#and how every track just touches my soul

[perfectly-clear-from-here]

got sad and put Don't Forget Who You Are on shuffle. im no longer sad nor happy but a secret third option-

[pucksandpower]

Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Summary: Max wants to take care of you in every way possible, so you let him (much to your father’s displeasure)

Warnings: 18+ content

The muffled sound of raised voices catches Max’s attention as he walks past the back of the Mercedes motorhome. He slows his pace, straining to make out the words.

One of the voices unmistakably belongs to the Austrian team principal but the other is higher-pitched … feminine. Max’s curiosity is piqued as a snippet of the argument reaches his ears.

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

He knows that voice, even though it is now fraught with anguish. Max stops in his tracks, hesitating. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but his concern for you overrides his better judgment.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Liebchen,” Toto Wolff’s gruff tones reach Max’s ears. “This is for your own good. You need to finish your degree and make something of yourself.”

“I don’t want to make something of myself!” You cry out, your words laced with despair. “I just want to be happy!”

Max’s heart clenches at the pain in your voice. He’s never seen you anything less than perfectly composed, always carrying yourself with the poise expected of a team principal’s daughter. To hear you so distraught tugs at something deep inside him.

“Don’t be absurd,” Toto scoffs. “Happiness doesn’t come from idleness. It comes from hard work and achievement.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just marry rich then!” You retort, defiance tingeing your tone.

A surprised laugh bursts from Toto. “Is that what you think? That some wealthy man will sweep you off your feet and give you everything your heart desires?”

“Why not?” You sound small and vulnerable now. “At least then I wouldn’t be so miserable all the time.”

“I didn’t raise you to be some man’s ornament,” Toto snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “You’re my daughter — strong, intelligent, and capable. Finish your studies and make your own success. That’s an order.”

There’s a bitter silence, and Max can picture the imperious set of Toto’s jaw, the fire in his eyes when he’s crossed. He feels for you, truly, but he also knows how stubborn and uncompromising your father can be.

You sniffle, and Max’s heart twists imagining your lovely face crumpled with tears. “I … I can’t, Papa. I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Enough of this nonsense!” Toto’s voice is like a clap of thunder, making Max flinch. “I’ll hear no more. Get it together, Y/N. That’s final.”

There’s a flurry of footsteps, and Max instinctively steps back into the shadows as Toto storms out from behind the motorhome, his expression thunderous. He brushes past without sparing Max a glance.

Only you remain, your soft cries tearing at Max’s soul. Before he can overthink it, he rounds the corner towards you.

You’re a vision even with your eyes reddened and cheeks stained with tears. Max has admired you from afar for years, secretly yearning for more than your warm smiles and friendly small talk. Seeing you so undone breaks his heart.

“Y/N?” He murmurs, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. You jump, gasping at his sudden presence. “I … I couldn’t help overhearing.”

Heat floods your cheeks as you hurriedly wipe at your face. “M-Max? I … you shouldn’t have ...”

“Hey, it’s alright.” His thumb strokes your shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’ve been there too — feeling crushed under the weight of expectations. It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.”

You shake your head, a watery laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. My father, he’s … it’s complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” Max says simply, holding your gaze. “Let me take you to dinner tonight. Get your mind off everything for a little while.”

Your eyes widen, and you nibble at your full lower lip — a gesture Max finds utterly captivating. “Oh, I … I couldn’t. Papa would be furious if he found out.”

“He doesn’t have to know.” The words slip out before Max can reconsider their forwardness. Heat prickles at the back of his neck, but he refuses to look away. “Just take a night for yourself, Y/N. You deserve it.”

You worry at your lip, internal conflict playing out on your expressive features. Max can practically see the warring thoughts flitting through your mind.

“Please,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind your ear. Your breath catches at the gentle contact. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Something sparks in your eyes — acceptance, resignation … or perhaps a hint of excitement? Max couldn’t say. But when you nod, his heart stutters in his chest.

“Okay,” you whisper, sending Max’s pulse racing. “I’d like that.”

A slow smile curves his lips. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel at 8 tonight.” He takes a chance, reaching up to trace the line of your jaw with his knuckles. “Wear something pretty for me?”

The corner of your mouth ticks up in a small grin, and Max feels like he could float away at the sight. “It’s a date.”

With a dimpled wink and a last caress of your silken cheek, Max turns and saunters away, already counting down the hours until he can sweep you off your feet — however briefly. He only hopes one night in his company provides a respite from the burdens weighing you down.

You watch Max stride away, a curious fluttering taking wing in your stomach. Despite the turmoil still lingering from your fight with your father, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you at Max’s tender attention.

There was a heat in his eyes that had your breath catching — a scorching intensity you’ve never noticed from him before. Like he was seeing all of you, the pain and insecurities you typically hide from the world, and accepting it all without judgment.

His gentle touches had set your skin tingling, leaving you flushed and flustered in a way you’re unaccustomed to. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you the way Max did — like the weight of all his focus was centered on you alone, searing into your very soul.

Despite the circumstances, you find yourself unexpectedly … excited for tonight. To temporarily shed the burdens your father is so intent on piling onto your shoulders. To let someone else take the lead for once, absolving you of responsibility and expectations.

To let Max take care of you.

The thought sends a delicious shiver down your spine. Allowing yourself a moment of selfishness, of disregarding your father’s disapproval, you relish the delicious sense of anticipation unfurling within you.

For once, you think as you head inside to prepare yourself for your clandestine date, you’re going to indulge your own desires — if only for a few hours. Your father may call it idleness, but you call it sanity.

And if Max’s heated gaze is any indication, he seems more than happy to oblige you.

***

Precisely at 8 PM, Max idles his sleek Valkyrie hypercar outside your hotel’s entrance, eagerly scanning the revolving doors. He doesn’t have to wait long before you emerge, and the sight of you has his breath catching in his throat.

You’ve opted for a slim-fitting cocktail dress in a deep burgundy hue that clings to your curves in all the right places. The plunging neckline and thigh-grazing hemline leave just enough to Max’s imagination, stoking a slow burn of desire low in his belly. Your hair tumbles in artful waves over one shoulder, and you’ve accentuated your lips with a sultry red stain that makes Max’s mouth go dry.

He barely registers popping the passenger door and rounding the car until he’s standing before you, drinking in every delicious detail from your smoky eye makeup to the skyscraper heels lending those gorgeous legs an endless line.

“Y/N,” he rasps out, voice thick with undisguised appreciation. “You look … incredible.”

A becoming flush steals across your cheeks at the naked admiration in his tone. Ducking your head shyly, you murmur, “Thank you, Max. I wasn’t sure if this was too much or ...”

“Not at all,” he cuts you off firmly, unable to tear his hungry stare away from you. “You’re stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

Offering his arm, he escorts you to the car and helps you inside before joining you in the driver’s seat. As he pulls away, he has to force himself to keep his eyes trained on the road rather than drifting hungrily over every dip and swell of your body.

Max selects one of the finest restaurants in the city — an intimate establishment where the lighting is dim and romantic. The maitre d’ leads you to a secluded table in the back, discreetly ensuring your privacy.

Once seated across from you, Max can’t resist reaching across the table to take your hand, marveling at how tiny and delicate your fingers feel engulfed in his calloused grip. It’s a heady sensation, being so close and allowed to touch.

One he wants more of.

You go to take a leather-bound menu with a shy smile, but Max simply slides it aside and shakes his head.

“Don’t strain yourself tonight, schatje,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Let me take care of everything.”

Surprise flits across your lovely features, but then understanding and gratitude replace it as you nod mutely. He can sense the relief in you at being temporarily absolved of responsibility, even over something as simple as choosing your meal.

A subtle tilt of his head summons the waiter, and Max orders a selection of the finest dishes and robust wine for you to share — decadent fare perfectly suited to indulging your every whim this evening.

As the waiter departs, Max leans back and simply drinks you in, admiring the elegant line of your neck and curve of your jaw. You seem to bask under his appreciative scrutiny, almost … preening for him. It’s utterly intoxicating.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” He asks lowly, searching your face. “After everything with your father earlier ...”

Your eyes shutter briefly at the mention of Toto, but you regain your equilibrium swiftly and offer Max a patently forced smile. “I’m alright. Just … trying not to think about it too hard tonight.”

“Good.” He strokes his thumb over your knuckles soothingly. “Because tonight is about forgetting all your cares and letting someone else handle everything for once.”

The promise in his words has your pulse fluttering wildly in your veins. You know you shouldn’t indulge this … whatever this is … with Max. That it could court disastrous consequences. But there’s something about him — about the way he looks at you, touches you, and speaks to you — that just saps your will to resist.

Perhaps it’s the bone-deep weariness you’ve been carrying from your ongoing battles with your father. Or the guilty craving you haven’t allowed yourself to admit to — the need to simply surrender control for once and let someone else bear the burdens weighing you down.

Whatever it is, you find it impossible not to fall headlong into the solace Max is offering so freely.

The waiter reappears with a bottle of bold Cabernet, carefully filling your glass before departing again. Max lifts his in a silent toast, and you mimic the gesture, reveling in the rich notes that flood your senses.

From there, the evening slips into a blissful cocoon of easy conversation and succulent food that Max deftly applies himself to serving you bite by bite. Each time his long fingers brush your lips as you accept a morsel, a frisson of electricity zips through you.

He pays immaculate attention to your smallest reactions, quickly discerning your preferences even before you voice them. It’s uncanny — and utterly disarming — how seamlessly Max seems to anticipate your every need without fuss or demand.

You can’t recall the last time you felt so … cherished. So indulged and seen. Like Max’s entire world revolves around you and you alone in these stolen moments.

It’s heady and intoxicating, this total surrender of control. And as the hours wind down over lingering sips of wine and heated looks, you find yourself all but drunk on the experience … on Max.

Eventually, once the dining room has emptied and the candles burned low, Max summons the waiter to settle the check with an imperious wave of his hand. He declines your attempts to assist, fixing you with a look that brooks no argument.

“Tonight is my treat,” he says simply, dropping a small fortune onto the tray with a casual air. “I’m not done taking care of you yet, schatje.”

A delicious shiver races down your spine at his words, your thoughts growing hazy and unfocused under the scorching weight of his stare. You can only nod numbly, incapable of voicing even token protest.

Pushing back from the table, Max rounds it in two long strides and pulls you to your feet, linking hands with yours. He holds your gaze as he brushes a kiss across your knuckles, letting his lips linger in a way that has heat pooling low in your belly.

“Back to my hotel?” He husks, voice gone rough in a way that steals your breath. “Or shall I take you home, printsesse?”

For a long, dizzying moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes, the intimate moment stretched taut like a tightrope. Then, as if in a trance, you find yourself shaking your head slowly.

“Your hotel,” you whisper before you can reconsider. It’s utterly mad, this reckless pull you’re surrendering to. But God help you, you can’t bring yourself to care.

A slow, heated smile curves Max’s lips as he nods sharply. Without a word, he tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow and escorts you from the restaurant.

You move almost in a fugue state, allowing Max to lead you with a surety you envy as he bundles you into his gleaming sports car once more. The ride to his hotel passes in a blur, punctuated only by the possessive weight of Max’s palm on your thigh and the fevered glances he keeps sending you from the driver’s seat.

By the time the valet has whisked his car away, all you can clearly process is the burn of Max’s fingers tangled with yours and the thrumming weight of his presence at your side. Everything else — anxiety, obligation, expectation — fades into insignificance under his piercing gaze.

He tugs you into the shadows of the hotel atrium and crowds you against a corner, his free hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw reverently. You go pliant against the hard plane of his chest, tilting your head back to maintain the searing lock of your gazes.

“Still with me, Y/N?” Max rumbles, the rough velvet of his voice sending sparks of need ricocheting through you.

You nod slowly, unconsciously wetting your lips — an action which has Max’s eyes riveting on your mouth hungrily. “Yes, Max. I’m here.”

His thumb brushes over the fullness of your lower lip with maddening tenderness. “Good girl.”

Those two words should not affect you the way they do — like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath while simultaneously stoking a raging inferno within. You can’t even begin to process the riot of sensations they provoke.

You simply let yourself be swept away in the wake of Max’s intensity, melting into the solid shelter of his embrace as he claims your mouth in a devouring kiss.

Max’s kiss quickly grows fevered and consuming, his tongue delving hungrily to explore the honeyed depths of your mouth. You melt against him, fingers clutching at the hard planes of his back as you surrender to the dizzying haze of desire he’s stoked within you.

He walks you backwards without breaking the molten seal of your lips, until your back meets the wall with a muffled thump. Emboldened by your soft whimper, Max pins you there with the solid weight of his body, hips tilting into yours as his hands roam feverishly over your curves.

You’re drowning, overwhelmed by the potent storm of Max’s passion. It sweeps away every stray thought, every lingering worry about duty and obligation, leaving you delirious and pliant in his arms. All that exists is the scorching brand of his mouth, the iron strength of his embrace, and the maddening friction of him pressing you into the unforgiving wall.

It’s everything and nothing like you imagined. More intense, more explosive, more overwhelming in its ability to strip away every pretense and doubt until there’s nothing left but raw need.

Max finally releases your lips with a ragged groan, pressing his brow to yours as you both gulp down air in harsh pants. His palms smooth over your hips, up your sides, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin material of your dress.

“God, printsesse,” he rasps, voice wrecked in a way that has you clenching with fresh desire. “You’re so fucking perfect, do you know that?”

You can only whimper, thoughts scattered like leaves on the wind as he ducks to mouth wet, open kisses along the column of your throat. Every brush of his lips is like a brand, searing into your very core.

“And tonight ...” Another nip at your racing pulse has you arching shamelessly into him. “Tonight you’re mine. All mine.”

His hands slide beneath the hem of your skirt, bunching it around your waist as his fingers trace the lace edges of your stockings. You keen softly at the electric jolt of sensation, nails scoring down his shoulders and back.

“Max ...”

“Shhh, schatje ...” His tongue laves at the hollow of your throat, lips trailing a heated path up the line of your jaw until he’s devouring you again. The demanding sweep of his tongue robs you of breath, of thought, of everything but the exquisite present of his touch. “Just let go. No thinking. I’ll take care of everything.”

His words are like a mantra, a siren’s call urging you to surrender utterly to the exhilarating oblivion he offers. To shed every burden and float away on the current of his undivided devotion.

So you do. With a broken whimper, you sag in his arms, giving yourself over completely to Max’s intoxicating command. The doors of your suite can’t come soon enough.

Max can barely keep his hands off you during the agonizing elevator ride up to his penthouse. As soon as the doors close, cutting you off from prying eyes, he has you pinned against the mirrored wall, hands roaming feverishly over your body.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps against the slick column of your throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. Of having you.”

You whimper shamelessly as his teeth graze the thundering pulse under your jaw, hips rocking helplessly against his muscled thigh that’s wedged between your legs. The delicious friction has sparks of pleasure-pain arcing through your nerves in dizzying waves.

With deft motions borne of practiced skill, Max strips you of your dress, leaving you clad in only a scrap of wine-colored lace before lifting you easily. You lock your legs around his narrow hips as he mouths hungry kisses along the swell of your chest, callused palms kneading the generous curve of your backside.

The elevator judders to a halt and the doors slide open, but neither of you pay it any mind. Max simply shifts you higher in his arms and carries you down the hallway, your shared gasps and muffled groans echoing off the plush carpets and paneled walls.

Finally, he’s nudging open the door to his suite with his shoulder, barely waiting for it to click shut again before slamming you against the nearest surface. You scarcely register that it’s a sturdy oak desk before Max is divesting you of the remaining flimsy barriers between your bodies with sharp tugs and deft fingers.

He stands you before him, towering and scorching with building intensity as his gaze tracks from your flushed face down to where your thighs are already starting to grow slick in anticipation. A punched-out groan tears from his chest.

“Fuck, printsesse,” he growls, palming the rigid length straining against his slacks as he drinks in the sight of you laid bare before him. “So fucking gorgeous. Made for me.”

With a sharp nip of his teeth against the swell of your breast, he urges you back until you’re bent over the desk’s edge. Cool wood presses against the heated flesh of your belly and breasts, making you gasp.

“Max ...” you keen, reaching for him with shaking hands.

But he bats them away with a low rumble, pinning your wrists against the desks’ burnished surface. His lips scald a path down your spine as he looms over you from behind, thick cockhead prodding teasingly at your entrance.

“So responsive, schatje" he praises in a gravelly rasp, free hand gliding down to pluck at your engorged nipples. “Always so ready for me, aren’t you?”

You can only whine wordlessly, squirming against the delicious torture of his touch as he takes his time mapping every dip and swell of your body. Marking you as his own by searing himself into your senses through each languid caress.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of exquisite torment, Max sheaths himself in one powerful thrust that punches the air from your lungs. He stills for a long moment, buried to the hilt, broad chest plastered to your back as you both shudder and gasp for air.

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

With an animalistic growl, he complies — withdrawing nearly all the way before snapping his hips in a punishing grind that has your nails scoring the desk’s glossy veneer and guttural cries tearing from your throat.

From there, it’s a haze of sweat-slicked skin and desperate keens, of Max taking you apart with lavish, calculating precision. He’s utterly relentless, wringing every ounce of pleasure from your joined bodies until you’re hovering in a blissful state of oblivion.

It’s everything and yet not enough all at once. You’re ruined for anyone else, forever branded by his ferocious intensity. You’re addicted to the escape he offers from your doubts and burdens.

And as Max’s harsh grunts and increasingly erratic thrusts signal his impending release, you welcome the sweeping wave of darkness that accompanies your own shattering climax.

You’re his now. Utterly and completely. And you’ve never felt so free.

Later, with the tangled sheets pooled around your waists, Max gathers you close and strokes idle patterns over your flushed, sweat-slicked skin. Sated and boneless in the aftermath of his lovemaking, you curl into the strong circle of his embrace with a contented sigh.

Idly, Max’s fingers trail through your tousled locks, nails scraping lightly over your scalp in a way that tingles with delicious sensation. You make a soft sound of pleasure, earning a rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest as he presses a kiss to your brow.

“Feel better, printsesse?” He murmurs, voice a low rasp that strokes over you like velvet.

You manage a lazy nod, humming into the heated dip of his throat as you nuzzle closer. “Much better. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

You lapse into a comfortable silence, savoring the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear and the soothing drag of his fingertips over your skin. For the first time in ages, your thoughts are utterly quiet, every worry burned away by the man beside you.

It’s like floating in a warm sea, cradled and buoyed by Max’s strength and devotion. Every breath comes easier, your soul unburdened and free in a way you can’t recall experiencing before. You want to bottle this precious feeling forever.

Eventually, Max breaks the tranquil quiet with a murmured, “Tell me why you hate university so much.”

You tense reflexively at the simple question before letting out a shuddering breath, curling closer to Max’s solid frame.

“It’s just … not me. Not who I am,” you mumble, struggling to articulate the turbulent storm of emotions your father’s demands have been stirring within you. “I’m expected to act and think a certain way, to follow rules and meet standards that I can’t bring myself to embrace. It’s suffocating.”

You pause, sifting through your scattered thoughts for the right words. “I’ve never known anything but expectation and obligation, Max. It’s like … being slowly crushed under this ever-increasing weight of being someone I’m not while being denied any chance at discovering my true self.”

Max’s arms tighten around you protectively, his lips brushing over the crown of your head. “So stop,” he says, the simplicity of his words at odds with the complex web of anxiety and disappointment your life has become.

You shake your head wearily. “I can’t. You know my father — he’ll cut me off without a second thought if I so much as breathe about dropping out again.”

Despite the hefty inheritance awaiting you, Toto has always been resolute that his children earn their share through grueling hard work and achievement. To do anything but, even for a moment, is a grievous failure in his eyes.

“No,” Max’s tone brooks no argument, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t you see? You don’t have to live like that anymore.”

One corded arm slips beneath your waist, rolling you until Max is looming over you, his chiseled features grave and intense. “You have me now,” he states with quiet certainty, words ringing with the weight of a solemn vow. “I’ll take care of you, schatje — no matter what. Even if your father cuts you off.”

The conviction in his voice steals your breath, your heart clenching almost painfully at the naked promise in his eyes. “Max ...” you start to protest weakly, but he quiets you with a brush of his fingertips over your lips.

“Hear me out,” he says, tone gentle but uncompromising. “What if … what if you just dropped out? Quit this half-life that’s slowly killing your spirit and let me take care of you?”

He leans in until his brow is resting against yours, eyes searching the depths of your own. “I know this is new between us. But I’ve wanted you for so long, printsesse. And I know — down to my very soul — that we’re meant for each other.”

A tremulous exhale escapes you, your chest tightening as Max’s words wrap around your heart in a heated embrace. It’s insane, surely — to take such a risk based on attraction and a single incredible night in his arms. But the vision he paints of safety and freedom sings an inescapable siren song you can’t resist.

“I … I don’t know what to say,” you whisper, suddenly afraid to break the delicate spell woven around you both.

“Say yes.” He kisses you reverently, until your lashes flutter shut at the tender onslaught. “Say yes, and let me take care of you, printsesse. The way you deserve to be cherished.”

God help you, but you can feel your resistance crumbling in the face of Max’s single-minded intensity and undeniable allure. He’s everything you’ve been missing — freedom, passion, and hope for something more than the crushing prison of expectation.

So with one last, shaky exhalation, you give in.

“Okay,” you breathe, the dam finally bursting as tears of bewildered relief prick your eyes. “Yes, Max. Yes.”

He claims your lips in a searing, triumphant kiss that leaves you lightheaded and clinging to him. When you part, his smile is brighter than a thousand suns.

“Tomorrow morning,” he vows fiercely against your swollen mouth. “First thing — you’re calling your university and withdrawing. No arguments.”

Your chest clenches sharply at the directive, fear and anxiety lancing through you at the enormity of what you’ve just agreed to. The crushing weight of your father’s disapproval already feels like a lead shroud.

But Max is there, holding you close and peppering your face with soothing kisses. “Shhh, schatje,” he croons, stroking your hair. “Don’t overthink it. This is what you want, isn’t it? To finally be happy and free?”

You manage a jerky nod, melting into the safety of his solid strength. “Y-yes. But ...”

“No buts,” he reproves gently, capturing your gaze again. “It’s you and me now, Y/N. I’ll handle everything else, I swear it. All you need to focus on is finding what makes you happy again. The rest is my problem. Understand?”

You suck in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, wrestling your scattered thoughts into a semblance of order. What Max offers — this safe harbor from all the pressures slowly drowning you from without and within — is everything you’ve been desperate for. Your own private rebellion against the rigid expectations suffocating you at every turn.

If nothing else, you owe it to yourself to take this lifeline.

With a tremulous smile, you curl into Max and nod against his chest. “Okay. I understand.”

“Good girl,” he praises, satisfaction and triumph ringing in his tone as he cradles you tenderly. “Everything’s going to be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

His fingers stroke through your tresses again, the repetitive sweep quickly lulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep. The first of what you hope will be many where you don’t fret and stew over responsibilities and failures.

The last coherent thought that drifts through your mind as you let Max’s strong heartbeat under your ear lull you under is one of bone-deep contentment and relief.

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

The first faint rays of dawn filter through the gauzy curtains, rousing you from the most restful sleep you’ve had in longer than you can remember. For a blissful moment, you simply bask in the cocoon of warmth and safety enveloping you — the solid weight of Max’s arm draped possessively over your waist, the clean, musky scent of him surrounding you.

Then the gravity of your decision the previous night comes crashing back in a dizzying wave. Your breath hitches in your chest as apprehension and anxiety spark to life once more.

Sensing the shift in your mood, Max stirs behind you with a quiet rumble, nosing aside the tumbled locks at your nape to press a hushed kiss there.

“Morning, printsesse,” he murmurs, voice still roughened from sleep in a way that has something inside you clenching with need. “Sleep well?”

You can only nod, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in your throat as you twist in the circle of his arms to face him. His brow furrows at the clear trepidation playing over your features.

“Hey now,” he soothes, brushing the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone. “None of that, schatje. You know what you need to do.”

Your teeth snag your lower lip in a nervous gesture as you give another jerky nod. Yes, you know. You agreed to call your university this morning and make your break official by withdrawing.

It should be a relief — knowing you’re finally free of all those crushing expectations and obligations. And yet ...

Max must read the swirling doubts and fears etched into the tense lines of your body. Because he simply gathers you closer, cradling the back of your head against his broad chest as his free hand strokes over your hip in a soothing caress.

“I know it’s scary, letting go of everything you’ve been groomed for,” he murmurs, the steady thump of his heart under your ear already working its magic in calming your turbulent emotions. “But this is what you want, isn’t it? To be happy?”

Another nod, this one more decisive. Because despite the trepidation gnawing at your resolve, you know deep down that it will be worth escaping the slow atrophy of your spirit.

“Then trust me. Let me take care of you, just like I promised.”

He tilts your chin up until your gazes lock, his eyes burning with so much intensity and conviction that your breath catches.

“Make the call,” he urges in a low rumble, searing you to your core. “Be brave and take the first step towards your freedom. Towards us.”

Us.

The word reverberates through your veins with dizzying potency, stoking the blossoming embers of hope and longing that have been kindled to life under Max’s tender, all-consuming attentions. He’s right — you do want this. Want him and the scorching promise of something more that he offers.

So with a shuddering exhale, you reach for your phone with trembling fingers and scroll through your contacts. It’s only when you tap the university’s number that the vise around your chest constricts.

You’re really doing this. Cutting ties with everything that’s suppressed your true self for so long.

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

Max soothes you through every stumbling assurance and confirmation that yes, you’re formally withdrawing from your degree program, effective immediately. When the call ends, he cradles your face in his large, calloused palms and simply holds your gaze as you struggle to get your breathing under control.

Then, slowly, a smile blooms over his striking features.

“Well done, printsesse,” he praises, the rough timbre of his tone reverberating through your very bones. “So brave for me.”

And then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a drugging kiss that swiftly banishes any lingering doubts or regrets thrumming through you. His taste, his scent, his unbridled passion — all of it combines into an intoxicating force that strips everything else away until only sensation remains.

