” he steps were heavy as he paced the room. “ion know if you think you’re slick, but you’re not.” the pacing stopped and he scratched at his beard like he always did when he was mad.

“you won’t even tell me what i did roman.”

“you know damn well what you did. posted up like that on socials thinkin’ i wouldn’t see it” you groan as you think back on what he’s talking about. A picture he took of you on your trip last month. the floral pattern of the dress hugged your curves and dragged in the sand at your feet. the slit up to your hip was displayed as you posed. “that’s really what you’re all fucked up about? a picture?”

“did you really think it wouldn’t bother me?” his laugh was bitter. he took a few steps closer to you, frustration radiating off of him.

“considering you prance around half naked on tv every week, no i didn’t think a dress would bother you.” roman wasn’t the type to be insecure, he knew you were his and how you dressed/what you posted wasn’t his concern. it’s seeing the way people talked that had him pent up.

“it ain’t the dress.” he ran his hand over his face. “you knew what them comments would look like before you even posted it.”

“oh whatever” you roll your eyes.

It takes time for Roman to be sorry, but when he’s ready boy is it perfect.

“m’sorry baby, i should’ve just said something.” roman’s tongue lapped at your neck, trailing down your chest. His hands squeezed at your waist, ass, thighs, and pretty much everywhere else he could get them. he lives for how perfectly you fit against him, like you were made for him to touch.

“was that so hard?” you sigh, your fingers twirl in his hair as you savor his touch. Roman didn’t like to apologize, he never has. a quiet moan leaves your lips when he reaches your breast. quickly he pulls the cup of your bra down, swirling his tongue around your nipple.

“yeah, but it ain’t your fault you're pretty.” he placed a kiss on your cheek before moving to your lips. the kiss was messy, one hand making its way to your throat and applying a little pressure. his tongue invaded your mouth, clashing with your own. there was something pornagraphic about the way his saliva dripped down your chin and the string of it that connected your lips when he pulled away. his eyes burnt into your skin, lighting a fire in the path of his gaze. “go lay down for me, let me apologize the right way.” his eyes flickered towards the couch. without another word, you did what you were told. your thighs clenched together, looking for relief from the dull throb between them. Roman’s shirt was discarded as he stepped towards you. his abs flexed with each movement, you could feel the heat pooling in your belly from just the sight of him. He leaned down to place another sloppy kiss to your lips before dropping to his knees in front of you.

his fingers delicately find their place in the waist of your pants sending shivers through you. you lift your hips to help him get them down to your ankles. “spread those legs for me baby.” roman’s head dipped down to your waist, placing open mouth kisses to your lower belly. The wet spot on your panties was on full display as he ran his thumb over your clit. he wrapped his hand around your ankle, lifting it off the floor, leaving you spread open in front of him. “roman please” your hips stutter against his thumb, causing the pressure to increase. “please what mama?” he smirked against your inner thigh.

“you’re supposed to be apologizing, not teasing.” you glare down at him and he removes your panties, the breeze making you shiver. his tongue laps at your clit softly before he begins making out with your pussy. moving back and forth between your clit and your hole. “so good for me baby” he groans against you. you rock your hips against his face softly, moans escaping your lips. “more?” his eyes flick up to you. “mhmm- fuck roman”

his middle and ring fingers enter you with ease, stretching you open just how you liked it. “make me cum daddy” you moan and wrap his hair around your fingers. you can hear his growls muffled by the squelching of your wetness around his hand. you can feel yourself tightening around him, he sounds starved, like he’s never had anything better. with a few more flicks of his tongue you cum. he groans at the feel of your hands tugging at his hair combined with your juices dripping down his chin.

“you see what you do to me.” he says as he leans back on his heels. his abs are coated in a thin layer of sweat and his dick his fighting against the fabric of his pants. “y’know what to do baby c’mere” he tugs at your ankle a bit, signaling you to come down to him. you make your way to the floor, fingers immediately finding the button to his jeans and freeing his length. “take it how you want” his head lulls back when you take him into your hands.

you position yourself above him and rub his tip against your pussy. his precum adds to the slick already there. his hands find your waist as his eyes are glued to your actions below. “sshit” he speaks through his teeth as you sink down on him. “all the way baby you can take it” he groans. you place your feet on either side of him and slowly bounce your hips up and down. his grip on your waist tightens as he tries to guide you. “need you daddy” you whine as you rock yourself faster. you wrap your hands around his neck, bringing him closer to you. he adjusts his position allowing himself to thrust into you from below. his pace was fast but thoughtful, making sure he hit that spot that made you coat his cock every time.

“fuckkk roman” your hands searched for anywhere on his they could touch. you craved to be closer than you already were. his pace never let up as he kissed your lips. it was messy but fitting, your teeth clashed and your tongues fought. you could taste yourself on him. “gonna make me cum in this pussy” he growled against your lips. “you want me to fill you up baby?”

“yess- daddy please” your voice was broken and frantic. roman’s thrust got deeper, harder as he felt himself getting close. “fuck fuck fuck, yeah mama” he groans and rocks your hips to meet his thrust. you feel your insides warm up as his cum fills your pussy. you stay still for a moment, feeling it overflow and drip down him. he pulls out and watches it drip down your thighs. “such a pretty pussy baby” he groans, dragging a finger through your slit. “m’sorry for yelling mama” he places a hand on your cheek and pulls you against him. “you apologized just fine” you giggle and settle yourself into his embrace.

[taeyongdoyoung]

beg for you

summary: missing your ex, you stumble upon an interesting song that brings back memories you thought you could bottle up... pairing: vernon x reader genre: angst, smut, exes to online friends to lovers warnings: mentions of past break-up, reader felt neglected and lonely, insecurities, lowkey catfishing+lie by omission, swearing, song-writing themes, some serious talks, hand-holding, kissing, spitting, eating out, fingering, dom!vernon, orgasm denial, public unprotected sex (in a café bathroom), mainly lots of emotions, idk author's note: the fic was inspired by this iconic song, in particular vernon's verse and it has some occasional references to the lyrics in bold word count: 2.6k

It's been three months since you ended things with Vernon, blocked his number and all his socials and tried your best to forget about him. The reason for your break-up was mainly because you felt like he never had time for you, his music always came first and while that was appealing at the start of your relationship, it began to infuriate you and make you feel invisible towards its end. He would stand you up and forget about your dates more than once. He would make you feel like you were always his second choice. Not being around him hurts like hell, because you'd become so used to his presence that the lack of it brings so much emptiness. And also because a part of you still loves him.

One evening, you can't fall asleep so you're scrolling through some music apps. Suddenly you discover a new song. The artist hides their face behind a mask but their voice sounds somewhat familiar. Strangely enough, the lyrics just speak to you:

I don't think I'll ever feel this type of way again (This way again; Yеah, uh, yeah) I beg for you, please (Don't let go), don't let go of me, don't let go of me All the endless conversations about us been going on in our head In the night, we dream a future together and I feel bad in your bed I beg for you, please stay, I can't go a day without No, I can't go a day without you, hoo

So weird. It's like the artist knows exactly what's been on your mind for the past three months. You shut your phone off with a sigh and attempt to get some sleep. The next day, that same melody and those words haunt you. And the following day…It goes on for a while and you've become so obsessed with it that you try to do some research on the artist. Unfortunately, it's not of much help. Nobody knows the identity of the artist, how they look or their real name. It's frustrating but it is what it is. Maybe you should drop it. But then again…you really can't stop thinking about these fucking lyrics and how well they described how you've been feeling.

You decide to do something stupid and slide into the DMs of the anonymous artist. They'll probably never see this message as they have thousands of followers, but still, you need to get this off your chest somehow.

You: Hi, you probably get this a lot but your lyrics are really relatable, like they truly spoke to me and totally represent the way I've been feeling for the past three months. You're incredibly talented and I'd be happy to hear more of your music in the future.

It's a short message, nothing too crazy. You feel a sense of relief once you've sent it. You realize it doesn't matter if the artist ever sees it. You're just happy you were able to express your feelings.

To your immense shock, about 30 minutes later, you receive a notification. This is actually so insane you can't believe your eyes. The anonymous artist…texted you back?!

RevN98: Hi, this really means a lot to me. Actually, I don't get a lot of feedback, as I'm just starting out. I'll try my best to write more music. In what ways did you relate to the lyrics?

Is he seriously…initiating a discussion? It is wild enough he texted you back but the fact he wants to continue texting baffles you. But you are not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth. So, you respond rightaway.

You: I got out of a long-term relationship a couple of months ago and even though I should probably move on already, some part of me wishes my ex begged for me to stay. I know it's probably a selfish thought, considering I'm the one who broke up with the guy, but…I miss him sometimes and I keep thinking of a universe in which he'd fought for me.

After sending that message, you look at it in horror as you realize how personal it was. Why is it so easy to open up to a complete stranger? And not to people who actually know you…

You: Sorry, that was probably a whole bunch of TMI. Anyways, I really thought your lyrics were connected to how I was feeling if that makes sense.

You double text just in case. The response from the mysterious artist comes soon after.

RevN98: It makes sense, yeah. When I was writing them, I was also thinking about my past relationship. Honestly, I kind of wish I'd begged my ex to stay. I thought that by not doing so, I was respecting her wishes and giving her space. But now that it's been a while, I can't help but think I should have expressed myself better. I really miss her, though, so I guess that got reflected in the lyrics somehow.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts and figure out what to text.

You: Aw, man. Whoever your ex is, she's lucky to have such lyrics written about her. Even if it's over, maybe there's a way she finds your music and…I don't know, reconsiders things?

RevN98: Hah, that'd be a dream come true. I don't think she likes the kind of music I make.

You: Why not? Your music is great!

RevN98: Well, the truth is I was spending more time on my music than time with her. So, I guess that's one of the reasons for our break-up.

My God. This feels…too similar to your situation it gives you goosebumps. Despite that, it's like your fingers are possessed as they keep itching to text the anonymous artist back.

You: Time changes the way people feel. Maybe if you're honest with her and how you're feeling, there's a chance for a reconciliation. Or at least some closer. You should call her!

RevN98: I'd love that but she's blocked my number.

You: Use a friend's phone, duh!

RevN98: That'd be suspicious, considering I haven't told any of my friends about our break-up.

You: Dang…you're really not over this girl, huh?

RevN98: Not a chance.

You: So…what are you going to do?

RevN98: I don't know, for the time being texting you helps to ease the pain.

You: Likewise. But just to give you a heads-up, I'm not interested in any rebound relationship.

RevN98: Great. I'm not interested in that, either.

You: So…online buddies, then?

RevN98: Sounds good to me.

It is so strange how quickly the mysterious artist becomes part of your everyday life. You text each other quite often about anything. From what you've had for breakfast to what other music you've been listening to. From where you're planning to go with your friends to…how much you miss your exes. It is truly extraordinarily easy to talk to them. You still don't know much. How they look, what their real name is, where they live…But somehow it's enough knowing they're out there making awesome and relatable music.

Until one day it isn't.

You: We should meet up!

RevN98: I don't think that is a good idea…My schedule's crazy lately.

You: What do you mean? It's not like you have live performances.

You point out the obvious because from what you've gathered, maintaining this anonymity is key to RevN98.

RevN98: I just don't feel comfortable meeting in person…

You: Are you worried I'd expose your identity? You know I'm not that kind of person, right?

RevN98: I'm not worried about that. It's hard to explain. It would make sense if we met up, which is exactly why we can't meet up.

You: I'm super confused right now. But you know how important honesty is to me. So, it's now or never, I guess. If you don't want to meet up in the near future, I don't think I want to continue being friends…

You wait a couple of minutes, to give them a chance to make a decision. Finally, the response comes.

RevN98: Okay, let's meet up.

They text you a time and place. And then you ask the crucial question.

You: How will I know it's you?

RevN98: Trust me, you'll know.

This is…so cryptic. You guess you'll just have to rely on the fact that there are a bunch of photos of you on your profile, so the musician would be able to recognize you first.

When you arrive at the small café, you look around nervously, waiting. Negative thoughts keep haunting your mind. What if they change their mind in the last minute and stand you up? What if they are disappointed upon meeting you and never want to text you again? What if you were too harsh by giving an ultimatum? What if-

So many scenarios and you failed to consider the one that truly matters.

What if…you run into your ex at said café? What are the fucking odds?!

"What are you doing here?" you ask Vernon, sounding a bit too rude. Better to be rude than to burst into tears or something more embarrassing.

"Waiting for you," Vernon replies simply.

"What are you talking about?" you blink in confusion. Until it clicks…No. Freaking. Way.

Vernon sighs and takes his phone out, showing you the texts between you and RevN98. And the only explanation is…fucking hell. He is RevN98.

"Please, tell me you're joking right now."

"I wish I was," Vernon looks down, feeling guilty.

"How could you do this to me?" you inquire, eyes welling up already. You feel so weak upon seeing him.

"What was I supposed to do? You had me blocked on everything."

"What, and writing me a song under a false name sounded like the greatest idea?" you snap at him.

"I just needed to talk to you again. Somehow."

"Why? What is there to say?"

"I miss you," Vernon murmurs.

"You lied to me," you insist stubbornly.

"Please come back to me," he keeps trying.

"It's too late…" you try to reject him gently.

"I'm begging you," Vernon really wants a second chance.

You shake your head, but your hands are already reaching for his. Desperate to hold them one more time, you lean closer.

"I'm not taking you back," you keep fighting it.

"Okay," he nods.

"We're just…gonna talk, yeah? Seems a waste of my great outfit to go back home."

"Okay," Vernon repeatss.

As the two of you sit down to have a chat, suddenly all of the unsaid words and undelivered messages bubble up to the surface.

"I should have fought for you. I mean it. Music is important to me but not as much as you. You are my muse, how could I go another day without you?"

"It seems you've been doing a great job writing music without me," you say bitterly.

"Oh, yeah?" Vernon raises his eyebrows cockily. "Well, I bet I can write even better if you're back in my life."

"I was too harsh," you admit. "I let my overthinking and insecurities get the worst of me. When I broke up with you, it seems I had forgotten how much I love music, too. I was so caught up in my own dark thoughts that I didn't matter to you that things escalated."

"You had a point," Vernon chuckles sadly. "I wasn't giving you the attention you needed. The attention you deserve. I was being selfish."

"I was selfish, too," you confess. "I shouldn't have made you feel like you needed to make a choice between me and music."

"I would pick you. For the record."

"Record is exactly what you'll be making," you tease him. "I'm serious. I need to hear more of what you've been working on."

"I'd love to show you. But there's something else I'd like to do first," Vernon smirks mischievously.

He grabs your hand and takes you to the café's bathroom. He pushes you inside a free booth and locks the door behind him. He kisses you under the bathroom lights eagerly, not wanting to let go ever again.

"Hey!" you chide him playfully. "I said I wasn't taking you back."

"Too bad. 'Cause I'm taking you," Vernon says assertively.

"You…you've changed," you blink in surprise.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Vernon smiles and his palms dig into your lower back deliciously, as he kisses you again. "God, I missed this taste."

"You're insane," you laugh but you can't find it in you to deny it any longer. You want him so bad.

"Don't let go of me," he repeats the song's lyrics in your ear.

"I won't. As long as you promise the same," you ask.

Vernon doesn't say a word as he kneels in front of you. He picks up one of your legs and swings it over his shoulder as pulls your panties to the side. Suddenly, you're so grateful for your genius decision to wear a dress. He spits on your pussy and attacks your folds with his skilled tongue. You're already losing your mind over how good it feels, when suddenly, he pulls back.

You gasp in disappointment as your pleasure was so abruptly interrupted.

"Beg me," Vernon commands you easily. "Beg me to make you come."

"You're fucking insane," you refuse. You've always had a little bit of a brat in you.

Vernon, however, doesn't seem perturbed by your refusal to cooperate and sticks one finger inside you, teasing you slow enough to frustrate you but not fast enough to get you there. It hurts so sweetly you both hate and love it.

"Beg me," he repeats.

It would be so easy to do that. Just to get that sweet release…But the stubborn part of you is still stronger than the part of you that wants to come.

''Try harder," you grin cruelly.

Vernon is not one to back down from a challenge and unleashes his final weapon. He takes off his jeans and slides his hard cock inside you. Fuck. You'd forgotten how girthy he is.

"I missed you so much," he whispers in your ear. And his genuine words affect you more than his actions. And oh, how terribly you've missed him, too.

You hold on to the back of his neck, needing him for support. He keeps tormenting you, not moving a lot, just making you feel so full but so dissatisfied at the same time. You truly can't take it anymore.

"P-please, let me c-come," you beg for him hopelessly.

"There's my good girl," Vernon smiles proudly and adjusts his movements, adding pressure with his fingers so that you come in mere seconds.

"T-thank you, thank you," you chant, not knowing what demon possessed you to act this way.

"So polite," he laughs adorably and holds you close as he reaches his own high.

You don't want to let go of him ever again. But you're gonna have to, because you hear angry people who want to use the bathroom. Uh-oh.

You quickly try to clean each other up and rush outside, cheeks red with embarrassment.

