#like I want to get closer to it. but not in the way I’m supposed to

[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.

[callsign-rogueone]

Going off your wingleader!Liam idea… Liam and reader are third-years and total couple goals. A first year comes in and starts flirting with reader every time he sees her. He doesn’t know she’s dating his wingleader. She’s polite but doesn’t mention Liam.

One day during training the new guy is watching reader and running his mouth about how hot she is, nudging other guys in his squad and making all kinds of remarks, even going so far as to make a comment to Liam. Liam just smirks, showing off those cute little dimples, as reader walks over and kisses him in front of everyone. New guy just stares in absolute shock (and horror when he realizes the woman he’s been objectifying is his wingleader’s girl.) Need a fic like this immediately 😭

I love this so much. I don't have the bandwidth to write this into a whole chapter but I DO have ideas. so here they are. (future Liz here… I got very carried away. but it’s Liam, so it’s fine.)

this guy clearly thinks he's hot shit. not even bonded yet, but his ego is bigger than Tairn's. so of course he goes after you, a third year with a leadership position at the top of your class. (because Liam's girl is as perfect as him.)

at this point you're used to these boys coming in and trying to flex on everyone. so you know how to brush it off. it's so routine that you don't even mention it to Liam, because you've got more important things to do / discuss.

anyway.

a couple weeks go by of the same thing, until one day, mister confidence is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. running his mouth without realizing who's around him, watching you demonstrate something and making comments to his friends instead of paying attention. Liam's about to elbow him and tell him to shut up, and then he realizes that they're talking about you.

immediately, he's upset — he's just itching to tell this guy off, both for talking when he's supposed to be listening to directions that could save his life, and also for saying those things about you, making comments on your body and how much he wants to... you know what I’m getting at here. anyway.

you can see Liam standing at the back of the gym, can see the visible frustration on his face and the way his jaw is clenched, his shoulders tight and tense... and you know it's hard to upset our sunshine boy, so something bad must have happened.

you wrap up the demonstration, get the youngins paired up to work, and then you slip away to Liam and give him a little kiss, because that’s your default greeting, that’s just automatic at this point when you see him, and take his hand and ask what’s wrong.

and then all the stress and tension just fades out of him, and he gives you a genuine smile, pulls you closer and holds you in a way that makes it clear that you’re a couple.

normally he isn’t one for PDA, so you’re a little surprised, but you don’t question it at all, just happy to cuddle up with him, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a moment to relax — his presence is always so soothing, and you don’t get moments like this very often in your very busy days as a wingleader and a section leader.

you don’t even notice the boy’s slack-jawed look as he realizes that you have a boyfriend. you’re too busy appreciating the moment you get to spend with Liam — but over your shoulder, he’s definitely smirking at the kid, like… get fucked, she’s mine. not that our boy would ever say that. he’s just thinking it really hard.

he gets a little pouty once you're behind closed doors, though, and tells you about it.

you laugh, and remind him that the first year boys can look all they want, but he's the only one who can touch, and if they do, they're going to get their nose broken. and that he's the only one who can set foot in your room, because you absolutely warded them like Xaden and Violet's.

that pacifies him, but he’s still thinking about it for the rest of the day.

he doesn’t consider himself particularly possessive, but he realizes that he just wants people to know that you’re his — or more so that you’re together and in love, and you’re it for each other.

the pair of you have always been focused on the present, the incredibly stressful lives that you lead here at this death trap of a school. but now he starts really thinking about the future.

you’ll be graduating soon, a pair of lieutenants headed off… somewhere. he hasn’t decided yet. he’ll get his choice, being a wingleader. but what about you? section leaders aren’t promised anything. there’s only one other way to guarantee that you’ll stay together… and damn, does he like the idea of you having matching name patches on your flight jackets.

but you deserve a real proposal, a romantic one, not something rushed, decided out of practicality. and when is too soon in your relationship to talk about that? you’ve been together since your threshing, but it feels like a lot longer than that — everything you’ve endured has brought you closer, he supposes.

you curl further into his side with a sleepy hum. “what’s on your mind?”

he’s about to tell you it’s nothing, but you know him better than that. “you have that look on your face,” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “know you’re thinkin' about something.”

“about you," he answers honestly, lifting the arm you have slung around his waist and finding your hand, taking it in his. it fits perfectly, your skin smooth against the callouses and scars decorating his hands from years of making his carvings. a dangerous hobby, you’d joked. you have a point. he’s amassed more tiny injuries from his own knives than from anything Basgiath has put him through. “about us.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he answers, his thumb brushing over your ring finger, where a wedding band would go. “about the future.”

“two kids and a cat,” you murmur. “and trips to Morraine in the summer. rent a little house on the lake for a week or two, and just lay around.”

“sounds perfect.”

you just hum in reply, too tired to keep talking. Liam presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling the covers a little higher. “I love you.”

“Love y’too.”

[fluemsiie]

our family [ j. ackles ]

synopsis. you need jensen to come back home. notes. 1.3k words, breastfeeding, depression, mentions of ppd, not proof read, happy birthday jensen <3 — comments & rbs appreciated.

jensen’s been filming for a while, and by a while, you mean for freakin’ months. he can’t catch a break and so you did what any sane person does— you moved to vancouver all the way from texas just to be close to him. it took a lot of planning, and way too much money, but you weren’t letting your husband stay at a different country alone anymore, it was taking a toll on both your mental health and your relationship.

not to mention your daughter always asking for daddy, where he is, can she go out with him; it’s breaking your heart as much as it is his and so you decided to settle for a smaller apartment near where they were filming.

you’d say it helped your mental health but that would be a lie. ever since you had your daughter you knew something had been seriously wrong. you’re unmotivated to move out of bed, you try to do everything you need to in your room, hardly go out to see anyone but her. anything you need to go do, you have delivered. if the whole ‘not moving’ thing wasn’t hurting you, then the fact that you let your body go a little is fucking breaking you.

you don’t think anything has ever been so wrong in your life, nothing goes the way it should and it seems like you can’t fix it no matter what you do which is disappointing considering you’re a mother now. a mother. you’re supposed to know everything and have all the answers.

and despite moving to be closer to him, leaving behind your own family, something not a lot of people would do, he still spends some nights at jared’s (because gen is still in texas, like you should be).

except there’s also another thing jensen has no idea about; you got diagnosed with depression shortly before you made the move, it’s a big reason why you did the move in the first place. you thought it was past partum but you made sure to actually get diagnosed before telling jen and since you won’t be harming yourself or your baby girl, you decided he didn’t need to know.

he’s been so busy since he decided to start directing too and you’re insanely proud of him, even if you’re having a hard time. but you don’t wanna risk it so here you are, alone in a city you’ve visited only a handful of times with your two year old daughter.

but today’s by far one of your worst days. you tried taking some pills, just pain killers, you aren’t comfortable taking pills for whatever’s wrong with you, you can’t risk hurting any future babies. it isn’t like you don’t believe in them— you’re a nurse, of course you do, but you also know they could hurt you long term, it’s not worth it.

some days it seems like it’s just not worth it. you pick up your phone to call jensen. it takes a few rings but then he responds and you sigh in relief. you honestly thought he wouldn’t pick up, “hey.”

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” it catches you by surprise but when you recover you tell him you and rhyme are great. “i mean you, sweetheart. you sound off.”

you don’t sound that off. definitely not enough for him to pick it up the second you greet him. not that you’re complaining, maybe if he knows what’s wrong he’ll get home faster. jensen’s always helped you in ways he wouldn’t even believe— he’s your life force at times and you’re not sure what you’d do without him, especially now when you need him.

and he’s not neglectful, he took your first four months off from filming and had his sister stay with you for the other two. he’s always put your needs in front of filming but you don’t want to be overbearing.

“when are you getting home? i’m making your favorite.”

“yeah? ‘m not too sure. twelve-thirty, give or take.” which is code for ‘don’t wait up’ so you wake up and find out he never made it home, just crashed on set or at jay’s

“okay.” you can’t bring yourself to ask him to come home even if you don’t doubt he will. jen’s working because he loves his job, sure, but it’s also to provide for you, he wouldn’t want to hurt you over something he’s doing for you in the first place. and you know all that, you just wish you’d always be logical enough to remember it. 

“is that it?” god, this is conflicting. you know you need him right now, you just can’t get the words out. “sweetheart?”

“yeah.” 

It’s a beat before he responds. “i’m coming home at twelve with dinner. don’t cook anything.” he ends the call and you’re smiling. it’s no surprise he figured you needed him, but you couldn’t be happier to have someone that cares enough to come when you call, despite your call being ominous and downright needy.

+

it’s the third time you’ve started frozen because rhyme doesn’t understand that when a movie ends you start a new one, all while breastfeeding her. it’s gotten significantly easier as she nears two years old, she just sits next to you instead of you having to kill your back, and she honestly does it for ten minutes maximum before she gets bored.

and at this point she’s tried everything from lamb to mashed fruit, milk is hardly a full meal to her. but your doctor said it’s best to try and breastfeed her until she hits the 22 month mark. she’s nearing 20 months now.

when she’s done, and else is singing ‘let it go’ with rhyme as her background vocalist, you get up to get started on dinner. jensen said to not make anything which means he’s ordering take out himself but you should probably make sure the counter is clean and that there’s a salad to go with the food.

just as you’re done cleaning the table, the front door opens and your shoulder fall in relief. you didn’t even know you were raising them. you hear his footsteps all the way to the living room, where rhyme runs into her dads arms and lifts her up effortlessly. 

he turns to you, sees you standing in your open kitchen and walks over to kiss your hair softly. “hey, baby girl.” 

rhyme laughs and hugs him tighter. well, the endearment is yours as much as it is hers, you’re both his girls. 

“thanks for coming home, jen.”

“don’t do that, don’t thank me for that. i should’ve known it bothered you— and you should’ve told me earlier.”

“it doesn’t always! just when i need you and then i wake up and i just don’t find you.” days where the depression is just, god, it’s horrible. days when you can’t take rhyme crying because you can’t find the toy she lost or when she’s hungry and you’ve only slept two hours, waiting for his text to confirm he’s safe and at home. 

“baby, i can’t always read your mind, sometimes you gotta help me out.” you nod quickly and he kisses his daughter before putting her down. 

“foor?” food. he nods, placing the bag onto the table. you’ve been teaching her german so she confuses d’s for r’s. you’re not too sure how that came to be but you don’t question it because she’s been saying words in german.

the smell hits you all at once, and your heart practically squeezes itself. jensen drove to your favourite restaurant thirty minutes away. it makes your home country’s food the most authentically and you’ve always loved feeling at home. 

“jensen, seriously?” he smiles and you’re the one who throws yourself into his arms this time, his little girl, not quite understanding, joins in. and you’re not sure how you would’ve gotten through today without him coming back home to his girls.

[arxiwon]

Hii! I have a request~ Professor Heeseung x student y/n? Lots of tension and brat taming? Y/n is actually smart but pretends to be dumb, causes ruckus to end up in detention all alone with him, she messes with him and his mind on a dialy. And like, initially Heeseung was holding back and actively refusing her advances but she pushes him so much, even flirts around with others in front of him and breaks numerous codes that one day his control snaps and boom! 🔥 and when he loses it? There's no stopping him.

Detention (Professor Heeseung x Bratty Reader – Brat Taming Smut)

(Tension | Edging | Power Struggle | Breaking Point | No Mercy)

The door clicked shut.

You barely had a second to process before you were caged in—trapped between the desk and Professor Heeseung’s towering frame.

"You think this is funny, don’t you?" His voice was dangerously low, a sharp contrast to the amused smirk playing on your lips.

You tilted your head innocently, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

The look in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine.

"Oh? You don’t know?" Heeseung hummed, stepping closer, forcing you to crane your neck up at him. His fingers traced along the desk behind you, slow and deliberate.

"Let me remind you, then."

His hand shot up to grip your jaw, firm, commanding, tilting your face toward him. Your breath hitched.

"You think you can tease me every damn day, parade around in that little skirt, throw yourself at other men right in front of me—" His fingers tightened ever so slightly, his thumb pressing against your parted lips. "—and get away with it?"

Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs, but still, you smiled.

"Oh? Was that supposed to make you jealous, sir?"

His jaw clenched.

"Jealous?" Heeseung let out a slow, humorless chuckle. "No, sweetheart. I’m not jealous."

His other hand slid down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your skirt.

"I’m pissed."

Your smirk didn’t last long.

Heeseung’s grip on your jaw tightened just enough to make you gasp, your lips parting for him like an invitation—one he had no intention of accepting. Not yet.

"What’s wrong?" he murmured, eyes dark and unreadable. "Not so confident anymore?"

His other hand traveled lower, ghosting over your inner thigh, just barely brushing against the place where you needed him most. The heat between your legs was unbearable, but he was deliberately ignoring it, his fingers toying with the hem of your skirt instead.

You tried to press your thighs together, desperate for even the slightest friction—

But Heeseung was faster.

"Ah, ah—" His grip shifted, prying your legs apart effortlessly. His voice was pure amusement, but there was an underlying edge, something dark and dangerous. "Didn’t I tell you? You don’t get to act shy now, sweetheart. Not after everything you’ve done."*

You swallowed hard, a shiver raking through you.

"S-Sir—"

"Now you remember your manners?" Heeseung scoffed, leaning in close—so close his breath fanned against your ear, sending another wave of heat down your spine. "Cute."*

His fingers traced slow, torturous circles along your bare thigh, getting closer, teasing, but never quite where you wanted them.

"Tell me, sweetheart—" His tone was lazy, casual, like he wasn’t currently holding you hostage against his desk, making you tremble beneath his touch. "How many times did you pull this little stunt? How many times did you test me, thinking I wouldn’t do anything?"

His fingers pressed into your thigh, digging in just enough to make you squirm.

"How many times did you beg for this without saying a word?"

Your breath hitched, and Heeseung smirked at the way your body betrayed you—reacting to his every move, even as you refused to answer.

"Oh?" He tutted, shaking his head. "Not so mouthy now, are we?"

And then—suddenly—

You whimpered, back arching against the desk as Heeseung’s fingers brushed against your soaked panties—but instead of giving you what you wanted, he simply… stopped.

His smirk was infuriating.

"Look at you." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as if he was disappointed. As if you weren’t already dripping for him. "You act like such a brat, but the second I touch you, you fall apart?"

You let out a frustrated breath, trying to grind against his fingers, but his other hand was already gripping your hip, pinning you down.

"Tsk, tsk." He leaned in, lips ghosting over your ear. "Did I say you could move?"

You bit your lip, frustrated beyond belief.

"Sir—please—"

Heeseung let out a dark chuckle. "Please, what?"

His fingers traced up your inner thigh again, slow, teasing, like he had all the time in the world. But when you tried to shift closer—he pulled away completely.

You nearly screamed.

"Aww, sweetheart." Heeseung tilted his head mockingly, watching the way your body twitched with frustration. "What’s wrong? Getting desperate?"

You glared at him, lips trembling, thighs clenching together in a weak attempt for relief. Heeseung watched with pure amusement.

"Not so fun when I’m the one teasing, huh?"

And then—he delivered the cruelest punishment yet.

Heeseung dragged his fingers over your soaked panties, pressing just enough to drive you insane—then pulled away again.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"S-Sir—!" You gasped, hips jerking, body trembling, so painfully close yet never quite there.

But Heeseung? He was completely unaffected.

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice was soft—mocking. "You’re shaking."*

He was enjoying this.

"Does it hurt?" He cooed, dragging his fingers over your sensitive core again—so light, so teasing, it was unbearable.

Your head fell back against the desk, tears pricking your eyes.

"Y-Yes—!"

Heeseung smirked.

"Good."

"Pathetic."

Your breath hitched.

Heeseung was watching you with pure amusement, eyes dark and filled with something cruel. He trailed his fingers up your trembling thigh again, barely brushing against your soaked panties—then pulled away just as fast.

You choked out a whimper.

"Aww." His voice was mocking, dripping with amusement. "Does it hurt, sweetheart?"

Your head fell back against the desk, frustration crawling under your skin like fire.

"Y-Yes—please, sir—"

"Please, what?" Heeseung tilted his head, pretending to think. "I’m not sure I understand, baby. You seemed so confident before."

His fingers dragged over your heat again—slow, featherlight, completely unsatisfying.

"Beg for it."

Your face burned with humiliation. "I-I am—"

SMACK.

His palm met your inner thigh, sharp and sudden. You gasped, the sting sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

"Not good enough." Heeseung smirked at your reaction, enjoying the way you squirmed. "C’mon, sweetheart. You wanted my attention, didn’t you? Now beg for it."

