#it's really Really REALLY not this deep but I have thoughts and I wanted to share them. Maybe someone else might have an idea I

[pucksandpower]

The One Left Behind

Max Verstappen x Lewis Hamilton’s ex!Reader

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

Based on this request

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

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

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

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up.

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

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

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

“On me, Lewis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then prove it.”

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches. “What?”

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

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

“Dead serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t move.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

One Year Later

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

“Max,” you breathe, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you doing this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate, his words sinking in.

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

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

“Okay,” you whisper finally.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Tonight is one of those nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you look up, Max is staring at you.

“What?” You ask, your brow furrowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How incredible you are.”

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

“Max, I …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From that moment on, Max is all in.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he does.

***

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

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

And he does.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s do it,” you say.

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

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

A girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max.”

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

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

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

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

But she does come.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Max-”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lewis, I don’t think-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Nine Months Later

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

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

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

He knows what he has to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd erupts.

Your breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“About?”

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

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

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

“Ready for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Two Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

There you are.

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

Lewis feels the air leave his lungs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, she notices him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The memories flood in uninvited.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[evansbby]

𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: mean jock!Steve Rogers x naive!reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 18+, minors dni, dark, noncon, dubcon, daddy kink, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, controlling behaviour, cum play, jacking off, lingerie kink, dom/sub dynamic, frat party setting, asshole fratboys, ari levinson mentioned lmao.

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: you run into steve at another frat party. this time, it's in his territory. (alternate continuation of chapter two of wicked games, but this has ZERO impact on the wicked games story. again, this does not affect the plot of the original wicked games timeline, it's just a fun little detour, a completely separate story if you will. you can read this without having read wicked games).

“Can we leave? I’m not really in a party mood,” you frown, tugging at the hem of your dress and regretting how short it is. It’s deep purple and form fitted, with a hemline that sits right below your butt. You’d thought the sexiness of it would help you get more into the spirit of things since Wanda had insisted on dragging you here tonight, but clearly that hadn’t worked. 

“Don’t do this right now, Y/N. We need to be seen at these events if we want to be popular.” Wanda smiles and waves into the distance as if she’s recognised a friend. Despite the fact that this is a St. Jude’s party and you know as well as she does that everyone here is a complete stranger to the both of you. 

You wrinkle your nose, “Well, I don’t really care about being popular–”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.” Wanda’s eyes dart around the very crowded, dimly lit basement of the frat house as if looking for someone. 

“But we don’t know anyone at St. Jude’s!” You tug at your dress again, feeling more insecure than ever. 

Tonight was originally planned to be a girl’s night – and you’d already picked out a movie, laid out the facemasks and bowls of popcorn, and pulled on your comfiest pyjamas only for Wanda to show up to your dorm in a slink black dress and strappy heels, telling you there was a frat party at the rival college that the two of you just couldn’t miss, and that she was giving you fifteen minutes to get ready.

“Yeah, but this morning I overheard some cheerleaders, and they said Curtis might be here.” 

Oh. Of course. Now it all made sense. Ever since the night of the last frat party the two of you had been to, the one where Wanda had slept with Curtis Everett… Well, ever since then she’d become a teensy bit obsessed with him. And that was also the same frat party where you and…

“Wanda! If Curtis is here then Ari will be here too! I don’t wanna see him!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes, “Relax. I also heard the cheerleaders say that Ari went back home for the weekend. Sharon Carter was all upset about it, because apparently he didn’t even bother inviting her and she hasn’t met his parents yet. But anyways, keep an eye out for Curtis, would you?”

“Okay…” Begrudgingly, you scan the room. A part of you is happy that Ari is out of town, because it makes it easier not to think about him, knowing he’s miles and miles away. Out of sight, out of mind - that was going to be your motto when it came to him moving forward.

“Looking for someone?” 

The deep voice feels like velvet against your ear, and you inhale sharply at the familiarity of it. Your whole body starts to buzz when you feel a warm hand press against the small of your back, the stranger’s touch brimming with confidence as he easily turns you around. 

You’re faced with a chest. A big, muscly, expansive chest covered in a grey shirt that’s deliciously tight against it. Slowly, you peek up at his face. Blue eyes. Cocky smile. Handsome. Angelic.

“Steve!” you breathe, relaxing at the familiar face, “You’re here!”

He chuckles, casually grabbing your hip and squeezing it, “Well, considering this is my frat house, it would be weird if I wasn’t.”

Your eyes widen, “It is?”

“Yep. Thanks for coming over, sweetheart. I had a feeling I hadn’t seen the last of you after that party.” He winks. And you have to admit - he looks good. All six foot six inches of him, looming above you with that charming smile on his face, that smile being one of the only things you remember from the night you’d last seen him, where he’d been such a gentleman and dropped you home after everything that had happened with Ari.

He’s got a backwards baseball cap on his head, but tufts of his blonde hair peek out from underneath, and his blue eyes sparkle as he watches you, as if he knows you’re checking him out. And unabashedly, he does the same, his pink tongue licking over his lips as he drinks in your body, his hold on your hip tightening. 

“I…uh… yeah,” you feel self-conscious, tongue-tied after the embarrassingly long amount of time you’ve just spent checking him out. “Thanks for giving me a lift home, by the way. I was super drunk.”

He nods, the glint still in his eye, “I should be the one thanking you for that cab ride.”

You blink, “Thanking me? Why?”

For a moment, he just stares at you. And oh, he’s so intense! That’s another thing you remember about him. How his eyes felt like they were boring holes into your very soul.

Finally, he smiles. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart. You looked so cute and helpless, I knew I had to step in.”

“Hey! I wasn’t completely helpless…”

He laughs, “A damsel in distress if I’d ever seen one, and…” he pauses, bringing his thumb up to stroke your lip. Oh, he was so forward too! Considering you’d only ever met him once before and there’d been nothing sexual between the two of you. “Do you remember what I told you that night?”

You shake your head, half in a trance by how he’s just touching you so openly. Except you don’t really want him to stop.

“I told you that if you were my girl, you wouldn’t be allowed to step foot inside a party like that one. Or this one, for that matter.”

You purse your lips, “Fine. I’ll leave then.”

Steve chuckles, encircling both his arms around you as if he owns you, “Too late. I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night.”

“B-But I’m here with Wanda…”

“Who’s that?”

“My best friend. She brought me here, and–”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my house and you’re here with me now. Okay, baby?”

He strokes your cheek and says it so sweetly, that the controlling nature of his request doesn’t even sink in for you. No, you’re way too distracted by the unabashed hunger in his eyes, the confidence in his smile as he yanks you closer, till your chest is pressed up against his, and an embarrassing squeak escapes your lips. 

“I…uh… Steve, I…”

“Say okay,” he commands you, “you don’t have to think so hard when you’re with me, sweet girl. I promise I’ll take care of you just like how I did last time.”

“Uh… I… o-okay…I ju–”

He smirks, “Cute little tongue-tied baby. C’mon, let’s go to my room.”

At that moment, Wanda reappears, a mildly annoyed look on her face. 

“Y/N, didn’t I tell you to keep an eye out for Curtis? What do you think you’re doing–?”

She stops short, her eyes widening when she sees you’re not alone.

“Wanda, this is the guy I met the other night–”

“–Steve Rogers,” Wanda cuts you off, beaming up at him, “What are you doing with Y/N?”

Steve blinks, “Why would I not be with Y/N?”

She looks you up and down, and if you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn her eyes flash and narrow, “Uh, you know she’s with Ari Levinson, right?”

Your jaw drops - why would she say that? She knew you’d vowed never to speak to Ari again!

But Steve looks completely unperturbed, and he lazily throws his arm over your shoulders, yanking you into his hard chest. And you know it’s a display of ownership - he’s been doing it the moment he saw you tonight after all. And it should bother you, but it doesn’t! Oh, it doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t!

“You know what, Wilma? I think I saw Curtis outside by the pool.” He flashes her that charming smile that you thought was only reserved for you.

Your best friend’s eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s definitely there.”

“Thanks, Steve!” She sidles up closer to him, accidentally bumping you out of the way – well, you hope it’s accidental. She strokes his chest, her manicured nails scraping against his shirt, “Would you show me where the pool is please? This place is so big, I couldn’t possibly find it on my own.”

A sudden fire ignites inside you, burning its way up to the surface of your body alongside this weird feeling of… well, you don’t really know. But you stand there, crossing your arms over your chest as you watch their interaction unfold in front of you.

But Steve remains by your side, “Up the stairs and outside the sliding glass door on your first right. You won’t miss it.”

“I’ll come with you, Wanda,” you try to shake off Steve’s heavy arm. You don’t really want to leave him, but it’s only right that you go with your best friend.

“Don’t bother, Y/N. I can see you’re busy.” And she’s off without another glance at you, but she makes sure to brush past Steve as she goes, despite the fact that there’s enough room for her to not have to do that. 

Steve snickers, “That’s your best friend?”

“She’s drunk, I think. Usually she’s a lot friendlier…” your voice trails off as you watch her leave the basement in a hurry. “Is…uh… is Curtis really up there? By the pool?”

Steve smirks as he grabs your hand and tugs you to the stairs, “If that bald-headed fuck was anywhere near here, I’d personally kick him out myself. Now come on, let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

Steve’s room is neater than you’d assume a basketball player’s room in a frat house to be. Not that you have anything to compare it to since Ari had never invited you into his room. But this one is muted, grey, minimalistic with some basketball memorabilia scattered around. 

He’d wasted no time in getting you alone up there, practically half-carrying you through the crowd of people and up the stairs, his grip on you tight and confident. As if you’d been his girl all your life, as if it was a concrete fact that you belonged to him tonight. And it’s like your body was too entranced to even put up a fight to stop him.

Oh, what had you gotten yourself into?

“Good thing I got you out of there before things got too rowdy,” Steve shuts his bedroom door behind him, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock. And you know you should feel more alarmed than you actually do - but it’s Steve! He wasn’t like Ari Levinson - he was nice! He could’ve taken advantage of you at that last frat party, but he hadn’t! The only person who’d taken advantage of you that night was Ari.

You could trust Steve.

“Do your parties usually get super rowdy?”

“For babies like you, yes.” Again, he unabashedly stares at your body, at your bare legs accentuated by your high heels, your tight dress that hugs your curves, the dip of your cleavage and the way it rises up and down as you breathe shallowly. “As I said before, I don’t want you down there. Not where they can all see you.”

You wrinkle your nose, “No one was looking at me. I’m from a different college, no one here even knows me.”

His muscular arms wrap around your waist with that same charming confidence, as if he’s known you way longer than he actually has. As if he knows you won’t pull away. How does he know that?

“You’re more innocent than I thought, baby girl.” To your shock, his hands press flat against your thighs before moving upwards, straight up under your dress to cup your bare ass cheeks. You gulp, yet remain rooted in place as he gently squeezes the soft flesh. “Skipping into a frat house looking so fucking sexy, and thinking no one’s gonna notice you?”

“Well, I didn’t skip…”

“You may as well have,” He presses his hard crotch against your front, and he’s so much bigger than you that you can feel his boner digging against your midriff, and it sends jolts straight down to your core. There was just something so hot about him being so big, you being so much smaller, him calling you innocent, him being so forward and unpredictable… It actually reminds you a bit of… NO. No, don’t think about him!

“And guess what?” Steve whispers in your ear as he gently walks you backwards to his bed. 

“Wh-What?”

“I’ve rescued you from not one, but two parties now. You owe me.”

You squeak as he sits down at the edge of his bed and pulls you on top of him. Till you’re perched on his lap like a baby, your butt on his knee and your legs draped across his beefy thighs.

Steve smirks, “Comfy?”

“I think so,” your mind’s frazzled, and your body is buzzing with heat. When did it get so hot? Now, he’s pressing his lips against the nape of your neck, his hands rubbing up and down your body in a way that has you shaking on his lap. Oh, it was too much, it was–

“Look, you have another varsity jacket!” You blurt out, pointing at the familiar blue and white jacket draped over his desk chair. Exactly the same as the one he’d given you the night of the other party. “I still have to return the one you gave me.”

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You keep it, baby girl. It looked cute on you.”

You duck your head, the compliment making you shy. Somehow, him calling you cute had a way bigger effect on you than him calling you hot, “Really?”

He pushes your chin up with his pointer finger, and it’s all these little touches that he’s administering so casually are getting you so hot and bothered, so worked up on the inside in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you. No one’s ever made you feel like this except for one other person…

He licks the shell of your ear, “Yes. I liked how big it was on you.”

“It wasn’t that big…”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay fine, it was pretty big. But that’s not my fault, you’re literally a giant!” You giggle when he runs his fingers up and down your arm. It’s ticklish but it also feels kind of good.

“You like that I’m so much bigger than you?” Nonchalantly, his finger dips down to hook the hem of your dress.. 

“Well, uh, I don’t not like it…”

“Answer properly.” 

It’s crazy how casual he is, yet at the same time so quietly demanding, so dominating, so in control. How quickly he’s switching from charming and sweet to intensely serious. But it makes you want to do whatever he’s asking of you. 

“Yes,” you squeak, too shy to look into his eyes except he has hold of your chin and is able to keep your gaze locked with his. “Yes, I like it.”

Steve relaxes, “Good girl.”

The compliment makes you feel nice, and you sit there in his lap basking in it for a while. You don’t even notice him hiking your dress up higher and higher, till he snaps the elastic band of your thong. 

“Cute panties.”

“Hey!” Hastily, you push your dress back down, a part of you snapping out of whatever spell he’d cast on you since the moment he’d dragged you up here, and you shoot him your fiercest look. Which only serves to amuse him, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. 

“Does the bra match?” 

“You-You can’t just ask that!” 

“I just did. Now answer.”

His brashness should get to you, but for some reason all it’s doing is getting you wet. He was being so inappropriate, and yet it’s like you’re being held prisoner by your own body, which seems to love how he’s touching and petting you right now. How he’s demanding you answer all his questions, how he’s essentially ordering you around. 

“Actually, I have a better idea, baby girl. I think you should show me.” He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, running his tongue over his lips. His skin is pale, but his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink. And oh, he’s so handsome! It makes you want to listen to whatever he says…

“Show you?”

“Yes. You’ll take your dress off and show me what you’ve got on underneath, won’t you?”

“I will?”

Steve smiles easily, smiles like he’s having the most normal conversation on Earth and you’ve just said something funny. “Of course you will. Because you like listening to me. It makes you feel all small and cute, having someone like me be in charge of you.”

Your jaw drops, and yet… Oh, why does him saying that make your core throb?! And you know you shouldn’t… but maybe it would be okay if you did what he asked just this once? After all, he just wanted to see if your underwear matched. There was nothing untoward about that, was there?

A part of you knows you’re being delusional, but you’re also pressing your thighs together subconsciously. As if just him talking like he’s so in charge is getting you so hot and bothered, so turned on. And a bigger part of you, the hornier part of you, can only focus on how big he is, how in control he is, how small you feel in his lap, like you’re his baby and he’s allowed to do whatever he wants with you, and you’ll just let him.

“Stand up,” Steve orders, “Let me see you properly.” 

It’s comical how quickly you scramble to obey him. As if the you who’d arrived at this party feeling bored, irritated and out of place has been replaced by a girl controlled by lust and want, her body betraying her as Steve taps into your most submissive inner desires, and you can’t help but listen to him. 

He nods in approval when you stand between his legs.

“Good. You’re so hot, baby girl.”

“I am?” You beam, despite the fact that you knew you looked good the moment you’d put this gorgeous purple dress on earlier tonight. Despite the time crunch Wanda had put you under, you’d still managed to look more than presentable. And now, a part of you wonders what Ari would think if he saw you—NO STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM. JUST STOP.

”Yes, you are. Now take your dress off.”

“B-But Steve…”

“Do it.”

Cheeks burning, yet pussy throbbing at the same time, you unzip your dress. Trying to make your breathing sound less laboured, you keep your eyes on his. Only because his gaze is so intense, and you’re afraid he’d object if you looked away. 

The dress falls down to pool by your feet, and you stand in front of him in your lacy black set, with high heels to match. Steve inhales deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looks you up and down. And oh, you feel so awkward yet at the same time so turned on when you see that dark look of lust in his eyes. 

“Twirl. Slowly.” He grabs a bottle from the side of his bed, unscrewing it and taking a gulp. You catch a glimpse of the Grey Goose label, vaguely wondering why he has a bottle of vodka stored beside his bed, and how you didn’t know anyone to just drink it straight up like that - no mixers or anything. 

You twirl for him, concentrating on not tripping in your heels. You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, and yet your movements feel sluggish out of nervousness. But you hear a low whistle behind you, before the feel of his large hand grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze.

“Fuck, look at that cute little baby ass in those panties. Get back on my lap,” he growls. But before you can climb back on, he raises his hand to stop you, “Put my jacket on first.”

“Wh-What–”

He slaps your ass, pushing you in the direction of his desk chair with his varsity jacket draped over it. You gulp, slipping it on carefully. And it’s gigantic on you, the sleeves too long and the hem reaching down to mid-thigh. But Steve only licks his lips, beckoning you over once more. 

“It’s a bit big,” you bite your lip.

Roughly, he yanks you back into his lap, catching your lips between his in a searing kiss. Kissing you like he’s obsessed with you, and your eyes widen as he deepens it, sinking his teeth against your bottom lip carnally. As if he wants to eat you up, and his hands are all over your body, slipping underneath his jacket to touch your bare skin. 

“You’re so sexy, baby girl,” he breathes after he’s had his fill of kissing you. But even then, he pecks your lips between words, and you jolt in his lap when his thumb brushes against your erect nipple through the lace of your bra. He smirks against your mouth, “And you know it, don’t you?”

“No,” you lie, because the way he’s looking at you with such dark, almost carnivorous eyes… Oh, it makes you feel like the sexiest girl in the world!

“Of course you do. That’s why you wore this hot little lingerie set.” He snaps the strap of your bra against your skin and you yelp. “It looks so sexy on you, baby.”

“Thanks!” Most of the fancy lingerie you owned had been bought for you by Ari, but this was one you’d treated yourself with. Which was just as well, because there was something unspeakably awkward about sitting in the lap of one man wearing bra and panties bought by another man.