You get a few weird looks from random people, but honestly, it doesn't matter. This felt too good.

"Sooo…" Vernon says once you've arrived at his chill but cozy apartment. "Does this mean you'll take me back?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Beg me nicely?" you suggest teasingly.

"Oh, you know I will," Vernon promises.

Bonus:

"Veeern, it's been hours, didn't you finish the song already?" you complain, desperate for his attention.

"Just five-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," you warn him, though you don't really mean it. You're just playing around. You know he cares about you deeply. Perhaps more deeply that he lets on.

"Won't you wait another hour or two?" Vernon teases you back.

"You know what? I'd wait as long as it takes," you smile and put your lips on his lips.

The End

[serenityluvz]

𝙀𝙣𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙃𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙤𝙤 𝙀𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

Heeseung – “I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

Heeseung hates that it happened. He’s usually so in control, so confident—but the moment he’s inside you, feeling how tight and warm you are, he’s done for. He barely lasts a minute before he’s groaning your name, gripping your hips as he shudders through his release. His face is flushed, his breathing heavy as he collapses beside you. "Fuck," he pants, running a hand through his hair. "That… was not supposed to happen." When you giggle, he groans, covering his face. "Don’t laugh at me, baby. Just—give me five minutes, and I swear I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget this ever happened." And true to his word? He does.

Jay – “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Jay is so frustrated. He wanted to take his time with you, tease you, make you beg—but your body, your voice, the way you clench around him? It’s too much. He tries to hold out, but the second you moan his name, he’s gone. When he realizes what just happened, he pulls out, groaning as he flops onto his back. "Fuck me." You smirk, rolling onto your side. "I mean, I was trying to." His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. "Don’t you dare look at me like that, Y/N," he warns. "You know I can go again." And just to prove his point, he’s already flipping you onto your stomach, pressing kisses down your spine. "I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping anytime soon, baby."

Jake – “You just feel too good.”

Jake doesn’t even try to hide how embarrassed he is. The second he finishes—far too soon—he groans, rolling off you and covering his face with his hands. "Shit, Y/N… I’m so sorry." You bite back a laugh, nudging his side. "It’s okay, Jake." He shakes his head, peeking at you through his fingers. "No, it’s not. I wanted to make you feel good, but you’re just—fuck, you’re too perfect." Then, with that determined glint in his eyes, he’s sliding down your body, pressing soft kisses along your thighs. "Guess I’ll have to use my mouth until I’m ready again, huh?"

Sunghoon – “I swear this never happens.”

Sunghoon is mortified. He’s usually so composed, so controlled—but tonight? Your touch, your lips, the way you look up at him with those innocent eyes? He loses it before he can even get a proper rhythm going. He lets out a frustrated groan, resting his forehead against your shoulder. "I swear this never happens." You hum, running your fingers through his hair. "It’s kind of hot, though. Means you really wanted me." He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes. "Don’t try to make me feel better, baby." But when you pull him into a slow, teasing kiss, whispering, "Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me,"—his confidence snaps right back into place. "Oh, I will. All night."

Jungwon – “You’re really gonna tease me for this, huh?”

Jungwon hates that he lost control so fast. He prides himself on his self-restraint, but fuck, the way you feel around him? He barely lasts a few thrusts before he’s spilling inside you, groaning into your neck. For a moment, he stays still, trying to catch his breath. Then, he hears you giggle. His eyes snap open. "Oh, hell no." You bite your lip, grinning. "I mean… that was kind of fast." His jaw clenches, and suddenly, you’re on your back, his lips brushing your ear. "You really wanna tease me? Alright, baby," he murmurs, sliding down your body. "Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I’m done with you."

Ni-ki – “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Ni-ki swears he’s better than this. He’s been dreaming about this moment for so long, but the second he’s inside you? His brain short-circuits. You’re just so tight and warm, and before he can even process it—he’s already coming, groaning as his body trembles against yours. Silence. Then, he groans, rolling onto his side and burying his face in a pillow. "I’m going to die of embarrassment." You laugh, tugging the pillow away. "Ni-ki, it’s not a big deal—"

"YES, IT IS!" he exclaims, eyes wide. "This was supposed to be legendary!" But when you straddle his hips, leaning down to whisper, "We can go again, you know?"—his whole demeanor changes. "Oh. Ohhh, you’re in for it now, baby."

Sunoo – “Well… that was disappointing.”

Sunoo immediately sits up, blinking at you like he can’t believe what just happened. "Huh." You raise a brow. "…Huh?" He pouts, flopping onto his back. "Well, that was disappointing." You try so hard not to laugh, but his dramatic sigh has you giggling. "Sunoo, it’s fine—"

"No, it’s not fine, Y/N," he huffs. "I didn’t even get to show off!" But when you crawl over him, whispering, "You can always redeem yourself,"—his eyes darken. "Oh, you know I love a challenge."

[wlwsoccerfics]

LionessesXDeafReader)

Warning: deaf reader

A/N : when i Put something in ' ' it means it's signed

Summary: you get called up for your first England Camp and people are not taking it well. the fact that you are Keira Walsh's Baby sister doesn't make it any either. And you start doubting If you even should be there.

You sit on a bean bag in the gaming/TV room at England Camp. It was just the first day. The comments you have read so far were mostly great and supportive under the Team list of who made the cut. But then you read comments about yourself. Lots of mean ones including:

'how is she supposed to win us anything? she can't even hear instructions!'

'she is only on the team cause of Keira. she must have put a good word in for y/n.'

'her on the Team feels like a charity case!'

There were lots more of those comments. Which only made your self doubt become worse. Even though if it was just a first full day everyone had noticed that you were acting distant. Especially towards your sister & on top of that Grace. Your girlfriend. You just wanted to focus on football. Deep down you knew you were able to play at this level. You were one of the Star Players at Arsenal. Yes you and your sister played for two different teams. So did you and your girlfriend. But your best friend Alessia was playing for Arsenal with you. While your girlfriend Grace was playing with your other best friend Tooney. If you weren't any good Sarina wouldn't have called you up to play for the lionesses. But still theres a part of you hurt by people thinking just because you were deaf that you couldn't do your job. In the last five games for Arsenal you scored 7 Goals. That alone was saying alot. Yet there were still people wanting to bring you down.

'you are avoiding me!' you see your girlfriend sign, she showed up out of nowhere so you put your phone away.

'i am not!' you look at her and frown.

'you are! you are also avoiding Keira, Less & Tooney. And basically everyone!' she was clearly concerned.

'grace i am fine. just let it go.'

The fact that you didn't use a cute pet name for her was confirmation enough that something was totally not right.

Less and Tooney were also in the room, looking over at the two of you. they knew something was up as soon as you said you didn't want to play cards with them. And the discussion you had with Grace only confirmed that for them as well.

At the same time with Keira, Leah and Lucy...

"Keira, i think i know why your sister is keeping to herself." Lucy told her. Handing her Phone over to her. Showing the comments under the Squad post that are related to you.

"that's nasty!" Leah said, after Keira wordlessly showed them to her.

"i hope she knows that this Is crap. Nothing about this Is true!" Keira stated.

"well you should try and talk to her about that." Lucy replied.

'yeah either you do it or i will. If we wait for too long she is gonna Spiral!" Your England Captain and Arsenal teammate said.

"i will talk to her, don't worry about it." Keira let them know and then went to look for you.

She found you and Grace still arguing. Looking over at Less & Tooney.

"what is this about?" Keira asked your two best friends.

"y/n is claiming how fine things are and that she is not avoiding anyone! Even though we all know she is!" Tooney stated.

"they going back and forth now for almost 20 minutes!" Alessia explained.

"i want to know why she is avoiding us." Tooney stated and Keira grabbed her own Phone to show her and Lessi.

"Lucy thinks this might be the reason and honestly i think so too!" Keira let them know.

"oh my god. This Is terrible. And not true! She deserves to be here!" Alessia stated.

"which is why i will talk to her now." Your sister answered.

The Talk with Grace has gotten to a point where you both have gotten frustrated with one another that you stood up and wanted to race past your sister but Keira quickly grabbed your hand.

'stay. We need to Talk.'

'no we don't!'

'you do need to start letting us in on what's happening.' Alessia looked at you. Worry written across her face.

'fine. what do you want to know?'

'why you are acting this way. You avoiding us is not normal.'

'i don't belong here.'

'so it's about the comments!' Keira let out a soft sigh. Grace now standing next to you.

'what comments?' she wanted to know. Keira showing her the comments. Grace looked mad now.

'those comments are not true! you are amazing and you deserve this place in the Team!' Grace let you know.

'deep down i know. but those comments still hurt. i just want to show them how wrong they are!'

'then let's do that!' Tooney smiled at you.

The team put out a Statement that there is no place for bullying in any form. And that people who are disrespectful towards the players, especially the Younger ones Like you (you were only 22 years old) shouldn't watch the games.

You could Show them what you are made of during a Game against Portugal were you scored two Goals during your debut which sure did shut up the haters. Getting praised by your teammates and Sarina.

You couldn't hear but your eyes were working perfectly fine.

[megs-1800]

No Strings Attached

Summary: Friends with benefits is always difficult especially when one of you catch feelings. Will Mason have the same feelings or will you lose him forever?

Pairings: Mason Mount x Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Angst, Fluff and Smut

“T-that was i-incredible” Mason pants as he rolls off me and flops himself on the bed next to me trying to catch his breathe. “Our sex always is incredible” I say rolling onto my stomach crashing my arm onto his chest whilst he tickles up and down it. I look into Mason’s eyes which I can see the spotlight from the ceiling are making them sparkle. Fuck he is so gorgeous. Mason sits up and looks at the time “I probably should make a move, I got training early tomorrow morning”. I give him puppy eyes hoping he would stay but I knew what I signed up for. Mason and I met a year ago, my best friend Paige is dating Ben Chilwell, she introduced me to Mason at a party of theirs. At the time I was happily engaged but the bastard ended up cheating on me, well turns out he was cheating all along. Me and Mason got drunk and ended up sleeping together, but from there we kind of just stayed a type of friends with benefits, he was there for me when I needed and vice versa. ‘No strings attached’ we said. “When am I next seeing you?” I ask and Mason gives me a smirk as he looks me up and down. “I will call you yeah”. I wink at him knowing he always calls.

I didn’t hear from Mason for the next couple of days but that’s not out of the ordinary, we go days not talking then we can go days with non-stop talking. I could say he is on the border of being one of my best friends, if I being honest he knows me better then I know myself sometimes, but I feel like we could never be proper friends due to our activities together. I throw myself on the sofa after a awfully long week, I turn on the TV and see that United are playing, it’s a Saturday early game so not much else to watch and thought it would be nice to show Mason some support. That’s why Mason hasn’t been talkative he has been putting his all into preparing for the game I thought. However 38 minutes into the game I watch how the opposition player tackles Mason and takes him completely down, I watch how he is screaming and rolling around in pain. I can see the pain in his eyes, I know he is more annoyed at being taken off rather than the pain of the tackle, he has worked so hard to get back and already being subbed must kill him. I quickly text him knowing that when he is free he will respond:

Y/N: How you feeling? x

I couple of hours passed and I hear my phone buzz and looking down and seeing Mason has replied:

M: Like shit how do you think I am feeling

Y/N: sorry silly question x

I feel bad for him but I didn’t know what else to say, I am taken back by his bluntness but I know he is hurting right now, I know deep down he doesn’t mean it. Another hour passed and my phone buzzes again:

M: Sorry y/n/n its just so frustrating you know I worked so hard for what, to play 38 minutes its just shit. The press has already slaughtered me, I just feel like shit but I don’t mean to take it out on you xx

Y/N: Don’t listen to the stupid press they just want a story. You are amazing Mase, injuries happen that’s the joys of being a footballer but don’t let them get you down. You know I am always your number one fan. I will whip you back into fitness in no time ;) xx

M: I can always count on you to make me laugh. Chilly said you are out with Paige tonight but I don’t suppose you can come here beforehand please? You can get ready here, I just hate being alone right now xxx

Y/N: I am already on my way superstar xxx

I quickly pack all of things that I would need for the night and then make my way to Masons. Everytime I go there it leaves me speechless, it definitely puts my one bedroom flat to shame. Mason opens the door, I can see he is wearing a pair of shorts and has he left ankle wrapped and is limping to the sofa. “Can I do anything?” I ask assessing his wounds. “you can do a lot of things” he raises his eyebrows and smirks seductively, he quickly continues “I am joking, you can get me a jumper please I just cannot bring myself to tackle the stairs yet”. I nod and quickly run upstairs and grab my favourite hoodie of his. I run back down the stairs and give it to him, he looks at me and smiles “how did I know you were going to get me this one” he laughs “am I that predictable?”. I make me and Mason a cup of tea and come join him on the sofa. He puts his arm up so I can turn my body into his chest, he has his ankle rest up in front of him. He continues to stoke my hair and we sit there in silence for what feels like forever. I go to look at the time, “jheez I gotta start getting ready” I start to move which Mason holds me tighter. “5 more minutes you have no idea how easy you take away the pain”. I smile into his chest, I love that I have that impact on him.

I look at myself in the mirror as I make one more curl in my hair, I am wearing a short black dress with laced sleeves and I matched it with a pair of black heels. I carefully make my way downstairs, I watch as Mason’s eyes look up from his phone and his eyes follow up and down, as I do a little playful swirl “you look insane” Mason states and I can feel myself blush. As I walk over to get my bag I heard my phone ding, I walk over to check it and my face drops “whats up?” Mason looks at me concerned. I take my heels off and flop myself on the sofa next to Mason “well that’s Paige cancelling last minute- again!” I groan. Mason looks at me sympathetically “has she cancelled on you a lot?”  I nod to his question “yeah since she got with Chilly she has all her WAG friends now so I am kind of second best. I still love her but I guess she has more important places to be” I say defeated feeling sorry for myself.

Mason smiles “well we can party here?”  I look at him and laugh “what with you that has one leg and is on strong painkillers so cannot drink? Great party!” I joke back. Mason clutches his chest where his heart is like I hurt his feelings “ouch!” I jab him in arm “thank you for making me feel better. Well I guess one good thing is I could go and put a tracksuit on and stuff my face now” I start to make my way upstairs when I hear him shout “You can wear that new tracksuit of mine that you like, I will order your favourite”.

I am laughing away with Mason, I am wearing his new Gucci oversized tracksuit, its massive on him so it drowns me but I am so comfortable. “I have never known someone who looks as beautiful all dressed down as they do all dressed up. You are going to make someone a real lucky guy one day”. I can feel myself blush at Mason’s words, he always knew how to pull on the heart strings. “Why you being so cute Mount? You wanna get into my knickers or something?” I heard him laugh and then lean in close to me “Maybeee?” I snigger at his comment “well you are in no state to ‘rock my world’ tonight Mase” he learns back and raises his eyebrows at me “Maybe but I bet even with my injured ankle I am still the best sex you ever had”. I laugh, I love how he has such a big ego.

Another hour passes, “its getting late I best get going” Mason gives me pleading eyes “please stay y/n. I need help to get up the stairs please” I nod “okay  I will help you up the stairs and into bed then I am leaving”. Mason gives me a slow nod in response but I can tell there is something deeper in his eyes. I help him hobble up the stairs as I allow him to put the pressure onto me, I am struggling under his weight but I am determined to get him there. We eventually make it to his bedroom and I help him walk over to the bed. “I still cannot get over this room, this room is the size of my whole flat”. Mason shrugs his shoulders “perks of being a footballer I suppose”. He starts to get underdressed and I quickly shield my eyes “right I need to be going. Thanks for tonight Mase”. Mason pats the spot next to him in bed “why do you hide away its not like you haven’t seen it all before, but come join me” I hesitate for a minute but I know he will win. “There is a pair of my boxers and tshirts in the drawer you can wear for now” I thanked him and put them all.

His glaze doesn’t leave mine as he watches me get into his clothes “I have never known someone to look so fit in a pair of mens boxers you know” I am taking that compliment. I throw the covers back and join him in bed “I never get over how big and comfy this bed is” I stretch out as I show gratitude to the bed. Mason leans in and tickles up and down my sides which gives me goosebumps, he then extends his hands strokes the sides of my face “you are so beautiful never let anyone tell you different” I lean in closer to Mason so our lips are brushing against eachother “you are full of compliments tonight Mount”.

With that our lips come crashing together, our tongues fighting for dominance which I eventually allow Mason control, I always end up giving into him. I can feel Mason grinding his hips into mine and the blunge between us becoming apparent, Mason moves him lips to my neck and I cannot stop the moans that come out. I reach down to take him in my hands and I feel Mason stop my hands, I look at him confused. “I am not going to last long I need to be inside you” I nod knowing exactly what he means, I am in no mood for foreplay I need to feel that dick stretch me out. He removes his pants and climbs on top of me and puts legs so they wrap around his waist he slides the boxers I am wearing to the side and slowly lines himself up with me. “F-fuck” he moans into my neck “I love feeling that pussy stretch out for me” Mason starts a slow pace then it hits me “Mase your ankle lets swap” I offer. Mason shakes his head and continues his pace, I can hear him getting harder and faster and I know that he is close and he is edging me closer too. I can then feel his pace slow down and then I see him wince “swap” I demand and Mason gives him and flops down next to me “sorry I want to ruin you right now, bloody fucking ankle”. I kiss him to shut him up as I climb on top of him, I usually hate being on top as I am insecure about my body but Mason makes me feel so comfortable, I have no objections. I line him up with my entrance and slowly lower myself down, we grown in unity as I start to bounce up and down on his dick. He removes the tshirt I am wearing and starts playing with my tits, I can feel his fingers grazing over my nipple as he is inching me closer to my orgasm. “uh right there M-Mase r-right t-there” I moan as I come undone all over his dick, with that I feel Mason’s dick twitch inside me as he moans my name into my neck.