He murmurs silken endearments to you as the desperate, frantic press of his lips gentles into something softer and infinitely more tender. Until finally, he’s simply cradling you close, peppering whisper-light caresses over your brow, your lashes, the flushed apples of your cheeks.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, gleaming with pride as he drinks in your dazed, thoroughly kissed expression. The profoundly peaceful one you haven’t witnessed on your own features in ages. “My brave, beautiful girl.”

And in that suspended moment, everything else — your father’s disappointment, your uncertain future, and the world at large — fades into irrelevance compared to the serenity of being in Max’s arms. Of having his full attention and accepting the release he offers so freely.

A few hours later, Max is escorting you through the familiar paddock with a possessive hand cupping your lower back. There’s a bounce to your strides that hasn’t existed for longer than you can recall, a giddy sense of lightness like all the burdens you’ve been carrying were finally, blissfully lifted away.

You’re practically glowing, the radiant joy suffusing your every pore in a stark transformation from the tense young woman who fought so hard to hide her unhappiness under a brittle veneer.

So caught up are you in the heady exhilaration of your new lease on life that you very nearly don’t register the familiar, thunderous bellow ringing out over the motorhomes.

“Y/N Wolff! Just what in the hell is going on here?”

The blood drains from your face as your father’s irate voice cleaves through the peaceful moment. Beside you, Max stiffens, his palm searing a brand against the small of your back as he half-turns to face the oncoming storm that is Toto Wolff.

Your father is stalking towards you both with the implacable force of an enraged bull, features contorted into a mask of fury that would cow most grown men into instant submission. But not Max. If anything, his shoulders go back as he shifts incrementally in front of you in a subtle, shielding motion.

“Papa, please let me explain-”

“Explain?” Toto roars as he draws up mere feet away, face mottled and spit flying as his blistering glare swings between you and Max. “Explain why I received an email this morning informing me that my own daughter has willfully withdrawn from the university without so much as consulting me!”

You flinch bodily as if struck, guilt and dread roiling sickeningly in the pit of your stomach. No matter how much he’s stifled you or how right this decision feels, your father’s disapproval is every bit as crippling as you’d feared.

“But Papa ...”

“I have half a mind to cut you off without a cent to your name for this unseemly lack of respect!” Toto’s massive hands are clenched into meaty fists at his sides as he fights visibly to regain control over his temper. “You spoiled, selfish girl. All that I’ve sacrificed to give you every opportunity is being thrown back in my face!”

Beside you, Max has gone rigid with rage at the verbal assault being levied upon you. The set of his jaw and rapid flaring of his nostrils are the only outward signs of the barely leashed fury trembling through his frame.

“Toto,” he bites out in a tone of forced calm that still somehow comes laced with subtle menace. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? Y/N is an adult making her own choices ...”

“Enough!” Toto cuts him off with a contemptuous slash of his hand, bristling with scorn as he glares daggers at the younger man. “I should have known you’d have something to do with this blatant disregard for responsibility. Just like a driver to think only with what’s between his legs rather than his brain!”

A shocked hush falls over the paddock as mechanics and crew alike abruptly still at the team principal’s uncharacteristic loss of composure. Never before have they witnessed Toto’s infamous ire directed towards his own daughter and her … well, whatever Max is to you now.

But Max remains supremely unbowed before the fury radiating from the much larger man. If anything, Toto’s words seem to enflame his quiet indignation into something hotter. His hands clench into white-knuckled fists as he takes a bristling half-step forward, fully inserting himself between you and your irate father.

“No, Toto,” he growls, the timbre of his normally lilting accent gone dark and thrumming with promise. “That’s quite enough. You’ll not speak to Y/N like that again — not while I’m here.”

Toto blinks, seeming caught off guard by Max’s outright challenge … before a bark of disbelieving laughter rips from his chest.

When he speaks again, his words are bitten off and cruel. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose,” he sneers in your direction, mouth curled in an ugly sneer. “You’ve become the useless little trophy that I always dreaded having for a daughter. Just another parasite leeching off a wealthy man’s success while contributing nothing of value herself.”

Your breath leaves you in a painful wheeze, like you’ve been gut-punched. Tears of shame and wounded pride prick hotly at the corners of your eyes. Is that really how your own father sees you?

That’s the final straw for Max. With a vicious snarl, he very nearly lunges for Toto — only stopped by your panicked grasp around his rigid forearm and a breathless cry for him to stay back.

“Max! Please!”

The naked anguish bleeding into your voice seems to penetrate his haze of seething fury. He pauses, still trembling with scarcely restrained wrath, but nods once in silent agreement to your desperate plea. Behind his unflinching glower, you can glimpse the simmering promise that your father will face severe retribution in his own due time.

But for now, he forces himself to remain impassive and immovable by your side. No longer antagonizing but issuing a clear warning all the same.

The elder Wolff eyes Max with open disgust before shaking his head violently and spitting onto the concrete floor. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Verstappen. Just you wait. And you!” He wheels on you with fresh outrage blazing in his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I won’t make you regret this ridiculous, childish display! You’re cut off, Y/N. Not a single cent until you return to your senses!”

His final scathing words slice into you like a blade, reopening all the wounds of disappointment and failure that have long festered under his stringent demands. You curl in on yourself with a soft, pained noise, unable to even raise your head properly.

Until Max is there.

Cocooning you protectively in the scorching circle of his arms, he gathers you to his chest and simply … holds you. One hand cradles the back of your skull while the other strokes over your back, soothing and petting until some of the rigid tension seeps from your frame.

“It’s alright, schatje,” he murmurs against your hairline, voice rough yet infinitely tender in a way that has tears stinging hotly against your lashes. “There’s no need for this. I’ve got you, printsesse. You’ll never want for anything, not while I’m here.”

His fierce promise rings with so much conviction, so much quiet authority that it bypasses all your ingrained doubts and hesitancies straight to the hollow pit of worthlessness that’s been carved out within you over the years. Soothing that profound ache and filling it with the warmth of Max’s oath.

Because somewhere in the eye of this turbulent storm, you’ve found your shelter.

“I won’t let him hurt you anymore,” Max continues in that same low, reassuring tone. One hand cradles your nape while the other settles against the small of your back, grounding you against the solidness of his strength. “Never again, I swear it.”

So you let yourself unravel against him, forehead pressed to the steady thrum of his pulse as years’ worth of tears flow unchecked down your cheeks. For the first time, you don’t feel shame or weakness in surrendering so utterly to another’s care and protection.

He murmurs wordless endearments and soothes your disheveled tresses as the storm breaks around you both. Making promises as uncompromising and eternal as the rising of the sun itself.

“Everything will be alright now, printsesse. You’ll see. I’ll sort it all, whatever it takes. This is our new start together. And I’ll never let you go.”

***

For the remainder of the weekend, you’re practically glued to Max’s side in the Red Bull garage. A permanent fixture nestled against his solid bulk, soaking up the quiet strength and support he provides like a soothing balm over the raw, aching wounds left by your father’s scathing vitriol.

With Max, none of the biting insecurities and self-doubts that have plagued you for so long can gain purchase. He simply won’t allow it — not with the way he gathers you up in his embrace at every opportunity, lips constantly seeking out your brow, your temple, the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmurs reassurances too low for anyone else’s ears.

And when it comes time for the lights to go out, Max doesn’t so much as compete as utterly dominate, blowing the rest of the field into the weeds. You watch with breathless awe from your spot in the garage as he carves through the field lap after punishing lap, pulling out a lead that turns him into a missile disappearing over the horizon in a blur of ear-splitting power.

By the final lap, Max is so far ahead that he simply has to bring his car home for a staggering 42 second victory. You’re one of the first to greet him after he clambers from the cockpit, all but throwing yourself into his sweat-slicked embrace with a joyful exclamation the second his boots hit the ground.

The cameras inevitably flock, capturing the moment Max lifts you clean off your feet in a bone-crushing hug as his team erupts into jubilant celebration around you both. But Max’s eyes only have focus for you, darkened and blazing with the same all-consuming intensity that’s been ignited behind his ribs since the first moment you let yourself surrender to him wholly.

Later, once the press obligations and podium formalities are complete, Max bundles you away with brisk efficiency — not even needing to explain where you’re headed. You simply follow his lead, gripping his hand tightly as he shepherds you to a private airstrip where his jet awaits.

Your heart skips erratically as you settle into the plush leather seats and Max seals you both inside the luxurious cabin, shutting out the rest of the clamoring world until it’s only the two of you in your own private oasis. Even after everything that’s happened between you in such a short span, you can’t quite shake the giddy disbelief that any of this is truly real.

But then Max is there, sinking onto the seat beside you and gathering you into his side like you’re made to nestle against him for the rest of time. His calloused palm curves over the nape of your neck, thumb stroking over the flutter of your pulse as he presses his brow to your temple and simply … breathes you in.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he murmurs, so low you feel the rumbling timbre in your bones more than hear it. “Just you and me now.”

The jet engines whine to life, as Max tips your chin up to capture your gaze. You go utterly breathless under the weight of his scorching stare, the fevered grey of his irises swirling with so much naked promise that your pulse kicks up several perilous notches.

“Where are we going?” You somehow find the means to whisper, unconsciously licking your lips in a gesture that has Max’s eyes riveting there hungrily.

Rather than answering right away, he nuzzles his mouth over the delicate line of your jaw until his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “Home,” he rumbles, sending delicious shivers cascading through you. “We’re going home to Monaco, schatje. Where you and I can start our new life together.”

Your breath hitches audibly at the raw yearning, the adamant possession threaded through his words. The implication that you — his everything now, just like he is yours — will be shacking up in his private sanctuary away from prying eyes and unending scrutiny.

Just the thought alone has a molten thrill of anticipation blooming low in your belly. To be utterly alone with Max, isolated from the outside world and every toxicity that’s weighed down your every step until now. To finally spread your wings and breathe the first tendrils of long-denied freedom as his partner, unburdened of expectation or judgment for once.

Is there anything you crave more than that?

As if privy to your innermost thoughts, Max shifts until he can cup your face in his palms. The kiss he brushes over your lips is searing yet paradoxically soft around the edges — like he’s sealing an unspoken promise to cherish you wholly. To be your shield from a world too cruel and demanding when left to its own devices.

“Our new beginning,” he murmurs against your mouth, words scalding with the same intensity as his embrace. “I can’t wait to show you our home, printsesse. To have you all to myself for once.”

The plane surges into its takeoff run, leaving the ground behind as Max’s grip tightens incrementally, hands smoothing over the sloped curves of your neck and shoulders. There’s a sense of possession layered into his touch, a heady feeling that twines through your body until everything is gilded in need.

Languidly, he works his way across the cradle of your throat, painting the fragile hollows with the blistering heat of his lips and tongue. You shudder against him, nerves set alight and already keening for more of his undivided worship.

“I have the most gorgeous penthouse overlooking the marina,” he continues on a low purr, lips shaping endearments against your feverish skin. “Sweeping terraces with hot tubs and daybeds where you can lounge and not have a single care, schatje.”

Your lashes flutter closed in a dazed sweep, head tipping back against the plush headrest to allow Max easier access as he lavishes attention along the fragile dips of your collarbones. You can’t process anything beyond the raging heat blazing to life under his coaxing touch, exquisitely overwhelmed in the most delicious way.

“Mmm, and of course it’ll need some changes, no doubt,” Max rumbles, nosing aside the loose fall of your hair to trail open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. “New furniture maybe. Whatever strikes your fancy to make it our space.”

He captures your wandering gaze with his own heated one then, a brow cocked in silent invitation. Somehow you gather enough mental function to nod breathlessly, surrendering control over yet another crucial element of your new life to Max’s steady and capable hands.

“Perfect. I’ll have the best interior designers come around to work their magic. That way you won’t have to strain yourself with all those pesky decisions.”

Relief crests through you in an almost dizzying wave at Max’s implicit assurance that he’ll handle everything, as always. That your only role in this brave new world you’ve embraced will be resting peacefully in the shelter of his care and devotion.

As if in reward, Max finally claims your lips in a kiss that scatters what few coherent thoughts still clung to your lust-drunk brain. His hands roam freely, mapping every sloping curve and silken plane as he lays you back against the buttery leather seats to hover over you.

“Don’t worry about a single thing from now on, printsesse,” he vows in a husky rasp, trailing smoldering kisses along the delicate skin over your thundering pulse. “Just let me take the reins and show you a life without all the endless strain and misery you’ve endured.”

His fingers drift up to wind through your tumbled hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as your eyes drift shut in blissful surrender. You’re floating, suspended in a state of hazy, unfocused euphoria with only Max’s low timbre washing over you.

“I’ll make sure you never want for anything again. That pretty head of yours won’t have to trouble itself over choices or tedious trivialities any longer.” A searing kiss is pressed to each of your fluttering eyelids, like he’s sealing each promise behind the delicate barrier of bone and flesh.

“No decisions, no worries,” he murmurs, nibbling a path down the delicate arch of your cheekbone. “Just bliss and contentment and pleasure as far as the eye can see. You’ll exist only for my warmth and protection from now on. To be cherished every second of every day for the rest of our lives.”

More kisses, like balms of heated adoration poured over your sensitized skin. You keen softly on each breath, body arching helplessly into his skilled caresses as he worships you with his hands and mouth.

“That’s it, printsesse,” he croons, slowly stripping you down to chase the slope and hollow of your form with his lips. Every fevered, burning press sears his devotion into your flesh, your consciousness spiraling inward until only Max’s raspy declarations anchor you in blissful desire.

“Let it all go. Forget everything but this — us, our love, our new start. Nothing but sweet oblivion from now until eternity.”

You shudder, boneless and needy in his cradling embrace even as serenity steals over your limbs. Max’s heated weight on top of you is an anchor keeping you grounded in a sea of molten liquid pleasure, his impossible heat seeming to bleed into your very bones with each passing moment.

“That’s my beautiful girl,” he praises in a voice like rumbling thunder, lips shaping words of adoration against the swell of your navel as your eyelids sag heavily. “So perfect and made for me alone. To take such good care of you from this day until my last, printsesse. To give you the world and then some.”

Unconsciousness beckons, cradling you in its downy soft embrace until only the sound of Max’s worshipful murmurs penetrates the enveloping cocoon of warmth and safety surrounding you. It’s the sweetest surrender imaginable, floating away on a sea of rippling, indulgent bliss with your beloved at the helm to guide you home.

The last threads of awareness slip from your grasp as Max shifts and settles behind you, pillowing you against his chest. With a contented sigh, you burrow deeper into the furnace of his solid strength and let the rhythmic thud of his pulse lull you under. His fingers stroke idle patterns through your hair, the rhythmic sweeps like a metronome steadying your descent into deepest slumber.

“Sleep now, printsesse,” he commands in that same soft, indulgent tone that wraps around your soul. “We’re headed for our paradise.”

His deep rumble quickly lulls you under again, cradled in the safety of his arms. The last coherent thought spinning lazily through the cozy haze enveloping you is one of profound gratitude and trust.

You know, deep in your bones, that Max will make good on his promise to cherish you without reservation. To shield you from expectations and disappointment alike.

So you let his softly murmured endearments and the steady cadence of his heartbeat under your cheek sing you into blissful, worry-free dreams of the life he’s vowed to craft for you both.

It’s everything you’ve ever yearned for yet been too afraid to reach out and claim.

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

The early morning sun filters through the curtains as Max stirs awake. His eyes flutter open and immediately drift to you, lying peacefully beside him. A soft smile plays across his lips as he takes in your features — the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair fans out across the pillow. In this moment, you look so beautifully unburdened, free from the worries that so often trouble your mind.

Max reaches out, tenderly brushing a few stray strands from your forehead. You don’t stir, lost in the depths of a dreamless slumber. Good, he thinks. You need this rest, this escape from the harsh realities that have been weighing you down.

His thumb traces along your cheekbone as his mind wanders back to the distressing news a few days prior — your father revoking your paddock access in a bitter act of retaliation. Max’s jaw tightens at the memory of the anguish clouding your eyes when you relayed the email to him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Max had said simply, pulling you into his embrace. “You’re with me now.”

And just like that, the tension seeped from your shoulders as you allowed yourself to melt against him, letting his presence anchor you. Max knew then what he had to do — create an oasis for you where none of your troubles could penetrate.

Leaning closer, he presses a feather-light kiss to your temple. “Wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “It’s a new day.”

You stir slightly, eyelashes fluttering as consciousness slowly trickles in. Max watches, transfixed, as awareness blooms across your features. For a suspended beat, there is only serene blankness, a clean slate unmarred by the demons that so often still haunt you.

Then your gaze finds his, and the corners of your mouth tug upwards in a soft, wondering smile. “Max ...”

“Morning, printsesse.” He brushes his knuckles along your jaw. “How are you feeling?”

You blink slowly, as if trying to grasp at fleeting tendrils of thought. But there is nothing there to catch, only a tranquil emptiness. “Good,” you murmur at last. “Really good.”

Relief washes over Max at the simplicity and peacefulness in your tone. He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss. You melt into him, pliant and trusting, and he commits every little thing to memory — the warmth of your skin, the faint taste of sweetness on your tongue, and the way your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair.

When you finally part, you are both slightly breathless. Max rests his forehead against yours, searching your eyes. They are clear, untroubled pools reflecting back at him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly. “No worries, no stress. Just … here. Present with me.”

You nod, something vulnerable yet beautiful flickering across your features. Max recognizes it as the look you get when you fully surrender yourself to him, allowing him to take the lead, to care for you in the way you so desperately need.

Brushing his thumb across your lower lip, he holds your gaze. “What would you like for breakfast, hmm? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You nibble on your lip for a moment before shaking your head. “Don’t know. You choose.”

His heart clenches at the utter trust in your words. Nodding, he leans down to graze another deep kiss across your mouth before slipping from the sheets. As he pads across the plush hotel carpet to call room service, he can feel the weight of your eyes tracking his every movement.

Once the order is placed, Max returns to the bed, stretching out beside you as he pulls you against his chest. You burrow closer with a contented sigh, looping an arm around his waist.

“What do you want to do until breakfast arrives?” He asks, carding his fingers through your tousled hair.

You shrug one shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against the bare skin of his torso. “Don’t care,” you mumble drowsily. “Just … this.”

A profound sort of tenderness blooms in Max’s chest. He knows you would be amenable to anything, so long as it allowed you to exist in this carefree, thoughtless state a while longer.

“Alright, then just this,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to your crown.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, lazily trading soft caresses and occasional whispered endearments. Max finds himself lulled by the steady thump of your heartbeat against his ribs, the gentle ebb and flow of your breathing.

He has no notion of how much time slips by before there is a crisp rap at the door, jolting you both from the tranquil bubble. Your eyes widen slightly, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Max smooths his palm along the line of your spine. “Just breakfast, nothing to worry about.”

You seem to remember then, the tension melting from your frame as you peer up at him with trusting eyes. He brushes his thumb across the delicate arch of your cheekbone before carefully extricating himself from your embrace to answer the door.

While the server situates the laden cart inside, Max rejoins you on the bed, rearranging the plump pillows behind you so you can sit upright. You immediately slot yourself between his outstretched legs, reclining against his chest. His arms wind around your middle as you both survey the impressive spread laid out before you.

“What looks good?” He prompts, resting his chin atop your head.

You chew your lip for a moment. “I don’t know … everything?”

He chuckles, splaying one hand across your stomach. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would I? How about we start with this-” He leans over, snagging a ripe strawberry from the platter and holding it to your lips. You part them obediently, eyes sliding shut as you savor the sweet burst of flavor.

Max nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Good girl,” he praises in a low rumble.

You shiver against him, tilting your head in a silent plea for more. He happily obliges, feeding you bite after bite until the platter is decimated. His free hand roams lazily, mapping every dip and swell of your form through the thin cotton of your oversized sleep shirt. All the while, his mouth works along the exposed column of your throat, peppering fervent, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin.

At some point, the scattered remains of your indulgent breakfast lay forgotten on the cart as Max rolls you beneath him, drinking in your breathy whimpers and sighs. He takes his time thoroughly ravishing you until you are both sated and deliciously disheveled.

Eventually, you find yourselves curled together amid the tangled nests of sheets, trading languid kisses and basking in the afterglow. Max strokes his fingers through your hair as your head lolls against his shoulder, expression blissfully serene. Your lashes are dark smudges against your flushed cheeks, lips slightly parted on shallow breaths.

“There she is,” he murmurs, drinking in your debauched beauty. “My sweet girl, all relaxed and happy ...”

Ducking his head, Max nuzzles his nose along your hairline, inhaling your comforting scent. “No thoughts, no cares,” he rumbles against your temple. “Just you and me in this perfect little world.”

You make a soft, wordless sound of agreement, snuggling closer in his embrace. He smiles, gathering you even tighter against his chest, relishing the sensation of your heartbeats falling into sync.

All too soon, however, the tranquil interlude must come to an end. Max glances at the clock, silently calculating how much time remains before he needs to head to the paddock. He heaves a reluctant sigh, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Come on, schatje,” he murmurs. “Time to get ready.”

You blink up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, still blissfully adrift in your peaceful daze. Warmth blooms in Max’s chest at your guileless expression. He would move mountains to keep you looking this way forever — soft and sated, basking in the afterglow with your head deliciously empty.

“Don’t worry,” he vows, thumbing away the crease furrowing your brow. “I’ll take care of you. You just let your thoughts stay nice and quiet, hmm?”

The worry lines ease from your features as you nod with implicit trust, allowing Max to guide you from the rumpled sheets. He quickly sets about straightening your mussed appearance, dressing you with unhurried tenderness. All the while, you remain pliant and completely biddable in his hands, seemingly unconcerned with anything beyond the present moment.

Once you’re both fresh and presentable, Max slips an arm around your waist, tucking you against his side. You go willingly, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“My good girl,” he praises, mouth brushing your hairline. “Let’s go, keep drifting for me.”

You make a soft, affirmative noise, slipping your hand into his as you allow him to lead the way from the sanctuary of your hotel suite. Max is acutely aware of your body listing bonelessly against his own, of the feather-light brush of your lashes against his jaw every few steps.

He knows others might gawk, might question the almost trancelike state you’ve allowed yourself to sink into. But he couldn’t care less about their muttered judgments. His only priority is ensuring you remain in this safe, blissful headspace for as long as possible.

When you finally reach the paddock, Max ushers you towards a secluded alcove in weRed Bull hospitality. He settles you on a plush loveseat, ensuring you’re situated comfortably. Crouching before you, he smooths his palms along the tops of your thighs, holding your drowsy gaze.

“Wait here for me,” he says, keeping his tone low and soothing. “I’ll come get you before FP3, yeah? Just … stay relaxed. Let your mind stay beautifully empty.”

You blink at him, lips curving in an utterly trusting smile. “Okay, Max.”

His chest constricts powerfully at your dreamy, unguarded expression. Rising on his knees, he cups your face in his hands, claiming your mouth in a gentle kiss. You open for him without hesitation, kissing him back with languid strokes of your tongue.

When you finally part, you are both left slightly breathless. Max strokes his thumbs along the swollen curves of your lower lip as you gaze at him from beneath heavy lids, looking thoroughly ravished and compliant.

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely. “I love seeing you like this — free and happy without all those nasty thoughts plaguing you. It’s just us in our own world. Nothing else matters here, printsesse.”

You keen softly in response, nosing deeper into his touch like a touch-starved kitten. He chuckles indulgently, dropping another lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises. “Stay pretty and sweet for me.”

With one final caress along your jaw, Max tears himself away, walking towards the Red Bull garage with purposeful strides. He can feel the weight of your eyes tracking him until he rounds the corner, can picture the blissful emptiness clouding your features.

The thought bolsters him, lending an extra swagger to his step as he readies himself for the day ahead. For once, he finds himself relishing the familiar paddock chaos, eager to simply immerse himself in the visceral thrill of the sport he loves.

He knows his favorite reward will be waiting when the practice session concludes — your warm, pliant form and those trusting doe eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

***

The next morning, Max wakes with a familiar sense of tranquil purpose. Shifting onto his side, he brushes the tousled hair back from your forehead, drinking in the sight of you sleeping so peacefully beside him. A contented smile curves his lips as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, reveling in how relaxed and unburdened you appear.

He knows today will be demanding — race day always is. But that makes moments like these where he can simply bask in your presence all the more precious. With gentle reverence, Max trails his fingertips along the delicate line of your jaw, tracing the bow of your slightly parted lips.

“Time to wake up, schatje,” he murmurs. “Big day ahead.”

You stir with a soft, wordless hum, lashes fluttering. Max feels his breath catch as your eyes open, glassy and unfocused for a few beats before finding his own. Just like that, the furrow between your brows smooths out, leaving your expression blissfully untroubled.

“There you are,” he croons, heart clenching at the naked trust shining back at him. Cupping your cheek, he leans in to brush a soft, lingering kiss across your pliant mouth.

When he pulls back, you’re already chasing his lips with a small, plaintive noise. Max chuckles fondly, combing his fingers through your tousled hair.

“Needy girl,” he teases, though his voice is laced with undisguised affection. “I suppose I’d better take care of that before we have to leave, hmm?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond — not that he expects any coherent reply in your current state. No, better to let your thoughts remain deliciously empty as he claims your mouth again in a series of heated kisses.

Max loses himself in the familiar glide of lips and tongue, the quiet whimpers that spill from your throat every time he nips at that sensitive spot just below your ear. He maps every inch of your sleep-warm skin with devoted hands until you are both flushed and panting softly.

Eventually, however, the persistent ticking of the bedside clock drags him back to awareness of the rapidly dwindling time. With a regretful groan, Max tears his mouth from the juncture of your neck, nosing his way along your jaw until he can capture your lips in one final kiss.

“We should get going,” he murmurs against the swollen curve of your lower lip. Though his tone is tinged with reluctance, there’s an unmistakable rasp of command underlying the words.

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and dark, but give a trusting nod. Max feels his chest constrict powerfully at the easy acquiescence. Brushing his thumb in a tender caress across your cheekbone, he slants his mouth over yours once more, coaxing you through several more drugging kisses until your lips are kiss-bitten and slick.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, both breathing heavily. “You’re going to keep feeling this relaxed all day, aren’t you? No nasty thoughts creeping in, just … blissful quiet waiting for me.”