Tears pricked your eyes. Your body was on fire, every inch of you screaming for relief.

"P-Please, sir—"

"Please, what?" He leaned in, lips ghosting over your ear. "You need to be specific, baby. Otherwise, how will I know what you want?"

Your nails dug into the desk, frustration twisting in your gut.

"Please touch me, sir—please, I-I need—"

"Need what? This?"

HE PRESSED AGAINST YOUR CLOTHED CORE—JUST TO PULL AWAY AGAIN.

"Oh, sweetheart." His smirk was pure evil. "You’re shaking."

Your entire body was trembling—from need, from humiliation, from how cruelly he was playing with you.

"You really are pathetic." Heeseung clicked his tongue, watching you struggle. "So cocky, always pushing me, always playing your little games. But look at you now."

He reached down, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"All it took was a little teasing, and you’re already falling apart."

Your bottom lip trembled.

"Aww." Heeseung’s thumb traced over your swollen lip, smirking. "You gonna cry, baby?"

He was enjoying this. Enjoying how wrecked you were—how desperate, how utterly powerless.

And just when you thought he’d keep this up forever—just when you were about to completely break—

The moment Heeseung snapped, you knew you were done for.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" His voice was low, taunting, laced with dark amusement. "You pushed and pushed—so desperate for my attention."

His grip on your hips was brutal, fingers digging into your flesh, forcing you exactly where he wanted you. There was no gentleness, no hesitation—just pure, relentless hunger.

"Look at you." He let out a dark chuckle, watching the way your body trembled beneath him. "Can’t even talk anymore, huh?"

Your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Your brain was too fogged with pleasure, too overwhelmed by how rough he was taking you.

Heeseung noticed. And he loved it.

"Aww, baby." He leaned down, lips ghosting over your ear, smirking at your wrecked state. "What happened to that bratty attitude, huh?"

You whimpered, body jerking against his relentless pace.

HE DIDN’T SLOW DOWN.

"Oh?" Heeseung grinned, mocking you even as he ruined you. "You really can’t speak, can you?"

Tears pricked your eyes.

"Pathetic."

He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

"You wanted this." His thumb pressed against your swollen lips, smirking at how breathless you were. "Now take it."

AND HE DIDN’T STOP UNTIL YOU COMPLETELY BROKE.

You were barely conscious. Ruined. Shaking.

Your body felt like jelly, limbs completely useless, mind hazy with the overwhelming pleasure he’d forced out of you. You couldn’t even form a proper thought.

But Heeseung? He was completely unaffected.

He leaned back, admiring his work—admiring you.

"Look at you." His voice was dripping with amusement, his fingers tracing over your trembling thighs. "So fucked out. So helpless."

You could barely move, much less speak—but he wasn’t done with you yet.

"Say thank you."

Your breath hitched.

You blinked up at him, vision blurred, brain barely functioning.

"W-What…?" Your voice was hoarse, wrecked, barely above a whisper.

Heeseung tilted his head, smirking. "You heard me, sweetheart."

He gripped your chin again, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to look at him.

"Thank me."

Your cheeks burned with fresh humiliation.

You couldn’t even speak properly, and he still wanted to humiliate you.

But when you hesitated—

A sharp slap to your inner thigh. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your whole body jolt.

"Did I stutter?" Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Thank me."

Your lips trembled.

You had no choice.

"T-Thank you, sir…"

HE SMIRKED.

"Good girl."

And just like that, you were completely, utterly broken.

You were still trembling, body too weak to move, too broken to even think.

And Heeseung? He was completely fine.

No panting. No exhaustion. Just that same infuriating smirk as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear one last time.

"See, sweetheart?" His voice was low, taunting, dripping with amusement. "I always knew you were all talk."

He tilted your chin up, forcing your dazed, ruined eyes to meet his.

"Next time, don’t act like such a brat if you can’t handle the consequences."

[mintyys-blog]

Ooh!!! Steve x reader Shes finishing her training with the team and steve found out what smut fanfics are via his laptop. Accidently finding y/ns Tumblr steve is inbetween eyes wide shock till he binges on the smut that was written about him and y/n getting ideas (cause smutt is a womans fun read hehehe)

TUMBLR SMUT— steve rogers x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sexual fantasies, implied sex.

Y/N wiped the sweat from her forehead as she finished her last set of push-ups, Natasha giving her a nod of approval.

“You’re getting stronger,” Nat said, tossing Y/N a water bottle. “Almost ready for full-time missions.”

“Almost?” Y/N groaned, collapsing onto the mat. “I swear, at this point, I could bench-press Thor.”

“Sure, sure,” Nat smirked before standing up. “Go shower. Debrief’s in an hour.”

Y/N saluted lazily and dragged herself toward her room, already fantasizing about a hot shower and possibly sneaking in a nap before the meeting. What she didn’t expect was Steve standing in the hallway, looking… tense. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Uh, hey, Cap,” she said, eyeing him warily. “Everything okay?”

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it. His gaze flickered over her, but not in the usual, assessing way. No, there was something else in his expression—something she couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I just… needed to talk to you about something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Sure. What’s up?”

Steve hesitated. Then he pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and turned the screen toward her.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

On display, clear as day, was her Tumblr. More specifically, her smut Tumblr. And worse? The fic pulled up was a detailed, explicit, absolutely filthy story about her and Steve.

“Oh my God.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, feeling her soul leave her body.

Steve cleared his throat, still blushing but now looking way too amused. “So, I, uh, I was trying to figure out what ‘smut’ meant after Bucky mentioned it. Thought it was just old-timey slang for dirt.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

“Turns out,” Steve continued, his voice dangerously casual, “it’s not about dirt at all. And then I somehow ended up here. On this.” He wiggled the phone slightly for emphasis. “And Y/N… I gotta ask… is this you?”

Y/N scrambled for a lie. “Nope! Nope, definitely not! Anyone could write that! Lots of people fantasize about you!”

Steve hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Because this one has details about a mission we were on two weeks ago.”

She was so dead.

“I mean,” she tried again, “it could be—”

“Y/N,” Steve said, stepping closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You wrote this. About me.”

Her breath hitched. His blue eyes were locked onto hers, and there was something… new in his gaze. Heat. Amusement. And something darker.

“…Are you mad?” she finally squeaked.

Steve smirked. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“You’ve got a vivid imagination,” he said, voice deep and teasing. “And I think we should see if any of these ideas of yours hold up in real life.”

Her brain short-circuited. “Wait, what?”

Steve chuckled, brushing past her with a low whisper. “Debrief’s in an hour, but after that?” His lips curved into a smirk. “I think we need to have a private training session.”

Y/N stood frozen in the hallway long after he left, face burning, heart racing, and mind filled with very real possibilities.

She was so screwed. And she couldn’t wait.

Later That Night

Y/N spent the entire debrief avoiding eye contact with Steve. Every time she accidentally glanced his way, she caught him already looking at her, that same damn smirk playing at his lips. It was unfair—he was supposed to be the bashful one! Not the one making her feel like she was about to combust from sheer embarrassment and, worse, anticipation.

By the time the meeting ended, she had all but planned an escape route back to her room.

Unfortunately, Steve had other ideas.

The second she stepped into the hallway, a firm hand curled around her wrist.

“Not so fast,” Steve murmured, his voice low and teasing as he guided her in the opposite direction.

“Steve,” she hissed, glancing around. “Someone’s gonna see—”

“Then don’t make a scene,” he said simply.

Her brain short-circuited again.

They turned a corner, and before she could question him, he pulled her into an empty training room. The door clicked shut behind them, the dim lights flickering to life.

Y/N crossed her arms, desperately trying to appear unaffected. “Alright, Captain,” she said, sarcasm barely masking her nerves. “What exactly do you want to talk about?”

Steve just smiled. Not his usual, polite grin. No—this was slow. Confident. Like a man who had spent hours reading her most explicit thoughts and now knew exactly how to use them against her.

Her knees wobbled.

“I told you,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’m inspired.”

Y/N swallowed. “You—you actually read them?”

“Every single one,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerous. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Oh. Oh no.

She thought back to the things she had written—the very detailed, very filthy things. If he had read them all, then—

Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Her Tumblr was still pulled up.

Her mortification skyrocketed.

“This one,” he continued, tilting the screen toward her. “You said I’d have you begging in less than five minutes.”

Her soul left her body.

“Steve—”

“You also said I’d be too much for you to handle,” he mused, scrolling down. “That I’d ruin you, make you forget your own name—”

“Steve!”

He grinned. “That what I do with my hands alone would be enough to—”

“OH MY GOD.”

He laughed, catching her wrist when she tried to snatch the phone away. “C’mon, sweetheart, no need to be embarrassed. I loved it. Hell, I might need you to write more.”

“More?!”

“Sure,” he said smoothly, finally setting his phone down. “But first, I need to check your accuracy.”

She blinked. “My… what?”

He stepped closer, until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze.

“Your accuracy,” he repeated, his voice a slow, deliberate tease. “I need to know if what you wrote is actually true. If I really could have you begging in less than five minutes. If I can make you forget your own name.”

Her breath hitched.

He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers along her wrist. “So,” he said softly, his lips just inches from hers, “wanna help me test your theories?”

Y/N made a very undignified squeaking noise.

And then she made the best decision of her life.

She nodded.

Steve smirked. “Good girl.”

And then he really put her writing to the test.

The moment his lips met hers, Y/N lost all sense of reality.

Steve kissed her like he had memorized every filthy word she had ever written. Like he knew exactly how to dismantle her, piece by piece, and put her back together with nothing but his hands and his mouth.

His fingers slid up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before cupping her jaw. His grip was firm—controlling—but not forceful. It was a silent promise: I’ve got you. Let me lead.

And God help her, she let him.

Y/N melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his other hand skimming down her waist, pressing her flush against him. He was solid, every inch of him muscle and warmth, and the heat rolling off him made her dizzy.

Steve chuckled against her lips, breaking away just enough to murmur, “Not even two minutes, and you’re already breathless.”

Y/N’s brain refused to function.

She tried to form a comeback—something witty, something not humiliating—but all that came out was a shaky, “Shut up.”

Steve grinned. “That’s not what you wrote.”

Her entire body ignited in flames.

“Steve,” she started, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

Oh, he was enjoying this. The smug satisfaction in his eyes, the slight smirk tugging at his lips—he was toying with her.

And worse? She loved it.

His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and her breath hitched.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured, blue eyes dark with amusement. “Did you ever imagine this happening for real?”

Y/N swallowed. Hard.

Yes. A million times, yes.

But she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Not exactly like this,” she muttered.

Steve hummed, tilting his head. “No?”

His fingers trailed down her throat, barely skimming over her collarbone before tracing along her waist.

“How about now?” he asked, voice nothing but velvet and sin.

Y/N hated how easily she melted.

“I—” Her breath caught as his hands tightened on her waist, holding her in place.

She was screwed.

Steve leaned in, his lips grazing her ear.

“Three minutes,” he whispered. “And you’re already falling apart.”

Her knees buckled.

Steve caught her, chuckling darkly as he tut-tutted under his breath. “Guess I don’t need five minutes after all.”

Y/N could have died from the humiliation.

But God, she never wanted him to stop.

And judging by the way Steve was looking at her, he wasn’t planning to.

Not for a long, long time.

Y/N barely had time to process the absolute disaster she had gotten herself into before Steve was moving again.

His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him, and oh—oh. Her stomach flipped at just how easily he handled her, how effortlessly he backed her against the training room wall without breaking eye contact.

She felt small against him, overwhelmed in the best way.

“Steve,” she breathed.

He smirked.

“Yeah?” he murmured, dipping his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to her neck.

Y/N gasped. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight, her fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

Steve made a satisfied sound, nipping at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered, his voice deep, rough.

Y/N’s brain stopped working.

She should have known he’d be like this. He wasn’t just a gentleman—he was a soldier. A strategist. He read people, learned their weaknesses. And right now? He was using every bit of that knowledge to ruin her.

It was working.

Her breath came in short, desperate gasps, her body burning from the way his hands traced over her waist, how he pinned her there like he had every intention of keeping her exactly where he wanted her.

Steve pulled back slightly, his blue eyes darker than she had ever seen them.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he murmured. “In those stories of yours… how does this part usually go?”

Y/N swallowed, her entire body trembling.

Steve grinned.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice nothing but wicked promise. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

And with that, he bent down, lifted her effortlessly into his arms, and carried her out of the training room like he was on a mission.

The look he gave her before the door shut behind them made one thing very clear.

Tonight? They wouldn’t be getting any sleep.

[hyukabean]

──── wang yixiang (nicholas), crush headcanons (uni!au)

in which nicholas has a crush on you?! ～ warning: (VERY) unedited

nicholas x fem!reader

nico is confused 97% of the time, i’m convinced. from having to switch between three languages just to communicate with everyone in his friend group, to trying to double major in music and engineering (courtesy of his parents, though it’s a compromise he’s willing to make if it means pursuing his passion and appeasing his family), this man’s brain cells are spread thin.

think this face (c ತ,_ತ). and maybe -o- occasionally too.

this particular professor was way too motived for an 8am lecture and also spoke way too quickly for his liking. and we all know nico does *not* like getting up early lmao.

once he noticed you though, twirling your pencil, brows slightly furrowed as you try to decipher what was apparently supposed to be words on the board, he’d wished he’d tried a little harder in the morning.

shyly pushing up his glasses as he tries hard to wipe off the toothpaste stain on his hoodie and seem like he’s not hanging onto your every word as you quietly try to help another international student understand the material. 

he can’t quite explain why he’s so interested in you at first, his usually flirty demeanor evaporating alongside any focus he might’ve had. 

suddenly his attendance is perfect, despite the schedule conflicting with his internal clock and he’s sitting right at the front next to you and your friends too, how odd. 

what’s even stranger is that his grades somehow got worse eventhough he’s there more often now.

his friends are quick to notice, maki in particular. nico does not strike me as a shy person. on the contrary, i think under regular circumstances, he would’ve charmed his way right into your heart but for some reason, he can’t help but think twice about what he wants to say to you. 

he wants to be seen as cool and aloof by you, embarrassed at how nervous he feels when he is in your presence you.

maki, who’s quick to connect the dots, plays cupid (everyone say “thank you, maki!”).

“hey you’re y/n, right? mind helping me and my buddy nico out? we’re a little lost on this assignment” and the rest is history.

you befriended the two and a lot of nico’s shyness is (mostly) shed, and replaced with his signature sass and sarcasm, especially once you discover common interests, be it fashion, music, etc.

but even months into your friendship, he help can’t his hands getting slightly clammy around you, heart beating just a little bit faster when you laugh or lean your head against his shoulder.

would 10038272983403% ask you for help on stuff he already knows just so he can stare at you unabashedly.

you and maki tease him for sure, teaming up to get him annoyed at any and all times. and yet he’s never that annoyed at you? (“why tf does she get special treatment and we get lectures?” - juju probably)

you definitely join in on their pick up lines games, except nico can never quite get his words out around you. not in his typical ‘i’m buffering’ kind of way, but more in a ‘wow i actually would steal the moon for you, i’m fucked aren’t i?’ kind of way. 

but there are moments he does fluster you, though they’re not as planned (eg, grabbing your waist to move you out of the way, pushing a strand of hair from your face, intense eye contact, etc).

at first glance, he’d be really good at hiding his feelings. but on closer inspection, this boy is so obvious it’s painful. 

checking up on you if you mention you need to go to the doctor for an appointment, ordering food to your house randomly, asking you to share your location if you’re staying late at the library and it’s dark out, all under the guise of a platonic relationship.

one of his complexs is that he doesn’t want to be seen as “cute” by you (call me “weno” vibes”). that’s probably the biggest thorn in his side and maybe one of the only reasons he hasn’t properly confessed to you and admitted his feelings.

sure, he loves it when you squish his face and call him generous and thoughtful for thinking of you, and yet part of him feels annoyed. he likes liking you, but hates blushing and fumbling his words infront of you. he wants to show you his cool side, he wants to be dependable, someone you can rely on! “take me seriously, i’m a man” type of thing.

perhaps an unpopular opinion, but, left alone in the context of university and all the pressures, i truly think he’d be an “admire from afar” type of guy 8 times out of 10 (lots of cheesy smiles and quick ‘hello’s), unless divine intervention (most likely in the form of maki) strikes and gives him an in. 

once he’s sure of his feelings and knows you’re not taken, i think he’d work hard on trying to prove his merit as a partner to you. a switch flips and suddenly he’s cupping your cheek, brows furrowed, “i know i have a pretty face, but i’m not nearly as cute as you think”. 

that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get flustered around you, but his urge to date you is greater than his shyness. if you knew ofc you’d be like “nico you silly goose, i like that you’re cute AND hot. you’re such a doofus~”, but he’s got that emo streak in him idk what to tell you.

all in all, i think he’d be more shy than most would expect and yet, given the right circumstances, very charming and proactive.

nana's notes : my dear anonie you read my mind!! i had a really old outline in my drafts already so once i saw your request i just had to flesh it out immediately lolol. get out of my walls you dork:pp i’m not fully satisfied with how this turned out tbh, but it is what it isssss. as always, thank you for reading!

taglist : open! @lovelyjuju

© hyukabean all rights reserved. - do not translate my work, claim it as your own, and/or repost on any platform

[mandy-asimp]

When She Calls

Lilia Calderu x Life!reader (she/her)

Warnings: language, deaths, sprinkles of angst, fluff, smut (but that's for waaay down the build up), whole lotta friendship, I'm like 87% sure that's it

Summary: when Life is asked to make a promise, she doesn't seem to be able to say no. But that promise was going to be served out so much longer than what she could see.