I flop off him as we both catch our breathe “see injured and I am still the best sex you ever had” which he winks at me. “Who said that you was the best sex I have ever had?” I tease as we both know he was the best guy I have slept with, “I think from the way you just screamed my name as you cum all over my dick had something to do with it”. I quickly get up and get cleaned up and bring Mason in some tissue as I know he is going to struggle to get out of bed. I go to get dressed as Mason stops me “what are you doing?” I look at him confused “I am getting dressed what does it look like I am doing?”

Mason shakes his head “stay with me tonight”

“Isn’t that breaking one of our rules ‘no sleepovers’ remember you were there when we set them”

“Yes and now I am saying lets break this one just for tonight. Please it will be nice not to be on my own. You know in case I need the toilet or something” I know there is more to that but I am not going to argue.

“Okay just this once” I reply as I throw back on the tshift I was wearing earlier and climb back into bed with him. Mason grins like the Cheshire cat as he pulls his arm out so I can lay on his chest. The small sound of his heart beating sends me to sleep.

A wake up as I see the sun drifting in through the blinds, I see Mason hobbling out the bathroom “Hey you are not supposed to be walking without support” I scold him.

“Well if I waited for sleeping beauty to wake up I would of exploded I have a bladder of a child” he giggles as he hobbles back to the bed and throws himself next to me. “Whats your plans for today?”  he asks

“Not much I am helping one of the girls I work with move this afternoon, so probably have to leave soon” Mason pouts at that statement, “what about you Mount?”

Mason looks down like he doesn’t want to tell me the next part “Rebecca is coming down to spend time with me today”

I look at him confused as I bring his chin up to me so our eyes meet “whos Rebecca?”

Mason looks back down again as he didn’t wants to meet my gaze “she is a girl I have been seeing?” I jump out of bed at this comment.

“What the fuck are you talking about Mason? We just had sex and now you wanna tell me you are seeing someone. What the fuck Mason!!!” I am now screaming and throwing my hands around. I am starting to get dressed as I am shouting.

“We said no strings attached Y/N”

“I know that Mason! I don’t mean it like that, I mean that you have cheated on that poor girl with me. You have made me the other women that’s disgusting Mason! You know I have been cheated on why would you do that to me!” Mason gestures for me to sit at the end of the bed so I do, hoping he will let me calm down.

“We are not exclusive, we have only been on a couple of dates. We haven’t even slept together yet. I know its wrong Y/N you just do these things to me, you make me feel so much better and I know I do the same for you. I am sorry we can stop now if it will make you feel better.” I give him a look so he knows I am not impressed but I know nothing is going to change what happened so no point dwelling on it, so I nod in agreement.

“No more sex but still friends yeah” I lean to him and put out my pinkie finger. He wraps his pinkie around and places a kiss to it. “the best of friends” he replies.

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A year has passed since that morning and Mason and I have kept our word and haven’t slept together. We are still close and talk near enough everyday but we are just keeping it to friendly flirting and not taking it any further than that. I miss that closeness though, I feel like I haven’t been able to feel that closeness with anyone else. Even with my partner James its different, we have been dating for nearly a year, I met him shortly after Mason and I’s ‘no more sex’ pact, Mason is still dating that Rebecca, it seems to be going well. I am happy with James, he is successful and passionate and loving and everything I should want in a man, but I don’t know I feel like something is missing. Maybe that’s just me being silly, always looking for a ‘but’ in a relationship. Maybe this will be my happy ever after, after all.

“Pleaseeeeee come out tonight y/n/n! It won’t be the same without you” Paige begs on the phone.

“I don’t know Paige. It’s a very A list party I am not sure I would fit in babes”

“Oh come on Y/n you said that James is working so what else are you going to be doing on New Years Eve. I hate the thought of you sitting at home on your own pleaseeee. You know us and Mason is going to be there.” The thought of Mason there does heal the anxiety of going a little bit.

“Okay Paige I agree I will think about it okay”

“That’s all I am asking babes. Love ya”.

I am still not sure if I want to go or not, I am constantly fighting with my head. Paige is hosting a New Years party at Ben Chilwell’s but my anxiety is going through the roof of the thought of going to the party with all these famous people and I am just little old me. I just got home from work when I get a text message:

M: Please tell me you are going to Chilly’s NYE Party! Paige said you haven’t got back to her yet. Please I need to see drunk y/n, I haven’t seen her in a long time. She is a laugh, give the people want they want!!! Drunk y/n drunk y/n! xx

I giggle at his message and quickly hit reply.

Y/N: I don’t know, my anxiety isn’t great Mase there is going to be a lot of people there and I will literally know Chilly, Paige and you. But at the same time work has been mad recently so would be nice to let my hair down. Aww I don’t know Mase xxx

M: Pleaseeeee do it for me xx

Y/N: Okay you have persuaded me. You are my weakness Mount. I will see you there xx

It takes me days to decide what to wear for New Years Eye, I don’t want to be too dressed up as its only a house party but I don’t want to show up not making an effort. Its got to NYE, I finished work early so I got time to get ready but I still have no idea what to wear. I have finished my hair and makeup but just no outfit.

M: What time are you getting there for? I am staying the night so I can come and get you on the way if you want? X

Y/N: Thanks that would be great. I will be ready for whatever time you want me ready for xx

M: Ready for 7? X

Y/N: Perfect! Well it would be if I knew what to wear x

M: You look amazing in anything! Wear that white thing with the trousers and the fluffy bits I like that one x

Y/N: Thank you but I have put some weight on since I last worn that so I don’t know x

M: Well try it on and see I bet you will still look amazing ;) x

I quickly find the outfit he is talking about and snap a photo of me in it. I really don’t know about it but I send it to Mason and see what he says.

M: See I knew I was right. I am leaving mine now so see you soon xx

Mason messages me when he is outside, and I make a way to his car. He is wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a nice top. “See I knew I was right you look lovely” I can feel myself blush “thank you Mase you look really nice too. I just don’t know if it’s a little tight around the stomach” I say trying to grab the material away from the stomach feeling insecure. I watch Mason’s eyes flicker up and down over me “you look amazing! Now stop it we going to have a great night!” I nod knowing he was right, tonight is going to be the best.

The rest of the night is amazing, Mason barely leaves my side as we speak to others at the party. I know he can sense my anxiety I even feel his hand rub my waist when he can sense I am uncomfortable, he always knows how to make me feel safe. I am on drink ‘I cannot even remember’ now and I can feel myself start to get a little tipsy. Mason looks over me with his hand wrapped around my side as he looks down at me “so where’s James tonight?” for a second I want to say ‘who is he talking about?’ due to the alcohol consumed. “He is working tonight. What about you? I am sure Rebecca would of jumped at the chance to be at a NYE party with you? I like Rebecca she is sweet”.

I can feel how tipsy I am with how unstable I have become on my feet “she is a nice girl. She is with her family tonight though. She thinks a lot of you though y/n, she really likes you too”.

I pull away from Mason’s grip “yeah she wouldn’t like me though Mason if she knew we slept together when you first got together”. I watch Mason’s face drop as I know he feels as guilty about it as I do. “Come on lets not dwell on that, lets just enjoy the night” which with that he grabs his arm around my waist.

The rest of night I can feel my anxiety start to fade with the amount of alcohol consumed. I loose Mason for a little while but with the liquid courage I have brought myself to chat to other people. I am dancing with a couple of girls that I have got chatting too when I can feel someone behind me and wrapped their arms around me, at first I thought it was Mason so I settle into it a little but then I felt their hands roll down the outside of my thighs and pushes their body into mine. I hear them whisper into my ear “I love the little show you put on for me. Shake it for me baby”. I quickly tense up and I turn around realising I have no idea who this guy is. “Who are you? What are you talking about?” I suddenly feel uneasy and try and back away from the guy. “Come on don’t be a tease baby. I know you were shaking it for me”. I watch how his eye darken and he grabs my waist. I can feel his fingers digging into me whilst his other hand wraps around my wrist. I suddenly begin to panic. “please let me go” I beg, but he doesn’t reply he just tightens his grip.

Suddenly I feel another’s presence “If I were you were mate I would let her go”. I feel the grip loosen slightly. I know that voice, Mason!  I see the guys face turn from lust to anger “and who are you mate? She wants it! She has been dancing in front of me all night telling me she wants it. Look at her of course she wants it!” I can feel my heart drop do I really look like a slut? I was just trying to have a good time. I watch the rage in Mason’s eye’s “I will say it again I suggest you let her go before we got a problem.” The guy lets me go and squares up to Mason “yeah is it now. I suggest we take this outside”. I know Mason isn’t a fighter and I really don’t want him to get injured over me. I take Mason’s hand “come on just leave it Mase its not worth it.” I plead for Mason to drop it, not wanting to make more of a scene about it. ”Stay out of this you little slut! If the famous Mason Mount thinks he can try it with me, then lets go!” Mason doesn’t reply all I see is a swing and Mason’s hand colliding with the guys cheek which knocks the guy onto the floor. Chilly and a couple more people seeing the commotion quickly dragged the guy out whilst Mason looks at me and then quickly storms into the kitchen. Feeling embarrassed with all eyes on me I quickly run to the bathroom.

I can feel my heart beating in my chest, I cannot believe Mason just hit that guy. I can feel my eyes starting to water. Mason is always there to save me, but he didn’t need to do that. I compose myself after a couple of minutes and make my way back to the party. I bump into Paige “are you okay babes? I don’t know who that guy thinks he is? I don’t even know who he is I think he is a plus one”. I wrap my arms around Paige and settle into the hug “I am okay Paige, honestly. Well thanks to Mason I am. I am probably going to make a move though that guy has ruined my vibe”. Paige pulls away from the hug “no please y/n/n don’t leave!” I hesitate “I need to go find Mason and check he is okay”. Paige nods “I think he is in the kitchen”. I thank her and made my way to the kitchen.  

I turn the corner and I can see Mason having a conversation with a couple of the boys “come on man! There was no need to punch him” I hear one of them say, I hear Mason grunt “he was groping her! Then you should of seen the way he spoke about her it was fucking disgusting I didn’t mean to hit him I just flipped”. I hear one of the cough and they all look up to me which the other men remove themselves from the kitchen.

“How you doing?” he asks me, I melt at his compassionate.

“You are asking me how I am doing? You are the one who punched someone. Hows your hand?” He lifted his hand up so I could inspect his knuckle. He winces as I touch the wound. I grab the bag of ice that is lied on the side and put it back onto the knuckle, which Mason hisses and swears. “I’m sorry”.

Mason looks at me and grabs the side of my face “what are you sorry for? He was the asshole and it was my choice to punch him. None of this is your fault”. Mason uses his un-injured hand to place a stand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t listen to a word he said. You look incredible and you deserve to dance and have a good time without being harassed.” He shoots me a reassuring smile. Which I return.

“Thanks Mase for saving the day! I am probably going to make a move now tho. I just want to forget tonight ever happened”. I see the sadness in Mason’s eye.

“What?! You cannot leave now. Its New Years in an hour come on just see the New Year in then I will let you go. Please I punched a guy for you, the least you can do is stay for me”. He jokes the last part but still it has persuaded me.

“Okay Okay you really are my weakness Mount. I will stay for you, but just until midnight” Mason gives me a toothy smile in return. “Just until midnight” he repeats back.  

The rest of the evening is a laugh, I continue drinking  and I am now totally smashed, which looking at Mason he is the same. We are dancing away together, chatting away with everyone. It gets to the New Years countdown and we are all cramped into the living room counting down together. As the numbers are getting smaller, I am not sure what to do. 12….11..Should I kiss Mason? 10…9.. Mason looks down at me, I am wondering if he is thinking the same? 8….7 Mason wraps an arm around my side and holds me closer. 6…5.. He closes the gap between us I look between his lips and his eyes. 4…3…2…1… before I know it our lips are connected. I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him closer as we continue to kiss. He pulls away and I see him bite his lips “happy new year beautiful” I lean in again which Mason returns the kiss as we pull away I talk “happy new year Mase”. I can feel butterflies in my stomach, right now in this moment, everything feels right.

Another hour passes and I can start to feel the alcohol wearing off, I say my goodbyes to Paige and Ben and I continue to walk round trying to find Mason. I haven’t seen him for the last 20 minutes which was weird as we have been attached at the hip during this party. I really don’t want to leave without staying goodbye. I look everywhere I can think of but he is nowhere to be found where can he be? I thought. My uber messages to say they are outside and I know I need to go, I check one more place before going Ben’s spare room. I knock lightly on the door and slowly open the door. I see Mason sat on the bed smiling at me “there you are!” I grin “I have been looking for you”.

Mason gets up and comes to meet me at the door, “I came to say goodbye, my uber is outside”. I explain. Mason doesn’t say a word and continue to look at me. We continue to stand there in silence, “okay well thank you for tonight. Its been the best night, and you know thank you for saving me and all that. So I guess I will see you soon”. Mason still doesn’t say anything and I can feel the air between us is weird, its never like this between us I wondered what’s happened. Mason then closes the gap between us, he brings my chin up so I am looking into his eyes. There is a sparkle in his eyes, Passion! He slowly lowers himself down and I can feel our lips brushing against eachother, it’s a slow loving kiss. It’s a kiss we have never had before. Mason hands lower and I can feel them brushing against my bum, he gives it a little squeeze before he continues the kiss. This time the kiss is needy as I can feel his tongue dominating my mouth. We both pull away fighting for breathe “I really gotta go my ubers waiting” Mason hums into my mouth as he continues the kiss “then go then” he kisses me, another deep kiss “or I can refund you the money you paid for the uber and you can stay here”. Mason and I continuing to kiss and right now in this moment all I can think about is the growing bulge between us. I can feel myself fighting with my head.

Mason rips his shirt over his head and exposes his toned chest, my lips water at the sight of it. We haven’t been this intimate in a year. I run my fingers down his chest as we continue the kiss, I can feel him moaning into my mouth. Mason turns me round and I can feel him grinding into my bum, which his dick is now rock hard. He starts to kiss down my neck and I know he is leaving me a hickey, I can feel the zipper of my jumpsuit and before I know it I am left in my underwear. Mason turns me around and looks me up and down “fuck you are so beautiful” he says making me blush and my instinct is to suddenly try and cover up. He grabs my arms away “come on its me. No need to hide away”. Our lips are connected again, I help Mason remove his trousers so we are both left in our underwear. Our hands are exploring eachother’s bodies, I can feel myself moaning as he brushes over the spot I need him most. That’s when reality hits me I quickly pull away “Mase what are we doing? We cannot do this?” Mason pulls away and takes a deep breath “I don’t know y/n you just do something to me. I just can’t handle myself around you. If you don’t want to do anything then its fine you can do home.” We both stand there, staring at eachother. My heart bonding through my chest whilst my head is fighting with my heart.

I wrap my arms around his neck “Mase I don’t know! I got James and you got Rebecca. We cannot do this to them. What if they find out?” Mason is continuing to tickle up and down my back “I will repeat y/n if you don’t want to do anything we don’t have too. But why are you worrying about them finding out? Its only us here”. I know he was right, I jump onto Mason which he catches me and wraps my legs around his waist. We both look into eachothers eyes and I can feel my heart melt, “I’m guessing that means you have opted in for the best sex of your life”. I roll my eyes as Mason walks me over to the bed and throws me down.

He quickly joins me and climbs inbetween my legs, I know what I am doing is wrong. I know I shouldn’t be doing this to James, but its Mason, its like he has a spell over me. All thoughts of James disappear as Mason kisses down my body, he unclips my bra and I can feel him flip my tipple through his tongue and slowly grazes them with his teeth “m-mase” I whimper. Mason continues to kiss down my body until he is finally at my core. He lifts my hips up so he can remove my thong then leaves a trial of kisses up my thighs, I try and contain my moans as I know we have to keep quiet but its so hard when I can feel his hot breathe on my pussy. He gives me one long swipe with his tongue and I scream out his name. He giggles and looks up at me, I give him pleading eyes begging him to go back to where he was “as much I love hearing you scream my name y/n we need to be quiet so we don’t get caught okay”. I nod in agreement hoping he will quickly return to where he was. Mason focuses on my clit and I can feel myself coming undone underneath him, Mason quickly inserts 2 fingers inside me as his tongue pays attention to my clit. I grab the pillow next to me and place it over my mouth to give me something to bite down on to stop me from screaming, I am a mess from Mason’s touch “fuck I have missed your fingers and mouth. Its so fucking good!” I am able to mutter which I can feel Mason smile into it. I am so close “go on baby let yourself go I know you wanna”. I relax my body and I can feel myself hitting my high, I try my hardest to be quiet but his name escapes my lips a little too loud.

