#bUT TOMORROW IS WHEN I REALLY BUCKLE IN

[tonycries]

Can't Touch Me (Like Gojo) - G.S.

Synopsis. In which intentionally making your fríend-with-benefíts jealous ends up with more benefits than you’d think.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, FWḂ! Gojo, slight Sukuna x reader, rough VERY jealous séx, Satoru goes feraI omg, unprotected, FWḂ-to-lovers, thígh riding, fíngering, creampíe, overstím, spítting, implied thréesome, he’s a bit mean and possessive, swearing.

Word count. 4.8k

A/N. Heheh, hoping y’all have a lovely week coming up <3

“-n’ there’s this really great café downtown with those cupcakes you like-”

“Toru.”

“-I’ll get ya some for that kick you need after a lecture with Yaga. Speaking of Yaga-”

“Toru-”

“-he’s the one in need of a kick. I swear, that man gave me a B on my presentation just because I caught him in the middle of his interpretive dance routine-”

“Satoru!”

At this, Satoru pauses in the middle of buckling up his jeans to throw a grave nod your way. “I know, right?” Promptly sauntering over to pick up his t-shirt from where it had been thrown onto your bedroom floor, “It gave me nightmares for a few days, too. Which is why we should go to that café tomorrow and then…”

You roll your eyes - partially out of frustration, partially out of necessity to rip your stare away from those sculpted shoulders on display. Decorated in angry, red scratches running down, down, down. Somehow, you manage to grit out, “Satoru I have a uh- date.”

And ah, was it a sight to behold - because, perhaps for the first time in the twenty-something years that Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc on this planet, he’s stunned into silence. 

Still very groggy from sleep, still very sinfully shirtless standing at the foot of your bed. His kiss-bitten lips fall slack as you plow on, “And it’s just- I can’t make it tomorrow night because he invited me to his party.” 

Party? This was the first time you canceled one of your…appointments with your friend-with-benefits - and it was for some party? Satoru could do parties, too - much better ones than this loser, he’s sure. Ones that would actually warrant you bailing on him.

Shaking away the strange thoughts ringing in his mind, he spits, “Who?” Just about all he could get out now. 

Whoever he was - it was true about the parties. Why would you want to waste any time going to something like that when Satoru was the one known for them on campus. Him and Suku-

“It’s Sukuna.”

“Oh.”

---

It was stupid - it was ridiculous. And you don’t know why Sukuna ever agreed to this scheme, but here you were, glued to his side like his favorite lil’ plaything for the night. 

“What?” you shout for the nth time tonight, scooting closer on the couch. And you see his lips move, yet, to your frustration - despite being seated so flush against you - no sound comes out of them. 

Whatever they say about Sukuna and Satoru’s parties were true - and then some. Because right now, it was so loud you could barely hear yourself think, let alone whatever Sukuna was talking about. Heaving out a sigh, you get ready to give up and suggest joining the thrumming dance floor - before, a large, soft hand glides down to your waist. 

Fingers digging into the plush of your hips as Sukuna yanks you easily to plop down onto his waiting lap. Thighs strong and steady underneath yours, meeting your surprised gaze with his smug one, “This better?”

His hot breath fans the shell of your ear, sending traitorous shivers running along your spine - all the way down to where Sukuna was resting hand right above where your tight dress was hiking up. 

Involuntarily, you find yourself nodding along, “Y-yeah. Much better.”

“Good.”

Fuck, you could feel each and every rumble of his broad chest against yours as he continues the conversation like nothing happened. The faint tap! tap! tap! of Sukuna’s fingers drumming on your squirming hips to the beat of the pounding music. 

And it’s really hard to forget where you are, yet it hits you like a semi-truck - five of them, in fact - when his dark eyes widen at something over your shoulders. The steady beat of his fingers halting abruptly, “Oh?”

You knew what that look meant - knew who it meant. Because, really, there was only ever one person that could command as much attention in such a hazy, packed campus party.

Dipping your head, you hastily ask, “Is he looking over at us?”

To which Sukuna finally tears his gaze away, amusement and something else so dark swirling behind his gaze when he grabs the back of your throat. Whispering against the skin, “More than looking, pretty. Satoru’s planning my funeral and dancing on my grave already.” Moving up, voice dropping to a low, low whisper, “All according to plan, of course. N’ I think…” You jolt as he bites down on your earlobe, hard. “-that we should give him a lil’ show, hm?”

You bite back a soft moan, palms smoothing over Sukuna’s pecs to steady yourself. “And just what did you have in mind?”

“A little bit of this.” he grins, eyes flickering over behind you. “A little bit of that. And some of-” Sukuna chuckles at the way you’re so responsive underneath his touch, bucking when he gives your ass a tight squeeze. Tracing right up, up, up the middle of your spine, “-this.” Lips just inches away from yours now, close. “And you get him as a new boyfriend, and I get killed for taking what I can’t have.”

You feel something soft - fleeting. 

And then immediately Sukuna’s pulling away, those lips that were just barely one yours curling up into such a sly smirk, “Yo, Satoru.”

You stiffen at the name - and the burning hole being stared into your back right now - whipping your head around to be met face-to-face with a towering Satoru. Brows furrowed, biceps rippling when he crosses his arms, lips drawn tight as he hisses through his teeth, “Seems the two of you are having a lot of fun.”

Oh, were you thankful for Sukuna’s sharp mouth right about now. Because while you’re still sitting there with your mouth stupidly agape, he muses, “Mhm, a lot of fun.” Thumbing your face back towards him, “Isn’t that right, pretty?”

Fuck, those were fighting words, ones that had Satoru looming closer - practically sandwiching you between the two men.

“I’m sure she can speak for herself.” he snaps back, slender fingers circling your wrist. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“I dunno, Toru.” And, well, maybe you were an idiot. Maybe you were a mastermind, because you only bat your lashes up at Satoru so deceivingly innocently. “Kuna here-” relishing in the way he flinches at the nickname, “-was jus’ telling me how great of a boyfriend he’d be. Right?”

The other man nods, “Since this pretty lil’ thing is single, thought I might as well take a shot.”

“Please.” Satoru was pulling you closer against him now, irritated huffs prickling waves of goosebumps across your skin. Words venomous, “Some boyfriend he’d be. I’m sure he’d do nothing other than give you weak dick and bore you to death.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Right, because yours is so much better?”

“You really think you have what it takes to satisfy this lil’ minx?”

Both men were gritting their teeth, trapping you between them. People were starting to stare now - some even pulling their phones out to start recording in case of a fight. And before the argument could escalate until that point, you catch Sukuna’s eye. Cutting off whatever next retort was on the tip of his tongue with a short, subtle shake of your head. 

“Well then…” he instead purrs, grinning as if he was in on some inside joke between the two of you - on purpose, of course, just to watch Satoru’s eyes grow harder. “Guess if I’m ‘boring her to death’ then you-” Sukuna gives you a little push, nudging you towards Satoru’s chest. “-can teach her all about fun.”

Before you can react, two strong arms are looping your waist, helping you stand up - and pulling you clean off of Sukuna’s lap. 

You’re hit with Satoru’s expensive, heady cologne - and his chest against your back, rock-hard, chest thumping wildly. You blink up at that uncharacteristically clenched jaw, “Toru?”

Now, you’ve seen him moody, you’ve seen him irritated - but never to this extent. Positively fuming, teeth grit, jolting at the mere sound of your voice as if his whole body was hit with a wave of electricity. Like some hidden, primal part of himself was being poked so dangerously awake when you softly intertwine your fingers with his. All gentle against his almost bruising hold, you question, “Are you alri-”

You don’t get to finish the question, because all it takes is another slow, leering grin flashed at you from Sukuna before Satoru mutters, gravelly. “Excuse us, then. I must have a talk with my woman.”

Starting to walk in long, fast strides upstairs - with you all stumbling and trying to keep up behind him. 

Urgent. Dangerous.

“Extra room’s unlocked, you two!” you hear Sukuna call out after the both of you. And the last sight you see of him is when he mouths a silent “You’re welcome.”. One hand flashing you a thumbs up, the other adjusting the crotch of his pants. “Have fun.”

Satoru only clicks his tongue, moving very purposefully towards where Sukuna’s bedroom was instead.

“Woah- Toru, slow down.” you yelp, out of breath at his ruthless pace. But of course, since this is Satoru, he won’t have it any way other than stopping immediately in his tracks. Turning briefly around to you - only to wrap two arms around your waist, throwing you so easily over his shoulder like some ragdoll. Large palms tugging down the hem of your ass as he continues walking. “Y-you’re so-”

So what? Mean? Jealous? Playing right into your hands?

You don’t even know - nor do you really care, because Satoru finally reaches his destination.

“Fuck- here.” he spits.

Slam!

The door is flung open so hard it almost rattles off its hinges - and you aren’t faring any better. Because no sooner has Satoru stepped inside, he’s throwing you onto the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. 

The mattress dips as he slowly makes his way up to you, your legs quiver at how much he just looked like a man starved - eyes half-lidded and crazed, hair ruffled. Having finally found a full meal in years. Darkly eyeing down the way you’re splayed out like such a slut on the mattress, dress hiking up with each bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“So-” Satoru’s fingers reach out to lazily unbuckle the straps of your heels. Lingering much more than necessary. “-got anything to say?”

You bite your lower lip, holding back a delighted grin while his hands dance up your thigh to fiddle with that garter you knew he’d love. Slow. Agonizingly slow. Cocking your head in faux-confusion, “Hmm, like what?”

“Oh I dunno.” Satoru muses, saccharine sweet. And oh you could tell by his tone that he didn’t like that - didn’t want to like it. Running his fingers feather-light all the way down your legs to fling that useless garter onto the floor. “How about a ‘oh I’m so sorry, Toru, for bailing on you and acting like such a slut with the biggest asshole on campus jus’ to rile you up.’” 

You bristle at his mockingly high tone, oh yeah, your plan worked - hell, maybe too well. 

Teeth clenched, you hiss, “Well what are you gonna do about it, Toru?” Jutting your chin in defiance, “You’re not even my boyfriend. Maybe he jus’ fucks me better than you.”

“Say that again.”

Fuck, it takes you a second to even recognise his voice as your familiar friend-with-benefits. So jagged and raw. 

And yet, you’re still running your mouth - so close to his. Too close. “Maybe he jus’ fucks me be-”

Now, usually you were the one that’d shut up Satoru mid-sentence - this time, however, he’s the one crashing his lips against yours. Swallowing the rest of that sentence in such a messy clash of teeth, and spit, and desperation. 

Pulling ever-so-slightly on your glossy lower lip with his teeth, “Say it again, sweetheart.”

Oh, you knew you shouldn’t. Not one bit. But you do it anyway, letting out a muffled, “He f-”

And again. And again and again and-

Each and every time Satoru’s kissing away your mean little words, a large hang coming up around your throat to thumb apart your lips further. “Open.” he hisses against your mouth, so angry. 

It’s as if on autopilot when you do, bruised lips sagging open. Leaving the perfect lil’ opening for Satoru to spit onto your lolling tongue, once. Twice. Thrice. Until your bleary eyes are snapping open, whining against Satoru’s iron-hold fist when you pathetically try to pull away in embarrassment.

Because shit, let it be known that Gojo Satoru has perfect aim - except for when it comes to you. Letting the steady strip of spit splatter against the side of your mouth, gliding his thumb to smear it all over your lips.

“How cute.” Satoru coos, eyes hooded. He gives your pouty mouth a final, chaste peck, sucking softly on your bottom lip. Chuckling, “Makin’ me almost forget you were locking lips with some other bitch earlier.”

And Satoru has the audacity to laugh - laugh - hoarse, and humorless at the way your jaw drops open in disbelief. Humming into your throat, ��Yer right, though, m’not your boyfriend.” He leaves little bite marks down your racing pulse, your collarbone, your tits spilling out of your sinful dress. Eyes just devouring you through his long lashes, “But that doesn’t make you any less mine.”

Sitting back on the mattress, all it takes him is a simple tug on your hips to seat you so prettily on his lap. Your legs trembling around his thick thighs, gasping at the feeling of something so rock-hard right under your clothed pussy. 

“Since ya like riding thighs so much, sweetheart-” Bunching your dress up at your hips, gripping your waist - tight. “-let’s see how you like mine.”

“What- oh ngh- fuck-” you’re gasping when he just starts dragging your sloppy hips down his thigh. Long, harsh movements that don’t even ease you into it. 

“Shit.” Satoru groans at the feeling of your cunt drooling, seeping into his skin already. He’s angling his head to spy on the heavenly view - hooking a finger around your drenched panties. “This damn thing is-” Pulling - tearing. “-in the way.”

You’re gasping when Satoru pulls back to look at you with a content grin, dangling the flimsy fabric around his finger like a badge of honor. “You’re- ngh- buying me a new one.”

“Oh, anything for you.” he’s grazing his teeth along your earlobe, fingers finding their way back on your hips to grind them on his thigh, back and forth. Up and down up and down up and- “Or is that what you wanted me to say?”

And shit Satoru is so mean with the way he gives your ass a sharp smack! Pulling your whiny face closer, grinning sternly against your lips. “Why don’t you ask that new boytoy of yours to buy you some, huh?” 

“B-but-”

“B-b-but-” he mocks, bouncing his knees up and down to get you to slide your cunt down his long thighs faster. Puffy folds spreading so shamefully open - so shamefully good. “You were so happy being such a slut for him before, right?” Just goading on your poor self to huff and puff in a way that made his cock twitch wildly. “So why are you here? With me?”

You’re stubbornly keeping your lips sealed shut to keep yourself from crying out - and oh, Satoru didn’t like that. Almost as much as he didn’t like seeing you giving those beautiful heart-eyes at some other bastard.

“Oh? Playing shy now?” Smack! “What happened to the slut from earlier, huh?” Bouncing his knee faster. The pads of his long fingers sting into your skin, sure to leave bruises for him to admire later - and for some people to take note of. Pulling - drawing your cunt to hump him like a bitch in heat. “Tha’s alright, pretty. I get it.” 

And Satoru - mean, mean Satoru - waits until your features soften in relief, almost letting out a sigh - before dipping a hand down to brush a thumb at your pretty clit. Hard. “Guess I’ll jus’ have to bring her out.”

“Oh- fuck fuck fuck-” you mewl, nails digging into Satoru’s shoulders when he starts to draw frenzied, methodical little circles on your throbbing clit. “S’too- good- oh my god-”

“‘Toru’ works jus’ fine, sweetheart.” 

But oh for how confident Satoru was talking you into insanity, he can’t help but gape in wonder down below him, awe-struck with how sloppy you were. He could see you sweet sweet juices trailing down his palm, that glossy sheen on his thigh. “You’re so dripping wet, pretty. Who’re you this wet for? Me or-” Satoru’s free hand comes up to squish your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, turning your head to the adjacent wall, where Sukuna had a framed photograph of himself - because of course he did. “-him?”

Fuck, Satoru can’t even be mad at the way he feels your cunt clench in surprise - because the feeling is so heavenly. His pretty girl, getting off on just his thigh.

Hips stuttering as you move faster - sloppier. So, so filthily all the way from around his knee just till where you could feel the curve of his massive erection. 

He doesn’t even have to move your hips for you anymore - you’re moving as if on instinct at this point. And it makes him smirk, “Heh, such a slutty lil’ thing aren’t ya? Gettin’ off on my thigh?” Feeling you push your hips down hard - so hard. Pelvis desperately trying to hit all your sweet spots, “N’ who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

It’s all you can do to manage out a whimpering “Y-you.”

But, of course, that wasn’t enough. And Satoru’s only quirking his fingers just enough on your clit to make you cry out loud. “Yeah tha’s more like it. Louder now - who’s thigh are you riding right now?”

“You-”

“N’ who got you this fucking wet?”

You cry out when Satoru angles his leg up ever-so-slightly to watch gravity slide you faster down his thigh. Clit catching so fucking obscenely along the fabric of his pants. Ruthless.

“F-fuck you, Toru!”

“Mhmmm, thought so.” His hot tongue darts out to catch those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks at the unforgiving stimulation. Muscled thighs burning lightly now - faster -  fingers so erratic. Only getting even more so. “Cuz you’re mine aren’t ya?”

You cum so hard - violent, even - that you don’t realize when you are. Just that you’re letting out a broken sob of Satoru’s name while he toys so relentlessly with your clit through your high.

Flashes of white in your vision, your heartbeat in your ears. So good that you’re almost tearing apart his button-up to shreds, hips jerky and sensitive as you your sloppy cunt gushes all over Satoru’s thigh. And, fuck, you’ve never felt so much like such a slut than when you look down to catch the glossy coating all over it. 

One that Satoru swipes thumb at - pooling the syrupy slick on his fingerpad before bringing up to his pretty pink lips and-

Pop! 

“Mmm.” He groans, muffled. “Fuck, you’re so sweet - could taste you forever.” Eyes rolling to the back of his head at your addictive taste, “Almost makes me forget that you didn’t answer my last question.”

And you don’t know what you’re reeling more from - the way that Satoru throws you around so easily, pushing you back until you’re splayed out against the plush mattress, shaky legs on his shoulders, arms around his neck. Or from the realization that shit, you’d been too busy losing your absolute sanity to answer his question. 

“I- I didn’t hear.” you make up an excuse, heels digging into the muscles of Satoru’s shoulders now. “I’m yours, Tor-”

“Now now, don’t try that with me, sweetheart.” Satoru cuts off your flurry of apologies, kissing softly at the ankle beside his neck while he pulls off your dress and bra. You didn’t need those, anyway. “Guess I just hafta prove it to ya, right?”

And fuck was he well and fully intent on proving it to you. Because the words are barely out of his mouth before he’s peeling down his drenched pants - and those unnecessary boxers right along with it, too. 

Satoru hisses when his painfully hard erection smacks against those toned abs, smearing precum in a small, filthy little pool. So so angry with the need to be inside your tight pussy - to prove to you from the inside out that you were his. 

“Ya like what you see?” he notices your fixed stare at his cock. Greedily following the precum beading at his fat, red head, making its way between Satoru’s prominent veins. To those tufts of white way down, down, down- “Hey there.” You’re startled out of your little reverie by two wet fingers being snapped in your face, “As flattered as I am, this is actually my favorite part.”

And fuck you could see why it was.

Because it felt so sinful to watch with bated breath at the way Satoru fists his swollen cock, gliding his weeping tip between your swollen folds. Letting your pretty pussy slobber all over him. Up and down. Again. And again. Teasing. 

“P-please, Toru-” you whine around the fifth time he’s “accidentally” nudging at your poor clit. Hips bucking up in need for more more more- “Enough teasing, jus’ wan’ you ngh- inside me.”

To Satoru, no sweeter words have been spoken. But he still manages to curl his lips into a leering smirk at your fucked-out, needy self. “Funny. Coming from someone who shit- pretty, you’re pussy’s trynna suck me up - who couldn’t wait to bail on me tonight for some other hah- jerk.” He presses his thick tip down on your clit, on purpose. “Would’ve fucked you ngh- real nicely, tonight, y’know? What a shame.” 

You can only watch when he draws his hips back, lining up right with your sloppy hole. “What a shame m’gonna ah- fuck you like the slut you are right now.”

It’s all that’s said before he’s pushing in - to your snug cunt, to your fucking lungs it felt like. 

“Oh- oh fuck, Toru-” you keen, back arching off the bed at the stretch. Satoru’s girth was rubbing up against your gummy walls and stretching them out so good. All the way until all you could feel was the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing cock pushing between your legs. “God, s’too big-”

“No no no, you don’t get to say that.” Satoru spits into your open mouth, hips jutting forward like some animal in short, shallow grinds to bully himself deeper. “You don’t get to fuck- ngh- act all coy when you brought this upon yourself.” His words come out faster - more slurred. Falling out faster and faster as his hips do, “Not when you decided t-to act like a lil’ slut hah- n’ guess what?”

Whether it was a rhetorical question or not - you weren’t sure. All you know is that you’re mewling up tearily at such a feral Satoru, “W-what?”

To which he only smiles against your lips, hips suddenly going still. Dangerously still. “N’ that means m’gonna fuck you like one.”

Before you can even react, he’s pushing in all in one go. Fuck, it never got easier even after so long. 

“Oh- fuck I can’t take it- all-” you cry helplessly as he keeps pushing past that first ring of resistance. The curve of his cock massaging all those hidden sweet spots inside while he keeps splitting you apart deeper and deeper - not daring to even slow down. Not until Satoru’s well satisfied with the kiss of your bruised cervix against his thick head ,heavy balls smacking against your marked-up ass. 

“See? Knew you could take it, you always do.”

And then he’s moving - not with the slow, persistent determination from before, no. Satoru was so animalistic, bouncing you unapologetically on the mattress. 

Hands keeping your hips still to let him ram his entire cock inside your tight pussy. Over and over and-

“Still don’t think you’re not- fuck- mine, sweetheart?” Satoru runs a hand through his hair to see you better, to drink in the sight of your puffy folds bulging around his cock. Struggling to take in each mean thrust, “Because this seems ngh- reeeeal convincing that you are.”

You scrunch your brows in a pathetic plea, “I-I am yours, Toru- ngh-”

But he only brings his ear closer, “What was th-that? Didn’t hah- hear you-” Hands pushing apart your legs until they burned at the stretch. Until you were so shamefully on display for him, “You hah- need more convincing? Oh, I see.”

“I don’t! Oh- T-ngh”

It’s all you can do to let out teary, broken moans when Satoru rolls his hips harder. So carefully practiced with the way he locates your sweet spot easily. 

“Yeah? You hah- like that?” he groans, words punctuated by a deep, harsh thrust. All hitting the bulls-eye each and every time. “Like me f-fuckin’ you like you’re mine?”

At this point, you’re scrambling at the damp sheets, the headrest, Satoru’s shoulders - just anything and everything to hold onto whatever’s left of your sanity - which seemed to be slipping away with each press of Satoru’s head against your g-spot. 

But it still wasn’t enough.

Languidly, he brings a hand over to pinch your ravaged clit between two fingers. Having you whine so prettily with each roll of his fingertips. “Answer the question, pretty.”

“Yes!” you gasp, feet kicking at the sheer overstimulation. “I love it- ngh shit shit shit- I love it, Toru- love it so much.”

Shit, you might’ve just broken him.

Because while you may have thought that this answer would calm your Satoru down a bit - it only made him snap. Eyes widening, hips stuttering, swollen lips falling into such a fucked-out oh! - he looked like an absolute wreck.

Letting out a low, throaty groan of, “Oh fuck, you’re gonna be the ngh- death of me.” With this, he’s pressing his sweaty forehead onto yours, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs that match his merciless cadence. “Wish they could fuck- see you like this.” Ramming inside you harder - meaner. Giving your clit a light smack! before he starts playing with it once more. “I’d ah- fuck you in front of all those losers that think they have a chance just to show off how good you are f’me. Because you’re fuck fuck fuck- my good girl, right?”

You nod as much as you can, head just spinning with each brush of Satoru’s dick against your sensitive spots. Fingers twirling at your clit just as dizzyingly. Letting your slick glisten all over his wrist - his painfully squeezing balls - all the way up to his abs with how hard he was fucking into your tight pussy.

The both of you were getting so sloppy now. No care or concern for the party still raging on outside, not when your gummy walls were sucking up Satoru’s aching cock like that. 

“No one ngh- can fuck you like this.” Satoru sucks on your lower lip. Ragged, like it pained him to keep talking, but he couldn’t stop anyway. “No one.” Milking you harder and harder like he was high off your sweet moans. More desperate - depraved. “Cuz m’yours.”

And he repeats that - into your lips, into your forehead, down your neck - over and over while you cum so fucking hard all on his swollen cock. Plushy walls squeezing so tight that it was almost difficult to fuck you through your high.

Ripping out strangled, raspy groans with each clench of your slutty cunt, “N’ you’re mine.” You think your vision gets hazy through your climax, and the only thing you can hear are those obscene squelches and Satoru’s voice. Like a mantra, “You’re mine- you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine- fuck you’re mine.”

Not straying too far behind, Satoru cums and he thinks he sees the pearly gates of heaven - with you, such an angel. 

So sweetly whining into his ear when he’s painting your walls white, pumping rope after rope of thick, hot cum into your awaiting pussy.

Blinking back his vision only to eye the way it overspills, dribbling down your slit with each harsh ram of his hips. 

“Wan’ go again-” Satoru groans. Only fucking his seed deeper and deeper and oh- he didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think he could stop with the way you were bringing out each and every single last drop like it was delicious. “F-fuck I needa go again. Swee-”

SLAM!

“Woah, seems the two of you are having a looota fun.”

Still not pulling out, both you and Satoru scramble to cover yourselves up with Sukuna’s now-soaked sheets. Well, mainly cover you up, for Satoru had no shame in staring the other man down. Scoffing out, “The fuck are you fuck- don’ squeeze me so hard, pretty- the fuck are you here for?”

“It’s my room, n’ I had a feeling you’d be here.” Sukuna lets the door shut so agonizingly slow, flashing the two of you a lazy, devilish grin. “Besides - this is my date, after all.”

A/N. Plagiarism of work not authorized.

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[bi-writes]

I can imagine asking Ghost to take my daughter to the daddy-daughter ball, only not to be able to get rid of him once he brings her home.

"you what?"

you rest your forehead against your locker door, closing your eyes as you tune out the nonchalant voice on the other end of the phone.

he always cancels.

but this?

"y-you can't cancel," you say finally. "you have to go. you can't do this to her, are you fucking kidding me?" you put a hand to your forehead. "you're a fucking asshole. i-i bought her a dress. it's for fathers and daughters, i can't fucking take her. it's all she's been talking about, i can't believe you--!"

you kick your locker shut and take a seat, resting your elbows on your knees. he gives you another excuse, but you just blink away your angry tears.

"no. don't bother. in fact, i don't want to see you again. i don't want her to see you again."

you put the phone down, your hands trembling from how angry you are. you aren't even surprised that he's not calling you back.

he's never wanted her. never.

"sergeant."

the firm sound of your title immediately has you on your feet. you stand up straight, but you relax a little when you see it's just ghost. his head is tilted to the side, and he's watching you carefully from under his mask. you can't see his expression, but his eyes are intense. he's focused on you, very much so.

you wipe the few tears that are under your eyes, and then your phone pinging takes your attention away from him. you pick it up and curse under your breath, opening your locker again to grab your things.

"i'm sorry, lieutenant, i need to go. can i get back to you tomorrow?"

"it's pick-up time, isn't it?"

you freeze from putting your jacket on, eyeing him warily before zipping it up.

"yeah," you say finally. "and i have some bad news to deliver, so while i'd love to stay and chat, i really need to go."

"doesn't hafta be her father," simon shrugs, leaning up against the locker beside yours. "could be anyone."

you glare at him a little, "if you're trying to make some kind of crude joke about the lack of men in our lives, lieutenant, i'd be careful if i were you--"

you stop when he grips your chin tight between his gloved fingers. you blink, unsure of what to do, and he shakes your jaw a little.

"i could take 'er."

you frown up at him, too annoyed to notice how he bends a little more, his face nearly against yours.

"it's not funny, lieutenant."

"not laughin'."

"you..." you meet his eyes, deflating a little. "you...you'd...you'd do that for me?"

ghost merely clicks his tongue before letting you go. when you make your way to your car, he follows, and you try to hide your smile as you make your way home.

ghost exchanges his mask for something more discreet when you aren't looking. a black n95, but his eyes still kill the same. when you come back to the car with a little girl on your hip, she stares wide-eyed at the hunk of man sitting in the passenger seat. he raises a brow at her, saying nothing, and you swallow hard as you buckle her into her seat.

"uhm...this is ghost. can you say hi, honey?"

"ghost? like halloween?"

"like halloween, baby."

as you buckle yourself back in the drivers' seat, you side-eye ghost when you hear the crinkle of a plastic wrapper. when you peek into the rearview to reverse out of the parking lot, you see your daughter with a big smile on her face and a red lolly stuck in her mouth.

"always carrying around sweets, lieutenant?"

he shrugs. "maybe."

she makes him wait in the living room while you get her dress on (she wants a big reveal, coming down the stairs and all). you bought it off of etsy, a custom-made, princess-inspired dress. it has a big skirt of silk and tulle, with a big bow at her back, and when you look at her smile in the mirror, you feel that searing slice of something that makes you want to kill the man that almost ruined her evening.

she gets to do her big reveal. she spins at the top of the stairs to make her big skirt move, and then she's running down the stairs, giggling, laughing, and just as she makes it to ghost, he grabs her under her arms and tosses her into the air. she shrieks with delight when her big dress moves, and you bite your lip watching them. the sight of ghost hiking her up on his hip and commenting on her bow makes your mouth water.

fuck. have his arms always been that big?

they look funny. your daughter looks like the prettiest princess, and ghost looks exactly as he always does--like a SAS lieutenant. he might not have any of his gear on, but the cargo pants, thick boots, and windbreaker don't hide his physique.

"have fun, baby."

you come up next to her, kissing her face, and she clings to your superior, arms tangled around his neck as she waves goodbye. you give ghost the keys to your car, tell him to bring her back by seven, and then you pamper yourself while she's gone.

you drink a few glasses of wine. you take a hot bath. you pick a movie to watch and don't have to make sure the rating is at least PG.

when ghost finally comes back, you're laying on the couch with another glass of wine. pajamas on, blanket over your lap, and you smile when you see her passed out in ghost's arms as he closes the front door behind himself.