Something like reverence flashes across your features as you nod jerkily, unconsciously worrying your already abused lip between your teeth. Max groans low in his throat, capturing your face between his palms and slanting his mouth over yours in a filthy kiss, all heat and slick friction and desperation.

When he finally manages to tear himself away, you’re rumpled and utterly debauched beneath him, chest heaving. He has to actively resist the urge to simply drag you back under his body, to lose himself in ravishing you until you’re both sated and boneless.

“Gonna make me late for my own race at this rate,” he chides gruffly, though his heated gaze roams indulgently over your prone form.

Levering himself off the bed with obvious reluctance, Max quickly sets about readying the both of you for the day, tugging you along in his wake with firm yet gentle hands. You follow easily, movements loose and languid and so very pliant under his ministrations.

By the time he’s dressed you and seen to your grooming, your features have settled into that slack, dreamy expression he loves so much — eyes glassy and lips slightly parted, not a single worry line creasing your forehead. Perfection.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he rumbles in approval, reeling you into his arms.

You go willingly, slumping bonelessly against his chest with a soft, incoherent murmur. He smiles, nosing into the tousled hair at your crown and inhaling your familiar scent. For a long moment, he simply revels in the sensation of your body melting trustingly into his own, of the steady throb of your pulse against his ribs.

All too soon, however, the hands of the clock continue their march forward. With a rueful sigh, Max presses one last lingering kiss to your hair before reluctantly disentangling himself.

“Come along then, printsesse,” he murmurs, catching your hand and giving a gentle tug. “Time to go.”

You make a soft, wordless noise of agreement, falling into step beside him without a shred of hesitation. Every few paces, you angle yourself closer until your shoulder brushes his bicep, seemingly seeking his solid warmth.

Max feels an indulgent smile tugging at his lips as he slips a possessive arm around your waist, anchoring you against his side. You immediately slot against him, temple resting in the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He can sense the dreamy, unfocused quality of your gaze as it skims over your surroundings, can practically hear the blissful white noise filling your head.

As you exit the hotel and navigate through the throngs of people clustered outside, Max holds you even tighter, letting the murmurs and clicks of camera shutters wash over him in a dull roar. He’s hyperaware of every point where your body molds to his, of the trusting way you tuck yourself into his shelter without so much as a backwards glance.

By the time the two of you reach the circuit, your cheeks are flushed and there’s a becoming sort of dazed softness to your features. Max has to resist the urge to simply tuck you away in some quiet corner, to keep you insulated in this perfect bubble for as long as humanly possible.

But race days are nothing if not a whirlwind of demands and tight schedules. So instead, he ushers you along the serpentine corridors with a sturdy arm locked around your waist, relishing the way you move beside him in that lovely, blissed-out trance.

When you finally reach the motorhome, he deposits you on the leather couch with gentle reverence, taking a moment to situate you with utmost care. You gaze up at him, eyes glassy but utterly trusting as he smooths back the hair from your forehead.

“Wait here for me, hmm?” He murmurs, cupping the line of your jaw. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just keep that pretty head deliciously empty and let me take care of everything else.”

The corner of your mouth curves in a soft, wondering smile before you give a tiny nod of agreement. Unable to resist, Max leans in to capture that gentle upturn between his lips, kissing you deeply until you’re pliant and breathless and unfurling like a flower against his chest.

He has to tear himself away before his precarious restraint snaps. “Good girl,” he praises roughly, drinking in the sight of your dreamy, intoxicated expression before forcing himself to turn away, walking toward the garage with purposeful strides.

The familiar race-day chaos swirls around him in a torrent of noise and movement, but Max easily blocks the distractions from his mind, focusing intently on his preparations. There is something grounding about the rituals, the procedural drive to ready his car and equipment. By the time he emerges onto the grid, he is centered and assured, every ounce of his concentration honed on the inevitable green light.

The race itself is, as always, a heated blur of adrenaline and split-second reflexes. Every nerve ending thrums with that singular focus until he’s drunk on the scream of the engine and the smear of color whipping past his visor.

When he finally returns to parc fermé, it takes Max a disorienting moment to recognize the distant clamor bleeding in from beyond the paddock. Handing his helmet off to a mechanic, he makes his way towards the steadily amplifying sound, chest still heaving from the lingering effects of the endorphin high.

Rounding the corner towards the pits, he’s abruptly met by a scene of utter chaos. People — crews and spectators alike — seem to be converging in a jumbled knot near the Red Bull garage, a strange sort of bristling tension in the air. Max falters for a moment, brow furrowing in bewilderment, when a familiar figure finally emerges in his line of sight.

You.

Your expression is one of naked distress, red splotches staining those beloved cheeks as you seem to shrink in on yourself. Though he can’t make out the words, it’s clear you’re pleading with the imposing figure looming over you.

Your father.

Something protective and ferocious ignites in Max’s chest at the realization. Surging forward, he shoves his way through the ranks of onlookers until he’s at your side, reaching out to splay a steadying hand at the small of your back. You automatically angle into his touch, small tremors wracking your frame. Up close, he can make out the tear tracks streaking your flushed face, the way your lips are bitten and swollen from worrying them raw between your teeth.

“What the hell is going on here?” He demands, shooting a scathing look at your father.

Before Toto can answer, another man steps forward, one Max recognizes as a FIA official. “Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” he suggests in clipped tones, eyes darting around at the milling crowd.

A muscle ticks in Toto’s jaw, but he gives a curt nod of assent. Without a word, he turns on his heel and stalks away, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow. Max feels your fingers fisting in the back of his sweat-damp suit, clutching him like a lifeline.

Squeezing the nape of your neck in a silent gesture of comfort, he tucks you against his side before falling into step behind the two older men. It galls him to follow their lead instead of simply spiriting you away, but something in your father’s demeanor warns against open defiance. Better to hear them out.

You’re shown to a secluded room just off the main garage bay, fluorescent lights buzzing harshly overhead. The moment the door closes behind the four of you with a hollow thud, Toto whirls with an expression carved from thunderclouds.

“Get your filthy hands off my daughter,” he bites out, eyes flashing dangerously in Max’s direction.

White-hot fury races up Max’s spine, setting every nerve alight. His grip tightens fractionally where his palm is splayed against the dip of your lower back.

“Like hell,” he growls, edging closer until your slight frame is fully bracketed against his own. “She’s trembling because of you.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure this has nothing to do with her being half out of her mind with Lord knows what substances,” Toto sneers. “A fine state to be wandering around the paddock in, isn’t it?”

Max feels you flinch violently against him at the blistering accusation, a wounded sound catching in the back of your throat. Something bright and violent surges in his chest at your obvious distress.

“How dare you,” he grits through clenched teeth, voice low and dangerous as he pulls you flush against his body. “She was perfectly content until you came along and started spouting such vile nonsense. She hasn’t touched anything, you miserable bastard.”

The insult hangs in the airless space as Toto’s complexion darkens several shades. He opens his mouth — no doubt to unleash a scathing volley — when the FIA official hastily interjects.

“Enough,” he cuts in sharply. “This behavior is unacceptable. If there has been some egregious violation, I must ask you both to lay out the facts as you know them so we might get to the bottom of this affair.”

Max’s nostrils flare sharply as he draws a steadying breath. He needs to keep a level head if only for your sake, to prevent this from spiraling any further out of control. Dipping his chin, he angles his mouth against the crown of your bowed head.

“Breathe, schatje,” he murmurs, one hand stroking soothingly up and down the quivering line of your spine as he holds your father’s shrewd gaze.

“There’s been no violation apart from Toto coming at his daughter completely unprovoked,” he asserts, voice steady and clipped. “Her current state is simply the result of being relaxed and free of negative thoughts, something I’d think any parent would want for their child.”

Toto scoffs indelicately, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that what you call completely zoned out and unresponsive? Don’t be absurd. I know perfectly well what that vacant look signifies — early morning drinking or worse. Trying to numb whatever guilt she’s wallowing in after throwing away her entire future like a petulant child.”

Max feels you stiffen, your nails digging half-moons into his bicep. Before he can retort, however, the official clears his throat once more.

“Ms. Wolff,” he addresses you directly. “I’m going to need you to confirm the situation from your own perspective. What is the cause of the … condition your father is alluding to?”

For a tense moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing filling the suffocating silence. Then, warm and tremulous, comes your voice muffled against Max’s collarbone.

“I … haven’t had anything. Really,” you insist shakily. “Max was just … helping me relax. Taking care of me like he always does.”

Toto makes a disgusted, disbelieving sound in the back of his throat, mouth already twisting in preparation to unleash another attack. But Max simply holds up a preemptive hand, wholly engrossed in studying the lines of strain bracketing your expression. His thumb grazes the flushed, tear-stained hollow of your cheek as he murmurs a gentle plea, voice dropping into that soft, honeyed register reserved solely for your ears.

“Tell me what you need, printsesse. How can I help chase those nasty thoughts away again?”

You blink up at him, pupils blown wide and irises over-bright, clearly struggling to hold his gaze. Max feels his heart clench at the naked torment written across your features as you falter, gnawing anxiously at that already mangled lower lip.

“I … can’t,” you whisper tremulously, a broken quality entering your tone. “It’s too loud. I can’t keep them quiet when he’s like this ...”

The vulnerable little admission lands like a physical blow, momentarily stealing Max’s breath. Gathering you closer, he brushes his mouth along the worry line creasing your forehead.

“I know, schatje, I know,” he soothes, cradling the back of your skull. “But you’re doing so well. So good for me, my sweet girl.”

Slanting his head, Max claims your lips in a slow kiss, trying to lose himself in the familiar glide of skin and breath. When he finally breaks away, you’re already chasing after him, eyes glazed and lips prettily swollen. He feels some of the knots in his gut begin to uncoil as he traces the delicate sweep of your cheekbone.

“Better?” He prods gently.

You make a soft, affirmative sound, nuzzling further into his palm. Max’s lips quirk despite the tension still coiled in his shoulders, relief trickling through him warm and heady.

“Let’s get out of here, hmm?” He suggests, punctuating the question with another lingering press of his mouth against your brow. “Back to the motorhome, just the two of us. You can fully relax again, keep your thoughts quiet and happy.”

Slowly, giving you ample time to pull away, he begins walking you backwards towards the exit, keeping his motions unhurried and soothing so as not to trigger another spiral.

“No,” Toto barks in a tone like shattered granite. “She is not going anywhere with you, Verstappen. If she is seriously this mentally addled, then she requires proper treatment, not … whatever sick fantasies you’ve allowed to fester in that depraved mind of yours.”

Max feels you shake like a leaf caught in a violent gale against him at your father’s harsh words. Clenching his jaw, he pivots to put himself bodily between you and that callous glare.

“You’re the one who’s sick if you think for a second I’d ever let anything hurt her,” he bites out in a tone laced with venom. “All I’ve done is try to give her the peace and respite she so desperately needs. If that’s a crime, then throw me in a fucking prison.”

Toto sneers, eyes glinting with undisguised contempt. “Don’t play the martyr with me. We both know exactly what kind of sordid games you’ve been playing while her mind is so clearly compromised.”

Max feels his face flush in outrage, desire to throttle your father warring with the need to keep you sheltered away from any further vitriol. He opens his mouth, another blistering retort balanced on the tip of his tongue, when a warm weight presses against his back.

Looking over his shoulder, he finds you peering up at him beseechingly, tears clinging to those thick lashes. Max’s expression immediately crumples into something infinitely softer, gentler around the edges.

“Please … I j-just want to go,” you stammer in a tiny voice, fingers bunching in his race suit. “No more yelling. I can’t … I c-can’t ...”

Your breath hitches in a wounded sound as your eyes skitter away from his, clouding over once more with panic and distress. It’s like a physical blow to Max’s ribs, stealing what little oxygen remains in the claustrophobic space.

Spinning on his heel, he crowds you backward until your trembling frame is braced against the wall. With an approximation of tenderness he hoped you’d find grounding, Max frames your face between his palms as he ducks his head, searching out your skittish gaze.

“Shh, hey … look at me, printsesse,” he croons, ducking to burrow his nose against your hairline. “Just focus on me, alright? That’s my good girl.”

He can feel the fine tremors wracking you even as he gentles your head into the crook of his neck, splaying one broad palm over the rapid flutter of your pulse. Max shushes you through another hiccuping sob, rocking your pliant weight against his as he whispers nonsensical endearments into your hair.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” he soothes without ceasing the soothing motions. “I’ve got you. Deep breaths for me, there we go ...”

Gradually, he feels some of the tension ebb from your rigid muscles until you sag fully into his embrace, boneless and pliant once more. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Max finds Toto watching you with an inscrutable expression, frustration and something else he can’t quite name churning in those flinty eyes.

Uncaring of his scrutiny, Max returns his attention to mapping the curves of your face with reverent fingers, gentling you back into that headspace of tranquil bliss.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he murmurs against the seam of your lips. “Let everything else just … drift away. We’re going back to our sanctuary, yeah? Nice and peaceful, with all those thoughts gone quiet where they belong.”

He can see the worry lines slowly beginning to smooth from your brow, tension bleeding from your frame as his words seep in like a balm. Smiling softly, Max dips his head to capture your mouth in a series of deep, lingering kisses, savoring the addictive little sounds you make against his questing tongue.

“Mr. Verstappen,” a gruff voice cuts in, effectively shattering the lush, private bubble.

Tearing his lips from yours with obvious reluctance, Max twists to slant a scathing glare at the FIA official. He keeps one arm locked securely around your waist, refusing to relinquish an inch of the soothing skin-to-skin contact despite the interruption.

The official holds up a placating hand. “I’m going to have to ask you both to exit the premises for the time being. At least until whatever … this situation is has been resolved to a reasonable degree.”

Max opens his mouth to protest, but you choose that moment to whine softly, nosing against his jaw in search of his lips once more. A hot lance of protectiveness surges through his core. Swallowing back the words on the tip of his tongue, he gives a terse nod.

“We’re leaving. Don’t try to touch her again.”

He punctuates the thinly veiled warning by curling possessively around your smaller frame, tucking you against his side as he propels you towards the door with urgency. You keep up easily enough, still deliciously pliant and soothed by his touch if the lingering glazed look in your eyes is anything to go bye.

As the heavy door clicks shut behind you, Max doesn’t spare a backwards glance. His sole focus is getting you back to the sanctity of his private quarters, away from the scrutiny and toxicity currently swirling in the paddock. One hand splays protectively over the dip of your waist as you move, the other coming up to shelter the back of your head.

“Nearly there, schatje,” he murmurs into your hairline as he blankets you in the solid warmth of his body. “Just a bit further and we’ll be all alone, just how you like it.”

You hum in what he chooses to interpret as agreement, pushing up onto your toes to nose along the sharp line of his jaw. Max groans low in his throat, slowing his strides so he can tug you abruptly into his chest. Your mouth falls open on a soft gasp, which he eagerly swallows with a filthy slide of his tongue.

When he finally wrenches himself away, you’re panting and glassy-eyed, lips bitten and swollen to a lush pout. Tutting under his breath, Max traces the abused swell with the pad of his thumb, pupils darkening to fathomless black pools as he drinks in your wanton appearance.

“Need to stop doing that, sweet thing,” he chides in a low rasp. “Don’t want to tempt me into having my way you right here in the corridor, now do we?”

Twin spots of color immediately bloom in your cheeks as you emit a strangled little sound, thighs clenching convulsively for a dizzying heartbeat. He chuckles, low and wicked, before slanting his mouth over that sinful jut of your lower lip, sucking the swollen flesh between his teeth.

“Soon,” he vows roughly, nipping at the tender skin. “We’ll be alone and I can take care of that delicious ache properly. Would you like that, printsesse? To let me coax all those nasty thoughts back into pretty oblivion?”

You make a small, wanting sound against the sweep of his tongue, fingers clenching convulsively in the fabric of his race suit. Max hums in wordless approval, momentarily losing himself in reacquainting his senses with every lush corner of your mouth.

It isn’t until Max feels the hard planes of his driver’s room door against his back that he bothers dragging himself from the sensual haze. Panting harshly, he brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your flushed brow, unable to resist dipping in for one more searing, open-mouthed kiss.

“Inside,” he growls when you part with a trembling inhale. “Now.”

You nod jerkily, eyes glassy and unfocused even as you chase his lips with a tiny, needy noise. Max gentles you backwards over the threshold with firm, steadying hands until you’re situated within the blessedly muffled quiet of his temporary sanctuary.

Distantly, he registers the faint sounds of celebration filtering up from the track, but they seem muffled and inconsequential compared to the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palms.

Trailing one hand up the slender column of your throat, Max tilts your chin until your gaze meets his own. “You’re alright now, sweet girl,” he soothes, tracing the line of your lower lip. “Just us, safe and sound away from all the noise.”

You make a soft sound of agreement, instinctively pressing closer until your bodies are flush, every pliant curve molded to his hard planes. Max groans at the exquisite friction, hands spanning your waist to tug you even tighter against his burgeoning arousal.

“That’s it, stay right here with me,” he rumbles against the swell of your parted lips. “Let everything else drift away until there’s nothing left but my voice in that pretty head.”

Slanting his mouth over yours, Max proceeds to chase every lingering thread of tension from your frame with deep, indulgent sweeps of his tongue. He maps every intimate detail until you’re pliant and breathy in his arms once more, limp and trusting as a ragdoll.

“Good girl,” he praises roughly when you finally part, resting his brow against yours. “You’re doing so well, staying nice and floaty for me even after … everything.”

You blink up at him, that soft, dreamy haze already stealing back over your features. Max’s chest constricts powerfully at the naked adoration shining back at him, the implicit trust written in every fluid line of your body.

“Max ...” you breathe, the single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of devotion and longing.

He hushes you gently with another toe-curling kiss, reveling in the way your mouth instantly softens and opens for the insistent sweep of his tongue. When he finally pulls back, the rigid lines of strain have melted from your expression, leaving only that beloved, blissful tranquility in their wake.

“There you are,” Max rumbles in approval, thumbing away the dampness still clinging to those long lashes. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. Nothing but beauty and peace between those lovely ears.”

You make a small, incoherent sound of agreement, already drifting back into that lush, thoughtless headspace under his ministrations. Unable to resist, Max ducks his head to mouth along the line of your throat, laving hot, openmouthed kisses over the wildly fluttering pulse point.

“I’ve got you, schatje,” he mutters between kitten licks and nips. “Not going to let a single ugly thought spoil this lovely blank canvas. You’re perfect like this, all soft and sweet with nothing rattling around in that pretty head but oblivion.”

His words seem to spur a full-body tremor that ricochets through your slender frame. You whimper brokenly against the crown of his hair, hips stuttering forward in mute pleading as your nails score desperate half-moons against the taut cords of his biceps.

“Please,” you whisper in a wrecked tone that goes straight to Max’s groin. “Need you ...”

“Soon, printsesse,” he promises in a low rasp. Though it takes every ounce of his negligible restraint, he continues blazing a scorching path down the exposed column of your neck and across the elegant jut of your collarbones instead of hauling you against him. “Let me take care of you properly first, yeah? Want you floaty and boneless for me.”

You make a whimpery sound of agreement, one hand uncurling to fist in the damp hair at his nape. Max hisses at the sharp sting, retaliating by capturing the pulse fluttering in the hollow of your throat between his teeth. He nips at the tender flesh until your breath is coming in shallow, hitching gasps, every muscle turned liquid and quivering in his arms.

“Good,” he croons in approval once you’re thoroughly debauched, sparing a moment to take in your wrecked appearance with heated appreciation. “My perfect girl, so prettily unraveled for me already.”

With exquisite care, he traces the bow of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb until they part on a shuddery indrawn breath.

“Stay just like this,” he rumbles in that same dark timbre. “Let your mind drift. Never been more beautiful than when your thoughts are gone all hazy like this.”

You blink up at him, plush lower lip caught between your teeth in that completely docile way. Max rewards your compliance by angling your head to the side, nosing at your neck as he breathes deep of your tantalizing scent.

His hands skate down in blazing trails until they settle with light possessiveness at your waist, bracketing you fully against the solid wall of his chest. You keen softly at the contact, arching on pure instinct as you go pliant in his embrace.

“That’s it,” Max praises, hot and heated against the sensitive hollow below your ear. “Just let it all drift away while I make you feel good.”

Dipping his chin, he seals his mouth over yours in a series of drugging kisses, spine going liquid at your breathy whimpers. He loses track of everything — time, the muted noises of celebration filtering in from outside, even his own name — as his entire universe narrows to the slick glide of your tongue, the warmth of your body twining insistently around his own.

When he finally drags himself back from the precipice of mindless want, you’re boneless in his arms, flushed and trembling and so exquisitely unraveled. Max rakes his teeth over his lower lip as he takes in the picture you make — hair hopelessly tousled, lips swollen to an obscene pout, eyes glassy and dazed as they struggle to focus on his face.

“Look at you,” he husks in mingled awe and possessive pride. “Gone all sweet and floaty again, hmm? Not a single thought left in this little head of yours.”

As if in confirmation, you slur out a low, affirmative hum, butting your flushed cheek against his sternum in search of more contact. The sight sends a hot pulse of want ricocheting through Max’s veins. He barely tamps down a groan as he crushes you closer, driving your pliant body into the solid surface at your back.

“Beautiful, inside and out,” he rasps against the slick curve of your throat. “Every inch of you is perfect like this, schatje, and I’m the luckiest bastard alive to be the one allowed to see you come so utterly undone.”

***

Three Months Later

Toto rounds the corner onto one of Monaco’s picture-perfect side streets, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the canopy of leafy trees lining the cobblestones. His strides are clipped and purposeful as he navigates the throngs of lingering brunchers and slack jawed tourists.

He’s due for a terse meeting with several FIA officials in half an hour’s time to hash out the latest regulatory adjustments for next season. Not exactly how he’d envisioned spending his free weekend in the principality, but such was the relentless reality of his position.

As he approaches a charming little bistro tucked into a sunlit alcove, something within the open-air seating area snags his peripheral attention. Toto’s steps falter as a very familiar figure swims into focus — a beautiful young woman with features he knows better than his own.

You.

His stomach churns violently as he instinctively follows your line of sight to the man tucked intimately against your side. Max freaking Verstappen, of course, lounging there like he hasn’t a care in the world with one arm slung proprietarily across the back of your chair.

Toto feels his jaw clench harder with every passing second as he reluctantly catalogs the scene playing out not twenty paces away. You’re turned towards the Red Bull driver in clear invitation, chin tilted up and lips slightly parted in apparent submission as he lifts a forkful of food to your waiting mouth.

Despite the simmer of nausea roiling in his gut, Toto can’t seem to tear his gaze away, some morbid fascination taking hold. He watches, bile burning at the back of his throat, as Verstappen tips the bite between your lips with a gentleness that borders on reverence. A blissful sort of smile curves your mouth as you chew, eyes drifting to shut in an expression of utter serenity.

When you finally swallow, Verstappen leans in to chase the lingering crumbs from your lips with a series of indulgent, smoldering kisses. You allow it with blasé ease, cheeks flushing prettily as he nuzzles deeper into the cradle of your throat.

“Sickening,” Toto mutters through gritted teeth, only to have the words choked off as your breathy giggle floats across the open space between you.

He’s frozen in place, jaw clamped shut and eyes blazing, as Verstappen captures your face in one broad palm with a wicked curl to his lips. Leaning in until your noses brush, he appears to rumble something too faint to carry over the ambient chatter.

Your responding smile is incandescent enough to momentarily steal Toto’s breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such pure joy light up those beloved features — not since those early summer afternoons when you were barely tall enough to see over the mechanics’ workbenches, giggling as he spun you in looping circles around the garage.

The imagery dissipates like smoke in a strong wind as Verstappen slants his mouth over yours, mercilessly chasing every last vestige of warmth and innocence until you’re left utterly ravaged. You drink him in with all the unrestrained fervor of the desperately parched, breaths coming in harsh little pants between every slick glide of lips and tongue.

Toto can only look on in mute revulsion as the Red Bull bastard sets about methodically staking his claim. One broad palm spans the curve of your jaw to better angle your head while the other strokes in bold caresses down the line of your arm and hip, searing brand of possession seared across every inch of skin. You arch into the contact, boneless and malleable beneath his sure ministrations.

When Verstappen finally releases you, your lips are bright and bitten, pupils blown wide into unfocused pools. Max clucks his tongue in wordless approval, thumbing away the dampness clinging to your lower lashes before dipping in for one more lingering peck.

A strangled noise startles from Toto’s throat despite his best efforts. Instantly, those predator’s eyes swing towards him, glittering with something perilously close to challenge.

Your gaze follows a moment later, drifting over Toto’s rigid stance in lazy, disinterested consideration. He expects a flicker of chagrin, even fleeting shame to ripple across your expression at being caught so indecently compromised. Instead, your lips curve into that same serene, soppy beam as you burrow deeper into Verstappen’s side.

The world seems to tilt sickeningly sideways as Toto watches his own flesh and blood regard him like a stranger, a foreign entity to be blithely disregarded. Verstappen, for his part, tilts his head in an almost confrontational motion as his fingers begin carding through your hair with a revolting air of indulgent possession.

Toto wants to scream, to rage and howl until someone — anyone — understands the utter travesty of what he’s just witnessed. But something has knotted itself viciously around his vocal cords so that all he can seem to produce is a low, garbled rasp.

So he turns on his heel instead, gritting his teeth against the swell of fury threatening to choke him from the inside out as he stalks away. Every step rebounds through his hollow ribcage with echoing finality, punctuated by the sickly sweet chime of your laughter ringing in his wake.

He can’t even recognize his daughter anymore. And, much to his disgust, you seem to prefer it that way.

[luveline]

could you do prince steve casually letting "i love you" slip for the first time on accident during like the most random moment

like maybe he knows he loves her and he’s stressing trying to figure out how to tell her and it slips and he starts rushing out an explanation on how it wasn't supposed to happen that way (and she’s probably freaking out lol but trying to keep it together)

prince steve soulmate au | ty for requesting!