Mason hovers back over me “I am sorry I didn’t mean to be so loud” I cover my face a little now feeling slightly embarrassed. Mason shakes his head “Baby girl you screaming my name is my weakness”. I smile into Mason as connect again, I can taste my cum in his mouth. I help Mason remove his boxers and his dick suddenly springs free I reach inbetween us and start to slowly pump him. I can feel him moaning into my neck from my touch which is giving the confidence to keep going. I connect my mouth to his neck and I start sucking away giving him a matching hickey to the one he gave me earlier “U-uh y-n d-don’t stop” he moans into my neck. I quickly flip us over so I am now in control, I can see the lust in Mason’s eyes as he watches me kiss down his toned body. I reach his cock and play around with it in my palm, I give the top small kisses and licks and then put it into the back of my throat as I choke on it, I know Mason loves it when I choke on it. I can hear Mason mutter words of recognition which is urging me to go harder and deeper. Mason reaches down and starts playing with my hair as he pushes my head down onto his cock when I hear a loud moan escape his lips. He quickly brings me back up so we are eye to eye again. “I need you” he begs.

Understanding exactly how Mason feels I climb back into my seated position and line myself up with him. Mason quickly stops me, looking at him confused “whats wrong?” I ask. Mason quickly shakes his head so I know its nothing that I am doing wrong. “Last time we slept together, me ankle was all messed up. So this time I wanna be on top, I need to absolutely ruin you y/n”. With that Mason flips us over so he his hoovering over me, placing all his weight on his arms that are either side of my head. Mason lines himself up with me and we both watch eachother as it goes in, I can feel myself stretching due to his size. Mason gives me a couple of seconds to adjust and then starts his rhythm. He is starting to speed up and I know he has got the pace that he wants, he starts hitting the spot and I can feel myself seeing stars “fuck your cock is so good”  I manage to get out. “Believe me its nothing compared to this pussy, fuck yeah just like that”. Masons thrust have become sloppy and I know he is close. “You got another one in there for me baby” I nod my head as I cannot manage any words, Mason is destroying me. He pins my hips down and gives another couple of hard thrusts and with that I unravel onto his cock. This helps Mason hit his high as a couple of seconds later he quickly pulls out “fuck yeah shit so f-f-ucking good!”  he moans as he cums all over my stomach and flops next to me on the bed. “Have I told you before how incredible our sex is?” Mason asks, I giggle in response “Yes, you have actually a couple of times”.

It’s the best night sleep I have had in ages, I roll over and Mason has his back to me. I allow myself to trace his the outline of his muscles with my fingers as he groans in appreciation. He rolls over to meet my eyes. “I gotta get going soon” Mason says bringing me out of my daydream. I look over at the clock and see its 11am “Yeah I need to as well. I need to sneak out before anyone sees me here”. Mason laughs knowing I am right. I get myself out of bed and force my feet into the ensuite, I gasp as I see the purple bruise that is glistening on my neck “Mason what the fuck! How am I going to go home with that?” Mason is quickly behind me, and laughs. I turn around and give Mason a stern look “Its not funny Mason how am I going to explain this?” Mason shrugs and turns his neck so I can see the matching hickey on his too “see you got too carried away as well y/n. You are not the only one who has explaining to do”.

I groan and storm back into the bedroom and flop onto the bed “we are horrible people Mason, I cannot believe we did that. I cheated on James. I hate myself”.  I can feel the tears pricking in my eyes, Mason crouches in front of me so he is in between my legs, he quickly uses his thumb to wipe away the tears “come on don’t cry. We both had a lot to drink and got carried away. No one needs to know okay it can be our little secret. I hated doing that behind Rebecca’s back but last night was amazing I am not going to regret that”. Mason always knows what to say to make me feel better. He brings me to stand so we are facing eachother “No more sex” we both say together. My head is all over the place, I don’t know why I let myself do this to James but Mason has something over me I cannot explain. I just wish it wasn’t this complicated.

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Another 6 months has passed and Mason and I kept our word ‘no more sex’, its been like before NYE. No awkwardness has occurred and we have pretended nothing ever happened, we have never spoke about it since, we still talk everyday he is still my best friend though. Just to me this time feels different. James and I have been amazing, he is so kind and caring and I still beat myself up for what happened but I cannot change the past, I just need to focus on the future so I have decided to put my all into the relationship. I know James loves me as much as I love him, I never knew how I got so lucky with him. We had the best day when he asked me to marry him, I was so shocked as it was totally unexpected but of course I said yes, I would be stupid not too.  Paige is having some girls over tonight and invited me over too, Lauren, Declan’s girlfriend was there and few other WAGs.

I sat with Lauren chatting away about life and I was telling them all about the engagement and them all gauging at the ring. That’s when I heard the whole group conversation turn about Mason. “I cannot believe Mason and Rebecca broke up like what the fuck” Paige says.

“I would snatch him up in a moment” one of the single girls of the group who I know as Monica contributes. I look at everyone confused, they broke up? Why didn’t he tell me?

“What they broke up?! Why what happened?” I turn to Lauren thinking out of all the girls she would know the answers.

Lauren shrugs “I don’t really know much. Apparently Mason became really distant and Rebecca thought there might be another girl. Mason always denied it but I agree he really didn’t seem that invested in the relationship recently, he seemed pre-occupied.”

“So what who ended it?” another girl asks but I am sitting at the edge of my seat waiting for Lauren to reply.

“Mason ended it, apparently he couldn’t deal with her constantly accusing him of there being someone else. I agree with Rebecca though Mason has seemed different its only been recent I would say since like New Year. He has totally distant himself from the relationship, maybe its for the best they both weren’t happy”. I can feel my heart beating in my chest.

“I’m surprised Mason didn’t tell you. Usually he tells you everything” Lauren continued turning to me.

“Yeah I guess he has decided to keep girl troubles out of our conversation this time”. Which I gave a little laugh which the whole giggle in reply. The conversation changes topic and everyone is engaged in conversation, I go to make myself another drink when I feel a presence behind me, I saw Lauren standing there. “What happened New Year?” she asks, I can feel my heart pounding, I like Lauren and I don’t wanna lie but I am not sure what Mason told her or not?

“I-I um-um not sure what you are talking about Lau” I try and act dump

“You know Declan and I stayed at Chilly’s that night too. When the party finished we walked past the room where Mason was staying and we could hear muffle sounds, it sounded like he was sleeping with someone. Then first thing in the morning I was downstairs when you tried to sneak out. So what happened? I am not dumb you know. I won’t judge whatever it is. We tried to ask Mason about it but he wouldn’t give us a straight answer”.

I look at Lauren in defeat I know she has found out our secret. “Okay okay I slept with Mason on New Years Eve.” I look down trying to not meet her eye, admitting it now makes it feel real.

“WHAT!!”  I quickly grab Lauren and move her to the other side of the kitchen away from where the other girls are sitting. “Shhh will you keep your voice down no one else can know please”. I plead with her.

“Why didn’t you just tell me. What happened? How did you two randomly just get into bed together. Tell me everything”. Lauren picks up the glass of wine next to her and starts taking a couple of sips, knowing that she wants the gossip.

“Okay me and Mason had been a kind of friends with benefits since we first met.”

“Nooooo shut up!!!” she squeals

“let me continue…” she makes the action of zipping up her mouth and lets me continue.

“So well remember when he hurt his ankle..” she nods “well that’s when everything changed. I went round there to comfort him and well one thing let to another and we ended up in bed. I actually stayed the night which never happened. The next morning he told me he was starting to see Rebecca so we called it quits. Shortly after I met James and everything was fine, me and Mason were just friends and no lines where blurred”.

Lauren took another sip of her drink “so what happened New Years then?”

“Well obviously we both had a lot to drink, and then it kicked off with that guy started to make advances to me and he called me a slag and all that then Mason punched him and I don’t know maybe it was the heroic action or the amount of alcohol consumed I generally don’t know. I went to say goodbye and one thing let to another and we ended up in bed together. We woke up both feeling like shit so we agreed to not discuss it. Please I already feel awful about it, please don’t say anything to James.”

I am now starting to panic but Lauren is quick to assure me “babe my loyalties are with you not James. So whatever is said in this room stays in this room okay. So whats happened since because Mason has been all over the place have you guys continued to sleep together or what?”

“No nothing like that Lauren. We have agreed nothing will happened since that night and me and Mason are still close and talking everyday but nothing like that. Well I thought we were close but he didn’t tell me he broke up with Rebecca so god knows”.

“I have no idea what goes on in that guys mind. So whats Mason like in bed anyway? I would feel like his ego couldn’t match his performance if you know what I mean”. She is now giggling away like a little school girl.

I take another sip of my drink now feeling the after effects of the alcohol. “he is amazing Lau! Like obviously I would never tell him this because I wouldn’t want to boost his ego more but he is the best sex I have ever had. The way he makes me feel damn no one comes close”. Lauren smirks at me.

“So tell me again why you and Mason are nothing more then ‘just friends’?”

“I am engaged Lauren” she nods slowly but I can tell she knows there is lot more to that answer.

“Come on we should go back before the girls wonder where the hell we are?” I nod in agreement.

“I will be right in just need another drink”. I wait for Lauren to leave the room before I let out the deep breathe that I didn’t realise I was holding in. I cannot believe he broke up with Rebecca but why didn’t he tell me? Was it because of me? I need answers.

The next couple of hours I am completely distracted, all I can think about is Mason. I have drink after drink before I am completely tipsy. I say my goodbyes to everyone as my taxi notifies me they are outside. I wrap my arms around Lauren and thank her as it has been good to get it all out, “call me if you need anything”. She says and I know she means that. Before I knew it the taxi was pulling up outside Mason’s house, I hesitate for a minute. I don’t even know why I am here. Before I even walk up the steps I see Mason emerging from house, he looks confused until he recognises it was me. I go to say something but the taxi man interrupts “love you need to pay” I quickly look for my bag and then the realisation hits me “shit I left my bag at Paiges”. The taximan does not look amused but Mason just giggles “typical y/n. No worries I got this mate”. He turns to the taximan and chucks some cash at him and helps me inside.

“Soooo I-I heard you b-broke up with Rebeccaaaa” I slur before Mason even shuts the door, I am struggling to get my words out due to the alcohol consumption. Mason stops in his tracks.

“that’s why you are here”.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say pouting

“It wasn’t anything to really tell. Rebecca kept accusing me of being absent and had it in her head I was cheating on her. It was constant arguing I couldn’t be in that toxic relationship, I have had them with my exs I couldn’t do that again.”

“Well she wasn’t wrong about the cheating” I say plopping myself on the sofa, Mason rolls his eyes and sits next to me.

“I am sorry I didn’t tell you. I have just had so much going on it kind of escaped my mind but I am sorry. You look lovely tonight you know”.

I can feel myself blushing. I hate that he has that impact on me. “So now tell me y/n why are you here and not at home with your fiancé?”

I take a deep breathe “I don’t know”

“Come on y/n of course you do”.

“I spoke to Lauren tonight. She said she heard us on NYE then saw me leaving the next morning she asked about us. It actually felt good to tell someone the truth. I am sorry I know we agreed to keep it a secret.”

Mason is tracing lines across my cheek and smiles “its fine y/n I am not angry. Before I broke up with Rebecca I came clean to Declan so chances are Lauren already knew she was probably just giving you the chance to tell her the truth. I had to talk to someone I had to get it out”.

“I love you Mason” I blurt out.

Mason drops his hand from my cheek, and shuffles back. “What do you mean you love me? You are engaged y/n”.

“Mason I have loved you from the first night we met. The way we connected, the way you made me feel. The only way we could ever be close enough was ‘friends with benefits’ so I accepted that’s all we are going to be. But now Mason I am not sure if that’s enough, I fucking love you Mason. I love the way you make me feel, the way you know me better then I know myself. Come on Mason you cannot tell me you don’t feel the same”. I don’t know where this courage as come from I am guessing its going something to do with the amount of drinks I have done.

“Y/N I will repeat it again it doesn’t matter how I feel you are engaged.”

“Lauren said the reason why you broke up with Rebecca was because you became distant like you were focussing on someone else. Are you seriously going to tell me that wasn’t me?”

“No y/n me breaking up with Rebecca had nothing to do with you! Not everything is about you. We had sex y/n that was all it was. No feelings, no strings attached remember that’s all we were. We used eachother to make eachother feel good at our time of need that’s what we were y/n. I am sorry if you caught feelings but this is what we were, nothing more.” Mason spat out. I wanted to be sick and I can feel tears starting to prick in my eyes. I hate myself how could I let myself confess my feelings for someone who doesn’t care. I start to sniffle to hold in the tears and make a beeline for the door.

“Y/n wait!” I hear Mason shout. I quickly turn around on my heals.

“No you are right Mason. That’s all we were, it was me being stupid. How could someone like you ever catch feelings for silly little m-m-me”. I stutter the last part and the tears are now completely falling down my face, I run out the house and never look back. I can feel my heart shattering into a thousand pieces, how can I have these kind of feelings for someone who I am not even engaged too? How can I feel this way about someone who doesn’t love me back.

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Mason’s POV- 6 Months later

 After a couple of rings Declan picks up the phone “Mason I got your messages mate, I am not replying for a reason, please you cannot do this”.

“Please Dec understand she needs to know how I feel. She needs to know how I feel before she marries the wrong person”.

“Mase don’t you think you have put that poor girl through enough. Just let her be”.

“I can’t Dec. I have tried to put her out of my head. I can’t please Dec. I love her”.

“Then if you loved her Mase you wouldn’t hurt her, on her wedding day on all days”.

I know deep down Declan was right, I just cannot let you go. I cannot let you make the worst decision of your life. Ever since that night I have beat myself up with how I acted, I just never thought you ever felt that way about me. Please, look at you, you are the most perfect women and I never thought you would get with a guy like me. I tried to ring and text you everyday since that day but you ended up blocking my number and I even showed up at your flat which you refused to open the door eventhough I knew you were home. I would give anything to go back in time and admit my feelings too, I should of never let you go. And now its probably too late.

Chilly was invited to the wedding as Paige was the Maid of Honour, I asked Chilly to give me the address of the wedding. He fought very hard to not give it to me, I am not sure if he knew what happened between us but he must know me asking for the address of the wedding will not end good. Eventually I got it out of him. I couldn’t sleep all night I was so worried about what I was going to say to you tomorrow, I have to give myself a chance, a chance for love.

I walk through the venue and its absolutely breathtaking, I look at all the little details and I know that is totally your input. I know you would have everything looking perfect. I pump into one of the waiters “oh sorry” I quickly apologise. He looks completely shocked.

“Oh my god! You are Mason Mount! Can I get a picture?” I agree and he quickly snaps a selfie and thanks me.

“What room is the bride in?” I ask

“Down the hall and to the right is the bride’s suite”.

I thank him and quickly hurry down the hall. I can feel my palm’s sweating I don’t want to burst into the room with a load of people in there. I wait outside hesitating if whether I should do this when Paige comes out. She scowls at me, she definitely knows what has happened. “what are you doing here Mason? If its what I think don’t even think about it. I will tackle you to the floor now”. She laughs but I know she is totally serious.

“Please Paige, 5 mins that’s all I am asking. Please.” I see Paige hesitate but looks around down the hallway.

“ 5 mins okay. She is on her own but we all coming back in 15 minutes to get photos done and I want you gone by then”. I nod grateful for her.

“Thank you Paige” I hug her and then make my way to the door.

I hesitate again but I know I am wasting precious time, I quietly knock as I hear the ‘come in’ from the other side. You quickly spin around as our eyes meet. You looks absolutely incredible, I have never seen someone so beautiful. I can feel my mouth go completely dry.

“Mason? What are you doing here? I thought me blocking you was enough of an understanding for you.”

I am stood still in my tracks, I still cannot get over how mesmerising you look. “I-I’m sorry you look unreal. Wow absolutely incredible”.

I took a step forwards in which you take a step straight back to remain the distance between us. “Thank you but I will repeat Mason what are you doing here?”

“I-I’m an idiot” is the only thing I can get out. I have never been this nervous my mouth is totally dry.

“Yeah no shit” you spit back. I kind of deserved that.

“5 mins y/n please” I grab your hands in mine and this time you don’t pull away. “I love you y/n”

You let go of my hands and shove me away I can see the tears starting to appear in your eyes as you try to look up to prevent them from falling down. “No Mason. No fucking way you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to par me off when I confess my feelings then want to wait until my fucking wedding day to confess yours fuck you Mount!” You are now starting to get heated.

“I tried y/n. You blocked me remember and refused to open the door. This was my only chance”

“D-Don’t you think you hurt me enough. Now you g-gotta come and ruin my wedding day too why Mason”.