Chapter 4

Story masterlist

chapter 5

(Happy Friday, enjoy two (4+5) chapters :))

The trial had emptied out after Agatha, except Alice stood still there. Mortified by her own body. She turned to Rio…who seemed so much wickeder than seconds ago. “Wait..that’s it? That’s all the time I get?” Rio only eyed her in the moment. “B-But I finally broke the curse! I can finally do something with my life!” A slender finger pointed towards the right, a glowing white was suddenly known. Alice was so confused.

Tears rolled down Life’s cheeks. Mourning the loss of such a life. “I’m sorry, my wild ember…”

“You.. Why are you here?” Alice stared at Life, her white hood covering the cascading waves. 

“Before Death is Life…its a balance, and I’m here to see you over. You died protecting someone, that was what you were born to do. And I know it’s unfair that you finally beat your biggest monster, and now you don’t get to continue with that pride here.” Life was so precise with her words, knowing how to present each one to be comforting.

Rio sighed, not in any annoyed way, she just did. “You continue on in my realm though. It’s not as bad as people claim it to be. Some beings wouldn’t let me torture her lives.”

Alice felt warm for just one more second. “This entire time…”

Rio walked towards the door. “Are you ready?”

The protection witch glanced back to Death, then back to her body. Tears falling lightly from her eyes. Finally, she went to meet Life’s eyes. “Did you always know this would be it? Do you know everyone’s lives?”

Life stepped closer, a caring glint in those calm grey skies. A storm always lurked in them, ready to strike at any second. “My ember, it’s time to go…I promise Death will be good to you.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “She likes you anyways, you protected the one she cared about. She owes you peace there. So, go on.”

Alice had eyes glazed with a swarm of emotions, a look both natural beings were used to seeing in this moment. Reluctantly, she went. Following Death into the green void and leaving Life behind. Alice walked with, although she wanted to run back. To beg for more time from Life. This didn’t feel right. 

“Even if you did go back and beg her…she’s never made an exception. She’s unfair that way.” 

That didn’t stop the woman. She was sprinting back to the door, desperate for more time. Barging back in, Life still lingered, a knowing smile was her greeting. “Please. Please, I have more to do in this world…Just a little longer and if nothing has happened then I’ll go. Just, please.”

Death stood in the doorway, waiting to collect and be on her way. Life stood in the open area, eyes gleaming with joy. “And how much longer is longer? What is it that is still out there for you?” She radiated a lively warmth.

“No! You can’t do this!” Death exclaimed from her spot. “She’s supposed to be coming with me.”

Alice instantly picked up on what was being done. “I want to explore more, to know what else I can do with my magic…wait…will I get that back?”

Life blinked her joyous tears away as her smile turned into a blinding beam. “My wild ember, your new purpose for this life will be to be my wildest ember. Do good out there and then when your time comes again, you shall have lived the life you’ve always wanted.”

A shaky breath was all Alice could get out before she was lying on the floor gasping for oxygen. Tears streamed past her temples as she slowly got herself back up. Laughing slightly before rushing out after the coven. 

Meanwhile, Life and Death stood in the cabin staring at each other. “But you couldn’t help Nicky?” Rio’s voice came calm, yet a venomous vang was bared with it. “You hardly knew her.”

“Just because I didn’t give him the full life you wanted, doesn’t mean I never helped him.” Life didn’t have any bite in her words. She was being delicate and sincere. After all, that was Rio’s son just as much as Agatha’s. “He lived the life that was designed for him. Which was longer than the original 9 months that he was supposed to have.”

But Rio shook her head and felt anger bubbling in her. “You’re distributing the order. Just like Maximoff did.”

“How can I disturb an order that I start?” 

~

Billy stared at Alice, tears full of relief spilled carefully. “But..they all said you were unsaveable?! How? Oh…oh I’ve made a mistake then..” He had so much to think over so suddenly. “Ok, wait, how are you alive?”

“Life…Lilia’s cat was Life herself and Rio told me she wouldn't budge, but I couldn’t accept that that was all I had. She cried for me…” Alice thought it all over once more, turning back to the exit and giving a grateful smile. “She really didn’t mean any harm.”

Billy hugged the woman, squeezing her tightly. “I thought I’d never get to see you again…and I also kinda knew she was Life. She helped me into this one when I was in a crash a few years ago.” He let go and reluctantly backed up. “I may have lashed on everyone and thrown them off The Road.” He hung his head in shame. 

“Well…in your defense you defended Agatha for how long only for her to prove it to be meaningless.” Alice stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder. “You were upset. You had lost a friend.”

Life hummed, appearing from around the trees. “It’s a funny thing isn’t it? Life? Me? You two are special though. You have a different protection to you. One that keeps you on a steady path, of course a few bumps and potholes, but that’s just life for you.” She was so polite as the two crushed her in a hug. It warmed her to know that this was that human connection she had been searching for. 

It was the warmth of good friends bringing out this new fit of laughter. It was full of serotonin and soon the other two were laughing just as well. All growing rosy hues to their cheeks. “Is this your doing?” Billy chuckled out, his cheeks slightly starting to hurt. “Were you the one responsible for the tears?”

Life couldn't contain laughter at all. “I’m sorry!” She was trying to get them down to mere giggles, but it seemed useless. “Sometimes, when I understand and truly feel what you all do, I can't help but to want to infect every life around me.” She had finally managed to subside the dominating feeling. “If it makes you feel any better, Salem Seven also just broke out into a fit of laughter.”

“You don’t understand human emotions? But if you create us?” Alice furrowed her brows. How could Life not know what feelings…felt like?

Her shoulders raised to her ears, “I don’t exactly create you, you’re still created by your parents, but your very life is from me. I’m the first one to really know you and everything you’re destined for within this life. However, because I know all of your choices and next steps, I’m not allowed to interact with you all often. But I had once made a promise that took and forced me to break that. I’ve learned very little as a cat, mostly because as a cat I can’t understand humans.”

“What was the promise?” Both had curiosity, it twisted in the deep browns and shined under the rising light. 

Agatha however scoffed. “Does it matter? We’re walking The Road with Life herself. No doubt Death must be near.” The witch then saw Alice standing right alongside them. “And here I thought you had no heart.” The stab was deep.

“That’s funny coming from the witch killer.” Billy took the lead to argue. “At least she uses her magic for good unlike you.”

Her eyes narrowed onto the boy. Picking him apart bit by bit. “Same way it's funny that the son of The Scarlet Witch is on The Road? Tell me…how did you come across this vessel? How did you escape the grasp of the Hex?” 

“Ease up, Harkness.” Life flatly said. Eyes ready to throw daggers at her if she said anything out of line. Billy stayed silent on the matter, he knew the truth, and so did Life.

“Alright, fine. You dont wanna tell me. But don’t you dare feel guilty about your talents. You survived like witches have been doing for years!  You saw an opportunity, an empty vessel, and you moved in! So you broke a few rules and slipped past this one!” Her hand gestured to Life. “That's what kept you alive! That’s what makes you a witch. That’s what makes you special.” She stood toe-to-toe with him. She needed to make sure he knew that he did what anyone would do in his situation if given the chance. “It’s nice to see you again…Billy.”

He let out a subtle breath. “Billy…William…you can hear me now?”

“Everyone can, every witch with a beating heart.” Life hummed from next to Alice. Her tone was inviting, the same one she used to lure him to his second chance. She sent him a small wink. 

“But this doesn’t answer-” he let his complaint fall once he met those cool grey eyes that told him everything he needed to know for now. “It’s further down my path.”

“Well, if we want to finish thi-”

“We?” Billy interrupted Agatha. “I don’t think I even need you anymore. I don’t know if I ever did. And especially after the last trial…we,” he directed it towards the three facing the brunette witch. “We will finish this road without you.”

Her brow quirked high into the air, and then it fell into a teasing look. “Hmm…what could Billy Maximoff want from the road?” She crept closer, soon to start circling around the young witch. “Is it…find mama? No, she chose an entire town of strangers over her own flesh and wires! Is it…find Papa? No...we all know that robot is offline somewhere. So who does that leave?” Her index finger tapped against her chin as she slowed to be right in front. “Oh that's right! There's two of you! You’re after Toby!”

Even Alice winced at the clear usage of the wrong name. “Tommy.” Billy had corrected her.

“That’s what I said!” Agatha kept poking. “And let me guess, Life’s just unfair?” The blue eyes snapped over immediately. “She had to obviously let you slip past her. I’ve never known her to let one go by. Everyone is destined for Death. But to let only you slip by and not your twin brother? Doesn’t that make you wonder why she only saved one of you?” Life stood silent, intrigued with where she was going to take this. “I mean, if she has the ability to bring Alice back with all her power…why couldn’t she help him as well?”

Billy slowly spun, questioning eyes bored into the figure in white. He waited for the answer to come out on its own. Especially since her mind was so silent. “Tommy couldn’t hear me the way you could. I wanted you to hear my calls…but that doesn’t mean he’s gone for good.”

“So he’s still out there?!” Billy was instantly filled with this hope that this, all this chaos, wasn't going to a waste. “Then we finish this.” He shifted back to face Agatha, “but just know. I do not trust you. At all. I never have.” It was cold and distancing. 

Something Agatha was so used to already, all she did was let her smile fall and agree. “Fine. Let's move then. Last one to the next trial is a nice person.”

~

Chapter 6.

[inubaki]

I’m Not Sorry For Lovin’ You

-wings-Adamsapplefluffweek

———-

Someone arrived today They said they're taking you away

That you're not mine to save And soon I won't get to see your face

So I came by to say You're unlike anyone I have ever known

'Cause you're all I've ever known

And if I pushed you Or if I came on too strong

Or if I ambushed you

For that, I'll say I was wrong

And if you hate me Then I am sorry my love's too much for you

But I'm not sorry for loving you

I'm not sorry for loving you

I'm not sorry for loving you

I'm not sorry for loving you

“Luci…”

Let me speak

I spent my whole life here

Was cast away when I was young

Alone for a hundred years

I had no friends but the sky and sun

So when you washed ashore

I thought for sure that you were my dream come true

I thought I knew

So if I pushed you

Or if I came on too strong

Or if I ambushed you

For that, I'll say I was wrong

And if you hate me Then I am sorry my love's too much for you Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

But I'm not sorry for loving you

I'm not sorry for loving you I'm not sorry for loving you I'm not sorry for loving you

… I'm not sorry

I'm angry and tired and restless and sad

I'm stuck in the moments I swore that we had

I wish you would chase me Or try to embrace me

For once, I wish you would lie and say

“I love you”

… You do?

“ … But not in the way that you want me to”

… I hate that I fell in love with you Hate that I fell in love with you Why did I fall in love with you? Why did I fall in love with you? What do I do with this love for you?

How am I supposed to get over you? How am I supposed to get over you? Why in the world won't you love me too

————-

This concept idea seems from the idea that after Adam dies he’s pushed back into a separate timeline. In which Lucifer was deemed to strong to be left in hell, instead, stuck into a separate pocket dimension on an early concept of Eden.

For there he lingers, never having met the humans nor partaken the apple. He has no concept of Adam’s past, only drawing from his injuries that he’s like him. Abandoned and alone.

He’s eager to know him, touch, talk, love and bond, but Adam holds all the memories in which Lucifer resists him. He doesn’t want to get close to Lucifer, struggling to find a way to escape. But when he starts to feel the pull of shared isolation. Lucifer falls for him, but Adam is to wary to believe it.

But still pulls for Lucifer to join in finding a way out. (The colors are Adam and Lucifer losing stature the closer join together)

it’s not my favorite. But I had fun and it helps me through the worse of my illness.

Based off @marthaluvsya’s post and a song from Epic

I’ve been sick these last few days but I really wanted to finish this. Mainly to show that I could go myself.

[szariahwroteit]

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 11

“Sorry,” Giselle murmured, her lips curving into a smirk against the column of Kylian’s throat as she kissed over a rather obnoxious bruise she had left behind during one of their previous encounters.

Kylian chuckled softly, a warm, low sound reverberating through his chest. “I’m sure you are,” he teased, tilting his head back to give her better access. The heat of her breath against his skin sent shivers racing down his spine, a reminder of their night together.

Giselle pulled back slightly, her eyes sparkling with mischievousness. “I'm going to miss you,” she whispered, placing her hand on the back of his head so she could pull him in closer. Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss that ignited a rush of heat between them. The taste of him was intoxicating. Her hands slid down to his shoulders, fingers digging in gently as if anchoring herself to him, to the moment.

Kylian responded, his hands finding their place on her waist, pulling her flush against him, leaving just the two of them wrapped in this sultry cocoon that only they understood. Every kiss unraveled another layer of tension, each caress igniting memories of the night before—fingers intertwined, breathless gasps, the desperate need that had overtaken them both.

“Are you ready to go?” Kylian asked, his voice low as he gently pulled away from her lips. His gaze lingered over her, admiring how the black asymmetrical dress hugged her figure, enhancing the graceful curve of her waist and flowing elegantly down one side. It was the perfect choice for her final evening in Madrid, and as he looked into her eyes, he could sense a mix of excitement and melancholy in the air.

Giselle sighed softly, her heart fluttering at the weight of his gaze. “I suppose I have to be,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The thought of leaving Madrid, of leaving him, felt like a bittersweet ache in her chest.

“Let’s make it a night to remember, then,” Kylian said, a playful grin spreading across his face. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers as he led her toward the door. The warmth of his touch sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t help but smile back, her earlier melancholy momentarily forgotten.

It was quiet as they stepped out of Kylian's house, and despite the evening chill, there was a stillness in the air that whispered spring.

Giselle was careful on her heels as Kylian led her down the cobbled path towards his car, pulling open the door so she could slip inside. As she settled into the plush leather seat, Kylian's lingering warmth seemed to follow her, wrapping around her like a protective aura. He slid in beside her, the door shutting with a soft click that felt final, but also full of promise.

As he navigated through the streets of Madrid, the city lights flickered like stars against the velvet backdrop of night. Giselle stole glances at him, capturing fleeting moments, from the way his jaw tightened in concentration to the flicker of amusement in his eyes as he recounted tales of their days spent together hidden away in the beautiful city.

“Do I get to know where you're taking me, or are you going to keep me guessing until we get there?” Giselle asked, her voice playful, laced with curiosity.

Kylian shot her a sideways glance, a smirk returning to his lips. "Dinner." He answered simply, not giving anything away as his fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel.

“Dinner? How vague,” she teased, a playful pout forming on her lips as she tried to guess what sort of place he had in mind. Giselle leaned toward him slightly, their knees brushing together, a spark of electricity igniting from the contact.

Kylian chuckled, enjoying the anticipation that danced in the air between them. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” His voice dripped with mischief, his dark eyes glinting as he shifted gears.

“Fine, I’ll play along,” she replied, settling back in her seat and crossing her arms in mock annoyance. But inside, her heart raced with excitement. Each moment spent with him felt like a secret shared, a little piece of magic they held alone.

As they passed through the vibrant streets, Giselle's mind wandered back to their earlier rendezvous—how they had laughed, seduced, and surrendered to each other's touch until dawn had crept in, wrapping them in golden light. She relished the memory of his fingertips trailing down her back, the warmth of his breath as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” Kylian asked, a smile tugging at his lips as he caught her lost gaze in the glass.

“Just thinking,” she said softly, the weight of her words sinking into the air around them.

