#imagine if i let myself get truly carried away

[pucksandpower]

Good Girl

Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

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

Warnings: 18+ content

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

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

“But I hate it, Papa! I’m miserable!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To let Max take care of you.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One he wants more of.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max ...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max … oh fuck, Max please ...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My pleasure, schatje. Truly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re finally, blissfully free.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Us.

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

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

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

Before you can lose your nerve, you hit call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Papa, please let me explain-”

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

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

“But Papa ...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max! Please!”

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

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

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

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

Until Max is there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is there anything you crave more than that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until Now.

Until Max.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

Your father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better?” He prods gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Three Months Later

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[connorsui]

“Believing in love”

Sylus x fem! reader

Synopsis: Amidst the dazzling lights of a futuristic city, you confront your fears of love

Genre/warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, soft sylus, reader who doesn't believe in the concept of love, emotional trauma, vulnerability, discussions of betrayal, past trauma for reader, sylus just wants to love you for you and nothing else, hurt/Comfort, emotional healing, small fluff, slow burn, hints of trust issues

Note: okaaayyyyyyy I went overboard this was originally going to be a short imagine ..like maybe five hundred words or less with the concept: “I don't believe in love” and “I'll show you what it can be” – I wasn't planning on this to be a full fledged one shot…but hey …I ain't gonna complain any further my brain is just doing its job ✨️

w.c: 1.8K

The city hums beneath you, a symphony of noise and light, but your mind is far from the chaos below. You keep your gaze fixed on the skyline, as if it holds the answers you can’t seem to find. Beside you, Sylus’ breath is ragged, his desperation barely concealed as he clings to your wrist. You can feel the tremble in his fingers despite the firmness of his grip, as though he’s trying to hold you together—or perhaps, to keep you from drifting away.

“Why do you always attempt to leave me? What is it that I’m doing wrong?” His voice is soft, almost pleading, a rare break in his usually stoic demeanor. He’s searching your face for something—anything—but you remain still, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

He clutches you tighter, not forcefully, but in a way that tells you he’s afraid you might vanish into the night, just like the countless times before. The emptiness in your silence gnaws at him, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

“Sweetheart…” His voice cracks, the word nearly lost in the wind. “I’m not one to beg, but if it means I’ll get an answer from you, then I’ll lower myself.”

You glance down as you hear the rustle of fabric, your eyes catching the sight of Sylus sinking to one knee. A proud man, reduced to pleading. The weight of his devotion presses down on you, suffocating in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I wish for an answer. Any answer from you.”

But still, you say nothing. The flood of emotions you’ve buried for so long stirs within you, threatening to overwhelm. The city lights blur in your vision, turning into a kaleidoscope of glowing orbs, and suddenly, your throat tightens. You want to speak, but the words are tangled in your chest, caught in the rising tide of emotion.

“It’s… it’s not that I wish to ignore everything you’ve done,” you start, your voice shaky and weak, barely audible over the rushing wind. “It doesn’t mean I hate you, or that you're not trying hard enough. I care for you. I do.”

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding against your ribs, as tears, hot and unrelenting, streak down your face.

“I want to love you, Sylus. I want to be near you every day, to feel what it means to love someone, to truly understand it. But I…” Your voice cracks, the word foreign on your tongue. Your chest tightens, the familiar sting of betrayal flashing in your mind, the memories you’ve fought so hard to suppress now rushing back in vivid detail.

Before you can break down any further, Sylus pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield from the world. His warmth seeps into you, steadying you amidst the storm inside.

“Shhh… it’s alright. Come here.”

His voice is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself relax in his hold. You breathe out slowly, though each exhale feels labored. Your chest rises and falls as you try to calm the sobs threatening to tear through you. His hands gently cradle your face as he wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his touch delicate but firm, as if assuring you he won’t let go.

“I’m scared…” Your words spill out between quiet gasps, your chest heaving as you finally let out the weight you’ve carried for so long. “I’m so scared, Sylus. I’ve loved before, countless times… and neither time was it ever given back.”

Sylus' embrace tightens, his chin resting atop your head as he rocks you gently. His voice, though calm, carries a raw edge of determination, as though he’s willing his words into reality.

“I can show you what it can be,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll show you what love should feel like, what it should be… No one in this entire city is more deserving of that than you.”

His hand rests against your back, moving in slow, soothing circles.

“I just need you to believe in me. let me show you that I can give you the love you’ve been searching for.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling into your chest, pushing against the wall you’ve built around your heart. For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the quiet murmur of the city below, and the cold wind that carries the scent of the night sky. Moonlight bathes the two of you, casting silver across the rooftop as if the world has stilled for this one moment.

And though the fear still lingers at the edges of your mind, something shifts within you. Perhaps it’s the warmth of his touch, or the sincerity in his voice. But for the first time, you allow yourself to believe in the possibility.

Yet he keeps himself steady, his grip tightens—not out of force, but from desperation, as if he’s holding on to more than just your body. He’s holding on to the very idea of you, of the two of you.

“I don’t need you to say you love me, not now, not in this hour, not tomorrow” he murmurs into your hair. “I just need you to trust that I will. That I already do.”

His words pierce through the walls you’ve spent so long building. The fortress around your heart cracks, letting in the first tendrils of warmth you’ve felt in ages. You try to push him away, afraid of being vulnerable, but his hold remains firm—not possessive, just secure. Safe.

“But Sylus—” you whisper between breaths, your voice breaking.

“I’m not like you. I don’t know how to—how to do this. Every time… I let someone in, they ripped pieces out of me until there was nothing left to give...so, even if you say you love me… what can I give you..when there's nothing? ”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His red eyes soften, the intensity that so often burned with dominance now a smoldering ember of understanding.

“You think there’s nothing left to give,” he murmurs, “but every broken piece of you is still yours to offer. And I’ll take them, even if they don’t fit together perfectly. I don’t care if you feel shattered. I’ll hold onto every fragment until you’re ready to trust me with the rest.”

Your chest heaves as you fight for control over your emotions, but the more you resist, the harder it becomes. Sylus’s steady gaze undoes you. How could someone like him—so powerful, so untouchable—look at you as if you were the most fragile thing in the universe?

“ — and yet there will be days you think I don’t know fear?” he continues, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t wonder every day if I’m enough for you? That I’ll lose you before you ever truly belonged to me?”

The vulnerability in his words makes you flinch. You’ve seen Sylus command entire fleets, face enemies without a trace of fear, and yet here he is, baring himself before you. It’s too much—too raw. But it’s also exactly what you needed to hear.

“I’m not a perfect man, and I won’t pretend I am," he adds. "But I will never stop trying for you. Not for a second or an hour or a day of my life"

His thumb brushes the last of your tears away, and for a moment, all that exists is the sound of the wind whipping around you, the lights of the city flickering beneath your feet, and the quiet hum of your hearts—one racing, the other steady.

You finally exhale, the weight of your emotions loosening its grip just enough for you to speak again.

“What if I’m broken?” you choke out. “What if there’s nothing left that is untouched for you to love?”

Sylus’s lips quirk into a sad but tender smile.

“It doesn't matter if any part of you is left …untouched ” he says softly. “When I mean I would love ..you ..I mean you .. Every part of you…that I have fallen in love with”

His words settle into you like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t realize were still bleeding. You’ve spent so long believing that love was something to fear, something that would eventually turn on you and leave you empty. But Sylus is showing you a different kind of love—one that doesn’t demand perfection but offers patience. One that doesn’t expect you to be whole but promises to stay, even when you’re not.

Your body, tense and guarded for so long, begins to relax in his arms. You close your eyes and lean into him fully for the first time, allowing yourself to be held—not because you’re weak, but because, for once, you don’t have to be strong.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped up in each other as the city continues its ceaseless rhythm below. The cold air bites at your skin, but neither of you care. Not when the warmth of Sylus’s embrace keeps the rest of the world at bay.

Eventually, you speak again, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than before.

“I don’t know how to let go” you admit.

Sylus shifts slightly, enough to look into your eyes again.

“And, you don’t have to,” he replies. “I’m not asking you to forget anything that has happened to you then or anything that has happened to you in the months or years away. I just wish for you to allow me to be part of your future.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away this time. Instead, you let the weight of his words sink in. He isn’t asking for grand promises or declarations. He’s asking for a chance—a chance to be the person you turn to, the one who stays when others would leave.

“Would you allow me?” Sylus asks softly, almost pleading.

“Can you let me in?”

There’s a long pause as the world around you holds its breath. Then, finally, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’ll try.”

And with that, the dam inside you breaks. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can learn to love again.

Sylus would show you how much you mean to him ..✨️

[calisources]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All these quotes are taken from different works of fiction and depict sensual, sexual tension between two people in different scenarios. There are some that are suggestive while others are more detail so this meme is nsft and usft, please tag accordingly. Mentions of jealousy, possessiveness, sex, fantasies are all here. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit.

I knew the first moment I saw him that it was going to be raw, it was going to be ugly, and I was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

You're still looking.

You make it hard to look away.

I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, that’s not fair.

If you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me.

How long are you going to make me wait?

How awfully presumptuous of you to think I'd let you.

You missed my arrogance almost as much as I missed your impudence, little one.

You said not to fall for you. Did you change your mind?

We both needed to blow off some steam, and we did, right?

They say the colour of a lady’s lips is an exact match to another region on the body?

You're too soft.

Can we go back to making out now?

You sound jealous.

Then tell me this is what you truly want. Swear you want this more than anything else and I'll never mention it again.

If you want me to play the bawd, at least give me the benefit of your advice.

Tell me how it's done. Do you think she'd like it if I came to her like this, if I looked deeply in to her eyes?

And then like this? Is this how I ought to seduce her?

You're wet, aren't you?

You drove me mad.

She asked me not to be gentle with her, either,I would have been gentle with you, though.

I would have had you moaning my name throughout it all. And I would have taken a very, very long time, Feyre.

I'm all yours to look at, you know.

You need to let me go, darling, before we start something I intend to finish.

Feel free to touch, darling. It's all yours.

. . .I hate you.

Say it again.

Grind it. Nice and fine.

I gave him a few smiles and he handed over a family heirloom. I bet he'd give me the keys to his territory if I showed up wearing those undergarments.

Why shouldn't I? You seem to have difficulty not staring at me day and night.

Am I supposed to deny, that I find you attractive?

Is that a challenge, Feyre?

Do you think it's fair that you have seen every inch of me, and I have seen none of you?

Move with me now.

Touch me anywhere you please.

I want you to make love to me.

Do you know what that truly means?

You do know? You know that I will be inside you and that I will move inside you, until we are both mad from pleasure?

I want you inside me.

You have three minutes to get ready now.

I did dream about you. I didn’t want to, but I did.

What was I doing in your dreams?

Someone is watching us through the window.

All the more reason to put on a good show.

You're not in a position to make demands.

The best things are found in the most secret places.

And you are a beautiful, sexy temptress who is about to be fucked by a man who wants her so desperately he's willing to do anything to have her.

When I'm with a woman, it's not me doing the begging.

You're rubbing yourself all over me. What did you think was going to happen?

I thought you were all about self-control.

I remember how powerful those thighs are.

You are more beautiful than I imagined.

And your skin... Christ, it shimmers like gold.

I'm naked underneath.

Tell me----did it get you off knowing I was watching?

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Please, don’t stop.

Oh, so I shouldn’t? That would be cruel of me, wouldn’t it?

I am the cruelest man you will ever meet, but, I will make you feel so good, you will not care.

I’ve never been with a man before.

You do bad things to me, Carrie. Very bad things.