"asleep? already?" you giggle. ghost sets your keys down by the door before taking his boots off, and you watch intently as he carries your daughter up the stairs to put her to bed. you follow him, grabbing some of her pajamas from the drawer as he lays her down on the bed. you work together to get her little shoes off and shimmy her out of the dress, and as you get her into her clothes and back under the covers, she barely even moves. she's so tired, yawning and snuggling under her blankets, and you shut the door behind you, leaning against it as you blink up at your lieutenant.

he stares right back down at you. you reach a hand up and trace along the edge of his mask. it's quiet. inappropriate. he won't move away from you, and you won't move either.

you could get used to this. you could get used to watching more adult movies, drinking more wine, having time to fixed your chipped nail polish. you could get used to being bent over your unmade bed and fucked nasty.

you grab onto the crumpled sheets, arching your back more. your knees dig into the mattress as your ass hikes up, and ghost grunts as he uses your hips as an anchor and fucks into you harder. it's been ages since anyone's found your sweet spot, and ghost's cock is nudging it every single time his hips come back to meet yours. his thighs are nearly as fat as his cock, and you feel like your entire body is being rewired as he gives it to you so good, inside and out.

thumb against your clit, balls smacking your pussy, cock splitting you open--you used to think sex was made only for men, but maybe you just never found a real one to show you just how toe-curling it really could be.

if you thought it was good on your tummy, ghost shows you an entirely different feeling on your back.

it's so intimate. no one has ever looked at you this way before. his hands are intertwined with yours, and all you can do is cry and squeeze his hands as he sinks all the way inside of you and barely moves apart. in the dark, he takes his mask off, and you can feel the pant of his hot breaths as he grinds into you deep, slow, purposefully. the stimulation on your clit has your thighs shaking, and when you think the tears are too much, ghost flattens his tongue to lick them off before kissing you wet and languid.

ghost barely pulls out. he just circles his hips, punching back into you, and you see spots behind your eyes when he finally opens his mouth and groans into your ear. something about hearing his voice, hearing him falter, it makes you come. as soon as your cunt squeezes, ghost chokes, gripping your jaw tight and coming deep. you squirm underneath him, arching your back--he fills you up, so much so you can feel it spurting out around his cock and spilling out between your thighs.

you're too tired to protest when he sinks between your thighs after--you have to get clean somehow, right?

when you come into the kitchen in the morning, ghost is at the stove, your daughter on his hip and an egg frying in the pan.

he doesn't leave you when you take him back to work; and he doesn't leave you when you go back home. you should've known better, maybe. it's your own fault. ghosts like to haunt.

and this one is home.

[harrysfolklore]

but daddy i love him, part one - mv1

summary: in the world of formula 1, where competition runs deep and loyalties are tested, yn wolff and max verstappen found themselves caught in the middle . as the daughter of mercedes team principal and the rising red bull star, they must navigate the balance between rivalries and love. wc: 17k

folkie radio: HERE. IT. IS. FINALLY !!!!!!!! as i've stated before i'm absolutely terrified of posting this, this is my longest fic ever and different from what i've done before. i know it's a long read but i'm really proud of it and i think it's worth it. IN THIS FIC MORE THAN ANY OTHER. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO LEAVE FEEDBACK.

DISCLAIMER: as stated in the title THIS IS PART ONE!!! part two is ready in my drafts and will be posted shortly (in a week tops). i'll stop talking now. BUCKLE UP AND ENJOY (and please leave feedback okay)

Melbourne, 2015

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour - that strange liminal space between late night and early morning when most reasonable people are asleep. But you've never been great at reasonable, and jet lag has your body clock completely scrambled.

That's how you end up in the hotel's deserted coffee shop at 1 AM, nursing a hot chocolate and trying to calm your nerves about tomorrow.

You're so lost in thought you don't notice someone else enter until they speak.

"They're still open?"

You look up and your heart skips. Of course you recognize him immediately - Max Verstappen, the 17-year-old prodigy your father hasn't stopped talking about for months. "The next big thing," Papa had said, watching testing footage. "He's going to shake up the whole paddock, just watch."

"Sort of," you gesture to your drink, trying to keep your voice casual. "The barista took pity on me. Said she'd make one last drink before closing."

He glances at the now-dark counter and sighs. Up close, he looks even younger than in the photos you've seen, but there's something in his eyes - a fierce determination that makes you understand why everyone's been talking about him.

"Here," you push your barely-touched hot chocolate towards him. "I'm not really drinking it anyway."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't have caffeine at this hour anyway."

He sits across from you, taking a careful sip. "Thanks. I'm Max."

I know, you think. Everyone knows. The youngest F1 driver in history, Jos Verstappen's son, the rookie everyone's watching.

"You're not from around here," you note his accent, playing along with the pretense that you don't know exactly who he is.

"Neither are you," he grins, and something warm flutters in your stomach. His smile transforms his whole face, makes him look his age.

"Fair point. Here for the Grand Prix?"

"You could say that." He studies you, and you wonder if he can hear your heart racing. "You?"

"Something like that." You're enjoying this little game more than you probably should.

"Cryptic."

You laugh. "Says the equally cryptic stranger."

"Okay, okay." He takes another sip. "I'm one of the new drivers. Toro Rosso."

You try to hide your smile. You've watched every clip of his testing sessions, heard every conversation your father has had about his potential. "Ah. The youngest F1 driver in history. That must be a lot of pressure."

He shrugs, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the weight of expectations already heavy on him. You know that weight - you've carried your own version of it your whole life.

"Everyone keeps saying that."

"Scared?"

"No," he answers too quickly, then sighs. "Maybe a little. You won't tell anyone I said that, right?"

There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes your heart ache. Behind all the hype and headlines, he's just a boy on the verge of something enormous.

"Your secret's safe with me." You lean back. "For what it's worth, I think you'll do great."

"You sound pretty confident for someone who just met me."

If only he knew how many hours you'd spent watching his karting videos. How many times you'd heard your father say "That Verstappen boy is going to change everything."

"Let's call it intuition."

He laughs - a genuine, unguarded sound that makes your pulse quicken. "You're different."

"Different good or different bad?"

"Just… different." He finishes the hot chocolate. "Most people, when they find out who I am, they either get weird about it or start asking about Jos."

"Your father?"

He nods, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes - the same shadow you sometimes get when people mention Toto.

"Well, I know a thing or two about father-related pressure, so…"

"Yeah?" He looks interested. "What does your father do?"

You check your watch, knowing it's time to end this little charade. "Oh wow, is that the time? I should probably head up."

"Wait," he stands as you do. "I didn't catch your name."

You pause at the door, turning back with a small smile, savoring what you know will be his reaction. "I'm YN Wolff."

His eyes widen. "Wolff? As in…"

"See you in the paddock, Max Verstappen."

You leave him standing there, but not before catching his surprised laugh. Your heart is racing as you walk away - from the deception, from his smile, from the way his eyes had lit up when he laughed.

The next morning, you spot him in the paddock. He does a double-take when he sees you with the Mercedes team, then grins and shakes his head. You're wearing your team kit now, no more pretending to be just another girl in a hotel coffee shop.

"Cryptic stranger," he mouths at you as he passes.

You just smile, trying to ignore how your stomach flips when he winks at you.

Neither of you could have known then - in that quiet hotel coffee shop at 1 AM - that this was the beginning of something that would change your lives.

Singapore, 2015

The paddock is eerily quiet now, the usual chaos of race day reduced to a whisper of distant maintenance and soft lighting. You're sitting on one of the team benches, the night air cool against your skin. Max is close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the line between friendship and something more feels increasingly blurred.

It wasn't a sudden thing, this connection with Max. It had been a slow burn, a gradual unraveling that began that night in the hotel coffee shop and grew through stolen moments between races, brief conversations in crowded paddocks, and late-night messages that became increasingly frequent.

At first, it was simple curiosity. You'd catch each other's eye across the paddock, exchange a knowing smile. Then came the texts - random observations about races, inside jokes about team dynamics, comments that walked the line between friendly and flirtatious. Max had a way of making you laugh like no one else could, his wit sharp and unexpected.

He nudges you playfully. "So, daughter of the most powerful team principal in Formula 1. Must be interesting."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. "Not as glamorous as you might think."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow. "Try me."

You pause, considering. The weight of your father's reputation is something you've carried your entire life - a constant backdrop to every interaction, every moment.

"Imagine," you say slowly, "having every conversation potentially recorded, every interaction analyzed. One wrong move and it's not just about you, but about your family's reputation."

Max's expression shifts. There's understanding there - he knows something about familial expectations, about the pressure of carrying a name.

"My father," he says quietly, "Jos Verstappen. Not exactly a walk in the park."

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard. These moments have become more frequent - brief windows where the polished racing personas fall away, revealing something raw and real.

"Tell me," you prompt softly.

He takes a deep breath. "Constant pressure. Every race, every test, every moment - it's like I'm living not just for myself, but for some expectation he's created. Sound familiar?"

You laugh, but it's a sound tinged with something harder. Sadness. Recognition. "Absolutely."

Your conversations have been like this lately - layers peeling back, revealing something raw and real beneath the polished exterior of Formula 1.

"Sometimes," Max continues, "I wonder if I'm racing for myself or for the legacy everyone else wants me to create."

Before you can respond, a voice cuts through the night. "Little Wolff?"

Lewis approaches, his team kit still impeccable despite the late hour. His eyes narrow when he sees Max, taking in your proximity.

Lewis had been a constant in your life long before Max entered the picture. Since joining Mercedes, he'd taken on a role that was part mentor, part protective older brother. It wasn't an official designation, but in the Mercedes family, it might as well have been law.

Lewis knew everything about you - your hopes, your fears and everything in between. He was more than just your father's driver. He was family.

"Oh," Lewis says, a mix of surprise and something else - protection, wariness. "Verstappen."

Max stands immediately. "I was just leaving," he says quickly, a touch of nervousness breaking through his usual confidence. "See you around."

As Max walks away, Lewis turns to you, his protective big brother persona fully activated. "What," he says slowly, "was that about?"

You start walking together, the paddock lights casting long shadows. Lewis' stride is purposeful, matching yours.

"Nothing," you say, but the word sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, "He's my friend."

"Friend," he says, uncertainty in his voice, "Just be careful, okay? Things are never that simple in this paddock" he'd said, and you knew he meant more than just about Max.

You said nothing. But you heard him. You always did.

Barcelona, 2016

The champagne sparkles in the late afternoon sun as you watch from a secluded corner of the paddock. You smile as you watch Max on that podium - the youngest winner in Formula 1 history. Your smile is wide, uncontrolled, and you're grateful for the relative privacy of your spot. If anyone noticed that your eyes never left Max, that your smile was meant only for him, they didn't say.

You remember the first time you saw him race, really race - not just in videos or testing. The raw talent, the fearlessness that made your breath catch. Over the past year, you'd watched him grow from that confident teenager in the Melbourne coffee shop into someone who commanded respect on track. And somewhere along the way, between stolen moments in the paddock and late-night conversations, he'd become so much more than just another driver.

The past year had been a dance of almost-moments and careful distances. Shared glances across crowded rooms, text messages that made you smile at 3 AM, touches that lingered just a second too long. You'd both known the complications, the impossibility of it all - the Mercedes team principal's daughter and Red Bull's rising star. It was like a modern Romeo and Juliet, except instead of warring families, it was competing Formula 1 teams.

Later that evening, you stand in your father's office doorway, heart hammering but determined. Toto is absorbed in post-race papers, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking every bit the formidable team principal even hours after the race.

"Papa?"

He looks up, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Yes, Schatz?"

"I'm going out," you say, trying to keep your voice casual while mentally rehearsing your prepared explanation.

Toto's eyebrows rise slightly. "Out?"

"With some friends," you elaborate, grateful for years of practice at maintaining your composure under his scrutiny. "To celebrate the race."

He sets his papers down, removing his glasses. "Friends from the team?"

Your heart skips. "Just… friends from the paddock," you say carefully. "Daniel invited me."

"Ricciardo?" His tone sharpens slightly.

"He's always been nice to me," you reason, which isn't a lie. Daniel has been a friend since his early days, always treating you like a friend rather than just the boss' daughter.

Toto studies you for a long moment, and you force yourself to meet his gaze steadily, even as your pulse races. You've always been close to your father - he's been your hero, your guide, your biggest supporter. The weight of potentially disappointing him sits heavy in your chest.

"Be careful," he finally says, though his tone suggests he's not entirely convinced. "You know how complicated things can be in this world."

"I know, Papa," you say softly. "I'll be careful. Promise."

Getting into the Red Bull celebration is easier than expected, thanks to Daniel's help. He meets you at a side entrance, his trademark grin wider than usual.

"Looking good, Wolff," he winks, pulling you into a quick hug. "Though I'm pretty sure your dad would kill me if he knew I was helping you sneak in."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," you say, trying to ignore the guilt that accompanies the words.

"Just…" Daniel's expression turns serious for a moment. "Be careful, yeah? With Max. He's my teammate and you're like my sister, and I don't want either of you getting hurt."

You're saved from responding by the noise of the party as he leads you inside. The atmosphere is electric - the joy of Max's first win filling the air along with music and laughter.

When Max spots you, his eyes widen, champagne glass freezing halfway to his lips. The surprise on his face quickly melts into something softer, more private. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one that never fails to make your heart skip.

"Should I be worried about Mercedes spies in our midst?" he teases, but his eyes are soft, drinking you in.

"You know me," you counter, matching his playful tone while trying to ignore how good he looks in his race winner's shirt, "I live for trouble."

"That you do, Wolff." He steps closer, just slightly, but enough to make your breath catch. "I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss your first win celebration? Never." You mean it to sound light, teasing, but your voice comes out softer, more sincere than intended.

"Still can't believe it," he says, shaking his head with a boyish grin that makes him look his age for once. "My first win."

"I can," you reply, taking a sip of champagne. "I've seen how you drive. It was only a matter of time."

He looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. "You've been watching me drive, then?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on the competition," you tease, but you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

"Is that what I am? Competition?" He moves closer, and suddenly the music seems far away.

"Among other things." Your voice comes out breathier than intended.

The conversation flows easily between you, as it always has. You talk about the race, about his incredible overtakes, about the moment he realized he was going to win. His eyes light up when he describes the feeling of crossing the finish line, and you find yourself caught between admiring his passion and getting lost in the way his hands move as he talks.

As the night progresses, the party gets louder, more crowded. Max notices you glancing around at the growing crowd.

"Want to get some air?" he asks, nodding toward a door that leads to a quieter area.

You follow him to a private terrace overlooking the city. The music is muffled here, and the night air is cool on your skin. You lean against the railing, city lights twinkling below.

"Better?" he asks, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Much." You turn to face him, drawn in by the way the lights play across his features. "Though I have to say, you throw quite a party for a rookie winner."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Rookie? I've been racing since before I could walk."

"Oh right, I forgot - Max Verstappen, born in a go-kart," you tease, making him smile wider.

"You're impossible, you know that?" He shakes his head, but his eyes are fond.

"Part of my charm," you counter, feeling bold in the privacy of the moment.

"Is that what you call it?" He's even closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"Would you rather I was predictable?" You raise an eyebrow, challenging.

"Never." His voice drops lower, sending shivers down your spine. "Predictable is boring. And you, YN Wolff, are anything but boring."

The tension between you is electric, years of carefully maintained distance crumbling in this quiet moment. Your heart is racing so fast you wonder if he can hear it.

"Well," you say, stepping into his space until there's barely a breath between you, "I think the winner deserves a reward."

Before you can second-guess yourself, you're kissing him. It's everything and nothing like you imagined - soft at first, tentative, like you're both afraid of breaking something precious. Then his hand comes up to cup your face, and the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent. You can taste champagne on his lips, feel the solid warmth of him against you. Your fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world spins around you.

It's a perfect moment, suspended in time, until he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

"You're trouble, Wolff," he murmurs against your lips, but he's smiling that smile that makes your heart flip. "Beautiful trouble."

"Scared?" you challenge softly, echoing your first conversation in Melbourne.

"Terrified," he admits, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "But in a good way."

You stay at the party longer than you should, caught in Max's orbit. Every smile, every touch, every shared look feels charged with possibility. But reality crashes back hours later when you return.

Your dad is waiting, his expression thunderous in a way you've rarely seen directed at you. Your stomach drops as soon as you see him, the lingering warmth from Max's kisses turning to ice in your veins.

"Would you like to explain," he says slowly, each word precise and controlled, "why did I receive a call informing me that my daughter was at a Red Bull celebration?"

"Papa, I-" you start, but he cuts you off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't." His voice is hard. "Don't try to fool me. I've seen you with Max Verstappen."

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You want to defend yourself, explain that Max isn't just the Red Bull driver he sees, that there's more to him.

"Do you have any idea," he continues, "what position this puts me in? Puts the team in?"

"It's not about the teams," you say quietly, finding your voice. "It's just-"

"Just what?" he challenges. "Just you and him? Nothing is ever just anything in Formula 1, YN. Every action has consequences. Every relationship has implications."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "This sport isn't about fair. It's about winning. About loyalty. About trust." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "How can I trust you to put the team first when you're sneaking around with our biggest rival?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. "I would never betray the team," you whisper, hurt that he could even think that.

"Maybe not intentionally," he says, his voice softening slightly. "But this… whatever this is with Max Verstappen… it can't continue. I won't tell you again. Stay away from him."

You want to argue more, to make him understand. But you recognize the finality in your father's tone, the immovable force that has made him such a successful team principal. In this world of racing and rivalry, some lines aren't meant to be crossed.

As you leave, you touch your lips, still feeling the ghost of Max's kiss. Your phone buzzes - a message from Max: "Worth the trouble?"

You stare at the screen, tears threatening to fall. Sometimes the biggest crashes in Formula 1 aren't on the track at all. Sometimes they're in the space between what your heart wants and what the sport demands.

Germany, 2016

The German summer air is thick with tension. You can feel it crackling through the paddock like electricity before a storm. Nico and Lewis' rivalry has turned the Mercedes garage into a pressure cooker, and your father's stress is palpable. Being around him feels like walking on eggshells, which makes your secret meetings with Max even more dangerous.

You've gotten good at this dance over the past few months - stolen moments between practice sessions, hidden corners of the paddock, coded messages about "casual meetings" that are anything but casual. Every stolen kiss feels like a victory and a risk all at once.

The sun is setting over Hockenheim when you slip behind the Red Bull motorhome, your heart racing with the familiar mix of excitement and fear. Max is already there, leaning against the wall with that cocky smile that still makes your stomach flip.

"Cutting it close, Wolff," he murmurs as you approach. "Your father's been prowling the paddock all day."

"Worried?" you tease, even as you glance around to ensure you're alone.

His answer is to pull you against him, one hand sliding to your waist while the other cups your face. "About your father? Always. About this? Never."

The kiss is heated from the start - months of practice have taught you both exactly how to make each other breathless. His thumb traces your jawline as he deepens the kiss, and you press closer, fingers curling into his team shirt. You love how solid he feels against you, how his breath catches when you bite gently at his lower lip.

"You're going to get me in trouble," he whispers against your mouth, but his smile suggests he doesn't mind at all.

"You love trouble," you remind him, trailing kisses along his jaw.

His hands tighten on your waist. "I love-" he starts, but cuts himself off, choosing instead to capture your lips again in a kiss that makes you forget everything else.

You lose track of time, lost in the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. It's dangerous and perfect and everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

A sound makes you both freeze. You pull apart quickly, straightening your clothes, but it's too late.

Jos Verstappen stands at the corner of the motorhome, his expression dark and unreadable. Your blood runs cold at the sight of him.

"I… I should go," you manage, your voice shaky. Max's hand brushes yours briefly - a small comfort - before you hurry past his father, avoiding his stern gaze.

Behind you, you can hear Jos' voice, low and harsh in Dutch, but you don't stop to listen. Your heart is pounding as you make your way back to the paddock, wondering if this is the moment everything falls apart.

Max stands his ground as his father's disapproval fills the space between them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jos demands in Dutch, his voice controlled but sharp. "The Wolff girl? Have you lost your mind?"

"It's not what you think-" Max starts, but Jos cuts him off.

"It's exactly what I think. You're letting yourself get distracted. By a Mercedes girl, no less. Toto Wolff's daughter?" Jos steps closer, his presence intimidating despite Max now being taller than him. "You're just starting to prove yourself in Formula 1. This is when you need to focus more than ever."

"I am focused," Max argues. "My results prove that."

"For now." Jos' voice turns cold. "But girls like that, from families like that - they're nothing but distractions. She'll get in your head, make you soft. And then what? You think Toto Wolff wants his daughter with a Red Bull driver? You think this ends well?"

Max clenches his jaw, fighting back the urge to defend you, to explain that you're different, that you understand the sport as well as he does. But he knows his father won't listen.

"Stay away from her," Jos says finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Focus on what matters. On winning and being champion. That's what we've worked for all these years. Don't throw it away for some girl."

The words hit harder than Max wants to admit, echoing his own doubts, his own fears about what this thing with you means. But he can't forget the way you look at him like you see past the racer, past the name, to who he really is.

Jos leaves him there in the growing darkness, with only the weight of expectations and the lingering taste of your kiss on his lips.

Monaco, May 2017

Another year, another dance of stolen moments and secret smiles. If anything, the warnings and opposition have only made whatever this is between you and Max more intense. Like a forbidden drug, each stolen moment leaves you craving more, even as the risks grow higher.

"This is a terrible idea," Max whispers as you pull him through your back door, "Your dad is literally upstairs."

"He's dead asleep," you assure him, carefully closing the door. "He took sleeping pills for his flight tomorrow. Besides, he sleeps like the dead anyway."

Max still looks like he's ready to bolt at any second. "YN, if he catches me here-"

"He won't." You tug him closer by his shirt. "Unless you keep talking so loud."

He glances nervously at the stairs. "Your room is up there? Past his?"

"Scared, Verstappen?"

"Terrified, actually." But he follows you anyway, both of you carefully avoiding the creaky third step you'd mapped out years ago during teenage sneaking attempts.

You're almost at your door when Max freezes. "Was that-"

"Just the house settling," you whisper, but your heart is racing too. "Come on, we're almost-"

A door opens down the hall.

Max actually whimpers. You shove him into your room just as Toto's voice calls out, "YN? Is that you?"

"Just getting water, Papa!" you call back, praying your voice sounds normal. "Go back to sleep."

"Everything okay?"

"Fine! Those pills should be kicking in, right?"

A yawn. "Ja, starting to feel them. Goodnight, Schatz."

"Night, Papa!"

You wait until you hear his door close before slipping into your room. You find Max standing perfectly still in the middle of the floor, looking absolutely terrified.

"I think I'm having a heart attack," he announces in a whisper. "I'm actually having a heart attack. I can see the headlines now: 'F1 Driver Dies of Fear in Team Principal's House.'"

You try not to laugh. "You're being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" His voice rises slightly before he catches himself. "YN, your father was ten feet away from me. Ten feet! Do you know what he would do to me if he found me here?"

"Well, first he'd probably have a heart attack himself-"

"Not helping!"

"Then probably murder you-"

"Still not helping!"

"And Lewis would hide the body-"

"Why did I agree to this?" He runs his hands through his hair. "I'm a professional athlete. I have championships to win. I can't die in Toto Wolff's house because his daughter is too pretty to say no to."

You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning. "You think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're trying to kill me." But his hands settle on your waist automatically. "If your father walks in right now-"

"He won't."

"But if he does-"

"Max." You kiss him softly. "Stop talking about my father when you're in my bedroom."

"Missed you," he murmurs against your mouth, hands already sliding under your shirt. "Watching you in the paddock all day, not being able to touch you…"

You smile against his lips. "Poor baby. Must be so hard being professional."

He responds by lifting you up, making you laugh as he carries you toward your bed. "You have no idea."

Hours later, you're tangled in your sheets, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin. The city's lights cast shadows across his face, making him look older than his twenty years.

"We should sleep," you say, even as you press closer to him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"Meetings are overrated," he mumbles into your hair, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Says the guy who's already breaking records." Your fingers trail down his chest. "Future world champion can't skip meetings."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "Future world champion can do whatever he wants."

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other, pretending the world outside doesn't exist. But morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through your windows and your alarm blaring way too early.

Max groans, burying his face in your neck. "Five more minutes."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," you remind him, even as you run your fingers through his hair. "You're already going to be late, and my father is still next room, remember?"

He lifts his head, giving you that boyish grin that still makes your heart skip. "Worth it."

But reality can't be held at bay forever. Max rushes to get dressed, stealing kisses between looking for his scattered clothes. You watch from your bed, sheet wrapped around you, trying to memorize how he looks in the morning light.

"Tonight?" he asks, pausing at your bedroom door.

"Text me," you say, and he gives you one last smile before he's gone.

Max is still smiling when he arrives at the Red Bull office, nearly an hour late for his morning meeting. The smile dies on his lips when he sees his father waiting outside, arms crossed and expression thunderous.

"You were with that girl weren't you? Nothing's changed" Jos demands without preamble, switching to Dutch.

"I was just-"

"Don't lie to me." Jos' voice is low, dangerous. "Are you trying to destroy everything we've worked for?"

"I'm not destroying anything," Max argues, frustration creeping into his voice. "My results-"

"Your results could be better," Jos cuts him off. "You could be focused on becoming champion instead of sneaking around with Toto Wolff's daughter. Do you think this is a game?"

"It's not a game-"

"Then what is it?" Jos steps closer, his presence still intimidating despite Max being taller now. "Love?" He spits the word like it's poison. "You think love wins championships? You think that girl is worth throwing away everything we've sacrificed for?"

Max clenches his jaw, the weight of years of his father's expectations pressing down on him. "I can handle both-"

"No." Jos' voice is final, absolute. "You can't. And you won't. This ends now. Cut her off."

"Or what?" The words slip out before Max can stop them, a rare challenge to his father's authority.

Jos' eyes turn cold. "Or I'll make sure Toto knows exactly what his precious daughter has been up to. How do you think that ends for her? For her relationship with her father? For her position in the paddock?"

The threat hangs in the air between them. Max feels his stomach turn to ice, knowing his father well enough to know this isn't an empty threat.

"Your choice, Max," Jos says, already turning away. "But make it soon. This distraction ends now, or there will be consequences. For everyone."

Max stands there long after his father leaves, the taste of your kisses still on his lips, now bitter with the weight of choices.

Monza, 2017

The Italian late summer heat feels suffocating as you finally corner Max behind the Ferrari motorhome - neutral territory. He's been dodging you since Hungary, responding to texts with one-word answers before stopping altogether. You've seen that look in his eyes when he spots you in the paddock - the way he quickly turns away, finds somewhere else to be.

"Hey stranger," you say, aiming for casual despite your racing heart. "Been a while."

He looks everywhere but at you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "YN…" There's a warning in his voice that you choose to ignore.

"I've missed you," you continue, taking a step closer. "We haven't talked since-"

"We can't do this anymore." His words cut through the air like a knife.

You freeze, the practiced speech you'd prepared dying in your throat. "What?"

"This." He gestures vaguely between you, still not meeting your eyes. "Whatever this is. It has to stop."

"Just like that?" Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. "After everything?"

"I need to focus on racing." He sounds like he's reciting a rehearsed speech. "Just racing. No distractions."

The word 'distraction' hits you like a physical blow. "Is that what I am? A distraction?"

Finally, he looks at you, and for a moment you see something crack in his carefully constructed facade - pain, regret, something more. But then it's gone, replaced by a coldness you've never seen directed at you before.

"This was never going to work," he says flatly. "We both knew that. It'll only cause trouble - for you, for me, for our families. It's better to end it now."

You think about all the stolen moments, the late-night conversations, the way he'd look at you like you were the only person in a crowded room. All reduced to 'trouble'.

"Fine." You straighten your spine, channeling every ounce of Wolff pride you possess. "See you around, Max Verstappen."

You turn and walk away before he can respond, each step measured and controlled despite feeling like your world is crumbling. You make it all the way to the Mercedes motorhome before the tears start to fall.

You duck into what you think is an empty corner, trying to get yourself under control, when a familiar voice makes you jump.

"Little Wolff?"

Lewis stands there, concern etched across his features. He's known you since you were a kid, has watched you grow up in the paddock. In many ways, he's your brother.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping at your eyes. "Just… allergies."

"Right," he says softly, not believing you for a second. "Because Monza is famous for its allergies."

A sob escapes before you can stop it, and suddenly Lewis is pulling you into a hug. You break down against his chest, all your carefully maintained composure crumbling.

"Hey, hey," he soothes, rubbing your back. "What happened? Who do I need to beat up?"

You laugh wetly against his shoulder. "Nobody. It's stupid. I'm stupid."

"You're one of the smartest people I know," he counters. "So whatever it is, it's not stupid."

You pull back slightly, wiping your eyes. "I just… I thought…" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. Clearly I was wrong."

Understanding dawns in Lewis's eyes. He's not blind - he's probably noticed more than most about your relationship with Max, even if he's never mentioned it.

"Sometimes," he says carefully, "people make choices out of fear rather than what they really want. Especially in this world."

"He said I was a distraction," you whisper, the words still burning.

Lewis's expression hardens slightly. "He's young. And scared. And probably being pulled in a hundred different directions." He pauses. "Doesn't make it hurt any less though, does it?"

You shake your head, fresh tears threatening to fall.

"Come here." He pulls you into another hug. "For what it's worth, I think he's an idiot. But maybe this is for the best, he's not good for you."

You stay there for a while, letting Lewis comfort you, grateful for his presence and his wisdom. But you can't shake the image of Max's face, that moment when his mask slipped, and you'd seen the pain in his eyes. You wonder if Lewis is right - if this is really about fear rather than feeling.