It was also funny how different Ari and Steve’s tastes were. Ari almost exclusively wanted you in pink or white sets, always something super girly and sweet and innocent. Steve seems to be the complete opposite, with how his eyes are glued to your black lingerie now.

Steve takes his baseball cap off, perching it backwards on your head. Another mark of his ownership, and yet your frazzled mind doesn’t have the capacity to think much into it.

He dips his head, licking a stripe down your cleavage. You gasp, automatically gripping a handful of his hair. He grabs your breasts, pushing them together against his face and nuzzling, licking and nipping as if he’s starved. Pushing the cups of your bra down, he latches on to your nipple, sucking on it roughly. You moan, and it eggs him on, he presses you forward, taking your whole breast in his mouth and sucking hard, covering it with his spit like he’s marking you as his property.

“Such pretty tits,” he mutters, flicking your nipple with his tongue, practically bullying it till it’s hard enough to cut glass, and you’re mewling because it’s so sensitive. But that only eggs him on, and he bites down on it like he’s starved. “Want me to fuck your tits, pretty girl?”

Your eyes widen, and he laughs devilishly. It was crazy how angelic he looked compared to how filthy he was being right now!

Again, he pushes your breasts together, licking down your cleavage like he’s obsessed, a wicked smile on is face when he finally comes up for air. “Every party I’ve seen you at, you’re always wearing some cute little dress that barely covers anything, like you’re some sort of goddamned tease. Tell me, baby. Are you gonna be a tease tonight?”

Meanly, he pinches your nipple, chuckling when you cry out. Your brain is too fried to answer his question properly, and so you just whimper.

Luckily, he doesn’t push it, doesn’t force an answer out of you like how he’s been doing all night. Perhaps too distracted by your chest, his head dips back down. His hands are ruthless, so big, rough and calloused from basketball. Squeezing your tits like they’re just toys to him, like your body is his to play with, and he knows exactly how to touch you, almost as if he’s done it before.

“S-Steve,” you feel lightheaded with pleasure, amped up at how carnal he’s being. How he’s not holding back at all, how he’s acting like he knows your body despite this being the first ever time the two of you have hooked up. How is he even doing that?

“Is that what you call me?” Steve comes up for air, flashing you a warning look before switching to your other breast, flicking your overly sensitive nipple with his tongue and making your breath hitch.

“Daddy,” you moan, finally letting go of any inhibitions you had left. You rut forward, rubbing your panty-covered crotch against his thigh. And oh, the denim of his jeans feels heavenly, and for a moment, you get a strong sense of dejavu that almost knocks you out of your lust-fuelled haze. Almost.

“That’s right, rub your little pussy against me. Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing. I noticed last time too.”

Huh? Last time?

“Fuck, didn’t expect you to fall into my lap again tonight, baby girl,” He kisses up your neck, holding his varsity jacket against you because it’s so big it’s slipping off. “Can’t believe you just showed up at my house looking like sex on legs with your cute little doe eyes in your tiny little dress. Did you really expect you were gonna walk out of here in one piece, baby?”

“I…uh…nngh!” You moan incoherently, hardly registering what he’s saying as his teeth clamp down on your neck, and he bites and sucks at the sensitive nape, making you squirm in his lap.

“You thought you could stumble into my party looking like a clueless little baby and not expect to end up in my bed?” He bounces you on his lap roughly, and you cry out in unexpected pleasure, the action sending thrills straight to your pussy. You rut against him in response, growing more desperate and delirious by the second.

“D-Didn’t know this was your house,” you pant, breathless from the way he’s kissing and fondling you, playing with your body like you’re just his toy and nothing more.

“Bullshit,” he breathes, “you wanted to see me again, didn’t you? After that night? You couldn’t forget, could you?”

“I–”

Your voice dies in your throat when Steve suddenly grabs your panties and yanks hard. They rip instantly, and you gape at the tattered lace in his hand. He brings it up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You smell like you want to get fucked,” he mutters, his voice deep and thick with lust, his eyes pitch black and intense as ever.

Sure enough, your panties are wet in his fist, and you can smell your own arousal on them even from a distance. Hell, you feel your wetness seeping down your bare thighs, staining his jeans and again you get a fleeting sense of dejavu, like this has happened before. And a hazy, dream-like memory flits through your mind, just for a moment before it’s gone, and you’re snapped back into the present.

Steve, without breaking eye contact for even a second, takes your panties into his mouth, sucking on them while you watch him with wide eyes. He grabs your hand, pressing it on his hard crotch. You squeak, it felt big and almost… alive under his jeans with how it was throbbing under your palm.

“So sweet, baby,” he breathes, “I missed out on tasting your little baby cunt last time. She tastes just as sweet as I imagined.”

Last time? You’ve barely wrapped your head around what he’s just said, but his face is so devastatingly handsome in that moment, so angelic and yet there’s a darkness in his eyes that cuts through it. Makes him look like an angel hell bent on playing his wicked game, and you’re more than happy to be his pawn.

“Steve–daddy, please. I need… I need–”

“Take daddy’s cock out,” he commands, his voice deep and guttural with raw lust. So gruff, so to the point, and it makes him even more attractive in your eyes. Powerful and in control. In charge of you. Using your body for his own pleasure. Fuck. You were so far gone down the haze of lust, there was really no coming back from here.

Steve takes your hand and pushes it past the waistband of his jeans, and presses it against his huge, hard cock. And oh fuck, it feels so fat and throbbing under your dainty palm, so big like it was capable of ripping you apart and you hadn’t even seen it yet. Just touching his hot, rock-hard flesh makes you rub your pussy against his thigh once more, pleasure jolting through your veins in anticipations.

You take it out, a low whimper escaping your throat because of how red and angry and big it looks. Oh fuck.

Steve pushes something into your hand, and it takes you a handful of seconds to register the lace of your black panties. Your pretty, tattered panties that he wraps around your hand before pressing it back on his fat dick.

“Jack me off, princess,” he orders you, his voice all velvety sweet and charming again, and it’s crazy how quickly he’s switched back to that now. “Show daddy what your pretty little hands can do.”

He hisses when you start pumping him, moving your hand up and down and the lace of your panties snagging against his smooth, rock hard cock. And he can’t keep his eyes off it, how your fingers don’t even wrap around half of his fat length.

“I-Is this okay, Stevie?”

SMACK.

“Daddy! Sorry, I meant daddy!” you cry out, your ass blooming with pain after his huge palm cracks down on it warningly.

“Mm, sweet sexy little baby girl,” Steve murmurs, watching intensely while you jack him off with your black lace panties in your hand, running them up and down his thick cock. “Jerking daddy off with your hot little panties that you wore just for me, right?”

“Didn’t-Didn’t know you were gonna be here!” You squeak out, regretting your decision to be truthful immediately when his hand cracks down on your bare thigh in another sharp slap.

“Say you wore your sexy little panties for me.” He bits down on your shoulder, tearing the skin with how hard he does it. As if he can’t help it, and you cry out in pain and yet you’re still feeling so much pleasure from rutting against him, chasing your own high while at the same time serving him and doing what he wants you to.

“Wore them for you,” you whine, bucking your hips with more frenzy now. The way he was speaking to you, oh it was getting you so fucking turned on and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was making your brain melt, only the submissive part of it reigning over every other rational side, and you pant when your clit catches against the denim of his jeans. “Daddy, please. F-Feels…feels…”

“I know, baby. I know,” he coos at you, voice dripping in condescension. And you feel so small, almost like a delicate little fairy in the domain of a literal God. That’s how powerful and big he looks to you in this very moment, like you’re at his mercy and you’d do anything for him. “You like jacking me off, baby?”

“Y-Yeah, I – I…”

You’re talking gibberish, and desperately chasing your own pleasure as you continue to rub against his leg. And yet you look down at his dick, how fat and thick it is, how it makes your hand look so tiny. How he’s got you jacking him off with your own lacy panties, how he’s watching it so intently and you can feel his cock hardening even more, if that’s even possible.

“You like my cock, princess? Like how big it is?”

“Yes!”

He grins devilishly, “You want it inside you, baby?”

Your jaw drops. He wouldn’t, would he? Oh, would you let him? Right now, your lust-crazed mind can’t find a single reason as to why not.

“I’d fuck you so good,” he whispers beguilingly into your ear, like he’s the devil himself persuading you to do something that you’re sure you shouldn’t be doing. But why not?! It wasn’t like you had a boyfriend! Ari had made that crystal clear! “Bounce your cute little pussy on my big daddy dick till you pass out on top of me. Would you like that?”

You whimper once more as his hand reaches down between your legs, and you gasp when he spreads your sopping folds. Now, you can feel the rough denim of his jeans even better, your engorged clit practically crying as it throbs uncontrollably. The rough pads of his fingers rub against it rhythmically, and you grind back up against his hand, humping it like you’re nothing more than a bitch in heat.

“Answer me,” he slaps your pussy hard, the squelching sound echoing across his bedroom, mingling with your scream of pleasure which only eggs him on. Again, he slaps you down there, and then another time. Till you’re quivering and crying and humping blindly against his palm, spreading your arousal all over him.

“I’d like it!” you cry out, a part of you ashamed with how easily you’ve given in to him.

“Mm, you know you’d have to be carried out of here after I’m through with you,” he says, manhandling you on his lap, dragging you back and forth on his thigh and creating the most delicious friction you’ve ever felt. “Not that I’d ever let you leave, baby girl. I’d keep you under my wing, in my bed because that’s where you belong.” He gives your ass another harsh slap that has you howling, “Say it. Tell daddy where you belong.”

“I-In your bed,” you manage to get out, feeling like you can hardly string a sentence together because all you can really focus on is the intense pleasure that’s building up inside you. “I…I belong in your bed, daddy, I don’t… I can’t… I…oh!”

Your release takes you by complete surprise. You squirt everywhere, on Steve’s cock, his shirt, and some even lands on his face. He smirks, swiping his finger over his cheek and sucking on it, his eyes glinting darkly. So dark and with such hunger, almost like he wants to eat you.

“Sweet little princess pussy,” he murmurs while you melt in his arms, unable to hold yourself up. Your legs are shaking like crazy, and he hugs you tightly against his chest, although one of his hands covers your own, ensuring it stays pumping his dick no matter what state you’re in. “She tastes so sweet, baby girl. How is she so sweet yet so naughty at the same time?”

Despite everything, his dirty talk has you feeling sparks down there again. Oh fuck.

“Steve, I–”

“Nobody told you to stop, princess,” he says darkly, bouncing his leg underneath you and causing you, in turn, to bounce on top of him. Your poor, sensitive pussy, still reeling from the remnants of your strong orgasm, “Get back to it. Hump your little pussy on daddy’s leg until I tell you to stop.”

Knowing you’re weak to the point of almost passing out, he’s got a firm hand clamped on your own, and he starts making you jack him off again. Rubbing your hand up and down his cock, your black lace panties rubbing alongside. The sight alone gets you going again, and once more you feel a spark of pleasure down there.

The party’s going on in full swing downstairs, heavy music blaring and yet all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting and moaning. His sweet voice uttering the dirtiest of things into your ear as you both masturbate each other. And it’s so raw, so primal, how you writhe on top of him like a goddamned animal, how he’s got the most carnal look in his eyes as if he’s a beast and you’re a lamb and he’s about to devour you.

He kisses you, and it’s so sloppy and animalistic, and you’re shocked at how desperately your lips work against his. How his hand wraps around your neck, how your fingers card through his hair. He spits into your mouth, biting and sucking at your lip till you taste the metallicity of your own blood. Or his. You’re not too sure.

The air is hot and thick with sex, and his dick twitches in your hand, so ready to blow and that’s when his fingers squeeze around your throat.

“You ever gonna walk into a party unattended ever again?” Steve grunts, pinching and bullying your throbbing clit like he owns it.

“N-No!”

“Damn right. Where do you belong, baby girl?”

“In-In your bed, daddy – oh-oh my!”

You squirt again, and this time, Steve follows suit. You watch, entranced, as he blows his load. Streaks of hot, white cum land on your hand, your black panties, your stomach, your face, everywhere. And you cum so hard, you can feel your pussy cramping with how intense the pleasure feels, waves of it radiating through your very being, egged on by Steve who keeps rocking you against him, muttering profanity under his breath as his thumb circles your poor, overwhelmed clit.

“Good girl,” he says after a few moments, looking like he’s barely broken a sweat as he pats your cheek. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. I needed that.”

And you watch with wide, glassy, fucked out eyes as he takes your poor, tattered panties, the ones you’d used to jack him off, now drenched in his thick cum. He brings them to your mouth, prodding them against your lips.

“Open, baby,” he commands softly. And you do, and to your shock he places the panties in your mouth, a smirk on his face, “Suck.”

You suck Steve’s cum from your own panties, unable to get over how hot your poor, frazzled, cock-drunk mind is finding this debauchery to be. He tastes salty, manly, and you feel so submissive, so under his mercy as he watches you suck like a good, obedient little baby.

“That’s right, swallow it all,” he murmurs, “You like that, don’t you? You like being a little cumslut baby?”

 You whimper out a quiet “y-yeah” and he nods in approval, finally taking the lacy fabric out of your mouth, holding it tight in his fist. “I’d make you put ‘em back on but…” His voice trails off, and he chuckles as he throws your poor, torn panties somewhere on his bed behind him.

All you’re able to do is sit on his lap like a little doll. And he’s not even done with you, still fondling and touching your body, squeezing and hugging you close like you’re a doll and you can’t get enough. He’s particularly enamoured by his cum staining your stomach and chest, and he gathers some of it with a swipe of his finger.

“Does your baby cunt want some?” Steve asks devilishly, and you gasp, again just watching as he puts his hand between your legs again, this time opening your folds and spreading his cum into your poor, sensitive pussy. “Look at that, baby. Your greedy little cunt swallowed it right up.”

“Steve, I…”

“Shhh, baby girl. You don’t need to say anything.”

You’re thankful for that, still reeling from everything that’s just happened. Oh, you hadn’t expected all of this! Hell, you’d been forced to come to this party against your will, and now… Oh gosh, how had things come to this? How did you even feel about it? How–

The bedroom door is thrown open. You yelp, holding the big varsity jacket around you as you turn around to see a burly basketball player standing by the entrance. Steve growls at the intrusion, holding you closer against his chest. “Bucky, what the fuck?”

“Sorry for interrupting, Cap, but they’re all here. The St. Andrews’ assholes. Everett, Drysdale, Levinson… He’s looking for her, I think he knows she’s here.”

What?! ARI WAS HERE?! Oh, how dare he?!

Steve picks you up and places you on his bed before getting to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath. “He knows better than to fucking come here.”

Shakily, you try to get to your feet but to no avail. Your legs are still shaking. “M-Maybe, I should–”

“Stay right here.” Steve says, an air of finality in his tone that indicates he means it as an order with zero objections. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

THE END! guys!! I'm literally so insecure about posting this. Idk, I just feel like lately I've lost my mojo, like my writing has lost it's spark? But I pushed on because I wanted to get something out for you guys. And honestly?? BRO I DIDN'T KNOW WHERE TO END IT bc I wanted this story to continue bc WDYM ARI IS HERE?!?! I wanna see the confrontation lmfao!

But anyways, just to be crystal clear - THIS IS JUST AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DRABBLE! It has nothing to do with the original wicked games story! That's why I wrote Steve here like how he is in chapter two of wicked games, and NOT like how he is in chapter 3 and 4! He's gone through a lot of character change and development in the original fic, but I didn't want to show that here! THAT IS IT'S OWN STORY HEHE. i know yall get it but i'm still reiterating lmao.

ANYWAYS. what did you guys think??? PLEASE PLEASE let me know! feedback genuinely would mean the world to me. I'm so fucking insecure about this fic it's like I've forgotten how to write!!

BUTTT. as usual here are some questions (you don't have to answer them, you can write whatever feedback you want but just in case hehe)

1 - HOW WAS THE SMUTTT??

2 - Do you think they would've gone all the way and had sex had they not been interrupted??

3 - How did Ari even know she was at this party??

4 - Opinions on our fav gal Wanda in this chapter?

ANYWAYS i love you guys, thanks for sticking by me and supporting my writing especially lately when there hasn't been many updates. LOVE YOU. pls lmk what you think!

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTALKERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Dick Grayson x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How it's like having him as your stalker?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You never noticed him at first.

Which was strange, really. Because Dick was a presence—magnetic, charming, always the kind of guy who could steal attention in any room, even when he wasn’t trying.

But with you? He liked to stay hidden. Lurking in the shadows. Watching.

At first, it was innocent (or so he told himself). He noticed you at a coffee shop one day, lost in a book, chewing on the end of your pen as you scribbled something in a notebook. He found himself drawn to the little things—the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating, the way you smiled at something on your phone, the soft way you carried yourself. It was just curiosity at first. That’s all.

Then he saw you again. And again. And suddenly, he was seeing you everywhere.

It became a habit, a compulsion. He memorized your routine like it was a mission. When you got coffee. What time you left work. What stores you liked to browse in. He told himself he was just making sure you were safe—because Gotham was dangerous, right? A girl like you, alone? Vulnerable? It only made sense that he’d keep an eye on you.

Then he got closer.

It started small. Brushing past you on the subway, close enough to inhale the scent of your shampoo. Sitting near you in a cafe, pretending to be busy on his phone while he listened to the way you spoke. Learning your favorite drink, so he could leave it waiting for you at the counter when you arrived—anonymously, of course. You’d glance around, confused, but never knew it was him.

You weren’t even aware that he was already in your apartment.

Not when you were there, of course—he’d never scare you like that. But while you were out? He’d slip inside with an ease that almost disappointed him (you really needed better locks). He never took anything—he just… looked. Examined the little pieces of your life. The books stacked beside your bed. The jewelry you left on the dresser. The clothes draped over the chair, still carrying the ghost of your body’s warmth.

He touched them sometimes. Ran his fingers over the fabric. Just to feel close to you.

The obsession grew.

He started taking things—small things, things you wouldn’t notice were gone. A hair tie. A receipt you left on the counter. A half-used tube of lip balm. They were trophies, proof that he was part of your world even if you didn’t know it yet.

And the pictures. Oh, the pictures.

They covered his walls. You smiling. You asleep on the bus, head tucked against the window. You looking at a menu, deep in thought. Hundreds of them, from every angle, every moment of your life he could capture without you noticing.

And the best part?

You liked him.