And you, Miss, are no lady.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine finding Mihawk after an argument with Shanks…

Mihawk huffed. He listened to what brought you to his company and he truly wished he was at the bottom of the Grand Line.

“You cannot be my shadow each time you have a disagreement with your red-haired fool.” He deadpanned and took a sip of his wine. “I’ve seen enough of your lovers spats to know how this turns out.”

You tapped the bar to signal for another round of mind-numbing rum, eyeing the amber liquid as it was dispensed like a hawk.

“This time it’s different. I’m not going back.” You muttered.

Mihawk rolled his eyes. It was always the same story. You and Shanks would argue. You’d storm off and find Mihawk to drink and dull the pain with ample ranting. Then one of two things would happen, either Shanks sought you out or you would sail back to what ever island he was passed out on.

But as Mihawk learned very quickly - this time it was different.

Two days passed and you were still at his side, nursing yet another hangover much to Mihawk’s chagrin. He had finally grew tired of your threats to throw up aboard his ship so he docked and waited for Shanks to show. But he didn't come for you.

Fours days in and no attempts of reconciliation resulted in you shadowing Mihawk in anything he did. It irked him to no end but the Warlord couldn't find it in himself to chase you off.

When the World Government called upon Mihawk’s services to ‘take care of’ a rapidly growing pirate armada on Day Seven, you offered to join the mission.

“Absolutely not.” Mihawk refused almost immediately. He wasn’t going to risk your life and then carry your body back to Shanks.

He didn’t offer funeral services.

The pirate began to walk away noticing the way you trailed after him. “Hey - I’m damn good with a sword,” when he said nothing, you jumped in front to force the pirate to a stop. “I can do this.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes. “And what happens if you can’t?”

You stepped back, a broken expression settling on your features that made Mihawk feel something akin to guilty.

“You’re just like him.” You whispered. “I prove myself time and time again and you both refuse to see it.”

“That’s not what I- you are very capable Y/n. I only meant...”

Your name was suddenly called out from a distance. Heads turning to the shore, you saw a small boat and a shadowy figure hurrying in your direction. At first you thought it was Shanks but when the hair lacked his vibrant red, your heart returned to its dark hole.

It was Yasopp. The marksman bending forward and huffing to recollect his breath when he reached you and Mihawk.

“Great. More people.” Mihawk mumbled under his breath.

Ignoring the comment, you addressed the pirate. “Yasopp? What are you doing here?”

“It’s Shanks.” The man panted. “He’s miserable and what’s worse is that he’s even more reckless.”

You frowned. “Did he send you to get me?”

Yasopp finally straightened up but there was no excitement to answering your question. “Beckmann did when he heard that the Captain wanted to take on the Marine Base at Coral Cove. You're the only one who can convince him otherwise.”

Your eyes widened. Shanks being reckless was a dangerous thing and Coral Cove was no joking matter. You had heard of awful things that happened to pirates who set foot on its shore.

If Shanks was trying to get your attention, it was working.

You stepped forward to follow Yasopp back to the Red Force when the blade of Yoru swiped before you, holding you back.

Looking up at Mihawk, you saw him glaring at your friend with his golden eyes.

“Y/n isn’t going anywhere. That one-armed fool can come here himself if he’s that desperate.” He said.

You touched the hilt of the sword with the intention to push it down but there was more luck in moving a mountain.

“Mihawk, Shanks is…”

“He is playing a game to have you run back to his side. And as much as I want to be rid of you, I will not let you forsake your dignity.” Mihawk replied without shifting his focus. “You can tell your Captain that Y/n will not leave my side until he shows his face. We will be on the Wave Coast sinking an armada.”

You hadn’t expected Mihawk to have such fierce support but you appreciated it. Looking at the pirate who was waiting, you sent him a nod and Yasopp caught the drift returning to his ship to relay the news.

Mihawk finally exhaled and turned to you. “Let’s go.”

Following him to his ship, you watched as he climbed in. You had never walked into a huge battle without the Red-Haired pirates at your side so it was new and daunting.

“Any advice?” You asked the Warlord, stepping aboard.

Mihawk took a seat and stared at the open sea. “Don’t die.”

He'd keep you safe during the fight. Then once the conflict was over, he was going to pay Shanks a visit.

The idiot would lose a leg if he didn't apologise and whisk you away by sundown.

~ More imagines here ~

[penelopepine]

Elephant in the Room Pt. 4

Part 3 Part 4

Summary: John and you hooked up after a night at the bar. You two after that never saw each other again. At least until 12 years later when Price discovers that 9 months after your time together you had given birth to not one baby, but two. Word Count: 2309

Price continues to avoid you even after getting back to base. That seems to be what you want right now as well if the glare you shoot his way when he attempts to carry a few of the bags inside was anything to go by. With that in mind he swiftly made his retreat; leaving the rest of the team to help the two of you get settled while he excused himself on account of needing to do some paperwork.

His mind was racing far too much for him to truly focus on that though. Price tries to stay away, but after a few hours he can't help but find himself at your door once more today. Things like this do require space, but they also need to be discussed as soon as possible lest resentment and anger continue to grow. Ghost's words from earlier echoing in his mind. 

He knocks firmly on the door, and waits to see if you'll open the door, and surprisingly you do. You don't seem surprised to see him either. The two of you stand there in silence for what feels like hours before your moving, and gesturing for him to come inside. 

The silence continues even after the door shuts and you lead him to the living room. Price sits across from you, and only then does he finally speak, "I know the things that have been happening are my fault, and I'm- I'm sorry. I am going to fix things though. The only thing I'm begging of you is that I get a chance to talk to Amelia and Andrew." 

“No, no this isn’t your fault John. I shouldn’t have implied that I thought it was earlier. It’s just- everything is happening so fast; I mean just a few days ago everything was perfectly normal, and now it feels like I’m in an unending nightmare.” You explain to him before taking a calming breath, “Would you … like to talk to Amelia tomorrow? She was asking about you earlier, and I admittedly didn’t have any answers for her” 

“May I ask how much they do know about me; about us?” 

It's here where he sees a wave of sadness hit you. "They know just about as much as I do. I told them your name, that you were a lieutenant when I met you, and that you were kind. They also know that we weren't any official. Would be a bit hard to lie about not knowing your last name if I said we were."

Price softly whispers your name before continuing, "I shouldn't have left like I did, love. You didn't deserve that. Maybe things would be different now if I did."

"I tried to find you John, I wanted things to be different." 

"There was only so much you could have done. Heaven knows there are hundreds of 'Johns' in the military." He pauses here thinking about the conversations he's had with you today, "I still haven't properly introduced myself to you."

You let go of a soft laugh at his words. This might be the first time seeing any sort of happiness on your face since meeting you again. "Well go on then! I'd love to finally know my children's father's name." 

"John Price, and it's captain now."

"Captain John Price." You look at him with a soft smile, "it suits you." 

He likes the way you say his name. It only makes him wish he could have told you it all those years ago. You both sit in comfortable silence for a moment before he asks, "Were you serious about letting me talk to Amelia tomorrow?"

"Maybe- maybe you could come by for lunch; talk to her then." 

"I'd like that." He answers you with a gentle tone. "What is she like; what is Andrew like?"

Your eyes are soft and smile sweet as you reply to him, "Amelia … She's a good kid; smart too, but a little spitfire that one. I don't think that girl has ever been afraid of confrontation. Very blunt, I'll warn you now about that. I'd prepare yourself for some hard questions from her."

"Good to know," Price nods at the information you've shared. He can only imagine right now what a kid who's meeting their father for the first time in 12yrs could ask. "And Andrew?"

"Football is life is a phrase I'm pretty sure he actually lives by with how much I've heard him say it." You lightly chuckle at your words, and wipe a fallen tear from your cheeks before continuing, "He's a sweet boy though; always wanting to include others in whatever he does." 

"They sound like great kids." He pauses for only a moment, "You're a good mum." 

Your eyes snap up to meet him when you hear this with surprise shining through your face. "Thank you," your voice cracks out.

Price takes a moment of silence before speaking again, "It's late and I don't want to keep you up any longer, love."

You walk him to the door, and before you shut it you whisper, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Hell or high water he'll be here tomorrow. He won't let you down again.

-

It's the next morning and only a few hours until his first conversation with his daughter when Laswell decides to make a sudden appearance in his office. “John.” 

“Laswell,” He addresses her, “what you got for me?”

She steps up to his desk and immediately hands him a folder, “Information about who took Andrew.” 

Instantly opening up the folder Price sees the name of the same group who had managed to take him captive for a few hours months ago. He had always thought that the interrogation had been odd. They didn’t ask for any information, any codes, or any future plans the team had. Instead they had swabbed his mouth, and left him alone for most of his time there. 

Looking back on it now though their intentions are becoming more clear. They didn’t want to simply torture information out him; they wanted to take something seemingly much more important to him. This was in the plans for much longer than he realized. 

Flipping through the other pages he sees a printed scene shot of a DNA test website. It shows a profile with his name being listed as father above Andrews’. That's how they found Andrew it seems; by a stupid online genetic test. 

"Where are we now on getting him back?"

"We have a basic location on their base of operation as of now. Be prepared to be sent out on a moment's notice; even for today. We're getting this kid back as soon as we can."

"I can agree with you on that. Has anything else been sent to us since the video?"

Laswell shakes her head at him, "Nothing as of yet. Which we should take as a good thing. Hopefully that means Andrew has been left alone for the most part."

"We can only hope."

She takes a step closer to him, and gives his shoulder a quick squeeze, "We're going to get him back, John.” With a slight pause she continues, “What about the girls; how have things been with them?” 

“Well I’ve been allowed to have a conversation with Amelia today so things are doing good, all things considered.” 

“Yeah? Are you ready for that?”

“Laswell.” 

“Yes, John?”

“How do you talk to 12 year old girls?” 

Laswell gives a small chuckle at Price’s question, “Don’t treat her like a soldier for one, and two … I’d just be honest about whatever questions she might have. She probably already feels like her life has been turned upside down. The last thing she wants right now is to be treated like she can’t handle knowing the truth.” 

“So just be honest about everything?” 

“Well she is 12 so there are going to be things you’ll probably want to explain in a more age appropriate way, but 12 year olds aren’t babies; they can handle having a serious conversation.” 

“And what if she’s angry?” Price can’t help but ask. Of all things, that is the one that he’s not sure how to properly react to or handle that.

Laswell merely sighs at him, “She’s going to be angry. You just need to stay calm, actively listen to what she says, and don’t take everything she says out of anger to heart. Especially with how crazy her life is right now.” 

He doesn’t say anything else right away; thinking about what Laswell had just said to him. As always she’s right; Amelia is most likely going to be angry. He knows if he was in her position he would be. “Thank you Laswell.” 

“No problem John.” She then turns around and walks out of the office.

Once alone he takes out the photo he had taken from the first folder Laswell had given him; the one that showed all three of you smiling together. Price thinks about how once he gets Andrew back he'll make sure all of you can be together like that again. 

-

It was noon right on the dot when Price stepped inside your house once more. The first thing he noticed was how delicious it smelt inside. It really made him think for a moment about how long it’s been since he’s had a meal that wasn’t from the base cafeteria. 

You both exchange slightly awkward greetings with one another before you lead him into the dinning room where Amelia is already sitting at the table; a notepad sits in front of her. Price stops in the arch way as he watches you walk over to her, and give her shoulder a squeeze. 

“Lunch is almost ready; it’ll just be a few more minutes.” You move your head between Amelia and him, “While I’m finishing up you two can have a talk. Amelia, come get me if you need to.” You say before nervously exiting the room.