The seriousness in her tone sliced through the playful atmosphere, causing Kylian to glance away from the road, his expression shifting to one of contemplation. “We’ll have time again,” he assured her, his voice steady, though the sincerity in his eyes also betrayed a hint of longing.

The tension in the car was short-lived. Giselle looked out the window to find they were at the Santiago Bernabeu. “What are we doing here?” she asked in confusion. The atmosphere was still and serene, a complete contrast from a match day.

“Do you trust me?” he questioned, turning his head to glance at her before turning his car into the same parking lot Melissa had parked her car when they'd gone to his game.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

Kylian smiled at her response, a look of satisfaction crossing his features. “Good,” he said, parking the car and shutting off the engine. “Come on, let’s explore a little.”

He exited the vehicle with an easy grace, and Giselle followed suit, her curiosity piqued. As she stepped out, the cool night air embraced her, contrasting sharply with the warmth they shared moments before. The massive structure of the stadium loomed ahead, illuminated under the glow of night lights. It felt magical, as if it held countless secrets within its walls—stories of passion, ambition, and victory.

“Where are we going?” she asked, glancing up at him for guidance. There was a spark of excitement in his eyes that mirrored her own.

“Just follow me,” he replied, retaking her hand. Together, they strolled towards the entrance. The silence of the parking lot was thick with anticipation, and with each step, Giselle wondered where this night would lead.

As they approached the stadium, Kylian reached into his pocket and produced a pair of access cards. “I arranged something special,” he said with a wink, and her heart fluttered at the thought of what lay ahead.

“Special like how?” she pressed, trying to contain her intrigue.

“Just trust me,” he reiterated, a playful glint in his eye.

They slipped through a side entrance, and the sound of their footsteps echoed softly in the empty halls. The dimly lit corridors were adorned with photos of legendary players and moments that defined the beautiful game. Kylian led her deeper into the stadium's heart, the ambiance charged with an electric blend of nostalgia and anticipation.

Finally, they emerged onto the pristine pitch, the vast grass stretching out before them under the moonlight. Giselle gasped, stepping forward in awe. It was surreal to stand where champions had battled; the world fell away, leaving just the two of them.

“Wow,” she breathed, taking in the view. “This is incredible.”

Kylian chuckled, watching her face light up with wonder. “I thought you’d like it,” he said, moving closer to her. “I wanted to share this moment with you.”

Giselle turned to face him, her heart swelling with affection. The intimacy of the moment, set against the backdrop of the grand stadium, filled her with warmth. “It’s perfect,” she admitted, her voice soft and sincere.

As if sensing the gravity of the moment, Kylian stepped forward, his presence enveloping her. “There’s more,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the center of the pitch. The grass felt cool beneath her feet, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body so close beside her.

“What do you mean?” Giselle asked, her curiosity piqued even further.

“Just wait,” he replied, a playful glint in his eyes as he took Giselle's hand, leading her off the pitch and onto his second reveal of the evening.

Kylian led her along the all-too-familiar route to the stadium's VIP box, which he had taken the liberty of transforming into a restaurant for the night.

Giselle was in awe as he led her into the room to reveal a candlelit dinner set for two, surrounded by glass walls that provided a stunning view of the pitch. The table was elegantly decorated with delicate flowers and flickering candles, casting a warm glow that softened the surroundings, making the room feel even more intimate.

“Wow, Kylian,” Giselle said, her eyes sparkling with astonishment. “You did all this?”

He nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “I wanted our last night to be unforgettable.” He gestured for her to take a seat, and as she did, the weight of the world outside melted away. It was just the two of them, cocooned in their own little paradise high above the stadium.

As they settled in, Kylian poured champagne into crystal flutes, the bubbles rising like tiny fireworks. “To us,” he toasted, raising his glass.

“To us,” Giselle echoed, clinking her glass against his. The richness of the champagne filled her senses, and she couldn’t help but relish the moment—here they were, an ordinary evening transformed into something magical.

They enjoyed a delightful meal, the conversation effortlessly flowing as they swapped stories and laughed like old friends. But beneath the surface, each shared glance and each playful touch hinted at the undeniable chemistry that sizzled between them.

At one point, Kylian reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing against Giselle’s. “Have you enjoyed your time here?” he asked, his gaze intense and tender.

Giselle nodded, her pulse quickening. “I have. Thank you so much for having me.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Kylian smirked as he raised his glass up to his lips. “Thank you for coming.”

Despite the reason she’d ended up with him in Madrid, the past week tucked away in his house felt like a dream—quiet and solitudinous days, followed by hot and heavy nights with him.

Giselle felt her cheeks warm at the memory. “You made it unforgettable,” she admitted, smiling softly. “It’s hard to believe it’s just been a week.”

Kylian chuckled, his eyes bright with mischief. “Time flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

“Fun is an understatement,” she replied, her voice teasing.

He leaned forward, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I don’t regret a single moment,” he said, his voice low and sincere. The weight of his gaze held her captive, and she felt an undeniable pull toward him, like gravity was working in their favor.

“Me neither,” Giselle murmured, her heart racing. The air around them thickened, transforming the gentle ambiance into something charged with longing. She could see the flicker of desire in his eyes, and it mirrored her own.

“Come here,” Kylian whispered, his voice laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. He stood, rounded the table, and gently took her hands, guiding her to her feet and sitting down so he could pull her onto his lap.

Giselle's heart raced as she settled onto his lap, the warmth of his body radiating against hers. She could feel his heartbeat thudding beneath her palms, echoing her own rhythm. The closeness stirred something deep within her, a longing that had been building since the moment they met.

Kylian's hands rested on her waist, fingers splayed as he drew her closer. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “About us.”

“What about us?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. A mix of excitement and trepidation filled her senses.

He turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “About how this week has changed everything,” he replied, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t expect to feel this way about you.”

Giselle's breath caught in her throat. The weight of his words hung in the air, and she felt her heart flutter in response. “I didn’t either,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing as she searched his eyes for reassurance.

Kylian leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her cheek before finding the corner of her mouth. “I want to explore this… whatever this is,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I know we’re from different worlds, but I think we owe it to ourselves to see where it leads.”

Giselle’s heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear. “You’re right,” she said softly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. “I want to see where this goes too.”

A smile broke across Kylian’s face, lighting up his features. It was a smile that promised adventure, passion, and possibility. He leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that was both tender and electric, igniting a fire that had been smoldering between them all week.

The kiss deepened, and Giselle melted against him, feeling safe and cherished. She wrapped her arms around his neck, losing herself in the moment as they poured every unspoken feeling into that single connection.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Kylian rested his forehead against hers.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your world,” Giselle searched his eyes, her voice soft and earnest.

Kylian didn't have any words to offer at that moment. Instead, he leaned into her, pressing a kiss to her lips as his hand ran up her bare thigh.

The simple touch sent a wave of warmth cascading through her body, igniting every nerve ending as he explored her skin. Giselle could feel his fingers trailing closer to the hem of her dress, teasing her with the promise of what was to come—the thrill of desire coiled tightly around them, pulling them into a world where only they existed.

“Kylian,” she breathed, her voice trembling with anticipation. “What if someone catches us?”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her. “Are you ready to go?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

The question hung in the air, thick with anticipation. Giselle felt a rush of exhilaration wash over her, the thrill of living on the edge making her pulse race. Her gaze met Kylian's, and she could see he was equally consumed by the moment—a heady mix of mischief and desire swirling between them.

“I want you,” Giselle whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. The admission spilled from her lips like a secret she could no longer contain, anchoring her resolve to this man who had turned her world upside down in just a week.

Kylian responded with a low growl, the sound resonating deep within him. His hands gripped her waist, his thumbs caressing her skin just above the hem of her dress. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” he murmured, capturing her lips again with a fierce hunger.

Giselle melted against him, feeling every part of her body awaken in response to his kiss. One of his hands tangled in her hair, holding her captive, while the other roamed, exploring the curves of her body as if mapping out every inch.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but in an instant, they were on their feet, intertwined and moving closer to the glass walls that framed the vast expanse of the pitch. The idea of getting caught sunk deeper into her mind, adding an intoxicating thrill to their desperate kisses.

Her back pressed against the cold glass, but the chill was quickly evaporated by the warmth of Kylian’s body pressed against hers.

Kylian let out a lustful growl as he peeled himself from Giselle; he knew that if they didn't stop, they might end up in a situation that, as public figures, neither of them needed. As thrilling as the idea of having sex in his home stadium sounded, he knew better. They both did.

Kylian took a step back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. Giselle looked equally affected, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from their passionate kisses. The air between them crackled with unfulfilled desire, but Kylian knew they needed to slow down.

"We should probably head back," he said, his voice husky with restraint. "Before things get out of hand."

Giselle nodded, swallowing hard as she smoothed down her dress. "You're right," she agreed, though her eyes betrayed a hint of disappointment.

“Take off your thong,” Kylian whispered, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent a thrill coursing through her body.

Giselle's breath hitched, eyes widening in surprise. The boldness of his command sent a rush of heat flooding her cheeks. "Here?" she asked, incredulity swirling with desire.

Kylian's gaze was intense and unwavering as he stepped closer again, reclaiming the space between them and filling it with smoldering tension. "Give them to me. I have plans for you once we get back to the car.”

Giselle's heart raced as she glanced around, ensuring they were indeed alone in the VIP box. With trembling fingers, she reached beneath her dress and slowly slid her thong down her legs, stepping out of it and handing it to Kylian with a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

He took the delicate fabric, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored her scent. A smirk played on his lips as he tucked the thong into his pocket, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Beautiful," he said, his voice low and husky. "All mine."

Giselle shivered at the possessive tone, a thrill running down her spine. She couldn't deny the rush of excitement that came with his words, the knowledge that he had claimed her so thoroughly.

Kylian took her hand, leading her out of the VIP box and back through the stadium corridors.

As they emerged into the cool parking garage, Kylian's car was the only one. He opened the passenger door for Giselle, helping her inside before rounding the vehicle to the driver's side. The moment he slid into the seat, the atmosphere shifted, charged with unspoken desires and the promise of what was to come.

Kylian started the engine, the low purr filling the silence between them. He glanced over at Giselle, his eyes dark with intent. "Spread your legs," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Giselle's breath caught in her throat, but she obeyed, parting her thighs beneath the hem of her dress. The cool air kissed her bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat building within her.

Kylian reached into his pocket, pulling out her discarded thong. He brought it to her face, trailing the fabric along her jawline and down her neck.

"Play with yourself," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Giselle's heart raced as she stared at the thong dangling from Kylian's fingers, her mind reeling at his command. The fabric brushed against her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She hesitated for a moment, the boldness of his request sending a surge of excitement and apprehension through her.

Slowly, she reached beneath her dress, her fingers trembling slightly as they made contact with her bare flesh. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation as she began to touch herself, circling her most sensitive spot with gentle strokes.

“Show me your pussy,” Kylian watched her intently, his gaze burning with desire as he took in the sight of her pleasuring herself as he started the car, and the engine roared to life.

Giselle's eyes fluttered open, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and arousal. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her dress, revealing her bare thighs and the glistening folds of her pussy. The cool air against her exposed skin sent a shiver through her, intensifying the sensation of her own fingers moving in gentle circles.

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his voice strained. "You're so fucking beautiful."

He kept one hand on the wheel, guiding the car through the Madrid streets, while the other reached out to brush his knuckles against Giselle's inner thigh. The touch was featherlight, sending electric jolts of pleasure through her.

Giselle gasped, her hips arching slightly into his touch. She continued to pleasure herself, her movements becoming more urgent as the tension built within her.

Kylian's knuckles brushed against Giselle's wet folds, and he couldn't resist the urge to slide a finger inside her. She was so tight, so warm, and the sound of her moan filled the car, spurring him on. He pumped his finger slowly, matching the rhythm of her own touches.

"Kylian," Giselle breathed, her head falling back against the headrest as she rode the waves of pleasure. The combination of her own touch and his invading finger was overwhelming, pushing her closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and husky. "Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze my finger."

His words, combined with the skillful movements of his hand, sent Giselle over the precipice. She cried out, her body convulsing as a powerful orgasm washed over her. Her inner walls clenched around his finger, pulsing with release.

Giselle barely made it into Kylian’s house before he was on her, her dress and heels left discarded in the entryway, where he’d feasted on her until her clit was swollen and her body trembled before carrying her up to his bedroom.

Giselle's eyes rolled shut, and her mind went blank as Kylian moved within her, his thrusts hard and incredibly deep as he pinned her legs to the bed.

A chill ran the length of her spine as she felt Kylian’s tongue on her, licking his way from between her breasts over her throat and to her chin before he stole her breath with a feverish kiss.

The thick head of Kylian’s cock pressed Giselle's cervix as he swallowed her moans, his eyes closed in pure unadulterated pleasure as he rolled his hips into her. The bed sang under the pressure of his thrust as a single tear slipped from Giselle's eye.

Kylian's eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with desire as he watched a tear roll down Giselle's cheek. He slowed his pace, concern etched on his face.

“Shh, baby, I've got you,” he murmured, his voice husky with need. “Is it too much? Tell me if I'm hurting you.” His hand came up to gently wipe away the tear, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I want to make you feel good, Giselle.”

He leaned down, pressing soft kisses along her jawline and neck, his hips still moving in slow, deep thrusts.

“Please don't stop,” Giselle whimpered, tilting her hips into Kylian’s thrust. She wanted everything, including the dull discomfort that only made way for an inexplicable pleasure. “I want to get on top.”

Kylian's eyes flashed with desire at Giselle's words, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He pulled out slowly, eliciting a gasp from Giselle before flipping them over so she was straddling him. “Ride me,” he instructed.

"Like this?" Giselle asked, biting her lip as she looked down at him, her hands resting on his chest. She slowly lowered herself onto his length, a soft moan escaping her lips as he filled her completely.

"That's it," Kylian praised, his hands gripping her hips. "Show me what you want."

Giselle began to move, lifting herself up before sliding back down, finding a rhythm that made them both moan. Kylian's eyes were locked onto her, taking in every curve and movement, his hands guiding her hips.

"You look so fucking beautiful like this," he growled, sitting up suddenly to capture one of her nipples in his mouth.

Giselle gasped as Kylian sat up, his mouth enveloping her nipple and sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

“Slow,” Kylian guided, his hands slid down to grip her ass. “Take your time and feel me.”

Kylian's hands gripped Giselle's hips tightly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he guided her movements. He watched with hooded eyes as she rode him slowly, savoring every inch of his hard cock, sliding in and out of her.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. "So tight and wet."

Giselle's hands slid up his chest, her nails raking lightly over his skin. She leaned down, pressing her forehead against his as she continued to move on top of him.

"You're so deep," she gasped, her breath coming in short pants. "I can feel you everywhere."

Kylian's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer to him. He captured her lips in a heated kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth as he began to thrust up into her from below.

"Harder," Giselle pleaded, breaking the kiss to bury her face in the crook of Kylian's neck. "Please, Kylian."

Kylian's grip on her hips tightened, and he began to thrust up into her with more force, his hips snapping against hers. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their moans and gasps.

"Yes, just like that," Giselle cried out, her nails digging into Kylian's shoulders. "Don't stop."

Kylian's hands slid down to grip her ass, spreading her cheeks apart as he pounded into her. He could feel her tightening around him, her body tensing as she approached her climax.

"Fuck, you're so deep," Giselle gasped, her nails digging into Kylian's shoulders as she felt him hit that perfect spot inside her. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum!"

"That's it, do it for me," Kylian growled, his hips snapping up into hers with increasing urgency. "Let me feel you."

He reached between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles. The added stimulation was enough to push Giselle over the edge, her body convulsing with pleasure as she cried out his name.

"Yes, yes, YES!" she screamed, her head thrown back in ecstasy as her orgasm crashed over her. "Kylian!"

When Giselle's orgasm passed, Kylian laid her back on the bed, crawling on top of her as he reached for a pillow, pushing it beneath her and raising her hips slightly.

Kylian's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he positioned himself between Giselle's legs, the pillow elevating her hips to the perfect angle. He grabbed her thighs, spreading them wider as he looked down at her glistening pussy, swollen and sensitive from her recent orgasm.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "So open, so vulnerable."

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before trailing his lips up to her core. His tongue flicked out, tasting her, savoring the sweetness of her arousal.

"Kylian," Giselle gasped, her hands flying to his hair as he licked a slow stripe up her slit. "What are you doing?"

"Worshipping you," he replied, his breath hot against her skin. "Making you feel good."

He sealed his lips around her clit, sucking gently as he slid two fingers inside her.