You had no idea, of course, but Dick could see it. The way you glanced at him when he finally started talking to you, when he finally made himself known in your life. It was easy—he was charming, he was sweet, he was everything you’d want in a guy.

So he inserted himself into your life, seamlessly.

“Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here!” A bright smile. A friendly laugh. “What a coincidence, huh?”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

It was orchestrated, down to the second. Every “random” encounter, every meeting—it was all planned, deliberate. But you didn’t question it. Why would you? He was Dick Grayson. A gentleman. A hero.

You never realized the full weight of his devotion.

Never realized how deep it ran.

Never realized how much worse it could get.

Because the thought of losing you? The thought of someone else having you?

It made him sick.

It made him furious.

It made him violent.

You noticed the change after a while. The possessiveness in his touch, the way his grip lingered on your wrist, the way his blue eyes darkened when you so much as smiled at another man.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he’d say, voice honey-sweet. “You’re too trusting, sweetheart. Not everyone has good intentions.”

Not like him.

So when your ex went missing, you didn’t think much of it.

When that guy at work—the one who flirted with you—got mugged and beaten within an inch of his life, you chalked it up to Gotham’s crime rate.

And when you started feeling like you were being watched, even in the safety of your own home—well.

Dick was always there to reassure you.

“It’s okay, babe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And he meant it.

Even if that meant keeping you all to himself.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[plethorawrites]

How would the vampire Batboys react if their GN human partner/reader offers them their blood? Maybe reader offers because the boys aren’t lookin’ good/aren’t drinking enough as they should, or maybe reader offers as a way to show them their trust, or build intimacy? :3c

Yes!! I did something similar with Dick previously, but I can totally see this concept with the others as well. (TW: Mention of blood)

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

Bruce: Deep down, I think he'd always imagined feeding from you one day. Maybe as some fantasy or maybe a part of him just knew you well enough to know you'd offer. It wouldn't phase him much, but he'd be elated internally. Still tender, though. He'd make sure you had a glass of wine or tea or something beforehand and sit you in his lap, having you lean your head against his shoulder to expose your neck and he'd definitely hold it firmly the entire time, even when you started to squirm in pain.

Dick: Like in a previous post, I think he'd limit his use of drinking from his partner because he's worried about losing control/getting addicted. It's a treat or a desperate measure and he has to really focus on your heartbeat and how hard you're gripping his arm to make sure you're not starting to panic or lose too much blood. Afterwards, it would just be continuous praise, thanking you over and over and muttering how much he loves you and how he promises to never take too much from you.

Jason: Is terrified when you suggest it. He's spent his whole life being viewed as a monster, even in his own eyes and once finding someone who doesn't immediately fear him, he doesn't want to ever risk making you change your mind. But he's lethargic, out of blood bags in the fridge, and too tired to go find a fresh source. You're right there; of course it makes sense. He's still apprehensive the entire time, physically in pain when he keeps himself from indulging but refuses to let himself. Instead, every single sharp inhale or slight whimper of pain makes him stop, even if it hurts, to check on you.

Tim: Has to do a double take, making sure he'd heard you correctly. But when you nod a second time, his open jaw closes, turning into a grin. He wouldn't pounce right away, not wanting to seem too eager, even if he was. But a few days later, when you're over, cuddling in his bed, he'd be tracing your neck like he often did, imagining how it would taste. His breath would be warm when he whispers in your ear, asking you if you would let him have a snack. Of course you would nod. And of course he would take your hand, letting you squeeze it as tightly as you needed to when he sunk his fangs into your neck, humming in content, just leaving them there for a moment. He adored the puncture marks that lingered for a week.

Damian: Would be confused, at first. He'd stop in the middle of whatever he was doing— training, getting ready for bed, etc. and just stare. You were his partner, not his blood bag. Why would he put you in a position where he could hurt you when he was meant to protect you? It takes some explaining from you, telling him how you want to know what it feels like and for him to know you trust him, that he even entertains the thought. He's still hesitant, but at your request and his own hunger, he tries. He has to pause when you make a sound of pain, but doesn't stop until he's satisfied and you're dizzy. Then, he just wraps his arms around you, kissing the puncture marks to erase the remaining blood.

[myntrose]

Missing You !

ೃ⁀➷: how the l&ds boys are when they miss you.

a/n: I want these men so bad it hurts. n e ways trying something different from smau 🤍 this is part one, will write the other boys later. Also pls send requests !!

content warning: the boys missing you to the point where it's a bit concerning. maybe ooc. Suggestive in Xavier's part towards the end. Did not proof read srry💔

ft: Zayne, Xavier x reader (separately)

pt. 1 , pt. 2

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ zayne (705 words)

the hospital holds an unnerving chill in the air. everyone can feel it; the staff, nurses, patients and the other doctors. and even though everyone could feel it, no one chose to acknowledge the source of this tension. because no one wants to disturb Dr. Zayne when he's in one of these moods.

It's another hard day for Zayne. The paperwork seemed endless, he's had to deal all sorts of patients, and he hasn't seen you in a week. You were out in a mission, nothing out of the normal for a hunter. But Zayne couldn't help but worry. He loves you, knows you're more than capable of handling yourself, but worrying about you comes as easy as breathing to him. It's second nature, an everyday thought.

Just as he starts to steady himself, the ink of his pen explodes on the report he was writing. He about ready to lose it, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. Zayne isn't usually this disoriented, and it's making him go mad.

Moving from his desk, Zayne paces around his office, opening your last message. it stresses him out that it was 2 days ago.

ms.hunter: ugh this mission is so dumb. smt happened and now it looks like ill be gone longer. im sorry babe :(((

He grips his phone a little harder. Paces the room with heavier steps. Breaths another sigh.

What is wrong with me?

A knock at his door disrupts his pacing.

"What?"

Zayne doesn't realize he said that with a bit too much bite, a bit too coldly. The door opens to reveal his new secretary, looking like a scared little lamb entering the lions den.

He looks at his secretaries face, realizing his harsh tone. Zayne murmurs a quick apology, asking his secretary if there was something needed.

"There's someone here to meet you, Dr. Zayne. Said they had an appointment?" The secretary trails their sentence like a question, knowing that Zayne shouldn't have any appointments today. Poor thing was shivering from the doctor's cold demeanor.

The veins on Zayne's head are almost visible now. On top of this day, an unscheduled appointment? Had it not been for his doctors oath to not harm, he would've denied this appointment.

Another sigh leaves him, as he tells his secretary to let the mystery appointment inside his office. Zayne makes his way back to his desk, head in hands trying to compose himself.

"You really shouldn't be sighing so heavily, Dr. Zayne. Heard it's bad for you"

Zayne's head whipped so fast towards the doorway, that you almost left bad for laughing at the action.

He blinks once, then another, before standing up and meeting you halfway across the room.

" 'm sorry for not texting you sooner, but I've been working twice as hard to get done with my mission-"

You don't get to finish your sentence before Zayne crashes his lips into yours. This kiss was desperate, filled with longing and want. It's almost startling, usually Zayne is more composed than his.

"would be more composed had you told me you'd be arriving back today" Zayne responds, perfectly reading your thoughts. Before you could say anything, he kisses you again. This time, he's softer, placing one hand on the small of your back and the other cradling your face.

You're the one to pull apart first, desperately needing air. Looks like your boyfriend missed you more than you realized. Oh, this was gonna be so fun.

Zayne scoffs, but he's still holding you close. "I do not scowl. It's just been a stressful week at the hospital."

You laugh at that. God, he missed your laugh. He missed you. He walks the both of you to his desk, where he sits you on his lap as he takes a seat.

"Did you miss me that much? It's only been a week."

"A week too long, my love"

While you and Zayne catch up, the rest of the hospital is glad that the chill in the air has died down. Looks like the staff knows who to call when their doctor is in that mood.

𓆩✧𓆪 xavier (570 words)

there's only a few things that causes Xavier to wake up. Either you shaking him awake, peppering his face with kisses, or when you steal the blanket from him.

Actually, it's mostly you that causes him to wake up. And right now, the reason why sleep escapes him is because it seems like you escaped the bed at some point.

Xavier feels around your side of the bed, only to be met with emptiness. Confused, he wakes up, and looks around to see the room still in pitch darkness.

2:34 a.m. It's still horribly early, so you wouldn't have woken up for work. Plus, Xavier knows your schedule better than he knows his. He knows that you don't have any kind of missions to attend to right now.

So, where were you? A sudden rush of thoughts occur at once, and Xavier can't help but assume the worst scenarios. He jumps out of bed and checks around the apartment.

Bathroom? No. Living room? Empty. Kitchen? Quite. He's going a bit crazy, because where did you go?

He just about to rush outside when he hears the sound of keys opening the front door. Turning to the sound, he watches as the door opens to reveal you.

You, holding a bag from the nearby 24/7 convenience store. You walk in, not realizing that Xavier was watching as you enter the room.

You're holding your phone in your other hand, staring at it. It wasn't until you looked up that you noticed you were being watching by your boyfriend.

Your words don't make it to his ears. Rather, he answers you with a question of his own.

"Where were you?" His voice is deep, laced with a serious tone that doesn't quite suit him. Oh no, was he mad?

"I went out to buy ice cream. I couldn't sleep and wanted something sweet. I texted you where I was!" Defending yourself, showing Xavier the bag with a few ice cream bars.

Oh right, he never checked his phone. Xavier pulls his phone out of his pockets, and opens his notifications to see that you in fact did text him where you were.

"Oh."

You move to the kitchen, putting the ice cream away. "Yeah, oh is right. What, d'ya think I just left without saying a work ?" You only meant that jokingly, of course. Turning around, Xavier is right behind you, caging you between himself and the fridge.

It wasn't until you looked at his eyes when you realized that, oh, he was worried. The realization sets in, and you understand what just happened. Xavier had woken up, and genuinely thought you were done.

Your eyes soften as you look at him, moving your hands to his face "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that." Xavier melts into your touch, and you both stay like this for a while.

You speak up first. "Why don't we go back to sleep?"

Xavier opens his eyes, looking down at you. "Actually, I'm not sleepy right now. I think I'm hungry."

"Do you want some of the ice cream I bought? I got your favorite flavor- Xav- Xavier why are we going to the bedroom?"

"I said I was hungry."

"Oh...?!"

Later that morning, you had to call into work "sick" for both you and Xavier.

[theliliesofthevalleies]

The skeletons wordlessly point around the room as if the reasoning should be obvious. Obviously he had been put in the summoning circle.

Danny puts a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes in contemplation for a moment. He takes in a long deep breath and looks at the skeletons. “And.. no one thought to.. I don’t know.. alert me to the fact that there is a whole living person in the offerings room..?”

All the skeleton’s just shrug and go back to pampering the now stunned and speechless Robin who is staring up at Danny from where he’s seated on the floor. “You’re a lot younger than I thought you’d be. Honestly that’s a relief. I was worried I was being offered as a bride to the ghost king that was going to be like.. old and gross..”

“You were offered as what?! You’re fourteen?!” Danny stares at the teenager no older than himself and crouches down. “What do you mean as a bride for me? Why would they even assume I wanted a child bride…?”

Robin, now removing his mask because, fuck it why not if he’s stuck there might as well, shrugs as he looks back up at Danny now showing him that he is in fact Tim Drake. “Don’t know.. don’t really care. I would however like to get home. My.. adopted father and his other adopted adult child are probably looking for me and considering that the last time a Robin went missing he was murdered.. they are probably losing their minds..”

“Right right.. uh.. well.. I have to ask Clockwork about how to send you back.. because the Infinite Realms sort of identifies you as.. my property now.. and the fact that you are technically dead..” Danny looks like he’s ready to hurl from the thought but he straightens up.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes and blinks a few times. “I’m dead..?” He pat his own chest and looked at himself all over.

“Only technically.. you were given as an offering.. the only way to send a living being to the Infinite Realms is to kill them.. or half kill them.” Danny thinks for a moment. “Honestly when we get you back. You may only have a half life.. you may be a Halfa now..” He shrugs and starts leaving the room. “Come on. I’m not going to force you to stay locked in here. Though.. m aybe put your mask back on. Some of the residents of the Infinite Realms still like to keep your identities a secret for themselves..”

Tim stands and places his mask back on his face trying ti ignore the reeling in his head from finding out he had apparently died. “So. You already knew who I was..?”

Danny with a dejected look and tears welling up in his eyes. “No.. I was one of the residents that enjoyed keeping your identity a secret. But it’s okay.. you just proved my theory so…”

Tim nods. “Right.. sorry about that..”

They make their way to Clockwork and find out it will take a while to send Tim back home. In the meantime Danny and Tim spend a lot of time together getting to know each other. Danny brings Tim a change of clothes when he comes back from school one day.

By the time they manage to navigate the stupid rules of the Infinite Realms two months later Tim is on the verge of his fifteenth birthday and has realized feelings are starting to bloom in his chest when he sees Danny. They agree to stay in contact and when Tim is dropped off on the day of his fifteenth birthday he leans over and kisses Danny’s cheek before running off to find Bruce and Dick who, as he predicted had in fact lost their minds.

It takes a lot of explaining to get them to calm down and understand that he A.) didn’t run away and get murdered. B.) didn’t die at all. Which Tim knows is a lie but he doesn’t want Bruce and Dick to freak out about him dying. And C.) is very much alive despite the blood loss of cult members trying to sacrifice him to what is essentially a god.

(Idk if op wanted this to turn into ship but I’ve been reading a lot of DannyxTim fics lately and that’s where my brain went. Lol.)

Bonus. When Jason comes back as Red Hood Tim can tell because Jason has a similar aura to Danny. Danny comes to visit and when he sees Jason he tells Tim that Jason has corrupted ectoplasm and he’s not sure how but his core is shattered. Danny and Tim set out to help Jason and they manage to clean his ectoplasm before Jason can bring his who reveal and revenge plan to fruition.

Once his ectoplasm is clean and Danny got his core into mostly one piece Jason all but loses interest in his big dramatic revenge plot so Tim brings him to the manor one day and Bruce freaks out.

Danny and Tim explain to Bruce what was up and that now that his ectoplasm is clean and his core is mostly whole now would be the best time to talk to Jason about all the things Jason is angry about.

(Side note I really like the idea that Danny helps Jason right after the first time he meets him and it freaks Jason out because, why the hell is the replacement and his boyfriend randomly finding him and why is the replacement’s boyfriend shoving his hands in his chest. It sort of freaks him out. But it helps the Pit rage so he honestly lets it happen.)

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[gpcwsl]

Alexia and r have a 10 year age gap and alexia’s always acting really sweet and boyfriend to r in private but refuses to acknowledge there’s something between them and being cold in public then being apologetic but happy ending please!

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Invisible in the light - adored in the dark

WC: 969

MasterList

Warnings: age gap, ignored? Kiss?

Song: you were good to me - Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

The first time it happened, you brushed it off.

Maybe Alexia didn’t hear you when you called her name. Maybe the restaurant was too loud, or maybe she was too focused on whatever conversation she was having with her teammates.

But then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

In private, Alexia was everything you could ever want in a girlfriend. She held you so close at night that it felt like she was afraid you would slip through her fingers.

She pressed lazy kisses to your forehead in the mornings, whispered sweet nothings in Spanish that you couldn’t yet understand but still loved the sound of.

She traced shapes onto your bare skin, her fingers moving over your back like an artist painting on a canvas.

But in public?

It was as if you didn’t exist.

Alexia wouldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t talk to you. Wouldn’t even acknowledge your presence. She was ice-cold, a stark contrast to the warmth she showed you behind closed doors.

You thought you could handle it. You thought it wouldn’t bother you.

You were wrong.

You’re at a team dinner when it happens again.

Alexia sits at the other end of the table, deep in conversation with Mapi and Patri, laughing at some inside joke you aren’t privy to. You, on the other hand, are stuck in an awkward silence between two of the younger players, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw, pretending that it doesn’t hurt.

But it does.

It’s not just that she’s ignoring you. It’s the way she goes out of her way to do it. The way her gaze dances around you, how she shifts her body away when you try to move closer, how she only speaks in clipped, professional tones if she absolutely has to respond.

Like you’re nothing more than a stranger.

Like you’re not the same person she held in her arms just last night, whispering soft te quieros into your hair.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

You try to hold it in, to swallow it down. But when the team finally gets up to leave, Alexia walking right past you like you’re invisible, something inside you snaps.

The apartment door barely clicks shut before you say it.

“Why do you do that?”

Alexia turns to you, mid-way through pulling off her jacket. “¿Qué?”

“You know what.” Your voice wavers, but you keep going. “Why do you act like I don’t exist in public?”

Alexia freezes. Her brows knit together, confusion flickering in her hazel eyes. “Y/n, I don’t—”

“You do,” you cut her off, stepping forward. “You do, Alexia. You ignore me. You won’t even look at me.” Your voice cracks on the last part, frustration mixing with something more vulnerable.

Alexia exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

There’s a long pause. She looks at you, really looks at you for the first time all night, and her expression softens.

“I—” She hesitates. “I’m scared.”

Your brows furrow. “Scared of what?”

She glances away, lips pressing together. “Scared of what people will think. Scared of how they’ll see me.”

It clicks then. The age gap. The inevitable judgment.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“So what?” Your voice is quieter now, but no less firm. “You’d rather pretend I don’t exist than risk people knowing we’re together?”

Alexia’s eyes snap back to yours, and there’s something raw in them. Guilt. Regret.

“Y/n…” She steps closer, reaching for you, but you don’t move.

“You can’t have it both ways,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t treat me like I’m the most important person in the world when we’re alone and then act like I’m nothing as soon as other people are around.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then Alexia sighs, shoulders dropping. “You’re right.”

You blink. “I am?”

“Yes.” She takes another step forward, closing the space between you. This time, you let her. Her hands find yours, fingers curling around your wrists. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you.”

You swallow. “You were.”

She nods, gaze full of remorse. “Lo siento, mi amor.”

You sigh. “In English, Alexia.”

A small smile tugs at her lips despite the tension in the air. “I’m sorry, my love.”

You hold her gaze for a long moment, searching for any trace of insincerity. You find none.

Then she’s pulling you into her arms, wrapping herself around you like she’s trying to shield you from the world. “I’ll do better,” she murmurs into your hair. “I promise.”

You exhale against her shoulder, the weight on your chest easing just a little. “Okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. “I love you, Y/n.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. She’s said it before, but never like this—never so openly, so unguarded.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

And then she kisses you.