With you gone now it just leaves Price and Amelia alone to have what he can already tell is going to be a hard conversation. He makes his way further into the room and sits across from her with a hand extended, “Hello, Amelia. I’m John; John Price.” 

He watches as his daughter takes a calming breath as she extends her hand to shake his as well, “Hello, … John.” 

She sounds unsure saying his name which he can understand. Price didn’t come in here expecting her to call him any sort of partial name; that is something he hopes later on she’ll be comfortable giving him. That time is not now though, now is the time to build trust. 

“I heard you had some questions for me, and I promise to do my best to answer them for you,” He slightly motions towards the notepad. 

At the mention of questions Amelia seems to immediately perk up; even flipping her notepad open to reveal several lines of text. Price unfortunately couldn’t read it from this distance. It seems all nervousness from her has been thrown out the window though. 

The first few questions were basic get to know you questions. Things like age, birthday, and where did he grow up. Price noted how this felt more like an interrogation rather than a talk which actually eased his nerves a bit; she strangely reminded him of Laswell at this moment. 

Those kind of questions could only last for so long though before you started asking about things currently going on. “Have there been any updates about Andrew?” 

“We’re hoping to retrieve him any day now.” Price hesitantly answers; unsure of how much he should really be discussing with her. “You’ll get your brother back soon.” 

“And afterwards?”

“Hmm?”

"So like … what's going to happen afterwards then? You keep saying you're going to get Andrew back, but what about after that?" Amelia questions him, "Are you just going to save the day and all these years without you don't matter anymore because of that, or are things going to go back to when we never knew you?"

“Amelia!” Your voice rings out from the other side of the room. 

Price doesn’t know how, but you had managed to come into the room with him noticing. He puts a calming hand up to you, and softly says your name before continuing, “No, it’s ok it’s a valid question to ask,and the answer truthfully is that I don’t know what is going to happen afterwards. That is something your mum and I have yet to discuss.”

"What do you want to happen?" You are now sitting next to Amelia with a comforting hand on hers.

"I- I don't know." She says as her head hangs low and picks at her nails.

"That's ok; You don't have to know." You stand up and gently help Amelia out of her chair, "Why don't you come and help me bring out the dishes?" 

Price watches as you both leave; knowing that you wanted to have a private conversation without him present. It only takes a few minutes for you both to return, Amelia mood seems to have risen based on the easy smile on her face. 

The conversation that follows is stilled in the beginning, but quickly becomes livelier as Amelia talks about her friends and upcoming school year. Everything for just a moment feels calm, but of course nothing can last forever. 

A loud rapid knocking sound rings through the house; stopping any conversations in an instant. Price is the first one to stand and walk towards the door. He knows that whoever is on the other side is most likely looking for him anyway. 

“Captain.” Gaz stands before him, a serious look on his face. “Laswell needs us in the debriefing room. It’s time to get your boy.” 

Taglist: @zarsghost @lulurubberduckie @mafer383 @7thsthings @sazifer

[coryosmin]

nsfw | mdni | lawyer coryo x you | masturbation (m), sexting

lawyer coryo has been living in my head rent free. so it’s time to write something for it

imagine lawyer coryo being so done with his work. he has so much to do but his mind won’t stop thinking about you and your cunt. he wanted nothing more than to be home right now and fucking you in every possible position imaginable. his cock is so hard, straining in his suit pants. he’s grateful that he has his own private office with a door he can lock.

coryo stood up from his desk, his bulge prominent in his trousers as he walked over to his door and locked it, ensuring that no one would walk in. he made his way back to his desk, grabbing his phone as he sat down. he took a picture of his bulge, sending you the picture with the message “can’t help thinking of you.”

to which you would reply with a picture of yourself in bed with no clothes on with the caption “still haven’t left the bed since this morning ;).”

and coryo can’t help but let out a shaky breath, immediately unbuckling his pants and releasing his cock from the confines of his boxers and trousers. he looked down at his cock, his length being bright red and angry. coryo licked his lips, gripping his length. he took a picture of his cock, immediately sending you the picture.

coryo: want to be buried inside of you so bad.

it didn’t take long for you to reply to coryo with a picture of your ass.

you: when you get home, you can take me as hard as you want.

coryo groaned softly, stroking his length as the picture. your skin was so plush and pretty. he wanted nothing more than to grip your hips and just use you like his own sex doll. he opened his camera again and began recording himself stroking his cock. he didn’t speak in the video, not wanting anyone from outside his office to hear himself.

he stroked the tip of his cock, jerking his hips in pleasure. his breathing was hard and shaky as he jerked himself off, thinking about your tight and wet cunt. how you would whine and moan underneath him, begging him to go harder and deeper. coryo closed his eyes, making sure the camera was still filming his cock.

he stroked himself faster, twisting his hand a certain way to add to his pleasure. “oh fuck,” he whispered out, unable to help the words from escaping his lips. he felt the heat building inside of him and his balls tightening as his release was near. and with a small whimper, coryo came in his hand, releasing ropes of cum. and when he finished, he opened his eyes, finishing the video and immediately sending it to you.

coryo: i couldn’t help myself. gonna fuck you so hard later tonight.

and with that, coryo grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk, wiping the cum off of his hand and his cock before tucking himself away and carrying on with his day. though when he got home, it was safe to say that he truly lived up to his word.

[only-lonely-star]

Your recent fic of the Soda mishap is my new fav fic of the outsiders! It was so funny with just the right amount of angst!

Could I request a fic with a sister reader who is the youngest curtis and develops separation anxiety with Soda after the two of them were in a little fender bender? Neither were hurt but it brought up memories of their parents dying and she can't shake off the thought that Soda not being in her eyesight means he's gone too? She refuses to sleep in her own room goes with him to work (it's summer holidays so school isn't a factor) and anytime he showers she stands outsode the bathroom door asking if he's okay periodically. Just a big emotional breakdown if she happens to get separated from him? I hope that makes sense!

Thanks you!

☁︎ The Accident ☁︎

~ Sodapop Curtis ~

Warnings - Minor car accident, mentions of death, separation anxiety

Summary - You couldn’t imagine losing Sodapop.

Author’s Note - THIS REQUEST WAS MWAH!! CHEF’S KISS! 😽 I’m very proud of this one. It took me longer to write since I got a bit carried away, so I apologize for the long wait. I couldn't bring myself to make the ending sad, so I hope you all like how I closed the story. Thank you so much for requesting, enjoy it my loves !!

Word Count - 3.3k.

»——•——« »——•——« »——•——« »——•——«

You kicked back, finally able to rest after a long morning spent dipping in the lake with your older brother, Sodapop. It was summer break, so what better way to spend the day than being under the sun - swimming and shoving him around in the cool, crisp water? Your oldest brother, Darrel, still had work, even over the summer. Your third oldest brother, Ponyboy, decided he'd rather spend some time with his friends. Being the empath he is, Sodapop decided to drive you down to the lake to ensure you didn't feel left out. He loved spending quality time with you either way - he quite enjoyed your company.

Feet on the dashboard, you turned up the radio and sang along. You could practically feel the funky music thumping in your chest. The bass could be heard a mile away, causing Sodapop to let out a chuckle. "Havin' fun?" he asked, his eyes drifting to see you smile bigger than he ever had since the accident.

You nodded vigorously, a few stray droplets of water that remained on the ends of your hair flying onto Sodapop, dampening his skin. "Of course!" you beamed, removing your feet off the dashboard as you leaned back into your seat.

He gave a head nod of accomplishment at that. Sodapop was glad to have taken you out for a fun time for once. He would have to return to the DX again tomorrow morning, the cycle repeating all over again. "Glad we went swimmin', we could go next weekend or something too y'know..." he suggested, a grin on his lips not faltering once as he offered another trip down to the lake.

You gasped, already looking forward to it. "Really? Like - you'll actually take me again?" you asked, needing the last bit of reassurance before you could truly accept the offer.

He nodded once more, stopping at a red light to gently swat your shoulder with his knuckles. "'Course I'll take you again."

He earned another grin from you at that, proud of himself once more. Sodapop's eyes darted for the rearview mirror, noticing a red Pontiac Firebird riding up on the back of their car. "Well damn, you gonna slow down?" he asked aloud, a slight bit of annoyance in his voice. The car must have been going at least fifteen miles per hour right at the red light. You hadn't paid much attention to it until you noticed Sodapop's eyes go wide. The 'deer in headlights' gaze is the only right way you could describe it. Sodapop cursed under his breath once more, holding his hand out to press against your chest. The sound of screeching breaks against the road scared the both of you as you jerked forward. Sodapop's arm prevented you from moving around that much, but there was still an impact. You slowly opened your eyes, recovering from a wince you hadn't even realized was in effect.

"The fuck - ?!" he hollered, rolling down the window before slamming his hand onto the horn and holding it there to express his anger. Road rage was one thing, but this was totally different. Sodapop rarely acted out on his anger, let alone follow through with it and stick his hand out of the window just to flip him off.

You sat there, breath hitched in your throat as you momentarily dissociated whilst staring at the dashboard.

This was all too familiar for you. ‘The Accident’ is what still haunts the four of you to this day. Having both of your parents wind up in an auto wreck sure wasn’t on your bucket list at all.

It was the sound of the car nearly crashing that frightened you. The fact you could have obtained the same fate as your parents was such a big fear you’d been attempting to hide since the accident. What you dreaded the most was losing your brothers. Put in a life or death situation - you’d hand over your life in an instant if it would ensure your siblings would be safe.

It wasn’t until you realized you and Sodapop were pulled over with that same Pontiac behind you. Slowly returning to reality, the bearded man with salt and pepper-colored hair had his arms resting on the now rolled-down window. “She alright?” he asked, his eyes fixated on you. Your dazed expression had been permanently marked onto your face.

Sodapop scanned your face for any other emotion, but couldn't seem to detect any. He quickly turned back to the man, brushing him off. “She’s a little spooked, she’ll be alright.”

He gave a slight shrug and waved the both of you off. Sodapop immediately placed a hand on your shoulder and shook your upper half. “Gave me some cash to fix the damage…it ain’t too bad, the back is a little dented and some paint got scratched off - but that’s about it,” he explained in an attempt to snap you back to reality.

Your eyes scanned the road, still busy with vehicles buzzing around everywhere you look. Listening was easy, but trying to comprehend his words while your mind raced with panic was a difficult task.

“You sure look out of it,” he commented, moving the gearshift to head home. There was an underlying tone of concern you could easily hear in his voice.

Squirming around in your seat, you found a better position where you could see the road ahead, clear as day. Feeling paranoid was an understatement. “No, no, I’m fine,” you assured him, all the confidence you could muster coming into play. You couldn’t stand the thought of worrying him even further with your newfound state of shock.

The car turned at an intersection, a red Corvette coming at you from the left side. It was as if your body just knew what to do - curling up into a ball as your eyes closed shut. The car isn’t going to hit you. This is how normal cars drive. You weren’t hurt. Stop.

“Why are you all jumpy with me? You ain’t in any danger,” Sodapop piped up, noticing your flinch at the sight of the Corvette. “Calm down a bit, will ya?” he teased light-heartedly, unaware of the true conflict inside your mind.

“Sorry…” you mumbled in response, pushing down any remaining feelings of apprehension. “That car, Soda -…” the crack in your voice said it all, “Just scared me a bit, I guess I just don't want you to… to end up like Mom and Dad.”

The car became eerily silent, the only noise being the zooming of cars outside. The accident was a touchy subject for both of you - Darrel and Ponyboy as well. Just talking about it always darkened the mood.

“No. You’re safe, I ain’t ever gonna let anything like that happen to you,” he assured you, his voice thick with tension. He seemed to grasp onto the wheel tighter as he pulled over just outside your home. “You hear me? It ain’t happening.”