Steve’s laying on a hammock hung between two apple blossom trees behind the royal cabin when you track him down that evening. He doesn’t usually spend time away from you, which sounds weird, but he’s just been so friendly. 

Maybe on a high of finding his soul mate. Maybe because he really thinks you’re as beautiful as he suggests. You still have the memory of you both in your finery, all those jewels and silks, standing across from one another in front of a crowd of strangers as he mouthed, “You look so beautiful.” Emphatically. Like he really meant it. 

“Hi,” you say shyly. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, lifting his head, the hammock rocking slightly in the breeze, “come over here.” 

“Where have you been?” you ask. 

“How clingy of you.” 

“Sorry, just… you’ve spent every minute of the day with me for the last two weeks…” 

His smile turns serious. “I’m kidding! Kidding, and offended it took so long for you to come find me. Come over here.” 

You cross the garden, green grass and small purple daisies crinkling under your feet. You stop by his hammock, but he gestures for you to keep coming. 

“What, you want me to lay down with you? Can that support both of us?” 

“Sure it can, could you quit worrying?” He holds his arms out. 

Getting into a hammock isn’t as easy as he seems to think, but perhaps he’s used to it. You’re not, and you struggle despite his arms out for you, and the leg he plants to stop the whole thing from tipping as you climb in. 

You laugh nervously the whole time, but then you’re in the hammock with him, soft fabric under your backs. You curl into him instinctively. The lemon sconce near the cabin flickers as another breeze kisses your naked arms, but Steve is warm. 

“Wow,” you murmur, looking up through the apple blossoms, “you can already see so many stars.” 

“I know.” You grin as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, under your neck like a cushion. His nose turns to your cheek. You’re hardly ten minutes like that when he talks again, “I love you, you know?” 

You clam up with surprise. Breath pulled out of you on a fishing line, turning to see his face. He’s not messing with you. 

His face falls. “Oh, stars, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I meant to, I do love you, not that you have to tell me you love me.” He bites his tongue and starts again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to thrust it on you like that, I’ve just been thinking it, and I thought there isn’t a better time to tell you because I feel it a lot but that’s not fair. So you don’t have to tell me you love me, or even acknowledge it.” 

Steve squeezes your arm but looks away. “Don’t acknowledge it, actually. That’s my mistake.” 

“I love you too,” you say.

He smells like water chestnuts and heat, his hair permed with hot curlers, and he’s beautiful. He smells nice, tastes sweet as he leans in to kiss you slowly. Pear drops, his guilty pleasure.

You don’t know what to think as his lips part against yours. He sucks in a warm breath. “You do?” he asks, running the backs of his knuckles down your cheek. 

“Mm,” you hum, half a laugh as his touch turns ticklish down your neck, “I do, I love you.” It’s new, but it’s definitely love.

He turns you back in for a slew of slow kissing, only stopping when a rough breeze tips apple blossom petals into your arms. 

“You’re being attacked,” he whispers. It doesn’t feel like it. 

[dancingbirdie]

For your smut ideas- astarion leaving bite marks on your thighs👀 pretty vampy elf being all possessive👀

Hi, anon! I loved this request, but I have to warn you: I took it to a bit of a darker place than I usually go. Pay attention to the tags, y'all. I hope you enjoy!

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

Your Feral Love

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings/Tags: Biting, descriptions of blood, possessive/obsessive Astarion, marking/claiming behavior, oral sex (fem!Reader receiving)

Summary: Astarion has an intense desire to claim you. This time, it's in places the others won't be able to see.

*****

“Maybe we need to take things slower,” you murmured in Astarion’s ear. You swallowed thickly as he dragged his fangs across the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Whyever would we do that?” he whispered huskily, undeterred from continuing his sensual assault. You shivered as you felt his tongue slide up the column of your throat, unable to stop the little moan that escaped your lips.

“Some in our party are worried… about all the bite marks…” you managed to explain, despite the tantalizing option to just lose yourself in Astarion’s embrace. His cool touch was a balm to the inferno he was stoking within you. The creator of your lust; the only cure for it. 

But his lips withdrew from your neck at your response. Pulling back, he met your gaze with furrowed brows and a glare that could make even Lae’zel balk. 

“Who.” he demanded, his voice strained with barely-repressed anger. “Who had the audacity to murmur about us?” 

His fingers spasmed where they clutched your waist. As if he were bracing for the moment when someone would come and yank you away from him. 

He was possessive, your lover. Astarion hadn’t had anything to call his own for over two centuries. Not a thing. Not a soul. Now, after having lowered his guards and allowed you in, his possessive streak was as long and wide as the River Chianthar. He was never far from your side, even in battle. And on the rare occasions he was separated from you, you could feel the heat of his gaze tracking your every movement. Watching you. Making sure his one claim in this world was safe. Accounted for. 

The bite marks were a consequence of having not only a possessive lover but a vampiric one as well. You didn’t mind, of course. He always asked for your consent. 

Can I bite you here?

Your blood is singing to me, darling. Can I taste you here? 

What about here? Would you let me sate myself here? 

You flourished under the intensity of his love for you. The bite marks were a reminder of that, and so you cherished each one. Each was a memory of the way Astarion had taken, given and enjoyed you. Heat would sometimes color your cheeks and neck later on, when you caught sight of a pair of healing puncture marks, recalling just how they had come to be there, on that particular part of your body. 

But others in your party didn’t share your view of these markings. They, namely Wyll and Gale, were worried Astarion had started taking too much of your lifeblood too quickly. You could understand their concern, to some extent. They didn’t know, didn’t have reason to know, how little of your blood he actually took each night. Most times he would drink barely a mouthful before stopping. The urge to claim you in other ways would overtake his bloodlust, and you would climax again and again as he fucked you into oblivion. He kept his fangs punctured in your skin during times like these, claiming that your blood felt sweeter against them as you found your own release. Only when he had spilled himself in you would he remove them, and by then you were too lovestruck to care how long the markings would remain. 

“Tell me, darling.” 

Astarion’s voice brought you back to the present moment. You shook your head to dispel the thoughts distracting you. 

“...Mostly, Wyll. And Gale, to a lesser extent. I don’t know for certain about the others, although I certainly don’t think anyone comes to our defense…” you trailed off, swallowing thickly. 

You caught how Astarion clenched his jaw at your words. He was livid, that much was obvious. You also surmised his anxiety was likely surging within him, the paranoia suggesting that someone or something would cause you to be taken from him. Again, his fingers spasmed against your waist. 

“...So maybe we should… I don’t know, keep a lower profile about all this? If they say something to you directly, I know I’ll not be able to stop myself from fighting with them,” you explained, clutching his cheek desperately. 

“Tsk. Of course the ones who would have a problem with us would be the only other two who’ve been sniffing after you,” Astarion scoffed.

“What the hells are you talking about?” you asked, clearly confused. 

“Oh, darling. Surely you’ve seen the way they look at you? How they talk to you? I certainly have,” he huffed. 

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay them attention, Astarion,” you reassured him, nuzzling your nose against the curve of his jaw. “I only have eyes for you.” 

“And I, you,” he murmured, pressing his lips lovingly against your forehead. 

You hummed in delight at his affirmation. While you might not show it through bite marks like him, your possessiveness of Astarion was a fearsome thing, too. The emotion sometimes staggered you, even in the most mundane of moments, like when he donned his armor for the day, or when he cleaned his daggers in the firelight. He was yours. You were his. Anyone else was tertiary. 

The two of you remained in comfortable silence for some time, limbs intertwined as you lay halfway on top of him, your head resting against his chest. There was no beating heart within to listen to, but it hardly mattered. You knew that what was there, beating or not, belonged to you and only you. Astarion had said as much, amid previous bouts of lovemaking you had shared in this tent.

Your musings broke at the feeling and sound of his throaty chuckle beneath you. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, surprised. 

“What is it?” you pressed.

“I have an idea,” he smirked. 

“I usually like your ideas,” you quipped, heat flaring in your lower abdomen at the suggestive look in his eyes. 

“Then you’ll surely enjoy this,” he crooned, before flipping you both over all at once so that you were flat on your back, breathless beneath him. He fit perfectly between the cradle of your thighs, your legs parting almost instinctively to accommodate his presence. With one arm, he propped himself up above you, while his other hand clutched your leg to bare you open wider. The position alone had you growing wetter by the second, anticipation for what was to come driving your thoughts wild. 

“Much as I detest pandering to their concerns, I think we both know I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from fighting with them either, were they to say something directly to us,” Astarion admitted. 

“But,” he continued as his nose skimmed the length of your abdomen, heading further and further south. “I also can’t deny how much pleasure it gives me to mark you as I do… to see the evidence of where my fangs have punctured your lovely skin. Mine. No one else’s.”

You bit your lip in a futile effort to stifle your moan as he began brushing the lightest of kisses against your inner thighs. He slid down lower, his face mere inches from your naked form. This close, you were certain he could smell your arousal. And no doubt find evidence of it as well. 

“So what is your idea?” you managed in a breathy whisper as your hips canted toward him, seemingly of their own volition. 

“How about I mark you here,” he cooed, his fangs sliding along a particularly visible vein that spanned the length of your leg, beginning at your groin. “Where only I can see. A place they can only dream of. A place only I have been.” 

You groaned, skin tingling, nearly electric, in every place his mouth touched. You reached down to card a hand through his carelessly flawless locks, tugging ever so gently on the curls. Astarion growled in response, sending a surge of heat through your lower abdomen. 

You were teasing a livewire at the moment, and you knew it. Just a little push, and you would ignite something truly mind blowing. You chose your next words carefully, readying yourself for the delicious consequences that would no doubt ensue.  

“I’m yours, Astarion,” you whispered, spreading your legs even further for him and clutching his face desperately. “You can lay claim to me however you wish.” 

Another growl ripped from his throat at your words and, in a blink, your lower body was pinned to the ground. His arms banded under and around your thighs to hold you in place, not that you had any desire to move. You whimpered as Astarion nipped and sucked his way across the expanse of skin, his nose grazing your soaked cunt from time to time, causing you to jerk with want. 

“Please,” you begged, desperate to have his mouth on your swollen, throbbing clit. He was so close to where you wanted – no, needed – him to be and yet still so far. 

“Oh no, not yet, darling,” he purred against the plush skin of your thigh. “I’m going to mark you until I’m satisfied first. Then I’ll give you what you crave, I promise.”

You whined, a pathetic little sound, but nodded your assent anyway. Any touch from him was better than nothing, even if it did cause your cunt to ache with a nearly unbearable need.

Then a sudden spike of iciness on your inner thigh had you gasping in surprise, morphing into a long, low moan as you realized Astarion had actually bitten you there. You could feel him sucking your lifeblood into his mouth, your sense of touch being so heightened in your aroused state. 

You lifted your head to watch him move from one place to another as he marked and sated himself. You cradled the side of his head lovingly as he fed from you, swiping your thumb rhythmically across his temple. You were utterly entranced, lost in the delicious feeling of him claiming you, as well as the way he beheld you as he sunk his fangs in again and again across your skin. 

He looked at you with the fervor of a madman. He clutched at your legs like some covetous creature. Drunk on the need to possess, to claim, to mark. It was dark, powerful, and heady. And you absolutely reveled in it, ravenous with want as you witnessed how his love for you manifested in such an incendiary way. 

With a moan of his own, he finally broke from his feasting. Lifting his head to meet your gaze, your cunt clenched at his expression, at his his bloody mouth, grinning widely with purely male satisfaction. 

“It should be a crime, you know,” he rasped, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. “How delicious you taste.” 

You whined at his words, desperate to have him taste you in another way.

“Shh, shh. I know, I know,” he crooned, squeezing your legs reassuringly. “I know how you want to be tasted now, darling. Don’t fret.”

Your back arched off the ground as, without another word, Astarion dipped his head to plunge his tongue inside your dripping core. Your mind short circuited as you felt his nose press against your clit with intent as his tongue continued to spear into you. It was almost too much to bear; your nerves already were nearly raw with desire. 

You couldn’t help the wail that burst from your lips as you felt his tongue lick up, up, up, until he was circling your clit with long, languid strokes. You fisted a blanket and bit down on the fabric, the last shred of your self-awareness working like mad to muffle your sounds.

You knew Astarion was too far gone to care if anyone heard you both, as evidenced by the obscene slurping and smacking sounds that emanated from his lips. That alone had you ratcheting up faster toward climax, relishing the way it felt and sounded to have Astarion feasting on you with such utter abandon.

A few more moments of floating in that delicious limbo and then you were crashing back down from the height of your orgasm. It felt like an almost spiritual experience, though no cleric could ever convince you that a god’s love would feel as good as this, as good as Astarion’s love for you.

Panting and shivering in the aftershock of your release, you clutched at him desperately, eager to embrace him with as much strength your jellied limbs could muster. He crawled up to lay haphazardly on top of you, head resting in the space between your breasts. You combed your fingers through his hair lovingly, content to remain in companionable silence.  

“I’m realizing now that I may have in fact gotten a little out of hand…” he murmured against your sternum after a while. 

“Perhaps,” you chuckled. “But I’ll take your feral love over anything else, my star.”

[snail-migraine]

Yandere Tartaglia

This man is like a dog when it comes to his darling.

Sweet and caring to you but to everyone else he is a dangerous maniac who will attack anyone who dares to take a step too close.

I imagine that he probably found his darling when they were just wondering the streets.

No food, no water, no mora to their name. Nothing.

Not even a home or a family to go back to. Absolutely nothing.

Looking at your malnourished body, he felt both pity and anger.

How could someone, anyone for that matter, just walk by and let you slowly decay like this?

Certainly not him.

He decided in that moment he was going to take care of you.

"Shh, it's okay. Don't be scared. You're going be okay, everything is going to get better I promise."

He basically just picked you up, put up on his shoulder, and said "This is mine now."

In the beginning he tries his best to keep his distance, especially since he doesn't fully know what you went through on the streets.

And also you don't know that he's just trying to make sure you're okay.

It pains him to see you flinch away from all of his touches, when you refuse to eat for fear of being poisoned.

He doesn't know who made you so paranoid but all he knows is that he'll try to make your life as comfortable as possible.

And if that means he has to keep at an arms length, then so be it.

But everytime he sees you cuddle up close with the mountain of pillows and blankets on your bed, he can't help the burning jealousy he feels.

Why can't you cuddle him like that?

Once you start showing signs of getting better, your temper tantrums lessen in numbers, and you no longer flinch quite as hard when he pats your head. That's when he decides that now is the time to let loose.

"Sweetheart! Where's my sweetie? Where are you baby? Come here and give me some smooches."

The man is so smitten for you.

You have one of the most powerful men in teyvat wrapped around your delicate little pinky and you didn't even realize it.

He showers you with all of his love, from gift-giving, to quality time, to snuggling up together at all hours of the day.

You and him are practically attached at the hip.

However once you start getting better he has to go back to being a Harbinger.

Most of his job just includes him moving around a lot and not being able to come back home to Snezhnaya all too often.

Which means he either has to take you with him or leave you back at home.

As much as it pains him to do so he chooses to let you stay back home in Snezhnaya.

You've only just got use to being home in Snezhnaya, it would be cruel to make you start hopping place to place just to be with him.

It tears his soul apart that he has to leave you, but as a member of the Fatui, he does what he has to do.

He decides it's best not to introduce you to his family just yet, and instead allow you to be guarded by Fatui members when he's not around.

What he doesn't know however is that you plan on escaping when both he and the guards are not looking.

You're not much of a hassle to begin with so the guards have a tendency to slack off whenever they feel like it.

Which usually means taking short naps during their long working hours.

All you had to do was figure out when they usually fall asleep and prepare.

When the hour comes your more than ready, every fiber in your body is practically jumping with joy at being away from Tartaglia.

You wade through the thick snow of your Homeland, with a giant fur coat engulfing your body as you figure out which way to go.

In your excitement you don't think to cover your tracks. Which is how, when Tartaglia came home to an empty house with nothing but sleeping a guard to comfort him, he knew exactly where you went.

"Stop fighting it.", Ajax's tone drips with his barely contained rage. If his iron-grip on you wasn't a sign of his anger, then his voice for sure was.

Words couldn't describe how enraged you made him. He'd thought you been getting better, that you'd grown past wanting to run away. Turns out the moment he let his guard down is the moment you decided to sprint.

How dare you?

How dare you play with the strings of his heart like this. He trusted you with his heart and you just rip it all to shreds like it never even mattered.

His footsteps crunch in the crisp snow. His face no longer looks like that sweet, smitten, puppy dog that you knew. No this Ajax is cold, dangerous. The Ajax you knew was gone the moment he figured out you decided to run away from the sweet domestic home life you were so graciously blessed with. The Ajax you knew was replaced with Tartaglia the cold eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui.

The one who served the Tsaritsa with nothing but blind loyalty and bloodied blades.

You should've known that this plan would've failed. You should've known that Ajax would've done anything to get you back into his arms. Oh but how hope can blind the weak.

Hope prays on our dreams and tells us that no matter what we will prevail. No matter how many times we stumble and fall. Hope will guide the way. What a load of shit.

Hope is what got into this mess, carried like a princess, your arms held together tight behind you, your 'Lover' stalks his way back to the mansion hidden deep within the dense Snezhnayan forest. The very same mansion that has held you prisoner.

Hope has done nothing but lead you blindly into situations that progressively get worse and worse. You know that so far Ajax has been gentle with for fear that you'd get scared and try to run away. Now that you have, you tremble at what he might do to you now.

With every passing moment your mind fills with worse and worse images of torture you'd havr to endure at Ajax's hands. All because you allowed yourself to believe in some shitty hopefulness. With every new image, your lungs tighten even more. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your legs twitch. Every bone in your body screams at you to run.

But again, that's what got you here in the first place. Didn't it?

Ajax darts his eyes down at you, taking in your shakey form. Your uneven breathe and beating heart all tell-tale signs of how scared you are. How scared you are of him. Your terror must've taken over all of logical thinking.

No matter how angry you make him he'd never lay a so much as a finger on you.

Never.

He sighs before kissing your forehead, the kiss is soft and loving. Reminding you of the Ajax you knew. His face falls from the once tight expression to one more somber and melancholy.

Stress and disappointment etched onto his features. He loves you so much, and he hates that he'll have to punish you. But he can't just let you get away with this.

He brings you up higher, digging his face deep into the crook of your neck. Taking in a whiff of the sweet citrus perfume he gave you. You don't move, your body turned frigid the moment he kissed your head. You don't understand what's going on.

He lifts his head up, looking you in the eye. His eyes mimic a raging sea, waves of blue and teal swirl together to make a his powerful gaze. The look in his eyes is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You've never seen him look at you like that. With such sorrow and sizzling frustration.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping away all the tears falling from your watery eyes as he coos in your ears.

"Oh baby, don't cry, there's no need to be scared. I'd never hurt you. I only want what's best for you. But I can't just let stunts like this go unpunished. I promise you, it'll be over before you know it. Okay baby?"

[delirious-donna]

tw: cockwarming and edging with one Satoru Gojo 😏

A warm hand spread your thighs further part, the slightest hint of rough edges gracing his fingertips. Such long graceful fingers and they looked especially skilful as they toyed with your shivering sensitive skin. His knuckles rolled in tandem, the joints shifting when you provide just that little resistance, having to use slightly more force to have you wide and vulnerable.

Nothing escapes that man’s attention, and the way your legs had been inching closed was halted by the warm palm on your bare flesh. Satoru kneaded, clearly enjoying the little indentations made into your yielding softness. A subtle mark of claim that only he would see, but even fully clothed, he would know they were there.

"You think I don't notice, baby?" he murmured in your ear. Satoru’s warm breath sent shivers skittering across your dewy sweat-slicked skin, lips chasing the sensation until they smacked wet against your jaw.

You had lost track of how long you had been sat here like this, impaled to the hilt on his cock. Every muscle strained for movement, ready for the pleasure only he could deliver. He was testing you—teasing you. You both loved and hated it; loved how full you felt, stuffed completely with that deliciously curved and girthy dick, but hated the absence of repeated friction and the static limbo you were imprisoned in.

Absently, you wondered if he was waiting to see if you would beg, and honestly, it wasn’t above you at this point. The feel of every ridge and vein shaping your cunt had you clenching, your body already pleading for more, betraying you.

“S-Satoru,” you whined, practically throwing your back head against his strong shoulder—a shoulder that was still clothed, unlike yours, much to your embarrassment.

The snowy-haired man at your back was still fully dressed, except for his cock that escaped through his lowered zip. You, on the other hand, had been stripped of your pretty new sundress the moment he laid his eyes on you.

“Uh-oh… using my full name? Am I in trouble, baby? Call me ‘toru, you know how much I prefer it from your sweet lips.”

Satoru ghosted his mouth over your pulse, sweeping across your shoulder. His hands touching and pawing at your sides and the bare expanse of your front. Everything was done with as little movement as possible, almost lazy strokes and pinches of your nipples, but you could feel the energy vibrating inside him even if he wasn’t keen on showing his hand quite yet.

He gifted you one—precisely one—circle of his hips and you near exploded. A hand flew to delve deep into his white locks as the knuckles of the other hand turned white with how tightly you gripped at his forearm. It almost felt like you could sense his heartbeat throbbing through his dick, twitching in an annoyingly erratic rhythm and causing your cunt to clench tighter and tighter.

“Please ‘toru, want you to fuck me! Please… please.”

He hummed softly; the weight of his celestial eyes seared into your soul despite how little you could see from your position on his lap. The menace, who you called your boyfriend, picked up his phone that lay idly on the couch cushions with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“If you can make it through my phone call with Nanamin without moving, I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

You could scream. Frustration welled up in your chest enough that you wanted to pound your fists on his chest, but goddammit you wanted to be good for him. His good girl… the one that was capable of making his breath catch in his throat when you walked in the room.

The meek nod you gave pleased him as his answering quiet chuckle brushed against your nerves.

“That’s my good girl, now—sit still.”

[ffsg0jo]

tw: suggestive and also pretend everything ended after gojo was unsealed and that everyone's alive !!

you shouldn't be feeling this way. the entire world was in disarray, still recovering from the aftershock of chaos and destruction stomping hand in hand through the streets.

but your husband had changed drastically. since escaping the prison realm, he'd gotten thicker, bulkier, his frame now matching his larger than life ego.

the way his t-shirt deliciously hugged and stretched against his biceps. the baggy, white martial arts pants (which are almost see-through in the sunlight) left so much to the imagination, and god, you couldn't stop imagining what was underneath.

the pretty little bow tying it all together was just calling you, begging you to untie it and sink to your knees, revering him the way he deserved to be. you wanted your husband so badly that you couldn't focus on any of the tasks at hand. major damage control and cleanup were needed, but your mind was only on your husband. it was pathetic, and you felt ashamed, but you needed him, entire world be damned.

it was like a switch flicked in your brain. the 20 days he was locked up, you spent it all in a constant state of panic and worry, fighting to stay alive and to keep your students alive too. and the moment you saw satoru, you were taken aback, rooted to the spot.

there he was, your satoru in all his infinite glory. as he ran and gathered you up in his arms, you couldn't help but slightly whimper at the feeling of his taut muscles pressing against your softer form. he felt so good against your body and finally in your arms.

satoru, well versed in your body language, immediately understood what was going through your head. the same could be said for him, too. he spent hours upon hours alone in the prison realm, his body devoid of your touch, aching for you. not a second went by where he didn't think about your lips pressed against his heated skin and indulging in your soft, silky, warmth.

he could feel the blood rushing south as he heard you whimper. satoru wanted to kiss you so bad, but he knew if he did, he'd end up taking you right here, right now in front of everyone.

he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, another stamped lovingly onto your hairline. satoru held your face in his palms, forehead pressed against yours. his blue eyes shining with unshed tears, mirroring yours. god, he missed his wife so much. his sweet, sweet girl.

satoru's gaze softened, drinking you in properly now. he sees the bags under your eyes and tear tracks engrained into your cheeks. his soul breaks, as he realises how devastated and hearbroken you must have been.

"i love you so much," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your soft lips. "and i'm not going anywhere, my love. i promise."

you couldn't stop yourself leaning up and capturing satoru's lips in a frenzied kiss, you both groaning at the contact. satoru angled your face closer to his, his nose pressing deliciously into yours. he deepened the kiss, gasping at the way you tugged at his slightly overgrown undercut. you took that as an opportunity to slide your tongue past his lips and lick into his mouth.

he tongue fought against yours, wanting to taste every inch of your mouth. the kiss was becoming way too heated. your body pulled flush against his, his hardening length pressing into your stomach, moans escaping both of your lips. satoru drank all your noises up greedily, savouring them on his tongue.

the sudden loud cough to your right made you both pause, realising where you were. collecting yourselves, you slowly pulled apart, a string of saliva splitting as you moved away from your husband, his hands falling to your waist.

you were both panting and out of breath, but that now that you'd gotten a taste, it wasn't enough. you needed to feel his bare skin on yours. you needed to be completely consumed by him. you needed more.

before turning to face his students' satoru smirked at you. you never thought you'd say this, but you revelled in that stupid smirk of his.

'patience' his darkened, lust-filled eyes conveyed, his hands squeezing your waist, 'we have all night'.

i am taking requests and writing fics for gaza. check the linked post out to find out more !!

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

I Put A Spell On You.

(Part Two)

Smoke and Rosetta got some makin’ up to do

It was a reflex for him to reach for his revolver. The sound of a withering floorboard caused Smokes to jump up from his sleep and grab it from the side table swiftly.

Click.

He was ready to aim and shoot down. Smokes’ unwavering gaze in that dimly-lit room cased out every dark corner and his ears listened for any signs of an intruder. He had good form and a lethal mental. He’d heard the sound again and instantly he aimed for the floor, finger on the trigger ready to pull.