It’s slow, tender, full of unspoken apologies and silent vows. She kisses you like she’s making up for every second she’s ignored you, like she’s trying to prove with her lips what she failed to show in public.

And you let her.

When she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against yours. “Cuddle with me?” she murmurs.

You can’t help but smile. “Only if you actually acknowledge me tomorrow.”

Alexia chuckles softly. “Deal.”

You curl up together on the couch, her arms around you, her heartbeat steady beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Because in the end, love isn’t about the whispers in the dark.

It’s about the way someone chooses to hold your hand in the light.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely, any chance you could do James x reader who is stressing over exam season?

Thanks for all the great work bb we appreciate it so much :)

Thank you angel, I love you <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 768 words

“Hey, lovely girl.” James comes up behind your chair with an arm around your front and a kiss to your head, surreptitiously slipping away your coffee. “How’s it going?” 

“It’s going fine,” you say. It’s a lie, but you have larger concerns. Your boyfriend is acting suspicious. “What are you doing?” 

“Just checking in on you.” 

“No, what are you doing with my drink?” 

“I was thinking we could make an exchange,” James says casually. 

You sigh, both craving and resenting the break. “I need to focus. No side quests.” 

“This isn’t a side quest. It’s a…a brief deviation—”

“That’s another way to say side quest.” 

“You didn’t let me finish. A brief deviation which will ultimately result in you being more productive.” 

You pause. “Okay…” 

James stamps a happy kiss to your hair. “So, first, I was thinking we could pick up some matcha or something—” 

“James,” you cut him off gently, “that’s a sweet thought, but matcha doesn’t have any caffeine in it.” 

“I’ve heard that, yeah. That’s a key feature of the plan, as it happens.” 

“I feel like I sort of need caffeine for my studying, lovely.” 

James makes a wishy-washy humming sound. It buzzes against the top of your head where he rests his chin. “Have you noticed that you’re vibrating?” he asks.

“I’m…” You take a quick stock of yourself. You feel exhausted, drained. Not vibratey. “No, I’m not.” 

“Mhm. I can actually feel your heart beating against my arm right now.” 

Now that he says so, you can feel it too. “Well, I’m nervous.” Your voice takes on an unintentional sharpness. “I’ve got three exams this week, and I want to do well. I can’t just check out.” 

James might have been anticipating you’d get prickly. He stays perfectly calm, only sweeping his thumb over your collarbone mollifyingly. You feel instantly ridiculous for your small breakage.

“I know, angel,” he says, in that everything’s-just-fine voice of his. “I get that you’re stressed. And it sucks that it is so stressful, but I’m not saying you should check out. I just want to make your studying go easier.” 

You’re quiet, guilty and embarrassed for sniping at him when he’s so relentlessly kind to you. James never does anything but make things easier for you, even when he’s not trying to. He makes your life easier just by existing. 

James lets go of you with the arm across your chest to squat by your chair, looking up into your face. He touches his thumb to the top of your cheekbone. 

“You look like your eyes hurt.” 

“They do,” you admit. 

He smiles ruefully. “Can I tell you the rest of the plan?” 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“I was thinking we’d take our matcha—or uncaffeinated beverages of your choice—and go to the park by Remus’ place. It has that little quiet area down the trail, remember? You could bring your books. It’d still be studying, but” —James shrugs, looking at the bright light you’ve positioned above your textbook, your grimy coffee mug, the chair you’ve been sitting in since you got up this morning— “this isn’t good for you. Maybe a change of scenery will help.” 

Now it’s you wanting a deviation. A side quest, an excuse to check out. You want to take James’ face between your hands and spend the rest of the week ensuring no inch of it goes unkissed. Screw exams. When he looks at you like this, so wholesome and earnest and chock full of good intentions, you genuinely think you must be the luckiest girl in the world. 

“That sounds nice,” you say. 

James grins, and god, his dimples dig in so deep you really could get lost in them if you let yourself. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You give in slightly to indulgence, leaning down to press your lips to his cupid’s bow. Retracting before you forget about exams altogether. “That’s a really lovely idea, Jamie. Thank you for thinking of it.” 

“Well, it wasn’t hard,” he says breezily. “All I had to do was think to myself, if I were wearing my eyes out being a swot all day, where would I rather be?” 

You smile. James’ doubles in wattage because of it. “Well, you nailed it. That sounds perfect.” 

“Plans are my forte, lovely. Let’s see, maybe we try studying there until the sun starts to go down, and then you can call it quits for the evening.” 

“I thought we agreed on no checking out.” 

“But what if I put cucumbers on your eyes? That’s not checking out, that’s just rejuvenation.” 

“I…might be slightly more amenable to that.”

[muwapsturniolo]

I was all over her ⋆.˚ M. Sturniolo

"N-no...No girls or guys...I don't uhh - girls don't really look at me."

⟢No smut, loner!Matt, tiny bit of asshole!Matt as well as angst. Deep convos and vaping, that’s it me thinks

@adornedwithlight for divider!

Pursuit of Happiness

That was the song currently blasting throughout the house of a random person Matt didn’t know.

He had been dragged here by his brother Chris, the younger boy claiming that a girl he was talking to asked him to come and bring people. Matt didn’t know why Chris brought him out of all people—he wasn’t the party type, nor was he a good wingman.

He tried to enjoy the party, he really did, but this wasn’t his style.

The loud music, bodies bumping into each other like sardines in a can, the excessive drinking—he preferred more chill, laid-back settings.

Hence, why he escaped to the bathroom filled with balloons and laid in the tub.

It was a weird hiding spot, but it brought him comfort. Chris didn’t even notice he had disappeared. No one did. He liked to think it was his own superpower.

He let out a deep sigh as he closed his eyes, humming along with Cudi as the balloons lay on top of him like a blanket.

Suddenly, the music got louder for a split second, the door opening and closing as a voice was heard.

“Pee, I have to pee so bad. No more drinks for me, unless it’s an Angry Orchard. I fucking love app—it’s occupied.”

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin, wincing softly as her side hit the corner of the counter.

The two stared at each other, one with wide eyes and the other in annoyance.

“Can you get out?” Matt asked right away. He didn’t mean to be harsh, but he wanted to be alone and not with some random girl.

“Bro, I really have to pee. I damn near made a puddle on the couch. I promise I’ll be quick!” For extra flair and a way to convince him, she clenched her legs together and did the ‘pee dance.’

“Is she being serious?” Matt thought to himself. He let out a huff of frustration and lazily motioned toward the toilet, looking back down at his lap covered in balloons to give her some privacy.

After a few seconds, he noticed the silence in the small space. He side-eyed her and saw her sitting on the porcelain throne with a sheepish look.

“Are you going to pee or…?”

“Sorry... I’m pee shy.”

He groaned loudly and ran his hands down his face in frustration. “Just close the curtain! It’ll help me pretend you aren’t here!”

The boy in the tub yanked the curtain with force, the sound of tinkling immediately being heard. He tried to ignore the sound, thinking about everything else besides this moment.

As he got lost in his head, he missed the sound of toilet paper, the flushing, and the washing of hands.

She went to leave the bathroom, her hand just a centimeter away from the knob, when suddenly, she thought about something.

Matt’s eyes flashed open when the curtain was yanked back, the girl standing tall over him.

“Do you have a vape?”

He sighed as he reached into his pocket for the small device, handing it to her and mumbling to himself. He could have told her no and to get out, but he figured letting a stranger hit his vape for a few seconds wouldn't cause any harm.

Except it wasn't just a few seconds.

The girl smiled and settled down on the floor next to him, hitting the fruity-flavored air and blowing it out.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before she finally spoke, “What are you doing in here away?”

She handed him back the vape, watching as he took his own hit before exhaling.

“Don’t like parties…”

“So why are you here then? And what’s your name?”

For some odd reason, Matt couldn’t answer her question or at least the first half of it. He decided to avoid it altogether, deflecting by asking her the same question.

“What’s your name?”

She smiled at him, her body leaning more against the tub.

“Trouble.”

He raised a brow at the name. He could tell it wasn’t her real name, but in an odd way, it fit her perfectly.

“So, are you going to tell me your name now? Or am I going to have to play hangman to figure it out?” He found himself chuckling softly at her question, the idea of teasing her and having her guess being too good to pass up.

“Guess.”

“I’m just going to call you Blue.”

His brows furrowed at the name. Why would she call him that?

“Blue?”

She shrugged as she plucked the vape from his hands once again. “Yup, Blue. Blue eyes, you’ve got a blue balloon on your lap... plus you give off blue vibes.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘blue vibes,’ but he took it as a compliment. He takes the time to examine her, processing her choice of clothing and how she looks.

She had on an oversized sweater that was a bit random, between the blue skulls with eyes and the two bands 'Nirvana' and 'Smashing Pumpkins' on it, he didn't know if he liked it or hated it. She paired the oversized sweater with a pair of ripped fishnets and a pair of beaten-up platform Converse on her feet.

Her hair was slicked up into two balls of curls, a few stray pieces hanging down and framing her face.

She didn't look like all the girls attending the party. He didn't mean it in a degrading way, he meant that she was different - in a good way.

"So why don't you like parties?" She asks the question once again, hoping to get a different answer. He already stated he doesn't like parties, and she understood that, but she wanted to know the reason.

Matt shrugs, leaning his back against the wall and propping his legs up in the tub. "Don't know really... I think I like parties but not ones like this. It's too packed, too loud and hot. The music is ok, but I don't even know whose house or party this is."

"Bonnie."

He turns and looks at her with a questioning brow, hoping she will elaborate. "Bonnie, it's her birthday party. I know her, but not that well. Honestly, she's kind of a bitch, but she's friends with my best friend, so I got dragged along. Not complaining though, Bonnie has some good alcohol and-"

Matt watches her as she rambles. He usually hated when people talked too much for no reason, especially when he didn't want to talk. But for some reason, he found her rambles enjoyable. Maybe it was because she was odd herself, maybe it was because she acknowledged his existence and actually sat to talk to him.

"My brother, Chris, dragged me here because he likes some girl and she invited him. He didn't want to come alone, so I was dragged out of bed, and now here I am."

"Who's the girl?"

Matt shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, adjusting his body so he is actually facing the girl on the other side of the tub. "I don't know. if I'm being honest, I really don't care. Chris finds a new girl what seems like every other day, I'm done trying to keep up."

The girl known as Trouble hums in acknowledgment, resting her arms on the rim of the porcelain tub.

"Well, what about you?"

"Well, what about me?"

"Any girl in your life? Maybe guys? I'm not one to judge."

Matt could feel his face getting warm, his eyes darting down at the balloon-filled tub. "N-no...No girls or guys...I don't uhh - girls don't really look at me."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck before resting his head on the edge of the tub, the girl following suit. "I don't know...I think I'm invisible to most people, like they see me, but they don't see me, you know? usually, I enjoy that, not being seen and being able to be alone and with myself, but sometimes it's a curse. You get lonely, but you get used to it... Then when they do see me, it's like I don't match the version of me in their head, I somehow fuck up, so once again, m'left alone."

Silence settles over them for a moment, Matt realizing he rambled and expressed too much, it wasn't something he was used to doing.

" I see you...."

Her soft words cause Matt to turn and look at her, his expression one of nirvana.

Truth be told, these two strangers didn't know each other, they just met and yet, a mutual understanding is had, a connection is being formed - a deep connection.

It seems like time grows slower, the world moving in slow motion as their faces inch closer. The muffled music and voices from the outside created an odd sense of tranquility in the dimly lit bathroom.

There was no urgency in the moment, the two strangers that seemed to be growing closer at an accelerated pace, teetering on the edge as their lips ghosted each other, their breath fanning over the other's face.

Just before their lips could meet, the bathroom door swung open, a guy standing at the entrance. He misses the way trouble and blue jerk away from each other, their eyes wide and hearts beating wildly.

"There you are! I've been looking for you forever. Party is almost over, let's go."

Matt watches with longing as the girl stands up, giving him one last glance as she leaves with the other boy.

After a few seconds, he stands up quietly, the balloons in the tub flying up and spilling over. He moves towards the sink, gripping the counter as he stares at the reflection in the mirror.

He couldn't help but feel a dull ache in his chest, the loneliness settling in once more.

Who was that stranger that came to get her? Was that her boyfriend? If so, why did they almost kiss if she was taken?

Why doesn't he feel bad about the potential kiss?

He sighs and rubs over his face.

They didn't makeout, yet he was all over her.

[aspenmissing]

Hiii, are you comfortable with writing something about Reader x Arcane character getting caught while making out? Maybe both of them are really stressed and needed a little distraction at work or in a hidden corner somewhere in the city.

ɪɴᴛᴇʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ || 4493 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇᴅ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ʜᴇʜᴇ)

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The weight of the council meeting still lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Jayce slumped into his chair, one hand dragging through his already-mussed hair, the other tapping mindlessly on the table. Across from him, you mirrored his exhaustion, arms folded as you stared at the mess of blueprints and reports scattered before you.

"This is impossible," Jayce groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "How do they expect us to solve everything at once?"

You sighed, shaking your head. "They don’t. They just want to watch us try until we collapse."

A humourless chuckle left him as he rolled his shoulders, rubbing at the tension there. His usually confident posture was weighed down with exhaustion, frustration evident in every movement.

The stress had been building for weeks—long meetings, sleepless nights, the pressure of expectation closing in on both of you like a vise. The worst part? You barely had time for each other. Stolen glances, brief touches in passing, but never enough to ease the ache of missing him.

Jayce exhaled sharply, rubbing his face. "Maybe we just need a break. Five minutes. Just… something to clear my head."

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in the way his fingers twitched restlessly on the table, how his broad shoulders seemed so tense, like he was carrying the weight of the world.

"I have an idea," you murmured, standing and rounding the desk.

Jayce barely had time to react before you slid onto his lap, straddling him with ease. His eyes widened slightly, but the second your hands cupped his face, his tension melted like snow in the sun.

"What are you—?" His words were cut off as your lips brushed against his.

A slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, not desperate—just enough to make him forget, to remind him that he wasn’t alone in this.

A deep hum rumbled in his chest as he kissed you back, slow at first, like he was savouring the taste of you. His fingers skimmed your sides before gripping your waist, pulling you just that much closer. The heat of his touch sent a thrill up your spine.

But when you tangled your hands in his hair, tugging lightly, everything shifted.

Jayce exhaled sharply against your lips, the frustration of the day bleeding into something else entirely. His grip on you tightened as he moved suddenly, one strong arm wrapping around your waist while the other gripped the desk.

The next thing you knew, you were on the table.

Papers and blueprints scattered to the floor as Jayce pushed them aside without a second thought. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them just enough for him to step between them, his body pressing into yours.

"Jayce—" you half-gasped, half-laughed, but he swallowed whatever protest you had with another kiss.

This one was different. Deeper. Desperate.

His lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs, his hands pressing into the curve of your back, pulling you against him like he needed this—needed you—more than anything else.

"You're too damn distracting," he murmured against your lips, breathless, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, skimming the bare skin at your waist.

You smirked, letting your nails drag lightly along the back of his neck. "Funny. I was just about to say the same about you."

His answering chuckle vibrated against your skin before he dipped his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. You shivered as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Jayce—" you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as his hands wandered, heat pooling in your stomach.

And then—

"Ahem."

You froze.

Jayce’s lips lingered against your skin for a second longer before he stilled, his body going rigid.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head.

Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was none other than Viktor. His expression was somewhere between exasperated and amused, his golden eyes flicking from you to Jayce and then to the mess of scattered papers on the floor.

"I take it this is your solution to stress management?"

Heat flooded your face as you scrambled to push yourself upright. Jayce stepped back immediately, coughing into his fist while straightening his shirt, trying—failing—to look composed.

Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your… problem-solving session."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Jayce groaned too, dragging a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at Viktor.

Viktor turned to leave but paused just before the door. "I’ll let the council know you’re… preoccupied."

The door shut behind him. Silence stretched between you and Jayce.

Then—

"Of all people, why did it have to be Viktor?" Jayce groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh as you nudged him. "So… continue?"

Jayce groaned again, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. Maybe stress relief wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

VIKTOR

The apartment was filled with the soft glow of the city beyond its grand windows. Piltover's skyline stretched high in the distance, golden lamplight flickering against the polished glass, illuminating the intricate brass fixtures that adorned the walls. The faint hum of the Hextech trams outside blended with the quiet ticking of the many clocks and machines scattered around the room. The air smelled of ink, metal, and the faint remnants of Viktor’s tea—long forgotten and cold in its cup.

You sat on the couch, head resting against the cushions, eyes trailing Viktor as he paced. His cane tapped against the floor in a slow, rhythmic beat, his free hand raking through his messy curls as he mumbled under his breath.

“This is not working,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “If I adjust the schematics for the stabilizer, it offsets the energy balance entirely—”

“Viktor.”

He didn’t seem to hear you.

“Viktor.”

Finally, he stopped pacing, turning towards you with tired, golden-brown eyes. The soft candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, the deep crease between his brows evidence of long nights spent battling his own mind.

“You need to take a break,” you said, patting the space beside you.

“I cannot afford a break,” he countered, though his voice lacked conviction.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what if I make it worth your while?”

His lips twitched, curiosity flickering in his gaze. But before he could overanalyze it, you reached for him, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as you pulled him down. His breath hitched, but he didn’t resist—if anything, he melted into you, his hands bracing on either side of you as your lips met in a slow, desperate kiss.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. It was the kind of kiss that unraveled knots in the soul, the kind that softened the weight of sleepless nights and overworked minds. His hand cupped your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin as if memorizing the feel of you.

Viktor sighed into the kiss, his body finally relaxing as he deepened it, stealing another taste of you like a man starved. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you found yourself tugging him closer, lips parting to let him in—

Without breaking the kiss, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, careful not to put too much weight on him. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands found your waist, hesitating only for a second before gripping you as if anchoring himself.

“You’re being reckless,” he murmured against your lips, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“I’m being helpful,” you corrected, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing along the curve of your back. You could feel the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt, the way his pulse quickened beneath your touch.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, leaving slow, lazy kisses against your throat. You tilted your head to give him more access, fingers threading into his hair, tugging gently. The way he sighed, almost blissfully, sent a shiver down your spine.