For once, he was stern. Sodapop was never stern nor agitated with you, he was always bubbly and grinning. You knew the mention of your deceased mother and father had triggered it. The accident may have been months ago, but the damage was nowhere near repaired.

“I hear you,” you mumbled shamefully, opening the car door and shutting it behind you swiftly. You stood with your hand rubbing onto your arm. The body language represented was one of dread and concern, but somehow relief. Relief that Sodapop was still standing before you - even if he was completing a mundane task.

Sodapop shut the car door as he hauled the bag of wet bathing suits through the gate and towards the front door. You followed, not once letting him out of your sight. You watched as he set the bag near the bathroom door. “Darry and Pony ain’t home yet, better shower before they come back,” he suggested, offering you first dibs with the shower.

You shook your head and stood underneath his arm, seeking some bit of comfort. “No, uh - I’ll do it later,” the words nervously fell from your tongue.

Sodapop ruffled his fingers through your hair, grinning like always. At least something felt normal. “Alright then, shower after me.”

With that, Sodapop waltzed inside the tiled room, unraveling an off-white and awfully tattered towel. Tossing it on the counter, he placed his hand on the doorknob and pushed it closed. You respected the privacy of course, but the pang of paranoia kicked in once more.

“Soda…?” you called out, the sound only a hoarse whisper. No reply.

It was strangely quiet on the other end of the door. No water could be heard running, no background noise of shifting clothes around, nothing. Your hand balled into a fist, the sound of three knocks beckoning him. “Soda, you okay?”

“Yeah…?” Sodapop responded with a confused tone, leaving the boy in deep confusion. “Are you?” he stifled a laugh at the question. He’d been gone a mere few seconds!

“I’m fine,” your voice quivered, exhaling deeply as you slid down the wall. You rested your arms around your knees and sat on the brown wooden flooring. You could practically feel the sadness washing over you. The corners of your lips seemed to subtly droop, your expression now a worried frown. A warm tear escaped from your left eye, leaving you to wonder why you were crying in the first place.

That car could’ve killed you. It could’ve killed Sodapop too - oh god, anyone but him. You couldn’t lose him. First your parents and now your brother - ?”

Wiping the stray tear away, you stood back to your feet and leaned your ear against the door, trying to make out any heavy breathing. The panic set in once more when the running water was the only sound coming from the other end of the door. “Soda, are you alright?”

The knob had been twisted, causing less water to flow from the shower head. “I’m okay - now what in the hell is up with you?” Sodapop demanded as his words echoed through your mind.

Sodapop beginning to feel a bit pestered by you didn’t seem to be an issue, you were at least grateful to have a response. “Nothing…sorry,” you spoke up, giving it a rest for the time being.

The eerie silence only led to the intrusive thoughts of Sodapop no longer being alive. This was torture at its finest. The shower seemed to drag on longer than you would’ve liked.

—————————————————————————

As the day came to a quiet evening, Sodapop had already climbed into bed for the night. Darrel could be found in the kitchen with Ponyboy baking a chocolate cake for tomorrow’s usual breakfast. Clutching your pillow and stuffed bear you’d had since childhood by your side, you crept inside his darkened room. He was lying on his front side, face buried in his pillow. A smile adorned your face once you saw him sleeping peacefully underneath the warm bedding. You tip-toed for Ponyboy’s spot in bed and lifted the corner of the sheets to slide in underneath them. Sodapop stirred and scooted further back toward his side of the bed. His eyes could make out your figure, halfway crawled into bed. “What’re you doin’?”

You were quick to reply, fully laying on your back now that he was awake. “I just wanted to sleep in here tonight…” you shrugged, the stuffed teddy a source of comfort against your chest.

Normally Sodapop would’ve urged it's best for you to not upset Ponyboy by taking his spot in bed. He felt tremendously guilty for earlier’s mention of the accident, it only made him want to ease your concern for his wellbeing. Sodapop could sense the constant fear nagging at you that if he wasn’t with you, he was gone as well. He wasn’t stupid - he was well aware. “Scoot over so there’s room for three,” he sighed softly before pulling your arm closer.

You could feel his lips curled into a loving grin against your hair. It was getting late, so it was a given that Ponyboy would walk in any moment now and settle down for the night. Your back against Sodapop’s chest provided a warm feeling inside. His arm was almost trapping you beside him from how tightly the embrace was. Feeling his heartbeat thumping against your back eased any nervousness that still lingered in your mind.

Sure enough, the hallway lights could be heard flicking off with a quick hit to the switch. A faint ‘goodnight’ was barely audible through the closed wooden door. Ponyboy twisted the knob and saw an unfamiliar shadow beside Sodapop in bed. He groaned once the realization swept over his head that it was you. “Alright, outta my bed,” he commanded with a rather sassy eye roll.

The sheets were flung off of your body as Ponyboy expectantly waited for you to leave. Sodapop squeezed you tighter against himself. “Pony, let her stay.”

Ponyboy scoffed and furrowed his brows in frustration. “Stay - ?! This is our bed, she has her own!”

Sodapop stifled a groan of his own, his hand extending to toss the bedding back over your body. “You’ve got room, either sleep with us or take her bed. It’s just for tonight...”

Ponyboy took one last glance at the two of you before plopping himself down in a huff. “You don’t even need to be here, it ain’t your bed,” he grumbled as he fiddled with the blanket that had been kicked to his side.

You felt guilty enough as is, but now the guilt had grown stronger. You exhaled softly and let your eyes drift shut. “I’m sorry,” is all you could manage to say in response before it turned to a whole meltdown on why you needed to stay close to Sodapop.

Ponyboy’s anger subsided to a calm and aloof demeanor. He was most likely too tired to even argue it anymore.

“I just can’t go back to my room…not when Soda’s all the way in here,” you explained, your voice kept at a quiet whisper. No response from either of them. That sickening feeling of loss had begun to eat you alive yet again now that you lay awake, speaking to your unresponsive brothers.

———————————————————————————

Morning came once again, except this time you weren’t woken up to the bird’s singing outside, or one of your brothers pouncing over your resting body. It was as if your mind already knew that Sodapop had left. Ponyboy too, it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning when the lonely feeling sank back in. You sighed and propped yourself up onto the pillows, using your forearms for support.

A muffled sound escaped your lips, immediately calling for Sodapop. Obviously, he couldn’t hear you behind a closed door. You sprung out of bed, the stuffed bear falling to the floor along with you. With a swift twist of the doorknob, you sprinted down the hallway to catch sight of Ponyboy in the kitchen.

“Soda - Soda - where’s Soda?” you asked frantically, no sign of your two eldest brothers being around.

Ponyboy bit into a mouthful of chocolate cake, not caring to finish chewing before speaking, “Leavin’ for work, why?”

You shook your head without another word and scrambled for the front door, pajamas and all. You saw Sodapop buckling in beside Darrel as he slipped on a shirt. You sprinted towards the car, shouting and pleading for them to wait.

“Soda, Darry!” you called out, your hand smacking the side of the car to stop the vehicle. Darrel looked beyond frustrated to see you causing such a scene. Sodapop was filled with great concern, even as the adrenaline rushing throughout your body masked your fear. He gave a head tilt to signal Darrel to let him handle this.

“I’m here,” he replied in an assertive tone, his empathic eyes feeling every emotion you’ve felt since yesterday’s accident. He understood you better than anyone. Reaching a hand out to pull you closer, his gentle grasp latched onto your wrist. He leaned closer to you and spoke lowly, “You alright, kid? You’re scarin’ us, y’know.”

You nodded. In all honesty, you were okay now that you’d seen Sodapop. It felt like every second spent away from him was hell on earth. He could be hurt, laying out in the street somewhere - dead.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, tugging on the backseat door behind Sodapop. It didn’t open. Instead, Darrel’s husky voice backed you away from the handle.

“Coming with us -? No kids allowed, be realistic for once.” Darrel gave you a stern warning that if you didn’t head back indoors then you would never hear the end of it.

Sodapop exhaled sharply and glanced between you both, trying to handle the situation. He locked eyes on you, giving you the same empathic look as before. “Just…” he gave Darrel a wince before facing you again, “You got five minutes to get ready and then we're leaving.”

Your smile reappeared yet again, immediately racing back up the stairs leading to the front door. The sound of your brothers’ voices grew louder even as the distance between you and the car grew. A glimpse of the two arguing caused a bitter pang in your heart. Pushing the feeling away, you darted for the bathroom.

———————————————————————————

“She can stay with me. The DX ain’t in a bad area, she’ll be fine…” Sodapop spoke softly to Darrel, trying to reason as to why you should come along to work with them.

You settled yourself in the vehicle as it began to propel forward. The tension of the previous argument still lingered, but at least Darrel kept quiet as soon as you were in a close enough radius to hear the bickering. He wouldn’t be caught dead speaking of you like that while you were listening.

———————————————————————————

Taking Sodapop’s hand, he led you inside of the gas station in which he worked. You’d been here countless times before, bumming around with your brother’s friends as they smoked and attempted to sweet-talk any girl that passed. Sodapop and Steve never did, they would be fired after receiving complaints for doing such activities. Sodapop would always bend the rules, slipping a few snacks and whatnot into his pocket before leaving work. The DX brought back fond memories even as you stepped inside the front door, a small bell ringing overhead, indicating your entry.

“Now, I ain’t supposed to have company,” Sodapop spoke quietly, holding onto your shoulder and bending down a bit to be eye level with you, “But I couldn’t say no, I just couldn’t.”

Your eyes stung from the tears that dared to form during such a heartfelt moment. Sodapop was aware?

“Soda, I can’t lose you too,” your voice quivered as you quickly closed the distance between one another. Your arms wrapped around his neck, Sodapop immediately reciprocated the hug.

“I know, I know…” he replied as he softly stroked the back of your head, his fingers intertwining with your hair in a soothing motion. “You ain’t losin’ me anytime soon, I can promise you that.”

You willingly let the tears fall from your cheeks, landing on Sodapop’s shoulder which dampened the fabric quite a lot. He didn’t mind at all, in fact - he was glad you were no longer bottling yourself up. You squeezed him tighter, wishing the hug could ensure you’d never lose him. “I love you,” you spat out in a desperate cry.

Sodapop nodded along, the soothing motion of his hand still in effect. “I love you too y’know, a lot,” he said with a delicate tone, one he only used with you. You were his little sister and he would never let anything separate the two of you.

You just don’t stop living because you lose somebody.

It was as if the hug was the one thing you needed - the one thing that could ease your pain. Learning to cope with the death of your parents was by far the most difficult task you’d faced. Memories of the accident only strengthened your love for your brothers, clinging onto them as if you’d lose them next. Living in constant fear, dreading any separation was no healthy way to cope. The only way to cure the feeling of this overwhelming pain was to cherish your brothers like never before. And that’s exactly what you did.

[midnight-bay-if]

Okay, that ask with MC dying in RO's arms. I can't help but reverse-angst any angsty ask I see, so now I HAVE to.

What if despite the MC seemingly dying, the team managed to call an ambulance and for it to arrive fast enough to like manage to restart their heart and ultimately save them? What I'm mostly interested in in this scenario is how would the ROs act during the period of uncertainty of "will they wake up or not", and when MC finally DOES wake up and is fine (cause well, they could have woken up but with all sort of issues due to the lack of oxygen and what not).

I live for hurt-comfort!

(A little bit of hope can go a long way. Let's do this :D)

S: The wait is excruciating. It's a difficult ask for S to set aside their usual cynicism in favour of a more optimistic approach. In the army, it was customary to carry a letter for loved ones should the worst come to pass. S had to deliver more than a few of those letters. They still carry one themselves out of habit. Preparing for the worst like some paranoid doomsayer has become their second skin.