I hate that I am making you cry, especially when you look that beautiful. I slowly close the space between us trying to not make you flinch, I slowly wipe away the stray tears that have fallen down. “I needed you to know how I feel before I lost you forever.” You start to sniffle and I can hear you trying to control your breathing, you do not incept so I continue. “Y/N I have always loved you. From that first moment I met you, I was taken back by how someone could be that beautiful on the outside was so beautiful on the inside. Our sex is amazing, I have never connected with anyone on that level before. But its not just the sex y/n, I love how you listen and understand me. You are always there when I needed you. You know me better then anyone else. I was stupid y/n and I shouldn’t of said what I did. I didn’t mean it none of it was true. The reason why I left Rebecca was because of you, I guess I started distancing myself from her because every time I looked at her I started comparing her to you and I saw everything that she wasn’t. Fuck I love you y/n and I am a stupid stupid man for not confessing my feelings to you that night. I was scared I have never felt for someone the way I feel for you and it scared the absolute fuck out of me. Please y/n you cannot tell me those feelings have just gone away”.

I can hear your breathing now as your struggling to breathe, I rub your hand trying to get you to calm down. “Please y/n even if you don’t want this, then please can we still be friends. I cannot live my life knowing that you are not apart of it. These past 6 months have broken me, you can ask anyone”.

“M-Mase I cannot do this now. Why did you wait until now to tell me all of t-t-this. I-I g-get m-married i-inn 30 m-minutes.” You are struggling with your words and all I want is to wrap you up in my arm and take away the pain. I know there is nothing I can say or do, its too late you have made your decision and you are marrying him. I can feel the tears starting to fall down my face as I watch the love of my life marry another guy.

“I-I’m sorry for everything y/n. If I could rewind time I would do this so much better I promise. If your change your mind I will be at the docks in an hour waiting.”  I place a small loving kiss to your lips, I know I shouldn’t but I needed to feel the softness of your lips on mine one last time. I can feel both our tears running down our faces onto our lips as we pull away. With that I turn around and walk straight out the venue, knowing deep down that I have lost you forever.

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I look at the time, and I see its 3pm. The wedding was taking place an hour ago. I look around the docks but I cannot see you. I look down and flip my hoodie over my head as I let the tears fall down. A small part of me thought you would change your mind, but here we are I am wrong again. I walk a couple of steps and I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn around to see you standing there, you still have your bridal hair and make up on but you have got changed into a tracksuit. Looking over the tracksuit I actually realise that’s mine that I have been looking for, for ages, but that’s a question for another time. I am stunned that you are stood in front of me. You were first to speak “you were right Mase. I couldn’t walk down the aisle knowing the love of my life is here. I couldn’t do that to me or James. Sorry I am late I had to speak to James and then my dad. Both understood actually it was a lot easier then I thought, my dad just upset about the money paid for the wedding.”

I quickly respond “I will pay your dad back every penny he spent on the wedding. It will be a clear slate I promise”. It’s the least I can do I suppose, I am the reason the wedding was ruined.

“Thank you but I am not here for your money mase. I want you. I fucking love you” you jump closing the gap between us and our lips connect. For the first time this kiss feels right, like everything is happening how its supposed to. As we pull away I gather my thoughts, you still unreal even in my tracksuit. That when the sun reflects on the necklace you were wearing, it was a small sliver heart with your birthstone in it, looking at it I remember what it is.

“You were going to get married in the necklace I got you”. I run the necklace through my fingers as I caress your neck. “What did James think about the necklace it literally has the number 7 on the back of it?”.

You giggle at me “please can we not speak about my ex-fiancé who I literally just left at the alter. But I told him the number 7 was my lucky number. Well I guess it still is”. You wink at me and pull me in for another kiss. Our tongues fighting for control, I finally give in and allow you the control. We quickly pulling away remembering where we are.

“Shall we get out of here.” You wink at me.

I grab your hand in mine as we begin our walk along the docks “yeah lets get out of her before you change your mind”. I joke. You look up at me and playfully punch my arm. You link your arm into mine. We stop walking and you look up into my eyes “here’s to forever”.

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓─

Warnings/MDNI: Angst, slight fluff, abuse, extortion, mentions of non-con. // I don't condone such beheviour irl! Syno: Reunions you didn't expect. ✰ 9.2K.

★ Prev I concept m.list

Charles drove the wagon with steady precision, fast but careful. While you sat in the back, your body was frozen from the pain, and Grimshaw's firm grip was the only thing keeping you upright. The sharp, searing ache in your hand drowned out everything else, past grievances, and future fears. The only thing that existed was the torment of the present. The pain of the wound that you felt in your soul was more than physical.

At one point, as the wagon jolted over a rough patch, you caught yourself thinking, half delirious, half desperate, that maybe they'd have no choice but to amputate. The thought although exaggerated perhaps, wasn't entirely unwelcome. A missing hand might finally convince him to leave, to see you as damaged goods, no longer worth the effort. And no other man would dare approach you either.

But the idea of Arthur walking away, cutting his ties with you at last, made you laugh bitterly through clenched teeth. The absurdity of it. You knew better than to hope for an escape so simple.

You begged them, though, pleaded through the haze of agony. "Drop me off somewhere. Anywhere. Please." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a rush, desperate to find even the faintest sliver of mercy.

But you already knew what the answer would be.

"We can't," Charles muttered, his voice steady but laced with quiet regret.

"Wouldn't do any good, you need to stop clinging on that hope. The sooner you accept....the less you suffer like this." Grimshaw added, her tone sharp this time, though there was something softer buried underneath, something she refused to show too openly. So she had finally said this too huh? Had become frustrated at your whining?.

Not surprised at all.

And deep down, you couldn't blame her. Grimshaw risking her place, her family, her sanctuary, for you? It wasn't a possibility.

When they finally laid you on a bed, the voices around you blurred a distant hum against the pounding in your head. The sheer relief of being off that wagon, of being around people, new people, people outside the camp, lulled you into the edge of sleep. The muffled chatter of the town filtered through the walls, a strange sort of comfort amidst everything.

But then...

Wait.

That voice. It tugged at something deep in your memory, something warm and long-forgotten. It couldn't be....could it?

Your eyes fluttered open as your body stiffened slightly. The familiarity of her tone, the way it carried... It was her. Edie. Your heart skipped a beat. Your Edie. A friend so close she might as well have been family once before everything fell apart. You had helped her financially and emotionally when she ran away from her family to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine she'd end up here.

Yet even as your soul surged with recognition and warmth, you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. Pretend. Pretend you didn't know her. And damn her sharpness, because you knew she was clever enough to already be piecing it together, your circumstances, your forced silence. Her eyes didn't betray much, but you caught the faintest flicker of something. Understanding, surprise, sadness perhaps.

"What's happened here?. " she asked, her tone clinical but careful, as she put on her gloves.

Charles cleared his throat. "Uh... her hand. It's injured."

Edie nodded, her movements swift and efficient as she approached. Her eyes met yours briefly, just briefly, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. "I'll check, just relax." she said simply.

She took your injured hand in hers with a gentleness you hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Her fingers worked quickly, inspecting, prodding lightly, and each touch sent sharp bolts of pain racing up your arm. You couldn't stop the hisses and whimpers that escaped your lips, but she shushed you softly, her tone soothing as if speaking to a child.

"Hm," she murmured, her focus entirely on your hand. "We'll need to set it properly. Possibly splint it, maybe more depending on how bad the break is." Her voice dipped slightly, quieter, as though addressing you directly. "Do you feel immense pain?"

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling. "Y-yeah. Kind o-of....it's...it feels numb."

"Okay, this might hurt a bit but just trust me." Edie's voice was soft, almost soothing, as she prepared the syringe. The pinch of the needle barely registered in comparison to the ache that had taken over your hand. She moved efficiently, murmuring occasional reassurances as she began the procedure, but you couldn't focus on her words.

Instead, your gaze shifted to Grimshaw. She needed to be out of this fucking room.

Think (Y/N), think---

Your pitiful whimper grabbed her attention. "Yes, dear?" Grimshaw immediately leaned closer.

Thank God Charles was still in the lobby, out of earshot.

"I-I need... some cloth... y'know, for periods," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest. "Some new ones... Charles brought less than I needed, so can you... go buy them? Arthur gave you money, right?"

Grimshaw's expression flickered with hesitation, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I understand, but-"

Before she could finish, Edie looked up from her work, her sharp eyes meeting Grimshaw's. She nodded subtly, a silent exchange passing between them.

"Don't worry," Edie said, her tone firm but kind. "We'll take care of her. This might take a while anyway, so she'll be in good hands."

Grimshaw hesitated, glancing between the two of you, but Edie pressed on, her words leaving no room for argument. "Also, how about you grab some herbal medicines from the store while you're at it? We're out of stock here, and trust me, they're excellent for pain relief."

She turned her head slightly. "Marlee! Can you give this woman the names of those herbal pain relievers?"

A younger nurse appeared in the doorway, a slip of paper in her hand. "Here you go," she said, smiling and handing it to Grimshaw.

Grimshaw looked at the list and then back at you, her mouth tightening as if she wanted to argue. But after a moment, she nodded briskly. "Alright, I'll get what's needed."

The moment she left...

You both hugged tightly, and the dam you had been holding back for so long broke. Tears spilled freely as you sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her like she was the only tether to sanity in your chaotic world.

"(Y/N)..." Edie murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. "Oh God! I had heard what happened, from Edna. She told me what happened at your wedding. Otherwise, I wouldn't have---God, look at me." Her words stumbled over themselves, her hands gripping your shoulders to steady you and to take in the sight of you. "What have they done to you?! God...you look so different. Did he do this?!"

A faint nod was only what you could muster.

"Oh...my..." Edie's voice broke as she hugged you again, her arms wrapping around you with such ferocity, as if she could shield you from the horrors you had endured.

"The things they're saying about you and him back there-"

"D-don't! NO! Please!" you whimpered, pulling back, shaking your head frantically. "I don't wanna, I don't wanna go through this again! Please..."

Her face softened instantly, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I get it. I get it. I'm sorry. So sorry," she whispered, her hand brushing soothingly over your hair.

"Li-listen to me," you stammered, gripping her wrist tightly, desperation lacing your voice. "I'm gonna tell you the location, and you're going to my parents and telling them where I am, alright?"

Her eyes widened slightly, then hardened with determination. "Hm, got it. Got it, (Y/N). I'm with you."

"Have you been in contact with them though?"

"No," she admitted, frowning. "All of this...all the information about the tragedy, I got it from Edna through a letter. But don't you worry, okay? I'll go to Sable Creek today, right away. I promise."

And with that, you gave her the directions, which she quickly noted down before returning to bandaging your hand. Her voice dropped to a hush, soothing and steady, both of you painfully aware of Charles' presence just outside.

"Listen, take this too."

Before you could question her, Edie slipped something into your pocket, quick, deliberate, and leaving you no chance to inspect it.

"W-what-"

"It's for preventing pregnancy," she whispered sharply, her eyes darting to the door.

"Wha-" Your voice rose, but she cut you off with a firm glare.

"I'm doing this for you. What if you can't come back-"

"No, I get that, idiot," you hissed back, shaking your head. "But why would you even think, do you really think I'm gonna let him touch me? No way in hell!"

Edie's gaze softened, though her expression remained grave. "(Y/N)...speak facts here. What if he does? Would you be able to stop him?" Your eyes welled up as a shiver ran down your whole body. Painful whimpers shook your body. "I don't wanna hurt you but I am helping you by telling the truth. So be practical. It is for prevention and it is...taken after...God forbid-."

Your throat tightened due to fear and disgust but also realization as you had totally overlooked this part, and you couldn't stop the trembling in your voice. "G-got it. Thank you so much-"

"Shh...it's fine. Relax. Just take these herbs in a little amount with tea. Remember , little amount."

The door creaked open just then, and both of you instinctively fell silent, slipping into the facade of normalcy. Susan stepped in with a warm, reassuring smile, her voice soft as she began asking questions about your health.

And just like that, Edie had to step away.

When it was time to leave, you couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but you swallowed it down, telling yourself it was fine. It had to be fine.

Because soon...soon, you would be free.

❀˖°

The shopkeeper glanced from the quiet, starry night outside to the tall, broad-shouldered man now examining a rack of ladies' clothing. It was an odd sight, this burly figure flipping through fabrics and inspecting delicate jewels as if weighing their worth.

"Need a hand, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, more out of curiosity than necessity.

"I'm good," the man replied, not looking up.

Fair enough. The shopkeeper watched as the man added a few dresses to his growing pile. This was turning into quite the shopping spree. Last customer of the night, and judging by the variety of items he was grabbing, jewels, perfumes, and now clothes, it seemed like he was sparing no expense.

Finally, the man strode up to the counter, dumping his haul unceremoniously. Without missing a beat, he pointed at a shelf behind the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper followed his gesture. "The shampoo? Which one, strawberry or vanilla?"

"Both."

Damn.

"Your lady's a lucky one. Here you go," he remarked, handing over a neatly folded scarf as requested.

"She ain't. I am. Why you think I'm buyin' these?"

The owner chuckled at the response. "I bet, sir. Anything else?"

"Total."

The shopkeeper began tallying up, muttering numbers under his breath before hesitating. "All of this would be well... $200-"

Click.

"Now?"

"I-s-sir, don't-"

"Now?" Arthur lifted the revolver just enough for the shopkeeper to see the glint of silver, all while keeping it angled away from the store's windows.

The shopkeeper's face paled. "F-f-free!".

Arthur chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "That's what I like to hear. Now pack 'em. And properly. Otherwise, you're the one getting packed tonight."

"I-uh-yes! Please don't-" The shopkeeper's hands shook as he hurriedly wrapped everything, his eyes darting nervously to the gun and then to Arthur's face, hoping for some sign of mercy.

When the parcels were finally ready, the shopkeeper slid them across the counter. "T-there you g-go, sir."

"I'll take some chocolates too on the way out... if you don't mind of course." Arthur holstered his revolver with deliberate ease, taking his time as he gathered the packages. "Good night, Mister," he said smoothly, tipping his hat with a smirk before entering the cool night air.

❀˖°

Arthur went through the motions clinging to the routine like it might steady him. A nod by the fire. A stop at the camp fund box, tossing in whatever he had. A quiet word with Dutch, though neither of them really said anything, and then to Ms. Grimshaw...

"She'll be fine," Grimshaw said when he mentioned you, when he asked, low and almost ashamed, about your hand. "The doc said it'll heal, but it'll take time." She paused, a flicker of sympathy softening her sharp tone. " She's been... quieter. More than usual. Not eating...and just...holed up."

Arthur nodded solemnly, muttering his thanks, but the guilt in his chest only grew heavier.

Time. Healing. Pain.

He hated every damn word of it.

"Bill," The man glanced over from the fire, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Arthur stopped a few paces away, crossing his arms. "Anything happen while I was gone? Any fights? Any trouble?"

"No. Ain't been much of anything. The camp's been quiet." He took a swig from his bottle and shrugged. "You'd think it'd be good for once, but it's been downright dull."

"You're sure?"

Bill sighed, waving a hand. "Yes, I'm sure. Nobody's said or done nothin'. Least, not that I know of."

Arthur didn't answer right away. He glanced back toward the tent, then shook his head. "And (Y/N)?"

"No screamin' or fightin' this time."

Arthur huffed at his words but nodded and finally, he reached his tent.

He stepped inside, bracing himself, his hands heavy at his sides. But instead of finding you curled under the covers, as he'd expected, you were sitting upright on the edge of the cot.

You didn't look up when he entered. Your shoulders were hunched, your bandaged hand resting in your lap as your uninjured fingers absentmindedly toyed with the edge of the fabric. Suki lay curled beside you, her head resting on your thigh, but you didn't seem to notice her either.

Arthur froze, his throat tightening. Seeing you like this, quiet, defeated, looking so damn small, hit him harder than any blow he'd ever taken.

Now what?

Stop being a coward, Morgan.

He cleared his throat, a low, awkward sound breaking the heavy silence. "Hey," he murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

You didn't flinch, but you still didn't look at him, your eyes fixed on your lap. And that, somehow, was worse. He took deliberate steps toward you, his thoughts muffled as he sat down beside you. Clearing his throat gently, he murmured, "I'm back... much to your dismay." He awkwardly held up the bags of gifts, his grip tightening as he noticed your lack of reaction.

Suki perked up, her tail curling up faintly, and Arthur nearly smiled. At least she seemed calm.

His eyes drifted to you again, your figure still hunched and quiet, and his heart clenched. "(Y/N)? You... okay?" He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering near your cheek. What surprised him most was that you didn't recoil, didn't push him away or claw his hand off. The absence of resistance stung more than rejection.

"I... lost myself that night," he muttered, his voice thick with regret. "I... I am sorry. You jus' said his name and I-how can I just...listen to that. You need to understand. That is not something I will tolerate-"

"You were right." Your voice was steady but hollow, each word cutting through him like a blade. "Remember what you... said? That I had nothing.....That was true."

No.

His heart twisted painfully. 

"I... I was a fool," you interrupted his spiraling thoughts, your tone flat and resigned. "A fool to think that as a woman... I could have anything."

"That's....not true," You have me. Arthur rasped, his hands curling into fists, but you didn't seem to hear him.