“Much better than schematics,” he murmured against your skin.

“Mhm,” you hummed, tracing slow circles into his shoulders. “And much better than pacing yourself into exhaustion.”

He chuckled, low and warm, before reclaiming your lips in another kiss, his fingers pressing into your waist. You could feel the tension melting from his body, the weight of his thoughts momentarily forgotten—

"Oh—oh my GOD!"

You both jolted apart, breathless and wide-eyed as the unmistakable voice of Jayce Talis rang through the apartment.

Viktor turned his head just in time to see his best friend standing in the doorway, hand over his eyes like he’d walked in on something far more scandalous.

“Jayce—!” Viktor’s voice cracked slightly, his cheeks burning as he scrambled to straighten his shirt.

“I— I was coming to check on you because you haven’t answered in hours and I was worried but clearly I was wrong to do so—” Jayce rambled, still shielding his vision.

You covered your face with both hands, mortified. Viktor, on the other hand, exhaled slowly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered, “For the love of— Jayce, knock next time.”

Jayce made a sound somewhere between an embarrassed chuckle and a strangled cough. “You never close your door! I figured you were just working!”

“Well, clearly, I was busy.”

Jayce groaned. “I hate this. I’m leaving. I’m pretending I never saw this. Have fun— or don’t, actually. Just— I’m leaving!”

With that, he fled, the door slamming behind him.

Silence stretched between you and Viktor. Then, despite everything, a small laugh bubbled from your lips. Viktor shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as well.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his nose brushed against yours, “that was unfortunate.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl from his face. “Maybe next time we should lock the door.”

He hummed in agreement before pressing another quick kiss to your lips.

“Next time,” he whispered, fingers ghosting along your spine, “I will not be so easily interrupted.”

JAYVIK

The apartment was supposed to be a place of solace, a refuge from the chaos of Piltover’s ever-demanding scientific advancements. Instead, it had become an extension of the lab—blueprints scattered over the coffee table, half-finished devices blinking with dim light, and a lingering scent of metal and ozone in the air.

Viktor sat hunched over a set of schematics, fingers curled into his hair, while Jayce paced in front of the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Y/N, squeezed between them on their small shared couch, rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of their collective stress.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Jayce finally muttered, throwing himself onto the couch beside her with a heavy sigh. “We need a break.”

Viktor snorted but didn’t argue. He just leaned back, rolling his stiff shoulders. Y/N looked between them, their exhaustion clear in the droop of their eyes and the tension in their muscles.

“A break,” she echoed, thoughtful. A smirk tugged at her lips before she turned to Viktor first, placing a hand against his cheek to guide him to her. He inhaled sharply, but when she kissed him, his breath softened against her lips.

Jayce chuckled beside them. “Oh, I see what kind of break you mean.”

Y/N barely had time to grin before Jayce tilted her head toward him, catching her lips in a deeper kiss. His hands were warm against her waist, his touch grounding, and when he pulled away, Viktor leaned in, catching Jayce’s mouth in his own.

The stress that had suffocated them melted away between kisses, fingers threading through hair, soft sighs filling the space. Viktor’s hands found Y/N’s hips as she curled into him, and Jayce’s fingers brushed against Viktor’s wrist before cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in again. It was the kind of comfort they all needed, a reminder that despite the frustrations, they had each other. The warmth between them built steadily, deepening with each brush of lips, each squeeze of hands against familiar bodies.

And then the door opened.

“What the—”

All three of them froze.

Caitlyn stood in the doorway, eyes wide, a folder of papers tucked under her arm. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again as she took in the sight of all three of them tangled together on the couch, breathless and undeniably caught.

“Uh,” Jayce started, clearing his throat and trying to shift subtly, but Viktor was still half in his lap, Y/N’s fingers still curled in Viktor’s shirt. “We were, um, taking a break?”

Caitlyn blinked. Then smirked. “I can see that.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Jayce just let out a nervous laugh. “You’re, uh… you’re early.”

Caitlyn lifted the folder. “Heimerdinger wanted me to drop these off. But, uh, I’ll just… leave them here.” She set the papers on the counter, giving them all one last amused glance before backing toward the door. “Carry on.”

The door clicked shut, leaving silence in her wake.

Y/N exhaled, pulling away from Viktor’s shoulder to glance between her lovers. “Well. That happened.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face, groaning. “We’re never living this down, are we?”

Viktor, ever the unbothered one, simply chuckled. “I highly doubt this is the most scandalous thing Caitlyn has ever walked in on.”

Y/N smirked, brushing a thumb over Viktor’s cheek. “Guess we’ll just have to get used to locking the door.”

Jayce huffed a laugh and leaned back. “Yeah. Next time, we plan our distractions better.”

“Next time?” Viktor mused, arching a brow.

Y/N grinned. “Oh, definitely.”

Jayce grinned too, leaning his head back against the couch. “You know,” he mused, eyes flicking between the two of them, “I don’t regret it.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Of course you don’t.”

Y/N nudged him. “Neither do you.”

Viktor huffed a small laugh before conceding. “No. I do not.”

Jayce let out a satisfied hum, looping an arm around both of them. “Then I say we finish our break properly… after we actually lock the door.”

Y/N and Viktor exchanged looks before laughing softly, leaning into his embrace as the tension from the day fully melted away. Even with the inevitable teasing from Caitlyn and whoever she told, they had each other—and that was enough.

VANDER

The Last Drop was busier than usual, filled with the usual rowdy crowd, the smell of stale ale, and the low hum of conversation. Vander rubbed his temple, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been a long day—dealing with drunken fools who thought they were tougher than they were, extra mouths to feed, and the constant chaos of running the bar.

Y/N was just as exhausted, having spent the day tending to the younger kids and ensuring no one got into trouble. Stress hung between them like a thick cloud, and one knowing glance was all it took before Vander took her by the wrist and led her into the small backroom of The Last Drop.

The moment the door shut behind them, she barely had time to breathe before he was on her, pressing her up against the wooden wall. His large hands gripped her thighs, lifting her with ease as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. His lips were firm and demanding, the taste of whiskey still lingering on his tongue as he kissed her deeply. She sighed into him, letting the tension of the day melt away, fingers threading through the silver streaks of his beard as he growled low in his throat.

He pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers, trapping her against the wall. The heat between them was undeniable, the way his hands kneaded at her thighs making her breath hitch. His kisses grew more intense, hungry, as his mouth trailed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. She gasped softly as his teeth grazed her pulse, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sound.

“Vander,” she breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. He chuckled against her skin, his hands shifting under her thighs, pressing her higher, closer.

“You always sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers before diving back in, this time deeper, more desperate. His fingers dug into her hips, grounding himself in the moment as she tugged at the strands of his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You know how to drive me crazy, woman,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm as he trailed kisses down her neck.

She grinned, tilting her head back to give him better access. “Then maybe I should do it more often.”

She could feel the rumble of his chest as he let out a pleased sigh, savouring her, indulging in her. The tension of the day faded, replaced by something heady, something undeniable—

“Vander?”

The sound sent a jolt through him, and before he could react, his grip on Y/N loosened. With a surprised yelp, she slipped from his hold and landed on the floor with a graceless thud.

Vander winced. “Shit—Y/N, love, you alright?” He knelt quickly, reaching out to help her up, but the glare she shot him had him pausing.

“Do I look alright?” she hissed, rubbing her sore backside. “You dropped me!”

The voice outside knocked again. “Vander?”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “One second, kid!” He turned back to Y/N, his expression sheepish. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered, swatting his hand away and getting up on her own. “You owe me for that.”

Vander sighed, but a small smirk played at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it up to ya later.”

“You better.”

Straightening his clothes, he took one last look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and narrowed eyes—and sighed before heading to the door. As soon as he cracked it open, he was met with Vi’s unimpressed face.

“Really?” she deadpanned, arms crossed.

Vander sighed again. “Not a word, Vi.”

She grinned. “Oh, I was gonna say I needed your help with something, but after seeing that? I think I’ll just go tell Enzo instead.”

Vander groaned as she walked off, chuckling to herself, while Y/N simply shook her head behind him.

“We need a better backroom.”

SILCO

The dim glow of Zaun’s skyline filtered through the blinds of Silco’s office, casting jagged shadows across the room. The scent of smoke and whiskey lingered, mixing with the faint metallic tang of ink and gunpowder.

You sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, watching him. He was tense—his fingers pressed against his temples as he reviewed documents, his ever-present cigar smoldering in the ashtray beside him. The weight of the undercity rested heavy on his shoulders, and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

“You need a break,” you murmured.

Silco exhaled sharply, a humourless chuckle leaving his lips. “Zaun doesn’t rest, my dear. And neither do I.”

You pushed off the desk and moved toward him, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. He was stiff beneath your touch, his body coiled like a spring, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he let out a slow exhale as your fingers trailed along his collar, loosening the tension there.

“Then let me help,” you whispered, sliding into his lap.

His mismatched eyes flickered up to meet yours, a silent challenge in them. “Oh?”

You straddled him, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath. His hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your hips as if grounding himself. The shift in power between you was intoxicating, a game you both played so well.

His lips found yours, slow and deliberate at first, teasing, testing. But when you tugged at the collar of his vest, pulling him closer, the dam broke. The kiss deepened, rougher, more desperate. A growl vibrated against your lips as he shifted, his hands gripping you tighter before he stood, turning, laying you across the desk in one swift movement.

Papers fluttered to the floor, his knee nudging between your legs as he braced himself above you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his restraint slipping, his need surfacing.

Your hands roamed over his chest, tugging at the buttons of his vest, eager to feel him without the layers between you. Silco’s breath hitched slightly at your insistence, his fingers tightening on your hips in response. The fabric loosened under your touch, the top buttons slipping free as your nails scraped lightly against his exposed skin. He growled against your lips, his mouth trailing down to your jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck.

“You’re playing with fire, love,” he rasped, his voice thick with want.

“Maybe I want to get burned,” you shot back, your fingers slipping lower, pushing the vest further open.

Silco let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear. “Careful,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your thighs, “I don’t do half-measures.”

“I know,” you whispered, tilting your head as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just beneath your jaw. “That’s why I’m here.”

He pressed closer, his weight pinning you against the desk, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. “Always so eager,” he mused, his fingers tracing down your sides, slipping beneath your blouse, teasing the skin beneath. “And so damn tempting.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse. “Then stop talking,” you breathed, a smirk curling at your lips. “And do something about it.”

The heat between you was electric, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. Then, the door slammed open.

Silco didn’t stop—didn’t pull away. His weight remained pressed over you, his breath still warm against your throat. But his head snapped up, his sharp mismatched eyes locking onto the intruder with a deadly glare.

His hand slid to the side, fingers wrapping around the pistol resting beside his ashtray. Without shifting an inch from his place above you, he lifted the gun, aiming it directly at the unfortunate soul who had just interrupted.

“Get. The hell. Out.”

A strangled noise left the intruder’s throat—one of shock and perhaps a touch of fear. They stammered something unintelligible, clearly regretting whatever urgent reason had brought them here.

Silco cocked the gun, his grip steady. “I won’t ask again.”

As the intruder stood frozen in place, your hands continued their work, fingers slowly undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. You could feel the slight tension in his muscles, the way his breath hitched as your fingers traced over the newly exposed skin.

His grip on the gun didn’t falter, but the slight twitch of his jaw revealed that he was aware—oh, so aware—of your touch. You smirked against his collarbone, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there, reveling in the contrast between his deadly stillness and the heat rolling between you both.

With a muttered apology, the intruder scrambled backward, slamming the door shut behind them.

Silco exhaled through his nose, his gaze still fixed on the door. Only when the room was silent again did he shift his attention back to you. A slow, dark smirk curled at his lips, his voice low and dangerous.

“Now… where were we?”

MEL

The grand halls of the Piltover Council shimmered under the golden glow of the chandelier lights. Stately, regal, and intimidating as always. But in that moment, they were also completely empty—except for two figures entangled at the grand council table, right at Mel Medarda’s designated seat.

Mel’s fingers traced slow, languid circles against Y/N’s waist, the warmth of her touch seeping through layers of silk and gold-trimmed fabric. Y/N, half-seated, half-pinned against the polished surface, could feel the cool marble beneath her, a stark contrast to the heat between them. She sighed softly as Mel pressed closer, trapping her in place with the gentle yet commanding presence that made it impossible to think of anything else.

“You’re distracted,” Mel murmured against her lips, voice rich like honeyed wine. “You’re always so serious, my love.”

Y/N let out a breathless chuckle. “Says the woman who orchestrates half of Piltover’s political schemes.”

Mel tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. “Exactly. Which is why I know when it’s time to take a break.”

Before Y/N could respond, Mel leaned in, capturing her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. It was slow, unhurried—an indulgence neither of them could often afford. Y/N melted into it, her hands sliding up to cradle Mel’s face, fingers tracing along the delicate golden ornaments adorning her.

The tension that had been knotting in both their shoulders, the weight of the Council’s never-ending debates, the pressure of expectations—it all faded into the background. For a moment, there was only warmth, only the way Mel sighed into Y/N’s mouth as their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate.

The world outside their little sanctuary ceased to exist.

Until, of course, the sound of a sharply cleared throat shattered the illusion.

They jerked apart, Mel’s regal composure returning in an instant, though her lips were still slightly parted, a single golden brow arched in intrigue. Y/N, on the other hand, felt her face burn as she turned toward the source of their interruption.

Councilor Hoskel stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an expression hovering between scandalized and deeply amused.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I suppose I should be grateful that at least some of our esteemed members know how to… ‘negotiate’ effectively.”

Mel, utterly unbothered, hummed and tilted her head toward Y/N. “Would you say we reached an agreeable consensus, darling?”

Y/N, still breathless, exhaled a laugh. “I’d say the matter was well settled.”

Hoskel huffed, shaking his head as he turned on his heel. “I saw nothing,” he muttered as he strode off. “And I’ll continue seeing nothing, provided you keep it outside the Council Hall.”

Mel watched him go, then turned back to Y/N with a satisfied smirk. “That’s one way to adjourn a meeting.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face against Mel’s shoulder. “We’re never going to live this down.”

Mel only laughed, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Perhaps. But I promise you, my love—it was well worth it.”

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of family death

A/N: I love Matt but I hate Matt but like ???

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P8: Don't

wc: 2400+

Part of me is begging for Matt to walk in through that door—tear me away from this horrid tension as Chris stares down at me with his arms crossed over his chest. But he doesn’t. The door stays deathly still, the entire room falling into an uncomfortable silence as I sit up straighter on the couch. 

“Why’re you in my house, hm?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow at me as he stalks closer. He lazily plops down on the opposite side of the couch, petting Trevor as the dog curls into a ball between us, “-and why’re you telling my dog you need to piss?” 

“Why are you eavesdropping?” I huff, shaking my head and keeping my eyes set infront of me while standing up and walking down to the bathroom.

How long was he standing there? 

What did he hear? 

I do my business quickly. I take a deep breath, sighing and looking at my reflection in the mirror. God, I look tired—drained, even. 

Walking back into the living room, I see Chris nearly completely sprawled out on the couch. His arm crossed beneath his head, his legs extended but slightly bent—leaving the smallest amount of room for me to sit back down. 

“Trev went to keep my dad company,” he says. I nod while sitting stiffly in the open space. Of course he had to sprawl out—make this entire situation even more uncomfortable. 

“-and, I wasn’t eavesdropping. It’s hard not to hear when you’re yapping so damn loud. In my house, with my dad. Fuckin’ weird if you ask me.” 

His tone is almost bitter—a certain sharpness to his words that felt a little different than his usual insults or remarks. 

“Shut up, Chris,” I breathe, rolling my eyes as I stare around the living room. The only light seeping in through the curtain is that damn streetlight—flickering and blinking on the verge of its life. 

What’s taking Matt so long? 

“Hey, don’t take your shitty date out on me, I didn’t do anything–”

“Really?” I cut off, staring at him with squinted eyes. 

Chris shrugs, his tongue prodding from the inside of his cheek. “Sorry. I guess I’m just upset that you’re in my house, talking to my dad. Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?” he snorts. 

As his eyes gaze into mine, I feel my face fall. “Not really.” 

The statement makes his glare soften to an unreadable expression. He clears his throat, adjusting and sitting up further. He almost looks… sorry?

“Do you know when Matt will be back?” I ask, tapping my foot on the floor as I look towards the front door. 

“I have his location, but my phone is in my room,” Chris announces, his eyes glazed over while he stares at his lap. 

My hands rub together as I hesitantly look over at him. “Can we… can we go look, maybe?” I offer.

Chris nods, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he nudges his head for me to follow. I get up, following his steps as we make the familiar path towards his room, my feet stumbling to a halt as I hover in the doorway. 

He rummages towards his nightstand, holding up his phone attached to a charger. His face creases as he looks over at me. “It’s dead. You can, uh—you can sit if you want to.” 

I hesitantly shift further into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed while looking towards my hands. I can feel the rummaging thoughts piling over top of one another, the sensation of panic settling in as the silence consumes the room. 

“Why do you look so nervous, damn,” he laughs, sitting down on his bed with his back resting against the headboard.

I shrug, sucking my lips between my teeth while briefly shaking my head. “Because,” I trail off, sighing as I feel him stare at me, waiting for a response, “-you’re just… I don’t know—you, ugh.” 

Chris shifts, his feet tapping on the floor as he sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “I’m just what?” he taunts. 

My mouth opens to respond, but my face tilts as I see a bright illumination from his phone screen—not the display when the device wakes up after being dead. 

“I thought your phone was dead?” I question. His eyes bulge. He shakes his head, leaning over and turning the device face down. What the fuck? “What am I in here, Chris? What—what games are you playing now?” 

Chris scratches the back of his neck. His eyes wander everywhere around the room, avoiding my gaze at all cost. 

“Whatever,” I huff, starting to stand up. 

My actions are halted by a warm hand landing over my thigh. I look down, seeing his fingers spread with a rough grip, softening as he sighs. “I—just—fuck,” he curses, removing his hand as if it had been burned. 

The thump of my pulse gets quieter. I analyze his face, watching as his jaw clicks tighter. Some part of me seems to soften. I reach out, hesitating as I hold my hand above his shoulder before laying it gently on him. 

“What’s going on? I’m not mad, I’m just…” I shake my head, looking into his eyes as I try to take a deep breath, “-confused.” 