But just this once, they don't want to believe in the worst. They don't want to prepare to break bad news to loved ones, nor imagine the empty space you could leave behind. Perhaps your inability to give up has rubbed off on them. It's a quality of yours they are counting on right now.

Then, the doctor exits the room and smiles, and S knows that their uncommon hope has not been blind after all. You don't wake immediately, but S guards your bedside the entire time. It feels like a lifetime, but when your eyes finally wake, it takes all their strength not to immediately pull you into an air-restricting embrace.

Instead, they grasp your hand in theirs, clutching it tightly against their chest with misty eyes. When you finally speak their name, the tears finally spill freely.

"Thank goodness," they whisper, grasping your hands as if in prayer. I don't know what I would have done if..." They breathe. Deeply. "I fear a very long lecture is teasing the tip of my tongue, but I will do everyone a favour and keep myself gracious instead. Something to look forward to, my darling."

They smile.

Rain: It’s impossible to sit still. Plagued thoughts of pained screams and bloodied hands keep them pacing the length of the waiting room. The others are here too, but for once, Rain doesn’t have enough space inside their head for everyone else.

The pattern sound of their pacing steps keeps them grounded. It’s something else to focus on... because otherwise, the alternative is remembering every sordid detail of what happened to you, and that is too bloody unbearable.

How could they let this happen to you? Are they truly resigned to a life of regret forevermore? Regret was already a heavy enough weight for them to carry as is.

Then, the doctor spills the good news, and Rain rushes into your room, shaking. They didn't think they had tears left to cry, yet they fall freely once more. Red-faced with puffy eyes, they collapse onto their knees beside your bed, tucking their face into the crook of your arm... Honestly, they would be embarrassed if they weren't so happy.

"Perhaps we should consider retirement," they offer once their tears have ceased and they can force a smirk back on their face. "We could settle down by the ocean far away from Albach Bay and grow old together under a canopy of stars. Or we could get on a boat and become pirates. Mind you, the mermaids might pose a threat... Hm, I'll workshop it."

They are only half joking.

Taj: It's easier to be angry. So, as Taj watches the doctors and nurses rushing around as they busy themselves with their work, Taj seethes. They still taste the metal tang of blood in their mouth from the assailant whose throat they ripped out. It taunts them.

'You were too slow', it goads. 'You have always been too slow.'

Taj growls, subconsciously scratching at their own skin as they dig their nails into their arms. Their aggravation must permeate throughout the waiting room because the staff are giving them a wide berth. Sometimes, they'll spot a nurse giving them a pitying look and Taj will dig their claws in deeper.

It's all they can do to prevent clawing at their throats.

They don't understand. Taj has fought tooth and nail to find 'home'. S and Rain came along and provided shelter, but they found a home in you.

Taj would flay the skin of every potential threat before losing that.

All that anger, all that pent-up rage, begins to finally trickle away when the doctors give the good news. It still exists—it's still there—but it softens, as does the self-flagellation.

At your bedside, they wait. When your eyes flicker open, and you whisper their name, they finally breathe. "I always knew you were annoying, Koel, but I never pegged you as cruel."

Pouting, they grasp your hand in theirs and hold it delicately up against their lips. "Thank you," they gasp, barely breathing. "For not leaving me."

N: N is losing what little patience they actually have. It feels like days since they absconded away with you, and there has been no news since. What in Hael do they do here? There may or may not have already been a few incidents of cornering medical staff in a somewhat threatening manner to demand they prioritise you above all others.

It's not like there is anyone of greater importance in this hospital. N knows that to be true, even without knowing who the other patients are.

It's too tempting... to want to reach out to the dark recesses of your mind and pull you back, but then fear takes over. What if they reach out and you aren't there? What if they scream into the void, and all they hear is their echo? It would ruin them.

So, they wait and wait, and finally learn what it means to be patient.

When the doctors, still maintaining a cautious distance, finally break the news N has been so desperately hoping for, N breaks. They rush into the room, practically tripping over their feet in their haste. For a moment, they forget all about their image as a Prince of Hael and choose, instead, to embrace one simple truth; they care.

"Do try not to die in the future, my dear. I would be awfully put out if you did."

Umbra: If it weren't for the others, Umbra would be burning through the very heart of themselves to skulk, watch, and stand vigil in your room as the doctors worked. But it was S who rightfully pointed out that if you were to wake and Umbra had become less of themselves in the meantime, it would only bring you more heartache.

So, instead, they continue to practice trust. They are choosing to trust in your strength, in your stubbornness, in your desire to live. Even as their instinct to fight scratches at the back of their skull, they choose to believe instead. It's hard and getting harder.

Umbra knows if it weren't for the others, they would have already stormed your hospital room with savagery.

When the doctors finally release Umbra from their torment and share the good news of your stability, it's all they can do before Umbra is at your side. God grant mercy to the person who attempts to remove them from that point on.

Overwhelmed with emotion and with their fear no longer gripping their throat, they daringly climb onto the bed next to you. With hushed apologies, they gently rest their head atop yours, listening to you breathe.

"I never noticed before," they whisper, breath shuddering. "You breathe so deeply."

(I'm sorry sorry this took so long! I wanted to do it justice since it feels like a short sequel, lol. It's been a busy few days since we rescued a cat from a family member who had to move house. I may or may not be using them as inspiration for Taj, haha.)

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Scars

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of smut but nothing too vivid, Tav history but nothing horrible, kinda funny in some ways, really enjoyed writing this one and if you don't like it - I hate to tell you but you are wrong (I don't make the rules here sorry (I def do make the rules)), I'm so sleep deprived lord help me

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

You laid across from Astarion, enjoying each other's company as the early morning rays of golden sunshine cascaded into the tent. It was the first night you had slept together of Astarion’s own volition. After defeating Cazador, he decided to try living again and he wanted to indulge in every way possible, including indulging in you. It was sweet, gentle, thoughtful lovemaking. Ensuring you were both comfortable and consenting was at the forefront of both your minds. You laid on your combined bedrolls nude, your lower halves covered by a thin blanket. Astarion traced over your face deftly, his fingers subconsciously tracing over the scars that crossed your eye, cheek, and lips. 

“How did you get these?” he asked suddenly.

Your eyes opened completely, waking from their sleepy haze to find his.

“Forgive me, that was rude… you don’t have to tell me.” he said, shaking his head. 

You smiled at him, kissing him briefly. “I’m just as old as you, I have quite a few scars if you’d like to hear the many tales.” you smirked.

He let out a relieved sigh, worried he had offended you somehow. He nodded at your question, finding the raised blemishes to be quite beautiful against your skin. 

“These,” you said gently moving his fingers across your eye and cheek, “are from a devil. My very short stint fighting in the Blood War gave me these.” 

“And this,” you said tracing over your lips, “from a dog. Bit me when I was 7.”

You moved his hand to trace over the large scar that spanned across your neck, “A near death fight with a Bhaal spawn. Nearly took my head off, thankfully I had quite the healer with me.”

Astarion grimaced at this scar. He couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. Being bitten by Cazador had felt like a shard of icy glass being plunged into his neck. Having your throat sliced open by someone as vicious as a Bhaal spawn, he could imagine the immense fear seeing all the blood seeping from you, your life slipping away slowly. He thanked any gods who were listening for the healer who saved you long ago.

“How old were you?” he whispered.

“For my neck?” you asked, “I was 80, my first time in Baldur’s Gate actually. Quite the welcome.” you chuckled. 

You carried on with your little tour of your body. “This one,” you said, tracing a very faint scar of three little dots on the top of your chest, “I gave to myself. Turns out forks are quite dangerous if you trip with them in your hand.” 

Astarion scoffed, a breathy laugh coming out after. As gifted of a fighter as you are, you are also the most accident prone individual he has ever met. 

“Lets see…” you continued moving his fingers to your upper ribs where a deep, jagged scar lay, “A worshiper of Loviatar “blessed” me with that one.”

“Blessed you?” he said, quirking an eyebrow with a hint of confusion in his eyes.

“Let's just say Loviatar worshipers enjoy all manner of things in the bedroom.” you blushed. “It was truly a blessing though, the knife they so graciously stabbed me with was infused with magic. Makes me harder to kill since I “embraced” Loviatar.” 

Astarion smiled at that one. He had noticed how slashing didn’t seem to have much effect on you in battle, now he knows why.

“This one,” you said, moving his hand to a scar that spanned from your belly button to your hip, “Particularly brutal - a Lolth sworn drow and a drider came after me while I was knocked down. Turns out spider legs are sharp as fuck. And the venom? Lord, I have yet to feel a sting quite like that again.” 

Astarion frowned, he always despised spiders. Now he has even more reason to dislike them.

“This,” you moved his hand to your upper right thigh, “Another self-inflicted accident. Swam in the Black Lake, which is forbidden and for good reason too. Giant eels leave quite the electric burn.” 

“Why were you in a forbidden lake?” he asked, thumbing over the patchy scar.

“Why not?” you winked at him with a smirk.

Gods he loved your rebellious spirit, quite matched his own. Trouble seemed to find you both all too easily and yet, you always managed to make fun out of it. 

“This,” you said as you dramatically slapped his hand to your ass cheek. He felt for a moment before feeling a raised “X” shape. “An arrow of Ilmater from a particularly pissed off dwarf.”

“And, pray tell, why was he pissed off?” he said with a smirk of his own. 

“I may or may not have been trying to steal a particular magical necklace.” you grinned.

Astarion hooked his finger under the golden chain around your neck that always had a slight ethereal glow to it. “I’m assuming you managed to steal said necklace?” he said before tugging on it to pull you into a kiss. 

You giggled when you pulled away as his lips followed yours, you pecked them again before continuing. “Yes. Well worth it though, it prevents me from being poisoned. It’s come in handy more than once.” 

You moved his hand to your knee but not before he gave your ass a final squeeze. You squealed as you leaned into him. He would never get tired of your toothy grin, it was like sunshine to him, he loved to bask in it. 

“This one,” you said as you moved his hand to feel over two parallel scars, “from a mermaid. She tried to drown me so I kicked her off, but not before her scales dug into me.” 

“Why was she trying to drown you?” he asked.

You gave him a sarcastic look, “Have you ever met a mermaid? They don’t need a reason, they do it for sport.” 

Astarion nodded, making a mental note to not venture too far into mermaid infested waters. 

“Kept the scales though! Worth a fortune since they make elixir of water breath.” you said jovially, finding the positive in said situation.

“Elixir of what?” Astarion asked, searching his mind for this unknown elixir. 

“Water breath; you can breathe underwater for quite some time once you drink it. Rather rare though, getting scales off a mermaid is a pretty deadly task.” you shrugged.

“Any more?” Astarion said, his eyes running over all the scars that littered your body. So many stories, so many emotions. 

“Just two…” you said as you raised your foot up so his hand could feel over the top of it. A “Z” shaped scar. “This one is from a Zhentarim, hence the “Z” shape. Got caught trying to break into one of their hideouts. Left me with a lovely little scar to remind me not to try again.” 

Astarion traced the shape, you jerked away at the ticklish feeling. 

“Finally,” you said moving his hand between your legs right where the plush of your thigh meets your groin, “this one is from the best lover I have ever had.” 

Astarion felt for a moment but couldn’t feel anything. He looked up at you confused, “There's no scar here?” he said, waiting for you to guide him to the proper spot.  

“Not yet. I suggest you get to it, fangs.” you smirked at him. 