Kylian's fingers pumped in and out of Giselle's pussy, curling to hit that sweet spot inside her as his tongue worked her clit. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her body responding eagerly to his touch.

"That's it, baby," he murmured against her flesh, his voice vibrating through her. "Let me hear you."

Giselle's moans grew louder, her hips bucking against his face as he drove her closer to the edge. Her fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place as she chased her release.

"Kylian, I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum again!" she cried out, her body tensing as her orgasm washed over her.

Kylian didn't let up, his fingers and tongue working her through the waves of pleasure until she was a trembling, satisfied mess beneath him.

Kylian flipped Giselle onto her stomach, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her up onto her knees. He positioned himself behind her, his hard length pressing against her entrance.

"This little pussy was made for me," he drawled, his voice low and husky with desire. "Even when you are away, it's mine."

Kylian hissed as he spread Giselle open, her pussy swollen and incredibly wet as the tip of his cock ghosted against her.

“Donne-toi à moi,” he groaned, a deep moan ripping from his throat as he leaned forward, giving her his entire cock in one swift motion before stilling.

Kylian's eyes darkened with lust as he felt Giselle's tight heat envelop him completely. He gripped her hips tightly, savoring the feeling of being buried deep inside her.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he groaned, his hips twitching slightly as he fought the urge to move. “I love how you take my cock so perfectly.”

He leaned forward, pressing his chest against Giselle's back as he reached around to circle her clit with his fingers. “This pussy belongs to me, understand? I'm going to fill you up so fucking deep, you'll be feeling me for days.”

Kylian began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts as he stimulated Giselle's clit. He could feel her walls fluttering around him, her body responding eagerly to his touch.

“You like that, don't you?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Yes,” Giselle moaned, her back arching away from Kylian as she felt a bead of her arousal drip down the inside of her thigh.

Kylian's fingers continued their relentless assault on Giselle's clit as he drove into her from behind, his hips slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the room, mingling with their moans and gasps.

"That's it, baby," Kylian encouraged, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take my cock."

His free hand slid up Giselle's back, gripping her shoulder as he pulled her back onto him, burying himself even deeper.

"Yes, yes, YES!" Giselle screamed, her fingers digging into the sheets as she came undone beneath him. "Kylian!"

Kylian's grip on her tightened, his hips snapping forward as he chased his own release.

Kylian's hips stuttered, his fingers digging into Giselle's hips as he buried himself balls deep inside her, his orgasm crashing over him. "Fuck, Giselle!" he groaned, his hot cum filling her in pulses.

He collapsed onto her back, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. After a moment, he rolled them onto their sides, spooning her from behind as he gently kissed her shoulder.

"Perfect," he murmured, his hand resting possessively on her hip.

Giselle smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased, turning her head to press a kiss to his jaw as she felt herself overcome with emotion.

Kylian chuckled, his arms tightening around her. "Not so bad? I have to work on that."

He rolled her onto her back, hovering over her with a mischievous grin that faltered as he noticed the look on her face, and her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Kylian's expression softened, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down Giselle's cheek. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked gently, concern etched on his face. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry if I was too rough."

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "Talk to me, Giselle. What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

Kylian's heart ached at the sight of Giselle's tears, his protective instincts kicking in. He wanted nothing more than to take away her pain, to make her feel safe and loved.

"I just... I don't know," Giselle sniffled, burying her face in his chest. "I guess I'm just feeling overwhelmed. This thing between us, it's so intense. I'm going home tomorrow, and I didn't expect to feel this way."

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.

Kylian listened attentively, his heart swelling with affection for Giselle. He understood the overwhelming nature of their connection, as it was something he had never experienced before either.

"It's okay," he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through her hair. "I feel it, too."

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, pouring all his emotions into the gentle touch. "But I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whatever you're feeling, whatever you need, I'm here."

His hands slid down to cup her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears. Between the earth-shattering sex and connection, they shared that came as natural as breathing to them, she couldn't make sense of her emotions as she prepared herself to head back home to Los Angeles the following morning.

For a little under a week, his sprawling Madrid home had been her sanctuary, an escape from the world and all of her problems that loomed.

Return home meant stepping out of the bubble she had created with Kylian, and she didn't know how to feel about it.

She knew she wasn't ready for a relationship or to give her heart to another fully, but as she told Melissa a few days before, as she had helped her prepare dinner in Kylian’s kitchen, she wanted him.

Kylian's gaze held hers, a silent understanding passing between them as they navigated their emotions.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Can you stay awake for me?” he asked softly. Giselle nodded, shifting her tired body off Kylian so he could get out of bed.

She watched as he strode into the bathroom before she heard the sound of running water, the light from the bathroom illuminating the gentle outlines of his body.

Giselle's mind raced as she replayed the intensity of their connection, the way he made her feel—sought after, cherished, and utterly consumed. She had never felt so open with someone, yet she was torn between desire and fear.

When he returned, he scooped her body up from the bed as if she were weightless, carrying her into the bathroom, where he found the tub slowly filling with hot water and bubbles.

Kylian carefully lowered Giselle into the warm, bubbly water, the soothing heat enveloping her tired body. He stepped into the tub behind her, settling in and pulling her back against his chest.

"This is nice," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her waist. "You needed this."

Giselle sighed contentedly, leaning back into his embrace. The warm water and Kylian's strong arms around her were exactly what she needed to relax and clear her mind.

Kylian reached for a washcloth, dipping it into the water before gently wiping it over Giselle's shoulders and arms. His touch was tender and caring, a stark contrast to the intense passion they had shared earlier.

"You know," he began softly, his lips brushing against her ear. "I'm going to miss you when you leave."

Giselle's heart fluttered at his words, a mix of emotions swirling within her. She felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving Kylian but also a sense of relief that she would have time to process everything that had happened between them.

The next morning, Giselle was the first to awaken, her body still wholly spent as she relished the last of Kylian's warmth.

In a few short hours, she be on a plane to Los Angeles, and as excited as she was to get back to work, the comfort she found in Kylian's embrace was one she knew she wouldn't find anywhere else.

A hiss from Giselle woke Kylian from his slumber as she tried to get out of his bed on shaky legs. Between her legs tender as she sat on the edge of his bed.

Kylian's sleepy gaze drifted over to her, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he took in the sight of her, disheveled and absolutely beautiful in the morning light. "Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

Giselle turned to face him, her heart fluttering at the sight of him. "I was going to make us coffee," she replied, a nervousness creeping into her voice as the reality of her impending departure settled in. "But I'm sore."

Kylian chuckled softly, a warm, teasing sound that sent shivers down her spine. “That’s what happens when you tell me to go harder,” he said, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

Giselle rolled her eyes playfully, the tension melting slightly at his words. “Well, I guess I should’ve known better,” she replied, her cheeks heating as she took a moment to collect herself. She glanced at him, caught in the depths of his eyes that seemed to see right through her nervousness.

“Come here,” he said, visibly stretching before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, a lion rising after a satisfying feast. He reached out and pulled her back against him, the warmth of his body enveloping her once again.

Giselle let out a soft giggle, feeling safe in his embrace despite the bittersweet feelings swirling within her. “Kylian…” she started, hesitantly, as feelings she had tried to shove down came rushing to the surface. “I have to leave soon.”

Kylian’s expression shifted slightly, a flash of understanding crossing his face. “I know,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against her shoulder soothingly. “But let's not focus on that just yet. We can have coffee first, and then we'll figure it out.”

[xo-myloves]

SLASH SUGAR BABY

like he punishes her for talking to a guy her age

So like heavy smut and then fluff

Pleaseeeee

-🧛‍♀️

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑..

༞༞༞༞༞༞༞𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝༞༞༞༞༞

Slash wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. He’d been with enough women, seen enough shit, and lived through enough insanity to think he was above that kind of petty bullshit.

But then he saw you. Sitting at the bar, drink in hand, laughing at something some punk-ass kid had just said to you. Some guy your age, flashing you a grin like he had a shot. Like he didn’t realize who the fuck you belonged to.

Slash clenched his jaw, exhaling smoke through his nose like a fucking dragon. His whiskey glass was already sweating in his grip, and he took a long swig, setting it down harder than necessary. The bartender gave him a wary glance, but he ignored it. His eyes were locked on you.

You looked good—too fucking good. That short little dress, the curve of your thigh as you crossed your legs, the way your lips parted just a little when you smiled. He knew exactly what you were doing. Maybe not on purpose, but fuck, did it matter?

The kid leaned in closer, and Slash saw red.

Without thinking, he pushed off from the table, stalking toward you like a predator. The second you saw him, your smile faltered. The guy you were talking to—some floppy-haired, clean-faced dipshit—glanced up and barely had time to react before Slash was in his space.

“You got a fuckin’ problem, kid?” Slash’s voice was low, dangerous.

The guy blinked, looking confused. “Uh… no?”

“Then why the fuck are you talking to my girl?” Slash took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled right in the kid’s face.

“I—I didn’t know she was with someone.”

Slash scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah? You blind or just stupid?”

The kid swallowed, suddenly realizing that the dude in front of him wasn’t just some random jealous boyfriend—he was Slash. The Slash. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but then he thought better of it and muttered a quick, “Sorry, man,” before getting the fuck out of there.

Slash watched him leave, shaking his head with a smirk before turning his attention to you.

“The fuck was that?”

You rolled your eyes. “He was just talking to me, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Slash leaned in, pressing one hand against the bar beside you, caging you in. “Not a big deal?” His voice was lower now, almost amused, but you could hear the edge underneath. “You got some little pretty boy makin’ you laugh, and I’m supposed to sit over there and just… what? Pretend I don’t give a fuck?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t give a fuck.”

Slash let out a dark chuckle. “Yeah? Well, guess I’m full of shit, huh?”

You smirked, reaching for your drink, but he caught your wrist before you could take a sip. His fingers were warm, rough, calloused from years of playing.

“You tryin’ to piss me off, baby?” he murmured, his lips just barely brushing your ear.

Your breath hitched, and you tried to play it cool, but fuck, the way his voice dropped like that…

“No,” you said softly.

Slash smirked, brushing his thumb against your pulse point. “Good. ‘Cause you already fucking did.”

He grabbed your drink and took a slow sip himself, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. Then he set it down, pulling you off the barstool with one firm tug.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re done talkin’ to kids. I got better things to do with you.”

you knew you fucked up.

✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢✢

“Tell me who this pussy fucking belongs too hmm?” Slash gritted his teeth in your ear, pounding into your abused pussy, feelings your core tightening even more, already having came three times, your body was so over stimulated, shaking from the pleasure.

I felt his hand come down to my cheek, making my body ripple, his hips crashing into mine, feeling myself melt into his touch, screaming in pleasure, my nails going to the sheets, pulling them off the bed.

He groans loudly at your scream, his grip on your hips tightening. He starts to thrust into you roughly, not caring if he's hurting you. His face is buried in your neck, biting and sucking hard marks onto your skin. His movements are fast and brutal, like he's trying to punish you.

“F-fuck you..” I mumbled under my breath, knowing it was a mistake the second it let my bruised lips, he laughs harshly, snapping his hips forward again. "Answer the question, baby. Who pussy does this fucking belong too?" He releases one of your wrists to push a hand between your thighs roughly, finding your spot and rubbing hard to take the edge off your pain. His teeth grit together “just be a good slut and cum for daddy again.”

My moans got louder, feeling my legs clamp together, my chest rising, my eyes shutting, my body couldn’t take any more of this much longer, he snapped, thrusting especially hard into you. He bites down hard on your shoulder, sucking and pulling to leave a deep hickey. He can feel you getting closer, your body tightening around his. "Come on, baby."

“M’gonna cum daddy,” I murmured into the bed, my body getting hotter, my body turning red, my pussy clenching around him, milking him for what he’s worth, taking in all of him, "Fuck - that's it." He shoves his hand harder against your clit, feeling you clamp down around him as you come undone. His thrusts become more erratic and desperate, losing control as he feels you fall apart beneath him. "Fucking take it, baby."

My body convulsed around him, my body squirting while liquid all over the bed, leaving the wet spots bigger than before, grunts leaving slash’s mouth, moans leaving mine, his eyes fly open in shock and arousal. He slams into you a few more times before burying himself deep inside, pulsing and shaking as he comes hard.

His ooze costing me completely, feeling his arousal leaking out of me before feeling his body collapses on top of you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His heart is pounding in his ears, his mind racing with the sudden realization of how much he just fucking loves you. He buries his face in your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you.

“Maybe you like punishing me..” I murmured into his neck, my arms wrapping around his torso, he stayed silent for a moment, his breath slowly returning to normal. He finally pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his voice low and gruff. "Maybe I fucking do." He kisses you softly this time, a stark contrast to the rough and aggressive sex you just had.

“Y’know you love it,” I smirked kissing his cheek, placing my forehead against his, my fingers tracing his lower back tattoo, he smiled slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek gently. He knows you're right, but he can't admit it out loud just yet. Instead, he kisses you again, this time with more tenderness and love than he's ever shown before. "Shut up and kiss me, bitch."

He’s back.

[billionairebratenergy]

Heat of the Moment

Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: He watches you like you’re the most dangerous thing in the room, and maybe, just maybe, you like the way his restraint starts to crack.

Continue reading below ⬇

───────────────────────────────

The gym in Stark Tower was meant for training. Precision. Discipline. Sweat dripping down the back of your neck as you pushed your body to its limits, muscles burning, lungs gasping for air. But there was one glaring issue standing between you and peak performance.

Tony.

Leaning against the railing like he didn’t have a care in the world, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place, watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the room. His eyes weren’t on the targets you were supposed to be hitting. Not on your footwork, not on your stance. No, he was watching you, like you were a slow sip of whiskey he wanted to savor.

“You’re staring again,” you noted, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

“Am I?” Tony mused, tilting his head like he wasn’t blatantly eyeing the way your tank top clung to your body. “Maybe I’m just admiring my investment. You’ve been putting in the work, sweetheart.”

Your jaw twitched as you spun the training staff in your grip. “I’m not a new prototype, Stark.”

He grinned. “No, but you are a damn masterpiece.”

You threw the staff at him. Not hard, but enough to make him react.

Tony caught it effortlessly, one-handed, because of course he did. He twirled it once, testing its weight, before tossing it back to you with an almost lazy flick of his wrist.

You caught it and pointed it at his chest, stepping closer. “If you’re going to keep distracting me, at least make yourself useful.”

His lips curled. “Is that your way of asking me to spar with you? Because, baby, there are other ways to get me on top of you.”

You huffed, shoving his shoulder as you turned away, but your traitorous heart thumped at his words. You should have known better than to take Tony seriously when he was in one of his teasing moods.

“Focus,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your stance as you moved toward the training dummy, willing yourself to ignore the weight of Tony’s gaze.

It didn’t work.

Because every time you threw a punch, every time you shifted your hips or adjusted your stance, you felt it—his eyes tracking you like a missile lock. Heat prickled down your spine, and you bit your lip to keep from calling him out again.

Seconds later, he was behind you, stepping into your space, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

“You’re leaving your left side open,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear.

You swallowed hard. “You gonna keep standing there looking pretty, or are you actually going to help?”

Tony chuckled, low and deep. “Oh, sweetheart. You want my hands on you? All you had to do was ask.”

You didn’t have time to react before his hands settled on your waist. His touch was firm, grounding, and way too distracting. He guided you into a wider stance, pressing just enough to make your skin tingle under his fingers.

"Better," he said, his voice softer now, approving.

You exhaled, ignoring the goosebumps rising on your arms. "Took you long enough to be useful."

Tony smirked, but his hands didn’t leave you. Instead, they skimmed lightly over your arms, adjusting your form with a precision that made your pulse spike.

"Don't tense up," he murmured. "You're strong, but strength without control is wasted energy. Relax."

You tried. You really did. But it was impossible to relax when Tony Stark was standing this close, when his voice was doing that low, intimate thing that made your stomach flip, when his touch was setting fire to every nerve ending in your body.

"You're still tense," he noted.

"Gee, I wonder why," you deadpanned.

Tony hummed, feigning innocence. "Can't imagine."

You clenched your jaw, refocusing on the training dummy. With a swift movement, you swung the staff in a tight arc, landing a solid hit to the dummy’s side. Another hit. Then another. The staff whirled effortlessly in your hands, muscle memory taking over, each strike landing with more force than the last.

Tony didn’t step back. He stayed in your space, watching you with a look that was no longer teasing. No longer playful. It was darker now, edged with something that made heat curl in your stomach.

His fingers skimmed down your arm again, a whisper of a touch, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

"You're beautiful when you fight," he murmured.

The words caught you off guard.