A low meow followed by a pretty tabby-cat relaxed his tense muscles. Smokes lowered his weapon with ease before silently putting the revolver back on the night stand. His brandy-colored eyes tracked the movements of the cat between his legs, trying to get a feel of who this stranger was. Eventually, the sound of music on the jukebox and Rosetta’s soft snoring helped to steady his breathing and lower his pulse. Smokes reached to flick off the lamp light and carefully settled back into the rickety mattress. He took one look at Rosetta’s sleeping face before staring up at the ceiling.

Imagine rainfall, accompanied by the sound of a warm guitar slowly picking away at the layer of your sorrows, haunting, yet beautiful. A sense of serenity entered his mind, extinguishing the flames that burn his soul. For a moment, Smokes could feel, and think nothing. So brief, yet so long, he felt at ease. The melody carrying him across distant shores, feeling weightless in its entranced groove. He flew with the progression of the song, eyes closed, allowing his emotions to guide his path. Up and down his chest rose. Beyond the murky sky, the white glow of the moon shown through the window.

A dainty hand touched his chest. Smokes reached up to grasp it, rubbing it with his thumb. His bare dick against his thigh began to grow. Smokes brought her hand to his plump lips and kissed her there gently. The bed creaked beneath them. Smokes glanced down within the darkness, his eyes connecting with the sleepy, doe eyes of his Rosey. Her naked silhouette entranced him. The dip of her hip and the way her breasts hung from her chest aroused him to no end.

It was the way her long, deep wavy hair fell over the pillow. The pearls around her neck made her look ritzy and those red-tinged kissers made him salivate to taste her again. She was breathtaking. And Smokes didn’t lie when he meant she’s the most beautiful in N’awlins. Rosetta sat up and Smokes looked up into her heavenly face. Her fingertips danced across the ridges of muscle on his torso, her eyes never leaving his.

“Can’t sleep, daddy?” She says, voice soft and warm.

“That cat of yours woke me up out my sleep, gal…”

“Not you afraid of cats now…”

Rosetta giggled. Smokes chuckled slightly.

“I ain’t afraid of no fuckin’ cat…I’m just…been out there in some shit, baby. This the first time I had decent sleep.”

Rosetta looked towards Smokes’ revolver. Smoke followed her eyesight.

“I want one. My own gun.” Rosetta said.

“Oh?” Smokes sat up, “is that so?”

“Mhm. You can show me how to point that thang since you back home. Remember, you said you would…”

“I did.”

Rosetta sat up and Smokes situated her between his legs with her back against his chest. Grabbing the revolver, Smokes pointed it in a safe direction. A safe direction means that the gun is pointed in such a way that an accidental fire would not cause any harm. Rosetta watched with great interest. Smokes accessed the cylinder, emptying the bullets before clicking it back in place.

“Aight, Rosey…wrap your dominant hand ‘round the handle…use this hand for support.”

Arms outstretched, Smokes helped Rosetta point the revolver straight ahead at a wall covered with peeling paper.

“Straighten ya elbows, doll…no need to cock it, but steady ya breath…finger on the trigger…”

“It feels…heavy.”

“Hm. Imagine it with bullets.”

Smokes grazed Rosetta’s neck with his fluffy lips. The lingering smell of amber and sweat against his broad nose.

“That’s how you do it. I’ll take ya’ out to shoot soon…”

The urge to stuff his fat dick in her again created a tickling sensation just beneath his navel. Smokes felt at ease being with his woman again. He’d never leave her side again. Even if Stacks got in the way.

Smokes gave Rosey a wet sloppy kiss to her neck. She tilted her head and his thick tongue grazed over the rapid pulse in her neck and directly over that spot that got her wet every time. His thicker fingers were groping her breasts. Rosey released a breathy moan before looking back at Smokes, one hand on the back of his neck, forcing his lips against hers.

Their tongues moved in tandem, the squeaky springs of her not so sturdy bed surrounding them. Rosetta spun around and straddled his lap. Smokes kicked the sheets away from him, adjusting his large body to accommodate Rosetta. The wobbly, metal headboard banged against the wall when she flopped down into his lap.

One hand around her neck, Smokes tugged lightly, bringing Rosetta’s lips to his again. His other hand reached between her meaty thighs to feel the heat and dampness of her folds. Smokes growled against her lips. His dick was cast iron hard and read to fit inside her tight snatch again.

“Tilt ‘dem hips…atta, girl,” Smokes tapped her pussy with his big dick, “Time to fuck on this dick again, baby…”

“Yes, Papa…”

Rosetta wiggled her hips down onto Smokes thick pipe and her mouth dropped open in surprise. Smokes popped her on the ass hard, his way of telling her to get all the way down. Fully stuffed, Rosetta grabbed onto Smokes shoulders and with a whirl of her hips and a bounce she rode him on that rickety bed like it was her last time.

The fullness stretching her out made her shout Papa, Papa, Papa over and over. Smokes was too damn big for that bed but he made it work. He dug his heels into the lumpy mattress and with both hands he kept her cheeks spread while pumping up into her as she dropped down. Wet, skin slapping noises mixed with the way the bed jumped and creaked beneath them.

The steel of the revolver pressed against Rosetta’s knee each time she bounced. It was rough like she needed it. Deep dicking in her bedroom beneath the moonlight. Smokes slammed up in her so good Rosetta spread her thighs more to feel it stretch her. She craved the soreness, the way it tugged on her clit, the slight sting of his heavy balls slapping her ass.

Pop pop pop

Smack smack smack

Clap clap clap

“Damn, Rosey, gettin’ real whacky on that dick, fuck.”

Smokes grabbed her hips and helped her bounce on his length like a good little fuck doll. Her wavy hair shielded her eyes and those pretty titties swayed in his face.

“You hittin’ my spot, Big Daddy…you hittin’ it so good…make your pussy cum…make your bitch pussy cum…”

“Rosey–”

“Dig deeper, Papa–”

“Grip this dick and wet it up with that sweet nectar!”

Rosetta choked his dick with her walls and her cum trickled down his dick and over his balls. Hand in her hair, Smokes slammed his lips against hers while thrusting deeper.

He needed her more.

Smokes put Rosetta on her back and her legs in the air. He dived back in that pussy with his toes planted against the mattress. Rosetta clawed his back up and they both watched it go in and out. Smokes savored her nipples with his lips and tongue, ignoring the hollow dents in the wall from the headboard.

He grabbed a foot and stuck her red–painted toes in his mouth. Rosetta was super soaker wet on that dick, creating a large stain beneath her ass.

“I just wanna eat you up and fuck you…”

Smokes stared down at that hairy pussy with her leg thrown over his shoulder. He released a breath that came out like the hiss of a locomotive. That shit looked beautiful. If he could paint a picture of the way his dick all big and long spread her open he would. The sweat and humidity in that room made it hard to breath. All he wanted to do was be in his woman. They’ll crack a window eventually.

Well, I’ve got a meat grinder, it belongs to me

It's got good movements, I use it constantly

I’ve got a meat grinder, it belongs to me

It's got good movements, I use it constantly

You don't like good grindin', you ain't gotta bit of sense

It's been going on ever since the world commenced

If you don't like good grindin', ain't gotta bit of sense

‘Cause it's been going on, ever since the world commenced…

“That’s it, Big Daddy, cum all in your fat pussy…”

“Oh, yeah?”

Smokes folded Rosetta in half and pounded the fuck outta her. She furrowed her brows, chewed on that lip hard, and spread her pussy lips with those red nails like she wasn’t open enough already.

“Smokes! Yes! Don’t stop fucking me! Don’t stop fuckin’ your creamy pussy! Milk it, Daddy! Fill me up! Papa! That good hard dick!”

“Ahhhhhhhh–”

“Smoke…oooh…yes…yes…right there, daddy…don’t stop…ooooo shiiiit, daddy…fuuck….get it, da–DDY…”

Smokes gave Rosetta a heated glare and just like that he was filling her to the brim with his thick semen, painting her walls heavily. Dick slipping out, he painted her clit with more. Smokes rubbed his tip between her folds, eliciting a creamy noise. Their tired breaths mingled. Smokes slipped from the bed and stumbled on his way to the bathroom.

He ran a bath and took a piss. Rosetta perched her gorgeous frame against the doorway, body glistening from sweat and cum. She was a sight to behold. Smokes is a lucky man. A bar of Palmolive sat untouched on the edge of the claw foot tub. While Smokes shook the access urine from his dick, Rosetta opened a jar filled with lavender, rosemary, and chamomile herbs, sprinkling it into the tub.

It was big enough to fit the both of them. Smokes slipped in first and then Rosetta settled in front of him. They used a soap sponge to clean each other off thoroughly. This was serenity. Encased in her sweet embrace.

“I love you, Rosey.” He whispered.

“And I love you…”

——

The smell of bacon and butter wafted Rosetta’s nose that early morning. She sat up, messy hair in her face while she stretched her tired arms above her head. Smokes being gone told her that he was cooking up some breakfast. Rosetta threw her sheets back from her body and snatched a satin robe from a coat hanger next to her bed. Feet sliding into a pair of house shoes, she looked down and noticed deep scratches in the wood paneling.

She would need to cover that up with a rug or get someone to buffer that out. She didn’t want her mama to have a fit.

Rosetta made her way into the kitchen, the tea kettle whistling as she approached. Smokes moved about the small room with a blunt between his lips and his dick out and swangin. Rosetta admired his tight ass before her eyes swept over his muscular back. She could see that he was making bacon, buttered toast, eggs, and grits. Smokes sat the cast iron on the stove and looked back when he’d heard footsteps.

“Mornin’ sunshine…”

He pecked her lips.

“Smells real good in here,” Rosetta stole a slice of bacon, “I’m hungry from all that sex.”

“Gotta feed you then, huh?” Smokes winked at Rosetta.

Rosetta stole the blunt from his lips and took a hit.

She coughed slightly, Smokes chuckling.

“Careful wit’ that there, Rosey…”

She took another hit and blew smoke towards him to taunt him before sticking her tongue out. Smoke tapped her on the booty.

“Sit that pretty tail down. I’m a plate this food up.”

Rosetta settled in a dining chair. She noticed the news paper and fresh milk on the table. He must of gone to grab it. Rosetta grabbed the paper and opened it to read. She crossed one shapely leg over the other blunt between her fingers as she held the paper up.

“A train hijacking?” Rosetta announced with surprise.

Smokes glanced over at Rosetta while her brown eyes were glued to the paper. He packed her plate and walked over, placing it in front of her. Back at the stove, Smokes poured her a cup of tea.

“Jesus, killed everyone on board…”

“Gimme’ some neck…”

Rosetta tilted her lips towards Smokes and he stuck his tongue in her mouth. The grip she had on the paper slipped. Smokes snatched it from her grasp and placed it on the table with a loud slap.

“Eat, girl.”

Rosetta grabbed her fork but her eyes remained on Smokes. He could feel her staring while he situated himself across from her.

“Level with me, Smokes…you know ‘bout this?”

“Don’t know from nothing, gal. Eat.”

“I’ll eat when you talk to me.”

“Ain’t nothin to share, baby. Everything is copacetic…”

“Did Stacks do this?” Rosetta questioned.

Smokes’ fork clashed with the table. He gave Rosetta a pointed look of warning. Letting her know to drop it.

“Wasn’t Stacks. Wasn’t me. Wasn’t nobody to get all worked up over. I’m good. We’re good.”

“Smokes…I don’t want you gettin’ yourself in trouble. It’s enough that Phonzo wants you dead—”

“Phonzo punk ass already dead. Might as well call it what it is.”

Rosetta bit her tongue. She knew arguing wouldn’t get her the answers she needed. She didn’t want Smokes to return and get himself into deep shit. She knew he was more than capable of handling himself, but Rosetta needed him alive, especially if she planned to marry him and have his butterball babies.

They ate in silence, the food tasty. Smokes sensed that she wanted more, so he filled her plate up again and Rosetta thanked him with a small smile and a kiss. Smokes watched her eat while smoking his weed and when she finished he cleaned. Rosetta drank her tea with those smooth and thick ol’ gams teasing Smoke’s eyes.

As he scrubbed, Rosetta spread her legs in that chair and spread her lower lips with her fingers. Sweet pink graced his eyes. Smokes watched her stroke her clit. He was high and horny again. Dick stood out like a flag pole.

“You want daddy to eat that pussy…”

“Mhm,” Rosetta licked her plump lips.

Smokes dried his hands and marched over to Rosetta. He picked her up and walked her to the couch.

“Wait, not here—”

“This Miss. Doris’ good furniture,” Smokes laughed, not caring at all about the sofa, “Good thing it’s covered in plastic…”

Her legs parted like the Red Sea. Hips aching and inner thighs burning. Smokes wasted no time slurping on her pussy with a wet tongue and thick lips. Rosetta palmed the back of his head and mushed his face in it. He had a habit of being loud while eating pussy. She could feel herself creaming on his chin when he latched onto her clit to suck.

“Yes, oh, fuck, mmmm….”

Rosetta frowned her pretty face. She had a face that belonged in movies. A rare beauty. Smokes never took his eyes off of her, not even when she came in his mouth. He stuck his tongue so far up her pussy to catch it all. Her robe had spilled open, revealing that hot body to him again. Smokes reached up and rolled her nipples between his fingers while continuing to feast on her overflowing pussy.

Smokes popped his lips off her clit to stare down at his work, “you betta cum again,” He sucked again before stopping, “Cum in my mouth before I stuff you again,” He slurped her up again and Rosetta moaned out, “You know who this pussy belong to. Not Phonzo, not no other nigga…”

Rosetta had to pick her lip up to stop herself from drooling. Her eyes crossed as another orgasm rocked her body. She closed her thighs around Smokes head, unable to take the licks he was giving her.

“Got me ready to fuck again,” Smokes took it upon himself to bend Rosetta over the couch, “Bend that back…atta girl…daddy’s good girl,” Smokes spread her ass cheeks wide and grunted, “Shit, Rosey…”

He hunched his body and with the power of his hips he sank into that good twat. Rosetta rode his tip before he could even fit in. He popped her on the ass with his wide palm before thrusting up and deep. Already she was creaming on his dick. Smokes had her by the arms as he pounded.

Rosetta had that IT like no other. Pretty ass voice, pretty ass doll, perfect pussy, perfect face. Smokes watched her head loll back and forth from the momentous pounding he was giving her. That back arched and that ass jiggling. Her knees almost slipped from the sofa so Smokes had to fix her and put his hand in the middle of her back to keep her stationary.

“I’m a fuck a baby in you.”

Rosetta moaned and clenched his dick.

“Like that? Like when I tell you how I’m a get you pregnant? Like that, sweet baby? Make me a Daddy?”

“YES!”

“All wet on Big Daddy’s dick.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Rosetta yelped when his hand wrapped around her neck from the front, bucking those strong hips and slapping those big nuts against her clit.

Smokes growled deep and with two staggering strokes he came inside of her again. He abruptly turned Rosetta’s head and plunged his tongue into her mouth.

Crack!

Smokes slipped out of Rosey fast and stood tall. Rosetta turned onto her backside quickly, staring up at Smokes with wide eyes.

“Fuck was dat?”

Smokes moved with a brisk pace towards the window within the kitchen, he peered down past the small glass panel at his car.

“What is it, Elijah?”

Rosetta stood behind him with a worried look etched into her beautiful face. Smokes took deep breaths before exiting the kitchen, Rosetta on his heels. He entered her room and grabbed up his pants, uncaring that his underwear sat on the floor.

“Elijah!”

“Stay here…”

Smokes grabbed up his revolve and loaded it up.

Click.

He stormed out of Rosetta’s apartment and down the small staircase leading into the boutique. As he drew closer, his eyes became wild with anger. He unlocked the door and stormed out into the smelting heat with his gun raised. There, a brick lay at his feet. Smokes bent down to pick it up, his cognac eyes following a trail of broken glass until he came upon the shattered window of his Cadillac.

Some people gathered outside to see what all the fuss was about. Smokes peered at them, eyes accusatory and rageful. He knew it had to be someone from Phonzo’s crew. A cheap shot, but still…Smokes was furious. Chest puffed out, he tossed the brick and entered the shop. Locking it up tightly, Smokes turned to find Rosetta staring up at him with a fearful glance.

“They busted out your window…”

“Ain’t nothin’ I can get that patched up…”

Smokes grabbed Rosetta by the elbow, turning her back towards the stairs.

“Daddy gotta go handle some thangs…I want you to stay put and out the way—”

“I’m coming with you, Elijah—”

“No—”

“YES! Yes the fuck I am!”

Rosetta snatched her arm from his hold and stood firm as she glared down at him on the steps.

“I’m tagging along whether ya like it or not.”

Smokes clenched his jaw. Their eyes danced between each other before Rosetta turned her back at him, climbing up.

——

“Scotch…”

Smokes accepted his glass, adjusting Rosetta in his lap. He sat across from his twin, Stacks, the gold in his mouth gleaming. They were sitting in a bar, the sound of distant chatter and glass in the background. The smoke from the cigars they were smoking billowed out like a thick fog. Rosetta wore a chocolate–brown Blondell dress with pantyhose and embroidered T–Straps on her feet in gold. A cloche hat that had covered most of her hair and much of her face was a last minute accessory since she didn’t have time to fix her hair after sweating it all out fucking.

Smokes’ 8-panel hat sat over his own messy hair and he wore his button down shirt untidy with his white beater on display. Stacks looked dapper in his double-breasted mahogany suit with shiny silver buttons and matching cufflinks. Copper silk tie, and black and brown woven Oxford shoes complete the look. His fedora sat on the table next to him.

The Big Cheese took a sip of his own scotch.

“How was your night with that snow bunny?”

Stacks chuckled, “As good as yours was I’m sure, brother. Lay it on me…Phonzo askin’ to go war? Does he not know who he fuckin’ wit?”

“You know dat nigga stupid, Stacks,” He checks his dominoes, “I got word that he’ll want to meet up tonight. I’m not much for talkin’…”

“Hm,” Smokes puffed on his cigar before speaking, “You thinkin’ the corn field?”

“Dig a ditch or two,” Smokes threw out.

“I’ll get Monty on it.”

Rosetta listened to the twins discuss killing and burying Phonzo and whoever else in a corn field. She shivered within Smokes’ lap.

“How ya been, Rosey? Still singing?”

“Of course,” Rosetta smirked at Stacks, “Still gettin’ into trouble I see.”

“You mean your man here,” Stacks pointed towards Smokes, “He’s the trouble.”

“How so?”

“Go on and tell her how you was in Texas.”

Rosetta quirked an arched brow. Smokes shook his head.

“Takin’ his word over mine ain’t the way to go, baby.”

“Uh-huh.” Rosetta wasn’t fully convinced.

She grabbed Smokes’ glass and took a sip. Rosetta watched the twins play another round of dominoes and catch up before Stacks made his leave. He had to make sure things were in order before tonight. A jazz ballad played and Rosetta swayed her hips in Smokes’ lap. She could feel him poking and the thought of sliding up and down on that pole sent chills down her spine.

“Careful there, Tiger,” Rosetta lifted his chin with her finger, “I still gotta cook you dinner.”

“A meal before I bump off? My kinda lady…”

Josephine Baker–I Love My Baby started playing, her voice projecting in a way that emphasized a higher frequency, leading to a brighter, more nasal tone. Rosetta caressed Smokes’ handsome face while staring deeply into his eyes. She sang along to the words, husky breathy tone drawing him in.

Sometimes we quarrel and maybe we fight

But then we make up the following night

When we're together we're great company

I love my baby, my baby loves me

The spell she had on Smokes brought him to his knees before her. He stared at her with those bedroom eyes and a half smirk while she sang to him in his lap. That smoking hot chassis was enough to make him fuck her right there. Smoke tapped his foot and rocked his head while she serenaded him. Others in the bar watched with wonder while balancing liquor and ciggs.

When the song faded out, Rosetta gave Smokes a slow kiss. A wolf whistle echoed and Smokes removed his hat to shield them from view so he could tongue his woman down.

“If it’s a girl, I wanna name her Ella, after my mama…”

“That’s a beautiful name, Elijah.” Rosetta smiled against his lips.

“If it’s a boy,” Smokes took a sip of his scotch, “Emmett.”

Rosetta swatted his bicep with her dainty hand.

“What was that fa’?!” Smokes protested with a dimpled grin.

“I was thinkin’ the same thing!”

“That’s why you my woman…”

Smokes kissed on Rosetta’s neck causing her to giggle. They were both pleasantly faded.

“Is that Smokes?”

“Ida Mae…”

The curvy dame settled in front of them, dolled up and doused in perfume. The smell of Bergamot, Orange Blossom and Lemon burning Rosetta’s nose. Her back stiffened as she surveyed the woman with her sultry eyes and chandelier earrings. Her dark red lips quirked up into a flirty smile.

“When did you high tail back into Nola?”

“A day ago. Why’s you askin’?”

Ida Mae locked eyes with Rosetta for a second.

“Just missed ya’ that’s all. Stacks back too?”

“Ya’ know it.” Smokes replied, caressing Rosetta’s waist, “This is my woman, Rosetta. Rosey, this here is Ida Mae…”

“Pleasantries,” Ida Mae tilted her head in greeting.

Rosetta’s lips remained sealed.

“She owns that whore house in Storyville.”

“Is that so?”

Rosetta cut her eyes at Smokes.

“Yes, a good business if ya’ ask me. Selling pussy is on the up and up, especially these days. Got too much shit to stress about.”

Was he dipping in pussy she didn’t know about? Why the fuck would Ida do some disrespectful shit and flirt with her man in front of her? Smokes had some explaining to do.

“Well, just wanted to say hello. Good seeing ya’ Smokes…tell Stacks I said don’t be a stranger…”

“Will do, Ida.”

She walked away with a tantalizing sway of her hips.

“You wanna tell me what that was?” Rosetta cut to the quick.

“I ain’t fuck nobody else if that’s what ya’ asking.”

“You fuck Ida? Don’t lie to me Smokes…”

“Rosey, cut it out. Ida and Stacks used to fuck ‘round. Probably still do.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m no sappy bird I can tell. Prolly made a stop to that whore house before coming to me. Been writing Ida to keep that pussy ready—”

“Rosey, shut up.” Smokes said through gritted teeth.

“Shut up?” Rosetta kissed her teeth before pushing off of Smokes’ lap, “Go after her!”

Smokes narrowed his eyes at her.

“I ain’t lying to you, Rosetta.”

Rosetta stomped away towards the exit. Smokes followed after her, catching her before she could open the door. He walked with her in his grasp outside, the afternoon heat unbearable. Already he was sweating profusely. Smokes turned her around to face him. Rosetta pointed her gaze over his shoulder, refusing to look at him.

She could be so damn stubborn sometimes.

“I love you. Only you. You need to understand that and quick,” Smokes spoke angrily so close to Rosetta’s face his breath laced with liquor and a hint of chocolate and black pepper from his cigar wafted her nose.

Rosetta pouted. Smokes gripped her chin tight to make her look him in the eye. He needed her to know he was serious.

“Stop it, hear me?”

“Okay…”

She looked from his eyes to his lips.

“So damn hard–headed…”

He kissed her lips before popping her on the ass.

“I’m a drop you off at the shop, okay? I gotta get this window fixed.”

Smokes made sure Rosetta was settled in her seat before he got in. The drive was less than ten minutes. Smokes made sure she was situated, blowing her a kiss through the glass door of the shop before driving off.

Rosetta’s doe eyes followed Smokes’ retreating car.

She wanted to believe he was loyal to her and only her. He’d always been. Maybe it was her mother’s words making her feel insecure. Her mother hated Elijah. Rosetta planned to cook up a steak dinner for Smokes. Ready to get to it, she climbed the stairs and before she opened her door, she noticed a kitchen knife sticking out of the keyhole.

Rosetta gasped, hand covering her mouth. Fear consumed her as she stood there, staring between the crack of the door and into a pitch black abyss. It was eerily silent. Rosetta took a chance and pushed open the door. The light from the stairwell flooded the room. So far, as she peeked inside, she couldn’t see anyone.

Rosetta stepped over the threshold and grabbed the handle of the knife, tugging it to release. She held the knife out in front of her, hand shaking with nerves. Her glossy eyes bounced left and right. She fully stepped inside, frantically moving her hand along the wall until she felt the string of the lamp light. A pinch of relief flooded her veins when the room brightened.

That was all stripped from her just as fast when a gloved hand slipped over her mouth and the weight of a gun pressed into her hip.

——

Hope ya’ll enjoy part two 😏😌

@hearteyes-for-killmonger @imagining-greatness @chaneajoyyy @uzumaki-rebellion @lisayourworries @ratedbadgal @bombshellbre95 @cancerianprincess @dameshaemonique @6lack-1otus @thickemadame @thickeeparker @stinkalinkkkk @ehniki @electrixt @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @bxolux @sweet2krazee @seyven89 @ispywithmylileye @geemamii @nubianbabee @adoreesun @blackpinup22 @nayaxwrites @cocoa-puffs @dersha89 @honeytoffee @thickianaaaa @modelmemoirs @queenfaithmarie @angelicniah @soulfulbeauty19 @aijha @novaniskye @callmemckenzieee @blowmymbackout @lahuttor @momobaby227 @blackerthings @kenbieee @princessxotwod @palmstreesallday @kokokonako @coolfancyone @soulsparker @richgirlaesthetics

[acey-wacey]

Hi hi! Could I order a scenario of how Jade and Floyd would react to MC hiding behind them because they’re being chased by bullies?? Maybe grabbing onto the tweels (о´∀`о)

I like to think they’d be surprised of someone hiding BEHIND them instead of FROM them lol..

I'm a sucker for platonic tweels! This is my lifeline rn!!

...

Shrimpy Protection Agency

Three of the more troublesome NRC seniors decided that they weren't too pleased with all the attention you were getting, having been in Twisted Wonderland for only a few months.

The students decided to corner you in the hallway, much to your surprise and demand that you apologize for the trouble you've stirred up.

When you refused, they accused you of being disrespectful and threatened to hurt you if you didn't start respecting your upperclassmen.

Through your fear, you managed to slip between the students and make a break for it.

You knew they were older, stronger, and faster than you so you wouldn't be able to outrun them.

Your only hope was to hide.