Chris licks over his lips, his hand rubbing over his face as he slumps down and stares at his lap. “I… I wanted to, um—well, I—fuck, this is so hard,” he hisses. 

I watch as he tugs at the roots of his hair, hunching over and placing his elbows on his knees. I let my hand slide down, gently rubbing on his back. He’s been a real dick, but something about him makes everything seem so hazy, like I can never really tell what his true intentions are. 

He was hurt—brutally hurt. And I could understand that more than I wanted to. I knew how it felt to lose someone and have everything change. 

“I don’t know how to even explain—”

“Then don’t,” I interrupt. 

Chris stares at me over his shoulder. His lips press into a thin line, his eyes squinting as if he’s in pain. “Why are you not mad?” he asks. 

I shrug. My eyes drift to his window before tracing back to his face. “I can see you’re trying. Even though whatever is going on seems hard for you… you’re trying,” I answer. 

“Not hard enough,” he snorts, sitting up. 

My hand falls from his back. I hesitantly place it back into my lap, staring at my fingers as I nervously fiddle with them. “Maybe ‘cause you’re not giving yourself any credit.” 

The pointed statement seems to make the silence sink in once more, but this time, it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels calm—peaceful, even. Like he’s letting my words wash over him. 

He lets himself hunch over once more, his hands knotting through his hair aggressively. I wince hearing him hiss as his fingers get stuck in a tangle, my hands shooting up before I can stop myself. 

“What are you doing—”

Chris falls silent, uncomfortably tilting his head as I try to drift my fingers through the knot. “Just let me help.” 

The hair is stubborn. It probably wouldn’t be so knotted if he wasn’t yanking at it so harshly.

“Just…” I huff, “-just lay down. It’ll be easier.” 

He goes stiff, slowly relaxing as his head falls into my lap. I slowly start from the bottom of the knot, working my way towards his scalp. His hair is soft despite the tangle. 

“Chris?” I whisper, my hands clutching towards my chest as I wait for him to move.

But he doesn’t. The only movement is his shoulders sliding up and down with deep breaths. He’s asleep—his head cradled in my lap as I sit on the edge of the bed. 

My eyes start to droop, my hands guiding back into his hair as I brush through the soft strands. Every breath starts to get deeper. I feel myself leaning forward and to the side, crossing my free arm under my head as I rest on his shoulder. 

I like this side of him. I just wish I got to see it more. 

___

“-wake up, c’mon,” 

Peeping one eye open, I see Matt standing in front of me, his hand gently shaking my shoulder. I look down to see Chris in the same position. 

“I’ll take you home, sorry,” Matt whispers, nudging his head towards the door as he walks out. 

What time is it even? 

My body shifts slowly as I move him to lay on the bed. A frown crawls on my face as I watch Chris’s face furrow, his hands grasping onto the sheets as if he’s looking for something. 

I reach out, petting my hand over his cheek and watching him relax once more. His lips puff open with a subtle snore. Hazily, I stand up, analyzing his face as I creep backward. 

“Ready?” Matt asks, looking up from his phone with a shit-eating grin. 

I nod, squinting my eyes with a smile as I wiggle my brows. He blushes, tucking his phone back in his pocket before stalking further with quiet steps. 

As soon as we step out the door, he hands me his phone. I look down at the screen, my eyes going wide as a smile covers my face. It’s a picture—him and Mia, her lips pecking his cheek as he smiles towards the camera. She seems to be holding the phone, her nose crinkled upward and smushed against his cheek. 

That’s adorable. 

“Oh my god! See—you didn’t need me,” I laugh, slapping his phone back into his chest. 

Matt slips the device back into his pocket, walking by my side as we stroll down the path back to my house. “I know, but—thank you. I know you didn’t exactly wanna go,” he remarks. 

Do I tell him? I had already vented to Jimmy. There was no point in spoiling his night with my shitty experience. 

“Is this why you woke me up? Wanted to brag, hm?” I taunt, bumping into his shoulder playfully. 

The quiet neighborhood is deathly calm, but I can feel his excitement radiating off his energy. He’s so giddy—it’s relieving. 

At least it was worth that dumb fucking date.

“I did wanna tell you, I’m not gonna lie,” he mentions, laughing as we turn down the corner to my street, “-but, I also wanted to make sure you got home and your mom wouldn’t be mad or anything, I guess. Or that you wouldn’t have to spend the night with fuckin’ Chris again.”

The scoff in his tone pokes at something in my chest, a sharp sensation flooding over me as I mutter beneath my breath, “It’s not like it’s bad. He was actually being—”

“Don’t.” Matt says. 

My steps halt on the pavement. I look up to Matt, watching him stop and stare back at me with a sigh falling from his lips. 

“Look,” he starts, tugging on my sleeve as we continue walking again, “-I’m saying this as your friend. Chris… he’s not ready for this type of stuff. You—you’re only gonna end up hurt, okay? Just… don’t.” 

Oh. 

My tired eyes flutter with fast blinks. Maybe it was the exhaustion—maybe it was because the air felt too cold blowing into my eyes, but I could feel the heat rush upward, my vision becoming blurry as I blink away tears.

“I’m not… I—I don’t know what’s going on. He just seems so…”

“Lost? Lonely?” Matt fills in. 

I nod, pulling at my clothes as my nose starts to twitch from the cold wind. 

“Chris… he just—he hasn’t coped well, you know? Losing our mom was hard, but our brother–-Nick—that… he can’t look at me anymore. He can barely look at himself,” Matt sighs. 

The lump in my throat is uncomfortable. I swallow thickly, wincing as I feel it glide down into my chest and create a distracting pressure. “I’m confused. What do you—what do you mean?” I ask. 

I feel the energy shift before any words escape his mouth. Everything seems to get eerily quiet, the comforting silence gaining tension as curiosity rings through the air. 

“Nick, our brother. We, um—we’re triplets, or… were? I just… Chris was the most dependant, “ he huffs, laughing dryly, “He was the only one to never be away from one of us for 24 hours, the kid literally couldn’t go a day without saying goodnight to both of us and—”

Matt chokes up on his words. He sniffles, shaking his head furiously while looking down at his feet as we walk slower. “I thought he’d rely on me after everything. But, we’re triplets—identical. He—he couldn’t even look at me without—” 

I place my hand on his shoulder as his sentence falls flat. Matt takes a deep breath, sighing as he places his hand over mine, pulling it towards his chest while holding it tightly. 

“Listen to me,” my ears perk at his words, his eyes looking into mine with raw emotion, “-don’t. He’s not ready, he’s…”

“I get it,” I interrupt, watching as Matt nods, slowly dropping my hand. He stays put as I walk up the two cement stairs to the entrance of my house. 

I pull out my keys, inserting them slowly into the keyhole of my front door, gently pushing it open before giving him one last look over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I mouth, trying to be as silent as possible as I hear the dark home echo with the slightest whisper. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back, nodding affirmatively before turning on the heel of his shoe, walking away as I shut the door. 

It shouldn’t hurt. Chris was more mean to me than anything else. In fact, I’d never even had him truly apologize—not with his words. 

But I didn’t really crave an apology.

I just want to understand.

[luvhcarly]

the council would like to request a part 2 to tell me how much u want it

PUT THAT SMART MOUTH OF YOURS IN A GOOD USE.

previous part

After you break up with your boyfriend because you found out he cheated on you again you find yourself infront of his apartment with tears streaming down your face, even though you told him that you should keep it professional…

PAIRINGS: dom!san x fem!reader

GENRE: smut, professor x student, college AU

TAGS: smut, p in v, cheating, cum swallowing, oral (m receiving), San is mean and toxic towards reader, age gap (San is in his 30s and reader is 22), angst, use of pet names (love, slut), swearing, kind of manipulation, San is obsessed with reader and can’t let her go, dirty talk, mention of divorce!, lmk if I missed anything!

WC: 7.3k

A/N: I wanted to thank you guys for the love on the previous part! I decided to give you part 2 of this so enjoy!

Reminder! English is not my first language if you find any mistake lmk!

© All rights reserved luvhcarly do not copy, repost, or translate.

You knew it would be a mistake to step into his office, but you couldn't ignore it. A few weeks have passed since what happened and clearly you couldn't stop think about it, but at the same time you felt guilty. You cheated on your boyfriend even though you basically just paid him back. Well, it wasn't you. You never did such impulsive things. You didn't tell anyone about what happened, despite the fact that your friend suspected you of something.

"Come in." You were snapped out of your thoughts by a man's voice that sent chills down your spine. You took a deep breath and stepped inside, immediately meeting his gaze, which you couldn't quite place. He was sitting on a chair and his hands were on the table, as if he was waiting for you to sit down. As soon as you looked around the room, you remembered everything that happened. The way he fucked you against the desk, the way he told you words that you would like to hear again.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" You put your thoughts behind your head and broke the silence that was between you two. He laughed at your 'sir' and shook his head. He pointed with his hand to the place in front of him for you to sit down and so you did. You sat down on a chair and put your hands on your thighs and cleared your throat nervously.

“Weeks ago you called me San, now you call me sir, again.” With a raised eyebrow he said as if he wanted to indicate something, but you didn't know exactly what. He sighed when you remained silent at his words and he leaned his body more against the seat, not taking his eyes off you. San scanned you, your hair was down and you were wearing a t-shirt that once again hugged your body too well. He cleared his throat when he realized that thoughts lead where they don't belong, but damn why did you have to look so fucking good. Your lips were slightly parted as if you were about to say something, your eyes looked at him with that look that drove him crazy.

"I think-" You took a deep breath and looked at him. "I think we should forget about what happened. It could affect my studies and-" if he was telling the truth, he really didn't expect this. He was expecting something like it shouldn’t happen again or that you should be careful about this? Did he feel… duped? Forget what happened? How the hell do you want him to forget?

“Yeah, It could affect my job so I agree.” But he did not argue and only nodded. He had nothing to say to you even if he wanted to scream at you, Kiss you and do it again and again without any consequences.

"That's all I wanted to talk about. You can go.” His words were sharp, toxic. Something inside you broke, your heart shattered as if you had been stabbed in the heart. Why did you want him to say something else? To say that he doesn't want to forget. That he wants it again and again.

"Okay." With those words, you stood up and turned around. Before you left, you gave him one last goodbye look and then left. You let him sit there, thinking about the fact that he should have stopped you and told you how he really feels. But he knew that he would hurt you and himself.

“Fuck-“ San mumbled under his breath and ran a hand through his hair, when you left. He didn't want to forget what happened, even if it was just an one time thing. He wanted to help you so that you wouldn't feel stupid that your boyfriend cheated on you, but rather he did it for himself because he couldn't stay away from you.

-

"Are you okay, babe?" Your boyfriend’s voice interrupted you when he noticed how you were playing with the food with your fork. Your expression was nervous, tired, something he hadn't seen in you that often.

"What?" You shifted your gaze from the food to him and swallowed loudly when he gave you a puzzled expression. "It's nothing just school stuff." You lied to him and gave him a smile, he nodded at your words and smiled back. Then there was a silence between you, which you didn't like that much, but you weren't in the mood to break it. Your thoughts were elsewhere. You were lost. You were lost in your own head.

“We should go on a dinner tomorrow, to take a break from the stress." He proposed to you with a nice smile and you took a sip from your drink, nodding at his suggestion and smiling at him. "Yeah, that would be great." You really weren't in the mood to go somewhere social, but you didn't refuse.

“Is something bothering you, y/n?” With that he suddenly asked and the fork fell from your hand to the floor. "I-..." you opened your mouth and were about to tell him everything that happened, but then you closed your mouth. “No. I am just tired as I said." That's the only thing you told him and he didn't discuss it further, even if he didn't believe you. Well, he wasn't planning on arguing with you or anything like that so he just nodded his head and continued to eat his food.

After dinner you lay down in bed and took your phone in your hand, your boyfriend was lying next to you and he was also on his phone. You decided to check whether the results of the tests you wrote last week had not arrived yet. Your eyes widened when you saw that you didn't pass his class.

Didn't pass.

How? He tutored you, you wrote everything correctly there. You furrowed your brows at that and your anger rose. What's his problem? You didn't understand it. And that’s why you stayed after his class the next day.

“Professor, wait!” You shouted as he left the classroom and you caught up with him with quick steps.

"I have another class, Ms. Y/n.” His words were again sharp without interest, as if he was telling to leave him alone that he was not interested in talking.

"It won't be long, I just-"

"We will discuss it tomorrow during class, if you have some problem." He stopped and turned to you. His brows were furrowed and he wore glasses. You swallowed loudly at his words and sighed.

"I-..." You opened your mouth and were about to say something, but then you nodded. Despite the fact that you were angry that you didn't pass his class, you suppressed your anger again. His expression made you feel the respect you had for him. "Okay." You said and he left without another word. When he was out of your sight enough, he let out a sigh that he didn't even know he was holding back. He knew that you probably wanted to talk about why you didn't pass. But his reason was simple. He thinks you have more in you than what you wrote in the test. That’s why he didn’t let you pass, or maybe there was another problem?

“Asshole.” You muttered to yourself as you slammed the locker shut and an annoyed sigh escaped your lips. He was acting strange.

"Who is an asshole?" Your friend's voice rang out and you jumped a little. You did not expect that she would be here and that she would hear you.

"You scared me!" You punched her on the shoulder and she laughed at your words, but then immediately gave you a serious expression.

"Who were you cursing at?" She asked again, her curiosity growing. You raised your eyebrows at her question and pretended that you didn’t say anything before

"What? No one." You gave her a smile, but she still didn't believe you, she already knew you very well. "Your boyfriend again?" She leaned against the locker and crossed her arms over her chest, patiently waiting for your answer.

"No, of course not." You blurted out quickly and she just sighed and bit her lower lip as if she wanted to tell you something.

“You are acting weird lately. Is everything okay?” She finally asked and you ran a hand through your hair and furrowed your brows.

"I'm fine! Why is everyone asking me that”You said with a raised voice and your friend sighed and shook her head. She didn't understand why you were suddenly so angry and nervous. You were never like that, you always walked around smiling, but now you looked like you were going through something. When you realized that you had raised your voice at her and that you are taking out your anger on her for no reason, you swallowed loudly and squeezed your eyes.

"I'm sorry... I'm just tired." You rubbed your forehead and looked at her. She had a disappointed expression on her face, as if she understood you. "Yeah, I get it. Get some rest, y/n.” With her hand she stroked your shoulder. "And stop stressing about school." She added and gave you a sweet, friendly smile, which you returned in return.

You were nervous all day, probably because of school. Despite the fact that you were not in the mood to go to that dinner with your boyfriend, you went. You went to a romantic restaurant together and sat down, talked and joked. You felt that it was the same again as before and your stress subsided. "I will be right back, babe." He stood up and you smiled at him from behind the glass and he directed his steps to the bathroom. At that moment, his phone, which had its screen facing downwards, started ringing. Somehow you didn't pay attention to it, but when the phone rang several times, you gave up. You looked around the restaurant to see if he was coming back, but when you saw that he was nowhere to be found, you picked up his phone.

"When are you going to break up with y/n?"

"Babe, I want you. Please?”

"Can you come over tonight, we could have some fun?" ;).”

You swallowed at the texts and a tear started to run down your cheek.

“I’m back-“ A voice came from behind you and you gripped the phone tighter in your hand and gave him a hateful look.

"Babe, It's not what-"

"Save it. I don’t want to hear it. You didn’t change.” Your voice was hateful and your words were sharp, he leaned closer to you and wanted to stroke your shoulder, but you pulled away.

"Can we talk about it? Everybody is watching us, y/n. Calm down." He looked around nervously when he noticed people's curious looks. You wiped your tears and picked up your jacket.

“No.” You muttered. "We are done." You said and he shook his head at your decision. With those words you left and left him there alone. As soon as you left the restaurant, you put on your jacket and hugged your body. Raindrops began to fall on your skin, which you let out a sigh. You didn't know where to go. Only one place came to your mind. His apartment.

Flashback.

“She signed the papers.” He informed you and looked up from the phone to you and measured you. You already had your skirt on and put your t-shirt back on. "That's great!" You gave him a sweet smile and he sighed but then smiled. He leaned his body against his desk and ran a hand through his hair before resting his hands over his chest.

"Yeah, it is, but I will have to move out."

"Move out? Where?” You blinked fastly at him being confused. He could hear in your voice that you were a little afraid that he would leave, but you didn't try to show it in any way.

"You know the new apartments just two blocks away from school?” For a small moment, you thought about his words, but when you remembered the new apartments nearby, you nodded.

"Well, I already have papers set for this but I waited if she would sign the papers and she did so." He usually didn't talk that much, but now he wanted to. He wanted to tell you everything that was on his mind, and it didn't bother you at all. You liked to listen to him and you were glad that he was saying something that was bothering him. San looked at you nervously, as if he realized that he might be talking too much, but your words calmed him down.

"The apartments are beautiful and I think that it's a great opportunity to start a new life for you." Your words were soft and kind, it warmed his heart. Maybe it's an opportunity to start something new. Something that will fill him and make him feel good. He gave you a smile and his thoughts took him where they probably shouldn't have. Well, for a few seconds he imagined that he lives with you, but then he immediately put it behind him. It's impossible.

End of flashback

“Y/n?” The door in front of you opened and he appeared there. His hair was messy and his eyes were tired, he was wearing a black oversized T-shirt and gray sweatpants. It was strange because you didn't usually see this on him.

"I'm sorry to barge in here like this but-" You stopped talking for a moment and took a deep breath. "I didn't know where else to go." Your hair was wet and so were your clothes. He had a surprised expression on the shapes that you were standing here in front of him, your eyes completely red and your mascara smeared.

"Come in." The words he usually spoke gave a completely different meaning to you. He stepped back from the door and let you in, taking your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it on the hanger to dry. He then directed his steps into the kitchen and you followed him, looking around the apartment with your eyes. It was nice and new. Everything was in white and black colors, which you would expect from him.

Without another word, he took a sip of water and leaned against the kitchen counter while you kept looking around. He could see from your shape that something was wrong, otherwise you probably wouldn't be here. But he was surprised that you remembered his words from a few weeks ago. He didn’t ask you what happened, he just looked at you with his eyes and then put the glass down.