"I thought... one day, I'd be sitting where my dad is now," you continued, your gaze fixed on some far-off point as if you were speaking more to yourself than to him. "I thought I'd build something... be someone."

Arthur froze, his hands curling around the bags as his chest tightened. He didn't know what to say. Stop it. The pain he felt hearing the emptiness in your voice was too much. He didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit seeing you like this. It broke him more than he ever thought it could.

"Please..." he murmured, his voice soft and almost desperate. "Look what I brought for you." His movements were rushed, almost clumsy, as he went to the hamper like an eager child, pulling out items and presenting them to you with trembling hands.

"Look, everything you told me you like," he said, his voice gaining a pleading edge. "Your favorite chocolates, the ones you liked as a child, they were so hard to find but I got em', and... look at this. This set. It's yours." He held it up, a delicate piece of jewelry, then a neatly folded fabric, but his eyes weren't on the gifts anymore. They were on you, on the way you sat there, unmoving, fragile. That's when it hit him.

You looked...weaker.

"Did you eat at all when I was gone?" His voice dropped lower, tinged with worry, but you didn't respond. "(Y/N)? Look here, at this stuff while I go and bring food, okay?"

He waited for a moment, hoping, praying for even a flicker of acknowledgment. But there was nothing, and his patience snapped. 

Arthur hesitated for a moment outside the tent, running a hand over his face. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in his gut. You hadn't spoken much, barely reacted to his presence, and now that he thought about it, the whole camp felt quieter than usual. Your silence was the loudest thing he encountered till now.

"Arthur! C'mere!."

"Yes...Dutch?" Arthur's reply was quieter, his eyes darting to Molly, who sat quietly on the cot behind Dutch, who returned his nod.

"Well, you weren't here...and the girl, y'know, I just couldn't bear to see the state she was in. So...I took her to see her parents. Hosea and I handled it."

Arthur's stomach dropped. 

They what? 

"Dutch--but why?-"

"What? Got a problem?"

"No- I just-"

 "She needed that, Arthur. A proper closure. And... needless to say, due to certain rumors now circulating about you two... well, it's affected them. They think she should stay here. For the better. And that's all it took for her father to say this and for her to shut herself...." Dutch trailed off, but the implication was clear. "She hasn't eaten or spoken since."

Is that why you said all that..?

Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted to yell, to demand why Dutch had taken such a step without him, but... what could he say? Maybe Dutch had meant well, he always means well,  and maybe it was for the best, but knowing what you must've heard, the rejection from your family, the weight of those rumors... it crushed him. How could you bear it? He couldn't fathom. He should have been the one who took you. Guess, it was for the better, it would have been worse if he had been there.

"Yes... Dutch," Arthur muttered, barely finding his voice.

Dutch's hands clapped onto Arthur's shoulders, his grip firm but meant to be comforting. "I care for you all, alright? She's part of us now, Arthur. And I want you to be happy, too, son. Just... take care of her. Make sure she's eating, resting, and you need some rest yourself."

Arthur nodded stiffly, his lips twitching into a broken semblance of a smile. "I will."

"And, um..." Dutch paused, tilting his head slightly. "Also, Mr. (L/N), well, I came to know he's facing some problems with the O'Driscolls. So I figured it'd be best to offer some help. And the price would only be that he stops funding Pinkertons to find us. What do you think about that?"

Arthur blinked, his breath hitching. "W-what? Since when?"

"Just some days ago before the girl's wedding was about to happen. When we went to meet him, he brought it up. Turns out, it's true. So, what do you say? We help him out? After all, they're your in-laws now, aren't they, boy? And getting rid of those pieces of shit is always worthwhile."

Arthur swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. "Yes, Dutch. 'Course. I'll do it myself if I have to."

But the words felt hollow, like he was agreeing to something he couldn't quite understand. All he could think about was you, what you'd heard, how you felt, and how he could even begin to make it right. But somehow he also felt responsible and protective of your family. It's the least he can do...after this. Protecting them...was protecting you, you were once a part of them.

"I know you can. But remember the boys and I are here as well so when things get too much, we are available. Maybe (Y/N) will appreciate that too, y'know. See? We can be all nice when we wanna be." Dutch leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "I'll keep you updated if I hear anything about the 'Driscoll boys. Now, go on, go to your girl."

Arthur gave a brief nod, his jaw tight, and turned on his heel. He grabbed a bowl of stew from the fire, his movements mechanical as his thoughts churned.

He appeared back at the tent but you were under the covers already....and somehow he expected it...

Arthur hesitated for a moment, the bowl trembling slightly in his hands as he stood over the cot. "Here," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You need to eat. Please, they told me you ain't swallowed a single bite. At least half...please."

Again no response which only left him the option to sigh and put it aside.

He wanted to say more, to bring up the meeting with your parents. But the words caught in his throat. How could he comfort you about something that, in some twisted way, he had set into motion? The rumors, the whispers, the decisions made without you or him, it all tied back to him, to his mistakes.

He took out his journal, desperate to get these thoughts out of his mind as he began scribbling.

"I miss you, (Y/N).

Miss your smile, your laugh, the way you’d go on and on about things and make jokes out of anything.

I know you miss it too. The life you should be living. Not this. Not with me. You should be wrapped in silk and drowning in gold, not stuck in the mud beside a man like me. You should be surrounded by normal people, not outlaws and killers. You should be sleeping in a fine bed, not lying awake beside the same bastard who ruined you.

But don’t you see? The more you fight it, the more you tear yourself apart. And I can live with a lot of things. I can live without your laughter, without your warmth. But I won’t live with you shutting yourself away from me.

And you, you, should’ve known better than to utter another man's name..."

His pencil halted as he realized what he had written. His mind had gone in another direction. The other side. The one he hated to acknowledge but couldn't ignore. A primal side that found a grim satisfaction in the fact that your parents had pushed you away. That closure, painful as it was, came from them. Maybe now, with nowhere else to turn, you'd stop clinging to the past and start... accepting this. Accepting him. He hated himself for the thought, but it lingered all the same, buried beneath layers of guilt and shame.

It was necessary.

Shutting his journal he laid down beside you. He wanted to reach out, to hold your hand, to apologize, hell, to beg if that's what it took.

"I know... it ain't easy," he murmured after a long pause, his voice rough with emotion. "But... I'm here, alright? Always will be."

But who was to tell him that the real truth was a trip that had resulted in you having a gun barrel pointed at your head.

❀˖°

Few days ago.

It was the third day since he had left and thank God he still wasn't back, nobody told you when he would be and you didn't give a fuck to ask anyway. The camp was...empty almost. Dutch, Hosea, and the women resting in their places. The boys had been sent away to different jobs. Oh yes, Bill was here too.

That's why you now sat beneath the shade of a tree, a book resting in your lap, one you had finally felt sane enough to read. Suki lounged by your side, her soft purring a rare comfort. She got it so easy huh? Free to go wherever... whenever. An animal is in a better place than you. But even as you tried to focus on the words on the page, your mind refused to stay quiet.

Did Edie make it? Did she tell your parents? And if she did...why-

A sharp cough pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, accompanied by the faint smell of a cigar. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was, the shadow looming over you confirmed it.

One bitch out of camp, so what? The bigger one's still here.

"Ms. (Y/N), there. Happy?" Dutch greeted, his tone casual as he crouched down, extending a hand to pet Suki, who sniffed him indifferently.

"I wanted to..." He trailed off for a moment, the smirk transformed into a complete look of shame, shocking you.

"To ask you something," he finally continued, his eyes meeting yours. "I feel like maybe I was a bit harsh that day. So, as a form of compensation...How about I take you to meet your parents?"

No way.

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah. You ready?"

"But--Arthu-

"He isn't here and he won't be for a few more days. I figured you both needed a break, so I sent him for a good amount of time. No need to thank me." He stood up with a gentle smile.

"See? I can be nice. Now, missy get up and I'll be waiting for you at the stables."

Slowly, you made your way back to the tent, Suki trailing at your heels. But as the hope began to settle, so did the gnawing pit of anxiety bubbling in your stomach. What if this was some trick? Or worse, what if this wasn't?

You sank down onto the edge of your cot, your hands trembling slightly. For a minute, you just sat there, staring at nothing in particular, trying to calm the storm that raged inside you.

Wait.

What if... you go there and, like-

Breathe.

Your mind spiraled, the what-ifs circling like vultures. If Edie had already informed your parents, you shouldn't even be here right now. This could have been the perfect time for help to arrive. Arthur isn't around, but now Dutch is offering to take you there himself?

But then again... what if Dutch finds out about Edie through your parents?

No. You shook your head, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. You're overthinking. Relax. Your parents aren't fools. They would know how to handle themselves.

Just... get ready and leave.

Still, the pit in your stomach didn't ease. It churned with a deep unease, one you couldn't shake even as you tried to calm yourself.

You sat stiffly behind Bill as the three of you finally reached town. The journey to Sable Creek had taken half an hour or so, but your home was still a few minutes away. The familiar surroundings should've been comforting, but the unease bubbling in your chest refused to settle. How would your parents react and...how would you calm yourself in front of them?. The pain was bubbling over the surface, ready to be spilled in the form of tears and broken words in their embrace.

"Why are we stopping here?" you asked, your voice cautious as you slid carefully off the horse, mindful of your injured hand.

Dutch dismounted gracefully, tying up his horse with practiced ease. "A work needs to be done first. C'mon."

You shared a hesitant glance with Bill, who offered a grunt in response, ignoring you completely.

The building in front of you came into view, and your brows furrowed. A notary office?

You knew the place well enough, Mr. Mason was the officer, and you'd been here before for work-related errands. But what on earth could Dutch, of all people, want at a notary office? The man and legalities seemed as mismatched as oil and water.

"Appointment?"

"You can go in now. Mr. Mason is awaiting you," the receptionist announced to him with a polite smile.

As the three of you entered, Dutch greeted Mr. Mason first. "Oh, Ms. (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you," Mason said, gesturing awkwardly toward a chair. "Um, please, have a seat."

Warily, you lowered yourself into the chair opposite Dutch, who was already leaning back with somewhat a serene expression. Whilst, Bill lingered quietly near the wall.

"So," Dutch began, exhaling a puff of smoke from his freshly lit cigar, "let's get to business, shall we?"

"What is going on here?" you interrupted, turning your gaze sharply to Mason. "Mr. Mason? Care to explain? You know him?"

Mason hesitated, smoothing the papers on his desk with trembling hands. "Well, yo-u could say, Ms. (Y/N), that we are... acquaintances-"

"Excuse me?"

"Now, now," Dutch cut in smoothly, waving his cigar like he was conducting a symphony. "Calm yourself, missy. Let's just get the work done, shall we?"

Before you could respond, Mason pulled out a stack of documents, sliding them across the desk toward you and Dutch. Also, you didn't fail to see a certain...a certain fearful look in Mr. Mason's eyes too, the most jolly man you had come across. Your stomach churned as you reached for them instinctively, your fingers trembling as you flipped through the pages.

Dutch, unbothered, leaned back in his chair, puffing his cigar as if this was just another leisurely evening for him.

Your eyes darted across the bold lettering,

PROPERTY TRANSFER AGREEMENT

Grantor: Ms. [Y/N] [L/N] (hereinafter referred to as "Grantor").

Grantee: Dutch Van der Linde (hereinafter referred to as "Grantee").

Your breath hitched.

"What. The. Hell. Is. This?" you demanded, glaring at Mason, then at Dutch, who remained infuriatingly calm.

"Huh!?" Your voice trembled, the words barely forming as your eyes scanned the papers again. "What is this?".

Your hands trembled as you scanned the document again.

Your land. The plot in Cinderpoint. Nearly an acre of pristine property, yours. A perfect spot, rich with greenery, near the railway. And you knew exactly why Dutch was doing this.

He could afford to buy land elsewhere, hell, in the Heartlands, where an acre went for as little as fifteen dollars. Even this plot wasn't much more, maybe four hundred and fifty at most.

But this wasn't about money.

It was about being on the safe side.

He wasn't buying it and being a criminal he couldn't, that was too risky and too much work but having it "granted" ...it couldn't be easier.

And by having the deed, in his name, Dutch gained three things, legal cover of course, on paper, the land would belong to him, resale power, he could do as he pleased with it, and worst of all, long-term security if he planned to develop it, which you feared was his real goal.

No. This can't be happening.

"Now, (Y/N), listen," Dutch began smoothly, leaning forward with that predatory calm that made your stomach churn. "What we're doing here is mutual business. Since you live with us now, it's only natural, makes sense, really--that your property remains safeguarded. With us. With you. No?."

"You son of a bitch!" You exploded, slamming the papers onto the desk with your uninjured hand. "You think I'd hand over my assets? To you!? Are you out of your damn mind? This is mine! And what the fuck do you mean by 'safeguard,' huh? Just say it, say you're fucking looting me! You need it because then the law can't arrest you for illegal occupation!"

"Ms. (Y/N)-" Mason began nervously, his voice faltering under your glare.

"No! You---shut up! How can you do this, Mr. Mason? You... you know Dad, right? I've-I've worked with you. Please, don't listen to these people."

Dutch chuckled darkly, dragging his chair closer with a deliberate scrape against the wooden floor. "I'd say the sooner we get done with it, the better, darlin'. I am doing this for all of us. Including you. And looting? I prefer the term, 'acquire'."

He leaned in, his leg brushing against yours, boxing you in completely. You were trapped between his looming presence and the desk, his cigar smoke curling lazily around you like a noose.

Just then, the door burst open.

Another man entered, blond, with the weirdest mustache you'd ever seen.

"Ah, Micah, come on in," Dutch drawled, not even glancing up. "We just got started."

Micah smirked, his sharp eyes flicking to you like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Did the bitch agree yet?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The sheer disgust and fear this man evoked made your skin crawl.

"W-who th-!"

Before you could finish, the back of his hand cracked across your face. The impact sent you reeling, stars bursting in your vision.

"P-please, don't treat her like this," Mason stammered, standing abruptly. "Please-"

"Did we ask for your permission? And I am gonna do much worse to your wife Masey, now sit down!"

Your ears rang. The world tilted, your vision blurred by pain and humiliation.

Then, warm breath ghosted over your ear.

Micah's hand gripped your chin, forcing your face upward. His voice dripped with mockery.

"Arthur must be coddling you like some baby, but not us, sweetpea. We are, you could say... a bit tougher. So how about you be a good girl and sign-"

"Go to hell."

With a sharp snarl, you clawed at his hand, drawing a hiss from him.

You didn't hesitate.

Your fingers darted for the pen on the desk, gripping it tight, ready to stab-

Click.

"Sweetheart, cursing ain't gonna get you anywhere." Dutch's voice dripped with mockery, smooth and unbothered, as if this were all just a friendly transaction.

The cold barrel of his revolver pressed hard against the side of your head.

He winked at Micah, who stood right behind your seat, his hands gripping the back of the chair, fingers just barely grazing your shoulders.

Bill remained silent. Micah, on the other hand, let out a wheezing chuckle.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Never in your life had you felt so... degraded. So helpless. Locked in a room with three men who could do whatever they wanted with you.

"It's just paperwork," Dutch continued, as if the gun against your skull was merely a formality. "Sign it, and you can rest easy knowing your little patch of paradise is in safe hands."

Safe hands.

"I am not doing it. I am NOT giving you as-sholes anything! You tricked me into coming here?! How low can you possibly go?!"

Micah clicked his tongue, then suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

You flinched, a sharp gasp escaping you as you thrashed against his hold.

"Now, now, Micah," Dutch drawled, not even looking at him.

Micah scoffed but obeyed, his grip loosening before he shoved your head forward again.

"As you say... boss."

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to steady your breath. Your heart told you to fight, but logic whispered otherwise. You were outnumbered. Cornered. And Dutch still had his gun pressed against you.

For now, you had no choice but to play along.

But for now wouldn't last forever. You prayed. God is with those who are patient, right? You have to remain strong.

Be strong...please.

"We're not leaving this building until you sign. And as for Mr. Mason here, well, sweetheart, it doesn’t take much to bribe a government officer… or to persuade him through other means." He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, letting it curl in the air between you. "So, what’s it gonna be? Are we doing this the civil way, or…" So that's why Mr. Mason looks disturbed. The bitter scent of his cigar filled your lungs, making you gag.

"You don't know half the things I'm capable of. Don't worry, though, you'll learn everything soon enough and then you will be thanking me. Now, sign the papers, or I'll blow your brains out right here. And after that... let's just say that poor little cat back at camp won't be so lucky either-"

"Don't! Le-eave her outta this! Ple-ase!.."

"Sobbing isn't going to change anything, so quit it. Just. Sign. The. Damn. Papers."

"You'll regret this. One day... you'll pay for t-his, you animals."

With trembling hands, tears streaming down your face, you signed.

...Done.

Just like that?

Your heart pounded, a dull, heavy ache in your chest as Dutch slid the pen from your grasp, his smirk stretching wider, the smirk of a winner.