Astarion gave you a wicked smile when your words clicked in his head, “I’d be honored to add to the collection…” he said as he trailed himself down your body, leaving feverish pecks and little nips as he descended before licking over your thigh and sinking his fangs in. 

You arched your back while you carded your fingers through his white curls. You never wanted to leave this bed, this tent, or him. And luckily, you didn’t have to, not now. Not ever. He would alway be yours, and you his.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! :D I am so fucking tired but also very awake right now working this overnight. I fucking love this piece so I hope you all do too! Fun fact, the fork scar is an actual scar I have because I am, in fact, a clumsy bitch lol. This felt very fluffy to me and just generally made me feel better so I hope it was comforting to ya'll as well. Talk soon, thanks for everything!!!!!!!! TTYLXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

[snaillock]

could I pls ask for a boyfriend's Nagi x male reader? like him having a weakness for the reader and being like a puppy with him? idk if I'm explaining myself idk how to put it in words 😭 I love blue lock and there's almost no x male reader with them so I'm excited to find this sorry 😓

nagi x male!reader

AHHH my first request!! tysm for asking i would love to make this! i also got curious and only found like three nagi x male readers (two of which were smuts that i was too uncomfortable to read☠️) but don't worry im here to save the day. this also ended up being a lot longer than expected but still really hope you enjoy!! ^^

tags: male reader, sad nagi backstory moment, me getting too carried away with build up again

you were one of the few people who didn’t look at nagi like he was some anomaly. while others in your school would steer clear and gossip about him behind his back, you were one of the only people who spoke to him and treated him like an actual person and not some freak of nature

you would try to talk to him in class but he wouldn’t talk back (since “talking is such a pain”) so you assumed you were bothering him and eventually stopped.

nagi eventually noticed you wouldn’t talk to him in class anymore and it didn’t bother him at first. but eventually he finds himself missing it and would make the rare effort of trying to initiate conversations with you.

that led to you guys talking every day during class. the more you two spoke, the more you realized how much you had in common with him. you soon asked him if he wanted to come over to hang out.

he usually rejects any hang-out offers from literally anyone. though when you asked him if he wanted to come over to your place to play video games together, he accepted because he found you to be less of a hassle to be around compared to others.

when he came over, he realized he actually really enjoys being around you and had fun spending his time playing games with you. he even took a look around your room to admire all the things you’ve collected that represent your personality and interests. this only made him more captivated by you and wanted to be much closer friends

now for the exciting part

once some time has passed and you two got closer, you soon find out he’s a shamelessly clingy person both emotionally and physically.

whenever he would see you, he randomly wraps his arms around you and latch onto you. he hates being forced to let go whenever you two have to go to class.

he gives absolutely zero fucks about being publicly affectionate with another guy in school, paying no mind to the weird stares and whispers

he constantly wants to stay over at your place and when you come over to his for the first time, he introduces you to choki (a hugeeee moment for him trust me)

nagi truly loves being with you. at first, he didn’t care about being an outcast until you showed up in his life and showed him what true friendship and love was like

soon his feelings for you as a friend develops into something much more unfamiliar before he can realize it. falling in love was definitely a new experience for nagi and falling in love with you specifically was a slow delicate process

he definitely didn’t realize for a while that he likes you in that way until he finds himself admiring you as you somehow have soft lighting all over your face and pink flowers and hearts circling your head (all in his imagination my boy is completely whipped). he then thinks, “hmm this feels like one of the shojo mangas i’ve read befo- ohhhhh!”

once the initial shock is over, he’s already bold enough to confess to you quickly after. i can imagine him suddenly telling you how he feels in the most random scenario ever.

it would be so out of nowhere. you guys could be out walking in the park. you casually sip out of your bottle when he nonchalantly says, “wanna be my boyfriend?” with his signature neutral face, making you choke and cough on your water.

he would then elaborate on how much he likes you with the plainest face ever like it was a regular tuesday conversation. the one difference is the light flush on his cheeks and you can definitely tell that he truly means all of it. so once you stopped coughing, you obviously accept his confession

if you thought he was already pretty damn clingy prior to you two becoming a couple, then be prepared for that to increase tenfold

holding hands isn’t enough for him, ideally he needs to be super glued onto you permanently for the rest of his life

you guys are definitely the couple people gag at when they see you both curled up cuddling each other in the hallway.

once again, he gives absolutely no shits. he needs to show off what an amazing boyfriend he has so he’ll never tone it down on the pda

on the very very rare occurrence that you're not with him and you happened to be talking to someone else in the hallway, he sees this and immediately gets a little possessive. so he walks up right behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on you. you assume he's just being needy again and find it cute, completely unaware of how he's now glaring deep into that person’s soul from over your shoulder. i mean you’re his man and his man only so everyone needs to know.

he requires you to pet and run your fingers through his hair for a low minimum for uhhh 2000 times a day. you swear that he purrs every time you do it but when you try to listen out for another one, he already fell asleep on your shoulder

whenever you guys are cuddling either at his dorm or your place, he just lays his entire body weight onto you like a heated blanket while resting his head on your shoulder with your fingers carded through his hair. if you try to gently nudge him off so you can get up and use the bathroom, he audibly whines and eventually relents. he totally tries to follow you into the bathroom after that.

whenever you compliment or praise him, he looks totally unaffected but internally, he’s jumping around screaming. meanwhile, he will randomly drop the most endearing and beautiful arrangement of words at you in a completely neutral voice and just move on with his day like you didn’t just witness the most flattering thing you’ve ever heard.

loves whenever you randomly grab his chin and give him a short but very sweet kiss.

nah actually scratch that. nagi loves kisses from you anytime anywhere. fleeting cheek kisses before you both head to class. kisses on his forehead as you hold him close under the covers. drawn out victory kisses you both finally finish a difficult match together. no matter what it is, he always helplessly melts into each one.

before you appeared in nagi's life, his world was just one big dull pain he simply had to push through every day. now that he had you by his side, he finally had the motivation to get out of bed every day.

[somewhere-at-the-burrow]

𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐸𝒜𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒞𝒰𝒫

⤹ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬 // 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐬 !

(( I finally made it to a professional quidditch game! ever since I got into shifting, I have been waiting for this moment and this post is inspired by what it was like and how absolutely immersive this experience was. I only stayed for one day, so this was the main event of my shift last night! I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS FINALLY HAPPENED CAN YOU TELL IM EXCITED !! holding myself together all day until the moment i'm writing this has been unbearable and all I want to do is tell someone about this so let's begin!!))

★ it is pretty common for most professional League games to be held at a large pitch in Dartmoor. it is a permanent structure that can be visited by portkey / floo network (similar to the World Cup). for the final game in the League, many many people came to watch and the area was full of people camping out overnight to spend time at the fairgrounds !

★ I honestly did not expect the event to encompass that much space, but when we got there rows of tents and vendors lined the grassy fields and I was so grateful that my friends and I decided to come a couple hours earlier

★ in the fairgrounds, there were so many quidditch centered vendors selling a range of things from broom kits to the latest gloves to luxury brooms

★ the luxury brooms were absolutely breathtaking to look at! i am such a quidditch geek in this reality, so Cedric had to physically drag me away from this one display of a foreign racing broom that was so stunning and sleek IF I GET RICH IM COMING BACK FOR IT

★ the whole environment was more magical than I could've even imagined. the whole time we walked to the pitch, music and the sound of little trick charms surrounded us. there were tiny fireworks and whistles and bagpipes, too. it was overstimulating but in an enthralling way... I never wanted to leave, truly.

★ another thing that was completely fascinating to me was the giant pictures of the team players moving around and waving and doing all sorts of portrait shenanigans. these were on the side of the pitch!

★ ONE OF THE KESTRELS CHASERS OH MY LORD. his name was Conor Quinn and the whole time Ginny and I kept looking at each other every time we saw his poster because that man is so attractive. it came with scrutiny from the boys, but no regrets!!!

★ when the game was about to start, it was so exhilarating because it was a crowd effort. the crowd was involved in so many chants and hearing the rush of people screaming for their favorite players was so so cool (i was unashamedly chanting as well. looking back, I was kind of obnoxious but oh well! that is the experience!)

★ a chant I remember so vividly was a series of claps while people synchronized "HOLYHEAD .... HAR-PIES!". I swear the entire Harpies fanbase was there we CARRIED the chants

★ when I tell you this quidditch game was in my top five moments of life... I cried when the ball was released & I have no shame!!

★ the Harpies were behind by quite a bit in the first half of the game, and we genuinely thought they were going to lose. in this reality, the snitch is worth a different amount of points, so if Grace Belling (the Harpies seeker) would've caught it, they still would have lost

★ sometime around this point, one of the older beaters (Finn O'Cleary) got knocked off of his broom and when I say he was older I THOUGHT HE DIED. that poor guy just layed in the pitch for so long until the substitute came in and it was such a dramatic turn of events we didn't even know what to do in the stands

★ nonetheless, the Harpies caught up again and everything was so expertly planned it was AMAZING

★ the nose dives?? the sharp turns around the stands?? IT WAS SO EXPERTLY EXECUTED and Iris and I were on the edge of our seats trying to memorize the moves to use next year in quidditch

★ it's no surprise but the Harpies caught the snitch and they won!! they waited until their points were exactly 10 over before they went for the snitch, which was so risky last minute but it made for such a thrilling game!!

★ the crowd was absolutely WILD. especially since it was the seeker's first year on the professional team and she already won the League Cup. the players were flying over the chanting crowds and everything was ballistic

★ Ginny and I were throwing our hands up and I hit Harry really hard accidentally and I felt so bad and he just brushed it off saying I was having a good time. it ended up bonding us more though and we shopped around together in the final shop before we left!

★ I got the COOLEST poster for my room. i've made it a goal in each of my DRs to collect as many knickknacks as possible for my room, so this moving poster of the updated team was perfect :)

★ anyway, the party was very much still going at the fairgrounds when we left around dusk... my god the irish really did "have their pride on!!"

note: i realized i wrote so so much (and i could still write more!) but here is what it was like for me! truly one of the best nights of my life.

we ended up going home and having dinner in the garden, which i might write about as well bc that is kind of a family tradition on big days!

much love if you've read this far!!

daphne (your local harpies fanatic)

[gerogerigaogaigar]

Phineas and Ferb fascinates me from a structural standpoint. I'll admit I haven't watched the show front to back, but I've caught the odd episode here and there and I certainly get the gist of it.

The first time I saw P&F it seemed charming but unremarkable, the second and probably third time it became obvious that it was a clever but formulaic show. At some point it clicked. Children's shows are usually formulaic, Dee Dee will destroy Dexter's invention, Elmer Fudd will fail to hunt the Wabbit, He-Man will defeat Skeletor, and Sisyphus will roll that boulder up that hill. Phineas and Ferb asks not just that we imagine Sisyphus happy, but that we imagine that he is ecstatic to see that boulder roll down the hill.

Where the status quo is an unspoken rule of older cartoons it is the explicit law of the P&F universe. There is a roadmap to every episode, you probably already know it but I will spell it out regardless. Phineas will say the phrase "I know what we're gonna do today" thus kicking off their project for the episode. Candace will try and fail to get them "busted". There will be a musical number. Meanwhile Doofenshmirtz will have made an -inator that Perry will be called upon to destroy. Perry will get caught, Doofenshmirtz will explain his plan, Perry will escape, destroy the -inator and the ensuing chaos will clean up Phineas and Ferb's backyard shenanigans just in time for their mom to get home. Ferb says something at the very end, often his only line in the whole episode. The end.