But in the end, you suppose it doesn't matter. A choice is still a choice, even if it's made for the wrong reasons.

Monaco, Summer 2018

The bass thrums through your body as you down another shot, Lando cheering beside you. The club is packed - all of Monaco's elite young crowd mixed with racing's next generation. Your father would have an aneurysm if he saw you here, but that's half the fun.

"Another!" Lando shouts over the music, already signaling the bartender. He's technically too young to be here, but money and fame open most doors in Monaco.

"You're a bad influence, Norris," you laugh, but you don't stop him.

"Me?" He clutches his chest in mock offense. "I'm an angel. You're the one corrupting the youth."

"You're literally younger than me."

"Details, details." He hands you another shot. "To being young and irresponsible!"

You clink glasses with him, the alcohol burning pleasantly as it goes down. This is what you needed - no paddock politics, no disappointed looks from your father, no thoughts of…

"Oh shit," Lando says suddenly, following your gaze. "We can move to another section if you want."

Max has just walked in with a group of friends. He looks good - he always looks good - in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt. Your stomach does that familiar flip before you forcefully squash it down.

"Why should we move?" you say, perhaps a bit too loudly. "We were here first."

Lando gives you that knowing look he's perfected over the past year of friendship. "YN…"

"Don't start," you warn him. "I'm fine. It's fine. Ancient history."

"Right," he drawls. "That's why you drunk-called me crying about him last month."

"I did not!"

"'Lando,'" he mimics in a high voice, "'why doesn't he want meeeee?'"

You shove him playfully. "I hate you."

"You love me." He grins. "I'm your favorite driver now."

"You're not even in F1 yet."

"Yet!" He wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Next year though. Then I'll be beating your ex's ass on track."

"He's not my ex," you mutter. "We were never actually together, remember?"

"Right, just sneaking around making out for like a year and a half. Totally casual."

You're about to retort when movement catches your eye. Max is at the bar now, and there's a girl with him. Tall, blonde, model-beautiful. She's touching his arm, laughing at something he's saying, and he's leaning in close to hear her over the music.

"YN…" Lando's voice has that warning tone.

"I need another drink," you announce, turning back to the bar.

Three shots later, you're on the dance floor with Lando, trying to forget the scene playing out at the bar. But your eyes keep drifting over, watching as Max gets closer to the blonde, his hand now on her waist.

"Stop torturing yourself," Lando says in your ear.

"I'm not-" you start, but the words die in your throat as you watch Max lean down and kiss the girl.

Something inside you snaps. You scan the crowd, spotting a guy who's been eyeing you all night. He's good-looking enough - dark hair, nice smile, probably a trust fund kid like half the people here.

"YN," Lando tries to grab your arm, but you're already moving.

You approach the guy with purpose, channeling every ounce of confidence the alcohol has given you. "Want to dance?"

He looks surprised but pleased. "Absolutely."

You let him pull you close, perhaps closer than necessary. You can feel eyes on you - Lando's concerned ones, and maybe, just maybe, someone else's too.

The guy - you think he said his name was Alex or Alec - is a good dancer. His hands are respectful but firm on your hips as you move to the music. When he leans down to kiss you, you let him.

It's not a bad kiss. He knows what he's doing. But he doesn't taste right, doesn't feel right. His hands aren't calloused from racing. He doesn't smell like motor oil and expensive cologne. He's not… him

But you kiss him anyway. When you finally pull back from the kiss, Lando is at your elbow.

"I think we should head out," he says, glancing meaningfully at your nearly empty glass.

"I'm having fun," you protest, even as the room spins slightly. Alex-or-Alec's hands are still on your waist.

"YN." Lando's voice is firmer now. "Come on."

You turn back to Alex-or-Alec, pulling him down for another kiss. It's messy and desperate and you can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. You're proving something, you think, though you're not sure what or to whom anymore.

Through the haze of alcohol and bass-heavy music, you hear a familiar voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Max is standing there, his face tight with anger. The blonde from earlier is nowhere to be seen, but there's another girl hovering behind him - brunette this time.

"Having fun," you say sweetly, pressing closer to Alex-or-Alec. "You should try it. Oh wait, you already are."

"You don't even know this guy," Max snaps.

"His name is Alex." You pause. "Or Alec."

"It's Adrian," the guy supplies helpfully.

"Whatever." Max steps forward. "You're drunk. You need to go home."

"And you need to mind your own business." You turn to Adrian with an exaggerated smile. "Want to get out of here?"

"YN," Lando pleads. "Don't."

"Sure," Adrian grins, clearly oblivious to the tension. "My place isn't far."

Max moves so fast you barely register it, suddenly between you and Adrian. "She's not going anywhere with you."

"Excuse me?" You push at his chest. "You don't get to decide that. You lost that right when you-" You cut yourself off, aware you're saying too much.

"When I what?" Max challenges, his eyes dark. "When I did exactly what you're doing right now?"

"No," you laugh, but it comes out bitter. "When you decided that sneaking around was fine until it wasn't. When you started showing up to every event with a new girl on your arm. When you-"

"YN," Lando tugs at your arm. "Not here."

You shake him off. "Go back to your girlfriend, Max. Or girlfriends. I lost count tonight."

"You're being ridiculous."

"And you're being a hypocrite." You grab Adrian's hand. "Let's go."

Max's hand closes around your wrist. "You're not leaving with him."

"Get your hands off me." Your voice is ice cold. "You don't get to play protective boyfriend when it suits you. Go find another model to add to your collection."

Something flashes in his eyes - hurt maybe, or anger. "Fine. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

"Exactly. I do what I want." You turn to Adrian. "Sorry, but I've changed my mind. Turns out I have standards."

You shake off Max's grip and push past him, heading for the exit. Lando hurries after you, already calling for a car.

"YN, wait-" Max calls after you.

"Go to hell, Verstappen."

Outside, the Monaco air is cool against your flushed skin. Lando wraps his jacket around your shoulders as tears start to fall.

"I hate him," you whisper.

"No, you don't." Lando pulls you into a hug. "That's the problem."

The morning sunlight streaming through the windows feels like actual daggers in your skull. You're nursing your third cup of coffee, wearing sunglasses indoors like the walking cliché you are, when your father's voice cuts through your hangover haze.

"Would you care to explain these?"

Toto slides his phone across the breakfast table. Your stomach drops as you see the photos - you dancing with Adrian, Max confronting you, your tearful exit with Lando. The Monaco nightlife paparazzi are relentless, and you were too drunk to notice them.

"Papa, I-"

"No." His voice is quiet but firm. That's worse than yelling. "This stops now, YN. This... rebellion phase of yours. It stops."

Lewis and Valtteri are suddenly very interested in their breakfast plates. Susie, your stepmother, places a gentle hand on your father's arm, but doesn't contradict him.

"It wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Toto's accent gets thicker when he's angry. "Wasn't you, drunk in a club, making headlines again? Wasn't you creating another PR nightmare for the team?"

Your head throbs. "I'm not part of the team."

"No? Then why does every tabloid headline read 'Mercedes Boss's Daughter in Club Drama with Red Bull Star'?"

You wince. Both at his words and at the volume.

"The drinking, the parties, the public scenes - it needs to stop." He leans forward. "You're not just any teenager, liebling. Everything you do reflects on this family, on this team."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair." He softens slightly. "I know this past year has been... difficult."

You feel Lewis shift beside you. He knows - of course he knows. He's probably the only one at this table who knows the full story of you and Max.

"But this self-destructive behavior cannot continue." Your father's voice is final. "You're grounded."

"I'm twenty one!"

"And living on my yacht, in my house, representing my name." He raises an eyebrow. "Would you prefer to go back to boarding school?"

The threat lands. You sink lower in your chair.

"No, sir."

"Good." He turns to his own coffee. "No more clubs. No more parties. And for God's sake, no more scenes with Max Verstappen."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You know without looking it's probably Lando checking on you. Or worse, Max.

"YN." Your father's voice draws your attention back. "I mean it. Whatever is going on between you two... it ends now."

"Nothing is going on," you mutter.

"Then it should be easy to maintain distance."

Susie finally speaks up. "Why don't you come work with me for a while? Help with the She Moves Forward initiative?"

You know it's a peace offering - a way to keep you busy and out of trouble. But the thought of structured days and responsible tasks makes your hangover worse.

"Fine," you concede, if only to end this conversation.

Lewis nudges you under the table - a small gesture of solidarity. Valtteri offers a sympathetic smile.

"Good." Your father stands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have damage control to handle."

After he leaves, Lewis slides a bottle of Advil towards you. "Here. You look like death."

"Thanks," you grumble, dry-swallowing two pills.

"He's right, you know," Lewis says quietly. "About Max."

"Not you too."

"YN." His voice is gentle. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the acting out - it's not going to make it hurt less."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." He stands, squeezing your shoulder. "Just... think about what you're really angry at. Because I don't think it's your father, or the team, or even Max."

"I'm going back to bed," you announce to no one in particular.

"Honey," Susie calls after you. "This doesn't have to be a punishment. Maybe it's an opportunity."

You pause at the door. "For what?"

"To figure out who you are without all the drama. Without..." she hesitates. "Without defining yourself by who you're trying to hurt."

You think about Max's face last night, about the girls he was with, about how none of it made you feel better.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Maybe."

The air feels thick and oppressive as you stumble out of another club, the world spinning slightly. You're not entirely sure how you ended up here - after the disastrous night a few weeks ago, you'd promised yourself (and your father) that you were done with the party scene. But one text from Lando about needing to "get out" had quickly spiraled.

Except Lando had bailed last minute with food poisoning, and you'd gone anyway. Because you're nothing if not stubborn.

The familiar figure of Charles Leclerc materializes beside you. "YN? Are you okay?"

"Charles!" You throw your arms around him, nearly losing your balance. "My favorite Ferrari boy!"

He steadies you with practiced ease. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Lost count," you admit cheerfully. "But it's fine. Everything's fine."

Charles sighs, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling Lewis."

"No!" You grab for his phone but miss entirely. "Not Lewis. He'll tell Papa."

"Good. Maybe he should."

You slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Everyone's so disappointed in me."

Charles' expression softens as he puts the phone to his ear. "We're worried, not disappointed."

Twenty minutes later, you hear the distinctive rumble of Lewis's car. He jumps out, concern etched on his face.

"YN? What were you thinking?"

"That alcohol makes feelings go away?" you offer weakly.

Lewis turns to Charles. "Thanks for calling me."

"Of course. Take care of her."

The ride home is quiet until Lewis finally speaks. "This has to stop."

"I know," you whisper.

"No, I mean it really has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and for what? To prove something to Max?"

"It's not about Max."

"Isn't it?"

You stare out the window, tears forming. "I need to get away from here."

"What do you mean?"

"The paddock, the drama, all of it." You turn to him. "I can't keep doing this. Being the Mercedes princess, the ex-whatever of Max Verstappen. I need… space."

Lewis is quiet for a moment. "Maybe that's not a bad idea. Take some time, figure out who you are away from all this."

"Will you help me convince Papa?"

"Yeah," he says softly. "I'll help. But you have to promise me - no more nights like this."

You nod, the weight of everything finally catching up to you. "I promise."

As Lewis helps you out of the car, you freeze. Toto is standing in the doorway, still in his sleeping clothes. Your stomach drops and fresh tears spring to your eyes - this is it, the final disappointment.

But instead of the anger you expect, your father simply opens his arms.

You practically fall into them, suddenly sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Papa. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he soothes, holding you tight like he did when you were little. "You're alright, liebling. You're alright."

"I can't-" you hiccup against his chest. "I can't do this anymore. I need to get out of here."

"Out of where?"

"Monaco. The paddock. All of it." You pull back slightly to look at him. "I need space. To figure out who I am without… without all of this."

Toto exchanges a look with Lewis over your head. "I know," he says softly, surprising you. "I've seen it coming."

"You have?"

He cups your face in his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. "You're my daughter. Of course I have. I just needed you to realize it yourself."

"I'm tired, Papa," you whisper. "Of being the Mercedes princess, of the gossip, of seeing…" You trail off, but they all know what you mean. Who you mean.

"Then go," he says simply. "Find yourself. The paddock will still be here when you're ready."

"You're not mad?"

He laughs softly. "Oh, we'll discuss tonight's adventure when you're less drunk. But no, liebling. I'm not mad. Sometimes we need to step away to see things clearly."

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. "We've got your back, little Wolff. Whatever you need."

Fresh tears fall as you're overwhelmed by their support. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you," Toto kisses your forehead. "Now, let's get you to bed. We can make plans tomorrow."

As they help you inside, you feel lighter somehow. Like maybe this isn't an ending, but a beginning. A chance to become someone new - or maybe to find who you've been all along, underneath the labels and expectations.

Austria, 2020

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel hits you as you step into the Mercedes garage for the first time in almost two years, your heart doing a little flip at being back after so long. Everything looks exactly the same, yet somehow different - or maybe you're the one who's different now.

"Little Wolff!" Lewis' voice booms across the garage before you're engulfed in a bone-crushing hug that lifts you off your feet. "Finally back where you belong!"

You laugh, squeezing him back just as tight. "You literally saw me at Christmas, Lewis!"

"That's not the same and you know it," he sets you down but keeps his hands on your shoulders, studying your face. "Christmas is family time. This," he gestures around the garage, "this is home."

Looking at him now, you can see the genuine joy in his eyes. Lewis has always been your second father, and these past two years, he's been your biggest cheerleader from afar, always sending encouraging messages when you were climbing mountains in Nepal or teaching English in Thailand.

"She's hardly been here five minutes and you're already monopolizing her, Lewis?" Your father's voice carries that familiar warmth that makes your chest tight with happiness. Your relationship with him has transformed during your time away - all those long phone calls and video chats where you really talked, not just about racing but about life, dreams, fears. Distance made you both realize what you'd been missing.

"Papa," you smile, walking into his open arms. He holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Welcome home, liebling," he murmurs. "The garage hasn't been the same without you."

"I missed you too," you say, then pull back with a grin. "But I need to go see someone else before he thinks I've forgotten him entirely."

Toto laughs. "Go on then. Lando's been asking about you non-stop since he heard you were coming back."

You practically skip your way to the McLaren garage, your heart light. The past two years have given you perspective, helped you understand yourself better. You're not the angry, lost girl who fled Monaco anymore. You're stronger now, more sure of who you are outside of being "Toto Wolff's daughter" or "Max Verstappen's conquest."

"YN!" Lando's screech of delight echoes through the garage as he launches himself at you. "You're back, you're finally back!"

"I missed you so much, you idiot," you ruffle his hair, noting how he's grown even more into himself. He's not the shy rookie anymore - he's coming into his own as a driver.

"Group hug!" Carlos appears, wrapping his long arms around both of you. "Welcome back, pequeña. It's been too quiet without you here to keep this one in line."

"Oi!" Lando protests, but he's beaming.

You're in the middle of telling them about your adventures in Japan when movement catches your eye. Your words trail off as you see him - Max, walking past the garage with Christian. He's filled out more, shoulders broader, face more mature. Your heart does that familiar stutter-step it always did around him.

Two years haven't completely erased the memory of his hands on your skin, his laugh against your neck, the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world. First loves leave permanent marks, and Max Verstappen had branded himself onto your heart when you were both too young to understand the weight of it all.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, and for a moment, your eyes lock. There's something there - recognition, remembrance, maybe even regret. You see him swallow hard, his step faltering just slightly. But neither of you moves to bridge the gap.

You turn back to Lando and Carlos, forcing a smile, but your mind is still with that brief moment of eye contact. You're not that lovesick teenager anymore, but part of you wonders if you'll ever fully get over Max Verstappen. If anyone ever really gets over their first love, or if they just learn to live with the echo of what could have been.

"YN?" Lando's voice brings you back to the present. "You okay?"

You look at your friend's concerned face and give him a genuine smile this time. "Yeah, I am. Just… remembering."

Carlos squeezes your shoulder knowingly. "The past is the past, si? You're here now, that's what matters."

You nod, grateful for their understanding. You're not the same person who left two years ago, running from heartbreak and confusion. You're stronger now, wiser. Ready to write a new chapter.

Even if sometimes, just sometimes, you still feel the ghost of an old love story tugging at your heart.

Barcelona, 2020

The Barcelona night is warm and heavy with memories as you sit at the outdoor terrace of the restaurant. Daniel's telling some ridiculous story about a kangaroo, but your attention keeps drifting to the other end of the table where Max sits, deliberately positioned as far from you as possible.

Five years ago, you'd kissed him for the first time just a few streets from here. After his first win, giddy with freedom and teenage rebellion.

"So how was Bali?" Charles asks making your come back to your senses,"The surfing photos were insane."

"Almost died about twelve times," you laugh. "But worth it."

"She's exaggerating," Max comments casually, surprising everyone at the table. It's the first time he's directly addressed anything about your travels. "I saw the videos. Your form wasn't that bad."

You catch his eye across the table. "Been keeping tabs on me, Verstappen?"

He shrugs, a hint of that old smirk playing at his lips. "Hard not to when you're all over everyone's Instagram stories."

The tension at the table shifts slightly - not gone, but different. Lando kicks your foot under the table, raising an eyebrow when you look at him. You ignore him.

The conversation flows easier after that, stories and laughter bouncing around the table. You find yourself watching Max when he's not looking - the way he's grown into his features, how his laugh is deeper now, how he still runs his hand through his hair when he's trying not to smile.

As the night winds down, you end up being the last two waiting for cars. The others had filtered out gradually - Daniel dragging Charles off to some club, Lando claiming early training, Carlos heading home with his father.

"So," Max breaks the silence first, hands in his pockets. "Two years."

"Two years," you echo, leaning against the wall. "Feels longer sometimes."

"And shorter," he adds, then glances at you. "You look good. Happy."

"I am. Mostly." You study his profile in the streetlights. "You've changed too."

He laughs softly. "Had to grow up sometime, right? Can't be the paddock's problem child forever."

"No more sneaking around in garages?" The words slip out before you can stop them.

His eyes darken slightly at the memory. "Bit harder to get away with that these days. Plus, there hasn't been anyone worth the risk."

The weight of unspoken things hangs between you. All those stolen moments - behind motorhomes, in empty conference rooms, dark corners of victory parties. Never official, never acknowledged, but burning so bright it scared you both.

"Want to come up to my place?" he asks suddenly. "Just to talk. Properly. Without…" he gestures vaguely at the paddock world around you.

You should say no. But two years of distance have made you forget how magnetic he is, or maybe just made you brave enough to pretend you can resist it. "Okay."

The penthouse is exactly what you'd expect - sleek and modern, with a view that makes you catch your breath. You walk to the windows, Barcelona sprawling below like a constellation.

"Remember that night after your first win?" you ask softly. "When we snuck onto the roof?"

"Papa Wolff nearly had a heart attack," Max comes to stand beside you, close enough that your arms almost touch. "Worth it though."

"Was it?" You turn to look at him. "All of it? The sneaking around, the fights with our families, the constant hiding?"

"You know it was." His voice drops lower. "At least, it was for me."

"Max…"

"I've missed you," he admits quietly. "Not just… not just the physical stuff. I missed talking to you. Making you laugh. The way you'd roll your eyes every time I said something stupid in press conferences."

"I still do that," you smile despite yourself. "Some things don't change."

"Maybe they shouldn't." He steps closer, and suddenly you're eighteen again, heart racing at his proximity. "Maybe some things are worth holding onto."

When he kisses you, it feels like muscle memory. Your body remembers this dance - the way his hands find your waist, how he tastes like wine and possibilities. It's softer than the desperate kisses you used to share in dark corners, but somehow more dangerous for it.

You pull back first, breathing hard. "We can't."

"Why not?" His thumb traces your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. Who cares what anyone thinks?"

"I do," you step away, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I left to get away from this, Max. From sneaking around, from being the paddock scandal waiting to happen. I built a life where I'm not defined by who I'm secretly sleeping with or whose daughter I am."

"It wouldn't be like before-"

"Wouldn't it? The politics haven't changed. Our families still wouldn't approve."

"I don't care about any of that," he reaches for you but you step back.

"That's the problem," your voice cracks. "I had to live with all of it. The whispers, the judgment, watching my father's face every time there was another rumor about us. I can't go back to that."

"YN, please-"

"I should go." You grab your phone from the counter. "This was a mistake."

At the elevator, you turn back one last time. He's still by the window, silhouetted against the city lights. "For what it's worth," you say softly, "you were my first love. Maybe that's why we have to let it stay in the past."

The elevator doors close on his response, and you lean against the wall, heart pounding. Some part of you will probably always want Max Verstappen. But you've worked too hard to become your own person to let that want destroy everything again.

Even if walking away feels like leaving part of yourself behind.

Monaco, 2020

The yacht party is winding down, the late hour thinning out the crowd until somehow you find yourself alone on the upper deck. The Mediterranean breeze carries fragments of music and laughter from below, but up here it's quiet enough to hear your own thoughts - dangerous, when they all seem to revolve around him.

You hear his footsteps before you see him. You don't need to turn around to know it's Max - your body has always been attuned to his presence, like a compass finding north.

"Hiding?" His voice is soft as he comes to stand beside you at the railing.

"Just needed some air." It's not entirely a lie. "Shouldn't you be downstairs? This is your best friend's party."

"Daniel can handle it on his own," he shrugs, looking out at the harbor lights. "Needed some air too."

The silence that follows should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. That's the problem with Max - everything still feels as natural as breathing. Two years away hasn't changed how your body relaxes in his presence, how the air seems to crackle with possibility when he's near.

"Remember that party in Singapore?" he asks suddenly.

You smile despite yourself. "When we hid from Lewis for half of the night?"

"You were wearing that blue dress," he continues, and something in his voice makes your heart skip. "I couldn't take my eyes off you all night."

"Max…"

"I still can't," he admits quietly. "Even now. Even when I'm supposed to be focusing on other things, my eyes just… find you."

You grip the railing tighter. "We can't do this again."

"Can't we?" He turns to face you now. "Because ever since Barcelona, since that kiss…"

"That was a mistake."

"Was it?" He steps closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Because it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like coming home."

The words hit you right in the chest, because he's right. That's exactly what it felt like - like every cell in your body recognizing where it belonged.

"Nothing's changed," you say, but your voice wavers. "The politics, our families, the media…"

"Everything's changed," he counters. "We're not those kids anymore, sneaking around without putting a label on it because we didn't know better. I know exactly what I want now. Who I want."

"Max, please-"

"Two years, YN. Two years of watching you live your life through Instagram stories and paddock glimpses. Two years of trying to convince myself I was over you." His hand finds yours on the railing. "But the truth is, a part of me has belonged to you since that first night in Melbourne, and I don't think that's ever going to change."

You should pull your hand away. Instead, you turn it over, letting your fingers intertwine with his. "I tried so hard to become someone new," you whisper. "Traveled the world, built this whole independent life. But the moment I saw you again…"

"I know." His other hand comes up to cup your face, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "Because I felt it too."

"It scares me," you admit. "How easy it is to fall back into this. How right it feels when it should feel wrong."

"Maybe that's exactly why it isn't wrong." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "Maybe some things are just meant to be, despite everything else."

When he kisses you this time, it's different from Barcelona. That kiss had been hesitant, testing. This one feels like surrender, like finally stopping a fight you were always meant to lose. Your hands find his chest, feeling his heart racing under your palm, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispers. "You're the first girl I ever loved, and I think maybe you'll be the last. I know it's complicated, I know there are a million reasons why we shouldn't, but I don't care about any of them. I just want you."

You close your eyes, overwhelmed by the truth in his words, by how perfectly they mirror your own feelings. "I never stopped loving you," you confess. "I tried. God, I tried so hard. But it's like… it's like a part of me just belongs to you, and no amount of distance can change that."

"Then be with me," he pleads softly. "For real this time. No more running."

"How?" But you're already melting into him as he pulls you closer. "Nothing's changed, Max. My father would still lose it, Christian would still disapprove, the media would have a field day…"

"So we don't tell them." His hands slide to your waist. "We keep it between us. No sneaking around in garages this time, no risky moments in the paddock. Just us, in private, doing this properly."

You should say no. You know all the reasons why this can't work. But as his lips find yours again, you realize you're tired of fighting this magnetic pull between you.

"If anyone finds out…" you start.

"They won't," he promises. "We'll be careful. We're not those reckless kids anymore."

And maybe that's the key difference - you're not acting on impulse anymore, not diving in blindly. You're choosing this, fully aware of the consequences, of what you both stand to lose.

"Okay," you whisper against his mouth. "Okay."

When he kisses you again, it feels like every kiss you've ever shared and completely new all at once. Like coming home and starting an adventure. Like an ending and a beginning wrapped into one.

Later, you'll figure out the logistics, the careful dance of secrecy. But for now, you let yourself exist in this moment.

Some things, you realize, are worth keeping secret. Some loves are worth protecting, even if it means hiding them from the world.

Morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Max's apartment, painting everything in soft gold. You're awake before him, taking in the familiar weight of his arm around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. It feels surreal - like stepping back in time, but with the sharp edge of awareness that comes with being older.

You feel him stir, his arm tightening slightly around you. "You're thinking too loud," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you turn to face him, finding his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Hard not to."

He props himself up on an elbow, studying your face. The morning light makes everything feel more raw, more real. "Having second thoughts?"

"No," you say honestly. "Just… thinking about how we make this work."

"We managed before."

"And look how that ended." You trace a pattern on his chest absently. "We were reckless then. Every stolen moment was a near-miss."

He catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "So we're smarter this time. No more risky moments in the paddock. No sneaking around where anyone could see us."

"It's not just that." You sit up, pulling the sheet with you. "Max, if this gets out… it's not just about our families being angry. It could affect your career, the team dynamics. And my father-"

"Would probably try to have me assassinated," he finishes with a half-smile, but you can see the seriousness in his eyes. "I know. Trust me, I've thought about all of it."

"And you still want this?"

He sits up too, cupping your face in his hands. "More than anything. The question is, do you?"

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes. "You know I do. That's what scares me. How much I want this, despite everything."

"Then we figure it out." His thumb brushes your cheekbone. "We're not kids anymore. We know how to be discreet. Your place, my place, private locations only. No public appearances together unless we're with the whole group. No suspicious social media activity."

"No telling anyone," you add. "Not even Lando or Charles."

"Especially not them," he agrees. "The fewer people who know, the safer it is."

You open your eyes to find him watching you with that intense focus he usually reserves for racing. "It's going to be hard," you warn. "Pretending there's nothing between us in public. Watching you from a distance at races."

"We've had years of practice at that," he reminds you softly. "At least now I get to hold you afterward."

The simple statement makes your heart clench. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. "When did you get so good with words?"

"Must be all those media training sessions," he smirks, but then turns serious. "I meant what I said last night. I love you. Whatever we have to do to make this work, I'm in."

"I love you too," you whisper back. "God, I really do."

He kisses you then, slow and deep, like he's trying to memorize the moment. When you pull back, you're both breathing harder.

The morning light is brighter now, reality creeping in with the rising sun. Soon, you'll have to leave separately, go back to pretending there's nothing between you. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, memorizing the feeling of being here, being his.

"This is crazy, isn't it?" you murmur against his chest.

"Probably," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But some of the best things in life are a little crazy."

You know there will be challenges ahead - difficult moments, close calls, the constant strain of secrecy. But as Max pulls you back down onto the pillows, his lips finding yours with familiar hunger, you think maybe he's right.

Some things are worth the risk. Some loves are worth keeping secret.

The key card clicks softly as you slip into Max's Monaco apartment late on September 30th. You'd made your excuses to your friends early - a headache, an important call - knowing they wouldn't question it too much since they'd already planned Max's official celebration for tomorrow.

But tonight is just for the two of you.

You find him in the kitchen, already changed into sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, pulling something from the oven. The domestic scene makes your heart flutter.

"Is Max Verstappen actually baking?" you tease, dropping your bag.

He turns with that smile that's become exclusively yours - soft, unguarded, real. "It's just heating up the cake Victoria made. I'm not completely useless."

You cross the space between you, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Happy birthday, baby."

He turns in your embrace, backing you against the counter. "This is already better than last year's birthday."

"Mm, because last year you weren't secretly dating your rival team principal's daughter?"

"Because last year I couldn't do this," he murmurs, before kissing you deeply, hands sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. You melt into him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

The timer dings, making you both jump and then laugh.

"The cake can wait," he starts, but you push him back gently.

"Let's do this properly. Cake first, then presents, then…" you trail off suggestively.

"Fine," he sighs dramatically, but his eyes are sparkling. "But I'm holding you to that 'then'."

You sit cross-legged on his massive couch, sharing pieces of Victoria's chocolate cake straight from the tin. It's comfortable in a way that still surprises you sometimes - how easily you've fallen into these private moments, these glimpses of normalcy in your decidedly abnormal situation.

"Got you something," you say, reaching for your bag.

He raises an eyebrow. "Thought you were my present?"

"Cheesy," you throw a pillow at him, which he catches easily. "Here."

He unwraps the small package carefully. Inside is a simple leather bracelet, dark brown with a subtle pattern worked into it. "Turn it over," you say softly.

On the inside, barely visible unless you know to look, are your initials and the date from Monaco - the night everything changed.

"YN…" his voice is rough as he runs his thumb over the engraving.

"I know we can't do obvious things," you explain. "But I wanted you to have something… something that's just ours. Something you can wear without anyone knowing what it means."

He pulls you into his lap, kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin. "I love it," he murmurs against your lips. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper back, heart full with how natural those words feel now. "Even if you are getting old."

He retaliates by tickling your sides until you're both breathless with laughter, ending up horizontal on the couch with you pinned beneath him.