You frantically searched for a place to hide as you sprinted into the courtyard.

You were hoping someone would be there to stop the upperclassmen from pummeling you but it was empty.

No, not empty.

On the very far side of the courtyard, hidden in the shadows, the Leech twins stood, both looking mildly bored.

"Jade! Floyd!"

They both perked up upon hearing your voice.

What was excitement to see you, quickly became confusion as you ran to them and wrapped your arms around Floyd's torso from the back, shielding yourself from your pursuers.

Jade almost never showed his emotions on his face which made it all the more terrifying when his expression darkened as the bullies followed you to the courtyard.

All three of them stopped in their tracks when they saw the intimidating look on Jade's face, worsened by the wide-eyed and manic Floyd.

It wasn't usual to see either of them, especially Jade, without their signature customer service smile on, even when threatening someone, but when it came to you, there wasn't any pleasantry.

They didn't even try to pretend like your bullies weren't in danger.

"I will give you 5 seconds of silence before I begin my pursuit," whispered Jade, though the attackers heard him loud and clear in the echoey silence of the courtyard.

The one that appeared to be the leader scoffed and nervously chuckled.

"You're just a second-year. I'm not afraid of you. And I sure as he11 wouldn't need a headstart."

"Oh, you misunderstand," Floyd laughed, his eyes still crazed. "Five seconds wouldn't help you for a headstart. We're giving you a chance to pray to every God who'll bother to listen to a pathetic bottom-feeder like you."

"You're monsters!" one of the goons screeched after a few seconds of listening to their panicked breathing. Both twins just smiled in the same unsettling form.

"That bridge was burned a lot time ago, my friend," Jade chuckled menacingly before he went back to staring into the bullies' souls. "5."

"Listen, dude! We were just messing around!"

"4."

"Okay, you're seriously starting to freak me out!"

"Better get on that praying then. 3."

"I'm gonna... tell the headmaster!"

"Oh, I'm so scared. 2."

"Guys, let's get out of here!"

"That little shrimp isn't worth this."

"Only I get to call them that!" Floyd screamed after the goons as they stumbled over themselves to get away.

You could hear the bullies leaving but you still slayed firmly attached to Floyd.

"I'm a touch offended you didn't latch into me that way. Do you trust Floyd more than me?"

You looked up to see Jade smirking at you with his usual calm composure, much opposed to his "predator mode".

"I'm sorry," you sniffled, though you all knew you didn't really mean it. "Next time, I'll hide behind you instead."

"Oh, no, no, no, Shrimpy," Floyd glared at you. You could tell it wasn't directed at you specifically but it was still intimidating. "There's not going to be a next time."

"At least we can agree on that note, brother dearest," Jade mused, brushing a hair behind your ear. "We'll make sure no one will ever mess with you again, Y/N."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, that's a secret," Jade put a finger to his lips and you could see the angry fire behind his eyes.

"You can hug me anytime you want though, Shrimpy!" Floyd chimed in cheerily. You laughed and leaned into his chest.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would've done with out you," you sighed and grabbed Jade's hand, tugging him into a group hug. "I love you. Both of you."

Jade wasn't usually particularly affection and Floyd didn't often practice restraint but both of them cared enough about you to just smother you in a brotherly hug, as long as it will make you happy.

Jade and Floyd made eye contact over your shoulder, making a silent agreement to break every bone in your bullies' bodies and make it look like an accident.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

in which : you and your classmates surprise katsuki for his birthday !

day seven of the explosive birthday collab event hosted by @queenpiranhadon !

fem reader, i dog on kaminari a lot in this one lmfao sorry kami fans i promise i luv him, kissing, lotsaaaa fluff, mentions of food, mentions of drinking but its not specified to be alcohol or anything ! cuddling, teary eyed sentimental katsu, soft katsu for the soul, teary eyed reader, class A bein silly, lmk if i missed sum else !

a/n : HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSUKI KATSUKI DAY GRAAAAAHHH-

and so, finally bakugou’s big 18th birthday party had arrived.

and you could absolutely not be more nervous.

you’d barely slept a wink, too giddy but also terrified as you kept on thinking about everything that could happen that you lost track of time. you'd checked and rechecked to see if the gifts you'd prepared where ready, checked with your classmates to see if all the decorations in gym gamma where still okay and checked the fridge five times to see if the cake was still intact aka if kaminari or mineta hadn't gotten their grubby little hands on it. tokoyami had told you not to “let the chains of anxiety shackle thy restless soul”, which you think meant you didn’t need worry yourself too much. you didn't quite get it at the time but you were thankful nonetheless.

you’re in bed now. nervous, sure. but you can’t help excitedly kicking your feet nonetheless. you were so excited to see katsuki’s reaction to the surprise and to your gifts, of course.

you check your notifications one last time, smile at your homescreen picture of you and your boyfriend, and turn on your side to finally go to sleep.

the day goes by with no hiccups. despite your friends wishing katsuki a happy birthday, with him grumbling in a sort of appreciation, he didn’t seem like he’d caught on. and he hadn’t noticed the sneaky mischievous glances you sent your friends every once in a while, everything was going off with a hitch.

you’d, of course, waken up extra early to be sure you were the very first person to send him a happy birthday message, getting ready at lightning speed to greet him at the door with a warm hug and plenty of kisses. which he reciprocated after quickly getting over his stupor.

the day had gone well, but now it was time for the surprise. and while you gather up the last finishing touches and finish bringing the food, operation : extract the payload was a go.

kirishima had been tasked to go retrieve katsuki and drag him over to the gym, claiming he wanted to try a brand new move and knowing katsuki you knew there was little to no chance he’d pass up training. but just in case, you’d encouraged kirishima to egg your boyfriend on a bit, that usually gets him going and you smirk proudly at your phone when you get a text from the red head himself.

“he took the bait ! the payload is on the way >:)”

and there you have it.

“alright guys, payload’s on the way !” you exclaim. your classmates start taking action, there aren’t many places to hide in the gym even with all of the changes you’d all made, but everyone had managed to find a pretty good hiding spot. some, like kaminari following others because they had nowhere else to hide and exchanging whispered complaints of “why’d you follow me ?!” and “ow, don’t step on my feet !” you giggle at how much your friends treat this like a game of hide and seek rather than a big surprise, before bounding away to find a hiding spot for yourself near the entrance.

it's so quiet you can hear a pin drop. denki clear his throat and yelps immediately afterwards, you assume someone must’ve punished him for the noise and you almost snort. until you hear voices approaching.

you recognize the loudest one clear as day. your heart starts racing when you hear the door open and kirishima and katsuki sounding impossibly close. katsuki’s complaining, as usual and it should be about time for—

“let’s hurry this up shitty hair, got other shit to do later.” you hear your boyfriend grumble.

“yeah, yeah i got it man.” kirishima replies “i’ve been working on this move for a looong while, so i think you’ll definitely be in for a treat.”

the trigger word.

“why’d you put so much emphasis on the—“

“SURPRIIIIISEEEE!!!”

bakugou’s next words get caught in his throat and he makes a little spluttering noise when all of his classmates pop out from almost every single crevice, nook and cranny in the room. his eyes are wide as saucers and his stance screams he’s on high alert, ready to fight, only to be met with his entire class screaming at him.

he stays frozen in his spot, eyebrows twitching and you all silently wait for him to react until denki shouts “kacchan’s shut down, guys !” in an instant time restarts its course and while you all burst out laughing katsuki splutters again.

“shut the fuck up dunce face !!” he shouts, but it doesn’t hit the same as it usually would, he’s just a bit quieter “w-what the hell is all this ?!”

“obviously it’s a surprise party.” sero sasses with a smirk, mina rubs it in by adding a snarky “duuuh !”

kirishima takes pity on his friend and places a hand on his shoulder comfortingly "we knew your birthday was comin' up, so we wanted to throw you a birthday party !"

"and actually keep it a secret this time.." kaminari snickered not so quietly. him, and the majority of the class side eyeing todoroki and mineta, the smaller boy immediately spluttering out excuses while the other only tilted his head in question.

katsuki's flabbergasted expression has settled just the smallest bit, his eyes shoot over to you and you offer him a sweet smile "18th birthday's are special, y'know ? they should be celebrated with class." you joke. the redhead next to your boyfriend nods aggressively fast. you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see kaminari again. you snort when he opens his mouth to speak again—does that guy ever stop talking ?

"i helped plan everything." he smirks, leaning against your shoulder and nodding proudly. only to wince when jirou materializes behind him, accompanied with a fist to his head. "we all did, idiot."

"hey, don't go taking all the glory for yourself !" mina chimes in a little further in the crowd, shoji places a hand on her shoulder in support.

you can't stop your lips from forming into a silly smile at your friends antics, and you giggle when katsuki only rolls his eyes, trying to hold back one of his own.

"you guys are idiots..complete fuckin' morons.." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head and rubbing at his nape almost shyly. he looks up at the red head next to him, then at the rest of his class with the faintest of pink on his cheeks, hand still pressed awkwardly on his nape like he doesn't know where to put it.

"i-i appreciate you guys..or whatever..thanks."

a beat passes. and then squeals resonates throughout the room.

"AAAWWWW—" kaminari and mina both squeal.

"aww man, you're blushing !" kirishima laughs, his cheeks also tinted pink.

"S-SHUT THE FUCK UP. NO I'M NOT—yer seein' things, you fuckin' weirdo.." katsuki spits, but his embarrassment and appreciation refrains him from insulting his smiling friend too agressively.

"aaand he's back.." sero quips, causing absolute choas filled with laughs and screams..the screams coming more from your boyfriend but you digress.

you're all smiles, this couldn't have gone any better for you and you feel a little silly for feeling emotional. katsuki's absolutely not the first person others would call sweet, but him actually putting in the effort and putting his feelings into words make your heart grow more than three sizes.

"alright, enough with the mushy stuff. let's party an' eat cake !" kaminari, always being the life of the party, exclaims. you're thankful that he's so aware and always able to set everything back on course so naturally, you almost envy him for it. you and your classmates excitedly cheer. between the cheers you lock eyes with katsuki, who was already looking at you. you smile at him brightly because you really can't help it and you feel your heart beat and dance around in your chest when he offers you a handsome smile in return. not his usual boastful one, the one only reserved for you. the one that makes your heart beat intensely, but more sweetly and makes it melt like liquid honey.

this is the best.

you're a few hours ( and a lot of slices of cake) later into the evening, when you lean against the wall to take a breather. you're cheeks hurt with how hard you've been laughing and you sigh happily, the noise being drowned out by the loud speakers booming as you take a sip of your favorite drink.

"yo." you turn to see sero right next to you, "hey !" you chirp loudly, trying to get him to hear you over the music. he smiles easily at you, taking a sip from his drink before he continues

"looks like blasty's havin' fun." he chuckled, pointing his cup to where your boyfriend had been dragged into an impromptu conga line. you burst out laughing, pulling out your phone to record. and while you're recording he notices and glares right at you, you offer him a taunting little wave and cheer him on. and his narrowed eyes need no words as his hands tighten on deku's shoulders in front of him. the green haired boy's eyes widen in surprise as his mouth open in surprise.

"you're gonna pay for that." you chortle.

"looks like this party was a succes, huh ?" sero utters softly, going to take another sip before leaning his red cup over to you. you laugh with a shake of your head.

"yep !" you agree, knocking your cup against his.

a warm hand wraps around your wrist. you don't know if you ever stopped smiling since the beginning of the evening, but you smile wider when his warmth practically engulfes you, his chest pressed to your back as he pulls you against it. you look up at him to see him trying to supress a smile, not well, but he's trying. "finally caught you." katsuki growls.

"you havin' fun ?" you sing. he scoffs "bein' dragged around playing limbo with those fuckin' cheaters ? yeah, plenty." the words come out bitterly at the memory of kaminari 'setting him up' during your game of limbo, competitive as always. you laugh at his sarcastic remark.

"i think you looked real handsome during the conga line," you sigh sweetly to sell the act, "so dreamy.." his words get caught in his throat and he pokes at your stomach in punishment to make you squirm around, then he's reaching to grab your hips shuffles around in your pockets while you try to keep him away. "i saw you recording me, freak ! gimme the phone."

"no !"

"give it !"

"leave me be, it's a m-momento for your 18th birthday !" you wheeze, giggling and shrieking as he takes his chance to tickle you. you hear him chuckle into your ear and he finally relents. "m'getting to that phone while you're asleep." you fake gasp in shock, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"you wouldn't !"

"don't test me." he snarks, throwing you a teasing grin. however, his expression morphs into a soft one, he shoves his hands into his black baggy jean pockets.

"heard you planned all this, huh ?" your eyes widen.

"no, no we all did."

"but it was your idea." he insists, and cuts you off before you can continue "don't bother, kirishima already told me." as thankful as you were for his help, you cursed kirishima in your head for throwing you to the explosive wolf like this. it's not like you were angry, but you really couldn't have done all of this on your own and it was definitely a team effort.

"well, i mean..yeah.." you admitted shyly, fumbling around with your hands. it's silent, then he chuckles at your humbleness and you're slowly, agonizingly slow at that, being backed up against the nearest wall. and his forehead maes contact with yours, you're tucked away into a corner of the gym where the rest can't see you, he places his arms against the wall next to your head.

your eyes dart from his to the floor "i just thought..it could be fun, you know..? m'sorry for lying to you about the bookstore.." you spilled, trying your best to stutter out an apology, until he stops you, raising your head up with his finger.

"you're really somethin' else, you know that ?" he smirks softly " i knew you were planning somethin', you were being too secretive. hanging out with my mom and shit, sneaky brat."

"i like hanging out with your mom !" you defending the older woman has your boyfriend roll his eyes "should like hanging out with your boyfriend first." he quips. you roll your eyes as well, but it doesn't take you long to burst into a fit of laughter and he follows quickly. your chest feels warm, tucked away giggling in this small corner of the bustling party, just you and katsuki.

"i have something i wanna show you." katsuki raises a brow at your sudden words. "oh, yeah ?" you nod. "but it's in my room." you offer him your hand shyly, and he smiles softly, huffing through his nose. grabbing your hand as you pull him out of the gym and walking silently into the night back towards the dorms.

"hey.." katsuki starts, you hum. "uhm, y'know—fuck.." he fumbles with his words and pulls you along when you stop walking to listen to him, wanting to continue so you wouldn't notice his embarrassed state too hard.

"thanks for this." your eyes widen and it's like he sensed you were about to speak because he interrupts you "yeah, yeah i know you all did." he mimicks your words, squeezing your hand in his warm one "but you thought it all up, so..thanks." he glances down at you " when i said i appreciated it, i really did. i really do."

your heart thump, thump, thumps against your chest, you feel it hammer in your ear. your hand squeezes his and he squeezes a second time. you don't know what you can say, so you smile at him. it's late at night and tiredness has finally started kicking in now that the music fades further and further away, but you're so, so happy and you think he can see it too. his smile slightly dimmer but still there and it makes you feel so warm and loved despite the slight chill of the outside. you wish you could see him smiling like this all the time with all your heart. and you hope he'll like your gifts and all of a sudden your at the entrance of the dorms. you make your way to your room in comfortable silence. your hand getting slightly clammy in his when you finally reach your floor and make your way to your room.

"what did you wanna show me ?" bakugou asks, closing your door behind you. you sit down on your bed and pat the spot next to you. he questions it with a raise of his brow, but doesn't any further and sits down next to you. you inhale, and reach underneath your bed to grab the gift and hand it over to him. his eyes widen, he narrows his eyes at you when your lips curl into a bashful smile.

"yn."

"i know.."

"i told you not to get me anything, stupid." he utters breathlessly, placing his hand onto your head and noogieing you. you reach up to stop him with a whine.

"i knooow !" you moaned "but just open it, please ?" you give him your best puppy eyes. he scoffs but finally relents. grabbing the thin box from your hands. he shakes it softly and you make a noise, reaching for his wrists.

"katsuki !" you giggle "don't shake it !"

"m'just trynna hear what it is."

"then open it !"

finally, he opens his the box. his eyes widen and he places it down on the bed to get a better look at the book you'd made for him. you perk up nervously when he inspects it thoroughly, running his fingers over the stickers you'd stuck to the front.

"i-it's a recipe book, see ? i know you love to cook so i figured you could add all of your favorite recipes in it." he flips the book open while you explain away, skimming over the pages " you can detach the rings too, so if you wanna add pages you can—"

before you know it you're interrupted and practically slammed onto your bed, a pair of warm bulky arms incasing you into your boyfriends chest. you shriek, but it melts into a giggle when he kisses all around your cheeks and nose softly, causing a ticklish sensation and when he lands a particularly wet kiss against your eyelid you laugh.

after moving his recipe booklet to your nightstand to keep it intact, he places you further onto your bed to kiss you again, obnoxiously loud at that, and you try to kiss back to the best of your ability but constantly huffing through your nose and smiling. he leans up to give you a break from his love attack, only for you to be hit dead on with all the love in his eyes.

"i'm gonna assume you're happy with your gift.. ?" he rolls his eyes at your joke, nudging his nose with yours.

"yeah, happy doesn't even begin to cut it. thanks, babe." he simpers, his eyes are bright and you make sure to commit his expression to memory. he leans down again, promptly kissing you deeply, you let yourself get carried away by his love and affection, kissing him back passionately but you remember your last gift for him.

"mm, there's—" he hums, continuing his flurry of kisses "there's something taped—" one more kiss cuts you off "—on the last page of your book, suki." one last loud peck and he pulls away to stare at you incredulously, you never stop surprising him, do you ?

he quickly retrieves it from your nightstand, and if his eyes widened before they practically bulge out of their sockets at the little holographic card neatly taped in his book. he carefully removes the tape and lifts up the card, looks at you, and looks back at the card in shock causing you to giggle.

"i remember how bummed you were after your card got all messed up during the war, so..." you're heart squeezes at the horrific memories of what had happened those few years ago, and how upset your katsuki had been when the card he'd kept close to his heart since he was a kid ended up crumpled up and bloody. he still has it, hidden in a box under his bed, but he never got to bring it to all might to get it signed. so you decided to do it for him and after racing neighborhood kids to get as many packets as you could get your hands on and a few packet of cards, you'd finally pulled it. you knew what you needed to do and the bewildered look in his eye was most definitely worth it.

"holy fuck..holy shit." he insists "how did you even—i—what ??" you burst out laughing at his disbelief, he could be so cute when he wanted to be.

"i just asked mr. all might if he wanted to, and he happily agreed, by the way." you answer simply with a shrug. however your smile fades just a bit when his eyes turn glossy.

"hey.." you crooned. quickly he shoves his head into his shoulder, furiously wiping at his eyes. he sniffles and grabs your wrist. you think he's about to pull you towards him only for him to crash against your chest again. you let out a 'oof !' sound, chuckling breathlessly. you don't say a word as you feel his arms wrap around you tighter, his face and hands heating up against you and the collar of your shirt growing wet. you don't mind, running your fingers through his hair until he's ready to speak again.

"yer gonna be the end of me, woman." his voice is just a little scratchy and he clears his throat, you giggle.

"this..i know i'm not the best at all this emotional stuff but—m'real thankful y'know.." he rambles against your neck, you nod "mhm." you urge.

"a-an' this is honestly more than i could ever ask for. ever." he looks up just enough to make sure you see his slightly red eyes "this is the best gift ever given to me. you're the best gift ever given to me, and i dunno what i did to deserve you, but i'm definitely not taken it for granted" he half jokes. you feel your whole body heat up and your eyes burn just a bit at the sincerety of his words.

"i love you, katsu. s'the least i can do." you sniffle. he leans up to kiss you almost immediately. it's soft and sweet and so perfect. it's just passionate and slow enough where you can practically feel the love he's trying to give to you, you know what he's trying to tell you without him even having to speak, because you love him and he loves you.

"i love you." he responds against your lips, you love him and he loves you, and you kiss him again. you hope he can feel how much you love him and how happy you are he enjoyed himself at his surprise birthday party. you hope you can keep seeing him smile like he did tonight and enjoy himself and his cake every year. you hope you can try every single recipe he adds to his recipe book and see the way his eyes light up at his signed holographic all might card every single year.

bakugou pulls away to look at you with all the love in the world and he thinks that any birthday he has in the future will be more than perfect if he can have you by his side for as long as he lives, every year.

aaaand it's done !! tysm to @queenpiranhadon for allowing me to participate in this event, and the last day no less ! such an honor ! i advise you go read my other collab partners chaps to get the context for this one, so please go read their parts as well, cus theyre all so good and so adorable, i had sm fun writing this and i hope yall enjoy <3 happy birthday katsuki !!

taglist *if your name is pink i unfortunately couldn't tag you :(* : @gina239 @mystic60 @meowze4r @icedemon1314 @bigsimpo343 @ah-mya @wheezdostuff @berryvioo @seonne @slayfics @food8me @katsuisbaby @azzo0 @kieran-rhoades @xnorthstar3x @le000xxgrd @tr-mha-fan

day one: you make a birthday gift for katsuki ! - @zanarkandskylines

day two: you invite all of class 1-A to the party ! - @xbabyd0lli3x

day three: you and mitsuki go shopping for decorations ! - @angels-fantasy

day four: katsuki tries to figure out what you’re planning ! - @starieq

day five: you set up gym gamma for the party ! - @lowkeyremi

day six: you bake a cake for the party ! - @queenpiranhadon

day seven: you and your classmates surpise katsuki ! -@cashmoneyyysstuff

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Vroom Vroom

A/n: Billie brings you along for the shoot, but in the end she's suddenly jealous you not so much of Charli as of your attention to her as a celebrity. Charli playfully teases at her, but no doubt Eilish finds an original way to remind you about herself.

Their music video for "Guess" is a sudden bomb for my inspiration! And it doesn't have much to do with the text, but I do want to point out that Charlotte is an icon of my teenage years, lol.

Talking to Charlotte Aitchison, or more popularly Charli XCX, is definitely an exciting moment for you, given your strong fascination with her as a teenager. You're extremely visibly shaken from exactly the moment she gives you a welcoming hug and you're still in that excited mood. You've fainted about forty times in your mind, and you'd probably have realized one of those dramatic falls if it weren't for Billie's hand on your waist, which is clasping your side a little tighter than usual by the minute, or beating out some nervous rhythm of its own.

"It's very nice to meet you, Y/n!" - Charlotte smiles incredibly warmly, and for a second it seems to you that you are going to kiss the asphalt fantastically with your lips. Well, and with the whole face as a whole. - "Billie told me that you're an old fan of mine, you know, I'm really pleased."

"Gosh, uh... thank you!" - you touch the back of your head with the palm of your hand in burning awkwardness, only to then bring that hand back down sharply, as if spurring yourself on and sobering up. - "I just momentarily lost all the words I wanted to say to you, I'm sorry."

You're feeling incredibly uncomfortable with your surroundings under the weight of your own excitement and trepidation, even though Charli is looking at you as relaxed and friendly as possible-what's more, her dark brown eyes remind you of two mugs of hot tea, which with each sip envelope you with comfortable warmth, dispersing the delicious boiling water through your arteries.

Eilish, who has been gallantly silent all this time, understands you without any words, simply by reading your broken body language. In one deft but at the same time masterfully hidden in her persistence movement, she pulls you closer to her, right to her side, as if she were a mother duck and you were her obedient but confused duckling.

"Relax, my girl." - Eilish throws a slight smile on her lips, and puts her hand possessively much lower than your back, or rather, right on your ass. Just for a few moments, but you also instantly feel your ears light up like warning lights. - "Charlotte is exactly the same person as you, remember?"

Charli chuckles playfully as you nod and exhale slightly, gathering all the words and thoughts into the formerly organized piles in your head.

"Okay, let's start with something simple to bring you to your senses, hot chick." - you side-eye Eilish's eyebrows almost twitch, wanting to come together at the bridge of her nose, and that little silver snake rattling the tip of the tail foreshadowingly in her blue eyes. But the smile doesn't leave her face a quarter of an inch, so chalk it up to your nervous imagination: good idea, right? - "Name me your favorite song from my recent album."

And you babble inspirationally, like a renaissance poet who has met a sacred and previously unattainable muse: you note the meaning of your favorite lyrics, or the beat that comes into your soul, like was as if someone had unceremoniously opened the door with his hit foot. You praise almost every track on the album, unable to decide what you like best, and Charlotte laughs loudly, touching your shoulder lightly with a little pressure. And Billie sees how shocked you look at the singer, being doused head over heels in euphoria. She sees your gaze, with a million stars floating in it, sees your quivering smile. She sees it, and almost sending sparks of pure current straight into the asphalt. You don't admire her, but someone else, even if it is well extremely deserved for Charli. And the realization of your admiration definitely stings her painfully, like an angry wasp out of the blue. Sure, you're her girlfriend, but aren't you her fan anymore?..

When she notices this dazzling spark in your eyes, which ran through the moment when Charlotte offered to personally give you her autograph, O'Connell frankly breaks the first lock of self-control out of a possible three. She doesn't even have time to think properly, almost leans on you with her whole body, throwing her arm over your shoulder, hanging on you in mute demand. You immediately shift your gaze worriedly, shifting all your attention to her. For Eilish, holding back a satisfied smile, which is coming out of her cunning interior, is now a difficult task to heaven, but doable.

"Tired, dear?" - you ask sensitively, deftly reversing roles: your hand now firmly and securely on her waist. - "Do you want me to get you some water?"

"Or you can take a break in the dressing room," Charlotte gently advises, while devils dance invitingly in her eyes, as if her irises are bursting with the heat of inquisition bonfires. Oh, she definitely got it. That's why Eilish stabs her in response with her zealous blue blizzard, wrinkling her nose. Just a second, so that only she can see, but in no case not you.

As Billie opens her lips for a made-up answer, a thin female voice cuts through the air beside you:

"Ms. O'Connell, I'm sorry, but can I talk to you for a minute?

You all three of you look at the girl at once, as if the request wasn't addressed to Billie alone, which makes the petite blond stew, clutching the clipboard with neat palms to her chest, but then she finds the necessary composure.

"Your presence is required at the site to clarify a working point."