There are stock lines that must be said. "I know what we're gonna do today" "I wonder where Perry is" "Busted" "🎵Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated🎶". The show doesn't just have a cartoon status quo, the universe operates off of the laws of cartoon status quo to the extent that characters actively notice when the cycle doesn't complete correctly. The characters seemingly know that their world operates on cartoon physics, but to them it's just physics. In P&F a giant whirlwind carrying away a giant backyard amusement park is as natural as gravity.

Candace's place as the character who knows this is all insane must be a tortuous existence considering the whole world is conspired against her. Not out of a cosmic meanness but a deep thematic kindness. Candace is the only character whose intent is to cause purposeful harm and the universe will not let her get away with it.

Truly this is one of the most unerringly kind shows I've ever seen. It is unreal how much faith it puts into wordplay, running jokes, and raw absurdity to carry itself while never stepping into the realm of cartoon cruelty.

You know cartoon cruelty. It's why Tom gets punished for Jerry's actions and why the Trix rabbit can never eat his own damn cereal. At its best cartoon cruelty manifests as Ed, Edd n Eddy or the Looney Tunes short Duck Amok where there is catharsis in seeing the characters hoisted by their own petard. At its worst you get CatDog which is so intensely cruel to the character of Cat that I can't comprehend what the writers were going for.

The confident lack of irony is part of what makes Phineas And Ferb work. The show is a parade of cartoon cliches and dad jokes and it never it never winks at the viewer or lampshades how silly this is. It just has absolute faith that the corniest jokes ever really are that funny. And so they are. I actually laugh out loud every time they do the "Aren't you a little young for this?" "Yes, yes I am" bit. Maybe it's the delivery, maybe it's just the confidence in the bit. Probably a bit of both. I am smiling to myself just thinking of this dumb running joke.

But what this all amounts to is what every bit of fandom wankery amounts to. I am of course talking about shipping. For my money the best bit in the show is the romantic framing of Doofenshmirtz and Perry's rivalry. This is where the show's cartoon logic and unrepentant kindness synthesize perfectly. The homoerotic undertones of the spy/supervillain dynamic are an extremely tired observation and are usually only emphasized in an ironic sense to poke fun at pieces that never intended the gay subtext. P&F flips this joke by not being even a little bit ironic about it, but still adhering to the unspoken nature of the gag.

The end result is that Perry and Doofenshmirtz's status as a romantic couple is tacitly understood to be part of the shows status quo, but never commented on. The world of P&F is too inherently kind to be homophobic (homophobia being a key component of the joke) but it still has a joke shaped hole to fill. So it does the funniest possible thing and fills the hole with nothing. The joke is the lack of a joke. The expectation of a joke that is met with a shrug from the show's own internal logic. And that's really funny. An evil scientist and a platypus are in a loving relationship that happens to also be a hero/villain rivalry. Don't worry about it. It's not the weirdest thing happening in the tri state area I promise.

[cal-writes]

read some of my wips for the zolu conflic story and figured id share

-

"Ignorance is a bliss is it not?" Brook offers, his skull crooked as she glares down at him. He plucks a single string on his guitar.

"It's not." Nami tells him.

Brook sighs - as much as he can. "Ah, that's unfortunate." And strums an idle melody.

It's late in the evening, just before dinner so there is commotion by the kitchen as Sanji tries to keep Luffy out of it and Usopp and Franky have been hammering away at something all day, perhaps only to fill the silence.

"Brook." Nami says with a sigh, letting her hands fall to her sides. "What did Zoro do?"

Brook's next note is off key as he pretends not to be startled by the question. "What gave you the idea he did anything?"

"I'm not stupid." She wraps her arms around her middle, feeling the cold chill of Thriller Bark seep back into her bones. "What happened between him and Kuma? It can't have been a fight or Luffy wouldn't be so mad."

He plucks his strings, discordant melodies filling the room in between their silent standoff. "Isn't the important thing that we are all still here?" He asks and his voice sounds far away. It stifles the instinctual reaction that bubbles in her throat. The urge to make her frustration known. Brook shakes his head a little to return to the here and now and tilts his head towards her. If he still had eyes, she imagines he would be blinking.

She takes a shaky breath. "I'll just imagine worse."

"Ah." Brook says softly, chin falling. His hands shift on the instrument and he adjusts his finger bones. "A deal was made." He says in tune to the new song he starts.

"What kind of deal?"

"An exchange, of sorts. Kuma had been ordered to bring our dear captain in."

Nami closes her eyes, lets the music wash over her. "Zoro offered himself." She concludes. It seems so simple in hindsight. Brook hums his affirmation in harmony. "But he was still there when we came to."

Brook looks off into the distance, fingers dancing over the saites. "I didn't quite understand it myself at the time. The man, Kuma. His devil fruit ability is truly something else." He shakes his head a little as if to dislodge the memory. "Perhaps Kuma meant it as a test. Trying to discourage Zoro from his resolve." Brook says and Nami almost scoffs. As if anything would be able to stop Zoro once he'd set his mind to something. "He took away all of Luffy's pain and told Zoro to bear it in his stead."

The notes of Brook's song fall heavy in the aftermath.

She swallows hard against the lump in her throat. "What?"

"I mostly heard the screams." Brook says idly, detached and Nami shudders. She can't remember the last time she heard Zoro scream in pain. "Kuma was certain he would perish."

"But he didn't."

"He did not, no." Brook says, inclining his head.

Nami's breath leaves her in a shudder. She'd tried to forget Thriller Bark ever since it happened. The creepy castle, getting kidnapped and nearly married against her will - Brook and Lola were the only good things to come out of that dreadful place. Zoro, so near the brink they weren't sure he was ever going to wake up, much less recover from it all. After Sabaody she had worried, during some lonely nights, if he really was okay. If wherever he had been sent would give him time to heal.

When they had seen each other again he had seemed as good as new if not better and it felt best not to bring up old ghosts.

"Please do keep it to yourself." Brook urges her quietly and with a start she realizes his guitar has fallen silent. "I don't think he ever wanted us to know."

She blows out a breath. Remembers that foolish young man that cut open his own wound before facing down Buggy's crew mate. Who jumped into a pit of water, surrounded by fishmen and rope with Mihawk's wound carved onto his chest. Who found her in Alabasta, wearing more of his blood on his body that could still be inside it and still carried her.

"Of course he doesn't." It comes out more bitter than she means it to.

[averageallogene]

Hello~ I found your Tighnari fanfic and my lord, I admired how it was beautifully written. I know you get a lot of praise for it and deservedly so. I do find myself wanting a tad bit more tho. I was imagining after all that spicy time, some wholesome aftercare would be nice. I hope you write it with Diluc as the male lead bc I think he's a man that can give you both spicy and sweet 😊

DILUC ♡⊹˚ Burning passion [NSFW]

fem. reader (3rd person) ; sweet fluffy smut, my favorite <333.

2k words.

notes. HELLO DEAR!!! So sorry for the wait, I've been trying to answer all asks through work breaks and it took me a while to reach yours ;( thank you so much for the sweet message, I'm so happy you liked my first fic! Just know I always smile when I see you in my notes, I appreciate the support!!! I hope you enjoy this~ ✧˖°. Evidently I got carried away bc Diluc always makes me go 😫😫😫 *cupcakke noises*

Ah, Diluc, sweet sweet Diluc. He's not one to outwardly show much affection when in public, but when in private… The quiet winery tycoon becomes the most vocal, the honeyed little whispers he offers his beloved [F/N] as they passionately make love never fails to make her drunk on his love. He's never one to let her stray far, his body grinding against her own as he sets a slow and deep pace, always close, always whispering how good she's making him feel. 

"You're so good to me, [F/N]... So, good," He's breathing deeper, his voice reduced to grunts as his lips brush against her own. His half lidded eyes delight themselves on the mirage under him, his lover's naked body glistening with sweat as he pounds deeper. 

"Diluc!" She sighs in bliss, her mouth chasing his as his hand roams to find her own. Fingers lace with one another, him placing them gently to the side of her head as his other rests on her hip. He can never get enough, truly he would've never guessed he would be so greedy when it came to [F/N]. 

"I love you, so so much." He always says so many times throughout the day, his tone always raw and honest. Yet, it was during such moments that her heart leapt the highest, a moan being ripped from his throat as he feels her gummy walls squeeze around him deliriously in response to his confession. 

"And I love you always." It's her turn to hush him with lovely words, the hint of a smile on her face earning his response of thrusting deeper, hitting the particular spot that made her see white. The whine that followed only made Diluc grow more and more eager, the rhythm slowly becoming sloppier, his own urges nearly escaping him as he carefully nibbled on her puffy lips.

"I'm close, love." He admits, the hint of frustration evident as he picks up speed. His free hand no longer lingers on her waist, instead slithering down to find her clit, circling and toying with it knowingly as he drinks in the way her body jolts and shivers.

"Ah, 'Luc!" Her voice is nothing short of music to his ears, eyes fluttering shut as she seems to drown on the pleasure inflicted by him. Her legs wrap around his waist, effectively caging him in as her free hand roams through his free hair. "Please, inside."

His otherwise gleaming eyes darken, lust clouding him as the only response he manages is a low grunt. After all, who was he to deny his lovely girlfriend? He can feel a shiver run down his spine as his cock begins to pulsate, the urge to paint her inner walls white giving him the strength to thrust even deeper, quicker. His tip repeatedly kisses her cervix as his mouth clashes with her own, muffling all and every moan as he consumes them for himself, tongues dancing together as his arms bring her closer. His strong grip cages [F/N] against his toned body, yearning to melt with her as they chase their release. 

Diluc can feel it, his orgasm right at the tip of his cock, yet as disciplined as he is, he somehow manages to restrain himself, edging his own release before he can feel the all too familiar sensation of her pussy spasming around his length, squeezing him for all he's worth as she finally releases the knot that had been pounded into her. 

"A-Ahhnnn… Cumming, ah-" Her words slurred as his lips suck on her tongue, tasting her every word as her legs wrap around him tighter, her body begging him for his cum, thick and warm, to claim her.  

"Fuck love, that feels so good…" In a hiss he curses, a small smile blooming on [F/N]'s face as pride swells in her chest. 

To know she was the cause to render the otherwise level headed Diluc into a cursing, rutting mess, it left her wet and ready all over again. She hadn't even reached her zenith a moment ago, yet she was already yearning for him all over again, never truly satisfied with all the ways he was able to pleasure her.

"Are you ready, baby?" He moans against her lips, eyes intensively gazing right at her own as his face flushes. Licking his dry lips, Diluc devours her whimpers yet again, speaking between kisses as he pounds into her relentlessly, finally caving to his own lust. "Here we go, have my cum just as you want."

The thick spurts finally fill her up, the sensation nearly edging her into cumming yet again. [F/N] moans in delight as she hums, releasing her hand to wrap her arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. Her chest presses against his own, feeling him heaving as his pace finally slows down, riding his own high as the lewd squelching sounds fill their now quiet room. 

His head slowly lowers to rest on the crook of her neck, his cheeks flushed with a vivid red that rivals that of his hair. [F/N] can feel against her skin the way he breathes rapidly, lips parted as he brings her closer, relishing in her mere presence as he finally comes to a halt. He doesn't dare move though, his cock still buried deep inside her walls as his seed spills with the overflow. Her hands find their way to his hair, breathing slower, a smile forming on her face.

"That was amazing, honey." She hums in honest delight, silently amusing herself over the way his confidence seems to quiet down. The once raging fire soothes into a glowing ember, the previous passion fizzled into endearment as his touch was now softer, gentler.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" He murmured, lips trailing from her neck up to her face before he watched the way he left her lips puffy and red. He blushes deeply in response, his beloved laughing softly. 