You watched with your eyes as he left suddenly and then came back with a dry T-shirt and sweatpants. "Go take a shower." He ordered and handed you dry clothes. You nodded at his words and he let out a sigh. As soon as he pointed in the direction where the bathroom was, you directed your steps there. When you stepped into the bathroom, you smelled his usual scent and you swallowed loudly at that. Then you took off your wet clothes and stepped into the shower. Immediately warm almost hot water touched your skin and you tried to wash away all the bad thoughts and the anger you still had inside. You were a fool to think it wouldn't happen again. You naively thought that everything would be the same as before.

A small sigh escaped your lips as the same scene replayed in your head as you slowly scrolled through the screen of his phone and read the texts. You still couldn't believe that it happened so suddenly. You spent quite a long time in the shower, and he thought that something had happened to you, but when he saw that you got out of the shower. Your hair washed and his clothes on you. The shirt he gave you was a little bigger, and the sweatpants too…

San cleared his throat and he pushed you a cup of tea infront of your face, which you graciously accepted and sat down on the couch next to him. You took a sip of the hot tea and looked ahead. There was an awkward silence between you, as if you were both thinking of what to say. Well, the only thing you could say was:

"Thank you." You muttered and looked down at the cup of tea you were clutching tightly in your hand. You had the feeling that if you clenched it even more, it would shatter into a million pieces. Like you an hour ago. "I broke up with him." You suddenly blurted out and he immediately turned his gaze to you. He raised his eyebrows slightly at your words as if he didn't expect it.

"Sorry to hear that." He actually lied, he was glad you were not together. That you did it. Did he feel happy? Relaxed? He didn't even know how he felt, but he only knew that deep down he was glad that it was so.

“He did it again.” You added and he furrowed his brows. He didn't like it, but even more he didn't like that you were here and that you were saying this to him.

"Why are you telling me this?" You shifted your gaze from the tea to him and gently parted your lips. You didn't know what to say to that. A tear ran down your cheek and you wiped it away with the tip of your fingers and swallowed loudly.

"I'm just confused." He laughed, he didn't even know why, but he found this situation funny. "Yesterday you told me that we should keep it professional and now you are here. Crying.” His words were sharp and unpleasant. You put the tea on the table in front of you and shook your head at his words that he was right. But why didn't you feel it that way?

"You are right. I-" as soon as you started to speak, he cut you off.

"Are you doing this on purpose or what?" His eyebrows were furrowed and he had a strange expression on his features that you had never seen on him.

“What? No! Of course not I just-“

“You giving me those eyes during class, showing up in my apartment.” He shook his head at you, he didn't care that the tears were running down your cheeks more and more. He wasn't really interested at this moment because he wanted to understand why you were doing all this. What is your deal? Distracting him?

“Tell me y/n. Why?” He raised his eyebrows and stared at you, patiently waiting for your answer. "Because I'm curious. You just show up here crying and telling me the same shit over again.” He let out a sigh and you just stroked your brows furrowed and lips parted, tears still running down your cheek. "Expecting what? That I will tell you It's alright and some other kind of shit?" He chuckled at his words and ran a hand through his hair, leaning further into the couch. His eyes were fixed in front of him, but you were watching him. You watched his every move and listened carefully to his sharp words that came from the depths of his heart.

"that I will hug you and whisper lovely words to your ear?" He added and then got back into the previous position to see your face. He could see on your face that you were taken aback by his words and that you didn't know what to say. “Well, I am not that kind of guy, if you thought that I would do that.” You took a deep breath when he finally finished and wiped your tears again and stood up from the couch.

"It was a mistake coming here." You muttered and when you were about to leave, his words stopped you.

"Yeah walk away. That's what you are best at." He had his elbows on his knees and watched carefully as you turned sharply at his words, tears were no longer running down your cheeks, but he could see from your features that you were angry. Angry because of what he said.

“Says you. You walked away from your wife and almost cried at my fucking shoulder after you fucked me.” Your words were full of anger, you were like a ticking bomb. He got up from the couch at your words and stepped closer to you. His jaw clenched and his Adam apple bopping every time he swallowed.

"I fucked you because I saw that you were desperate, remember?" He said and you shook your head at his words, you knew he was right but still you didn't let it go.

"I let you because you were so desperate to fuck someone who actually gives a fuck about you." You spilled those words into his face and at that moment he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer, his hot breath touching your face.

"I can choose who I want to fuck, love. You would be surprised how many students came to my office and flirted with me. But I only fucked you, isn't that funny?" His words were ridiculous, he directly mocked you. He moved closer to your ear and his words sent a chill down your spine. "Should I remind you the words you said to me?" Your breath hitched and he saw it. He saw how you suddenly became nervous and also how a chill passed through your body, his words full of mockery and teasing. He knew very well the effect he had on you and he intended to use it very well.

"That I fucked you better than your boyfriend. Pfuu… y/n.” He pulled away from you to get a good look at you. "Tough words, right?" You swallowed at his words because he was right, but you still had no plans to stop throwing arguments at him.

"I only said that to make you satisfied and to boost your ego." Your words were funny to him so he just laughed at you and your stupidity.

"Your body said something else that time." San enjoyed how your body trembled gently and how his words always sent chills down your spine every time. But he thought it was very funny how you pretended that it had no effect on you and that you looked confident. “And now your body is saying something else too.” He shifted his eyes to your parted lips and how you immediately closed them and swallowed. You hated it as he had readen you from head to toe. How did he know what reacts to you and what doesn't.

“You asked why.” Out of the blue you changed the subject and his grip loosened on your wrist and he raised his eyebrows. He didn't understand where you were going with those words.

"What?" He asked you incomprehensibly and a small sigh escaped your lips, wondering if you really should say that. "I came because of you." You looked into his eyes and searched for something in them, maybe a hint of what he was thinking. That he feels what you feel.

"I came because I can't stop thinking about you. Fuck, you- you are driving me crazy.” Your words caught him by surprise and he immediately let go of your wrist and bit the inner corner of his mouth. “And fuck, yeah I expected you to hold me and tell me that it will be okay. I admit, okay? I even admit that I always walk away from the problems instead of solving them. And I’m sorry about what I said about your ex-wife. Fuck, I even admit that you fucked-“

“Just, shut up.” He interrupted you and immediately took your cheeks in his hands, using them to bring you closer to him and kiss you. Despite the fact that his words before were sharp and unpleasant, you let him kiss you. You wanted it. His touch on your cheeks was soft and warm and the kiss was soft and gentle. “You talk too much.” He said between kisses and his hands slipped to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss became more dominant and passionate, he ran his tongue over your lips and you opened your mouth and gave him the freedom to push his tongue into your mouth. His tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that belied his earlier resistance and you sighed as his hands slid to your ass and squeezed it.

He lifted your body by your ass and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Without breaking the passionate kiss, he carried you to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him, leaning you against it. He let your body slowly slide off him and put one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek and caressed it gently. You slid your hand under his shirt and ran your fingers over his stomach, as he let out a shaky breath as your fingers traced his abs, his head falling back briefly. "Fuck, you're going to be the death of me," he muttered, quickly pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside.

“Yeah?” You asked him with a teasing voice still tracing your fingers slowly along his abs. "Yes, really," San growled at that, catching your wrists and pinning them above your head against the door, having enough of your teasing. He leaned in close, his lips barely brushing your ear. "One minute I'm pissed as hell at you, and the next..." He trailed off, pressing gentle kisses along your neck. “Then next I want to fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.” A slight moan escaped from your lips as he started to leave wet kisses along your neck.

His mouth curved into a satisfied smirk as he felt your body tremble against his. "Like that, do you?" he whispered, purposely leaving another wet mark just below your ear. His hands released your wrists, one sliding down to grip your waist while the other began pushing your shirt up, sending shivers down your spine. His cold hands touching your warm skin made you part your lips slightly and he noticed.

“So fucking sensitive," he murmured, his cold hand leaving goosebumps in its wake as he pushed your shirt higher. San broke the kisses on your neck just long enough to pull the shirt over your head and toss it aside, leaving you in just a lacy bra. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, half-naked and breathing heavily against the door. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a rough, passionate kiss as his hands reached behind you to unhook your bra.

“Mhm~” Being too desperate you moaned into the kiss as the bra hit the floor silently, freeing your breasts. He growled softly as your breasts pressed against his bare chest, one of his hands coming up to grope one possessively. Your moan echoed in his mouth, making him harder.

“Fuck- San, I need-“ he cut you off immediately.

“Shut up." San said against your lips before kissing you deeply again, swallowing any further words. His hand squeezed your breast roughly as his hips pressed against yours, letting you feel how hard he was already. Breaking the kiss, he nipped at your bottom lip. "Pants off. Now." You swallowed at his sharp words and you slowly pulled your sweatpants down, keeping an eye contact with him as he watched you carefully, enjoying how you obeyed him.

His gaze remained fiercely locked with yours as you peeled off your sweatpants, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you stood before him in nothing but in your panties. “Those off too. Come on.” Without breaking eye contact, he ordered watching how your body trembled every time. Slowly you pulled your panties down as he watched you with a smirk on his face. God he liked how you obeyed him every time.

“On your knees.” When those words left his mouth you swallowed. At first you remained in your place not being so sure but his voice was heard again. “Come on, love. Get on your knees for me.” His voice was low, demanding and you slowly slid to your knees, looking up at him. With a soft touch he cupped your cheek and grinned at the sight of you being in front of him on your knees.

His thumb gently stroked your cheek as he leaned down and whispered, "Isn’t if funny how minute ago you screamed at me that you let me fuck you just because I was desperate to fuck someone who gives a fuck." He kept eye contact while he slowly pulled his sweatpants down, a smirk playing on his lips as you watched him. “Now, look at you, y/n. You are here again. Obeying like a slut.” You swallowed hard at his words and your body trembled even more as you watched how he pulled his sweatpants and boxers down in one swift movement and your breath hitched as you saw him fully naked now. He was huge just like you remembered. Long and thick. He smirked watching your reaction. "Now, put that smart mouth of yours in a good use, will you?”

With a shy look on your face you brought your lips to his length and a shudder ran through him as your lips barely brushed against the tip. San groaned quietly, his fingers twitching against your cheek. "What did I say, love?" His voice was low, furious as he grabbed you by your hair roughly and he pressed himself against your lips, silently urging you to take him in.

As soon as you opened your mouth, he pushed himself in, filling your small mouth instantly. He groaned as he hit the back of your throat, pulling your hair harder to keep you in place. "Look at me." he growled, his hips bucking slightly to push himself deeper. With a small tears in your eyes you looked up at him through your eyelashes as he enjoyed the sight of you. He enjoyed how you fell apart on his cock.

San's eyes darkened with lust as he held your gaze, drinking in the sight of you trembling slightly, tears glistening at the corners of your eyes. He smirked, pleased by how perfectly you were submitting to him. "You look fucking gorgeous with your lips wrapped around my cock," His thick length pulsed in your mouth as he admired the view—your pretty lips stretched around him, taking him so deep. "Such a good girl," His grip tightened in your hair, holding you firmly in place as he slowly thrusted, savoring the slick heat of your mouth.

You moaned against his cock immediately sending shivers down his spine at that, then slowly you made your way with your hand to your wet core, the pleasure being too much but his words cut you off right away. "No...don't you fucking dare." He warned in that deep, authoritative tone you loved. With one quick motion, he grabbed your wrist, preventing your hand from reaching its destination. "Only my hands get to touch you there tonight, got it?" His hips thrust forward again, making you gag slightly. You let out a little cry at his warning words and San smirked as he watched you suppress your whimper, pleased by your obedience. Keeping a firm grip on your hair, he began to thrust more deliberately, each stroke pushing deeper into your throat. The wet sounds of your mouth working his cock filled the room, punctuated by his low groans of pleasure.

“So pretty.” He tilted his head back, savoring the sensation as he hit the back of your throat perfectly, but then he looked back down at you, seeing the slight flush on your cheeks and the tears streaming down your face. He was close, so very close to bursting apart in your mouth. "So good, just for me, yeah?”

You moaned again and he let out a shuddering groan as your moan vibrated around his sensitive cock, the sensation almost too intense. The sight of you squeezing your thighs together desperately, unable to touch yourself yet trembling with need, pushed him over the edge. "Fuck, I'm gonna-" He threw his head back and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep in your throat and came undone, his hot seed spilling into your mouth as he let out a low, guttural groan. His hips jerked erratically as he rode out his release, eyes locked onto yours, intense and unblinking. You watched, mesmerized, as he came undone completely, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. "Swallow it, come on.” Without second thought you swallowed all his release, squeezing your eyes.

He let out another groan as he watched you swallow every drop like it was the best thing you've ever tasted. Your throat worked sexily as you swallowed, making his spent member twitch again. "Goddamn," He muttered softly, petting your hair gently now instead of gripping it harshly.

“Please.” A whispered please escaped from your mouth as you squeezed your thighs more. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you squeezing your thighs, desperate and needy. He knew exactly what you were begging for, he leaned down, cupping your chin in his hand. "What do you want, love?" He asked in a smooth, knowing tone.

“I need you. Please.” A small chuckle escaped from his mouth at your desperate cry, his fingers trailing down your chin to your throat. "You need what?" He asked, his voice dropping lower, "You need my hands on your thighs? You need my face between your legs? You need my fingers inside you? My cock?" You let out a shaky breath at his words, swallowing loudly.

“Please, make me feel good, San.” He smirked mischievously at you, grabbing you by your wrist tightly and pulling you up from the ground. You were immediately met with his intense gaze and his hot breath on your lips. “Please-“ When you started to beg again he silenced you with a harsh, bruising kiss, his other hand reaching to your hip, guiding you slowly to the bed. He broke the kiss, panting, "You want to feel good?" Your knees immediately hitting the bed and he showed you down on the mattress, watching you swallow and your breath becoming more heavier which made his cock twitch.

With your elbows you supported your body as you leaned back more and you observed him as he stood there watching you for a moment, admiring how perfectly you surrendered your body to him. Your chest rising and falling with anticipation, lips parted slightly. "Spread your legs," he commanded, his voice hoarse with desire. When you hesitated for just a moment, he added firmly, "Now." Without another second you spread your legs for him and he positioned himself between your thighs, his hands firmly gripping your knees to keep them spread wide. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, seeing how wet you were, your pink folds glistening with need. He slowly ran his fingers along your slit, not penetrating but just teasing.

“Fuck-“ When you felt his finger ran along your slit you threw your head back and shut your eyes, begging with your little moans to be touched more.

“Eyes on me, love.” With a raised tone he grabbed you by your jaw and made you look straight into his eyes, his fingers splaying out to keep your knees spread wide. When he slowly pressed his tip against your wet pussy he watched your eyes roll back slightly but snapped them back to his with a sharp tug on your jaw. "You just won’t listen, will you?" he asked, his thumb rubbing your chin roughly. "You want to be fucked?” You were unable to concentrate when he pressed his tip on your wet pussy, teasing you. The only thing you managed to do was shake your head which wasn’t enough for him.

He saw the contradiction in your body language and smirked. "You don't want to be fucked?" he asked, pressing just the tip of his cock inside you, but not enough to satisfy your need. He was teasing you, loving the power he had over you.

“No! I want to be- I want to be fucked, please!” A dark laugh escaped his lips as he heard you beg for it. He leaned down, his breath hot on your ear. "That's what I thought," he whispered, driving his cock fully into you in one swift motion. You gasped, your back arching as he filled you completely, capturing your mouth into a deep kiss. Right away you moved your hands to his back and he groaned into the kiss, loving the way your nails dug into his back.

He started to move his hips, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he pulled out and thrust back in. He broke the kiss to nip at your neck, sucking and biting to mark you. Then he pulled away his dark eyes locked onto yours, demanding your attention and devotion. "Tell me who's fucking you this good." He lifted your chin with his hand as he continued to thrust into you deeply and slowly, his piercing hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“Y-you.”

"What I didn’t quite hear you." He teased, his voice low and commanding as he continued his slow, deep thrusts, hitting your g-spot with each movement. His other hand reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing gently as he looked into your eyes. "Say my name, love."

“San.” You moaned more louder and he smirked at that, enjoying how you are taking his cock so well. "Like that," He growled, thrusting harder. "You take my dick so well," He murmured, watching your body bounce slightly with each snap of his hips. "Spread your legs wider." He ordered softly, watching you eagerly obey.

"You know what I love?" You gasped as he thrusted deeper into you, gripping your hip more tight every time. He enjoyed the sight of you how you opened your mouth into a little ‘O’ when he thrusted more deeper, making you take his full length.

"Watching your pretty face while I destroy this tight pussy," He whispered darkly, increasing his pace. His hand around your throat tightened slightly, showing his possessiveness. His thumb traced your bottom lip as he continued pounding into you. "Christ you feel so good..." He leaned down to nip at your ear as he felt your nails dig deeper into his back as he hit that sweet spot inside you, making you cry out his name loudly. He smirked against your neck, loving the sound of your voice saying his name. His hips moved in a circular motion, hitting your g-spot from different angles as he spoke. “So glad you left- you left that boyfriend of yours.” The fact he was struggling with his words made you moan even more. “Now you are all mine. Right?” The grip on your throat tightening as he looked at you with a hungry gaze. “Say it that you are mine.”

“I’m yours.” As his dick was too much for you, you hid your face in the crotch of his neck, but he immediately pulled you back. "That's right, you're fucking mine," he growled possessively, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, bitting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, marking you. He continued to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Y-yours.” Even though you were unable to breathe you repeated again but San hadn’t enough of it, yet.

"Again," His voice hoarse as he continued his brutal pace, his hands roaming your body possessively, squeezing your breast and spreading your thighs wider. "Say it like you mean it," He ordered, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued his punishing rhythm.

“I-…” You were moaning mess you couldn’t get a simple word out of you as he kept thrusting more rougher. He laughed at your state but still he said;

"Use that mouth yours like when you talk shit." He growled as his hips were snapping forward with each word. "Tell. Me. You're. Mine." He punctuated each word with a deep thrust, hitting your g-spot perfectly, his eyes burning with intensity as he watched you struggle to speak.