"Twenty-three isn't old," he protests, pressing kisses down your neck.

"Ancient," you tease, but it turns into a gasp as he finds that sensitive spot below your ear. "Max…"

"Mm?"

"The cake…"

"Can wait," he finishes, hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. "Right now, I want to unwrap my other present."

Later, much later, you're tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest as he plays with your hair. The city lights twinkle through the windows, creating patterns on the ceiling.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"For what?"

"For this. For making my birthday special even though we have to hide. For loving me despite everything."

You prop yourself up to look at him, trace the line of his jaw with your finger. "Thank you for making it worth it."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell everyone. Walk into the paddock holding your hand, take you on real dates, post about you on Instagram like a normal couple."

"I know," you sigh, settling back against his chest. "Me too. But…"

"But it would cause chaos," he finishes. "I know. Doesn't stop me from wanting it though."

You lift your head again, kissing him softly. "Maybe someday. But for now, I'm happy just having you like this. These moments are ours, just ours."

His arms tighten around you. "I love you," he says again, like he can't help himself. "More than racing, more than winning, more than-"

"Don't," you laugh, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say more than racing. We both know that's a lie."

He grins, rolling you under him again. "Maybe it's a tie?"

"I can live with that," you smile up at him, pulling him down for another kiss.

The world outside keeps turning - tomorrow there will be the official party, the public celebrations, the careful distance you'll have to maintain. But tonight, in this space that's become your sanctuary, you can just be Max and YN, two people in love, celebrating another year together.

Even if the rest of the world doesn't know it yet.

Monaco, 2021

You're curled into Max's side on your couch, some Netflix show playing in the background that neither of you is really watching. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm while you scroll through your phone, both enjoying the calm before tomorrow's storm - the start of a new season, new expectations, new pressure.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

He shrugs, but you can feel the slight tension in his shoulders. "Not nervous. Just… ready. The car feels good, testing went well."

"Mm," you press a kiss to his jaw. "Maybe this is your year."

"Maybe," but his smile is confident as he turns to capture your lips properly. "Though right now I'm more interested in-"

Your phone buzzes loudly, Lando's name flashing on the screen. You answer it without thinking.

"Hey Lan-"

"I'm outside your place!" his cheerful voice cuts through. "Charles and I brought wine and that awful reality show you love. Open up!"

Your heart stops. "What?"

"Come on, it's freezing out here! I can see your lights on."

You sit up straight, panic flooding your system. "Lando, I-"

"Don't even try to say you're busy. It's the night before the first race, I know you're just sitting there overthinking everything."

Max is already moving, gathering his shoes and jacket silently. Your eyes meet across the room, both knowing how catastrophic it would be if Lando found him here.

"Give me five minutes," you say into the phone, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm… I need to put clothes on."

"Gross, too much information," Lando laughs. "Five minutes!"

You hang up, heart racing. "Shit, shit, shit."

"It's fine," Max is surprisingly calm as he pulls on his shoes. "I'll go out through the back stairs."

"What if they see you?" You're already scanning the room for any evidence of him - his Red Bull cap on the coffee table, his phone charger by the couch.

"They won't." He grabs his things efficiently, muscle memory from two years of sneaking around kicking in. "I'll text you when I'm clear."

Another knock at the door makes you both freeze. "YN!" Charles's voice this time. "We can hear you moving around!"

Max pulls you in for a quick, hard kiss. "I love you. Don't worry."

"Be careful," you whisper against his lips.

He flashes that cocky grin you love. "Always am."

You watch him disappear through your bedroom toward the back stairwell, then take a deep breath, running your hands through your hair to mess it up slightly - making your "just got out of bed" excuse more believable.

When you open the door, Lando immediately pushes past you with wine bottles clinking. "Finally! What were you really doing?"

"Told you, getting dressed." You accept Charles' hello kiss on the cheek, praying your face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Your shirt's inside out," Charles points out, smirking.

You look down - shit, he's right. You'd thrown it on hastily after… earlier activities. "I was sleeping," you say quickly. "You guys interrupted my pre-race nap routine."

"At 9 PM?" Lando's already making himself at home on your couch - right where Max was sitting minutes ago. "Sure, sure."

Your phone buzzes with a text: "All clear. They didn't see me. Missing you already x"

Relief floods through you as Charles pours wine and Lando queues up the show. You settle into the evening, letting their familiar banter wash over you, trying to act normal even as your skin still tingles from Max's touch.

"You seem different lately," Charles observes suddenly, studying your face. "Happier."

"Just excited for the new season," you deflect smoothly, a skill you've perfected over the past year.

"Mm," he doesn't look entirely convinced. "No secret boyfriend we should know about?"

You laugh, the sound only slightly strained. "Right, because that worked out so well last time."

"Last time was Max," Lando points out. "Thank god you're both over that whole thing."

If only they knew. But you just smile and take a sip of wine, letting them move on to discussing tomorrow's race.

As the evening progresses, the wine flows and the reality show plays in the background. You're carefully avoiding any topics that might make Charles or Lando suspicious, laughing a bit too loudly at their jokes.

Lando, ever restless, decides to raid your kitchen for snacks. "Where do you keep the good stuff?" he calls out, opening cupboards.

Your heart immediately races. You know exactly what might be lurking in those cupboards - Max's favorite energy drink, a Red Bull can he'd left behind last time he was here. You stand up quickly, "I'll get it for you-"

But Lando's already moving, pulling open the refrigerator door. "Found it!" he announces, then pauses. His hand emerges holding a Red Bull can, but something else catches his eye. A water bottle with a distinctive Red Bull Racing team logo sits next to it.

"Huh," Charles looks over. "Isn't this Max's water bottle?"

You feel the blood drain from your face. "Oh, um-" Your mind races, searching for an explanation. "I... must have picked it up from somewhere. You know how these things get mixed up."

Lando turns, one eyebrow raised. The playful smile slowly morphs into something more knowing. "Mixed up, huh?"

Charles is watching you now, that sharp observant look that made him such a good racing driver now focused entirely on you.

"Yeah, I must've picked it up by accident, didn't even realize."

Lando shrugs and cracks open a packet of chips, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. But Charles continues to study you with that piercing gaze that makes you want to squirm.

Keeping this a secret is becoming harder and harder.

Silverstone, 2021

The English countryside blurs past your window as Max takes another curve, maybe a bit faster than necessary. It's nearly midnight, and you should both be resting before tomorrow's race, but these night drives have become your thing - the only time you can be truly alone during race weekends, truly free.

"You're showing off," you accuse, but you're smiling.

"Me? Never." He takes his eyes off the road for a second to grin at you, his hand finding yours across the console.

The radio plays softly in the background, some British pop song you don't know. The summer air rushing through the open windows carries the scent of grass and freedom. It feels perfect. Until it isn't.

It happens so fast - a deer appears out of nowhere, Max swerves to avoid it, but the road is narrow and dark. The tires lose grip on loose gravel, and suddenly you're spinning, the world turning into a kaleidoscope of shadows and panic.

The impact when it comes is brutal. Metal crunches, glass shatters, and everything goes still.

"YN?" Max's voice is tight with fear. "Baby, are you okay?"

You do a quick mental check. Everything hurts, but nothing seems broken. "I'm okay. You?"

"Fine." He's already trying to open his door, but it's jammed. The front of the car is wrapped around a tree, steam hissing from the hood. "Fuck. Fuck!"

Your phone is somewhere on the floor. When you retrieve it, the screen is cracked but working. "We need help."

"We can't call emergency services," Max says immediately. "It'll be all over the news in minutes."

He's right. You can already see the headlines: "Verstappen in Late Night Crash with Mercedes Boss's Daughter."

"Christian?" you suggest.

"He'll kill me. We have a race tomorrow." Max runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "We need someone who can be discreet, who has the resources to handle this quietly, who-"

You both realize it at the same time.

"No," Max says.

"He's the only one who can help us without this becoming a scandal."

"YN, he's the last person-"

"Max." You reach for his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He knows you're right. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

Your hands shake slightly as you dial Lewis's number. It rings three times before he answers, voice groggy with sleep.

"Little Wolff? It's midnight, what-"

"Lewis, I need your help. And I need you to not ask questions."

There's a pause, then rustling as he presumably sits up. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, but… we're stuck. Had an accident on the back roads near Silverstone. We need help getting the car towed without anyone finding out."

There's a pause. "We?"

You close your eyes. "I'm with Max."

The silence that follows is deafening. "Send me your location. Don't move. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, headlights appear eighteen minutes later. Lewis steps out of his car, taking in the scene - the wrecked vehicle, you and Max standing by the roadside, the unspoken truth of why you were together at this hour.

"Are you both alright?" He asks first, concern overriding any other emotions.

"Just bruised," you answer. "The car took the worst of it."

He nods, already on his phone. "Angela's on her way with a tow truck. She'll be discreet."

Max steps forward. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't." Lewis holds up a hand. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her." He looks at you, something sad in his expression. "How long?"

"Since last year."

He lets out a low whistle. "Well, that explains a few things."

The wait for Angela is tense. Lewis keeps his distance, occasionally speaking quietly into his phone. Max doesn't let go of your hand, thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

When Angela arrives with the tow truck, she doesn't bat an eye at the situation. The car is loaded efficiently, and arrangements are made to have it repaired at a private garage Lewis trusts.

"I'll drive YN home," Lewis says, and it's not really a question.

Max tenses beside you, but you squeeze his hand. "It's safer this way," you whisper. "Less suspicious if anyone sees us."

He knows you're right, again. "Text me when you're home?"

"Promise."

The drive with Lewis is quiet at first. Then the storm pours down.

"Of all the stupid, reckless things," he mutters, running a hand over his face. "A year? You've been sneaking around with him for a year? Again?"

"Lewis-"

"No." He turns to face you, anger and worry warring in his expression. "Do you have any idea what could happen if this gets out? What your father would-"

"I don't care!" The words burst out louder than intended, making your head throb. "I don't care what anyone thinks anymore."

"Well, you should!" Lewis's voice rises to match yours. "This isn't some game, YN. This is your life, your career, your family-"

"You think I don't know that?" You bite back. "You think we haven't spent the last year terrified of exactly that? Hiding everything, sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

"Then why?" He throws his hands up in frustration. "Why risk everything for him?"

"Because I love him!" The words echo in the car. You lower your voice, tears threatening to fall. "I love him, Lewis. And he loves me. Isn't that enough?"

Lewis' expression softens slightly, but the worry remains. "Love isn't always enough, YN. Not in this world. Not with everything at stake."

"It has to be," you whisper. "Because I can't do this anymore - pretending I don't feel what I feel, acting like my heart doesn't race every time he walks into a room. I'm tired of hiding."

"He's not good for you," Lewis says quietly. "You remember how broken you were after-"

"He was nineteen," you cut him off. "We were both kids, both scared. Things are different now."

"Are they?" his voice is gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still sneaking around in the middle of the night, still hiding from everyone. That doesn't sound different to me."

You sink back into your seat, suddenly exhausted. "I'm not asking for your approval, Lewis. I'm just asking for you to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Because getting into a car accident at 2 AM doesn't exactly scream good decision-making."

"That wasn't-" you start to defend, but he holds up a hand.

"You shouldn't have been out there in the first place. These secret meetings, these late-night drives… it's not sustainable, YN."

"I know," you admit quietly. "We know. We've been talking about telling people, about doing this properly."

Lewis studies your face for a long moment. "And what happens when the media finds out? When your father finds out? When the pressure becomes too much and he runs again?"

"He won't." Your voice is firm despite your injuries. "He's not that scared kid anymore, Lewis. He knows what he wants now."

"And what is that?"

"Me." You meet Lewis's gaze steadily. "He wants me. All of me, no matter what it costs. And I want him."

Lewis sighs deeply, rubbing his temples. "I can't support this, YN. I've watched him hurt you too many times."

"I know," you say softly. "And I love you for wanting to protect me. But I'm not asking for your support. I'm just asking you not to make this harder than it already is, I know you're worried. But please… please don't tell anyone. Not yet. Let us do this our way."

He doesn't respond, just pulls up the car outside your hotel and unlocks it so you can get out.

Silverstone, 2021. Race day

Your hands are still shaking slightly as you make your way through the paddock. Last night's crash left more than just physical bruises - the tension with Lewis, the close call, the reality of how fragile your secret is, it all weighs heavily.

The Mercedes garage is already buzzing with pre-race energy when you spot Lewis by his car, going through data with Peter. You wait until he's alone before approaching.

"Lewis," you say softly. "Can we talk?"

He glances around before responding, voice low. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. What you did last night-"

"Was a mistake," he cuts you off, finally turning to face you. "I should have called emergency services, protocol be damned."

"You know why we couldn't-"

"No, YN. You couldn't because you're sneaking around like teenagers. Do you have any idea what could have happened? If that tree had been a few inches to the left-"

"But it wasn't," you interrupt. "We're fine."

"Fine?" He scoffs. "You're both bruised, his car is wrecked, and I'm now complicit in your little romance."

"It's not a little romance-"

"Then what is it?" His voice rises slightly before he checks himself. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the same pattern as before. You, him, secrets, lies."

"I told you last night - I love him."

"Love?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Love doesn't hide, YN. Love doesn't put people in dangerous situations. Love doesn't-"

"Don't." Your voice cracks. "Don't pretend you understand what we're dealing with."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You're playing girlfriend with my biggest rival while there's a championship at stake. You're risking everything - your reputation, your father's position, the team's integrity-"

"This isn't a game to me!" The words come out sharper than intended. A few mechanics glance your way, and you lower your voice. "This isn't about the championship or the team. This is about me and him."

"Nothing in this paddock is ever just about two people," Lewis says coldly. "You of all people should know that."

Before you can respond, Bono approaches. "Lewis, strategy meeting."

"I need to focus," Lewis tells you, his expression hardening. "I suggest you figure out where your loyalties lie before someone gets really hurt."

He walks away, leaving you standing there with a hollow feeling in your chest. Angela catches your eye, her expression sympathetic, and you wonder how much she knows.

The pre-race preparations pass in a blur. You go through the motions, smile when appropriate, but your mind keeps drifting to Max. You haven't seen him since Lewis dropped you off last night - you both agreed it was safer to stay apart until the race.

Then you're in the garage, watching the formation lap. Your father stands beside you, discussing something with the engineers, but their words sound distant.

Lap one. Copse Corner.

The contact happens so fast - Lewis's Mercedes alongside Max's Red Bull. The touch of wheels. Then Max's car is airborne, spinning, crashing into the barriers with devastating force.

The garage erupts in chaos. Screens show the replay from every angle. Your father is immediately in discussion with the stewards.

You can't breathe. Can't move. Your eyes are fixed on the smoking wreck of Max's car, willing him to move, to get out, to be okay.

"Racing incident," Toto argues. "Lewis had the line-"

Their voices fade to background noise as you watch the medical team reach the car. Your phone feels heavy in your pocket, but you can't check it - not here, not with everyone watching.

"YN," Angela touches your arm gently. "You look pale. Maybe some water?"

You follow her away from the garage, grateful for the excuse. As soon as you're out of sight, your composure breaks.

"I don't know if he's okay," you whisper, hands shaking. "I can't- I can't check my phone, I can't ask anyone, I can't-"

"Breathe," Angela steadies you. "Just breathe."

"I should be there. I should be with him. After last night, after everything-"

"I won't say anything," she promises quickly. "But YN... this is bigger than just keeping a secret now."

"I know," you admit. "God, I know. But I can't- I can't even ask if he's okay without raising suspicions."

The race continues. Lewis gets a ten-second penalty but fights back to win. The garage celebrates, and you have to join in, have to smile and cheer while your heart is somewhere else entirely.

Hours pass with no news. Social media is full of speculation, but nothing concrete. You catch snippets of conversation - "hospital for checks" and "conscious but shaken" - but nothing official.

It's torture, pretending everything is normal. Pretending you're just concerned in a general, professional way. Pretending last night never happened, that you don't still have bruises from a different crash, that your world isn't falling apart all over again.

Finally, after what feels like years, you manage to slip away to the Red Bull motorhome.

The motorhome is quiet when you enter. GP looks up from his laptop, surprise crossing his features.

"YN? You shouldn't-"

"Please," your voice breaks. "Please, I need to see him."

GP studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "Last door on the right. But be careful - he's pretty beaten up."

You find Max lying on the small bed, eyes closed but breathing steady. The room smells of medical cream and defeat.

"Max?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

His eyes open immediately, finding yours in the dim light. Despite everything, his lips curve into a small smile.

"Two crashes in twenty-four hours," he mumbles. "Must be some kind of record."

"Don't," tears spill over finally. "Don't joke. Not now."

"Come here," he tries to move over but winces.

"Careful," you rush to his side, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. "How bad is it?"

"Everything hurts," he admits. "But nothing's broken. Well, except my championship lead."

"I was so scared," your voice breaks. "When I saw the crash, and then I couldn't- I couldn't even ask if you were okay. I had to stand there and pretend like I wasn't terrified."

"Hey," he reaches for your hand, wincing at the movement. "I'm okay. Well, relatively speaking."

"This is my fault," you whisper. "If I hadn't called Lewis last night-"

"Stop," he squeezes your hand. "This had nothing to do with last night."

"Didn't it? He was so angry this morning, about us, about having to help us-"

"Lewis and I race hard regardless of personal feelings," Max says firmly. "What happened today was racing. Stupid, dangerous racing, but still racing."

You study his face in the dim light, cataloging every bruise, every sign of pain he's trying to hide, "Max, don't you think it's time?"

"Time?"

"To tell people. About us." The words rush out now that you've started. "I can't keep doing this - watching you race and pretending I don't care, hiding how I feel, lying to everyone we know. Today made me realize… if something had happened to you, really happened…"

He's quiet for a long moment, thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "What about your father?"

"I don't care anymore. Well, I do care, but… not more than I care about you. About us." You meet his eyes. "When the season's over. Before next year starts. We tell everyone."

"You're sure?"

"Are you?"

He pulls you closer, carefully, until you're lying beside him. "I'm sure if you are."

"Even with the championship? The media circus it'll cause?"

"Especially then." He kisses your forehead. "Today… when I hit that barrier, all I could think about was you. Not the championship, not the points, just… you. And how much time we've wasted hiding."

You curl into his side, mindful of his bruises. "So we're agreed? After Abu Dhabi, whatever happens with the championship…"

"We tell everyone." He lifts your chin to kiss you properly. "No more hiding."

"Promise?" You need to hear him say it.

"Promise," he pulls you closer, careful of both your injuries. "Besides, after last night's adventure and today's crash, I think we've filled our drama quota for a while."

You stay there, tangled together in the quiet darkness, both battered from different crashes but somehow still whole.

"I should go," you whisper eventually. "Before someone comes looking."

"One of the last times we'll have to say that," he reminds you.

"Promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"No more late-night drives for a while?"

He laughs, then grimaces in pain. "Deal. Although technically, both crashes were Lewis' fault."

"Max..."

"Kidding," he kisses your forehead softly. "Kind of."

You stand carefully, already missing his warmth. "Text me when you're feeling better?"

"Text me when you're home safe," he counters.

At the door, you turn back one last time. He's watching you with those eyes that made you fall in love twice - once when you were too young to know better, and again when you were old enough to know exactly what you were risking.

"Max?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. Even when I have to pretend I don't."

His smile, despite the pain, lights up the dark room. "I love you too. Even when Lewis Hamilton tries to kill me. Twice in twenty-four hours."

You shake your head, but you're smiling as you slip out into the night. A few more months of hiding, of pretending, of careful distances and secret meetings. Then everything changes.

You just hope you're both ready for whatever comes next.

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The final showdown. Equal points, one race to decide it all.

The morning of the race, you slip into the Red Bull garage before sunrise. Max is already there, going through his pre-race routine, but his face softens when he sees you.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, pulling you into his arms.

"Not really," you nestle into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent. "Too much going on in my head."

"Talk to me."

You pull back slightly to look at him. "I'm nervous. For you, for the race, for what comes after…"

"Hey," he cups your face gently. "Whatever happens today, we're in this together. Remember?"

"I know," you try to smile. "It's just… everything's going to change after today."

"Good changes," he kisses your forehead. "No more hiding, remember?"

You've had this conversation countless times over the past months, planning how you'll handle the revelation of your relationship. Your father still doesn't know, though you suspect he's noticed something's different.

"I brought you something," you reach into your pocket and pull out a small charm - a tiny silver racing car. "For luck."

Max takes it, turning it over in his hands with a soft smile. "You're my luck."

"That was incredibly cheesy," you laugh, but your heart swells.

"You love it," he pulls you closer, kissing you properly this time. "And you love me."

"I do," you whisper against his lips. "So much it scares me sometimes."

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, before reality intrudes again.

"I should go," you sigh. "There's something else I need to do before the race."

Max knows without asking. "Lewis?"

"Yeah," you bite your lip. "I can't let things end like this between us."

"Go," he squeezes your hand. "Just come back to me after?"

"Always."

Finding Lewis proves harder. He's been avoiding you since Silverstone, your relationship reduced to professional nods and carefully maintained distance. But you finally spot him in the Mercedes garage, alone with his thoughts.

"Lewis?" your voice is hesitant.

He tenses but doesn't turn around. "YN."

"I know you probably don't want to talk to me-"

"Then why are you here?"

You take a deep breath. "Because you're my brother, Lewis. Not by blood, but by choice. And I can't stand how things are between us."

He finally turns, and the pain in his eyes matches your own. "You chose him."

"I chose love," you step closer. "That doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."

"You could have told me," his voice cracks slightly. "Before Silverstone, before any of it. I thought we told each other everything."

"I was scared," you admit. "Scared of exactly this - losing you, losing my family, losing everything I've known."

"So instead you just lied? Snuck around?"

"I know it was wrong," tears prick at your eyes. "And I'm so sorry, Lewis. Not for loving him, but for hurting you. For breaking your trust."

He's quiet for a long moment, studying your face. "Does he make you happy? Really happy?"

"Yes," you whisper. "More than I ever thought possible."

Lewis sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "Come here, little sister."

You practically fall into his arms, tears flowing freely now. He holds you tight, like when you were kids and he would protect you from everything.

"I'm still mad at you," he mumbles into your hair.

"I know."

"And I still think you're crazy."

"Probably."

"But," he pulls back to look at you, "I love you. And I miss you. And if he ever hurts you, I'll end his career so fast-"

You laugh through your tears. "There's my overprotective brother."

"Someone has to look out for you," he wipes your cheeks gently. "Even if you make it incredibly difficult."

"I'm sorry," you say again. "For everything."

"I know," he kisses your forehead. "We'll figure it out. After today."

"About that…" you hesitate. "We're planning to go public. After the race."

Lewis nods slowly. "I figured something like that was coming. The way you look at each other isn't exactly subtle."

"You noticed?"

"YN, everyone with eyes has noticed. They're just too scared of your father to mention it."

You both laugh, and for a moment it feels like before - easy, comfortable, safe.

"Lewis?" you grab his hand. "Whatever happens today… I'm proud of you. Always have been, always will be."

He squeezes your hand. "Right back at you, little Wolff. Even if you have terrible taste in men."

"Hey!"

"I'm just saying, there are other drivers-"

"Goodbye, Lewis," you start walking away, but you're smiling.

"YN?" he calls after you. "For what it's worth… he better know how lucky he is."

An hour later, you're standing in the Mercedes garage, heart in your throat, watching the screens as though your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Six years of loving Max in secret, two years of running away from it all, and now here you are - watching the man you love fight your father's driver for the championship in the most intense finale you've ever witnessed.

When Nicholas Latifi crashes, everything changes. The safety car comes out, and suddenly the garage erupts with activity. Your father's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and authoritative as he argues with race control. You've never seen him like this - the usual composed Toto Wolff replaced by someone desperately fighting against what feels like destiny shifting.

"No, no, no, Michael, that is so not right!" Your father's voice booms through the garage as the lapped cars are allowed through. You flinch at the fury in his tone, at the way he slams his headset down.

The final lap is unbearable. You watch Lewis getting hunted down by Max on fresh tires. Your nails dig into your palms, torn between family loyalty and the love you've kept hidden for so long.

When Max makes the pass, when he crosses the line as World Champion, the Mercedes garage falls silent. The contrast between the Red Bull celebrations on screen and the devastation around you is stark.

Your father looks destroyed, a mixture of anger and disbelief on his face. But it's Lewis who breaks your heart - the way he sits in his car, processing what just happened, the dignity with which he eventually emerges to congratulate Max.

You find Lewis in the drivers room a few hours later, away from the cameras. His eyes are red, his shoulders slumped in a way you've never seen before.

"Lew," your voice breaks.

He looks up, and suddenly you're both crying. You wrap your arms around him as he breaks down.

"It wasn't supposed to end like this," he whispers.

"I know," you hold him tighter. "I know."

You stay with him, through the protests, through the appeals, through the obligatory congratulations he has to give. You stay because he's family, because he needs you, because some things are more important than celebration.

Through it all, you catch glimpses of Max - being crowned champion, celebrating with his team, searching the crowd with eyes that keep finding you. But you stay where you're needed most.

Hours pass before you make it to Max's hotel. The celebrations are still going on somewhere, but he's in his room when you arrive, pacing like a caged animal.

"Where were you?" he demands as soon as you enter.

"I was with Lewis."

His face darkens. "Of course you were. Consoling the Mercedes garage while I won my first championship."

"Max, don't."

"Don't what? Don't be upset that my girlfriend wasn't there to celebrate with me? That she was too busy comforting the opposition?"

"That 'opposition' is my family!" Your voice rises to match his. "Lewis is like my brother, my father is devastated-"

"Your father?" He laughs bitterly. "The same father you've been lying to for years? The one we're supposedly telling about us after this race?"

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"When else am I supposed to do it? When you're ready? Because I've been waiting for you to be ready since 2015!"

The words hit like physical blows. "That's not fair. You know why I left in 2018, the way you cut me off like I was nothing, it tore me apart."

"Yeah, because it got too hard. Because loving me was too complicated." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And now here we are again. I just won the World Championship, and where were you? With them."

"They're my family!"

"And what am I?" He steps closer, eyes intense. "What are we, YN? Because right now it feels like I'm still your dirty little secret."

"That's not-"

"Then prove it. Let's go tell Toto right now. Let's end this charade."

"Today? After everything that happened? Are you insane?"

"Why not today? When will it be convenient enough for you? When will loving me not conflict with your perfect Mercedes family?"

Tears are falling freely now. "You're being cruel."

"No, I'm being honest. Finally." He sits heavily on the bed. "I love you. I've loved you through everything - through you leaving, through you coming back, through all the hiding and sneaking around. But I can't do this anymore."

Your heart stops. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want all of you. Not just the parts that are convenient, not just the stolen moments between races. I want to celebrate with you when I win, hold you when I crash, build a life with you in the open." He looks at you, and you see the tears in his eyes too. "But I don't think you want that. Not really. Not enough to risk everything else."

"Max…"

"Go home, YN. Go console your father. Go be the perfect Mercedes daughter." His voice breaks slightly. "Just… don't come back unless you're ready to choose me. All of me. The rival, the champion, everything."

You stand there, frozen, both of you crying. Everything you've built, every secret moment, every whispered promise, feels like it's crumbling around you.

"I love you," you whisper.

"I know." He doesn't look at you. "That's never been our problem."

As you stand in the doorway of Max's hotel room, the weight of seven years of love, secrets, and choices bears down on your shoulders. The championship trophy gleams on the table behind him, a symbol of everything he's achieved and everything that's torn you apart.

[nanamiskentos]

❛ lousy liquor, loose lips ── 𝓖𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

✶ 𝓬𝔀 ｡⠀五条悟 ㅤ&ㅤsfw ㅤ( 660 ) gojo is drunk and very much in love w/ you

"you're really so lucky that i like you," you're huffing, tightening your grip around gojo's firm waist, letting him sway against you as he's practically one drink away from belting out sea shanties in the quiet streets of tokyo, "i should have left you on the side of the road." the idiot's still half-laughing, half-stumbling down the empty corridor.

but now he's leaning heavier against you, a beefy arm draped lazily around your shoulders, and the scent of sake has mingled with his expensive cologne, "you like me?" echoing, but you can hear the teasing tone in his slurs.

"that's what you took from my words?" you adjust your hold, cursing under your breath, "you're six-foot-something of dead weight right now. focus on walking."

"not a fan," gojo grins, head lolling towards you so soft strands of white hair brush your cheek in soft, petal-light kisses. his blindfold is shoved up onto his forehead, exposing glassy, flushed skin and hazy blue eyes, "i can teleport, y'know. being the strongest and all that shit."

you yank his staff uniform collar, hard. pulling gojo back from running towards a stray cat and making ridiculous baby noises, rolling your eyes, "then, pray tell, why aren't you using it?"

"because," gojo stops walking entirely, making you stumble with the sudden halt, "i wanted to spend more time with you." gojo, being the grown man he is, has the audacity to top off his little sentence with a giggle and a teehee.

but you're doing your best to drown the frozen block of ice leaping into your throat. gojo's drunk, so very drunk and off his rocket, but you're not an idiot and you definitely don't miss the uncharacteristic softness painting his creamy cheeks awash in a pretty, berry shade of watercolour.

"satoru...," you're warning, doing your best to not buckle under the weight of the strongest sorcerer alive as he patters up the stairs.

but gojo's just smiling, slower this time, and more genuine, "you never call me that."

"because it makes you smug." you're reaching into his pockets, practically wrapped up against him as you fumble for his apartment keys. and he just lets you.