Your grip faltered for half a second, and Tony took full advantage.

In a flash, he spun you, knocking the staff from your hands, catching your wrist in a quick maneuver that had your back pressed against his chest. Your breath hitched. His hold was firm but careful, his body solid behind you, every inch of him pressed against every inch of you.

You had trained with plenty of people before. But no one made you feel like this.

"You were distracted," Tony murmured, lips brushing your ear.

"You’re distracting," you countered, tilting your head to look at him.

His smirk softened. Just a little. His hand released your wrist, only to slide lower, settling at your waist again, keeping you against him.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice dropping. "I know."

You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

You barely had time to take a breath before his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to taste you, like he was savoring the way you melted against him.

Tony Stark kissed like he did everything else—with purpose, with confidence, with just the right amount of arrogance to make your knees weak.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groaned against your lips, deep and low.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"You really gotta work on your focus, sweetheart," he teased.

You laughed, breathless. "Says the guy who spent the last hour watching my ass instead of coaching me properly."

Tony grinned. "In my defense, it's a very nice ass."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the way your cheeks burned.

He took a step back, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "Come on, hotshot. Let’s hit the showers before I end up pinning you to the mat in ways that have nothing to do with training."

Your stomach fluttered, but you smirked, grabbing your staff from the ground.

"Careful, Stark. If you keep up with the staring, I might just make you spar with me next time."

Tony chuckled, reaching for your hand as you walked out of the gym together.

"Sweetheart," he said, lacing his fingers through yours, "that’s exactly what I’m hoping for."

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 20: Inquisition

“Spite doesn’t experience sexual attraction the way we do.” Lucanis had told her, “He’s excited by my emotions and reactions to you, rather than your body or physical sensations. I’m not even sure he understands physical sensations. Anything tied to determination though - yearning, eagerness to please you, protecting you…” “So he likes acts of service?”  Lucanis smirked and kissed down the expanse of her torso, staring up at her once he reached her navel.   “Not as much as I do.” 

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x Spite???

Summary: Rook meets someone even messier than herself. Turns out they have more in common than she expected.

Word count: 3.7k

Things of note/warnings: smut, violence, angst. 18+ fic, MDNI! Please read on AO3if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

Read on AO3

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Face pressed to the exterior of the Lighthouse, Rook panted as Lucanis pinned her there, his knee digging into her back. They’d been sparring on the upper deck for hours, and as morning light spilled across the courtyard, she craved breakfast above all else. 

“I yield.” She said between breaths, watching him from the corner of her eye. 

“There’s no yielding against Venatori or Antaam. Only death.”

“Good thing you’re not a blood mage or Qunari.” She purred. 

Lucanis leaned in closer, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. 

“But I am death.” he whispered. 

Her stomach sunk as her extremities suddenly became weak. Lucanis took notice, tightening his grip on her arms.

“Come on, Rook,” the playful taunt in his voice was now gone as his fingers dug into her skin, “Get yourself out of it.”

“You sound like Viago.”

“I doubt he would go this easy on you.”

She kicked back at his shin but lost her footing, cheek scraping down the stone wall. Cursing under his breath, Lucanis hoisted her up and pulled her against him. His calm demeanor thinly veiled his disappointment as he wiped the blood from her cheek. 

“Mierda. Don’t tell me you can’t do this, Rook.” He tilted his head to the side. “How am I supposed to keep you alive?”

“Let me worry about that.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair. “You fussing over me like this isn’t doing either of us any favors.”

Lucanis released a heavy sigh and stepped back, pacing near the railing. The new First Talon had been insistent on training with her for the last three days, claiming she needed an equal to measure herself against. She hadn’t objected, and he hadn’t  gone easy on her. The tenderness Lucanis showed her in the bedroom did not extend to their sessions. Viago was tough, but the Demon of Vyrantium was relentless, accepting nothing short of perfection. Something about Rook had him on edge, and she had a feeling it ventured far beyond sexual tension. 

Last night, the intensity of training followed them to bed. Lucanis wore his frustration like a cloak. He’d been uncharacteristically rough with her, to her delight, driving into her from behind while her knees were sunk in the couch cushions. Long hair tangled in one fist, he had buried his face in her neck, tender but possessive, mumbling sweet nothings. After, his cheeks flushed as he smiled at her, the frustration in his eyes replaced with adoration, she felt as if she were spending time with two different people. Three, if Spite counted. 

Lucanis harbored no secrets from her, recounting his experiences in the Ossuary in agonizing detail, the torturous childhood he forgave Caterina for, what it was like to share a body with Spite, even going so far to try to explain Spite’s feelings about their relationship. 

“He doesn’t experience sexual attraction the way we do.” Lucanis had told her, “He’s excited by my emotions and reactions to you, rather than your body or physical sensations. I’m not even sure he understands physical sensations. Anything tied to determination though - yearning, eagerness to please you, protecting you…”

“So he likes acts of service?” 

Lucanis smirked and kissed down the expanse of her torso, staring up at her once he reached her navel.  

“Not as much as I do.” 

This morning, she’d awakened to a cup of coffee on her nightstand, Spite restlessly pacing before the window of her chambers. Was it the demon setting Lucanis on edge, or something to do with his new role as First Talon? Perhaps he was still haunted by missing Ghilan’nain at Weisshaupt. Or, he questioned Rook’s ability to hold her own in a fight after Illario had nearly bested her so publicly. 

Their companions had taken notice of their closeness over the past few days, but knew better than to comment on the dynamic brewing between them. Everyone was still recovering after Harding’s rage had manifested itself into a deadly shadow, fueled by the Titans’ wrath towards the elven gods. Had Taash not been there to calm her and intervene, it was likely their friend would have brought down an entire mountain upon them all.

Lucanis leaned out over the balcony, fingers flexing on the railing contemplatively. He grunted in greeting as Rook stepped behind him, encircling her arms around his middle.

“We’ll have to stop here.” She said, standing on her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. “I’m due to meet with the Inquisitor in Dock Town.”

Lucanis responded with a hum that bordered on a growl, a steady stream of air escaping his nostrils as he turned and let his hands settle low on her waist, a frown pulling at his mouth as he looked her over.

“Your form still needs work.”

“Does it now?” Rook asked, toying with the collar of his jacket. Lucanis held her gaze, unfazed.

“You’re too focused on your dodges to even strike. You’ve got a bad habit of dropping your hip, and your attempts at being unpredictable make you too predictable.”

She smirked. “Do I sense concern?”

“I’m doing my job.” He said, hands squeezing her hips through her clothes for emphasis.

“As part of this team? Or as my First Talon?” she asked irritably.

“As someone with a vested interested in keeping you alive. We’ve gone over this Fiammetta. Caterina chose me. I don’t have a choice.” Lucanis answered firmly. His rise to power amongst the Crows had been a sore spot between them, Rook pushing him several times to admit it wasn’t what he really wanted. 

“And you always do what your grandmother wants? You’ve never considered telling her no?”

Lucanis dropped his hands and leaned on the railing again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s not about what Caterina wants, it’s about what duty demands.”

“Where was duty when you were trapped in the Ossuary? I saved you, not the Crows.”

His shoulders tensed, lips thinning into a hard line. “You don’t understand, Rook.”

“No. I suppose I don’t.” She snatched her daggers from the ground and sheathed them at her waist. “I should go. I’m running late.”

“Right.” Lucanis let his head fall back, staring at the sky as he took a slow breath. “Of course.” 

As Rook walked away, Lucanis reached out to stop her before his hand closed into a tight fist and fell to his side.

“Be careful.” He mumbled as she descended towards the courtyard. “We can talk when you get back.”

She didn’t deign to reply.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook strolled silently through Dock Town, keeping her eyes to the ground as she passed the decaying corpses still hanging overhead. She shuddered with a pang of guilt for choosing to go to Treviso first, but for all her complaints of home, she couldn’t help but feel a whisper of relief that this hadn’t happened to the Crows. That relief only brought on another wave of shame.

The Cobbled Swan was empty when she walked inside, fireplaces burning bright as she spotted the Inquisitor alone at a table near the window on her left. These meetings couldn’t be good for business. 

“It isn’t just Inquisitor, is it? You were someone before that?” Rook asked, taking a seat across from the woman. Her gaze was distant as she turned her attention from the window she’d been staring out of. She was the kind of beautiful that had endured enough hardship that she wore it proudly on her features. Her hair was swept back over one shoulder, revealing a scar down the length of her face, cutting into the border of her upper lip. 

“Of course I was, Fiammetta.” She answered, “But you understand better than anyone why I’d prefer to keep my current title.”

Rook nodded in quiet understanding, trailing a finger along the gold etched rim of the empty plate in front of her. The table was set for dinner, but there wasn’t a crumb of food in sight. Or wine, to her disappointment.

“Morrigan is holding a perimeter.” The Inquisitor adjusted in her chair and leaned forward as three large candles flickered between them. “Tell me what Solas did at Elgar’nan’s ritual.” 

Rook’s forehead creased. “Sounds like you already know.” 

“I need to hear it from you,” she said, a faint hint of desperation in her tone.

“Elgar’nan raised his Archdemon. Solas got us out of there. Because of him…” Rook cleared her throat. “Because of your friend, we saved a lot of people.”

“You sound…untrusting.”

“I’m a Crow. Distrust comes instinctually. But I am grateful. We couldn’t have done it without him.”

“He’s always thinking about how it ends.” The Inquisitor said with a bitter snort. “How many of his names do you know? God of Lies? Dread Wolf? Fen’Harel? They’re titles he earned from enemies, followers, and fractured history.”

“And which are you? Fractured history? What do you call him?”

“I once called him friend. And…I thought maybe I’d call him something more. For a time, I would have followed him anywhere he asked me to. But…now I am relieved things ended as they did.”

“You were lovers?”

“Not quite. He let me fall in love with him and then told me we couldn’t. Then, he told me not to follow, and left just enough clues to find him.”

“Hold on, you think he wanted to be stopped?”

“I think his name means Pride, and he just couldn’t stop himself. Or maybe I’m the prideful one, and can’t face my folly: that I loved someone who made grave mistakes.”

“Do you love him still?”

“I care for him, but while he went off to destroy the world, leaving me to clean up his mess, my heart was pulled in a…different direction.”

“Cullen. Harding mentioned it. He pined for you that whole time. Would you give it all up to follow Solas into that Fade prison?”

“Never. I loved Solas for his mind, for his dreams of a better world, for our shared ambitions. What I loved of him, was merely a reflection of myself. But I love Cullen because he is…Cullen.” Her eyes traveled over Rook’s shoulder, distant, determined. “But perhaps, after we save the world, Solas will listen to an old friend one last time. He owes me that.”

“And Cullen is enough? He really makes you happy?”

“He is not some consolation prize. Sometimes a greater love is revealed to us by the loss of an inferior one.” She glanced back out the window, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “But enough about me. Tell me about you and Lucanis.”

Rook blinked.

“What? Who-how did you-”

“Morrigan has eyes everywhere.”

“Of course she does. Perhaps she could consider becoming a Crow.”

“She might, but she’d take it far too literally.”

Rook hummed in acknowledgement.

“It’s…complicated. We’ve known one another since childhood. He’s very important to me, but…”

“You’re not sure you outrank his dedication to the role of First Talon?” The Inquisitor asked. “I don’t blame you. He’s been groomed his whole life for that role, has he not? And with Caterina prodding the two of you closer and closer together-”

“What?” Rook threw her head back and laughed. “No, no. Caterina played no role in Lucanis and I. It just…happened. She’d never encourage her grandsons to waste their time on courtship.”

“Oh. My apologies. Morrigan’s gossip has been known to be…ambitious.”

Rook’s brow furrowed. “Out of curiosity, just what was this gossip?”

The Inquisitor hesitated. “Morrigan’s informant is one of the staff in the First Talon’s villa. There was…talk of a heated exchange between her and her grandson over you.”

“Over what exactly?” Rook demanded. 

“Something about joining houses De Riva and Dellamorte?” she bit her lip and winced. “I believe the word matchmaker was used.”

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Lucanis stared at the pantry ceiling, one arm tucked under his head. He’d lost some time to Spite earlier, but was reassured by the demon it was only to visit with Curiosity. Emmrich had later informed him that the spirit was interested in magic. Mierda. 

“Lucanis!”

Just as Rook’s muffled voice echoed from behind the door, it slammed open, colliding with the wall and shaking the shelves lining the room. Ceramics and coffee mugs rattled against one another with a dainty and high pitched clinking sound, trembling in the presence of Rook’s fury. 

SMELLS LIKE LIGHTNING AND SMOKE.

She flew into the room, eyes glossy, cheeks bright red. There was an aura of static surrounding her, as if it danced upon her skin. 

“Rook?” Lucanis asked, face pinched with concern as he tried to assess what had her so furious. 

“You Dellamortes think you can have everything, don’t you? Well, you can’t have me, Lucanis. Not like that.” 

He knitted his brows together, standing and holding his palms in front of himself and taking slow steps in her direction. 

“Why don’t you take a deep breath and start at the beginning?”

She wrenched the opal ring off of her middle finger, as if it were burning her, and thrust it towards him with such force he was certain for a moment she was going to punch him in the chest. 

“I knew it came with strings.” she snarled.

Lucanis stared, his mother’s ring cradled precariously between his thumb and forefinger. He enclosed it in his fist and shoved both hands into his pockets before leaning against the wall. It didn’t matter what Rook had heard or how much truth there was to it. It was more than clear she’d caught wind of Caterina’s intentions, and even if he’d had no part in his grandmother’s scheming, he owed her an explanation.  

“Close the door and sit.” He spoke it like an invitation, rather than a demand. Rook crossed her arms and widened her stance.

“Are you asking? Or is that an order, First Talon?”

He sighed through his nose, brushing past her just in time to give Taash and Bellara a disapproving look from where they eavesdropping outside. The two scattered in the direction of the courtyard as he slammed the door and returned his hands to his pockets. 

“I told you there were no strings, and I meant it. Whatever Caterina had been planning, I told her to leave you out of it, that anything between you and me had nothing to do with - and would not be influenced by - her wishes.” 

“There’s a mole in your grandmother’s house.” Rook said coldly, “They told the Inquisitor’s friend about the conversation between you and Caterina the morning after we slept together at the villa.” 

“I’ll handle that later.” Lucanis said darkly. “Right now, I’m more concerned that you think I would agree to use you as a political pawn.”

Rook narrowed her eyes. “You really had no idea?”

“You know Caterina. Nobody knows her cards until she plays them.” He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for her to join him. “I’m as displeased about this as you are.”

She sat, demeanor softening but remaining closed off. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? That’s what’s been bothering you, isn’t it?”

He raked a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping.

“I thought I had handled it. I told Caterina to stay out of things. I didn’t want you to think that this…” he gestured between them, his brown eyes searching her face.

“Did you actually believe…?”

Lucanis cut himself off, filled with an odd sensation of dread he didn’t want to linger in. He looked away instead, fingers tapping against his thigh as his throat tightened. 

“My feelings aren’t casual, Rook. I wouldn’t…use you.” 

“Yet I can’t help but feel I haven’t gotten the real you since the night...” Her voice trailed off, replaced by uncertainty, “Is there something about me-”

Lucanis bristled, shifting his weight onto the hip closest to her and reaching for her hand. 

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Rook.”

“Just the way I fight.” She said bitterly. 

He blinked, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You’ve been training me the way Viago did after my father died. You’re desperate. I know I let Illario get too close in that fight. Enough that Caterina probably had something to say about it. She got in your head, didn’t she?”

“Rook…” he started, the muscles in his jaw twitching. She was perceptive as ever. Caterina had underestimated her, and he had, too. A mistake he didn’t intend to make again.

Rook wasn’t sloppy. She’d set a trap for his cousin. She threw herself in the line of fire for him, because she knew Illario wouldn’t hurt her, which meant she…

“You want that life for yourself, Lucanis? Like Caterina? Forever looking over your shoulder? You don’t have to do this. Viago could take it. We could leave. When this is all over, we can-”

“You know what happens to deserters, Fiammetta.”

Rook chewed her lip and shook her head. “Caterina wouldn’t kill her own grandson.”

“But she would kill you. I won’t risk it.”

She swallowed. “Do you remember the stories? Zevran Arainai escaped-”

“And he’s sentenced to death on sight in Antiva!” Lucanis said, voice rising. “I don’t think you understand…”

“You’re right. Because I didn’t grow up in a villa destined to be a leader. I grew up in the dirt.”

“That is not-”

“The only thing about me good enough for your grandmother is my house name.” She said, rising to her feet. “If you’re First Talon long enough, I think you’ll come to feel the same.”