"Wasn't so hard, was it now, pumpkin?" Micah sneered. His voice, his breath, everything about him made your skin crawl. He finally stepped back, standing behind Dutch this time, watching him sign with a look of twisted satisfaction.

When will this end?

"There. All done," Mason muttered, clearing his throat. His movements were stiff, reluctant, but he stamped the papers nonetheless, finalizing the transfer of your land.

He slid them across the desk. "There you go, Mr. Van der Linde."

Dutch leaned back, examining the documents with a pleased nod before turning his gaze to Mason. "And the security matter?"

"Handled," Mason confirmed, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "You won't have any problems with the law. My contact's taken care of it, and your real name won't be on record.. Just present these original documents, and that'll be proof enough. After that, you can use any alias you want, so if the law comes sniffing around, they won't have a clue. And even if you use your real name, they can't just arrest you for owning this land."

Dutch grinned, tapping a finger against the papers.

"Perfect."

Your head remained frozen in time.

Memories blurred into the present, forcing you back to that day, the day you turned twenty. The day your father handed you the deed with a proud smile. You had visited Cinderpoint once, offhandedly mentioning how much you liked it. That was all it took for him to make it yours.

And now... it was gone.

A sharp knock broke through the silence. The trio stirred, but you remained motionless, no more than a hollow shell in your chair.

Dutch chuckled, his voice thick with amusement. "Mhm. I think it's who I think it is. Well, gentlemen, let's give Miss (Y/N) some privacy. She does deserve this sweet reward now, doesn't she?"

Their laughter echoed as they shuffled out, the door creaking shut behind them. Muffled voices faded into the distance.

Your father who rushed in, didn't speak right away. He just looked at you really looked at you as if memorizing every bruise, every tear-streaked inch of your face. His lips parted, but whatever words he wanted to say never came. Instead, he reached out, hesitantly at first, before pulling you into his arms.

The moment his embrace tightened around you, he broke. A choked sob escaped him, his body trembling against yours as he buried his face into your hair. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you felt his tears soak into your shoulder.

"I failed you," he whispered hoarsely. "God help me, I failed you."

You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. But the words wouldn't come.

Your hands clenched weakly at the fabric of his coat, gripping it as if holding on for dear life. He held you for what felt like forever, gently rocking you back and forth as your sobs wracked through your body. His calloused hand ran over your hair, smoothing it down like he used to when you were a child frightened by anything.

"Shh, my girl, my sweet girl. You're safe now. I'm here."

His words, meant to soothe, only made your chest tighten further. Safe? When had you last felt truly safe? His arms might have shielded you now, but what had been stolen from you, your land, your dignity, your freedom...it was too much...

You felt him take a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to calm down before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. He cupped your face, his thumbs wiping away the lingering tears on your cheeks. "Breathe with me, sweetheart," he whispered. "Just breathe. I am here."

You tried. Slowly, painfully, your ragged gasps evened out into something steadier. Your father did the same, his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting moment of quiet understanding.

And then, at last, he spoke.

"Just... a month before your wedding, I began having trouble with some of my merchants and clients being robbed on the trade routes. I kept it a secret as I didn't wanna worry any of you, especially you. It was the O'Driscolls," he started, his voice heavy with regret. "So, of course, I began funding the Pinkertons to deal with them..."

He paused, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And... after-" His voice broke as he wiped away a tear. "After they took you away from me, I began paying for you to be brought back too but...I was also suffering a lot of losses in business. The agency was demanding too much from me and doing so little. Then Dutch...came, and he told me I needed to stop. Instead of wasting my money on Pinkertons, I pay him half to...fight the Driscolls. If I didn't stop interfering, if I didn't pull them back, then the next shipment to disappear wouldn't just be goods. Dutch will also start looting my clients. Will kill them. It'd be...bloody. My men. My family. And especially you, (Y/N)...even you and I just-- I couldn't!"

His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to go on. "So I had a choice. Keep funding the Pinkertons, who were looting me in their own way, keep fighting against Colm who already had me by the throat, and risk losing everything... or cut my losses and trust that Dutch, twisted as he is, would at least keep to his word that he'd deal with the O'Driscolls himself for me...." He exhaled sharply as if disgusted by the words leaving his own mouth. "It wasn't much of a choice at all."

So...he is valuing his money right now? Is that what it is? You just can't understand anything at this fucking point.

He looked at you now, his eyes pleading. "Please, (Y/N)... you have to understand. I didn't just fold because I was scared. I did it because there was no winning against him. Not like this. And I want you to be safe among those vultures! I can't sleep knowing that...they might do something to you!"

"Stop it, Dad," you interrupted sharply, your voice trembling but firm. "Just stop."

He fell silent, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all had finally crushed him.

You reached for the glass of water on the table, the cold liquid doing little to soothe the fire raging inside you. Setting it down with a clink, you stood up, your gaze distant.

"You're giving up, aren't you? Edie must've come to you, and that's why you didn't send...any help? Because business is everything to you? You just believed his....silver tongue? He manipulated you Dad! That's all he did! That's all he knows to do!"

"(Y/N)-"

"You were my ideal dad." A whimper escaped your lips as you stepped back, your voice trembling with pain. "So perfect... I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. You weren't just my dad, you were my best friend. And now? You kept me in the dark about this?" You gestured around you, the betrayal evident in every movement. "Tell me, was staying here, this business, this country...was it worth more than me?"

"(Y/N), when I make decisions, I have to think of everyone," he replied, his tone heavy with pity and pain.

"Your mother-who, I might add, is still in trauma-and Rayan-"

"Was it worth it?!" you interrupted, your voice rising to a shout that reverberated through the room.

"Leaving and starting over from scratch isn’t easy. And right now, with the recent robberies, it’s even worse. My most valuable clients… they’ve lost trust in me, (Y/N). And of course, they’ve heard about the whole incident." He exhaled sharply, frustration lacing his words. "Now they think I was in bed with outlaws all along, that I’ve been using them to loot, to scam them, God, it’s all a mess." His voice wavered, quieter now, but no less burdened. "That I gave you away… as some kind of prize-"

"Stop."

"Not just me, (Y/N)… you too. You were my partner, after all. They’re raising questions-"

"Were?"

A heavy pause.

God...

Your chest burned with the new, agonizing reality that settled in, your breaths coming in shallow bursts as you stepped back, as far from him as you could, though the room felt like it was closing in. The space between you both, once filled with warmth and trust, was now an abyss you couldn't cross.

"These people... they may be heartless," you continued, your voice trembling, "they may have destroyed me because that's what they do. They're criminals, Dad. Bu-t you? You were supposed to be my father. You were supposed to p-rotect me."

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words faltered, breaking on the edge of his throat. "I still am, what more can I do?! I am stuck here." he pleaded.

"No, you're not! You did not..." The words tore from you like a scream trapped in your chest. "If you had, I would've been in my house. In the arms of Mom. Not with a gun to my head, not being tossed around like a ragdoll by a man who calls himself my husband! I thought...you are the most capable man to do that...Dad. There must have been a way! You always had a s-solution for everything! Taught me everything and yet... " Tears blurred your vision as you looked at him, your voice trembling with fury. "Do you see this? He-he did this! And now this? You're giving up everything for this?" You gestured wildly, as though you could point to the ruin of everything he had once stood for.

His face twisted in pain, the guilt heavy on his brow. "Forgive me, but... I can't. You have to accept reality, (Y/N). If you don't--if I don't-then we're all dead. At the hands of either Dutch or that bastard Colm. I can't suffer more losses. I don't even know anymore what's right or wrong. These people--they're targeting everyone. And you...you were too supposed to be sensible. Did I raise you to hang around with an outlaw? And tell me... tell me why? Why did you--Doreen told us about you meeting Arthur! Why did you? Why did you let it go that far? Your mother even warned you! Do you know how disappointed she is? Where were your senses at the time?! How can you be so foolish (Y/N)?! You took advantage of our trust!. And this went on for a whole year?! Then what the hell did you expect?!". His voice cracked with now anger and confusion.

The rush of guilt hit you like a wave, and your hands shook, gripping the armchair in an attempt to steady yourself. You shook your head, frantic. "I--I know! It's ALL MY FAULT, isn't it?!" The tears came then, hot and fast, as your chest heaved with the helplessness and sorrow you couldn't contain. "Oh my God. I can't..." Your vision blacked out for half of a second making you nearly fall on the table.

"(Y/N)?!" His voice cracked with concern, and he moved closer steadying you. "I'm sorry. Please, don't..."

"No....I am sor-ry...M' so sorry. I shouldn't h-ave..."

Your words, your hurt, they couldn't be contained. And so, you let them spill out in a torrent, once again in his chest, not caring anymore whether he understood or not.

"Omar?" Your voice softened, cracking as you remembered the horrifying day once again. "Omar, Papa-?"

"Dear..." His voice faltered, a tear slipping down his cheek as he tried to explain. "He--he tried. He tried to find you. But his family... they weren't having it...weren't happy he was in contact with me and the law regarding you and just....took him to another state with them. They left. But he... he did try. I know he still loves you."

Not for long...he'd find someone else, a normal woman, with good reputation, with no connection to any gang and live happily ever after...

"At least he... tried," you muttered bitterly, pulling away from him. Your chest tightened, the ache inside growing deeper, suffocating you.

He pulled you closer, his fingers trembling against your arms. "Please, (Y/N)... one day, things will be different. I promise. I-I’ll find a way. When I can afford it. These people will be caught, and you’ll come back. I know you will. We will never turn you away."

Empty words. Promises...

"So… it’s your clients, then? Your business. Society mattered to you, after all-"

"Yes, one way or another, it does. It was a tragedy the first time, something we could all move past. But this time, you chose to be part of it. You shouldn’t have, dear. You shouldn’t have."

You see it now. He isn’t fighting for you, he’s asking you to accept it. To wait. To bear it for as long as necessary. Maybe forever.

It's over.

"Do you--are you hearing yourself? I can't take it... papa. I ca-n't-"

A loud smack on the door made you both jump. It was no less than a siren, indicating your return to hell.

This is it then...

A strained silence filled the room as you both matched eyes one last time, your heart heavy, more broken than it was before. There was nothing else that could be said to lessen the pain, no wish to be made, no comfort to be found. And here you thought you might have had a peaceful reunion with your family...

"Tell Mama and...Rayan...I love them."

❀˖°

The ride seemed endless, the hooves pounding against the dirt road a cruel rhythm to the vile words surrounding you. How long were you supposed to endure this? These men... these animals.

It wasn't until the camp came into view that he cornered you again, this time pinning you against Bill's horse. And you, despite the trembling in your hands, met his hardened glare with all the strength you could gather.

"If he can break one hand, I can do worse."

"Dutch!? What are you, stop it! And you both--fuck off!" Hosea came running, intervening immediately. He stepped between you both, and his voice panicked. He shoved Bill and Micah away. "Why didn't you inform me before leaving Dutch?! I was gonna go too! You couldn't let me-" But Dutch silenced him with only a lift of his hand.

"Not everything needs to be handled with gentleness, Hosea. And make sure she understands," Dutch said, his voice cold. "Listen here now, Arthur, he's not to get wind of this. Nobody does. You keep it to yourself missy. He'll know when I want him to know."

"Now you see everything, don't you?" Dutch's voice dripped with mockery. "Your father is practically grateful to me for agreeing to defend his caravans from the O'Driscoll boys. So you'd better be grateful, too. Because if your family can eat and sleep safely to this day and comin' ones, it's because of me."

"You see these people?" Dutch gestured toward the camp. "They have my name attached to them. You are a Van der Linde first and a Morgan second. That means you listen to me. And you'd better damn well listen because if you think for a second I can't harm your family, you're sorely mistaken."

His words hung in the air, suffocating and filled with poison. They twisted the air around you, wrapping themselves around your chest, making it hard to breathe.

"But trust me, you'll come to realize this is all beneficial for you, too. When I build on the land, I'll make sure you and Arthur get the most spacious room. After all, you deserve nothing else."

A gasp of pain escaped you as Dutch left, Hosea's voice drowning around you. His hands reached out to comfort you, but you violently shrugged them off, backing away, further and further, until you were now curled into a cocoon on the cot, shaking like a leaf.

Vultures.

Selfish.

Greedy sons of bitches.

That’s all they are. That’s all they will ever be.

❀˖°

The night was deathly quiet, the kind of silence that gnawed at his insides. Arthur lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling of the tent, listening to the faint rustle of the wind outside and the soft, uneven sound of your breathing. You were finally asleep, or at least, he thought so.

He couldn't stop seeing your face from earlier, the emptiness in your eyes, the way you barely reacted to anything he said or did. It haunted him. That hollow look, sunken eyes, that broken silence, it wasn't you.

Arthur shifted, propping himself up slightly to look at you. Your hair was a mess, splayed across the pillow, your bandaged hand resting limply near your face. Even in sleep, your brows twitched, as if the hurt followed you there too.

It was unbearable.

His hands trembled slightly as he moved closer. He didn't care if you woke up, didn't care if you lashed out, screamed, hit him. Hell, maybe he deserved that. But he wasn't going to let you lay here like this, drowning in whatever torment--- the world, had handed you that day.

Arthur slipped an arm around your waist, his touch cautious at first, but then firm. He pulled you into his warmth, pressing you close, his chin resting lightly against the back of your head. His heart pounded against your back as if it could somehow beat hard enough to protect you from the woe and despair that were clawing at you.

You stirred slightly, before settling again. Arthur's breath caught, but he didn't loosen his grip. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Even if you woke up and pushed him away, even if you cursed him for this, he couldn't let you go. Not when you needed this, even if you didn't want it.

He tightened his hold, his hand smoothing over your arm in slow, steady motions, as though trying to will away the hurt through sheer proximity. "I gotchu," he whispered against your hair. "I gotchu, darlin'."

You're not gonna sleep so broken. Not after whatever you heard back there.

─AN: Interactions are always appreciated and I will always love reading your guys' comments. To be added or removed from the tag list you can mention it. I hope this chap fed you guys well-〒▽〒 (●'◡'●)

★ tag list: @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool @lain3iwakura @bashfulcowgirl87 @catjsashrine @bipolarbitties @lizynownow @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @meheheasasa @necktattooed @jbrownta

[purplxbuttxrfly]

Isagi Yoichi: Idiot in Love♡

°•°•Synopsis. Isagi Yoichi is so in love with you

°•°•Note.This is my first story on this site and English is definitely not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

°•°•cw. established relationship

Isagi Yoichi is the epitome of what is called "A fool in love". You only have to observe the way he looks at you to be convinced. He practically has hearts in his eyes whenever it comes to you. This is even more obvious when he is on the field, his face is focused on the ball and his teammates and the opposing team, then his aggressive gaze falls on you. And as if you have cast a spell on him, his gaze instantly softens and the hearts return to his eyes.

Isagi LOVES your thighs. He likes to rest his head on them to take a nap while you read a book or watch television. Once, while he was lying down with his head on them while you were reading your novel of the week, he was watching you. He thought you were so beautiful with those reading glasses on the tip of your nose, your gaze focused on the book. He loved watching your reactions when you read certain passages. He stared at you for so long with those eternal hearts in his eyes, that you ended up noticing.

"You look at me like I'm the eighth wonder of the world"

you said jokingly. But only god knows how right you were at that moment. For Isagi, you are literally the only wonder of the world. Not to mention the fact that you are literally the goddess of his.

Know that each of his "I love you" and compliments he gives you are sincere, never ever did he think otherwise.

Also, since you've been in his life, there's one thing he's discovered about himself: he's a bit of a masochist. He even blames you for it

"Ah but it's your fault, you're the one who made me like this. I can't help it if you're too sexy when you're angry."

Oh, he tells you that often. He doesn't tell you but he loves it when you lecture him or make him angry. Once he didn't do the dishes even though you kindly asked him to. He preferred to sit in front of the television to watch a match. So you got angry with him and after 10 minutes of lecturing, he said

"Do you know that you're terribly and divinely beautiful when you're angry?" With a smile plastered on your lips.

You rolled your eyes before heading to the kitchen to do the task he hadn't done.

"Wait, but you're leaving like that? Without giving me a little blow to the back of the head or anything else?!"

He let slip this sentence, implying that he had done it on purpose to make you angry.

You made him seem extraordinarily naive. He drinks all your words like water, whether they are true or false.

"Yoichi, did you know that it is impossible to touch your elbow with your tongue?"

You told him once.

"Oh really? If you say so, it must surely be true."

That's all!!!?? He didn't even try like 99% of people to check. The fact that he didn't ask any questions alarmed you.... and if you...

"Oh my god!!! Yoichi!!!"

"What the hell!?"

He watched you panic.

"We saw a unicorn walking around attacking people in Shibuya!!"

No, that's too big of a lie, he'll never believe that...

"SERIOUSLY!!!!??? WHAT ARE THEY WAITING FOR TO CATCH HIM?!"

At that moment, you were convinced that he was making fun of you, but his gaze was exactly the same as the one he had when you got sick. His gaze showed worry. No, it's not possible that he believed your lie. This idiot is not that naive.

"Yoichi...you know that's not true, right?"

"Huh?! Uh, I mean, of course I knew it...a unicorn, honestly. Do you take me for a 5-year-old girl??"