"i like it when you say my name," gojo's leaning in, forehead nearly pressed against yours, close enough that you can feel small puffs of hot air against your burning skin, "i like a lot of things 'bout you."

what a dangerous dilemma. drunk gojo was charming in a messy, unguarded way that left you defenceless, with a pounding, traitorous heart.

"you're going to regret saying all this tomorrow," you mutter, but your hands don't quite loosen up on him. yeah, you know that you like holding gojo satoru in your arms.

"or..." gojo's gentle grin widens, ocean-blue eyes wide as they search yours, "maybe i'll regret not saying all this sooner."

gojo's hand, so very calloused from battle wounds and bruises, are practically tracing hearts around your face. warm skin. brushing your cheek, thumb ghosting over your lower lip like he's going to kiss you.

and you want him to kiss you. so, rationally, what do you do next?

"well, yippee!" you yelp, pushing gojo's apartment door open so you can shove the ridiculously tall man in, "time for you to hit the hay, pal! talk to ya' tomorrow."

waving him off, ignoring his whines and whimpers as he's muttering to himself, tearing his blindfold off and chucking it on the pricey leather couch.

you just close the door abruptly in his face, gnawing at your inner cheek when you hear a sweet, crisp call from the other side of the wood, "i love you!" followed by a thump, most likely the sound of a grown, adult man crashing out on his couch — ready for a nasty hangover tomorrow morning.

[maneskinwh0re]

sevika x brothelfemme!reader — “not your job”

cw: [n]sfw, dom!sevika, soft!sevika, mostly fluff :3

summary: thinking about having a long-term brothel contract with sevika. at the end of a particular booking when she has already made you cum like 3 times, she forgot to leave time for aftercare (actually forgot she was on a time limit, just lost inside you). so when she starts to apologize and frantically clean you up, you just kick her out SKDHAHDJA fic plot begins right afterwards…

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

“come on, i’ll walk you out,” you say as you smooth out your dampened lingerie and throw on a matching robe, shielding your figure from the cold as well as your client’s wandering grey eyes.

“that’s not in your job description,” sevika counters as she zips up the fly of her cargos. you step closer to button her pants as well as buckle her thick belt, a sentiment that means more to her than you know.

whenever sevika asks, you always imply that helping her get dressed is a favor in your contract (you both know it’s not) and then your defense is usually followed by a teasing remark about her missing left arm. in reality, you use the closeness as an excuse to continue the intimacy after sex, a further connection between you two, but the secret remains unspoken.

“you’re right, it’s not in my job description. and neither is changing the sheets, but looks like i’m doing that too since i’m too embarrassed to let poor harley do it.”

“isn’t that their job anyway?”

“can you just quit arguing with me and get your ass out?” you bicker with a laugh, knowing sevika is just stalling at this point.

“thought y’ liked my ass,” she smiles smugly and tilts her head as she looks down to you, her flesh hand teasingly trailing up your curves.

you were gonna really make her feel like shit about not leaving time for aftercare, you just like to rub it in. the two of you know it’s all jokes, and have had a bounded contract for a while now. sevika isn’t a regular for anyone else, and you’ve recently stopped seeing any other clients…

“ha ha. i like it when it’s obedient,” you purr with a giggle, giving her behind a soft swat. “let’s go— the laundry room ‘s at the end of the hall anyway.”

“hmph, alright fine,” she agrees with a pout that is so cute, it almost makes you forget about her dominant nature that made you scream and beg mere minutes ago… almost.

when you get to the door, your trusted head of security opens it for sevika, and only when her flesh hand leaves its place on your lower back did you realize the warmth that was there as you walked the dimly lit hallway. it’s the little things that keep you both so connected, even if you don’t think to control them consciously.

you lean against the doorway, one hand on your hip as you smile up at her. when she leans in for a goodbye kiss, you turn your head away.

“ah ah, y’ know you gotta pay for that,” you say with a smirk.

“i think i just did,” she replies with a quirked brow, a prideful smile revealing the little gap between her two front teeth.

you only stare at each other, a silent competition to see who yields first to give in for a kiss.

“i’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally break the silence with a sly smile and turn away to resume your shift.

“but i’m not booked for tomorrow…?” sevika thinks aloud, her eyebrows furrowing together as if her statement is a question.

you look back to her, your tongue running along the inside of your cheek and huffing as if trying to stifle a laugh. sevika staying away from you? yeah, right. like a moth to a flame.

“i will see you tomorrow, sevika.” you look up at her tall figure and place a hand on her chest to push her out the door.

in a quick motion, sevika shoves your hand to the side and pulls you in by the waist for a deep kiss. you reciprocate immediately— because how could you not? your hands grip her short hair and you feel the coldness of her labret piercing against your bottom lip. you can taste your earlier release on her tongue, recalling the lewd thoughts of when she-

“ahem.” the security guard’s lower pitched voice brings you back to the moment.

gasping for air, you push sevika off and wobbly move clear of the doorway. “alright, get outta here. before i call security.”

“oh, will you? i’m real scared,” she jokes, taking loopy, post-sex drunken steps down the stairs.

“i could kick your ass, sevika!” callum shouts into the cold night, then slams the heavy door shut before your patron could reply. you internally relish the sound of sevika’s deep laugh fading out on the other side of the metal entryway, indicating she’s finally walking home.

“thanks, cal,” you chuckle as you readjust your laced bralette.

“why don’t y’all do all ‘at off the clock?” callum turns to you, his tone is still light but with a tint of seriousness.

“what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean. that stupid smile will stick to your face the rest of y’r shift, hon. and it’s only ever there after your sevika is.”

you scold your coworker, waving him away before he notices your flushed expression. “oh my- s-shut the fuck up!”

‘your sevika’

…you could get used to the sound of that.

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

alexa play casual by chappell roan !

a/n: had the plot idea a few weeks ago, dropping this fluff and running back to hibernate bc kinda been going through it lately lol BUT WE DOING BETTER NOW TEAM DW found some inspo to write :3

harley and callum are two oc’s i might add to an ongoing fic bc i actually ended up kinda liking this :)

- 🐝

taglist: @audr3yyyyy @mirconreadzztuff22 @wizard-pdf @archangeldyke-all @nhaaauyen @inthebrainofalamb <3

[evie-sturns]

begging - Chris Sturniolo

summary: when chris gets home after filming, he is the most desperate youve ever seen him, he is literally a horny, clingy, wreck. after a lot of begging you finally give him exactly what he needs.

contains: sub!chris, smut, needy!chris, teasing, overstimulation, fluff.

-----------------------------♡----------------------------

6:14pm

i lay down on the couch in my pink pyjama set, curled up as i scroll through my phone. suddenly my head perks up as i hear the door unlock.

chris walks through the door, throwing his bag down and slipping off his shoes.

"hi chris!" i call out from the living room,

chris lets out a small whine in response, instantly dragging his feet over to the couch. i smile up at him as i open my arms, chris instantly flops down.

he lands ontop of me with a small grunt, instantly cuddling into me. he rests his head on my neck.

"you tired?" i whisper softly,

chris shakes his head, "no..." my eyebrows furrow as i run my nails up and down his back.

"do you feel sick?" i ask, his head shakes again.

"whats up with you then?' i mumble,

chris shakes his head, refusing to anwser.

i stay silent for a few moments, waiting for him to respond.

"can you touch me..?" chris whispers, pulling his head away from the crook of my neck to look into my eyes.

"so thats what this is about yeah?" i giggle,

his cheeks flush but he doesn't stop, "please- 'm so horny." his tone is somewhat desperate, a small whine in his voice.

"im tired chris, not today." i whisper, still rubbing his back.

"but- please, i've- i've been needy all day for you 'n i wasnt home at all today- please." he rambles, staring into my eyes with half lidded eyes.

"chris baby, i told you that im tired, maybe tomorrow yeah?" i mutter,

chris lets out a high pitched whine, clutching onto my shirt with balled up fists.

"i can't wait- please i just need you so bad ma, please, seriously." he babbles on, his grip on my pyjama shirt getting tighter.

i let out a small laugh, but he instantly cuts me off.

"stop! 's not funny!" he groans, burying his head in my chest.

i keep up my smirk,

"baby, just go upstairs and sort yourself out okay?" i speak softly, gently rolling him off of me.

"i cant- i wont be able to cum without you." he says, slightly panting now.

i stay silent, just staring at him.

i can't even deny the fact im getting more and more turned on by the second, looking at his completley flushed face, and the red tint spread across his cheeks from how embarrassed he is, looking just so pathetic begging for me like this.

i continue to just look at him, split between wanting to go to bed now and just giving him what he really, really wants.

chris burys his head back into my stomach.

"look at me." i whisper, he shakes his head.

i pull his head away from me, and grab his chin, tilting it up so he has to look at me.

he has teary, glassed over eyes.

a smirk tugs at my lips, almost in shock.

"are you about to cry?" i grin,

"no! im just! im so frustrated!" he grumbles.

"hey, fine, cmon." i whisper, standing up off the couch and grabbing his hand.

he stands up on shaky legs as i drag him to the bedroom, his eyes lighten immediately as he sees what is going on.

he suddenly has more of a spring in his step, and the tears in his eyes have gone.

i pull him into the bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed.

he looks up at me, staying silent and still.

“don’t get all shy on me now chris.” i speak, referencing his frozen figure and wide eyes.

“sorry.” he whispers, clutching the bedsheets.

“go on, take everything off f’me.” i tell him, folding my arms over his chest.

he nods frantically, instantly reaching down and fumbling with his belt buckle, throwing it across the room to the floor.

he unbuttons his jeans with shaky hands, sliding them down his legs before reaching for his shirt, which he throws off aswell.

he sits on the bed in his boxers, a sheepish expression on his face.

i can tell his cock is tucked into his waistband of his boxers, proving he’d been hard for a while.

“how long have you been hard.” i scoff, staring down at him,

he wipes a few strands of hair out of his eyes before speaking, “too long.” he mutters.

“let me take care of you, yeah? boxers off.” i tell him,

he tugs down his boxers and his erection springs out, his tip tapping his stomach, smearing his precum against the pale skin.

his tip is raw and red, it almost looks borderline painful.

i crawl onto the bed between his legs, resting my head on his thigh.

his dick sits straight up right by my face,

chris stares down at me, his eyelids heavy and lips a dark pink.

his loose hairs stick to his forehead as he lets out shallow breaths.

“please.” he mutters under his breath, his hips bucking up and his dick brushing my cheek.

i shake my head, placing a firm hand on his lower belly to hold him down to the bed.

“no, no squirming.” i mumble,

“i need it so bad- please- i’m so sore.” his voice cracks,

i grin slightly at his plea,

“please!” he raises his voice, his tone high pitched,

“please what..?” i decide to tease him a little bit more.

“please- please touch me, please- i’ll do anything baby.” he pants,

“finee.” i whisper, dragging my nails up and down his thighs,

i finally wrap my fingers around his stiff cock, i can feel his throbbing in my hand.

“i want your mouth- i need your lips.” he breathes,

“good boy, telling me what you want.” i grin,

i pump him a few times, my fist clenched tight around his length.

i drag my thumb up the long vein which travels up his dick, eliciting a loud moan from him.

my lips part as i stick my tongue out, gently licking up the underside of his cock, from his base to his pink raw tip.

he lets out a cross between a sigh and a whimper, the pleasure getting to him.

i finally wrap my lips around his tip, his eyes roll back into his head as he arches his back off the bed.

“oohh my godd..” he breathes, a smile on his face as his jaw falls slack.

i swirl my tongue around his tip, gathering the salty precum in my mouth.

his hands travel up to my hair, his long fingers intertwining into the strands.

i gently take more of him down my throat, gagging as he hits the back of my throat

“fucking- so- good” he gasps out,

i pick up my pace, bobbing my head up and down on his cock,

chris squirms on the bed, his hands tightening in my hair as he lets out strings of curses.

“i’m gonna cum- i’m gonna cum- please i’m so close-“ he babbles,

after a few seconds i pull off of him, edging him completely.

he looks down at me with wide eyes, almost looking like he could burst into tears right there.

“that’s not fair- that’s not fair!” he pants,

he reaches down and grabbing his cock in his own hands.

i instantly pull his hands away, shaking my head.

“but- ‘s not fair!” he says with a loud whine.

i sit up, rubbing his cheek, “i know it’s not fair, but i wanna ride you yeah?”

his eyes light up somewhat, but he still looks pissed.

i peel off my tank top, following with my tiny pyjama shorts.

i sit naked infront of him, he throws his head back.

“it hurts- i’m so hard it hurts.” he whispers,

my nipples harden at his words, the dampness between my thighs getting more prominent.

i shift up and i straddle his waist,

his hands reach up and grab my waist, his fingers digging into the skin.

i sit fully bare on his waist, my arousal dripping onto his skin.

he lets out a trembling breath, staring up at me piercingly.

i sit up on my knees before shifting back,

i reach down and grab his length, positioning his tip right at my entrance.

his head throws back, his fingers digging painfully hard onto my skin,

after a few seconds, i finally sink down onto his tip,

chris lets out a pathetic whimper as his hands fly down to the matress, his hands balling up the sheets.

i sink further, and further down before bottoming out.

my stomach fills with a familiar warmth, i let out a shaky moan as my stomach feels heavy and warm.

“thank you- thank you- thank you so much oh my god-“ he whines, his legs shaking subtly.

i start to bounce on his length, the stretch burning, in such a good way.

chris seems to be enjoying it as much as i am, his eyes trained on my tits as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head.

“i lo- love you so much- god you feel incredible.” he rambles out, his voice croaky and cracking.

he hands fly up to my breasts, squeezing them as he moans loudly.

“i’m so close already- i need to cum-“ he whispers, his hands sinking into my tits.

i bite back a smile at how hard he’s gripping me, it’s almost painful but i decide to not comment on it, instead just grabbing his hands and moving them to my waist.

i clench around him, the warmth spreading through my abdomen as i feel myself get closer.

“please let me cum- i need to- please—“ he breathes,

he arches his back off the bed, his head tipping back

his brown locks fall over his face, also spreading against the matress.

he sinks his teeth stupidly hard into his bottom lip, so hard to the point i can see blood drawing.

i feel my chest tighten as pleasure overwhelms me, my cheeks burning and my legs aching from the effort.

a loud moan rips out of me as i clench around him again, tighter this time.

i feel my orgasm crash down on me, riding it out to the best of my ability before flopping down on his chest.

i feel chris follow right after me, spurts of white filling my insides.

the room goes partially silent, only filled with our panting from both of us.

i slowly pull off of him, my whole body feels like it’s on fire.

chris’s cum leaks out of me onto the bedsheets, but i can’t be asked to care about that right now.

“i love you.” he breaks the silence, wrapping his arms around my back and rolling us over so he’s ontop of me.

i mumble a vague, ‘love you too’ as i hold him ontop of me.

after several minutes of laying like this he finally breaks the silence.

“i don’t think you understand how good that felt..” he whispers,

i grin tiredly, with a small hum.

“why did you have to make me wait so long- i think that’s the worst pain i’ve been in all year.” he whispers,

“i liked watching you beg!” i giggle,

“shut up- shush.” he laughs, his face going red.

“you were all, ‘pleasee i’m so soree let me cummm’.” i tease him,

he clasps a hand over my mouth, “i hate you.” he grins.

-

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnn n @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow w @mattfangirl girl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @certifiednatelover er @solarsturniolo larsturniolo lo @mattsenthusiast t @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette e @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise @sturni0l0tripletzz @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @mattsonlybitch @justalittle47 @sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101saroona a @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 1 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall john @raysmayhem-72

[gurugirl]

The Babysitter | dad!harry x babysitter!reader

Based on this request (changed some things - hope you still like it anon!)

Summary: The cute babysitter Harry's wife hired has always tempted him, but now that his wife is away for the evening Harry might just give in.

Word Count: 2,011

Warning: smut, cheating, implied age gap (your call on how large), inappropriate relationship (both consenting adults)

|main masterlist|

. . .

Harry was so fucked.

He knew better. A married man on the brink of ruining it all just for a taste of his kid’s babysitter. Truly, outrageously fucked.

He arrived home that day, knowing he’d have the house to himself all night with his wife gone out of town for a work trip. Knowing the cute babysitter would still be there, all doe-eyed and shy smiles. She definitely had a crush on him and he couldn’t stop thinking about that.

All day at work he went back and forth with the idea of it. The whole ‘fuck around and find out’ thing was more compelling when he might be able to get away with it. But it wouldn’t be worth it, he told himself even though he continued imagining what she’d feel like underneath him.

His actions completely contradicted that sound internal advice.

Because when he saw Y/n all cuddled up on his couch, a sweater draped over her shoulders and her bare legs stretched out long he allowed himself to stare for a moment. He shouldn’t have been thinking what he was but he couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his cock. He was going straight to hell for the kind of thoughts that were running through his head right then.

She slowly blinked her eyes opened and sat up with a sweet smile, “Hi. How was work?”

God, the cute, bubbly personality on her, even after just waking up from a nap… She hadn’t been tainted by years of grueling workplace drama and a sad and lonely marriage like he had and he found it refreshing.

“Was good. Uh,” he scratched the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on hers, “Everything go all right today here?”

She nodded and moved her legs off the couch, feet hitting the floor as she nodded, “He’s the sweetest. It was a good day. He kept asking for mom so I think he’s upset that she wasn’t here this morning but I told him she’d be back tomorrow night. Fast asleep now.”

But there was something in the way she was looking at him. Like she was just waiting for him to pounce. Rounded eyes, with that shy smile as she bit the edge of her bottom lip. Like she knew what he was thinking, her own mind filled with the same filthy scenarios.

It was late. Harry always got home late on Thursdays. After dark. After his son was already asleep, and usually it was his wife greeting him.

She parted her lips as she let her gaze lower to just below the buckle on his pants and then back up to his eyes.

“Yeah. We’ll be okay without her for a night,” Harry swallowed thickly as he sat his briefcase down and moved deeper into the living room next to the couch where Y/n was still seated. “What about you?”

“What about me?” She raised her brows as she craned her head to look up at him.

“I mean… you alright too? Still seated like you’re tired. You can stay if you want.”

She blinked her eyes and then did it again, letting her pupils connect with the space at his crotch before quickly bringing them back upward to his face, “Oh… I can go. I’m sorry…”

Y/n stood up quickly but Harry caught her by her arm, “It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. Was really helpful having you stay late tonight.”

If she kept looking at him like that, those fuck-me eyes and plush parted lips, he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

“Oh. I’m glad. Was happy to help you out, Harry. I’d do it as often as you needed me to.”

He grinned and watched her moisten her soft lips when she poked her tongue out and looked up at him through her lashes. If she wasn’t begging for it he didn’t know what this was.

“You gonna stay?”

She nodded, still looking up at him as she tucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

In a moment of weakness, of sheer insanity, he raised his hand up to her face and thumbed at her bottom lip, “What’s going on, Y/n? You got something to tell me?”

She fluttered her lashes and leaned into his touch as she kept her pupils aimed right at him. But then her lips parted again and Harry found himself sliding the tip of his thumb between her lips before she wrapped her mouth around it and he felt her tongue gently lave against his pad.

Now he was the one with parted lips as he watched his kid’s babysitter suck his thumb into her mouth, eyes pinned to his still.

And before he knew it, he found himself fucked in the figurative and literal sense as he had her face down on his mattress with his cock nudged into her so deep she was keening and hissing at the bite of pain his fat length was causing.

“Shhh… be a good girl and keep quiet, yeah?”

“Mmmm!”

It was so good. It was so fucking good. He hadn’t been laid in a couple of months and the babysitter’s pussy was better than he imagined it would be. She was wet for him right away. When he got her very short shorts off her legs and buried his face between her soft thighs she was already so sensitive and dripping, wiggling and moaning like she was just as pent up as he’d been. Like she wanted it just as bad. She’d made a big mess of him and the sheets but he’d deal with clean up later.

Because when he finally pushed his throbbing dick inside of her welcoming pussy it was game over. He had her hips in both hands, tightly gripping the meat at her sides as he buried in over and over again, letting her juice coat every inch and wet his pubes with her fragrance. He watched as he stuffed her with his cock, her cute ass perked upward and she pushed back on every one of his thrusts. So pretty.

Everything was slick and gushy as he plowed into her guts, slapping his hips into her ass. He kept looking at the bedroom door (which was closed and locked) out of habit just in case, but now he was out of his mind as she trembled and drooled against the pillow his wife used.

He slowed his plunges and watched his shaft as he pulled out, “Fuck… got me all creamy, baby. Why don’t you flip over so I can see your pretty face?”

She was shaky as she dropped down to the bed, scooting herself to adjust and then spreading her thighs as he tucked right back inside of her, pelvis dipping against her own.

“Harry…” Y/n quietly breathed as she watched him. He was so thick and long, just like she knew he’d be. She never thought he’d ever step out on his wife but here he was, with his big cock driving into her, making her squelch and stretch wide for him. She almost couldn’t believe it was happening.

Harry groped at her tit, still on his knees as he steadied himself, his thighs working in, “Oh sweet girl…” he panted, quads and glutes flexing with every motion. He picked up her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth, kissing as he pumped himself through her walls and then dragging his lips down to her palm and then wrist.

“Oh my god…” she whined before draping her arm over her mouth to keep her volume down.

“Who knew you were so filthy? Look at you letting a married man fuck your brains out.”

A muffled moan sounded from her throat as she felt him jerk into her harder, the coarse hair at the base of his dick scratched at her clit before he began to grind his hips against her, adding friction like he knew that was what she was searching for with her hips rising to meet him with every thrust.

“But look at how lucky I am. So pretty… Hot little pussy, fuckin’ drenched, baby. How long were thinking about this, hmm?”

Harry did feel lucky too. Y/n was a hot little thing that he’d had some pretty dirty thoughts about since they first hired her. It was his wife’s choice. Y/n was in her senior year of university with long smooth legs and an adorable shy smile that caught him off guard the first time he saw her. So he always looked forward to seeing her every morning before leaving for work, or in the early evenings when he’d come home to relieve her.

Harry grabbed her other hand, moving her arm from her mouth as he brought those fingers up to his lips to kiss every one of them as he threaded their fingers together on her other hand, never stopping the movement of his hips.

With the back of her hand pressed into the blanket next to her shoulder, she inhaled sharply, trying to catch her breath. “Since I first met you…” she admitted.

Harry grunted, running his tongue along her wrist before folding his fingers into hers like her other hand and then pressing it down to the bed as he leaned over her, pelvis grinding against hers, his balls squeezing against her bum. And that was fucking deep.

“Oh yeah? Fuck, coulda been fucking this pretty pussy for the last few months. Making you come for being such a good girl and just for looking so fucking cute all the time.”

She moaned softly, “It feels so good…”

Harry grinned down at her, feeling her start to squeeze and pulse, “It does doesn’t it? Such a bad thing to feel this good. Might be trouble for us.”

“Mmmm…” she panted and then gasped as she was thrown over the edge, walls gripping and milking his cock.

Harry watched Y/n as she fell apart, “There you go, such a good girl, so pretty, baby…”

Harry gritted his teeth as he fucked her through her orgasm.

He was already leaking precome and practically shaking by the time he pulled himself out and pumped his fat cock right over her tummy. He’d have loved to have just come inside Y/n’s pussy but what he was doing was already dumb as it was.

He grunted and sucked in through his teeth, “Oh fuck…”

He’d gotten a little come on his knuckles as he ran his fist down his shaft, letting the last bits drip out onto the girl below him. A pretty sight. She was all fucked out and dazed, tits rising and falling with every breath, his come marking her tummy and her pussy freshly fucked, still soaked.

He was a gentleman, helped her clean up, and kissed her a little bit more before sending her on her way with a playful swat to her ass. He’d have loved to ask her to stay all night but he worried that that would just confuse things further. She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone and Harry said it wouldn’t affect her job and that it would be their secret. Though he did hope he’d have another chance to feel her again one day, he didn’t count on it. His wife was returning the following day and Y/n was soon to finish off her last year of college and she wouldn’t be needing a babysitting gig anymore.

Did he regret cheating on his wife? In that moment, he couldn’t say he did. He had fun and it felt so good to have sex with someone who wanted his cock as bad as Y/n did. He only hoped he didn’t get found out and as long as Y/n kept up her end of the bargain (he was sure she would) he figured the whole thing was a win.

He’d just need to keep himself in check around her when his wife was present. But when his wife wasn’t around he couldn’t promise anything.

. . .

PART 2

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AND THEY CALLED IT… PUPPY LOVE!

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Kimi is always feeling guilty for his gross thoughts, but he just wants to kiss you all the time!

WORD COUNT: 481

WARNINGS: Kimi Antonelli has “dirty” thoughts about reader (literally just making out), boyfriend who is absolutely whipped for you

FEATURING: Kimi Antonelli x Reader

NOTE: I’m so proud he’s starting P3 tomorrow! I hope he can finish P3 or higher 🥹 This wasn’t a request, but I wanted to write something for him so bad. I love my Kimsy

Kimi felt… Disgusting. He felt disgusting because while everyone else was focused on training, he was focused on making sure every moment spent with you was filled with love and happiness. He felt disgusting because when he was training, all he was thinking about was your plump lips and your pretty thighs. He felt disgusting because he was dominating the grid during the Miami Grand Prix weekend, all while he was daydreaming about finally getting his lips on yours.

The year had been good for him. Sure, it wasn’t as if he was in first, but he couldn’t expect perfection during his rookie year. He could expect this, though, and it felt really damn good. It wasn’t Round 06, Miami— A sprint weekend, and for the first time during his F1 career, Kimi would be at the front.

He finished the qualifying for the sprint with a huge boyish grin, everyone crowding around to congratulate him on such a huge win. He had done so much this year— He had broken so many records, and it was glory unlike any other.

But he didn’t care about that. He didn’t care for the pats on the back or the tight hugs. He wanted you, he wanted your lips on his while you told him what a good job he had done. Without your praise, Kimi felt like nothing. He carried a smile as he greeted every person, gracing them with enough time to where it wouldn’t seem rude when he eventually dismissed himself.

You were sitting pretty like you were waiting for him, and when you realized Kimi had finally located you, you jumped up to greet him. You were so cute, it was unbearable. You had the biggest smile on your face, wearing such a cute outfit. Just for him. Or at least he liked to think so.

“Kimi!” You cheered, wrapping your arms around his neck, immediately smothering his face in kisses. He melted under your touch, knees nearly buckling. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.” He didn’t care about the win anymore, he just wanted you to keep going. He felt greedy for wanting all your love.

“Mmm,” He chased your lips, pulling you in for another kiss. You couldn’t help but giggle, happily returning the favor. “Grazie, amore mio,” Kimi murmured. When you tried to pull away, he chased after you again, pulling you back, his hand on the back of your head.

Your eyes were wide when you both pulled back with a very dramatic kissy sound, gasping for air. “Kimi!” You scolded teasingly, smacking his chest. “In public?”

He pouted like a scolded dog, wrapping his arms around your waist to hoist you up in his arms. “Yeah, yeah.” He kissed your neck, carrying you with confidence.

“Kimi, where are we-”

“Shhh.” He was ready to have your lips all over him. Now!

[saetiate]

i hope you find what you're looking for

☁  blade x f!reader s.mut, honkai: star rail ☁  reader is afab and goes by she/her. alpha/omega dynamics. blade helps you out during your heat, calls you “girl” “sweet girl” “baby”, consent is sexy and blade is very adamant about it. reader is jing yuan’s assistant. ☁  A/N: i cannot get sweet gentle blade off my mind after that car scene and this fic is what happened ☁ 5k words

“Watch where you’re going, miss.”

His hands fall to your waist as your back crashes against his front, attempting to blink away the frazzled state you’re in. Despite his warm hands, his touch feels like the first gulp of ice cold water on the hottest day.

Alpha, your head wants to reel. It’s sickening sweet, the way your slick pools at just a whiff of his scent.

It’s even worse when you turn around and realize who it is. Even with the mask and the sunglasses (does he really think that helps?), your heart drops.

Blade. The Stellaron Hunter who escaped from the Shackling Prison less than an hour ago.

Aeons, this really is the worst day to be getting your heat, isn’t it?

Blade immediately retracts his hands when he realizes your state. He’s been alive too many years to need to run away before his body starts reacting, but he’s still — at least partially — human. Your scent is sweet, almost needy, has his biology wanting to follow you wherever you go.

You whine at the loss of contact, your hand immediately slapping across your mouth as you come to terms with what just happened.

“I-“

“No need to apologize, it’s perfectly natural.”

This little alleyway is only used by those working with the Divine Foresight, and in the middle of a work day, nobody is walking through it. Nobody was supposed to walk through it. Maybe you should’ve figured a long lived, previously acclaimed man like him would’ve known about it and used it.

That thought would’ve been way more helpful when you were trying to track his movements earlier.

Blade’s in no rush. He hasn’t been for a long time. The time will pass anyways, after all. Elio makes no mistakes in his script, so he’s sure whatever happens here won’t affect the later situation. It’s whether you’re in the right mind state to know what’s happening, that’s his biggest concern.

“You’re-! You know rightfully, I should cuff you and bring you back to the Shackling Prison.” You try to be stern, but your core turns, causing you to buckle forward. Blade swiftly reaches across to hold you up.

“I… can help you get close to a medical bay. If your mind is still clear-“

“My mind is perfectly coherent,” you snap, and then your face immediately winces with regret. He might be a so-called criminal, but it’s not like he’s hurt you personally, and Jing Yuan strangely but oh-so-kindly asked for your understanding of him. “It only started today. My mind won’t fog until at least tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Hold up. You’re a criminal. On the run. And you want to help me get to a med bay? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, running away?”