"Sure, no problem." - she moves out from under your palm ever so unwelcome, swaying slightly from side to side to prolong her contact with you for a few moments. Turning on her heel and shouting to you, she's already following the fast-paced assistant director. - "I'm fine!"

She feels your gaze on her with the back of her head, mixed with misunderstanding and slight excitement, and she almost choke on her own pride, finally allowing herself a cheeky smile. Suddenly, the tingle from the back of her neck is gone, and behind her your hear your loud laughter and Charlotte's azartic shout: "I'm going to steal your loyal groupie to show her the set, Billie! I can't promise I'll get her back!"

Eilish turns around, and Charli smiles at her like a cat contented under the heat of the sun. No, it won't work like that!

×××

"Really? I never thought you'd still love «Vroom Vroom» more than anything."

Stepping over millions of wires and stage markings, you survey location after location, noting how your excitement is gently shifting into confidence, and confidence into a slight premonition of anxiety warming at your fingertips and deep in your heart. Talking to your living dream in the world of Hollywood is extremely comfortable and desirable, but still you feel in your gut that something is wrong with Eilish, even if you can't explain what it is.

"This is my loudest baby, if I may say so," - Charlotte smirks, gently putting her hand out in front of you in a warning gesture, - "careful, there's another one here."

You step over the thick camera cord, suddenly feeling the ground beneath your feet shake slightly, or should I say vibrate. Far behind the two of you, you hear a mechanical, rumbling noise reminiscent of a construction site. Charli puts her tanned palm on your shoulder, instantly stopping you in your tracks.

"Turn around," - she smiles at you extremely contentedly, meeting a catchy sketch of misunderstanding on your face, - "I'm sure you'll like it."

One hundred and eighty degree turn around your own axis and you don't know what's deafeningly louder right now - the gushing laughter of Charli seeing your bulging eyes in amazement, or the helling murmur of the damn construction excavator that's coming your way slowly, led by her majesty Eilish, sitting regally behind the wheel.

"What the fuck, O'Connell?!" - you announce, folding your palms in a report-like fashion and bringing it to your lips: the only thing that helps a bit to overcome this sonic behemoth with a multi-ton bucket.

"Get ready to jump in!" - Eilish's eyes are burning a confident blue enough that you don't even need to squint to see it, and about a smile would be needless to say. - "I'm taking my loved groupie back, Charlotte!"

"I give up!" - Aitchison shouts, mixing the echo of his own voice with the roar of the engine, raising both hands in a surrendering gesture, grinning good-naturedly.

The excavator clanks, sliding at first a little to the left side of the wide area, and then leveling off again, still on course with the two of you, except now it's traveling at a safe distance from you instead of straight ahead.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting if I were you, or she'll burn with jealousy," - Charli puts her palm to your ear conspiratorially, except instead of the classic whisper: a shout. - "Come by my dressing room afterward, I promised you an autograph after all."

Something clicks shrewdly in your head as you smile, hugging the star briefly: you barely touch her waist and she pats you on the shoulders in return, and the excavator seems to make an even louder noise, like an iron bull spewing anger in the heat of a bullfight. The only one subduing him is Eilish. Charli hurriedly steps aside, watching with undisguised interest, and you only catch Eilish's outstretched left palm as you climb up the step. Her fingers grip you so tightly and securely that even the tattooed three of winged fairies embossed on her skin seems to be pulling at you with their little hands.

"You're crazy, Eilish!" - you shout with an outburst of laughter, wrapping both hands around the iron handrail.

"I'm your crazy!" - Billie returns both hands to the steering wheel, confident that you have a firm grip these.

"When did you even learn to drive this multi-ton monster?"

"Exactly half an hour ago," - an undisguised contentment plays on her lips as her gaze drifts forward. - "Not much different from a normal car, though there are nuances."

Glancing in the rearview mirror, you notice not only the surprised set workers, but also Charli waving at you. A grin spreads across your face.

"As nuanced as your jealousy of Charli?"

"I'm not jealous," - O'Connell lets a chuckle pass through her lips, and even drowned in the rumble of the car it doesn't seem sincere.

"Oh, what are you saying?" - you raise an eyebrow, and Eilish casts a quick glance at you-the blue sea is completely draped in eloquent silver serpents, to see which: an honor purely for you and no one else.

"Okay, yeah. I'm jealous." - Eilish exhales in astonishment, jerking the long clutch lever with her hand, to which the iron hulk rumbles, going leisurely to the right on its powerful tires. You see parking lot markings in the distance and a small silhouette waving two neon-orange flags: obviously the parking attendant himself. - "I don't like it when your attention and admiration isn't on me."

"My, you're greedy," - Billie tsked, rolling her eyes, but you only smiled affectionately. - "Would a kissing session make up for my shortcoming?"

Billie hesitates for a moment, rubbing her chin with one hand, then playfully pouts her lips in an olfactory pink bow like a child.

"If you also stand behind the cameras with the cameramen, catching my every glance, then quite possibly yes."

"Okay, I agree!" - You laugh, throwing your head back, and Eilish doesn't hold back in her supposed seriousness, drowning in laughter following you.

"Now get ready to get off. We'll walk from here. I have to see what kind of wall I have to break down."

You are silent, choking on air in a flash. Well, this is going to be an interesting shoot, though it's always just that way with Billie.

[are-you-still-writing-that]

Yandere Alphabet: Ren Hana

I just love that dude, mkay! He has me heart and soul! This is specifically BtD2 Ren, so yeah. Favourite route of that game! This got quite long, it´s around 6k because I thought I would try something else for this, and I´m actually quite happy how it turned out! Hilariously enough I started to write this, around January 2023 and just finished it (April 2024).

I´ll hope you will like it too, because it was already one of my favourite things to reread every once in a while! Have fun!

Ren Hana

He is insane. He hates you. He loves you. He lives only for you. He would kill you in a heartbeat. Full of contradictions he tends to be a rather mercurial character. You are the first one to know that. Did you maybe, just like me, hunt down every last line of dialogue, every last image in his route. He hides away from sight, and only catches you when he is sure, that he will be able to.

„Let´s be perfectly clear, shall we. The fox is not a little orange puppy dog with doe eyes and a waggly tail. It´s a disease-ridden wolf with the morals of a psychopath and the teeth of a great white shark.“ ~ Jeremy Clarkson

For he was truly raised, tortured and formed by a psychopath. By a sadist without any morals. And on you, this little fox will discover his sharp claws and great teeth once more.

„Beware the fox that makes the ravens fly“

Run little one, run. For you will be his prey.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

When Ren gets it into his head to shower you with affection, it can get quite uncomfortable rather quickly, as he tends to ignore any personal boundaries you ever tried to communicate. He is intense in the way his eyes track you, and in those moments you wonder how you could ever miss the way. that he is a clear predator. And in the next moment he pounces on you with a sweet giggle to simply share his warmth with you. Sometimes when you´re eating, his body is pressed close to yours, with no way left for you, so that you could escape from him. He will hold food up to your mouth, expecting you to take it. His eyes just daring you to refuse him, and with the way his other hand plays with something in his pocket, the threat is clear. Other days he will hand you something, and only give you a small moment to appreciate his gift, before he will pounce on you, nearly bowling you ever, and only his hands behind your head saving you from a concussion, as he demands his reward. Cuddling you on the floor, as he lowly purrs into your ear, his tail wrapping around your waist.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

On some days you will come to the painful realization, that Ren is more animal, than human. Those are definitely the days, he comes back home with blood still splattered all over his face, and the sound of something being dragged in behind him. It´s those days, when he calls for you to come with a playful uncanny trill in his voice, that makes listening to it so unpleasant. It´s those days, when he rips the still bleeding, still warm corpse apart in front of you. Sometimes off-handedly offering you a piece of flesh he just tore out of what had been a living breathing person moments before. On other days you will realize, that while he is clearly brutal, he holds you dear. At least, it´s what you need to believe, when he violently goes for the throat of that guy who tried to touch you when you refused, and then thought you would be more agreeable when he shakes you around. It´s what you whisper in the sudden quiet in your mind, when Ren comes to you. Blood dripping of his fangs and claws, and tenderly holds onto your bruised wrist. He is cooing at you, and the rapidly cooling body behind him, stares at you with unseeing eyes. You try to desperately believe what you tell yourself, as Ren carefully leads you away, humming slightly to calm you back down. It´s what you need to do, because you thought you saw accusations swimming in those dead eyes.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ren does crave your love and your companionship more than anything else. So, in order to achieve that, he will try to be kind to you, after all that could help him earn what he wants. Right? He will be kind and accommodating, and his reward will be you. Though, when he realizes, that you still reject him, he won´t hesitate to be cruel to you in return. If you´re throwing everything, that he gave you simply away, well then he doesn´t need to give it to you in the first place. In the end your companionship can simply be achieved through obedience as well, no? When it comes down to it, he will mirror you. Throw back at you what you show him first. If you are kind, he will be as well. If you are cruel, he will be cruel. An almost perfect mirror, that will throw your own attitude back at you, but so much more dangerous than you could ever be.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Ren will force his need of skinship onto you, if you want to or not. The one time, that you struggled as if trying to free yourself, you stopped out of self-preservation when his grip grew tighter and tighter, making it hard to breathe for you. Sometimes he will come to you, to simply hold your face, gently tracing it´s shape, his claws nothing but a whisper on your skin. These are the things you could tolerate. The ones you can´t are when he shushes you, more growl than calming purr, when he pulls you down the stairs towards the basement. The smell of blood, already coming over you, and you already know what will await you. You don´t kick or scream, only sob quietly, hoping that you will not make him angry. His next shush comes with him, wiping away your tears. But you shiver in fright and disgust, when you see how he licks his hand clean afterwards. Chasing the taste of your tears on his fingers. Though, this is still the lesser evil, than the dead man walking, that will await you down there.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It would annoy you how much he talks with you, if he wasn´t the only one breaking the silence. And as long as he is chatty, he isn´t brooding either. He will talk about the most inconsequential things, throwing in stuff every once in a while that is so heartfelt, that it becomes jarring to you. You would hate how open he is with you, as if you aren´t a prisoner of his. You would maybe even react, if you didn´t knew, that he is still trying to gauge how much he can trust you with. And every time, he decides to trust you, you have to believe that this is a good thing. For your own sanity. Though you hate one specific time with a burning passion. It´s when he pulls you towards the couch, and pushes you into the pillows he already laid out. When he then stands up, to push a self-titeled disk, the ink already worn away in places, into the player. When he comes back to cuddle you, as you watch with horror living in your ribcage, how a man you never saw, but instinctively put at fault for your situation, ripping into another being with glee. When he whispers softly, about those day, when the body in the cooler, was still a man, and of all the things he did, as Ren watches you. When you wish he would just shut it all of, and he would be the only thing again, that is breaking the silence.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

The moment you try to use force against him, is also the moment you already lost. There is nothing left of the boy you knew, as the gentle cooing that haunts you in your nightmares, turns into a vicious growl, that is more fitting to belong there. You hit the ground hard, and your vision swims for a moment, till the growling suddenly become muffled. It takes a moment to pull yourself back to consciousness, and for you notice the claws sinking deeper into your shoulders, and the sharp pain, that comes from your neck, which gets so much worse, when Ren pulls back again. Blood dripping from his mouth onto your face, he gnashes his teeth at you. You don´t even scream, still numb from it all, when he pulls you down those dreaded stairs, to a place you never wish to set foot in, and yet visit time and time again. You know he will show how „kind“ he has been the whole time. He will hurt you like in those movies. But the only thing going through your mind, is the image of the pleasure he seemed to feel, when he licked your blood from his lips. Then you remember the heartless corpse downstairs. You scream.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Ren bristles when you ask him that. He can feel how his tail bushes up, and curls around you without him consciously willing it to happen. His teeth gnash together, as he squints at you. He only stops the growl that already started up somewhere deep in his chest, when he sees you flinch away from him. He huffs instead at you, and lets himself fall relaxed back onto you. He waits patiently for you to go back to carding your fingers through his hair as you had done, before asking this, quite frankly, offensive and stupid question, before he starts purring again. He doesn´t know who he is trying to calm down at this point. He wonders, if he has forgotten to show you how much he loves and adores you. His sweet, precious thing, that stays with him, that listens to him. You, who keeps that damn ghost, that still haunts him every day away. He wonders if he should tell you, that he wants you to stay with him for forever and ever and ever. Though, that might frighten you. So he simply nuzzles you, as he purrs softly, ignoring how you flinch away from him with practice.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You were careful. And o how careful you had to be, to not accidentally set him off. But you wanted him so badly to realize, that this was not how a relationship worked. He had mentioned time and time again, and yet you couldn´t quite believe it. And when you asked – gentle, careful, don´t anger him – he had looked at you funny, before grinning. A sly smirk, that reminded you rather suddenly, that you weren´t talking to a human. As if the ears and tails hadn´t clued you in. Though, this didn´t feel like the grin of a fox, more like a hungry wolf, as he contemplated out loud, that he was behaving rather strangely, at least to his kinds standards. After all, he was being patient and accommodating to your own behaviour till now, though, he could change if you wanted to. You shook your head, and instead thanked him. You knew he hadn´t lied.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He whispers his vision to you in the death of the night. His quiet voice, soothing were it only makes you so afraid. He paints a picture, that makes him sink deeper into the cushions, makes him feel safe and content, while you can do nothing but watch in horror. If you were just a bit more like him, you would be sure, that your hair would be standing upright with the terror chasing down your spine. Though, what he describes isn´t so far off, what he already has with you. Have you grown this complacent, to simply give in to his every wish? He wants to lay down with you, in the sun spots inside the house, side by side, curled around each other. And your hand just burrows deeper in his hair, careful to only scratch and not pull. His vision, is already your reality.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He knows that there is nothing for him to get jealous over. Where would you go? Who would you be able to turn to? If you ran, would you ever be able to run far enough? Or would he catch up to you before you knew it? He knows the answer to these questions. And they will never worry him, as much as you seem to worry about them. He knew he won. It´s once more proven to him, when he finds you kneeling by the door. Tears running down your face, spit slowly dabbling from your chin. Now and then a small jerk going through your body. Your eyes look vacant, as he walks past and opens the door for you. His victory only becomes more certain, when you turn away from the light, the breeze, with an anguished cry. What does he need to be jealous of?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

His behaviour tends to closely mirror your own. He doesn´t seem to be aware of it most of time. At other points, it seems more than intentional. He repeats phrases, that you have said. His speech patterns begin to more closely resemble your own, the more time you spent with each other. Or do yours resemble his? It seems, that the two of you bleed more and more into the other, as time passed. Over time though, while you grew more and more subdued. He became louder. Where you grew into something, that cowers away. He became something, that would be impossible to miss. He mirrors you, but he plays into every extreme there is. Your melancholy becomes something loud and heart wrenching. Your happiness wraps into demented glee and shrieks of joy. Your gentle affection on his face turns into a punishing grip. Ren clings to you. He knows, that he is adapting to your personality, though where this might frighten you, it only brings him joy. He always knew, that you were the perfect fit for him. His perfect other half, and now he only got to prove it. He won´t let you go. Oh no. He never will. And why should he? With all the work he put in, to be your counterpart? He will cling to you till the end of time.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

You were bored, when he approached you. His soft voice nearly scared you half to death, when he started to talk to you. You hadn´t even heard him coming close. There was a sharp wit lacing his every word, as he waved your anxiousness away with a quiet humour twisting around his mouth. You and him talked nearly for the whole night. You were no longer bored. Drink after drink gets shared between the two of you, as dawn slowly comes around. You don´t even notice, when they start to taste funny. Maybe you simply drank too much? Your sudden tiredness is blamed on the late hour, and even when it feels like you can´t keep your eyes open any more and his smile is so full of sharp teeth. Maybe your fear was reasonable. Maybe you should have listened to that first instinctual response of absolute terror, when you noticed at first. These thoughts run slowly and languid through your mind, as he hoists you up over his shoulder, and simply walks out. No one stops him.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

There is a quiet confidence, you observe, that seems to find him in the strangest moments. His mood is quick to change. Laughter can turn into angry screams, faster than you can keep up with it most of the time. It´s no secret to you, that Ren is unstable. It´s also pretty obvious to you, that he is aware of that fact as well. Whenever he actually decides to take you outside, Good behaviour need to be rewarded dear, he has to concentrate. He can´t be too domineering over you, and so he falls back into patterns, that make him seem shy and unassuming. He knows, where those habits formed, and while he wouldn´t thank Strade for them, he still finds them useful for this. He knew what a charmer Strade was, just as he is now as well. A good trait to have, if one is like him. So he puts on the mask, that helps him to navigate the outside easily. Voice timid and shy. Never taking up more space, than he needs to. He basically vanishes into the background. It´s easy for him to watch every little move that you make. After all, you also tend to forget that he is here, whenever he gets like this.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

You don´t even know why he suddenly slams into you. Tearing you down to the ground with him. He is hovering above you, lips pulled back into a cruel snarl. Teeth gnashing and spit slowly dripping from the corners of his mouth. Right now he resembles more than ever, the violent and feral animal, that he always pretends not to be. There is the clinking of chains, as your breath only comes shortly. His teeth violently snap shut just inches from your face. When he speaks, a melodious hum, you can barely understand him, but the little you do frightens you. It freezes the blood in your veins, as you try to shake your head at him. Tears are already rolling down your face. He pats your face, then your head. His grip on the chain wrapped like a collar around your throat not loosening. He chuckles out But what a pretty star you would make. It would surely be my new favourite film. You can only cry harder, as you think of the man in cellar. You try to plead and beg with him, as he yanks you down the stairs. Your limbs kicking out in every direction, as you pull at the chain and try to stop him. The wooden steps bruise your back, and his laugh rings in your ears. When you swipe at him accidentally instead of the chain, his laughter stops. He doesn´t pay your terrified shrieking any mind, as he fished a little button from his pants pocket and presses down. You don´t really move, when he pulls at the leash again. Drool and spit slowly dribbling from your mouth, as fine tremors run through your body. You don´t even know what brought this on.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You wake up with a groan. You definitely drank too much last night. Your head pounds, and every little movement you make makes you wince. When you finally open your eyes, you don´t recognize the room. Carefully lifting the blanket you realize that you are only half-dressed. You can´t even remember how you got here. It takes you stumbling around the room, ripping open the curtains and seeing your reflection in the barred up windows to realize that there is something on your neck. It´s bulky and heavy, and no matter how much you fiddle with it, you can´t get it off. When the door suddenly opens, you nearly scream. The boy, red hair and kind of small, seems vaguely familiar to you, lets out a surprised yelp. His smile seems kind, but when he notices you still fiddling with the collar, his expression grows dark. It´s a low Stop that! that gives you a momentarily pause, before you ignore it. The next thing you know is pain. The boy holding a remote, as he comes to a stop standing over you. He crouches down next to you, a small smile playing around his lips, as he watches you drool and shake. There is a worried crease between his eyebrow, that you can´t help but feel like it´s fake. He pats your head, with a smile, as he licks his too sharp teeth. O this is gonna be fun. I love you so much my dear!

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

You looked at his hand, as if he would bite it off, when you took it. Come here, he crooned, curling his fingers in slowly. His patience was slowly running thin. You couldn´t see it from your position, but he had started to fiddle with the remote of your shock collar. He was contemplating to just shock you into complying with his simple request, but something about the way you looked at him – shaking, scared – stopped him. His patience was rewarded when you finally reached out for him, curling your fingers around his as he helped you up from the floor. He nuzzled close into your neck, and patted your hair. Good job, darling! So good for me~, he couldn´t help a little moan slipping out with the words. He led the way to the basement door, and opened it. Walking down the steps first, he sighed as he heard how your footsteps had stopped. With just one glance over his shoulder, he knew that this time you wouldn´t come that easy. It wasn´t fear and hesitance – both very under stable to him – that stopped you this time, but stubbornness. Without even hesitating, he pressed the button on his remote. Keeping it pushed down, only giving you short breaks to let you catch your breath, he grapped you by your shirt to drag your convulsing body down the stairs with him. Dropping you down at the pole, he leaned in close If I want something, you do it!, with that he tapped you on the nose, before standing up again.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You better hope and pray, that something else will kill you before he gets his hands on you. He stares down at the broken collar, then at his open front door. The laughter, that escapes him at this moment is strained. With a deep breath, he already knows where you went, and moves to follow you. The hunt is on. It was hard to get him to this point in your conversation, but maybe you actually got through to him. He looks at you with wet and wide eyes, before he suddenly sobs. Collapsing into your open arms, he burrows close to you. You try not to flinch, as his hands suddenly snake around your throat, but the click you hear, stuns you. We will meet each other again, right? Do this the right way again?, he asks as he gently puts the collar to the side. You can´t help yourself but to whisper a Of course! against his twitching ears. Blood covers his hands, his chest. He can feel how it already started to dry on his face, flaking off. This wasn´t supposed to happen. He didn´t intend to do this! Carefully, he pushed his hands beneath your body, to lift you up. He stumbles down the steps to the basement. It´s a bit of a fumble to get the lid open, but he finally manages it, as he lays you next to Strade. Huh. That looks almost cute. Flexing his claws, he tears open your chest cavity, and rips out your heart. As he bites into it, he gently closes your eyes, only to slide down to the floor and lean his back against the freezer. He starts to talk to you both. When he is finished, he will close the lid, and maybe watch a movie. Doesn´t he have something with you in it?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

It´s with a spring in his step, that he carries you out of the bar. He waves off the concerns of the other patrons, whispering instead in approachable manner Drank a bit too much, you know how it can be. The rancorous laughter than follows tells him, he hit the right tone. He has to adjust you once or twice, hefting you higher up on his shoulder. The same lie becomes easier for him to tell over time. Such a good boy, one older lady comments, and he can´t help but giggle to himself. His hands only start to shake with adrenaline, after he deposited you on the bed, he had prepared for a guest. He fumbles with the collar, that he became very familiar with under Strade, before he gently clicks it around your neck. Carefully he adjusts, so that it won´t be uncomfortable for you to wear. It is with a smile, that he removes your shoes and jacket. He wonders if he should remove your jeans as well, before deciding that they must be terrible to sleep in. He hums lightly as he unbuttons them. His hands hovering over your body. Still asleep, the drugs he had put in your drink, still doing their job. He smiles, as he pulls the blanket over you. Shuts the curtain of the barred up window, and with a smile as he looks back at you, closes the door. It would have been nice, if you would have come to him, but this is perfect as well. He is giddy, as he runs down to the basement, to tell Strade about what happened today.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He suppressed the instinctual snarl, the gnashing of his teeth, as another stranger bumped into him. Instead, he forced his lips into a kind smile. Holding tightly onto the mask, that let him seem like any other person in this bar. His skin was itching for blood and it had become such an overwhelming need to him, that he couldn´t tell any more if it was his instinct or his experience urging him to get blood to flow. He let his eyes sweep over the bar, when something suddenly drew all his attention. Your were just sitting there, looking at your drink as if it held all the answers to this world. Flinching away from every stranger, that would press themselves to close past you. A look of disgust openly on your face, when some would come to touch you in the process. It was almost cute to watch. Ren could feel his tail slowly swaying behind him, this could be a chance for him to pretend to be normal. After all, it looked like you wouldn´t even be able to tell the difference anyway. Something in him was still screaming for blood. It felt like a physical ache in his fangs and claws, and his ears twitched to take in every little sound you made, as he slowly stalked towards you. But there was something else as well. A ghost of someone – long dead, his heart gone – urging him forward with a gentle smile to reel you in. It wanted to see you cry. He shivered in delight as he imagined for a moment, what you would look like on your knees, face bloody and bruised, tears still streaking down your face, and mixing with your spit, as it dribbled down you chin and onto his old collar and your eyes wide as you looked only at him. He knew this would be fun, when he saw you flinch, when he greeted you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

His ears perked further up, when he heard a faint sobbing coming from your room. For a moment he wondered, if he should lock the knife away, before shutting the stove off, and simply leaving it on the cutting board. Wiping his hands on a towel, he made his way to you. Gently knocking on the door frame, he announced his presence to you, as he had already made his way halfway into the room. He ignored your muffled Go away!, and sat down next to you on the bed. There, there he hushed you, as his claws gently carded through your hair. He busied himself with pulling some of the knots out, and pulling the matted parts gently apart, completely ignoring your wince or how you tried to pull away from him. When he deemed you decently groomed – as he would sometimes term it with a laugh on his face – he dropped down onto your bed next to you. Pulling you to lay on his chest, he hugged you close. He was still petting you, as he slowly dozed off. Dinner could wait for a bit longer.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

There is doubt in his heart, whenever he sees you cry. He is sure that you are his, in every shape and form that matters, but to see you cry breaks his heart every time. Maybe it would be better, when the two of you would part ways. Maybe it would be better of he could simply watch you from far away, instead if staying constantly by your side. Or maybe he should just make sure, that you stay forever with him. Heart by heart. No matter how bloody it would be. You recognize easily, that while Ren tends to be a bit overbearing, he never seems to touch you longer than he needs to. You caught him countless times staring at your mouth, only to laugh and blush when he realizes that you noticed it. His hands only ever seem to land on skin that is covered by clothing, or at least his touch never seems to demand more. It´s strange you think, idly watching how he is staring at you again slowly licking his lips, how he never acts on his desires. Almost as if he doubts himself.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

It´s when he gently kisses your forehead, as he tucks you in for the night, that you finally realize something. For all his bluster, for all the pain he causes you, he also always turns rather quickly back into a facsimile of kindness. He amps it up for you, when ever it seems that you´re playing into his delusions. You might loose yourself in them, but you have nothing else to loose any more. So you try it. And suddenly it seems that this vicious fox is at your every beg and call. You don´t ask about the basement or the screams and he never threatens to take you down there any more. You compliment his cooking and suddenly food seems something you never seem to lack. You never step into hall for the door outside, and he wants to take you on a thousand walks. You even stop fiddling with your collar and with time forget that it´s still active. He will give you everything that he can. You shall lack nothing, not even your freedom. He is of service to you. Especially now, that he can have this soft life with you, that he had always dreamt of.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Sometimes Ren watches you with such a cold calculating look in his eyes, that you can´t help but shiver. You know, that in those moments he is debating with himself. His grin sharpening, while he flexes his claws. As if he can´t quite decide if he should rip your throat out with his fangs or his claws. As if it would matter in the end. Your blood would be on his hands either way. In the end, he will relax again. He knows, just as well as you do, that there will come another opportunity for him to let go of his pent up aggression. Another misstep of you, which allows him to have a go at you, without feeling all guilty about it afterwards. You overstepping the bounds, he always lays so carefully out for you. And if you fight back, he might even get a taste of that precious blood of yours.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He loves, loves, loves you! From the moment, he first saw you, when you so trustingly, so full of blind faith, drunk the glass he gave to you, he knew it. He knew you would be perfect for him. He wants you to be there, by his side, for the rest of your lives, and he swears to himself, that he will do whatever it takes to make sure, that he can ensure, that your paths will not lead apart. He wants you to be there so badly, that he reassures himself, that the end will surely justify the means. Though, he will still very much react to the way you treat him. He will pull get you the moon if you so much as wish for it, but he also wants to make you aware, that all of this doesn´t come for free. He wants his love to be reciprocated by you, and he makes it abundantly clear to you as well. Otherwise, he won´t mind training you like a wild animal to simply love him. Hey, if it works, it works, right?