He says that but his trembling voice and the drops of sweat on his face lead you to have doubts about his honesty on this one.

Like any human being, Isagi can be in a bad mood, frustrated or angry. But you have found a solution to this problem. Feeling your soft lips on his calms him down and instantly puts him in a good mood. He melts with happiness, sweetness, love and satisfaction every time you kiss him.

You transform him so much by your simple presence that his teammates call you "The magician."

Isagi Yoichi tells you "I love you" Countless times a day.

You are someone warm, caring and smiling. You like to help people, but you don't always dare, because you are someone shy. And it is your smile that Isagi fell in love with first. But sometimes, even you who are so perfect in his eyes, you become a bitch. Despite the fact that he is very much in love with your kindness and caring, when he discovers this side of you, he can only love you even more .

Isagi Yoichi literally loves everything about you.♡♡

do not copy. do not translate.

[societyfolklore]

A Lesson in Restraint

Title: A Lesson in Restraint

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Summary:  Loki, ever the god of control, plays a tormenting game of pleasure and denial, keeping you on the edge of madness with teasing touches and cruel restraint.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Smut, Implied Sex, ‘Just the tip’  Edging & Denial, Mild Degradation & Teasing, Dominance & Submission Themes NO BETA

A/N: ‘just the tip’ – Loki (Will be covering others over the next few days)  because the idea wont let my mind go today..

Loki thrives on control-his own, and especially yours.

It’s the game he enjoys most, the delicious contrast of power and submission. You are completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, your body instinctively responding to every slow, measured roll of his hips as he just grinds against you. His smirk is a blade, sharp and knowing, as he whispers against your ear, his breath a sinful caress.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

You whimper, the sound swallowed by his lips ghosting along your jaw, down the sensitive line of your throat. His hands roam, teasing, never giving enough. He brushes his fingers down your sides, lingering over the swell of your hips, as if contemplating how best to break you. When ever you try to move, to take more, his grip tightens, effortlessly pinning you in place. Never enough to give proper friction never letting you move your hips to catch the right angel. 

“Ah, ah,” Loki tsks, amusement laced in every syllable. “Patience, darling. Did you think I’d simply give you what you want?”

By now, you’re wrecked. He’s been at this for what feels like forever, coaxing you to the edge only to pull you back at the last second, leaving you raw, shivering, so painfully desperate that every inch of your body burns for him. Your skin is hypersensitive, every brush of his fingers sparking through you like a live wire. Your thighs are slick, your breathing ragged, and Loki-oh, Loki is savouring every second of your unravelling.

But this is only the culmination of a night spent under his careful hands. He’s had you pressed to every surface imaginable-against the cool wood of the table, bent over the arm of the couch, sprawled beneath him in bed-each time giving you just enough to wind you up, but never enough to break. He’s brought you to the edge with his tongue, with his fingers, with whispered promises that never quite became reality. Every time your release loomed, he pulled back, smirking at your desperation.

“Look at you,” he muses now, a dark pleasure in his voice. “So needy. So desperate. I could keep you like this forever.”

You feel sticky, coated in a thin layer of sweat, your hair damp and messy from how long he’s been tormenting you. Every inch of you is flushed, overheated, every nerve alert. The sheets beneath you cling to your skin, a testament to how thoroughly he’s worked you into this state. It only adds to your frustration, the overwhelming sensation of need pressing down on you from every direction.

His cock drags through your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal, teasing you with every deliberate glide. The head of him nudges at your clit, sending a shudder ripping through you, but he never presses in, never gives you what you crave.

“Have you earned it, I wonder?” His voice is silk, threaded with wicked amusement. “Have you been good enough for me?”

The barest push of his cock inside you has you gasping, your fingers scrambling for purchase against his shoulders. Finally, it’s going to happen-he’s going to take you like you need him to. But no. It’s barely anything at all.. he pulls back again, just enough to keep you dangling on the precipice of madness.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips as he watches the frustration flicker across your face. "Did you really think I'd make it that easy for you?" he purrs, dragging himself through your slick folds once more, letting you feel every teasing, torturous inch without ever granting you true satisfaction. "Tell me, darling-what makes you think you’ve earned this?"

The whine that comes from you doesn't sound like a noise a person should me.  

“Do you deserve to have me inside you, darling?” His words drip with condescension, teasing, testing. “I think you like this-being denied, being kept on edge. Look at you, so beautifully desperate for me.” You wanted to cry as he pulled back out the tip of him leaving, all so he could drag it back through your wetness again.  Teasing, torturing, smearing your arousal along his length as he watches you shudder beneath him. He loves this, making you tremble, making you beg. “You need to prove yourself worthy of it,” he purrs, pressing the head against your entrance only to pull away once more, reveling in the way your body clenches, seeking more. “Perhaps I should leave you like this, aching, untouched?” "No, no, no… please.” Your pleas are a meaningless babble, a desperate chant that falls on deaf ears. The denial, the exquisite torment, is pushing you past the point of coherence. Your body writhes beneath him, every nerve frayed, every inch of you desperate for relief.

Loki only hums, pleased by the way you tremble beneath him. His fingers trace idle patterns over your hips, his touch feather-light compared to the unbearable pressure coiling inside you. He watches, drinking in every little gasp, every pitiful sound.

“Such a pretty thing when you beg,” he muses, his tone all mocking adoration. “But have you truly learned your lesson? Do you understand now that nothing is given freely?”

His cock moves along you again, now teasing himself as much as he is teasing you. Every motion is measured, calculated to keep you right there, teetering between pleasure and torment. He presses the head against you, not quite pushing in, letting you feel the promise of him, the heat, the sheer size of what you so desperately crave.

“Tell me, darling,” he murmurs, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, “do you deserve me?” You nodded too quickly. 

“You think you can handle all of me, darling?” He chuckles, low and dark, watching your face, drinking in the way you clench around him, desperate. “How precious.”

You writhe, your thighs trembling around his hips, but he stays right there, maddeningly still. A slow grind, a teasing pulse of movement, and then nothing. Again and again, keeping you hovering on the edge of madness. His hands explore you leisurely, fingers dragging over your skin, marking his path with the ghost of his touch. He cups your breast, pinching a hardened nipple between his fingers, making you cry out, only for him to pull away again.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he muses. “But greed will get you nowhere.”

You can feel the cruelty in his touch, in the way he gives and then takes, lets you taste heaven before snatching it away. That is his way, after all-Loki never offers pleasure without the balance of torment. And tonight, he is in a mood to make you drink from both cups in equal measure.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red crescents against his skin, your frustration mounting with every tease, every denied pleasure. The slow, torturous game continues, Loki offering fleeting touches, brief movements, but never enough to tip you over the edge. The ache in your core is unbearable, a pulse of heat winding tighter and tighter, but he keeps you right there, just shy of bliss.

The anticipation is unbearable, the pleasure bordering on pain. “Loki,” you whine, every syllable thick with frustration, with need. “Please.”

He hums, considering. He enjoys this part, making you work for it, making you say the words he wants to hear. His fingers grip your chin, tilting your head so you meet his gaze, those blue eyes alight with cruel delight.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking over the pulse pounding in your throat. “You’ll have to beg much prettier than that.”

He shifts just enough to tease you further, his cock pressing forward barely an inch before he pulls back again, his smirk widening as you whimper in frustration. His thumb drags across your lower lip, his voice a silken purr.

“Tell me how badly you want it,” he instructs. “Tell me you belong to me.”

Your breath stutters, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you at the command. For a brief moment, something inside you wars against it-pride, dignity, a sliver of defiance buried beneath the need. But it’s fleeting, crumbling under the weight of how desperately you want him. Your body betrays you, shifting instinctively toward him, aching for relief, and any thought of resistance melts away as quickly as it appeared. You hesitate, but the need outweighs pride.

“I'm aching, please..." The need, the throbbing at your center is starting to hurt. You feel like you're going to lose your mind if he keeps it up.

He tsks, shaking his head, lips brushing yours. “Not good enough, darling.”

Your entire body shudders, the overwhelming pressure winding tight in your core like a drawn bowstring, stretched to its very limit, threatening to snap at any moment. “Please, Loki,” you try again, voice raw with desperation. “Please, Loki, I'll do anything. Just give me what I need. I can't take it." Your voice cracks in a pathetic sob. 

A flicker of satisfaction gleams in his gaze before he captures your mouth in a searing kiss. His hips press forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop.. You are completely at his mercy, pinned beneath him, your body instinctively responding to every slow, measured roll of his hips. His smirk victorious and knowing, as he whispers against your ear, his breath a sinful caress.

[f4dedtouch]

╰┈➤ there for you

pairing: fawn!reader x s3 rafe

summary: fawn!reader getting asked out by a random guy on a date the one guys rafe specifically tells her not to go with. light angst with a happy ending.

warnings: mention of cursing, rafe being a bit mean.

you were curled up in bed, highlighter in hand, trying your best to stay focused on your notes. rafe was sprawled beside you, arm tucked behind his head, lazily scrolling through his phone like he had nowhere else to be. this was normal—him hanging around your place, making himself comfortable while you studied, offering absolutely zero help but keeping you company.

for a while, the only sounds in the room were the soft scratch of your pen and the occasional vibration of his phone. but your mind was elsewhere. you’d been holding onto something all day, and you knew if you didn’t say it now, you never would.

taking a quiet breath, you finally spoke. “so… i think i’m going on a date this weekend.”

rafe barely reacted at first, just a slow blink before his eyes flicked to you. “with who?”

you hesitated, shifting on the bed. “you know that guy… uh, logan? the one with the stupid expensive watch he never shuts up about? yeah, him.”

his jaw tensed immediately. “no. don’t go.”

you sighed, setting your highlighter down. “rafe—”

“no, i’m serious,” he cut in, sitting up now, his whole posture shifting. “that guy’s a total dick. i promise you, he’s not a good dude.”

“you say that about every guy,” you argued, crossing your arms. “every single time someone asks me out, you find something wrong with them! i’m tired of it, rafe. i actually wanna give him a chance.”

“and i’m tellin’ you not to waste your time,” he shot back, brows furrowing. “i know guys like him. he doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“oh, and you do?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted it. his expression hardened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes.

“yeah,” he said quietly. “i do.”

you swallowed, but the frustration was still there. “i just—i don’t get it. why do you care so much? why can you never just be happy for me?”

rafe scoffed, shaking his head as he stood up. “fine. do whatever you think is right.”

his voice was calm, but you could tell he was pissed. he grabbed his keys, casting you one last glance before muttering a quiet, “goodnight,” and walking out.

you laid back against your pillows with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, feeling strangely unsettled.

you had put in the effort. the dress, the hair, the subtle makeup. you’d spent way too long deciding on an outfit, checking the mirror one last time before heading out.

and now, you were sitting alone at a candlelit table, fingers gripping your phone as you checked the time again. ten minutes late. fifteen. twenty.

the restaurant was buzzing with couples and conversation, but all you could hear was the pounding of your heart as realization settled in.

he wasn’t coming. all that effort for nothing.

embarrassment crept in, your throat tightening as you quickly grabbed your bag and left, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stepped into the cool night air. you felt so stupid. this was supposed to be your first real date.

your hands shook as you unlocked your phone, pressing the only contact you could think of.

“rafe?” your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

there was a beat of silence before he answered. “where are you?”

you swallowed hard. “he—he didn’t show up.”

another pause. and then, voice softer now, “i’ll be a little late, yeah? hang on for me.”

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see you.

when rafe finally pulled up, you immediately noticed the way his knuckles looked slightly bruised, like he’d been gripping somethin’ too hard. his breathing was controlled, but there was an edge to him, somethin’ unreadable in his expression. you didn’t say anything.

he didn’t say anything at first either, just opened the passenger door of his truck for you, just reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you, his fingers brushing against your arm for the briefest moment before pulling away.

the car was quiet as he started driving. you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, shame curling in your stomach.

“i should’ve listened to you,” you mumbled finally, voice small.

rafe exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel. “yeah, you should’ve.”

your stomach twisted. “i just—” you shook your head. “i thought maybe, for once, things would be different.”

he glanced at you, and his voice softened. “that ain’t on you. some people are just assholes.”

you bit your lip, guilt gnawin’ at you. “are you mad?”

“no,” he said easily. “just pissed you looked that good for a guy who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

you blinked, caught off guard, but he just kept his eyes on the road, like he hadn’t just casually complimented you. I mean he always complimented you but this felt different.

a few minutes passed before he spoke again. “you hungry?”

you shook your head. “not really.”

“yeah, you are.” he pulled into the drive-thru of your favorite fast-food place without waitin’ for an answer. it was a tradition—eating in the car, parked in a quiet spot, just the two of you.

he ordered for you, knowing exactly what you liked, even throwin’ in your favorite dessert.

when you were parked, he handed you your food, watchin’ as you picked at it before finally takin’ a bite.

neither of you talked much, just eatin’ in comfortable silence, the familiar presence of him settlin’ somethin’ deep inside you.

when he finally drove you home, you turned to him, voice quieter now. “thanks for pickin’ me up. and for the food.”

“don’t mention it,” he said, jaw clenchin’ slightly.

but then, his expression softened, and he looked at you, somethin’ unreadable in his eyes. “hey,” he murmured. “if you need a date, let me know, alright? you don’t gotta go out with assholes.”

you let out a quiet laugh, shakin’ your head. “i’ll keep that in mind next time.”

he smirked slightly before leanin’ in, pressin’ a soft kiss to your forehead. “goodnight, sweet girl.”

your heart stuttered. “goodnight, rafe.”

he waited till you got inside then you watched as he pulled away, the glow of his taillights disappearin’ down the road.

what you didn’t know was that when rafe got home, he busied himself with paperwork, emails, anything to keep his hands from curlin’ into fists again.

because the sight of you sittin’ there, all dressed up and lookin’ like a dream, only to be stood up by some loser?

yeah. that was enough to make him wanna beat the guy into the ground all over again.

[verstappenverse]

NSFW Excerpt Preview from - No Strings, No Feelings, No Problem (tbc)

The moment Max walks through the door, his eyes are locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey. His suit jacket is discarded in an instant, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone as he stalks toward you.

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice rough with hunger as he presses you against the wall. His fingers graze along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet his gaze. “Don’t close your eyes baby. Look at me.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his dominance settling over you, leaving you breathless. His lips brush over yours but don’t quite meet, just out of reach, teasing as you instinctively chase him.

His pupils are blown wide with want, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as his hands explore your body, rough and possessive. “Open your legs for me baby. I wanna see you.” The way his voice drops sends a shiver down your spine, anticipation thrumming through your veins. “So fucking pretty like this.”

His hand slides up your thigh, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin "Always so eager for me."

Your breath hitches as he drags his lips down your throat, teeth grazing over your pulse point. A whimper escapes before you can stop it, and Max groans, his grip tightening slightly. "That noise… keep making it." He drops his head to the crook of your neck, dragging his teeth over your skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "I want everyone to see this and know you're mine."

Your hands tangle in his hair, nails scratching along his scalp, and he lets out a guttural moan, rutting against you like he can't get close enough. “Fuck—uh, I love it when you touch me like that.”

His fingers press into your skin, his grip unrelenting as he manoeuvres you effortlessly. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” His voice is demanding, laced with impatience, and you obey instantly, feeling the strength in his arms as he lifts you.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you beg.”

Your breath stutters, lips parting as a shaky whimper escapes, but it’s not enough, not for him. Max’s grip tightens again, his fingers digging into your skin, urging, demanding more.

“Come on baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “I know you can do better than that.”

You swallow hard, pride warring with the desperate need curling in your stomach. He’s relentless, teasing, making you squirm beneath him, refusing to give you what you want until you give in to him completely.

“Max…” you gasp, your hands gripping at his shoulders. “Please...please, I need you.”

He groans, head tilting back as if he’s savouring the sound. “That’s a good start,” he muses, lips brushing over your jaw. “But I want more.”

Your cheeks burn, frustration and longing twisting inside you, shameless in the way you press closer. “Please, Max. I need you—I need you so bad.”

His control wavers for just a second before his mouth crashes against yours, swallowing every last plea. “That’s more like it,” he growls,

Your body responds to him instinctively, heat pooling low in your stomach as he pushes into you, his hands everywhere at once. “God, you feel so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips, stealing your breath with a kiss that’s all-consuming.

“Faster—ah—harder…” your voice is raw, desperate, and he can’t help the grin that tugs at his lips, loving the way you come undone for him.

He moves with purpose, teasing, tormenting, drawing out every sound he can. "Fuck, you’re so fucking hot." His words come out ragged, strained, his control slipping as he watches you unravel beneath him.

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pushes you past your limit, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He smirks, satisfied but insatiable, his fingers still tracing possessive patterns against your skin.

“I wanna go again,” he murmurs, mischief dancing in his blue eyes.

You let out a breathless laugh, your body still trembling from his touch. “You don’t know when to take a break do you?”

Max leans in, his hands already coaxing you back into his orbit. “Not when it comes to you,” he murmurs, his tone dark and full of promise. “Now, arch your back for me baby.”