“All will come to be as it should.”

You roll your eyes. It’s like when Jing Yuan tells Fu Xuan that it’s “not her time” with some fancy words.

Blade rephrases. “I have nowhere to be, as of right now.”

You feel your knees threatening to buckle, wincing as your hand squeezes Blade’s shoulder tight. If it affects him, his face doesn’t show it.

“Fine. Since you’re the nicest criminal looking to be a Samaritan, please help me get home. It’s not far from here.”

~

Blade is surprisingly patient, even bothers to remove his shoes before coming into the house, gracefully placing you on your sofa.

“Thank you, wanted criminal.”

He scoffs at that, but nods politely. His sunglasses and mask are tucked somewhere away now, no need for them since you know exactly who he is.

There’s a beat of silence. He should leave. He’s done his job. But you’re an omega in distress, alone. And the worst part is, you’re not doing anything.

You’re not grabbing items to make a nest, or calling an alpha, or taking any medication. Are you waiting for him to leave? You likely would’ve said something, given your clear ability to clip back. Your scent most certainly tells him to stay, but he knows better than most what it’s like to be a prisoner to your own physical body, in more ways than one.

All you do is grip at the edge of the sofa and stare at your coffee table, like an endangered animal with nowhere to go.

Maybe it’s his biology talking, but he somehow feels like he should do something.

“Is there anything else you need?”

It’s your turn to scoff, doing your best to shake off your mind. “Wow, you really are nice.” You remove your shoes, slotting them under the couch for later. And then your eyes narrow. “Or were you just looking for a pretty little omega to fuck, hm?”

If this were any other situation, he would’ve taken this opportunity to turn on his heel and leave right out the door, but something about the situation prickles at the back of his neck.

“Is this your first time handling a heat?” He asks directly.

You wince at that, wrapping a throw blanket over yourself. “No… Is it that obvious?” You sigh, bringing your knees towards yourself and pressing them against your chest. “I’ve been on suppressants for a long time.”

Blade gives you your options sincerely. “There’s an app. For those in your predicament. Otherwise, you might want to consider a nest. If you have painkillers on you, that could help too. I’ve heard it’s not much help, but it’s better than nothing.”

You breathe. “Nest. Right.” Your eyes scatter around, holding the blanket around you tight. You look like you want to get up and then you don’t, mind volleying between thoughts and decisions that end up leaving you nowhere. Blade’s chest can’t help but tighten at how lost you look.

“May I?” he asks for permission to step further into your home.

What a criminal, you want to remark. But the way your heart is pumping both from the stress and the heat within you just has you nodding. He opens your bedroom door before walking back towards you and carefully picking you up, slowly, like he’s giving you every chance to interject. To your surprise, you let him, the omega inside of you feels like it’s almost cooing at his embrace. He places you down on the armchair in the corner, washing his hands in the bathroom before taking your blanket and bunching it up in a circular motion, propping up your pillows around it.

“Okay. This is a good start. Add things that bring you comfort around you. If you like soft toys, or something like that. If you’re up to it, it would be ideal for you to shower and get into something comfortable.”

Your scent peaks, making him turn around. Your knees are tucked close to you once more, your eyes glassy. You can feel yourself descending into something, more quickly than you realized.

“Whilst I’m still coherent… I would…” you swallow, your throat feels like you’ve drunken something sweet and forgot to drink water before falling sleep. “I would appreciate if you stayed. Since you said you’re not doing anything. Not that I’m pressuring you. Your scent is…” you feel your face get hot, but Blade just nods.

“I’ll be just outside.”

~

It’s perfectly normal.

Okay, that’s not the right word. Maybe more like, it’s perfectly natural. To ask an alpha to stay with you during your heat. There’s apps for that. That’s what Blade said, right?

The shower water beats over your skin as you lightly scrub it.

Definitely not embarrassing. Or strange. Even if he is a wanted criminal. What was it, something like 8 billion credits? Would Jing Yuan even give you that if you turned him back in?

You press the edge of your palm against your eyebrow. His scent, like the woods and bergamot and faintly of incense. The wanted posters did not do him justice.

~

Blade presses a hand to his pants the moment he closes the door.

Your scent, sweeter than any sin, the glassy look in your eyes that you were so desperately blinking away, the way you gripped him as you gasped into his touch… He is not someone who struggles with self-control, but he can’t deny the way his member hardens.

He desperately tries to think. What do omegas need again? Medication. Something soft. Water.

He hears you enter the shower, the thought of you naked passes quickly in his mind, but has him gripping your doorknob tight all the same. You said something about his scent too, didn’t you? He removes his outerwear, shuffling back into your room to place it on the armchair. Just in case.

He spots your laundry hamper on his way out your room, and forces himself to look away before he gets carried away.

~

As he places a jug of water and a couple glasses on your bedside table, you chuck your hand holding a towel into his field of vision.

He doesn’t take it, instead curiously arches an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, fine, I’ll say it, since the shower cleared my mind. I am aware that you are a big bad criminal. And we’re both aware I’m in heat. But you’ve been nice. So this is my official invitation. Stay with me during it.”

“That sounds more like a demand.”

You push the towel into his hands, and this time he takes it. “We both know you’re perfectly capable of leaving here if you wanted.” You stomp back to your nest, courtesy of the handsome man in front of you, and wrap yourself into your blankets.

“The jacket gesture was nice,” you add, “but you’ve been in the Shackling Prison. Aeon knows what’s down there. So shower, and come back here.” Maybe he’s right. This does sound like a demand. “Is this arrangement… okay with you?”

The corner of Blade’s mouth upturns just a bit, but he steels himself for what he’s about to say. “I’m one of the most dangerous men the IPC has a bounty on. You’re clearly under the influence of your heat, which means we can’t be perfectly clear of your consent.”

“My mind is clear. I’m Jing Yuan’s assistant. You might be strong, but I can take a fight too. Also…” you flush with embarassment, “I have no idea what I’m doing. You clearly know more than me, and I’m guessing I’m about to get worse. Also… Jing Yuan may have told me to be nice to you even though you’re a criminal.”

Blade laughs at that, a warm sound that hits straight to your core, your hand pressing against your stomach.

“You trust the General’s words that much?”

“There’s a lot going on right now! Just take the goddamn shower!” You chuck a pillow at him, which he catches with ease and throws back.

A closer whiff of your scent has him swallowing a noise in his throat. He rationalizes that he surely can’t leave you in the hands of a random Alpha who might take advantage of your lack of knowledge, especially not someone so close to Jing Yuan.

~

“Alphas can act more… barbaric, shall we say, the heavier an omega’s heat gets. You have to fight and say it straight if you don’t want anything, you understand?”

Maybe you should’ve thought this through a little more before, because now you certainly can’t. Blade is wearing nothing except the towel you gave him wrapped low around his waist, his muscles clear and evident, scars littering his body like streaks of comets. He’s stunning.

He watches you ogle him, sighing as he cups your face gently in his palm, forcing your gaze to his face.

“Did you hear me, girl?”

And oh, maybe that’s a mistake on his part, because the moment you make eye contact with him, his breath catches. Your lips are still slick with the water you’ve been drinking, your pupils widened and full of lust. That blank look that is clearly only thinking of him. How long has it been for Blade too, since he’s had a moment like this with someone else? Centuries? Your omega scent fills the air at the skin-to-skin contact, and it makes him feel like you’re a siren pulling him in.

He can see your mind working, doing your best to force your brain to think. “I’ll tell you. I will.”

It’s only then that Blade sits in your nest with you. He notices the way you lean into him, until your head rests against his shoulder, breathing his smoky scent in.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Blade chuckles. “My only concern is being able to control myself through this.”

You reach for him, press your face closer to his, until your noses are touching. He lets you lead, wants you to lead, so that he knows exactly what it is you want and what you’re okay with.

And you do, your mouth pressing against his, getting the first drink of what he has to offer. He thinks he could drown in you like this. His hand moves to the small of your back, his lips gentle and slow as they move against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and then you’re pulling him in, and it’s like a dam that breaks open. He’s careful not to rest his whole weight on you, one hand propping himself up against your headboard, even as you squeeze your arms tighter. You didn’t realize heats could feel like this, having someone with you to hold as it sinks you in deeper. You bring your nose to the scent gland at his neck, kissing it lightly, and your scent that fllls the room in return has him making a noise akin to a growl as he presses his hand into your waist.

“Careful, girl,” he warns, but you don’t care. God, you don’t care. You feel your heat settling into your body deeper, slick pooling between your legs as you wrap them around his waist. You’re sure he can smell it, especially from the way he tries to still you.

“Mm, a little fast, don’t you think?” His teeth nips at your ear as your hands trail down his chest, over his back, the bumps from scarring only making it clearer to your heat-addled brain that he’s strong, a strong alpha.

“It’s your-,” your words die down before you can say them. It’s your job to keep us in check, you want to say. But your body starts to warm uncomfortably. Blade runs a hand up and down your torso, thumb pressing circles against your waist. Your eyebrows cinch together, kicking of the sheets yet wanting the comfort of them close to you.

“It’s okay, sweet girl. It’s called a heat for a reason.” He kisses your cheek gently, like a lover. You chase his lips, bringing him in for another kiss.

“You don’t feel hot,” you tell him as you break away, confused. Strangely enough, Blade’s body doesn’t add to your irritating warmth. If anything, it feels like the only relief. His body is warm, but where he touches you tingles softly, staving off the heaviness.

“Mm, that’s because I’m taking care of you,” he presses a kiss to your neck, dangerously close to nipping at your scent gland, before descending down your collarbone. His hands move under your shirt, a reprieve from the sweat that’s starting to sheenson your skin. You want to beg him like he’s a god to release you from the cage your heated body has become. Instead, you remove your shirt, pulling him into you once more, his skin against yours like a reverence.

He continues to kiss at the skin he’s been given access to, one hand moving to your breast, cupping it from below and pinching at your nipple. You arch into his touch, and his mind immediately goes to the thought of you arching your back as he presses his member into you.

He wants more. He wants so, so much more.

Does he dare let himself indulge? His thoughts flitter away as you release him from the death grip your arms had him in, allowing him to descend his mouth down to your breasts, to kiss at the skin, teeth scraping lightly over a nipple, his hands skating over your stomach and to the waistband of your pants.

You’re sobbing into him now, somehow he’s skin to skin with you and it feels like it’s not nearly close enough. Your head feels full of cotton, his body and the feeling of his wet tongue lapping at you, lips wrapping around your nipple, encompassing you so fully you sometimes forget to breathe.

You tap his shoulder as he kisses down your stomach, and he looks up at you with curious eyes.

“Can’t- can’t take it,” you heave, hands stroking his hair. “Take me now,” your thighs tighten around him. “Need- I need”

“No.”

His answer is so clipped that it shocks you, and you’re almost distracted by him removing your pants from you, leaving your soft panties for his view.

“Wha- Blade,” you sigh his name, you meant for it to be a scolding, but then he’s kissing right above the waistband of your panties and you feel the air rush out of you all too delicately. “You- don’t you want-”

“This is about what you want.”

“I just told you what I want!”

“You’re not ready.” His words are almost a whisper now, voice gruff between your legs, his hair tickling the inside of your thighs as he presses his nose to your clothed core and breathes you in. God, he feels like an animal, his member hardening at just the scent of your slick. Don’t you know he’s already holding back? Don’t you know the way you’re beckoning him to give it to you now is more torture for him than it is for you?

“What? Blade, you can’t be serious.”

He grunts. “I’m serious.” His saliva coats his mouth, gripping your thighs a little tighter. “May I?”

“God, Blade, yes. Do whatever you’re gonna do since you’re not gonna-”

He relishes in the way your breath catches and the words fall out of your mouth the moment he laps his wet tongue over your clothed core. The sound you let out is a wrecked thing.

You distinctly hear a ripping sound, the material giving way against your skin and chucked somewhere behind him.

“Blade!”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he groans, and then his tongue is pressed against your folds and oh, it’s like heaven’s greatest sin, so close to the relief you so desperately want. He doesn’t sound any better, moans falling from his lips that are pressed against your core, purposefully wrapping his arms around your thighs and pressing them towards his face so he can have you all around him, your skin and scent and sweat only adding to the way he has to grind his hips into your bed.

You intertwine your fingers with his, gripping tight, and he can’t help but feel his heart lurch a little at how cute the gesture is. You know exactly who he is, but the way you’re gasping his name asking him for more, more makes him feel like less of a monster and more like a lover, your lover.

He swallows every drop of pearly wetness you afford him, his suckles over your folds slowly growing more desperate. He wants to breathe you in, drink you up, give you all he can. He settles with splitting your folds with his tongue, flicking your clit over and over again, gripping your thighs tight, and mumbling into your skin about how “you’re so pretty like this, wanna watch you make a mess on my face” between breaths.

He doesn’t have to wait long, your grip on his hand gets tighter with each lather of his wet muscle, your core tightening as you try your best to tell him that you’re close, so close.

“Yeah, baby? You’re gonna give it to me?” he whispers against your skin, lips glistening as they delve back in. “Go ahead then, show me how pretty you look when you cum.”

He watches you as you cum, letting out a broken moan, your thighs pressing against the sides of his face impossibly tighter, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. You sob as your hips thrust into his face, his hands never letting yours go, tongue working you through every shock of your orgasm. He does his best to savor every drop. It’s for him, because of him, after all.

You’re shocked he’s still going when you come back to, your thrashing going from intense pleasure to overstimulation, your hands pushing against his in an attempt to get away from the way he’s still sucking on your clit.

“Too much! Blade, I’m so sensitive, it’s so much, oh, gods.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges you, but doesn’t let up, still holding your legs tight against himself. He’s not done, doesn’t want to be.

“Blade, BladeBladeBlade, I can’t, I really can’t, wha-“ Something shifts inside of you, and the feeling is like being choked, your lungs out of breath and desperately trying to take in air as the pain gives way to pleasure. Every wave feels like a drug, so quick to become putty in his hands as he drags you to another orgasm. This time it’s slower to build, but so much more intense, your body uncontrollable as it tenses harshly, gripping his hair, and you come undone on his tongue once more.

“Blade, holy, what-“ you try to catch your breath, desperate for each gulp of air you take in.

He groans in satisfaction, his grin carnivorous as he swipes his tongue over his lips, wiping the excess with the back of his hand.

“Good girl. Came so well for me, didn’t you?” His smirk is evident, canines pressing down just slightly against his tongue. He peppers kisses against your inner thigh.

“Gods, Blade. Just-“ your legs shake as you attempt to reel him in, grabbing his hand with yours, and this time he lets you, kissing you deep, his tongue grazing against the back of your teeth.

You lay your hand flat against his abs, sliding them down until your fingertips reach the towel, haphazardly pulling it off. He draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of the cool air on his member, pressing his hand down to your waist. His mind reels with just the thought of having you, the thought of his cock sliding into you, lubricated by your slick and his spit.

When he pulls his lips away from yours, you finally get to look at him, your hand wrapping around his dick as he exhales a soft ‘mm’.

You pump your hand up once, twice, before he’s taking your hand in his and putting it away.

“Blade, please. You’re so hard,” you’re sure between your legs is shiny with your slick and his spit. He doesn’t falter anymore, pressing your thighs back towards your chest, lining himself up with his cunt, gritting his teeth as the sensitive head catches against your folds.

“You’re-,” he grips your thighs a little harder, steeling himself against you. “Stay still, girl.”

“Please.”

“I’m getting there*.”*

“You’ve been teasing me for hours-”

“You’ve cum twice. Don’t make me show you what teasing really looks like.” He finally presses himself into you, a short intake of breath passes through his teeth as the head slips in. He plays with you, he has to be, sliding in and out of you, giving you just a little more each time.

You’re gripping his shoulders, pulling his body close to yours, his grunts so soft you might almost miss them if his mouth wasn’t against your ear. You’re faring no better, pressed chest to chest against him as he sinks into you.

“Oh,” you gasp, and he grunts in return, his forehead pressing against yours so he can watch and feel your every reaction. His hand grips the headboard, the wood creaks as if it’s about to give in to him, trying his damn best not to slam into you like he knows he wants to. He sheaths himself in whole, finally, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. It feels downright cruel, the way you grip around him, your pretty whines against his ear.

“Are you-”

“Please,” you beg him, because nothing has ever felt so right and you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.

He huffs. “You’re not gonna die, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

“Well hurry up with it or I might,” you tilt your hips up, trying to move under his weight but he’s heavy, pinning you down and yet it’s exactly what you need. He moves off of you slightly only to bring his hands behind your knees, pressing them to your chest, and there’s a moment where you’re not really sure where he’s going with this until he-

“You’re so tight,” he grunts, and then he’s slamming into you hard. “Wanted to make this easy for you, ease you in, but you just had to go and be a brat.” You think your mind bluescreens from the pleasure-pain of his cock sliding all the way out to the tip only to press back into you, ramming against your cervix with every other press of his hips against yours, your heat coiling like a serpent in your core, like the slow drip of syrup through your body.

He brings his hand down between your bodies, fingers tapping against your clit. “Taking my cock so well, aren’t you?” His voice is low and heavy, and all you can do is say his name in return. “You’re a good little omega, aren’t you baby? Good girl, good fucking girl.”

You thought he’d be quiet, but something about his cock inside of you has the words tumbling out of his mouth. You can both feel his knot starting to swell, the heat of it making him sweat, the way it widens right at the base. It makes his hips stutter, more desperate, prevents him from sliding out all the way like he was before so he fucks you faster.

“Wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Your legs are over his shoulder now, one hand running circles over your clit, the other making its way around your neck. He doesn’t choke you, doesn’t press down, only holds you there as a show of power, but something about it has you arching your back into him.

He thinks it’s dangerous, makes him feel like you belong to him.

“Wanna cum around your cock,” you whisper to him in return, and he grunts.

“Yeah?” He smirks, but it’s gentle, almost like a smile, a soft upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Been aching for an alpha’s cock inside of you, haven’t you?”

“Just yours,” you tell him, your fingernails scratching at the nape of his neck. The confession has him pressing his teeth right next to your scent gland, making a mark where you can’t hide.

“This pussy belongs to me now, then,” he says it like something between a demand and a prayer. You gasp yes into his ear as you get closer to the edge, teetering off it. “Show me how my pussy cums for me. Cum around my cock, baby. You’ve been aching for it, haven’t you?” You can feel the pulse of his knot, his adam apple jumping as he swallows, mouth dry. “Go ahead and cum for me then.”

It’s your alpha’s order, your body follows like it responds only to his demands, it feels like it’s being ripped out of you as your chest presses against his and your mind goes blank, your slick gushing around his knot. He’s only seconds behind, spilling into you with a groan, his face in your shoulder, his nose against your scent gland so he can memorize the sweetness of you right at your peak.

It’s with a deep intake of breath that you both relax. He’s careful to position his body next to yours, to make sure he doesn’t crush you, even as his cock stays inside of you, his knot still slightly swollen. He swipes your hair back, thumb tracing over your hairline as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then presses his lips against yours for something saccharine sweet. You let him, drinking him in.

“Stay,” you tell him, and he chuckles, because it’s still more of an order than a request.

“Still got attitude,” he holds you close, rolling both of you over so you’re lying on top of him. “Not going anywhere, baby. Relax.”

“For my whole heat. Take my number too, while you’re at it.” Your words slur together, but the genuinity shows in your eyes.

“I’m a wanted criminal.” He says frankly.

“Oh yeah? Should’ve- fuck- should’ve told me that earlier. It’s almost like there’s a wanted poster on every street of you.”

“It doesn’t look like me.” He rakes a hand through your hair, his other massages the soreness in your thigh.

“Why’d Jing Yuan let you go anyways?”

“You wanna say another man’s name with my dick still inside of you?”

“Ah, sorry, so possessive. I think it’s going down now.” You lift yourself off of it slowly, and Blade watches with reverence as his seed slips out of you, milky white. He catches it on his fingers, pressing it back.

“S-Sensitive,” your nails press into his chest, and he kisses your shoulder in apology.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Can’t move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

“We just showered.”

“Just a rinse. Then I’ll add your number, okay?”

“Okay.”

[eggrollforyou]

Research

Law x F!reader

CW: NSFW, MDNI, unprotected sex, sex pollen trope, p in v, pwp, that's all I remember idk 😅

“Y/N-ya,” Law calls out to you, tapping his knuckles as he pushes the door open to your workspace. He crosses his arms in the doorway as he leans against the frame, a small smirk as he admires you. “It's late, let's get to bed.”

You're so immersed in cataloguing the latest round of flora the crew brought you on the last island stop, you don't respond as you work. As the crew's botanist, it was your job to catalogue all the amazing new plants you came across on the Grand Line.

You haven't even registered Law’s calls to you, this batch being particularly difficult to process, as you work on trying to identify the bundle of blood red flowers in your hand. They resemble magnolias, with large red petals, pale yellow stamens and a bright orange pistil.

You jump, startled from your concentration when Law gently places his hand on your shoulder. “SHIT!” you cry out, hand reaching to your beating heart, “Oh my god, Law, you scared me!” Coughing as the pollen on the stamens shake loose, thinking nothing of it, reeling still from being startled.

“It's late, you can finish this tomorrow, let's go to bed,” Law continues as he gently rubs his hands along your arms and shoulders. ‘It must be really late if Law is telling me to go to bed,’ you think to yourself. Clearing your throat again, you finally yawn, leaning back into his chest, “Alright, let's go,” you resign as you put your work into their respective containers.

As you both walk back to Law’s room, now your shared quarters, Law listens to you intently as you gab about your research for the day. He doesn't understand all of it, which amazes you considering his wealth of physiological knowledge, but he listens nonetheless. As you approach your room you begin to feel warmth spread across your chest, your fingertips tingling, and a familiar ache building deep in your lower belly.

Law notices that you've stopped talking suddenly and guides you into the room, his warm hand pressing on your lower back. It almost burns. As you rub your hands on your upper arms, you feel the burning sensation increase and suddenly feel flushed and overheated.

You don't know what's coming over you. It couldn't be exhaustion, it's never felt like this before. Before you can say anything, Law looks at you worriedly. Your face, neck, and chest are flushed red and you have a sheen of sweat growing across your brow. “Y/N-ya,” the back of his hand touches your forehead, “are you ok?” You wince at the touch as it burns and makes your skin crawl. “I-I don’t know. I feel SO hot. My skin burns…a-and I-I feel this ache,” you trail off as the ache you feel in your chest settles in your lower abdomen. No way…there’s no way this is happening.

Suddenly, you feel pulses of desire coursing through you. Your mind is hazy, all you can focus on is Law’s hand as he reaches for your face. You see his fingers, and that ache grows stronger. Your gaze trails up his arms, as you fixate on every vein and muscle on it, moving further up to his chest. Suddenly, you’re wracked with intense pain causing you to double over and all you can think about is where you want those fingers. What the fuck?! Your knees buckle but catching yourself causes you to rub your thighs together. You have to restrain a lewd moan at the feeling.

Law catches you as you fall forward, his touch again, burning your skin as you try to come to terms with what’s happening. “L-Law, I think I know what’s going on…” you say through gritted teeth. Your hand reaches for his pants. He pulls back slightly, confused, trying to figure out what you’re trying to say, “This isn’t the time for that Y/N-ya, we have to get to the med bay so I can figure out what’s going on, properly,” he tells you sternly. As he puts his hand out to Room you both, you grab his wrist first. “It’s the f-flowers I think,” you stammer, as you wriggle in his hold, rubbing your thighs together to get any relief you possibly could.

“The flowers?! What the fuck do the flowers have anything to do with this?” His eyes scanning you for any kind of hint to make sense of what is happening. “T-there are flowers out here…t-that have pollen that acts as an aphrodisiac…I-I think when you startled me, I inhaled that p-pollen.” His eyes widen, “W-what do you need me to do?” he desperately asks. “P-please, just make it stop, m-make me feel good,” you mutter as you pull him to you and kiss him.

Your teeth click against each other as you moan into Law’s mouth. It takes him a moment to process that this may indeed be what you need and he begins to kiss you back, barely able to match your urgency. “Mmmph…..p-please,” you whisper between your pants, “p-please Law,” you plead as you grasp at anything to give yourself relief.

His hand finds you as he presses the heel of his palm on your clothed clit. You gasp and as if a switch flipped and you can no longer contain yourself. You grind helplessly on his palm, whispering praises between labored breaths and you feel your orgasm building up quickly. Your skin still burns and you feel overheated but every press on your clit and every nip on your neck, you feel electric. Suddenly, you shatter, your orgasm washing over you in waves as it radiates out from your core.

Soon, the aching pain returns in another wave. “F-fuck, Law, it hurts, please…I need y-you,” you babble. Surprised you're able to string a sentence together. You push Law to the bed, his eyes widen in surprise at your current state, but he doesn't stop you when you rip open his shirt, buttons flying everywhere. You both undress quickly and without any further prep, you climb onto Law's lap, lining yourself up with him.

Desperately seeking relief from your pain, you lower yourself, taking his length completely in one swift motion as you both moan. You immediately pick up a swift pace, trying to chase whatever feeling was telling you to take what you needed from him. Your mind is hazy, only registering how full you feel. Feeling every vein against your clenching walls as you bounce up on and down on his cock. You feel another orgasm, building up quickly.

He hisses as you begin to roll your hips on him, grabbing your hips so tightly his knuckles are white. “Mmmmm, f-fuck. You feel so fucking good,” you moan, your head thrown back as you chase your high. “Ah! Shit, Y/N-ya,” he growls. With one last roll of your hips, you cum again, just as intensely as the first.

Suddenly, your concentration is broken as Law pulls you toward him so your chest is on his. He reaches around you, wrapping his arms around you so tightly, it starts to restrict your breath. He bends his knees, plants his feet and begins fucking up into you at a relentless pace.

“Fuuuhhhck, Law! Right there, just like that, right there!” You scream as he fucks into you like he'd never get the opportunity again. The sinful sound of skin meeting skin filling the room almost as loud as your cries of praise. You feel the familiar pull deep in your gut as he keeps up his pace. The drag of his cock in your tensing walls. He doesn't relent and with one of his moans in your ear, you snap and cum again.

Pulsing and clenching, forcing a growl out of Law as you are barely able to whisper your praises and thank yous, completely lost in this feeling of utter bliss. Law flips you over without ever leaving your warmth. He pushes up and swirls his tongue around your nipple, biting it as you arch your back into it.

He continues rutting into you, grip tight on your waist as you take everything he gives you, his pupils blown wide. One might think he inhaled some of the pollen too. He's less worried now that he's seen how each of your climaxes have reduced the uncomfortable effects of the pollen.

“Fuck, Y/N-ya, I'm gonna cum,” he grits his teeth, “w-where do you want me?”

“I-inside, p-please, Law!”

“Fuuuhhhhck,” he cries out as he finishes, pulsing inside of you, watching where you are connected. As you both pant, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He stills and rests his forehead on yours. Both of you spent, dripping sweat, and utterly exhausted. You let out a breath of content, finally feeling back to normal. He pulls out of you with a wince and you pull him forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “Thank you….for helping me….even though you caused it in the first place!” you tease. He smirks, “I'll be more careful, next time.”

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

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[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 6)

Agatha surprises you with a visit

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: fingering, strap, sex, mommy kink, fluff, it's almost all smut

You’ve just gotten back to your dorm room Friday afternoon after all your classes when your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

It’s been a rough day with a pop quiz in Chemistry that you definitely failed and your group chat for the World History project has been blowing up, mostly with excuses as to why your other members haven’t been able to do their share of the work, so you can only imagine what it is now. 

And to make matters worse, you had gone to your dad’s last night for dinner and when you had gone to the bathroom, you had found a box of condoms under his sink when you were looking for more toilet paper. It hit you like a train but you had fixed your face in the mirror and not said a word to him or to your mom when she inevitably called you after it to ask how it went. You didn’t want to talk to Agatha about it either, just because she had been married to him and it felt weird to complain or vent about that. 

The only thing you want to do is collapse into Agatha’s comforting embrace and have her hold you. You are so fucking exhausted. 

When you pull your phone out, you breathe a heavy sigh of relief when you see that it is Agatha. Your stomach warms. You’ve watched the video she sent you on Tuesday more times than you can count—you’ve touched yourself to it more times than you could count as well. After you got back to your dorm after dinner with Carol, she had sent you the second half of the video, in which she filmed herself coming while moaning your name. 

You can still hear her breathy gasps and it’s been very distracting the past few days. 

Hey, hon! Hope your day has been good. Would you be able to go to your car and send me a picture of your license plate so I can get it registered for when you come to stay with me? 

You flop onto your bed and close your eyes for a few moments before whining quietly. She hasn’t texted you since this morning and now all she wants is for you to go back downstairs and take a picture of your car? Your mind is screaming at you to just do it tomorrow but you reluctantly sit up with a groan and trudge outside. At least now she’s talking to you.  

The sunlight blinds you and you squint, rounding the corner of the building, and trying to remember where you parked. It’s been a few days since you drove and now you accidentally walk down the wrong row about three times. 

Until you finally spot the front of it and you grumble as you walk around it and freeze—Agatha is standing right there in a casual gray blouse and black pants. Her hair is loose and catches the sunlight, making it appear a lighter shade than it is. Her blue eyes are full of joy. 

“What…what are you doing here?” you ask, completely dumbfounded, but your heart swells and you laugh, taking a step closer to her and reaching out your hand to touch her just to make sure you’re not hallucinating. 

She’s really there. 

“Surprise?” she says sheepishly, holding out her arms and you laugh, completely giddy, as you jump into them. The force almost knocks you both down but she catches you with an oomph. You breathe in her scent and feel her hair tickle your cheeks and her fingers gently stroke your back and you can’t believe that she’s actually here. 