Lucanis flinched at her words, jaw slackening in disbelief. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Spite raged inside of his mind, and his nose pricked, a drop of blood falling to the floor below. He stumbled backwards, cursing as his hand flew to his face, crimson smearing over his palm. Eyes squeezed shut, he sensed Spite edging towards control.

“Rook…”

Blood trailed down over his lips and Lucanis tasted copper as Spite clawed at his every thought, at his limbs. Bracing one hand on the wall, he pinched his nostrils shut. Rook watched him with an angonized expression, lingering in the doorway with glistening eyes. 

“Spite, stop…” she croaked, hastily swiping a tear from her cheek as she took a hesitant step closer. 

The demon retreated, and Lucanis sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. 

“I’d never ask you to change.” He said, desperately holding her gaze as the stream of blood slowed from his nose, “There will never be anyone else. Not for me.”

“Lucanis…I can’t.” She shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

“We can stop training. I’ll talk to Caterina-”

“No. This isn’t a good idea. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry-”

Rook grasped the doorframe and pulled herself from the room, as if it took all of her strength to remove herself from his presence.

Her quick and mismatched footsteps were underscored by stifled, high-pitched sobs as she pushed herself through the kitchen into the courtyard. Even the doors creaked in protest as she left. 

When Spite came back for control again, Lucanis didn’t have any fight left in him. 

[conelluwrites]

Level of Contentment

Reader/Ryomen Sukuna (au-- he exists freely out of Yuuji’s body; not Hiean Sukuna)

Rating: not rated

Posted on my AO3

Word Count: 1.8k

Reader: gender neutral, no pronouns used, no mentions of genitalia

Other: Smut will be posted separately

He leans back to look at you, crimson eyes glinting with amusement and desire.  He takes in your heated cheeks and the way your chest rises and falls at a near imperceptible, barely there higher rate.  There’s a rush of pride in him as he knows it’s him that’s having this effect on you.  “But don’t think this means anything, fool,” he warns despite the way his fingers dance along your side, “I’m not a gentle man and I don’t do relationships. I just… appreciate the way you look right now."

It’s been a peaceful day-- an uncommon occurrence for you and even more uncommon for Sukuna.  You’re both on your bed, the soft sheets over top of the two of you surrounding you both in a cocoon of comfort.  The sun is setting outside, casting a dim light through the blinds you have pulled down.   Sukuna’s eyes are closed as he rests beside you.  He’s never looked so content, at least not around you. You're lying down on your stomach, watching as his brows furrow slightly with the feeling of being watched.  You reach out a finger, tracing the slope of his nose.  

Sukuna’s eyes flutter open at the sensation of your gentle touch, looking at you with a mix of annoyance and something akin to affection in his crimson eyes.  He’s utterly silent as he wraps one of his arms around you, pulling your bodies closer.  His touch is firm, though nowhere near being rough.  “Stop your foolish humming.” He grumbles, though there’s no real bite behind his words.  His hand pushes yours away, sneering, “why so chipper?  Did you get lucky?”  Despite his dismissive tone, his body language shows a level of contentment.  He’s not used to feeling this at ease and the fact that someone as below him as yourself frustrates him.

“Mhm, I definitely got lucky today.”  You turn to your side so  you’re pressed more against him, “I spent all day with you.”

“Lucky?  Hardly… I’m not some prize, idiot.”  He scoffs, but there’s a bare hint of a smug grin on lips.  His eyes look into your own, “I’m utterly shocked you haven’t run screaming yet; I thought you were smarter than this.”  His voice is a rumble with no harsh cruelty behind it, only a strange sort of affection he refuses to accept.

His thumbs slowly rubs small, soothing circles on your side.  His touch is absentmindedly gentle.  “But I suppose it’s not the worst thing-- having you around.  Though don’t let it go to your head.”

“What can I say, something about you makes me want to stick around.”  A gentle kind of half smile is on your lips, your own hand coming to rest on his waist as you absorb the serenity of the moment. “I’m glad it’s not the worst thing to have me around.  You move a leg to be between his own, intertwining your legs.  “Though I am sorry if I disturbed your rest, ‘kuna.”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at your words, a chuckle rumbling through his chest.  His hand tightens on your waist possessively.  Your presence is disconcerting and thrilling all at once, something he cannot recall ever feeling before.  His eyes rove over your face, taking in your gentle smile and the way your leg is comfortably settled between his own.  There’s a stirring of desire, a want to have you as his own, a feeling that he represses for the millionth time since knowing you like this.  “Disturb me?  Hardly.  I was just resting my eyes.”  He pulls you even closer until your body molds his own.

You hum in response, hand moving from his waist to his chest.  You feel suddenly shy at the proximity, still getting used to being so intimate with someone like him-- much less explicitly  him.  You can feel your cheeks heat up, a delicious feeling to experience with him.  The half-smile turns into a genuine smile, grateful to be with him.

His eyes narrow, a smug grin spreading across his face.  “You’re blushing like a schoolgirl, how… charming,” he drawls, his words drenched with mocking amusement, though there’s a hint of genuine affection beneath it.

His hand moves from your waist to your ass, squeezing gently, albeit possessively.  He seems to pride himself in the moment before speaking.  “Tell me, my  dearest one, do you always blush so easily when a man holds you like this?” He murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “or is it just me who has this effect on you?”

“Just you, though it has been quite a while since I’ve been held like this.” Your arms slide up to loop around his neck.

Sukuna’s eyes mix with triumph and begrudging affection, his lips quirking with a dark, smug grin that reveals his sharper canines.  “Is that so?” His voice is a velvet purr, “well I suppose it’s only fair.  You’ve managed to ensnare me in a way that no one else has before.”  His other hand goes to the back of your head, fingers tangling up in your hair with his fingernails scratching slightly into your scalp.  His lips flutter softly along your neck, feeling your pulse accelerate beneath his touch.  “Such a shame, really, you’re so naive and trusting.” He murmurs seemingly more to himself than you.  He presses a gentle kiss against your neck. “But I could get used to this.”

He leans back to look at you, crimson eyes glinting with amusement and desire.  He takes in your heated cheeks and the way your chest rises and falls at a near imperceptible, barely there higher rate.  There’s a rush of pride in him as he knows it’s him that’s having this effect on you.  “But don’t think this means anything, fool,” he warns despite the way his fingers dance along your side, “I’m not a gentle man and I don’t do relationships. I just… appreciate the way you look right now.”

“I-I-” You’re at a loss for words as you’re torn between telling him how deeply you feel for him and staying quiet.  You pick the latter, swallowing down your deeper, complex emotions as you nuzzle under his chin.  You drink in his scent, something so uniquely Sukuna.  “Thank you.”

He blinks in mild surprise at your soft words.  He’s not used to such a simple response, usually dealing with people who are too scared or too stupid to know when to keep their mouths shut.  For a moment, he’s tempted to demand you elaborate, to confess your feelings that he can tell you harbor-- that you have harbored for him.  But something holds him back, a strange sense of protectiveness and a reluctance to shatter the fragile, intimate moment you’ve created together. “Tch…  Don’t thank me, just don’t forget who made you feel this way.”

“I’ll never forget, ‘kuna.”

“See that you don’t.”

He tugs you away from his neck, his eyes meeting yours before he brushes his nose against yours.  “Tell me… Have you ever been in love before?” A hint of genuine curiosity paints his voice.  He knows you care for him, but he’s not sure if it’s the same all-consuming, obsessive love that he’s felt for no one else.  And a part of him, a part that he doesn’t want to- that he refuses to- acknowledge wants to know if you’ve desired something like this before.

“Mmn?  What’s with the sudden curiosity?  I would say I’m currently in love with someone, yes.  They occupy a big part of my mind, nearly twenty-four seven.”

His eyes narrow at your confession, a flicker of something dark flashing through their red depths.  “Is that so,” his voice is a growl, “and who might this lucky bastard be?  I wonder, is it someone better than me?”  Despite the arrogance in his words, there’s a small sense of vulnerability.  It’s a foreign feeling for him and he’s not quite sure how to handle it.  He leans in closer, “well, I hope for their sake that they appreciate what they have.  Because if they dont…” He trails off, leaving the threat hanging in the air between you both.

“There’s no one better than you.”  You respond, your voice calming and almost loving, “have you been in love before?”

He’s caught off guard by your question and unwavering certainty in him being the best, especially with such a gentle communication.  His expression closes off, a shutter falling over his eyes as his crimson eyes flick away from yours.  “Love?”  He scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips, “I don’t know what that is.  I’ve never had the luxury of feeling something so soft.”

His eyes go back to yours, his gaze is intense and searching.  “But I know what I want.  And right now…” His hand slides down to the small of your back, “I want you.  More than anything.”

You snuggle against him, the sun outside your paradise has set fully and the moon has taken her place. “That so?  I suppose that counts for something, hm?”  You cup his cheek, stroking a thumb over his marked skin.  You want to show him that love, show him the softness he’s never properly felt or allowed himself the simple pleasure of having.

He leans ever so slightly into your gentle touch, a foreign though not entirely unwelcome sensation.  He’s so used to hard, brutal touches; used to the pain and agony that comes with his existence.  But this… This is different.  This is soft and warm, full of a tenderness he doesn’t understand but feels himself craving.  He covers your hand with his own, holding it against his cheek before turning his head and pressing a kiss to your palm.  “It counts for everything,” he murmurs against your skin with a love, fervent rumble, “you count for everything.”  It’s as close to a declaration of love that he can manage.  He’s not capable of the soft, pretty words that you deserve.

Your heart skips in your chest at his words, your face heating up subtly before it becomes almost overwhelming.  You open your mouth to say something, to say anything, but you close it as words fail you.  His lips are surprisingly soft against the skin of your palm and for the briefest of moments you wonder what they’d feel like against your own.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of satisfaction in his crimson eyes.  He can see the effect he has on you, the way you’re torn between the depth of your feelings and the fear of confessing them.  Slowly, deliberately, he leans in closer.  His breath is hot against your lips, his gaze intense and searching.  “What is it?  Don’t tell me you’re holding back now.”  As he speaks, his thumb brushes over your soft lower lip.  He wonders what you’d taste like; would you be as sweet as you look?

“I like this.  I like you.  Spending time with you, I mean-- just you and me with no outside distractions.”

His eyes widen briefly, a flicker of surprise and something softer passing through.  He’s not used to such honest, unguarded statements.  There’s no sense of mockery in his response, just a low and almost tender murmur, “I like this too.  Just you and me, no one else. You’re the only thing I want right now.”

[babsworlds]

PILLS & HOMEWORKS.

pairing. Simon Kalivoda x fem! reader

synopsis. Simon asks you out in awkward situation.

warnings. addiction, pills as drugs, pre relationship.

babs’ notes. it’s almost 2am, i finished rewatching fear street and my Fred Hechinger obsession is taking over again. This is bad as I’m trying to get over a little writer’s block sorryy

YOU WERE ONE OF THE BEST STUDENTS OF SHADYSIDE HIGH SCHOOL, working tirelessly to escape that cursed city someday. Your achievements were impressive, but they came at a cost. Unfortunately, you were addicted to pills, and without them, you felt incapable of doing anything.

The pressure to succeed and the fear of failure drove you to rely on those pills, even though you knew it wasn't sustainable. Each day was a battle between maintaining your high performance and dealing with the consequences of your addiction.

It didn’t take long for you to find a dealer, Simon Kalivoda. He was a bit of a weirdo, always hanging out with the extra outsiders. His low attendance and even lower grades made him a familiar face in detention rather than in the classrooms.

You weren’t rich, obliviously when you lived in Shadyside, so money for those pills was a bit of a problem. Desperation led you to offer Simon a deal: homeworks for pills.

And it worked.

Simon, despite his quirks, was more than willing to accept your offer. He wasn’t interested in schoolwork, but he knew the value of good grades. Your arrangement became a lifeline for both of you—he got the homework he needed to scrape by, and you got the pills that kept you going.

Today was finally the day of another deal. This time, it was in the school bathroom when everyone was supposed to be in class. The anticipation had been building up for days, and you could hardly wait any longer.

The last few days without your magic meds had left you feeling exhausted and barely able to function. The weight of your addiction was heavy, and you knew that getting your hands on those pills was the only way to regain some semblance of normalcy.

As you made your way to the restroom, you could feel a sense of relief washing over you. Each step brought you closer to the moment you had been desperately waiting for. You opened the door and there he was. The classic black combat boots, weird bracelets, and painted nails made Simon easy to spot. He stood there, leaning against the sink.

You breathed out, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety. “Uh— hi,” Simon said awkwardly as he saw you, his voice breaking the silence in the empty bathroom. His eyes darted around, making sure no one else was around to witness the exchange.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “You got the stuff?” The question hung in the air, the weight of your dependence on those pills evident in your tone.

Simon nodded, reaching into his bag and pulling out the familiar bottle of pills. “Like always. You got the homework?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but still smiling at you.

“Yeah,” you trailed off, pulling the assignment papers from your backpack. “Math it is,” you smiled awkwardly, handing the papers to him. God, why is it so awkward all of a sudden?

Simon took the papers, glancing at them briefly before tucking them into his bag. You finally took the little orange bottle you had longed for days from his hand, smiling to yourself as you hid it in your pocket. The relief was almost immediate, knowing that you had what you needed to get through the day.

“So, how have you been?” Simon asked, starting a new conversation which you didn’t expect. Normally, there were no conversations, just the exchange of each other’s needs.

“Miserable,” you shrugged casually, trying to downplay the struggle you had been facing. “Could hardly get up in the morning,” you admitted, exhaustion in your voice.

“I get that,” Simon said, his expression softening as if he wasn’t the one who had kind of made you addicted to these things.

You didn’t really want to ask back; there was no reason, and it was too awkward. “I need to go,” you excused yourself as you turned around.

“Wait, Y/n,” Simon’s voice broke your decision to leave. You paused, turning back to face him, curiosity and annoyance mixing inside you.

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “Hm?” you mumbled as your gaze met his. As you looked into his blue eyes, you realized you could maybe stare into them all day. There was something captivating about the way he looked at you, a depth that you hadn't noticed before.

“I wondered maybe if you-um,” he trailed off, his eyes leaving yours as he searched for words. His nervousness was palpable, and you could see the effort it took for him to continue. “I wondered if you wanted to go out,” he finally managed to say, gulping as he finished.

The question hung in the air, and you could feel your heart race a little. This was unexpected, and it took a moment for you to process. Simon had always been the guy who sold you pills, not someone you considered dating. But standing there, seeing him, something shifted inside you.

You smiled softly, feeling a mix of emotions. “Are you asking me out on a date, Simon?” you asked, wanting to be sure you understood him correctly.

“I guess I am,” he shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. His cheeks were red, a rare sight that made him look almost endearing.

You looked at him, not wanting to give your answer yet. “I thought we were just dealing homeworks,” you said, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of skepticism.

“Yeah, of course,” Simon said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I think you’re interesting.” He said as his eyes were fixed on you.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden honesty. “I want to get to know you more, Y/n,” Simon continued, his blue eyes meeting yours. The sincerity in his gaze made you feel something in your stomach, a flutter of emotions you hadn’t expected.

You gave him a playful smile. “Give me your number,” you said, handing him a marker. It was evident that he was hungry for your answer, but you weren’t going to give it to him that easily. You wanted to keep him guessing, at least for a little while longer.

You held out your arm as he began to write his number on your forearm with the black marker. His handwriting was surprisingly neat, and you couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of excitement at the contact.

“There you go,” Simon said, finishing the last digit. He capped the marker and handed it back to you, a hopeful smile playing on his lips.

“I’ll call you,” you said with a teasing smile. Simon gave you a small nod, his eyes filled with a mix of hope and anticipation.

As you walked away, you could feel Simon’s eyes wandering over you. The awareness of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile. There was something thrilling about the unexpected turn of events.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

And You'll No Longer Burn

Sanji x Fem Reader

6.1k words

Summary: Following the destruction of Germa Kingdom, the pirate crew you're part of is able to locate part of the remains of it in hopes of finding treasure. Instead of treasure, you are shocked to find a survivor among the ruins.

Warnings: takes place in an AU, reader is female but it's more so implied than anything tbh, graphic depictions of death and gore, insects, starvation, Sanji and reader are both teens in this, nothing romantic here this is purely platonic, spoilers from the wci arc

A little fic I made for Sanji's birthday this year. It's based on an AU I've had on my mind lately. This is definitely something I'm going to be adding onto and fleshing out more later.