“I’m yours. Fuck-… only…” To catch a breath you paused for a second, “Only yours”

"Goddamn," Softly he muttered, slowing down his pace. He loved hearing those words from your mouth. Slightly, he pulled out then snapped his hips back in hard, making you cry out. He smirked wickedly. "You know what I wanna do?" Finally he moved your hand from your throat to your hip again and again he pulled out of you and then snapped his hips back in hard. With hunger in his eyes he watched you let out a little cry as he kept doing that for a while. But then he kept his pace slow and deep, dragging his piercing along your walls. "I wanna fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, mark you inside and out. Make sure everyone knows you're taken," He leaned down, biting your earlobe. "What do you say to that, love?" Your eyes widened at his words and a chill run down your spine.

“W-what?” Out of breath you asked him he chuckled darkly at your shocked expression, his slow thrusts maintaining their deep pressure. "You heard me," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Want my cum inside you?" His hand slid down to rub your clit in tight circles, making your hips jerk involuntarily.

When his hand met your clit, teasing you, you let out a loud moan and shook your head in agreement watching him smirk at you mischievously loving the effect he had on you. At that he speeded up the pace again thrusting more deeper and rougher than before trying to chase your and his own high. His cock pounded into you with renewed vigor, his breath growing ragged and his eyes never leaving yours. "Fuck, you feel too good," he groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs as he spread them wider to accommodate his deep, brutal thrusts. "I’m gonna fill you up."

“Please.” With a loud moan you begged and you grabbed him by his cheeks, pulling him closer and kissing him roughly. He kissed you back fiercely, swallowing your desperate plea as he continued his relentless pace. His tongue invaded your mouth, claiming every inch as his cock claimed your pussy. "Fuck, you are so desperate for me." he teased breathlessly against your lips, giving a particularly hard thrust that made you see stars. He could feel that you were close when your walls started to clinching more on his dick.

"Are you gonna cum for me, love?" He whispered darkly, picking up the pace even more, his thrusts becoming almost violent, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every stroke. "Look at me when you come." He could feel his own release building, his muscles tensing. Moans echoed in the room as you sank your nails into his back once again as you came.

"Fuck, yes," he hissed at the sudden pain mixing with pleasure. His nails dug into your hips hard enough to leave marks as he surged forward, his entire body stiffening. He let out a guttural roar, his hot cum filling you up, overflowing and dripping down your legs. After that he didn’t pull out, he stayed inside you for a while pressing his forehead against yours, smiling softly at you. It was different than before. This didn’t feel like sex, like it did back then in his office. It felt more like love?…

[chimielie]

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

[pythonmoth]

cw: anxiety. post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is traumatized. reader is a bit unreliable. military inaccuracies. hurt/comfort (I guess?).

simon riley x f!reader. implied simon riley x soap. implied simon riley x f!reader x soap.

First | Last | Next

Being home is incredibly boring, especially if you can't move much.

Your brother's been taking care of you, making sure you're eating, that you let your injuries breathe, and soon enough, the cuts on your feet allow you to move around on your own. It takes a whole month for your brother to leave you alone for longer than a few hours. It's a good thing, really, because if you want to spend hours just laying in your bed and crying in silence as you stare at the ceiling, you can. He would only come whenever you needed a ride, anyway.

Despite being able to move around and now even managing to use your sensitive fingers, you dread the idea of going outside. You have to wear sandals and loose pants, because your toes cannot, by any means, be touched by any kind of fabric yet, or else you're grimacing in pain. Feeling defenseless hasn't been a thing ever since you became part of the team. Not even your skills could take down Simon, but you could put up a fight with them all, easily; never won, but you were confident with anyone else on the street.

No doubt you could still beat them up, your skills are still there, but the idea of someone somehow restricting your movements felt like torture all over again. The idea of anyone getting a hold of you makes you want to throw up. Your mind and body betray you, making you remember those awful moments, and you don't realize you're pulling a face.

"You're spacing out".

You look up at the therapist, giving her a little nod as an apology, getting comfortable on the seat. Restless, you can't help but look around for a moment again. The office is incredibly white, clean, filled with mirrors for whatever fucked up reason, and the only thing that isn't grey or white is one of the cushions on the couch on the other side of the room. It's deep purple. It looks awful.

Seemingly realizing you won't be of much help with the question she just asked you, she gives you a smile. "How are your nails? I can see you're using your hands a lot more".

"They're healing" you reply, looking down at your fingers instead of focusing on the cushion. "I can use my hands pretty normally now, but I can't use the stove for long".

"Because of the heat". An affirmation. You've already mention it before, and you're not surprised she remembers that. Probably read it on her notes.

"It hurts, yeah".

"And how are your feet?" she asks, looking down at the way you absentmindedly drag your hands on your pants from your thighs to your calves in slow movements. You only realize what you're doing because you can hear the way her pen drags across the paper, distracting you.

"Well... I can only wear sandals. Doctor said I should be okay to move around with real shoes in three months".

"And what do you think?"

"He's the doctor. I want to believe he knows what he's doing, so I can't really question it. I do hope it heals sooner, though".

The therapist writes down on her notebook. With an uncomfortable feeling, you desperately want to know what she's writing, your eyes drifting to the movement of the pen, but you can't make out a single letter.

"So you trust the doctor, right?" she questions, moving one of her erasers to the other side of her desk. Your eyes are fixed entirely on it, on the little thud the eraser makes when she sets it down.

"He knows best, that's for sure. If he's there, must be a reason" you answer, tilting your head as she keeps moving her things around, making them fit somewhere else on her desk. The pencil goes to the left, then to the right, the eraser from top to bottom of the notebook, as if she's as antsy as you are.

"Do you apply that thought somewhere else? Like... at work? Or if you need help at a store and find an employee, maybe?"

The therapist's eyes are on you all the time, your hands, your anxious feet; your little habits coming to light with a single look. The way you bite the inside of your lower lip, the little double blink you make when she moves something in her desk yet again, even if you don't say anything.

"Of course. If they know their way around, it's only right that I ask for help, and trust that" you answer, frowning. You don't think that question is relevant at all, but she keeps writing, and writing.

"I see. Thank you. Now, you mentioned you've been texting G- Simon. Can you tell me how it makes you feel?"

You go silent for a moment, your fingertips dragging across your arm, so softly you can barely feel it. "It's better now".

During the first three months of being home, Simon would text you nearly every single day. He didn't expect a text back and you knew that, because you told him you wouldn't promise to be responsive. Simon would send you pictures of their plain meals, of Gaz sleeping on your bed, Johnny posing next to Price with their thumbs up, or terrible selfies of himself. Always without a mask.

Tuesday

11:27

"Price scolded Johnny because he had crumbs on his uniform. It was hilarious"

Saturday

03:26

"Just got back. Everyone ok"

Even Johnny would text you from time to time. It was mostly memes, awful stickers or ridiculous, random photos of Gaz mid talking, his face weird, or Price smacking Simon's head, or the entire team posing for a picture, Gaz' arm hovering to the side as if to hug your shoulders. You didn't even need to wonder why Gaz hadn't texted you; that man hated technology with a passion.

Still, you never texted back.

You didn't really pay attention to the texts, or the little voice notes, or the selfies. You didn't feel like reading them properly, always leaving them on seen or just grunting to yourself whenever you heard their distinctive tone. Why you didn't change it in the past few months, you don't know. Maybe that's a question for your therapist.

But then, the texts stop.

Monday

16:49

"Tough job"

"We leave at midnight"

23:42

"Text you when we're back"

Only, Simon doesn't text back. For days. For weeks.

You can't pretend you're not worried. It's impossible, really. You're half-tempted to call him, but you can't, you don't know how it will feel to hear his voice again. He said he'd text you and he hasn't, so he isn't back yet, and you don't want to feel vulnerable by opening up. Yet.

You go through Simon's chat, actually paying attention to whatever he sent you. You realize he sometimes sent you long texts, apologizing, accepting what he did, and even a few voice notes that you didn't notice before. They made your heart race as you listened.

"I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I love you, and you don't have to forgive me"

"Garrick told me to tell you that if you aren't eating he'll go and— shut the hell up, Johnny, I'm talking!"

"Tell her we'll go visit her by the end of the month".

That's Price's voice, you realize.

Feeling incredibly choked up, you check Johnny's chat next. You're expecting to find nothing but memes, as you've seen in passing, but when you see he sent you long, long texts, you finally let yourself cry properly.

He's been apologizing since the day you left, too afraid to face you but his texts are so poorly written you know he was in a rush, or crying, or both. His voice notes, however... they just make you break.

"I'm so sorry. I can't undo what we did. You don't owe me anything, I just... really hope you can at least tolerate me. If not, please know I'll always care for you. I love you. Goodnight".

Something inside of your chest eases, maybe moved to the point of forgiveness, even if just a moment. Your therapist has been helping you unveil whatever you missed during that day— during the torture. It's been a tough process, and she insisted you visited twice a week instead of once, but it helped. You could now understand.

Still, understanding the situation only makes your worry grow.

"Text you when we're back"

For two long weeks, there's nothing, from nobody. Only silence and fear. For the first time since you left, you're scared for them. Scared you'll have to open the door one day and it'll be Price, or maybe not even him, telling you the team is dead.

On the second week, your therapist says you can give them a call, or text them if it's more comfortable. When you say you can't, she advices you to write them letters.

"Tell them whatever you wish to say. If you're angry, write it. If you're worried, write it. There's no good or bad feelings, and it's only right to feel them. Write them for yourself, and then you can choose to give them to your team, or not".

And you did.

A whole notebook of messy writing, some tears staining the paper, and your hate slowly turned to understanding. Real understanding. Not forgiveness, not yet, but it's progress.

By the third week with no news, you just can't handle it anymore. You press call without a second thought and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when it rings, and rings, and rings.

Hopeless, you lay in your bed, your mind working overtime as you stare at the ceiling.

A muffled dinging sound startles you awake, shifting on the bed to find your phone because that's Simon's tone. Adjusting your vision, you realize it fell from your hands to the ground when you fell asleep. You dive for it, grimacing when your sensitive fingertips brush against the carpet, but to see his name there is enough for you to endure it.

Thursday

01:22

"Safe. Couldn't text you earlier"

01:22

"You called me. Are you hurt?"

01:22

"Safe. Call me"

"Now"

His name pops up not even a moment later, his ringtone filling your ears. When you pick up, he's barely breathing, and you wonder if you're about to be told bad news.

Simon explains they were on a very tough mission, and that that was why he couldn't text you, or communicate with you at all. You could hear him shift, move around. Restless.

They got caught in enemy territory, surviving the best they could for two weeks, Simon tells you. Johnny was shot in the leg and Gaz was the one who helped him out, since Simon was too busy dragging Price, who was bleeding out because someone decided it would be fun to put a bullet through his left shoulder.

"I wasn't any better. Dr. Wilson called me a dick, and then made me lay down because I was shaking. Ridiculous" he grunts, his voice hushed on the other side of the line. "Got shot on my side, I just didn't feel it, but I was better than the other two".

He doesn't seem to expect you to speak, huffing and shuffling. You can tell he's in the clinic room, the echo incredibly familiar by now.

Of course, he doesn't tell you that the reason why he didn't text you the whole past week, is because he's been asleep, drugged out of his mind because of the pain.

"Everyone's okay. No risk. Garrick's the only one who didn't get hurt. I think—"

"I was worried, Simon. I'm glad everyone is okay".

There's silence for a long moment. Simon takes a deep breath from the other side of the phone, sighing deeply. You could hear the smile in his tone. "I wouldn't let myself get killed, luv. I'm sorry I couldn't text you before. We're safe now".

You two spend the rest of the night on the call, with you mostly staying in silence and listening. You can't believe how scared you've been for all of them, for Simon. You know it's gonna be hard to fully forgive them, if at all, but you can't help the way your body relaxes as you hear him breathing against your ear. You can't help the way your arms curl around the pillow, seeking his warmth. As before.

The call goes on for long hours. When your soft hums as he speaks stop coming to his end, Simon goes quiet, realizing you've fallen asleep. He sighs and shifts to look at the ceiling, holding the phone against his ear. Focusing on your soft breathing, he let's himself fall asleep, the gunshot wound completely unimportant if he gets to listen to you sleeping again.

He just wishes you were there.

im so sick y'all, my head hurts, but I obviously couldn't resist! also, you guys like Marina? her new song is so good! mowgli's road's vibes.

the therapist's room I'm describing in the story is actually my therapist's old room. I hated it so BAD. the mirrors were a terrible decision. also, if you can't relate to this type of therapy, that's fine. it's just my experience.

again, styling is fully intentional. can y'all tell how our reader is feeling?~

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird-deactivated202 @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

(we're so many now, wow! thank you all ♡)

[clockwayswrites]

Tucker/Tim, Yellow, Solstice, Lily @atomicsheepscientist

“Congratulations, Mr. Foley,” Lucius said as he closed the cover on his tablet. “You’ll see the final deposit in your account by the end of the day. Are you sure I can’t convince you to come work for us full time?”

“While I’m still incredibly flattered by the offer, my answer still is ‘not yet’,” Tucker Foley said with a smile. It made the faint green in his hazel eyes stand out all the more.

Not that Tim noticed.

Not that Tim had been noticing over the last eight months that he had been corresponding with Tucker on the project.

“Well,” Lucius said as he stood. (Tim and Tucker followed suit.) “if that changes from not yet to why not, you have my number.”

Tucker reached across the table and offered his hand, which Lucius shook easily. “And I’ll be sure to call if I can. Thank you, really, for this opportunity. I’ve enjoyed the challenge immensely.”

“I could tell. Will you see him out, Mr. Wayne?”

“Of course, Lucius,” Tim said. He knew Lucius would be eager to start planning the manufacturing. And he didn’t mind spending more time with Tucker.

Soon he wouldn’t be able to.

“So,” Tucker said as he turned towards Tim, “I officially no longer work for WE?”

Tim gave a little nod. “As soon as you go past security, your key card will be disabled. Though you’re welcome to keep it as a souvenir.”

“Oh I definitely will,” Tucker said. “This was hands down the most amazing job I’ve had.”

“Yet you said no to our job offer,” Tim pointed out with a little smirk.

Tucker grinned sheepishly and gave a little shrug. It was hard to see on his warm brown skin, but Tim thought Tucker might have been blushing.

“I have a few obligations lined up that I have to take care of first,” Tucker explained, “and one thing I want to do that I really hope goes well.”

“Oh?” Tim couldn’t help but ask. “And what’s that?”

“Well, since I’m not longer under contract with WE, I figured that I needed to at least try my luck.” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and met Tim’s eyes. “I get that this might be presumptuous, but I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you over these months. Now that I’m out of under the thumb of HR… any chance that if I ask you out on a date, you’d say yes?”

Tim felt like he had gone up the stairs and thought there was one more step then their actually was. “I mean, you haven’t actually asked yet.”

Tucker laughed and Tim couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey Tim, want to go out with me? I heard there’s a really cool photography exhibition in town for this cute guy I know.”

A little bubble of warmth formed in Tim’s chest that Tucker had listened to his blabbering. “I’d love to.”

Tucker's answering smile was almost blinding.

[star2fishmeg]

Which hughes do you think would be into the weirdest kink?

[18+]

I think most people have got something deep down, personally, whether they know it or not (doesn't have to be extreme either). So, I wouldn't say weirdest bc I don't want anyone feeling kink shamed, so we'll say the kink they keep the most quiet (under cut):

Quinn | He's a quiet guy in general, but he has thoughts of e-stim running through his mind a lot. He's used it before for recovery treatment, but he can't help but imagine how you'd squirm and whine if he stuck the patches to your most sensitive areas, gradually increasing the voltage to coax an orgasm out of you. Quinn's openly been the number one appreciator of your tits, never failing to hear you moan out and tangle your fingers in his hair, pushing his head into you. He excels in making sure they get the attention they deserve but too often while sucking them pink he's imagined you lactating on to his tongue. He's a curious guy, enjoys learning, and there's only one way he'll find out how you taste. But the one he keeps quiet the most, is rubbing one out as he cucks you. The condition is that he gets a little say in who, he's a possessive guy, and loves you dearly and what his lover wants, his lover gets so if you were to ever bring up the subject of helping someone out or inviting someone to join, he'd be more than happy to watch you wail out amused moans, getting the temporary satisfaction you desire. After all, he'd just make sure to fuck you better to erase all trace of the other person, it's not like you'd pick anyone over him anyway.

Jack | Gives the vibes that he's had a few roleplay fantasies. It's less about the scenario - he doesn't mind if he's slamming his cock into a maid or being sucked dry by a nurse - and more about the little outfits you'd wear, those skimpy ones that don't hide much, those little skirts that let your panties peek out, tops that can easily but pulled on to free your tits. As long as the allusion's there, he's getting harder by the second. Speaking of fantasies, best know that when he's chewing on that hockey glove of his, it's because he's thinking about fucking you with his gear. He can't explain it, but the thought of you tainting his gear with your cum, your scent and coaching you through adapting to the size has him aching and palming his dick. Whether it's the finger of his glove and rubbing your clit over his stick and wiping you clean with his jersey, there's something about the possession of it he can't get out of his head. His last, most unspoken kink is how deep down, degradation gives him some of the best orgasms of his life. He loves to be praised and thrives off you cry about how good he makes you feel, but calling him pathetic and saying that he could do better really gets his adrenaline going and cock hardening. Degrading him gives him something to prove, which means he'll work twice as hard to get you there.

Luke | He's not got a lot to hide, he'll either admit it or wait for you to bring it up and agree. Luke? Secrets? Barely. Yet, he's oddly quiet when it comes to receiving breast play. He loves your tits, loves his mouth smothering them, but something he's been wondering is what it would feel like if you sucked his, groped him, flicked your tongue over and pinches his nipples until his body was tingling down to his core. His cock twitches whenever you touch his chest anyway, it's sensitive and you have a touch that makes his breath hitch so maybe one day you'll have your lips wrapped around his peak, sucking and swirling until they're swollen pink, fingers rolling his nipples as you're sliding along his cock. Being a hockey player comes with long roadies, sometimes too long for him to cope and there are definitely nights where he sits in his hotel room, fisting his cock and imagining it's your hand which is where he wishes he could confess his thoughts of filming to you. He knows is a concept built on trust and comfort, but his stomach flips at the thought of watching a video of himself disappearing inside of your pussy, your voice blaring through his headphones whining and moaning out his name on a loop as he gives his cock broad strokes just as you do it. He thinks he'd feel more at home listening to your orgasm, watching himself rub his tip through your folds and cum inside you.