Why is she here? 

You pull back and scan her face. “I thought you had meetings this weekend.” 

Agatha smiles and cups your cheek lovingly. “I did but then they got cancelled for tomorrow—something about the client having food poisoning? I was able to get out of work early today and thought I would come see you. And,” she leans in, a wicked grin on her face, “I got a hotel room.”

She slides her hands to your lower back so she can hold you tighter against her and with a sharp inhale, you feel a hardness in her pants. Your brain suddenly goes foggy and your knees almost buckle. 

“Fuck,” you breathe and she nods. You feel an ache start to grow in your cunt. “Can we go now?” 

Agatha chuckles and takes you by the hand to lead you to her car. You don’t have anything besides your phone and your keys, but the only thing on your mind is her. 

You know you should ask about her job and New York and how she’s been doing, but it’s hard to concentrate over the thrumming of arousal in your veins and you squirm restlessly as you watch her fingers curl around the steering wheel. It’s only been a week and it’s not that you haven’t had an orgasm at all—it’s just so much different, and better, now that she’s here. 

Agatha clearly feels the same urgency with quick glances to catch your eye and twitches of her hands like she’s trying to resist touching you. You have no doubt that she would already have her hand down your pants if it weren’t for the last time she tried to do that and almost crashed. She presses on the gas pedal harder than she needs to and the car shoots off down the road. 

It’s as if the stoplights know where you’re going and are determined to make you wait—you hit every single red light and each time, Agatha and you both groan like you’ve been denied the world’s greatest luxury. At one point, she gets so fed up with it that she makes a right turn, a U-turn, and then another right faster than the light changes. 

The air is thick with heat and tension and unspoken words brimmering just beneath the surface of the silence and finally, finally, she pulls into the parking lot of the Westview Inn, one of the nicer hotels in the town. 

You both throw open the doors and when you begin following her to the entrance, you can feel the stickiness between your thighs that has pooled from the anticipation. Your stomach begins to twist, butterflies fluttering for no reason, and your palms feel clammy. 

But then Agatha turns back to smile reassuringly at you from the front desk where she’s checking in and you push it away. You wipe your hands on your pants, eyes darting down to check out the swell of Agatha’s ass. There’s the sudden image of your fingers digging into her skin as she thrusts into you and you shift, antsy now with desire.  

“Thank you,” Agatha says, voice curt and short, to the receptionist, before swiping the keys from her hand and walking back toward you. She breezes past you and you jog to catch up to the elevators. Agatha taps the roomkey against her hand impatiently while you wait and finally, the doors ding open. 

She clicks the button for the fifth floor and the moment the doors shut, she’s pressing you against the side and her mouth is on yours. You moan and the sound is swallowed by her and her tongue is moving against yours and you close your eyes to soak her in. She tastes of cinnamon and coffee and you suck on her bottom lip to savor it. 

The elevator stops and Agatha practically drags you by the hand to room 513. Your shoes are soft against the plush gray carpet, low lights on the plastered walls, and you wonder how many other people come here for a romantic rendezvous with their lover. 

This is the hotel that Agatha stayed at after she moved out of the house she shared with your dad and walking down the hall gives you a sense of déjà vu. 

The room looks exactly the same. The fuzzy dark carpet, the small kitchenette, square table with two chairs, and the mossy green couch across from the television. Past the combined living room and kitchen is the narrow hallway to the bedroom, doors to the bathroom and the closet facing each other on the sides. 

The only real difference is the painting that hangs in the living room. The one in Agatha’s old room was of a dock on a lake. This one is a ferris wheel. 

You can’t help but think it’s almost fitting. Even though so much has changed since then, ending up back here like you have something to hide is a full-circle moment. 

Will you ever get off the wheel?

Once you move to New York, you assure yourself. There won’t be any more sneaking around, if that’s even what this is. 

“Just like old times,” Agatha says fondly. You smile halfheartedly, the thought of no real progress being made yet sobering you up just a little, but then she pulls you in closer and kisses you softly. The hardness in her pants presses against your upper thigh and you lose yourself in the feeling of her. 

She cups your cheeks to deepen the kiss and you wrap your arms around her shoulders. You pour all of your emotions into it—the joy at seeing her and how sad you’ve been without her and how much you’ve missed her and how much you love her. 

Agatha starts to walk backwards, pulling you with her, and you don’t ever want to let her go. 

The king-sized bed is so perfectly made that it almost feels wrong to mess it up. Agatha must be thinking the same thing because she pushes you gently against the wall and slots a thigh between yours for you to grind on. She tugs on your bottom lip with her teeth and you groan, slowly rutting against her leg. The pressure on your clit is delicious but fleeting and you hike one of your own legs up to get a better angle. Agatha’s hand slips to the back of your thigh to hold you up like that and she presses her thigh against you harder. 

“Agatha,” you pant, “I need you.” 

She smirks against your lips and her fingers slide up, now splayed against your hip, and she helps you move against her, helps you settle into a rhythm. The pleasure is dulled by the three layers of fabric separating your cunt from her leg but you grind down harder to feel more. Her other hand strokes up your side, her heat seeping through your shirt, and it makes your core feel like molten liquid. It feels like the room is spinning, like you’re drunk on her, and you whimper into her mouth. 

“What do you need, baby?” she murmurs. She pulls back from you, just a hair, so her gaze can smugly flick from your eyes down to your swollen lips and back up. 

You take her hand from your side and without breaking eye contact, drag it down your body until your fingers pause at the waistband of your pants. She toys with the hem, a smirk playing on her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks innocently, dipping the tips of her fingers down inside. You moan at her bare skin against your public bone and nod frantically. She chuckles, breath heavy, and slides her fingers further until her middle finger is resting against your clit. You sharply inhale and she smiles. “How about this?” 

You keen when she presses against your clit and rubs a small circle around it, your hips jerking. Her hand is now sandwiched between your cunt and her thigh and you slightly pull up so she can have a little more room to work. 

She watches your face carefully as she moves her fingers to tease at your entrance through your panties, watches how your jaw slackens and your teeth find your bottom lip. Her eyes are hooded as they scan your face and the heat in them sends currents right to your cunt. 

“Please,” you whine. Agatha leans in to ghost her lips over yours as she pushes her fingers into your entrance slightly, soaking your underwear even more. You gasp. 

“I know you can do better than that,” she says in a low, taunting voice and expertly peels the gusset of your underwear to the side. 

Your hips rock but her fingers are hovering just out of reach from your cunt, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off them. “Please, Agatha,” you pant, chasing her lips with your own before pulling back, “I need you to fuck me, I’ve missed you so much, please mommy—”

Two of her fingers plunge into your cunt and your jaw drops with a guttural moan. Your eyes roll back in your head and your walls clench around her tightly. She lets out a small gasp and her forehead drops to rest against yours. 

“Fuck, baby, I’ve missed this—I’ve missed you,” she groans and draws her fingers out of you. Your hips buck to get her touch back and she quickly resheathes her fingers inside you. She curls them and finds your special spot, the spot she always intuitively knows how to find because she might know you better than you know yourself at this point. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you spasm, back arching off the wall and burying your hands into her dark locks. You hike your leg up higher against her waist with her help so she can get deeper and the pressure in your core makes you see stars. She’s moving fast and rough and you yelp when she twists her fingers inside you harshly. 

You pull her even closer against you, crash your lips onto hers, and moan into her open mouth. She returns it, tongue sloppily stroking yours, and you feel light, almost like you could float away. 

But you’re grounded when she starts to rub your clit and your core muscles tighten. Her lips trail down your cheek and to your neck where she sucks on your skin. A thrill runs through you at the thought of having marks from her, so when she goes back to New York you can look at your reflection and remember that she owns you. That you’re all hers. 

She scrapes her teeth along the length of your jugular and then bites at the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you make a strangled noise. 

And then Agatha stills her fingers inside you with a wicked grin and you struggle to keep the rhythm going, furiously grinding back and forth and trying to make up for the stimulation you just lost. With each roll of your hips, her fingers are forced deeper and she bites her lip while she watches you. 

“Agatha, please,” you beg, pleading with your eyes, and she smirks. 

“What is it, baby?” she coos and slowly begins thrusting into you again. Your head falls back against the wall, mouth agape. “Need mommy’s fingers to fuck you good? Need mommy to fill you up the way only I can?” 

You nod frantically and she smiles, satisfied. 

“That’s my girl.” 

She scissors her fingers and then curls and then pauses to fit a third one into you. You keen again, wetness squelching with each of her thrusts. You’re so full and tension is spreading throughout your whole body. You gasp each time she drives her fingers back into you and you’re a panting, shaking mess. 

Just for her. 

“Agatha, mommy, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come,” you babble and she huffs out a laugh and rubs your clit faster. Sparks fly in your stomach and up your spine and your cunt grips her fingers. 

She pulls your leg that’s bent at her waist up even higher and her fingers reach a new depth inside you and the tension in your body explodes and you come all over her hand with a long moan. Her fingers keep fucking you, slowing down only the slightest bit, until you have to weakly push at her shoulders to get a break. 

Agatha pulls her fingers out of you carefully but you still wince at the sudden emptiness before bringing her hand out of your pants and holding up her glistening digits to the afternoon light streaming in through the blinds. 

Without being asked, you grab her wrist and envelope her fingers in your mouth, moaning sultrily at the taste of yourself. Her pupils dilate even more, almost no blue left at all, and she tugs her fingers out and sucks them into her own mouth. It’s like the air gets kicked out of your lungs when she closes her eyes and hums, like the mixture of your pussy and your saliva is too much for her to bear. 

When her fingers slide out with a wet pop, you drag her to you again by her hair, connecting your lips in the middle and your faint taste on her tongue dances with the hint of cinnamon. 

She pulls back, spins the two of you around, and then gently pushes you toward the bed. You take the hint, stripping off your shirt, underwear, and pants in the process, and watch in awe, perched on the edge of the bed, as she takes off her clothes too. 

“Did you drive all the way here with that on?” you tease, nodding your head to the harness around her hips with your favorite purple strap-on protruding from it. 

Agatha chuckles and strokes the length with her wet hand and you can see the smears of your juices along it. “Don’t be silly. I put it on once I got here. But thinking about it the whole drive? Fuck.” She moves closer to the bed like a lion stalking its prey. She stops right in front of you and tilts your head up by your chin even though your eyes keep darting back down to the toy. “Almost had to pull over to take care of myself.” 

Your breath catches at the image of her in her parked car on the side of the highway, hand furiously working in her pants. 

She smirks. “But you’re going to take care of mommy, aren’t you? Once mommy takes care of you?” 

“Anything you want,” you say earnestly. Everything is already yours. 

“That’s my good girl,” Agatha says softly and your insides grow warm. She strokes your cheek, a moment of gentleness in the otherwise hot and heavy sea you’ve been swimming in. 

You yearn for more, but the ache inside your cunt is throbbing. The toy is only a few inches away from you when you look back down and you grab ahold of the tip and pull her to you. 

Slowly reclining back onto the bed, she follows until she’s looming over you, arms bracketed around your head. Your fingers are still wrapped around the strap-on and you start to stroke it. Judging by the way her face contorts with pleasure, she can at least feel the base rub against her clit with each drag of your hand. 

Agatha leans down to pepper kisses to your chest. She runs her tongue along the edge of your bra, a trail of goosebumps following in the wake, and you moan softly. You angle the toy so the tip is pressed against your clit and you raise your hips up to rub. It feels so good against your sensitive nub and you can feel how slick your inner thighs are. The wetness between them only keeps growing. 

It doesn’t take long for you to work yourself up again but Agatha either doesn't notice or wants to drag it out, as she merely moves to mouthing at your nipple through your bra. 

So you grip onto her shoulders and tense your body and flip so she’s on her back and you’re on top of her. 

Agatha chuckles adoringly and runs her hands up your sides and fiddles with your bra. “Take it off, baby,” she rasps. “I want to see you.” 

Heat flashes through you and you nod, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. Agatha swallows hard and cups your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

She’s still in her bra, a lacy green one, and you paw at it, desperate to see her too. She chuckles and sits up for a moment, unclasping it and then shrugging it off her shoulders. Her nipples are hard and pointing, a dusty rose color, and you can’t resist the urge to bend down and suckle on one of them. She moans and arches up beneath you, pushing the toy against your pussy and you grind down. You scrape your teeth against her, enjoying her sharp breath, before settling back onto her lap. 

You reach between you to position the tip at your entrance and sit down just slightly. The head of the toy pops in and your head falls back at the stretch. 

“Fuck,” you groan, slowly starting to bounce on the tip to get used to it. Your walls burn but eventually accommodate the length and girth and you’re able to slide all the way down. You stay seated, feeling how deep she is inside you and Agatha begins to rub at your clit soothingly. 

“Such a good girl, taking mommy’s cock so well,” she croons and you clench around her. Every breath you take, you can feel her filling you up deliciously. You nod, more to yourself than to her, because it’s been awhile since you’ve had anything so big in you. “Think you can start moving?” 

You rock forward in response to her pressing on your clit hard and moan when the toy presses against your g-spot. “Yeah, mommy,” you say breathlessly and slowly sit up, your cunt lips dragging against the toy. 

She looks at the strap once just the tip is left inside you and lets out a guttural sound—it is absolutely coated with your wetness. Heat flares inside you and you take the length back inside you, moving down easier this time. 

“You’re so fucking hot, baby,” she says when you begin to build up a steady pace of riding her. She thrusts her hips up with each of your drives down and you’re both panting and sweaty in no time. Agatha rubs your clit and you stop for a second to swirl your hips around, feeling her in every ridge in your cunt, and you groan loudly. 

“Mommy, feels so good,” you whine, resting your hands on her ribcage to get more leverage to continue moving up and down on the toy. You dig your nails in and when you slide your fingers up to play with her boobs, you delight in the indents in her pale skin. 

“I know, baby,” Agatha grunts, pistoning her hips up hard now and making you gasp each time. She’s hitting so deep inside you and there’s an intense, hot pressure feeling inside you. Your movements grow sloppy and gradually turn into short, shallow rutting because your muscles are starting to get stiff, but you try to persevere. “You’re taking mommy’s cock so well, fuck, honey, you’re so pretty—such a good girl for me.” 

Her words make you stutter and you whimper while you writhe on top of her. She sees your struggle and grips onto your hips before flipping you over, a role reversal mirroring your one from earlier. The toy never leaves your cunt but you clench around her tightly when she shoves your legs up and you bend your knees to cross your ankles around her lower back. Agatha drops to her forearms, face merely inches away from yours, and she begins driving the strap into you over and over roughly. 

There’s no thoughts in your head and you think you’re babbling something incoherently because she’s smiling down at you, cheeks red, forehead vein throbbing. Her nose brushes against yours and she’s breathing into your open mouth, you’re breathing her air right back, and she suddenly slows her pace down. Her eyes scan your face with a seriousness you haven’t seen before. 

“What—mommy—Agatha—” you gasp and she stops entirely, toy hilted all the way in you. Your walls clench around her, trying to get her to start moving again, but she has a strange look on her face. 

Agatha strokes your hair and meets your eyes. “I love you,” she whispers and your breath catches in your throat. 

“What?” 

She laughs like that’s a ridiculous thing for you to say and kisses you softly. Your clit throbs. 

When she pulls back, you study her. She’s not looking at you with any expectation, just honesty. “I love you, too,” you say softly. 

She smiles and thrusts into you, just once, but it’s deep. Your walls tighten and you inhale sharply. 

“I said it before, you know,” you tell her and Agatha thrusts again. “When we were on your couch.”  

She begins to pick up her pace, but keeps it gentle. Loving. “I know,” she admits and you gape at her. “I didn’t know if it was just a spur of the moment thing. You didn’t say it again and I didn’t want to freak you out by asking about it. But—” Agatha kisses you before nipping at your bottom lip, “—I’ve been wanting to say it for a while.”  

You roll your hips up to match each of her thrusts and feel a pleasure greater than almost anything you’ve ever felt before. She reaches down between you to rub at your clit again and your walls convulse. 

“I have, too,” you say and she smirks, scooting up closer to you which forces your legs up higher and allows her to get even deeper. Her fingers slip off your clit with how much of a soaked mess you are and you arch your back off the bed. Your vision blurs from pleasure and electricity races underneath your skin. 

“Fuck, baby, I love you so much,” Agatha groans, her other hand digging into your hip, keeping you angled up as she pounds into you. With the way she’s faltering ever-so-slightly, you think she might be getting somewhere too. “You’re so fucking perfect—fuck, you’re mommy’s good girl, want you to come all over my cock, honey, please—fuck, I’m gonna—” 

Your moan interrupts her as you come, any resolve you had left absolutely shattering, and there’s a gush of wetness from your pussy that soaks her stomach. She groans and falls apart too, her lips crashing onto yours, messy but perfect and even though you need to breathe, you don’t pull away. 

You never want to. 

She fucks you through both of your orgasms, whispering “I love you” over and over, but the words never lose their meaning. You say it right back and it overlaps until everything bleeds together and then her mouth is on yours again for what seems like hours. 

When you start to shiver, Agatha pulls out of you gingerly, smirking at the pool of liquid beneath you. You remain on your back, absolutely spent, while she climbs off the bed, unfastens the harness straps, and slides it down her legs. Your clit throbs weakly at the pink lines on her skin. 

She leaves the bedroom for a moment and comes back in with a washcloth. It’s warm and wet and you gasp when she cleans your cunt off. Agatha winks knowingly and you giggle. 

“Do you think you can get up for just a second?” she asks and you groan exaggeratedly before rolling off the side onto your feet. She playfully swats your ass before pulling the duvet down and gesturing for you to slide under the covers. 

You happily do and the moment she gets in next to you, you curl into her and she tucks an arm around you. Your eyelids feel heavy but you fight them because you want to spend as much time with Agatha as you possibly can before she goes back. 

But her warm fingers lazily stroke your back and she leans down to kiss your forehead before whispering again, “I love you,” and you fade off into sleep. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @vyvvycg @upsidedowndanvers @agathaallalongg

[arietem]

you're blurry, but you're all i see

masterlist

jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: you get a bit crossfaded at a party and your boyfriend jj takes care of you

soo fluffy

a/n: i'm in a fluffy mood apparently, but a smutty one is coming soon too ꕤ

"Yo, rude boy! Your girl is calling for you down there," Cleo says and points at the beach. He leaves you for a second and you're off on an adventure.

"You go get Pope, he's in one of his lectures moods tonight," he salutes Cleo and makes his way to you.

JJ finds you sprawled on the beach, a red solo cup next to your feet, its content spilling on the sand. You are alone and you're laughing at something only you seem to understand.

"Jaay Jaay!" You half scream when you see him approach, but it's weird - he's upside down. No wait, you are upside down. Who is upside down?

Tonight's party was not one you were pacing yourself at so you are pretty drunk and honestly maybe a little high too. A joint was passing around at one point in the night and who are you to say no to free weed?

JJ is towering over you and why is he still upside down? His blonde hair is falling into his eyes and he has a wide amused smirk on his face. He's a bit blurry now, but still the hottest guy on this damn island. And he's yours. You can't believe he's yours and you get to keep him.

You try to sit upright and sway a little in the process. JJ is right there, kneeling by your side, his warm, rough hand on your lower back. His palms are always rough and calloused, but his touch is the softest one you know.

"Woah, easy there angel." JJ easily catches you when you start falling backward again, your stomach now feeling a little funny. Maybe you didn't need those last few shots with Cleo.

"No, you're an angel," you say and bop JJ's nose. You reach out to hold on to his wrist, trying to regain some control over your movements. Somehow, saying coherent thoughts is easy and you know what's going on, mostly, so you're pretty proud of yourself. Until JJ hoists you up on your feet and your knees buckle.

Before you can plop back down on the sand, JJ is hooking his arms behind your knees and picking you up, bridal style. The crook of his neck seems like the coziest place ever so you lay your head there and close your eyes, taking in his smoky scent.

"Mmm…" You start mumbling against his neck and peppering him with feather-light kisses. You can feel how he shivers and it makes you even warmer and more lightheaded.

"Are you feeling okay?" JJ asks softly, tightening his grip. You just nod because forming words is now becoming too much. Your stomach is really not feeling okay, but you don't say anything and just hope it goes away on its own.

Then JJ stops and you open your eyes to see what's the holdup. "C'mon, let's get you in the Twinkie, angel." He helps you get in the van, where the crew is waiting. Through your half-open eyes you can see the girls are not looking so good either. Well, except Cleo. It seems Sarah has it the worst because John B is saying to JJ how she puked on his shoes. You try to laugh at him but nothing comes out.

JJ takes a seat next to you and brushes your hair off your face, tilting a water bottle for you to drink. You are drinking and Pope and John B are talking about something stupid and suddenly your stomach is really really not feeling good.

"John B!" You yell out frantically. He looks up at the rearview mirror and widens his eyes when he sees your face. "John B, stop the car!"

He shouts something about not throwing up in his car, please, and stops on the side of the road. JJ jumps out, pulling you with him, and steering you toward the bushes. You fall to your knees ungracefully, and damn that's gonna hurt tomorrow.

"It's okay. You're okay, let it out." JJ gathers your hair in a ponytail, holding it out of your face while you are regretting going to this stupid party. Once you feel like you are finally empty, you take a ragged breath and glance at JJ through your lashes. "Thank you baby for taking care of me."

JJ puts his hands on your cheeks, wiping beneath your eyes. "Are you kidding me? Of course I'm taking care of my girl". He kisses your forehead once, twice. "And now I have a funny story about ya I can tell over and over again." JJ smirks and you shove his shoulder, but there's no real force behind it.

You lock your eyes with him and both of you burst out laughing, one of those full belly laughs about nothing and everything.

"Lovebirds, if you're all done, time to go! I'm gonna fall asleep at the wheel!" You look behind you at John B who is impatiently waving his hands at you and JJ.

JJ interlaces his fingers with yours and you two make your way to the Twinkie once again. It's quiet inside, everybody dozing off and trying to get through the drunkenness. Before you know it, you arrive at the chateau and it takes some time to get everybody out of the car and into the house.

Still holding hands, you and JJ stumble into his room and you flop down on the bed. You turn over, sighing dramatically. "I got to wash my face Jayj, but I'm so tired." JJ is only in his boxers now, his shorts and tank top discarded on the floor. Oh, what a sight he is.

"Come to bed, baby." You spread your arms wide, anything about washing your face instantly forgotten.

"Wait, I have these…" JJ throws something on the bed next to you. "What..." Oh. He has makeup wipes for you. He keeps makeup wipes in his room for you.

"Oh, JJ." You cross the short distance to him and jump up in his arms, hooking your legs around his waist. He catches you effortlessly and presses a hot kiss to your lips, not caring you still have lipstick on.

JJ walks over to the bed with you in his arms and sits down, positioning you on his lap. He takes one of the wipes and gently takes off your makeup for you. It's one of the most intimate things you've experienced and you love him so much your heart might burst.

"I love you so much, JJ." Now you brush his hair away from his face, feeling the blonde strands between your fingers. His gorgeous blue eyes are boring into you, the affection written there plain as day.

"I love you too, angel. You're my girl." JJ kisses you again and you moan a little into his mouth. You wish you could keep kissing him, but your eyes are closing more and more by the second. Without hesitating, you take off your dress over your head.

JJ lets himself fall backward and you land on his chest. He then turns you over so you are the little spoon. With one more kiss on your neck and a content sigh in your ear, JJ falls asleep, you following quickly along. When you wake up, you two are still pressed together and there's nowhere you'd rather be.

[meadowfics]

aunts and nieces

father!husband!kang dae ho x f!wife!mother!reader

apart of the kang family series

warnings: this chapter has smut!! MDNI! 18+. p in v unprotected. oral (r receiving), just a bunch of love making, daeho being vocal, praise, vulgar dialogue.

tags: @hrh007 , @tcvazq , @casually-simping , @chxrrybomb22, @prettywhenicry4

the house felt strangely quiet without the familiar sounds of tiny feet padding across the floor, the giggles and babbles of your daughters filling every corner.

stillness settled over you like a soft blanket, both comforting and unsettling. you stood by the window, watching as jia buckled seo-ah into her car seat, her practiced hands moving with ease.

byeol, snug in her infant carrier, was already dozing, her tiny hands curled into fists. jia smiled up at you through the glass, her warm, maternal energy radiating even from a distance.

“eomma! we’re going to have so much fun!” seo-ah called out, waving her little hand excitedly.

you forced a smile, waving back from out the window.

“i know, baby. be good for auntie jia, okay?”

“okay!”

you felt dae-ho’s hand slip around your waist, his presence grounding you.

“they’re going to be fine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you leaned into him, exhaling the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“i know. it’s just… we’ve never been away from them this long.”

“jia’s got this. she raises min-jun and sooyun like a pro, remember?”

min-jun and sooyun, one of daeho''s many nephews and nieces.

you nodded. jia was incredible, a strong, patient mother who had always made parenthood seem effortless.

you trusted her completely, but the idea of spending an entire weekend away from your babies tugged at your heart.

jia approached the door, knocking softly before stepping inside.

“hey, you two,” she greeted, her warm smile easing some of your nerves.

“hey,” you and dae-ho replied in unison.

jia glanced between you both, noticing the tension lingering in your shoulders.

“they’re going to be fine, unnie. i promise.” she placed a reassuring hand on your arm. “seo-ah is already planning our whole weekend. she’s got me making pancakes tomorrow morning and taking her to the park by my home.”

you chuckled softly.

“that sounds like her.”

“and byeol is so easygoing, a quiet baby. min-jun wasn't like that, she’s been a dream so far.”

you smiled, though your heart still felt heavy.

“thank you again, jia. really.”

she waved it off.

“please, i’m excited. and you two deserve this. a weekend to yourselves.” she arched an eyebrow, smirking.

“go have fun. sleep in. enjoy each other!”

you blushed slightly, while dae-ho chuckled, pulling you closer.

“we’ll try,” he promised.

jia gave you both one more hug before heading back to the car. you watched as she drove off, the car disappearing down the street, leaving an unfamiliar silence behind.

you stood there for a moment, feeling the absence of your daughters like a weight in the room.

dae-ho squeezed your hand.

“so… what do we do now?”

you let out a soft laugh.

“i… have no idea.”

“me neither.”

you both wandered into the living room, where the couch seemed bigger without toys scattered all over it.

you sank into the cushions, leaning against dae-ho’s side as he wrapped an arm around you.

“this is weird,” you murmured, snuggling into him.

“yeah. but kinda nice, right?”

“it is.”

you sat there in silence, the kind that only comes when there’s no rush, no distractions. just the two of you, alone for the first time in what felt like forever.

dae-ho’s fingers traced lazy circles on your arm.

“hey,” he said after a moment.

“hmm?”

“go get ready.”

you tilted your head to look at him.

“for what?”

your husband's lips curled into a soft smile.

“i’m taking you out to dinner tonight.”

you blinked, caught off guard.

“seriously?”

“yeah. an actual date night. just us two without the babies.”

you hesitated. it had been so long since you’d done anything like that, just the two of you.

“are you sure?”

“positive. we deserve this, y/n.” he cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb over your skin.

“go get dressed. we’re going out.”

your heart fluttered at his words, warmth blooming in your chest.

“okay,” you whispered, smiling.

you took your time getting ready, savoring the quiet as you stood in front of the mirror.

you pulled on the prettiest pink dress you own, one that flowed gently over your body, perfect for the warm spring evening.

as you slipped the pink dress over your shoulders, the fabric draped over your body in a way that made you pause. it hugged your curves gently, the skirt flowing down your legs with a familiar ease.

you turned slightly in front of the mirror, your eyes widening as you noticed how the dress fit, snug in the right places, loose where it needed to be, just like it had before you’d ever had kids. it is tight around the bomb area, but that is perfectly okay, that part of your chest has grown naturally with kids.

a soft smile spread across your face as you took it in. for months after having byeol, you hadn’t felt quite like yourself...your body still healing, changing, adjusting.

now, standing here, you saw the first signs of the old you coming back, blending with the woman and mother you had become.

your hands instinctively wrapped around your waist, hugging yourself, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

the fabric hugged you in all the right places, the color bringing a softness to your features.

you did your makeup lightly, just enough to feel special, before slipping on your favorite heels that matched with the dress.

when you walked into the living room, dae-ho was already waiting, dressed in a sleek black suit, his hair styled perfectly. he looked up as you entered, his eyes widening, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“wow,” he breathed, standing up.

you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“you clean up pretty well yourself.”

he chuckled, reaching for your hand and spinning you around gently.

“you look beautiful, baby.”

“thank you,” you murmured, feeling butterflies stir in your stomach, just like the early days of your relationship.

“ready?” he asked, offering his arm.

“ready.”

you both stepped out into the warm evening air, the warm countryside feeling fresh before hitting the train out to the city center of seoul.

it felt surreal...just the two of you with no diaper bags, no car seats, no toys in tow.

this was your night. you planned to enjoy every second of it.

a half an hour later exiting the subway station, a cool spring breeze brushed past you as you and dae-ho climbed the steps, your heels clicking softly against the pavement.

the city lights of seoul shimmered in the distance. however, the familiar sterile smell of the subway station lingered.

for a moment, the weight of past memories pulled at you...the fluorescent lighting, the dull hum of vending machines, the heavy presence of the recruiter who’d handed you that fateful card after playing the stupid ddakji game.

you felt a slight tension in your chest, and as if on cue, dae-ho’s fingers laced through yours, his grip tightening gently.

you turned up and glanced at him, catching the subtle flicker of unease in his eyes. he was thinking about it too.

neither of you spoke about it though.

it was a silent agreement...a pact made without words. tonight wasn’t for those memories. it wasn’t for the darkness that loomed in your past or the haunting remnants of the games.

it wasn’t for worrying about seo-ah and byeol, even though both your hearts ached a little at the thought of them.

tonight was just for the two of you.