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He had already talked with you for so long, and know he was nearly shaking with excitement. The bar was quiet, nearly deserted as was the usual for The Jackalope, and he knew nobody would watch him too closely here. He waited with bathed breath for you to finally arrive, as he had finally managed to weasel the promise of a real meeting from you. The bottle of Rohypnol in his back pocket, that he tucked away, when leaving already told him how this night would go. Tonight, he would make sure, that he wouldn´t be alone any more, that the ghost would hopefully stop hounding his every step, as another person would fill this empty house once more. He just has to be patient, just has to be careful. Buy a drink, crush one or two, and then bring it back, with an innocent smile. He could do this. His eyes snapped upwards, as an angel walked in, and a sly smirk, quickly a gentle smile curved his lips, as he stood up and waved towards you. He would do this.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Ren will, if all else fails, scare you into compliance. He will hold out for as long as he can for a relationship for the two of you, like the ones in his stories. But if it all falls through, he will be satisfied with Stockholm syndrome setting in one day. And while he stills hope for that, showing kindness to you whenever he can without undermining himself, he shudders at the other options. Sometimes, not that he would ever tell you of it, he thinks about how he could break you apart. Though, he will think of what might follow in the end. He realizes rather quickly, that he would never want to see you break. He saw it too often. How only a shell it left, a hollow puppet that doesn´t respond any more. When he looks at you, he can never imagine being satisfied like that, and so he nourishes his hope, and makes kindness is weapon. He will get what he want, without breaking you. He just has to be a bit more patient.

[dobadoo]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ ───.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ WANDERER ꒱ ˎˊ˗ my sweet, tender girl.. MDNI

characters — wanderer/fem!reader

warnings — NSFW. cuniculingus, fingering, gentle sex, just fluff at the end

a/n — my dears, sorry in advance for my English, I wrote everything in my native language and translated. (I think it turned out too dirty..)

1.209 words (POSSIBLE NON-CANON)

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Expressing his feelings and love in words, except for calling you cute poetic nicknames, he… Doesn't really know how. Or at all. But he can take you to a "puspa" cafe or watch the sunset in the evening, but he can't express it in words. He sees your glowing eyes when you look at him. He sees how happy you are because of his presence next to him. He honestly doesn't fully understand this, but secretly he is glad that he can make you happy.

He doesn't like to remember his dark past. He knows that he managed to do something wrong, but he just doesn't want to involve you in it and doesn't understand how such a beautiful creature like you could love someone like him.

His caustic phrases can hurt you, and sometimes it gets to the point that you just leave home for an indefinite period. You know, or just hope, that he is looking for you and wants to apologize. In his indigo, cold, detached eyes, you can now read sympathy for what he said, but for some reason he does not always say it. You know his past, albeit briefly, and you understand that it is difficult for him to open up to people. You see how he tries, and you appreciate this effort. You yourself try to help him, telling him what to say in what situations.

Over time, you see the fruit of your efforts. If the Wanderer runs into someone on the street, then it is not particularly difficult for him to talk to the person. It happens that he cannot keep track of his language, and thereby offends the person.

And so, you are standing in the night forest of Avidya (if I wrote it wrong, please tell me) you are sitting on a shabby log, while the Wanderer, with crossed arms, stands in front of you, drilling you with a heavy, piercing gaze of his indigo eyes.. And then he takes off his hat, putting it on the grass and comes closer. You look up at him and already understand.. When he behaves like this, it's a bad sign.

"I'll ask a question, and you have to answer me. And don't you dare lie, I'll understand it right away, you know."

The Wanderer looks at you, putting one gloved hand on his side.

"Pfft.. What kind of question is that?"

You answer, look at him, and probably for the first time you see such pain in his eyes. You hesitantly stood up and put your hand on his shoulder, trying to make him understand that you are nearby and he has nothing to fear. He looks coldly at your hand and reaches out to squeeze it and then.. Remove it from his shoulder with a detached look.

"Name the reason why you "fell in love" with me so much?"

The question made your mind fly out. A slight stupor for a few seconds. The puppet does not take his eyes off your agitated face and watches every change in your behavior, thereby driving you into a stupor even more. You understand that if you remain silent for at least a few more seconds, the Wanderer will draw his own conclusion.

"I don’t need any reasons to love you. If you are afraid because of your past, then you shouldn’t. You are not that person anymore. I know how you reproach yourself inside, but believe me, you shouldn’t."

"I… understand"

The Wanderer's eyes widened slightly before they became calm again. He honestly didn't expect such an answer. He can't perceive himself as an adequate and calm person. As a completely ordinary resident of Sumeru. You are the only one who believes in him. You are the only one who didn't turn away, but on the contrary came to help. You became his light in his impenetrable darkness, which illuminates the way. Your smile warms his empty soul. Gentle touches make him experience strange… but pleasant sensations in the place where the heart should be.

He decided for himself that he will become your support. He will become your protector and will not allow you to go on these errands again, from which you return with new wounds. Seeing blood on your body, like an arrow in the soul, shakes him every time he hears your cough, reminding him of the last person who "betrayed" him.. He does not stand aside. He also goes on missions with you and protects you. Sitting in the evening near some pond, he looks at you, and a smile appears on his face. He sees how tired, sweaty and dirty you are, going into this pond and splashing around there like a little child, calling the Wanderer to you. With his wind, he helps your hair dry, and at this time you weave a wreath, which soon ends up on his head.

He honestly still does not fully understand the reason for such love for himself on your part, but he is madly happy that you are near.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ ───.

18+

He does not particularly need intimacy, but when he sees you, so vulnerable, lying under him, with such tear-stained eyes from passion and desire… What are you doing to him, girl?

"I see how much you want. Why don't you ask?"

his indigo eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he leaves soft kisses on your tense groin. His doll lips were so cold on your soft, hot skin… you got goosebumps. But you didn't care, because your warmth, coming straight from your tender, loving heart, could surely warm you both.

"Mhm.. please don't tease me like that.."

You touched his dark indigo soft hair, lightly ran your fingers through his locks and pulled the fabric of his white cloak, hiding his beautiful body under a transparent black sleeveless turtleneck that fit his slender body so perfectly. And then you suddenly thought that such beauty would really ruin you one day.

"Oh my sweet, tender girl.."

The Wanderer whispered contentedly, and with a hint of teasing. As your passion grew, the Wanderer felt the last remnants of his cynical facade crumble. sweet words and your gentle caresses awakened feelings in him that he had long buried - longing, devotion, the uncertain movements of a heart slowly thawing after centuries of icy isolation.

"Are you cold, my Persephone?"

He asked tenderly, covering the inside of your thigh with cold kisses, you shook your head. You threw your head back, pressing yourself against the mossy side of the tree, where you had previously had a casual conversation.

The puppet avoided your most sensitive places, the gentle touch of his lips on your untouched skin sent electrical impulses running along your spine. You trembled, your breath hitched, as waves of new sensations rolled over you.

Encouraged by your reaction, the Wanderer's kisses became bolder, his indigo gaze staring at you with a glint of gentle mischief. The cold of his touch contrasted teasingly with the heat of your arousal, igniting the fire of your desire to new heights.

"Mhm.."

You jerked forward sharply as his gloved hands spread my legs in such a depraved manner.. You raised yourself up on your elbows, looking into his indigo eyes with a little excitement

"haha!.."

The Wanderer, sensing your excitement, climbed on top of you, gave you passionate kisses on the lips, you responded willingly, all fears dissipated, only desire, love and lust remained. The Wanderer covered your fragile neck with kisses and light bites, claiming your body for himself. The puppet began to worship your most intimate flesh, the Wanderer admired the exquisite tenderness of your form. Each thin fold, each responsive movement was evidence of the wondrous diversity of creation.

"That's it, now lie still."

Riven by the desire to bring you to the heights of ecstasy, he paid attention to your sensitive clitoris, causing a stream of pleasure in you. With reverent intensity, the Wanderer's gaze remained riveted to your flushed, wet folds. Coming ever closer, he pressed gentle, teasing kisses to the swollen lips of your vulva, the Wanderer licked and sucked, listening to your melodic girlish moans.

Suddenly you were grabbed by the hips and pulled closer. You gasped in surprise, his tongue moved and circled over your clitoris, and at the same time you felt something wet pressing against you from below. You swallowed your saliva and moaned pitifully, taking two fingers inside you first. The Wanderer was amused by your reaction. He let out a light laugh, continuing to caress and please you with his tongue, painfully slowly moving his fingers.

"Don't hold back, show me what other sounds you can make from my actions. I'll be faster now" - the movement of the fingers accelerated, and the Wanderer was content with the vulgar squelching sounds from below, scratches on the back and frank female moans. - "Do you like it like this? my little minx?"

You wanted to answer something caustic, but the fast pace of his puppet-like, long, thin fingers knocked you off your feet, you threw your head back, holding onto the blanket. You clenched your hands into fists, moaning quite loudly when his mouth stopped caressing you below, the Wanderer sat up, looking at you with clouded indigo eyes, he leaned on you, settling between your legs.

"Do you want me to caress you here?" - a soft whisper and an almost chaste kiss on the bridge of your nose, while his beautiful fingers rub your walls, moving faster and faster.

"just like that?(your name)?"

"Yes", - your answer is drowned in a groan, drawn out, ending in a desperate whine. And someone else's grin reaches your ears.

His fingers spread inside you like scissors, and your back bends as he bends them a little, stretching the still tight walls, his free hand falls on your miniature breast, and lightly pinches your nipple, forcing you to stay in place, urging you not to move.

A whimper escaped your lips again as the puppet's other hand began to gently rub and make circular motions on your sensitive bud. He moved down slightly to make it easier to work with you with both hands. You closed your eyes and moaned, slowly moving towards him. The Wanderer licked his lip and moved inside you at an unimaginable speed. This was enough to bring you to the abyss of orgasm.

"close.."

while you were lost in your own orgasm, you heard the Wanderer muffled moaning, even screaming, shuddering over your naked body and involuntarily scratching your reddened sides. The wanderer held onto the lower part of your body so tightly that red marks and traces remained on you, including your legs.

He carefully laid your trembling body on a mossy tree branch, and the Wanderer himself, slowly pulled out his fingers and lay down on your chest, right where the heart is, which, by the way, is beating very fast. He heard this sound for the first time, before that he could only fantasize about how a human heart beats, so he was in no hurry to get up or disturb this rare idyll for both of you.

"You so loud, it's ringing in my ears..I wonder if next time I can make you moan louder..mm?."

Puppet raised his head and slyly looked into your eyes. You understood perfectly well that you were all disheveled, red, and the puppet felt great and after a while was ready for the second round.

"And now let me lie down for a bit. Your heart is about to give away all your secrets, beauty.."

The Wanderer lightly flicked you on the nose, then laying down on your chest.

[thetxtdevil]

MAE. 🫵

perv priest!soobin with corruption, worshipping and/or breeding kinks. go as insane as possible, or as insane as you desire to. either one. love u.<3

the devil is waiting in hell for you...

nsfw/mdni, christian religion themes

"let us pray"

the tall priest soothing voice echoes throughout the church as everyone in the pews mimics the bow of his head. then a disrupting clank of the churches giant wooden doors fills the room making everyone including the priest's bring the attention to the source of the noise, you.

you just moved from somewhere to live in someplace of a small town. quaint, cute town that seemed to make every sundays quiet. you decided it wouldn't hurt to join in the traditions. however, you lost track of time and now you were late to your first mass.

you tip toe to the seats at the back doing a double take noticing the priest's eyes on you. sitting down next to an old lady you give her smile and she whispers, "don't worry, father soobin is very nice." you smile at her again, but you couldn't help but straighten your posture and act intrigued by the reading when you again see the priest's eyes glued on you.

how pretty the new follower of the religion is, the beautiful colors casting over your face from the stained glass windows. soobin thought you looked like an angel sitting there yet, you maybe a devil in disguise for the burning feeling soobin felt in his stomach.

he's gotten well aquatinted with you the more you came to the weekly mass. he'd always start and end his readings looking at you. would "accidentally" purposefully let his finger touch your tongue when giving you the body of christ. priest soobin has also persuade you to start going to confession.

the priest thought you were pretty, but your voice is something else. in the little confession room, he was separated from you by a wall. you confessed that you've committed adultery by thinking of the most sinful things. you say you would pray more for forgiveness and to stop, but here you are back again to confess. priest soobin couldn't help but ask for specifics, maybe the lord is trying to tell you something, but in reality he just wanted to hear your naughty words making a tent form in his robes.

it became a bad habit. "lord forgive me" he constantly says but continuously jerks himself off to the thought of you. every time you come in to confess, after each sunday mass you attend, even when he sees you at the supermarket on his day off. you are the devil that has consumed his mind.

and oh how much you looked like the devil when you were on top of him. after everyone left the church that sunday afternoon, priest soobin asks for you to stay. to your surprise he confesses to you, "y/n you've been in my mind a lot, maybe god is telling me something but its... haunting me." he told himself he just need to experience this just once, he'll pray harder, more soulful, he just needs to see how the sin of sex is so bad. but... it was good.

soobin's bare back was sore on the hard surface of the pew's wooden seats, he whines, prays to god saying how good you were making him feel. you rode him, knees on the wooden seat like you were praying, the same beautiful rays of the stained window makes every detail of your body mesmerizing to soobin. his big hands usually pressed together, now pressed on your chest. the noises of skin on skin echo throughout the church.

"I know god likes to have more worshippers, do you think you can give me a gift of life?"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @biteyoubiteme

[oneofstarkskids]

vulnerable

emo!wanda maximoff x reader

fluff

inspired by me sobbing over ttpd fr

summary: reader is listening to music and wanda wants to know what all the fuss is about

*not my gif*

wanda was trying to mind her own business, but as she walked past your room she heard a light sniffle.

not too loud, but just audible enough for her to become concerned. she stopped in her tracks and pressed her ear up against your door.

there it was again. the softest of shuttering sighs. wanda decided to knock. she called your name, a hint of worry evident in her tone.

you carefully opened the door. your tears had clearly been hurriedly wiped away and your eyelashes stuck together in places.

"yes?" you asked as you desperately hoped she couldn't hear your voice shaking.

wanda looked into your eyes for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. she hadn't planned this far ahead. "uh- are you alright?"

you let out an embarrassed chuckle, "yeah i'm fine."

wanda's brows knit together, "but you were crying."

you held up one of your airpods, "it was just this song i was listening to."

wanda tilted her head slightly in confusion. she'd never cried over a song before and she couldn't imagine how something as simple as music could make you feel this way.

when she didn't move, you assumed there was only one thing left to do, "do you wanna listen?"

wanda didn't know what exactly you were listening to, but she didn't care. she was always up to spend time with you. she nodded and let her expression soften a bit.

you handed the airpod to her and shut the door behind her as she made her way into your bedroom. you quickly swiped your phone out of your pocket, laid down on your bed, and hit unpause.

wanda tucked her hair behind her ear and listened to the music attentively. as she began to process the words, she turned to look at you. she pulled the device away from her ear, "why do you listen to this?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, slightly offended.

"it's so sad," wanda deadpanned.

you nodded slowly, "well...i guess it just kind of speaks to me in a way. does that make sense? like- i can't always find the words to describe how i feel, so these songs say it for me. it feels like someone seeing the most vulnerable part of your soul and validating your every thought."

you didn't even notice wanda was grinning until you were done talking. "what?" you laughed.

wanda caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head, "nothing."

you searched her face for a moment, trying to find answers, but you got nothing. so you decided to just close your eyes and feel the music.

a couple of minutes passed by and you felt wanda's soft fingers intertwine with your own. you were surprised and almost opened your eyes, but you were afraid it would ruin the moment and she'd pull her hand away.

instead, you just held on tightly to her as if you may never touch her again. and with her laying so close to you, and the sweetest melody ringing in your ears, you hoped and prayed that someday she might feel the same way you did.

[faistoconnors]

Juno - A. Donaldson

Art Donaldson x Reader (requested by @lalalandofive )

Summary: Your relationship with a certain retired tennis star blossoms into something more. Will you let him make you Juno?

Warnings: stupid evil exes, vomiting (not in detail) morning sickness, unplanned pregnancy, age gap relationship (reader is 23, Art is mid-thirties) drinking mention, kissing, no smut (this time), probably this is terrible. just ask if I missed one!

Note: I am posting this off my kindle , so it's probably screwed up a little (A lot) I may reformat and reupload when I get my laptop !

Word count: 1.9k

You always knew him primarily as Mr. Donaldson. He wasn’t so much the hot dad next door as he was the hot dad at school pickup, but you weren’t complaining. Every little glimpse of him was better than the last, and it would be a lie to say you weren’t a little jealous that he aged so well. It felt a little objectifying, sometimes, but how couldn’t you notice him? He was there almost every day, picking up Lily, who had begun to make best friends with your son Adam. 

Being younger than most of the parents there, since you had Adam at sixteen, you didn’t have much to talk about with any of them. But Mr. Donaldson, you had something: tennis. You’d played semi-professionally for most of your life, and he was all over it. 

“Maybe I could coach you,” he suggested one day, and you laughed in his face. “No, I’m serious! You have potential.”

How he came to that conclusion was entirely beyond you, but again, you weren’t complaining. Mr. Donaldson was, of course, a retired tennis star. You’d be nothing but a fool if you turned him down. 

“Well, maybe, then. If you think I have potential. 

So you started. Outside of your regular parking-lot meetings, you’d show up at the public tennis courts and let him coach you. You were good, but you weren’t great, and he seemed determined to fix that. This side of him was something entirely new to you. No longer the soft-spoken, mild-mannered school dad you knew him as. Instead, he seemed much more like the duo you’d once heard about. Fire and ice, though he seemed to embody both in the moment. 

It was all the little things from then, really. Every lingering touch on your shoulder as he adjusted your position, every knowing glance when both of you got your kids from school. You liked him. 

See, when you’d had Adam, you made a promise you wouldn’t do something like that again. Something stupid, something reckless. You loved your little boy more than the weight of the world, but you couldn’t deny he’d set your life off-track. 

Art Donaldson made you want to do something stupid. 

The first time you met Tashi was at parent-teacher conferences. Adam had gotten a glowing review from his teacher, and as you turned to leave, you watched the family of three walk in. It was only a split-second moment, because Adam was hungry and you were too. So you hustled him right past them, and walked out to the car. 

But God, Tashi was beautiful. If Art had aged well, Tashi hadn’t aged at all. She was picture-perfect, not a hair out of place, her neat blue coat smoothed to perfection. 

The next time you saw Art, you were a little more reserved. There was no wedding ring on his finger, and you knew they had divorced, but if Tashi Duncan was his type… 

It was a later practice, the setting sun pouring colors across the fence and the court. You were distracted, and you knew he knew that. Your reaction time was slower, your game was just off. 

You’d come to the great realization, on the car ride over, that you harbored a crush on him. Art, with his pretty smile and perfect body and beautiful soul. Bless his parents, you thought, because those genetics must have been out of this world. 

It wouldn’t last, though, you knew that much. He was so much older than you, sat at a level of fame you would never be comfortable with, and probably wanted more out of a partner than you could give. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he called out as you missed another point. You paused, sighed. 

“I’m just tired.” A lie. 

“No, you’re not,” he laughed, though his eyes were still set on you in a way you weren’t sure if you liked. “Come on, talk to me. You’re off your game.”

He made his way over to you and sat at one of the benches expectantly. Hesitantly, you joined him, worrying at your cuticles with your other hand. 

“I just… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t really gone on with my life since I had Adam.” It was a simple enough sentence, but nonetheless, it felt awful to admit. “I love him so much, I wouldn’t change it for the world, but I just think maybe I need to learn how to be myself, again.”

Art watched you as you spoke, and nodded. He’d moved closer to you, in the time that you were talking, and had put his arm to rest somewhere behind your back. 

“What do you want?”

His voice was low, eyes dark as he watched you. That was where you faltered most. Under his gaze, under the now-silvery moonlight. 

No more words were exchanged. You pressed closer, him closer still, and then, you were almost on top of him. One of his hands moved to rest at your hip, squeezing there, and you shivered. 

His lips were soft against yours, touch gentle as he moved an arm around your waist. His body pressed against you, and you let out a breathless sigh. It was another few moments before you drew back first, and looked into his eyes. They were slightly crinkled at the sides, smile lines that you wanted to memorize, and for the first time, you noticed the small patch of brown in the right one. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and you couldn’t help the way your lips tilted upwards at the corners. 

“Could say the same about you, you know.” At that moment, you knew it. You wanted his touch for life.

A few weeks passed, much the same but also very different. Every match was charged with electricity, every school pickup was filled with lingering glances at the lean blond man you had grown to know so well. 

Of course, nothing lasts forever. 

When you and Eric had gotten together in high school, it was a week-long fling one summer. He disappeared when you got pregnant, and that was the end of it. 

So you were reasonably very stunned when he appeared at one of your tennis matches. He was taller, his hair almost black instead of dark brown, but he still had that boyish grin you remembered all too well. He waved at you, and you vomited onto the hard material of the court. 

When he came over to where you were sitting on a bench, you had nothing for him but a hard stare and a frown. He looked concerned, rubbing your back, and you could see Art across the court with a look on his face you’d never seen before. 

“You okay, gorgeous?” The voice was the same, too. 

“Yeah, just uh- just surprised, is all.” 

He smiled again, laughing. 

“Eric, what are you doing here? After all this time… why?” 

There was a long pause, before he made his way closer to you.

“I missed you.”

That was not the answer you would accept. It should have been, ‘I got my shit together for my son,’ or, ‘I want to be a part of his life.’ 

If he was there for you, that wasn’t good enough. You told him as much, trying not to let venom seep into your voice as you spoke. You could see his eyes darken, his expression fall into a glower, and it was almost comical how he looked at you.

“Eric, can you just- can you go? I’m supposed to be playing right now,” you tried, and he pressed closer. His breath stunk like alcohol, and it made your stomach turn so badly you thought you might throw up again. 

When he moved closer still, face slipping towards yours like he was going to kiss you, you flinched back. It was only a moment, but then, there was a hand at Eric’s back, and he was being pulled away by his collar like a child. Art hauled the dark-haired man to his feet, staring him down. Eric was only a couple inches shorter,  he looked like he was about two feet tall under Art’s glare.

By the time Eric had gone away, Art was fuming. He paced back and forth, disgust sparking in his eyes. 

“Art, it’s fine. He’s gone now. Probably off to go bother some other woman,” was the only thing you could say. In reality, you felt so sick you could hardly stand it, anxiety and anger swirling in your stomach. 

Art helped you to your feet, putting an arm around your waist, and brought you back to his car. 

“Forget about it,” he waved you off when you told him you could drive yourself. “You don’t look good, anyways.”

That must have been true. If you had a mirror, maybe you’d see the thin layer of sweat sticking your baby hairs down to your forehead, or the glassy look in your eyes. 

When you got back to his house, Art assured you that he’d pick up the kids from school, and you felt some sort of way about it, though you couldn’t piece together how. 

“Tashi’s going to stop by to take care of you,” he said gently, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Before you could protest, tell him you were fine and you should go home anyways, he was out the door with his car keys in his hand. 

Some time later, you were fading in and out of sleep on his couch when you heard the sound of the door unlocking. Sitting up as best you could, you watched as Tashi walked in. Her hair was clipped back, a sweater hanging over her frame, and she gave you a smile. 

“He told me you aren’t feeling well,” she said, looking you over.

“I’m worried I’m pregnant,” you blurted out after a second, and she gave a nod. 

“I brought tests. I had a feeling. He told me about all the time you spend together.”

She sat down beside you, a kind look in her eyes, resting a hand on your leg. It felt a bit surreal, to be sick on your boyfriend’s couch, his famous ex-wife taking care of you, but you weren’t going to complain about it. 

You sat in the bathroom, waiting for the timer to go off. When it did, you carried the test back out to where Tashi was reviewing her newest player’s footage on the couch. She glanced up at you, pressing pause. 

“You want me to look,” she guessed correctly, and you nodded. 

“I’m just scared,” you admitted after a second, and she smiled. Before she flipped the test over, she looked back to you.

“No matter what happens, I promise you he won’t be mad. Maybe shocked, but not mad. ‘Kay?” 

When Art got to the house later that night, having finished lunch with one of the foundation donors and picked up both of your children, you’d calmed down enough to look semi-normal when the three of them walked through the door. The visual worked, you thought. Art, the two children, and you waiting at home to greet them. 

While Lily and Adam scampered off to go play in the backyard, you settled down at the kitchen counter with Art. 

By the time you told him you were pregnant, he’d already known what you were going to say. There was a hesitant smile on both your faces, and he put a hand on your knee, resting his forehead against yours.

“I guess it’s for life,” you whispered to him. Art Donaldson loved you right.