"Never, love." You can always go harder, she thinks, yet the words die in her mouth, lest she wish for her beloved to clear his throat in embarrassment. In all honesty, that sounded quite humorous, yet she restrained herself. 

"Thank you." Diluc smiles, his kiss returning to the gentle worshiping gesture he portrays during daytime. Yet as always, it never remains as one single kiss, his lips lingering as he indulges. "It felt wonderful. I can never get enough of you…"

"You're always welcome to take more, you know?" He was asking for it this time. [F/N] giggles as she watches him struggle to agree or hold himself back, his thumb caressing her face before he wipes the little drool of pleasure away from her face. 

"I wouldn't want to keep you up too late…" He reasons, his eyebrows furrowing softly. He still winces when remembering the one night he'd gotten too carried away, watching with slight horror how his lovely [F/N] limped the following morning. It wasn't like she hadn't enjoyed it, yet the ever gentle Diluc felt oh so guilty. 

"Honey…." She whined, her arms opening to take him closer, peppering his face with kisses. He was just so sweet, so giving, so perfect. "And I wouldn't want you pent up with lust. I can take it, really."

"Archons, you're too good for me." He sighed in bliss, his body coursing with adrenaline as he felt the desire within him rage once more. Still, he smiled, humming in satisfaction as she pampered him with her lips. 

"I think the same thing about you everyday." She giggled, her fingers combing through his crimson hair with nothing short of pure adoration. She could feel his hesitancy to even pull out, her legs pressing against him as she made herself comfortable. "Well, what does my handsome lover feel like, then?"

The smile he gave was [F/N]'s favorite sight to ever behold. "Perhaps some rest… Before we pick back up?"

"Anything you'd like, baby." She smiled, kisses following suit. 

Kisses lingered, constant and consuming, a make out session forming not long after. The pair remained entangled, Diluc atop as he could feel the desire to never move from such a wonderful situation. Under him his beloved simply looked and felt ethereal, their bodies piecing like the most well designed puzzle, simply perfect. His passion began to spark once more, the searing fire reappearing before his touches grew needier, his voice became hushed, his eyes darkened yet again. 

"Take me once more, Diluc." [F/N] whispered against his ear, her voice fanning against his skin as his hands went lower and lower. "I need you."

His vision once more clouded, he succumbed to his desires before he took her yet again. Slow, passionate, intense. His rhythm never faltered until the very end, his hold always strong and caring, his love raw as he poured his every emotion into each thrust. Together they tangled around their bed, him now under as his gaze drunk in the sight of his beloved atop, her hips matching his set rhythm as he met her halfway. His calloused hand held her lower back in support, their hands together as he laced their fingers, squeezing hers with intensity. I love you, I love you, Archons I love you so much [F/N], his head repeated like a sacred prayer right up until they came yet again, bodies resting against one another as they basked in their afterglow. 

"Would you like some water, honey?" He inquired, moving some hair away from her eyes as his own softened. She was simply gorgeous, perfection. 

"I'm alright, but perhaps a shower?" She instead proposed with a smile, her boyfriend humming in agreement. His eyes lingered lower, a furious blush creeping all the way to his ears as he noticed the way his seed leaked down her thighs. 

"Yes… A shower is in order." He smiled shyly, picking her up with ease. Against her protests he continued, hushing her with soft kisses. "No no, I insist. You ought to be pampered after taking me so well."

It was her turn to blush, face hiding against his long, luscious hair. Despite the innocent tone in which he spoke, his choice of words never failed to leave her lightheaded. Goodness, Diluc simply was too good.

A warm bath was quickly prepared for the both of them, and in it they sat. Diluc wrapped his arms around her figure, chin resting against her shoulder as he sighed in pure content. He always questioned if he was too… Clingy, was the word, always gluing himself to [F/N]'s hip whenever he could, yet time and time again he was reassured he was always welcome. His warmth, his protection, his love, it was all something [F/N] could never be tired of. 

"'Luc, can you please wash my hair?" She questioned quietly, her beloved humming in agreement. 

His fingers against her scalp felt soothing, her eyes closing with peace. She would hum in delight over the small action, Diluc behind her being unable to resist the smile from blooming on his face. 

"Do you want me to wash yours?" [F/N] proposed, him not being able to resist. After all, he was always craving her touch in whichever way. 

The water was still hot as they finished, passing onward to pick up the soap. He was the first to volunteer washing her body, insisting she rest for putting up with his antics. Nonsense to her, she herself always loved when he indulged in his own desires - after all, if a man deserved to, it was definitely Diluc! 

His hands lingered through her legs, massaging her skin carefully, like he were worshiping a divine deity. His touch was loving and soft, yet underneath the warm soapy waters she could feel his own heat take over, slowly but surely boiling with other motives as he remained quiet. 

"Something on your mind, Diluc?" She hummed with a smile, watching how his hands faltered before he resumed stroking through her skin. His thumb drew circling patterns on her inner thigh, not so subtly coming closer. 

"Perhaps..." He mused, smiling upon hearing her giggle in response. He could feel his cheeks burn in both embarrassment and desire, almost ashamed of never being truly satiated of his girlfriend. 

"Oh? And would you like to share?" It was now her turn to linger her touch on his leg, smiling knowingly before she leaned back, allowing his lips to come closer to her ear if he so desired. She seemed to read him like an open book, watching as he indeed came closer. 

"Would you really like to know? It might just be too… Shameful, love." He murmured, the lightheartedness in his tone evident as she could practically feel the smile on his breath.

"Shameful? Oh, now I'm left wondering just what my Diluc is daydreaming of." [F/N] giggled, her fingers tracing more and more towards his inner thigh. 

He didn't take long to give in, whispering all the dirty thoughts he couldn't let go for that night. It seemed as though that night's blaze burned thrice as strong, his desire never fully ceasing. Their soothing aftercare was suddenly interrupted, put on hold as his hands lowered, caressed her, gave her all the deserving attention. He couldn't get enough of her sighs, her moans, her praises for him. It felt so difficult to contain himself, his wish to convey his burning love through his actions fueling him to continue onward. 

The water was long cold by the time they truly finished, and even when they retired to the bedroom, it seemed like they couldn't get enough. Goodness, what had gotten into him, [F/N] wondered with amusement as under his administrations she came time after time again. Well, she certainly wasn’t complaining… Unbeknownst to her, the truth was that Diluc was downright addicted to her face as she reached the peak, how her pussy would squelch around his digits, or around his tongue, or would squeeze his cock dry, their fluids mixing and staining their bedsheets long into the early hours of the morning.

[F/N] couldn't remember having such a restless night, but she surely wasn't finding any fault in that. It was only as the sun rose that they had finally ceased their escapades, Diluc holding her lovingly before finally gaining the courage to get up. 

"Must you really go?" He heard his [F/N] pout, receiving a smile as he caressed her cheek.

"I'm afraid so, love." He hummed, his lips brushing against her temple ever so lovingly. "Why don't you take the day off?"

"I have to work, Luc." She laughed it off softly, her eyes opening to lazily look up at him. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized just how lovingly he looked at her, his fingers lingering on her hair as he played with it ever so gently.

"Don't worry about it, just rest." He reassured her, finally kissing her one final time before he gathered the strength to get up. "I'll see that your boss is informed that you won't be clocking in today."

She could only blush and offer him a thankful smile. A day spent in his manor… It simply felt far too good to pass up. 

Besides, her entire body ached. Some rest would surely do her well.

[mars-wuz-herez]

“We did it Shadow! We saved everyone”

I turn to face the planet we just saved. It’s full of so much life. A memory plays in my head, where we would sit in front of a giant window and she would tell me about the beauty of earth. The wonders, the oceans, the life everything that made earth such a gorgeous planet. And after everything I saw, she wasn’t wrong. It truly was a beautiful planet.

If only she was here to see it.

My vision of the planet slowly blurs and I feel my eye lids getting heavy. So tired…

“Shadow!”

I feel arms quickly grab my waist.

“Shadow what’s wrong? Why is your super form fading?”

“My body…it can’t handle so much…”

My eyes are slowly closing. They are doing it before I even notice it. The grip around my waist tightens as I feel myself getting heavier and heavier.

“Hey hey hey stay with me. Everything is going to be okay. We’ll make it back please just hang on”

I force one eye open. I can see his super form is fading, his quills slowly turning back blue. He’s struggling.

We’re not going to make it.

He’s not going to make it

“Hedgehog…let go of me. You’re not going to make it carrying me”

“No! We’ll make it. I know we will just please hang on just for a little longer…”

I close my eyes and when I open them again. His quills are quickly fading back to his normal blue.

“Faker save yourself. Don’t die saving me. I’m not worth it and you know it”

“Don’t say that. Your life matters and if I have to die to save it then so be it. In the end I know it was worth it”

I smile at that. It’s nice to know that someone else cares about me. But I know what I must do.

“Sonic”

There are tears in those emerald eyes as he looks at me. I cup his cheek and wipe the tears going down his face. I pull him closer and our lips meet. The kiss is everything I imagined it to be and much more. I pull away.

“Forgive me…”

“What?”

I push myself off him and start falling. Fast. I hear him yelling, crying out my name. I’m sorry Sonic. But I won’t have anyone else die for me, not again. It’s selfish I know but I hope one day you’ll forgive me for doing this. My eyes shut and then it’s nothing but darkness……

“NO!”

I feel two arms wrap around me. I slightly open my eye to see Sonic. He’s hugging me and the last of his super form is fading away.

“I made a promise to you Shadow. You aren’t alone not this time. I’m staying with you until the very end”

I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. I close my eyes and all I can feel is the warmth of his hug. The darkness takes over and then everything goes black.

Part two!

[eldrith]

wife ive returned from the war (my desk job)!!!!

never knew i needed luke calling jace a dog but apparently i very much did?! "he'd probably sit and beg if you asked him to." um yeah me too tf. anyway. annoying younger brother luke becoming the bff of jace’s wife and they turn into jace’s worst nightmares for teasing, jokes, and dumb little pranks. 😭😭 #needthat.

the hair ribbons part yes yes YES u get me. u truly get me. his wife’s maids keep complaining bc all of her matching hair ribbons for her gowns keep disappearing and then jace walks into the room with the exact ribbon they were looking for tied around his wrist 😭

“sighing gently when she starts to kiss up and down his neck nevermind i cant go there” no no you absolutely can go there. carry on please *grabby hands*. or i will. >:)

the rhaenyra part <3 it leads me into what i wanna say about father jace too let me gather myself pooks

- hubby jace anon 😚

wife is home everyone cheer!! she survived war <3

hahaha can u imagine. i feel like jace (despite being best friends with luke) gets easily irritated with him (older sibling tingz) and is completely tormented when you begin to tease him with luke. he secretly loves it bc hes so family oriented

tied around his wrist STOP thats so cute omg. or one day you and jace go somewhere secluded on vermax, and jace admits his hair can get in the way when he flies,, wife undoes her hair ribbon to tie part of his back & then boom suddenly back home walking through the castles and jace is wearing his hair half up with a ribbon that matches his wife's gown. im going to go lie down in a lake

>:) wife kissing jace's neck and he's tried to stay focused, gods be good - but you're telling him about your day now, and he cares so much but each word is punctuated by your lips against his throat and then he's murmuring something like "you’re making it quite difficult to focus on your stories...do you have some ulterior motive?"

internally you're like are you stupid ofc i do but outwardly you just smile, pulling away - nope he wont have that, he just tugs you over onto his lap.... sighing into your mouth.. im trying to figure out a way to end this thought without jace and you making out while you whisper between kisses about the meatballs you ate for lunch

wait omfg im sat for your thoughts on father jace rahhhh <33