“you okay?” dae-ho asked softly, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.

you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“yeah. you?”

“yeah.” he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, “let’s have a good night.”

“a great night.”

the unease faded with each step away from the subway, replaced by a warm anticipation as you approached the restaurant. it was a towering glass building, its sleek design and gold accents signaling the kind of luxury that would’ve made you both uncomfortable in the past. however, you do not feel that uncomfortable financial burden anymore.

you and dae-ho had money now...enough to live comfortably, enough to give your daughters everything they needed, and then some. the way that wealth had come to you lingered in the back of your mind like a shadow sometimes. even as you walked into the upscale restaurant, its marble floors gleaming under crystal chandeliers, you couldn’t help but feel a strange disconnect.

“who would’ve thought?” dae-ho murmured as the hostess led you to your table by the window, offering a stunning view of the city skyline.

you chuckled softly, smoothing your dress as you sat down.

“not me.”

“this place is insane,” he added, glancing around at the elegant décor, the soft ambient music and the waitstaff dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms.

you both scanned the menus, leather-bound and heavy in your hands, listing dishes with names you could barely pronounce.

years ago, this would have sent you into a quiet panic, worrying about prices, about fitting in, about not belonging.

tonight, there was a calm acceptance.

“so,” dae-ho began, setting his menu down and folding his hands on the table, “how are you doing? really?”

the question caught you off guard. it wasn’t just small talk...it was genuine, filled with that soft, steady concern he always carried for you.

you paused, considering.

“better,” you admitted. “earlier, when I was getting ready… I put on that pink dress and noticed how it fit.”

your husband tilted his head, his eyes softening. “yeah?”

“yeah. it felt like… I’m finally starting to get my body back after having byeol. I looked in the mirror and for the first time in a while, I felt a little confident again.”

a slow smile spread across his face, his hand reaching across the table to take yours. daeho's fingers were warm, his touch gentle as he smoothed his thumb over your knuckles.

“you are beautiful,” he said firmly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“you’ve always been beautiful. before the kids, during both pregnancies and even now. you’re incredible, y/n.”

the sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion. daeho's gaze held so much love, so much admiration that it was almost overwhelming.

you could see it in the way his eyes softened, in the little upward curve of his lips...the light that always appeared when he looked at you.

“thank you,” you whispered, feeling your heart swell.

he smiled, his thumb still brushing over your hand.

“always.”

you hesitated for a moment, then asked, “how about you? how have your therapy sessions been going?”

for a moment, something flickered across his face, something guarded, but then he relaxed, letting out a soft breath.

“good,” he replied. “really good. my therapist has been helping me work through a lot, especially… the ganghwa.. um- thing.. and… well, everything else. he has been nice.”

you nodded, squeezing his hand.

“I’ve noticed. you’ve been doing so well. I’m really proud of you.”

he gave you a soft, almost shy smile, his ears tinged pink.

“i’m trying.”

“i love you,” you said, feeling the weight of those words fully.

daeho's smile widened, his eyes filled with warmth.

“I love you too.”

however, the waiter arrived, interrupting the tender moment.

“are you both ready to order?”

you smiled politely, letting go of dae-ho’s hand to glance back at the menu.

“yes, I’ll have the salmon with rice and vegetables, please.”

the waiter nodded, jotting the order down on his ipad before turning to dae-ho.

“i'll take the galbi-jjim,” dae-ho said, choosing one of the fancier korean dishes on the menu.

“excellent choices. I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”

as the waiter walked away, you found yourself about to bring up the babies. something about how seo-ah probably had pancakes for dinner and how byeol was likely fussing about now.

however, you stopped yourself just in time. instead, you leaned in, a playful grin on your face.

“so… I started watching this old american sitcom the other day, one I used to watch back home back then...” you began, twirling your fork between your fingers.

dae-ho raised an eyebrow, interest piqued.

“oh? which one?”

“it’s called full house. I found it online and I started to remember how much I used to love that show as a kid. it’s cheesy but… I don’t know, it makes me laugh.”

daeho's face lit up, his shoulders relaxing as he chuckled.

“that's very nice, I've heard of it but I have never seen it before.”

you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest.

“it reminds me of home, in a weird way. it’s… comforting.”

he reached for your hand again, his thumb stroking gently.

“I’m glad. I know how hard it’s been for you to find things that feel safe.”

you nodded, thinking back to how your taste in shows had shifted over the years.

before the games, you used to watch intense thrillers, horror films, anything dark and gritty. after surviving the games, those kinds of shows felt suffocating...too real and too triggering.

now, sitcoms and lighthearted comedies were your go-to.

“it’s funny,” you mused, “I used to love horror movies and all that dark stuff, but now… I can’t even handle jump scares. I just want something that makes me laugh.”

“that makes sense,” dae-ho agreed, his voice gentle.

“after everything we went through… I’m glad you’ve found something that brings you peace.”

you smiled, feeling the weight on your chest lift a little.

“and when I’m not watching sitcoms, I’m stuck watching all of seo-ah’s cartoons while you're doing work in the office.”

he laughed, the sound deep and warm.

“oh, the joys of parenting. at least her shows are educational, right?”

“sure,” you giggled, rolling your eyes.

“if learning how to sing every nursery rhyme and counting to one-hundred counts.”

he chuckled, and in that moment, everything felt easy and simple. you were just two people in love, on a normal date night, without the weight of your past hanging over you.

you caught the way he was looking at you again...soft, admiring, like you were the only person in the room.

the both of you got your food not too long afterwards. the food was delicious, super good.

as you swirled your fork around the last few bites of salmon, the soft hum of the restaurant filled the space between you and dae-ho. the warm glow of the chandeliers above cast a golden hue on the table, making the wine glasses shimmer, and the soft murmur of conversations from the few other people around created a peaceful backdrop. it felt… perfect.

dae-ho leaned back in his chair, his hand resting lazily around his glass as he looked at you, his gaze filled with something deeper, calm, love, maybe even a little wonder.

“we should go on a vacation soon,” he said, his voice soft but excited, like the thought had been bouncing around in his head for a while.

you perked up, setting your fork down.

“yeah?”

he nodded, a slight grin on his face.

“yeah. maybe okinawa in japan? or jeju island? somewhere warm, by the water or even hawaii... I don't know just a real beach vacation.”

the thought made your heart flutter. a real family vacation. you could almost see it now: seo-ah building sandcastles, byeol’s tiny feet dipping into the water for the first time, you and dae-ho under a beach umbrella, watching it all unfold.

you smiled at him, the idea filling you with warmth.

“that sounds perfect.”

then, practicality hit, and you laughed softly, shaking your head.

“but… maybe we should wait a bit? byeol’s only four months old. traveling with her right now might be… a lot.”

he chuckled, his hand moving to rub at the back of his neck.

“yeah, you’re right. i got ahead of myself.”

you reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “no, i love that you’re thinking about it. it means a lot.” you paused, letting the moment sit between you before adding, “it’s kinda funny, though. having these kinds of conversations now, with our own little family.”

daeho's eyebrows lifted, and a soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded in agreement.

“i know,” you continued, “it wasn’t that long ago what, five years? we were just starting out. barely had enough money to get those cheap triangle kimbaps from the convenience store. and that tiny apartment of yours…” you laughed, the memory vivid in your mind.

“remember how the ceiling leaked every time it rained?”

he let out a deep laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“oh my god, yes and that heater? the one that would rattle like it was going to explode every winter?”

“i was sure we’d freeze to death that first year,” you giggled, your fingers still tracing his knuckles.

dae-ho’s laughter faded into a fond smile.

“but you stayed. through all of that.” his voice softened, eyes locking with yours. “and now… we’re here. I feel, i don’t know...complete, I guess? knowing we made it out of tha- that i got us here.”

your heart clenched, your chest swelling with emotion. you could see the pride in his eyes, the relief, too. you squeezed his hand gently.

“we did it together, dae-ho. yeah... i feel complete too.”

the two of you ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, occasionally offering each other bites and exchanging smiles.

as you finished the last bites of your meal, you leaned back in your chair, your hand resting on your stomach.

“i don’t think i’ve been this full in years,” you said, laughing softly.

dae-ho grinned, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“me neither.”

you both sat there for a moment, soaking in the calmness. the restaurant was still relatively quiet...only a few couples scattered across the room, some leaning in close to each other, others sipping wine and laughing.

“it’s nice here,” you murmured, glancing around.

“everyone just… looks so content.”

“yeah,” dae-ho agreed, his voice soft.

“maybe they’re like us...getting a rare night away from their kids.”

you smiled at the thought, leaning your chin against your hand as you gazed at him.

“probably but i don’t think anyone here’s been through what we have. at least I hope not...”

he nodded, his expression turning thoughtful.

“no… probably not.”

“yeah.” you sighed, the peacefulness of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

you reached across the table, lacing your fingers with his again as your legs caress his underneath the table.

“thank you,” you whispered.

“for what?”

“for this. for everything.”

he smiled, his thumb rubbing slow circles against your hand.

“you don't need to thank me, I would do this for you always.”

another hour goes by as you and dae-ho stepped out of the warm glow of the restaurant, the cool midnight air of spring wrapped around you like a gentle whisper. 

it wasn’t freezing, but the april breeze sent a subtle shiver up your arms, making you instinctively rub your hands over them for warmth. you didn’t say anything, but dae-ho noticed immediately. he always did as he observed your movements. without a word, he slipped off his blazer and gently draped it over your shoulders. 

the soft fabric was still warm from his body heat, carrying his familiar scent, cologne mixed with something uniquely him.  

“there,” he murmured, adjusting it so it sat comfortably on your shoulders. 

“can’t have my wife freezing.” the man chuckled.

you smiled softly, touched by the small but meaningful gesture. 

“thank you.”  

he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “always.”  

the two of you began walking down the street, your heels clicking lightly against the pavement, though with each step, your exhaustion settled deeper into your body. it wasn’t the kind of tiredness that came from stress or worry…just the peaceful fatigue of a long, perfect night. 

you knew if you admitted how tired you were, dae-ho would offer to carry you all the way back home to the countryside without hesitation. as your gaze wandered, something caught your eye, a sleek, towering hotel just down the street. 

the way its windows gleamed under the moonlight, reflecting the city skyline, made it feel like a sanctuary. tall and elegant, its name glowed softly in the night, inviting, almost tempting.  

you stopped walking, tugging lightly at dae-ho’s hand to get his attention.  

he turned to you, brow raised in curiosity. 

“what’s up?”  

you gestured toward the hotel. 

“what if… we just stayed there tonight?”  

he followed your gaze, then looked back at you, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“really?”  

you nodded, shifting his blazer tighter around your shoulders. 

“i’m too tired to head all the way home. and… it could be fun like a mini staycation.”  

he considered it for a moment, then his smile widened, warmth dancing in his eyes. “i like that idea. plus,” he chuckled, “i’m pretty tired too. would be nice to just… crash there together.”  

“and not worry about anything else,” you added, feeling a flutter of excitement at the thought.  

“exactly.”  

no other words were spoken before the two of you made your way to the hotel, the building seeming even nicer and bigger as you approached. the glass doors opened silently as you entered the sleek, modern lobby, where soft music played in the background and a massive chandelier sparkled above. 

everything smelled faintly of jasmine and something crisp, almost like fresh rain. checking in was quick, and soon you and dae-ho were stepping into the elevator, heading up to the 17th floor. 

as the doors closed, you leaned against his side, feeling his arm slip around your waist, holding you close. the soft ding of the elevator signaled your arrival, and you both stepped out, walking down the plush-carpeted hallway until you found your room. once inside, you let out a soft gasp…the view was breathtaking.  

the entire far wall was made of floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing the city of seoul in all its midnight glory. glittering lights stretched out endlessly, streets crisscrossing below like illuminated veins, cars moving like tiny, glowing specks. 

the han river shimmered in the distance, reflecting the city lights, and the n tower stood tall against the night sky.  

“wow,” you whispered, walking up to the windows, placing your hand gently against the cool glass.  

dae-ho closed the door behind you, slipping off his shoes before making his way over. he stopped right behind you, his presence warm, grounding. daeho’s hands found your waist, pulling you gently against him, his grip firm but gentle.  

“it’s beautiful, huh?” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm with an ulterior motive.  

you nodded, your heart fluttering. 

“so beautiful.”  

your husband’s hands tightened slightly on your waist before his lips found the spot just below your ear, pressing soft, lingering kisses there. the sensation sent a shiver down your spine, but it wasn’t from the cold this time. you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as his mouth moved lower, his lips trailing delicate kisses along your neck. 

the softness, the tenderness…it had been a while since the two of you had this kind of intimacy, uninterrupted, without the background noise of crying babies or toddler giggles. daeho’s hands roamed, sliding over your waist, his fingers tracing the curves of your body through the pink dress you are wearing.  

your breath hitched, a soft whimper slipping out as his lips pressed against that sensitive spot just beneath your jawline. you felt your entire body responding, warmth pooling deep in your core, your hands reaching up to grasp his as they held you close.  

you turned slowly in his arms, your chest rising and falling, your eyes meeting his. your man’s gaze was heavy with want, filled with love and desire all tangled together. your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. you tilted your chin, your eyes flickering down to his lips before locking back onto his.  

you leaned in, pressing your mouth against his, the kiss soft at first but quickly deepening. daeho’s hands moved, one sliding up your back while the other cradled your cheek, holding you there as if he couldn’t get close enough.  

the kiss became more urgent, more intense, as you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him. the familiar scent of his cologne, the warmth of his touch, the gentle but possessive way his hands moved over your body. you whimpered against his lips when you felt his hand grab your left ass cheek, realizing just how much you had needed this…him, this moment, this connection.  

daeho’s other hands slid down again, gripping your waist firmly as he pressed you closer, deepening the kiss further, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between the two of you.  your fingers tangled in his hair as your lips moved together, every emotion, every ounce of love, and longing pouring into the moment.  

the taller man stopped before lifting you up, his left hand staying on your ass with his right going under your dress to lift you up. he carries you to the queen size bed and gets right back into kissing all over your neck and collarbones.

“dae,” you whimpered, his large hand pushing your left leg to open. your leg’s knee lifted up to be closer to your chest as your husband’s bulge pressed against your center. 

“baby, what do you want from me?” daeho groaned, his hand coming up to massage your right boob through your dress as he uses his teeth to pull your dress a bit down, exposing your left boob to him. 

“i- i need you.” you whimpered. 

“use more words sweetheart, i need you to be more specific.” he mumbled against your nipple, taking his lips and kissing around your boob teasing you.

“i need you to make love to me, fuck me, just put yourself inside of me.” you moaned when you feel daeho’s bulge press against your center once again. your underwear was ruined, completely soaked, and your husband could feel it through his pants.  

your husband moved up to kiss your ear once again. it was clear hat he was tired, as were you, but you guys needed eachother more. tired and lazy sex it is! you whimper softly as you feel your man’s hands pull your soft lacy underwear off of your body, keeping your dress on. 

“you’re so big.” you moaned when your bare center settled onto daeho’s clothed cock. he started dry humping you, his lips making contact with yours again. you moaned wanting to feel him inside of you, your core clenched onto nothing as your husband used his free hand to hold your wirsts together above your head.

“be patient, baby.” daeho groaned, feeling himself grow impatient as he looked down at your core, completely soaking his dress pants and the bed below. 

“you’re so pretty. i can never get enough of this pussy, can’t i?” your husband whispered to himself but you heard it, you bit your lips as you admire your husband unzipping his pants. the man’s big cock is freed from his pants and boxers, which causes you to spread your legs as wide as possible.

your husband didn’t even bother taking off his pants before he pulled you towards him. he started to kiss down your inner thighs, starting from your knees and going closer and closer to where you wants him to be.

“i’m the impatient one?” you smirked as your husband taking no time in teasing you, as you knew he planned to. 

“shhh!” he whispered against your soft inner legs. 

daeho finally reached your center and you released the loudest moan when he kitten licked from your center and up to your clit. he started flicking at it with the tip of his tongue, using his thumb to expose the little bud from its hood.

your hands grabbed your man’s dark hair as he held one hand on your waist, the other massaging your left thigh.

“yes, fuck! you’re doing so amazing.” you praised. your man pushed his tongue inside of your walls which causes you to whine in pleasure. your dress was pushed up your waist, and daeho’s face was completely covered with your juices

 after feeling the familiar tightness in your core, you arched your back off of the bed.

“ah ah, stay.” daeho held your waist in order for yout entire body to on the bed. he admired your soaked vagina before sitting up, seeing how much you’re ready for him.  

“please fuck me.” you say. 

daeho places your legs on his shoulders before bending down to kiss you. neither of you bothered to take off your clothes. again, your dress gave him easy access and he was too tired to take off his pants completely. he needed you as soon as possible.

you look down and moan at daeho moving his fat mushroom tip along her folds, you moaned when it make contact with your swollen clit before it slips in easily. your juices coating his cock perfectly as you feel your walls greet the familiar dick inside of you. 

as good as daeho’s cock was, you can’t question how you’ve gotten pregnant twice.

“fuck, you’re always so soaked.” your husband leans down, engulfing you in a heated kiss as your walls grip his cock perfectly. 

you moaned loudly, never getting enough of daeho’s dirty talk.

your love combined with your sex made daeho the happiest man in the world. seeing his love under him as you looked down at his dick rearranging your insides every.single.time with your glassy eyes and swollen lips made his cock twitch more than he could count.

“you’re so pretty.” daeho whimpered. you felt yourself clutch around his dick due to his whimpering. you could never get enough. 

“your dick is sooo big!” you moaned, spreading your legs as an angle which helped daeho’s tip kiss at her cervix.

“all for you, mama, all for you.” daeho kissed your lips once again, his tongue entering your mouth at a nice pace.

your husband continued to moan and whisper as your insides pulsed around his sick, “i’m gonna-“ you moaned, before you realized that you couldn’t gold it. he is too good. you finally released all over daeho, getting your juices all over his cock and the bedsheets, as his hand caressed your face.

 “I’m almost done, i’m almost there sweetheart, hold out for me.” daeho fucked into you harder, knowing how sensitive your pussy is now. as he felt himself coming inside of your walls, you nearly squealed at his dick abusing that good spot inside of you.

“fuck fuck fuck!” you scratched at his bicep. 

“oh my god you’re so amazing, that was needed.” daeho pulled out of you.  

the love of your life laid on top of you, his body weight a little crushing but it served as a warm blanket in the cool hotel room. you smiled, noticing how both of you were still dressed. 

“it was needed. i love how we didn’t bother to take off our clothes.” you smile, smoothing your hands through daeho’s soft hair as his hands gripped at your childbearing hips in comfort. 

“yea, we were both impatient.” daeho jokes, coming up to kiss your lips softly before fully falling asleep on your chest. 

kang family series masterlist

[404creep]

Here's another little installment for my Simon x Civilian Cleaning Lady series. I'm trying to leave some of the REALLY good ideas for one shots, but sometimes I just gotta get the ideas in my head OUT through these drabbles!!!! I'll try and finish up the one shot I'm working on this weekend and post it by Monday! (Spolier alert, it's about the time you learn Ghost's real name 👀)

Previous Next Series Masterlist

The first time Simon truly interacts with your nephew happens roughly three weeks after you both begin having real conversations (you know.....rather than him just lurking like Michael Myers, silently observing you from behind a wall down the hallway)

Simon came for his daily visit later than he usually does on this particular day. Bro was swamped with work so you'd already clocked out when he came looking for you.

He was honestly scared he'd miss you. But he figured you'd have to get the kid before you left so he tried the daycare.

He just hung around outside the daycare until you exited holding the small 4 year old.

You honestly didn't expect to see Ghost there. It did scare you a bit ngl.

Y'all kinda do a stare down for a bit before you shoot him a smile that makes his tummy flutter

You introduce him to your nephew and he's just kinda awkwardly standing there looking at the kid like "idk wtf to do"

Bro does not know how to interact with toddlers and you can't change my mind on this.

Your nephew is kinda just burying his head into your neck and mean mugging Ghost

Honestly ghost is sweating a bit cause the kid is a little intimidating ngl

kid's been through a lot

You tell him to wave to the nice uncle army man

The kid does a half hearted little finger wave and then turns his head completely to face the other way so he doesn't have to look at at the masked army man

Ghost is honestly sweating cause how is he gonna marry you if your nephew hates him? Who will be the ring bearer????

Simon had it all planned out

NOOOOO! NOT HIS ELABRATE WEDDING PLANS

He'll survive

Anyway he figured that the way to any man's heart is through his stomach so he decides to sacrifice one of his snacks on you for the kid. Simon ALWAYS has snacks for you hidden in one of his pockets.

Decides to use YOUR daily treat for the kid as a bribe.

Kinda digs a package of gummies out of his pocket and then shakes them a bit "He old enough for this?" is all he asks. Doesn't wanna hop the kid up on sugar without your permission.

You see it for what it is, a bribe to make the kid like him.

and honestly you find it kinda sweet that he's trying

so you say yeah

he kinda taps the kid's arm with the package and the kid turns his head back to look

cue less mean mugging and very focused eyes on said package of candy.

Ghost can't help but crack a little smile under his mask

kid is cute, there's no denying it. Looks a bit like you.

He rips the package open and offers it to the kid.

The kid reaches in with his little fingers and grabs a few and then promptly shoves them into his mouth, still basically hiding in your neck.

Pretty sure the kid also eats a bit of your hair because you feel a bit of a pull so you can't help but wince at the pain. Kids are gross sometimes.

You tell Simon you guys gotta go because you need to get home and cook dinner

simon nods and follows you out to your car and watches you buckle the kid into his carseat

He's mentally taking notes in case he ever has to do it on his own

Tells you to be safe and that he'll see you tomorrow and gives you the rest of the candy for the kid later. He'll have more for you tomorrow anyway.

Watches you drive out of the parking lot and doesn't go back inside until he can't see the car anymore

One day you guys will be going home together :)

It takes your nephew a while to warm up to him (Oneshot about this cooking as we speak)

Your nephew may or may not immediately love Johnny.......Simon is jealous of this fact.

[lvstrucks]

breaks

lando norris x reader

Being a couple both of whose love languages were physical touch, you and Lando were no strangers to a bit of playfighting. Lando loved nothing more than to tackle you onto the soft surface of a sofa or bed and watch you squirm playfully, collapsing into a fit of giggles as you tried to take control of his strong form and make him do what you wanted. It was perhaps the only time Lando would allow his competitive side to slide, letting you pin him down and sit on his toned stomach in victory.

So it was nothing out of the ordinary when he leaned against the doorframe, watching you pad around the kitchen making dinner in one of his Quadrant t-shirts he felt a familiar burst of love begin to creep up his abdomen. It was a quiet Friday night before the Monaco Grand Prix, the both of you enjoying the comfort of being in your own apartment before what was sure to be a hectic weekend.

As soon as you put down the wooden spoon you'd been using to stir the dinner, he makes a beeline for you.

"Lovie," he half mumbles, half laughs into your shoulder as he scoops you off the floor.

"Lando!" you giggle, making a feeble attempt to shrug him off. "Stop, I'm making dinner," you protest, while really having no intention of making him stop.

Lando twists you around so he's holding you horizontally, gripping onto your waist and starts to spin you around so you can't reach to push him off.

"You just look so cuddly and cute dressed like that," he defends, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "Just wanna love my girl a little."

You both shriek with laughter as he begins to spin you even faster. Lando's certain that hearing you laugh like that because of him is one of the best feelings he's ever had. He feels like he might be flying a little, until your left arm flicks out with the force of being spun and the sound of a crack against the marble counter stops him in his tracks.

"Baby?" He asks uncertainly as he sets you gently on your feet.

"Ow." you blink back tears. "That hurt. But I'm fi-"

You cut yourself off as your hearing becomes muffled.

"Lan, I can't..." you put both hands up to your ears, pressing as if to try and restore your hearing. It comes flooding back, along with a throbbing pain in your wrist as it pushes against your head.

"Fuck, baby. Fuck!" Lando says, snapping into action. Not only is his girlfriend clearly hurt, she got hurt under his care, and it was his fault too.

He grabs a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, pulling you gently over to a chair at the dining table and sitting you down. He hands you the bag of peas, gesturing for you to rest your hurt hand on it.

"Did it...always bend that way?" He asks quietly, face going pale as you both assess the situation. The tears begin to fall as the full brunt of the pain begins to hit and Lando is quick to lead you downstairs, getting you buckled into his car and running around to the driver's seat. 

It takes a little while longer than normal to get to the emergency room, as lots of roads have been closed off in preparation for qualifying tomorrow, and Lando drums his fingers impatiently on the wheel.

"Not long, baby. We're gonna get you some help, and they can give you something to help the pain, ok? I'm right here with you." He tries to reassure you.

Good as his word, Lando doesn't leave your side once. He holds your hand whilst they set your fractured wrist back into place, gritting his teeth and keeping quiet as your nails dig into the calloused skin of his hands. He rubs your back softly as they wrap a pink (as requested) cast around.

You sleep on the way home, suddenly exhausted now the pain meds have kicked in. Lando watches you quietly each time he stops at a red light. He feels sick to his stomach as the red glare catches the streaks of dried tears on your cheeks.

Once back in your apartment, Lando carries you bridal style up to the bedroom. He undresses you quickly, taking care not to bump your wrist as he pulls one of his shirts over your head, one of the softer ones that you love to sleep in.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into your hair as he wraps himself around you. "I'm so, so, sorry."

You shake your head softly, waking up a little.

"I know you are, Lando. It was an accident."

"But I promised I'd never do anything to hurt you, and I broke it. I broke you." He frets.

You lean up and press a kiss to his pouty lips.

"It was an accident, both of us were being silly. I'm not upset at you, just upset it happened. So please don't beat yourself up about it, okay?" you say and Lando nods solemnly, snuggling down so your head is laying on his chest. He strokes your hair softly and you breathe in his scent, closing your eyes.

"Does it hurt? A lot?" Lando asks quietly into the darkness.

"No." you lie.

Although you'd assured Lando you were fine in the morning, ready to come and support him during qualifying, you were quickly deteriorating as the day dragged on. You found yourself sinking into a cushioned seat in the McLaren hospitality, beginning to shiver as the ache from your wrist travels up your arm. Lando is busy preparing for qualifying, but Adam is talking to an engineer and notices his son's girlfriend fading into herself and walks over to check on you.

"Everything ok?," he questions you. "Should I get Lando for you? He gave strict orders to interrupt him at any time if you weren't feeling well."

"I just need my next painkillers, I think." you say, trying to smile in a way you hope is reassuring. "Do you know where they ended up? I didn't bring a bag so Lando had them in his pocket when we arrived."

Adam tells you he will go and hunt down your meds, but unsurprisingly Lando spots his dad looking around and excuses himself from talking to Zak in the garage and jogs over to the hospitality.

"Baby, are you OK?" He asks, wrapping you in a gentle hug. You sigh, sinking into his chest and allowing him to hold you up.

"It's just..it's really starting to hurt now." you say, and his heart sinks at the sight of your bottom lip beginning to wobble.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he says truthfully. "Do you want to go home and take a nap there? I can get someone to drive you now."

You shake your head stubbornly.

"I want to stay and see how you qualify. I just need some pain meds."

"They're in my driver's room with my clothes." He explains. "Do you want to come with me? I have that fold-down bed in there now, you can have a quick nap?"

You nod, allowing him to lead you into his room. Once there, he hands you your meds and then slips his comfy cable-knit sweater over your head to stop your shivering. He does his best to tuck you in all comfy, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I'll come and wake you up in about an hour or so, ok?"

As he shuts the door behind him, he hears a soft "Thank you, Lan." He blows you a kiss, heading back to the garage.

When Lando comes back to wake you up, he's met with a much happier looking Y/N. You sit up on the bed, kissing his cheek and stretching.

"Do you have a pen anywhere? Or do you know where I can find one?" You ask.

Lando frowns, but gestures that he'll be one minute as he slips into Oscar's driver’s room for a second, returning with a Sharpie and handing it to you.

"What's it for?" He asks. "Are you going to vandalize McLaren to get me back?"

You giggle, standing up from the bed.

"I'm heading over to Red Bull," you explain, as if that would make any sense to Lando. "I'm going to see if I can get Max Verstappen to sign my cast. Ooh, and maybe I'll look for Charles too after."

"What?!" Lando splutters. He can't believe his ears. "You want Max and Charles to sign your cast before your own boyfriend? I know they were your favorites before we met, but have I made no progress?"

You laugh, flopping into him and leaning against his legs.

"It's because I don't want to exploit you, baby. I'm going to enjoy their signatures and then maybe sell the cast on eBay once it's off."

Lando bursts out laughing at your explanation, eyes squeezing shut as he holds you tight.

"My little businesswoman. Can I please be the first to sign it?" He asks.

You hand him the Sharpie, holding out your wrist to him. He takes it ever so gently and his tongue peeks out his mouth as he concentrates.

Twisting your arm around to read it, you grin as Lando looks proud of his work. Instead of signing as he would sign a hat or shirt for a fan, he's simply printed his name, followed by a collection of kisses and one wonky love heart. He lightly kisses your exposed fingers, then pats you cheekily on the bum as you pass him.

"Go get your signatures, baby."

thank you for reading! feedback is always appreciated <3