If there’s one thing that you never tire of, it’s the air of adventure right before your ship hits land. The chattering of excitement as the island slowly comes into view, the way your fellow crewmates bustle around you as they prepare everything they would need, the fluttering in your heart as you think about what new discoveries await you. All of it is intoxicating and addictive.

“Land ho!”

A pang of thrill shoots through you as one of those things you love happens. You spring up from where you were sitting by the bow to look out at the approaching land. Well, you suppose it’s not really land. Germa Kingdom had been comprised of a series of platforms carried on the backs of massive snails. You dig out the telescope from the bag you had been packing and use it to get a better look since it was still too far out for the naked eye to see clearly.

When it comes into focus, the first thing that you notice is that you can’t see the snails supporting the platforms, which was admittedly a little disappointing. You can’t be sure if they’re beneath the water because that’s normal for them, or if they sank below the surface because they’re all dead.

“Alright everyone, listen up!”

The booming voice of the ship’s captain startles you and almost results in dropping the telescope overboard. You fumble with it for a moment as it bounces between your hands, then finally catch it. You sigh in relief, then quickly turn around to face your captain properly as he speaks.

Zeff moves to the center of the ship and does a quick look around to ensure that he has his crew’s attention before continuing, “We’re getting close now to part of the remains of Germa Kingdom. When we get there, all of you are to disperse and check the ruins for treasure or anything useful that might be left. Understood?”

A chorus of “yes, captain” echoes around the ship before everyone resumes their previous duties. Zeff, seemingly satisfied, nods and goes on the move again. This time headed straight for you. His feet create dull thuds as he makes his way to the bow, then stops and sits down on a nearby crate, crossing his arms as he stares at you.

His eyes flit down to your rucksack, eyebrows raised, and he looks back up at you, “You planning on parting ways here? You’ve got everything but the kitchen sink in that thing.” One of his feet hooks a strap and drags it closer so he can rifle through it.

You groan in annoyance and grab the other strap, trying to pull it back, “Dad! I just like to be prepared. Stop messing with my stuff, it took forever to make it all fit.” Your attempts to retrieve your bag are absolutely useless, Zeff’s leg doesn’t even budge as he starts pulling things out and dropping them on the deck.

A sleeping bag, some firestarter, and a first-aid kit are all discarded by him. With some effort, he manages to pull out a small skillet you crammed in there. He pinches the bridge of his nose and gives you a look, “You do know that we’re only going to be here for a couple of hours at most and not several weeks, right?”

“I already told you. I just want to be prepared for anything that might happen. What if one of the platforms comes loose and drifts away when I’m on it?”

Zeff heaves a sigh and rests his arm on the railing of the ship, then props his chin up on his fist. “If that happens, we’ll follow it and get you back. You won’t be lost at sea for more than a few minutes. You definitely won’t need to be starting a fire or taking a nap in that timeframe.” 

“Yeah, well,” your eyes glance downward to find something you can give a valid reason for needing. They settle on the first-aid kit, and you confidently look Zeff in the eyes again, “But I could get hurt and need to take care of myself. Or maybe I’ll find a survivor who needs help!”

A dry chuckle slips out of your father, “A survivor? There aren’t any of those after a buster call. It’s honestly a miracle that any of the platforms Germa Kingdom consisted of are still afloat.” Despite his reaction, he does lean down to pick the first-aid kit back up, “But I suppose it isn’t impossible for you to get hurt climbing around the destroyed buildings.”

“See? I-”

Before you can celebrate your perceived victory, he holds up his hand to silence you, “But you still need to unpack most of this. How do you expect to carry anything you find back if your bag is a hairpin away from bursting at the seams?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” You drop down and pull open another compartment, then yank out something, “I packed another bag.”

The bonus bag is snatched out of your hands instantly by a disgruntled Zeff, who then rolls it up and smacks the top of your head with it, “Just empty out the first bag! You’re going to tip over the second you try to put on the first one, much less the second.” He drags a hand down his face and levels you with a glare, “You’re giving me white hairs, you know that?”

You roll your eyes at his baseless accusation, “You’re blond, you can’t even tell if you have any.”

He glowered at you more, not that it did anything to actually intimidate you, “Don’t sass me, you snot-nosed brat.”

This makes you bristle. You put your hands on your hips and stomp your foot, “Ugh! Quit calling me that! I’m fifteen, I’m practically an adult!”

As per usual, your outburst left Zeff entirely unphased, “Only a child would think that being fifteen makes them “practically an adult”. A real adult knows that you’re still a child at that age.”

“Whatever!”

Now Zeff was rolling his eyes. He quietly grumbled under his breath, “Such a damn handful.” He shakes his head as he gets back up to his feet, “You’re lucky that I still keep you around. Now empty out that bag of yours so you’re only carrying what you actually need. I’m going to check before we split up.”

Recognizing that there was no point arguing with him, you sigh dramatically and acquiesce, “Fiiiiine. You win this time.”

His gruff expression breaks as he chuckles, then reaches out to ruffle your hair before walking away. You stick your tongue out at him behind his back as you fix your mussed hair. Your sight falls on your rucksack yet again. Perhaps you did over pack it. A little. 

By the time the purging of your backpack had finished, the Cooking George was right next to the remains of Germa Kingdom. The sails were lowered and a couple of your crewmates leapt onto the platform to tie some ropes to it to keep the ship from drifting off while you all explored. The now much lighter backpack is slung over your shoulders, and you hurry to join everyone else in jumping off the ship and onto “land”.

Once you're standing on the railing, you can't help but stare out in a silent awe of the destruction before you. You've never seen the aftermath of a buster call before, and while you knew it would be bad, you were still surprised by the pure devastation in front of you. Nothing was left intact. There wasn't a single building left standing. The once proud kingdom was nothing more than a desolate pile of rubble. 

But there was something else that caught your eye, a detail that hadn’t been noticeable through your telescope. Dead bodies were everywhere. Most of them were wearing identical uniforms, though there were a handful in your immediate sight wearing different attire. 

A hand grabbing your shoulder snaps you out of your trance, and you would have lost your balance if not for that same hand keeping you steady. 

“Having second thoughts?” Zeff is staring down at you with a neutral expression, neither pushing nor discouraging you. “You can stay here and watch the ship if you want to.”

The question makes you shake your head and meet his stare with one of your own, now filled with a renewed sense of determination. You were a pirate, a Cook Pirate. The last thing you wanted to do was shy away from something just because it was a little off putting. “No, I want to go. I was just surprised… I didn't think it would be this bad. Do you think we'll even find anything here?”

“Hard to say… If the Vinsmoke’s had anything in vaults, that may have survived. And that's me assuming we're the first people here. Every pirate in the area was no doubt looking for any surviving platforms in hopes of finding treasure.”

“The Vinsmoke's?” The name didn't sound familiar to you. Were you supposed to know who they were?

Zeff stared out at the destruction before you, “Never heard of them? That was the family that ruled this kingdom. The head of the family ran this country with an iron fist, but then he got too cocky and gave the Marines a reason to wipe out everything he ever worked for. Now this is all that is left, and with everyone dead, it’s only a matter of time before their whole existence is completely forgotten about.

“But enough about that,” you were abruptly lifted off your feet as Zeff grabbed you by your rucksack and jumped to the platform. It groaned upon impact, but ultimately held strong. You were set back onto your feet, and he gave your bag a shake. “Seems like you actually listened to me for once. Did you remember to pack a lunch for yourself?”

“Sure did. Made it myself.” You make an attempt to start walking so you can explore, but you're brought to a halt because Zeff was still holding onto your backpack. “What’s wrong?”

Before he even answers you, he unzips your bag and starts rummaging through it, “I just want to make sure what you packed is edible.”

You groan in annoyance, “Dad, I know how to cook! Have some faith in me!” You squirm in an attempt to get away, but his strength surpasses yours by a wide margin. 

Entirely unsympathetic to your protest, Zeff pulls out your lunch box and pops the lid off, scrutinizing it. He lets out a quiet ‘tsk’, then snaps it shut before pulling his own out of his bag, “Unacceptable. Here, just take mine.”

“There's nothing wrong with it, you're just being difficult!” Ignoring the one being offered to you, you lunge forward in an attempt to grab your own. 

Zeff easily side steps you and holds it out of reach, “I'm being difficult? That's rich coming from you. Just take the damn thing.”

His attitude makes you huff and cross your arms. “You know, I'm starting to think that the reason you keep swapping our lunches is because you like my food more than your own.”

“Oh, please. Now you're just getting full of yourself,” he rolls his eyes dramatically. Which is precisely what you wanted. 

As soon as his eyes leave you, you leap up and grab your lunchbox. Your feet hit the ground, and you immediately break into a sprint, running in a random direction. You can't help but laugh when you look over your shoulder and see your dad looking visibly startled. 

“I'll see you later! Love you!” With that said, you return your focus to what's in front of you.

All of the fallen structures makes it hard to decide where to even begin. You slow to a jog as you survey your surroundings, hoping to see something, anything, that sticks out and screams ‘There's treasure over here!’ to you. Alas, it doesn't seem like it's going to be that easy. 

What you were seeing, however, was more of the corpses. You were already able to get a whiff of them from the ship, but now you were in the thick of it. The grotesquely sickly sweet smell of death was assaulting your senses and threatening to make you lose your breakfast, but you managed to keep it down despite the rising bile at the back of your throat. Vomiting would only make this place smell even worse.

Despite knowing that it was a poor idea, your eyes couldn’t help but drift to the dead surrounding you. The bodies were bloated and a white foam was dripping from many of their mouths. Some of them had their organs spilling out, either from the attack or as a result of scavenging wildlife tearing them open. There was also a mix of disembodied limbs scattered all over from the bodies that weren’t able to stay together under the force of the buster call. Both bodies and limbs had insects swarming around them. Your stomach once again threatened to revolt when you saw maggots writhing in the hollowed out eye sockets of a nearby corpse.

You come to a stop after a while in an area where the bodies were more sparse and shrug the rucksack off your shoulders. If Zeff had given chase, he absolutely would have caught up with you by now. Might as well put your lunch away before you drop it and waste the food. That, and frankly you doubted that you would be having anything resembling an appetite before you returned to the ship. And took a long shower. You unzip it and put the meal away, but then you hear something. 

clang clang clang

The noise distracts you from the task at hand, and you pause to listen closely to ensure you aren't just hearing things.

clang clang clang

Okay, you definitely heard that. But exactly was ‘that’? Did one of your crewmates find something? Maybe they were able to uncover one of the vaults Zeff had mentioned. 

Regardless of what it was, it sounded like they needed help with it. You zip your backpack shut and put it back on quickly before hurrying in the direction of the noise. It didn't sound far away. You're pretty sure they're just on the other side of this pile of rubble. 

Climbing it is a little challenging. The crumbling bricks and stones keep shifting under your hands and feet as you scale the pile, but you eventually get to the top and look down. While you hadn't necessarily known what to expect, it certainly wasn't what you saw. 

Someone was at the bottom, but it wasn't anyone from your crew. You lower yourself, pressing your body down against the torched building materials as much as you can to avoid detection as you assess the situation at hand. 

The person- male, it would seem- was sitting down and holding a rock. On his head was what appeared to be an iron helmet that completely obscured his face, at least from your point of view; though you could see what appeared to be blond hair sticking out of the bottom of it. His clothes were torn and burnt, and what you could see of his body wasn't any better. He was covered in injuries from the neck down. Cuts, bruises, and burns littered his skin and left him encapsulated in a sheen of red. His chest is heaving, and you're able to hear his ragged breaths from where you're hiding. Then he raises the rock and brings it down on the front part of his helmet. He does this over and over again, seemingly trying to break it.

Was this… a survivor? It makes sense considering the severity of his injuries. But how did he survive a buster call? Your dad said that no one ever survived after one of those. But what your dad said doesn't matter right now. This person needs help, and you're going to give it to him. You push yourself up onto your feet and call down to him, “Hey!”

The stranger damn near jumps out of his skin, dropping the rock and scrambling back as his head snaps up to you. You're able to see that there's a slat in the helmet for his eyes, and they're wide and terrified. 

Oh, right. He's clearly been through a lot. Yelling at him probably wasn't your best call. You hold out your arms in a placating manner as you carefully begin making your way down to him. 

“Sorry about that, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I just want to help.” The voice you speak in is much more calm and soft now, but he doesn't look any less scared. You make it to the bottom, stumbling a bit when you make the final leap. 

Now that you're right in front of him, you pick up on a detail you had previously missed. This man was emaciated. It looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Looking at his helmet, you think you can surmise why. The slat in it is only wide enough for his eyes. Both his nose and mouth are covered. Even if he could find food in this wasteland, he wouldn't be able to eat it. 

Taking slow, steady steps towards the trembling survivor, you speak to him again, “It is stuck? Your helmet, I mean. Do you want me to help you get it off?”

He shrinks back more, but he responds to your question, “K-Key… I can't find the key.” His voice stuck out to you. He sounded so young. You had assumed him to be a man, but it sounded more like he was a boy.

It needs a key? Your eyes widened at the new information. Finding a key in all of the rubble would be next to impossible, and that's you generously assuming that it wasn't broken. But… you do know how to lock pick a bit. It'd be worth a shot. 

You pull out a bobby pin from your hair and hold it up for him to see. “I know a thing or two about picking a lock. Will you let me try? Please?”

For a moment, all that he does is stare at you, and you're worried that he's going to be too scared to let you help him. But then he nods slowly and turns around, presenting you with the back of his helmet where the keyhole is. 

A sigh of relief escapes you at the cooperation, and you mutter a quiet thank you as you approach him. The plethora of tears and burns in his shirt gives you an all too clear visual of how dire his state is. You can clearly make out every vertebrae in his spine from how underweight he is. The wounds on his back are severe and showing very obvious signs of infection. The sour smell of it makes your face scrunch up and you have to suppress a gag. If it weren’t for the rotting corpses desensitizing your sense of smell, you’re not sure you would have been able to.

What you need to focus on is getting this helmet off, then you can escort him to the ship and pray that doctor Chervil happened to stay behind. You start to jab your hair pin into the lock, hoping that it's simple and will click open easily.

It takes a few tries, but it thankfully unlocks without much hassle. First you hear the click of the lock, then what sounds like a metal plate dropping. The boy's hands jut up and grab the helmet. He hunches over as he frantically tries to pull it off, prompting you to leap into action to help him. You move to be in front of him and hook your fingers under the base of the helmet.

The damned thing is holding onto his head with everything it's got. You're about to leave to run down one of your crewmates to help when it finally gives. It pops off, sending you stumbling back and falling onto your rear. 

Landing ass first onto a bunch of bricks and stones is enough to leave you groaning in pain and needing a moment to collect yourself. By the time you refocus on the matter at hand, the boy is on his knees and hunched over. His hands are threaded through his lengthy, clumped together hair as he rocks himself back and forth. 

Your eyes drop down to the helmet in your hands. What's most striking about it is the weight. It was heavy. Carrying it in your arms would become uncomfortable after a short while. You can't imagine what it would be like to wear it. 

And how long had he been wearing this thing for?

The helmet is tossed away as you get to your feet. You carefully approach the boy, then sit down across from him, close but with a respectful distance. As much as you want to rush him back to the ship, he's so skittish that you're afraid he'll run away if you push too hard. You've already earned at least a little bit of trust from him, you don't want to throw it all away. It's obvious that he won't be able to survive much longer if left alone. 

His rocking stops as soon as you sit down. Through his shaggy hair, you can faintly make out his eyes intently staring at you, watching closely for any indication that he needs to act in the name of self preservation.

Slowly, so as to not spook him, you hold out your hand to him. “I'm (Y/N). What's your name?”

All that you get in response is his prolonged stare flitting between your face and outstretched hand. His own hands remained firmly planted in his hair and showed no signs of returning your friendly gesture. Understandable, you suppose. With everything he has going on, it's not hard to imagine why he might not be paying mind to things like social etiquette. Poor thing is seriously injured and starving. 

Starving…

That's right! You have food on you right now. Your hand is withdrawn and you hastily shrug off your backpack. The quick movement makes the survivor flinch, but you don't stop your movements, instead choosing to sooth him with words.

“It's okay, I'm just getting something for you. You're hungry, right?” The question was entirely rhetoric, but you were talking to fill the silence. The lunchbox is pulled out, and you smile as you crack open the lid and hold it out to him, “Here. It's all yours.”

Despite your words of encouragement, all that he does is stare at it, visibly dumbfounded. After a moment of inaction on his part, you take initiative and pick up the spoon. You scoop up a good-sized bite of food and bring it to his lips, “It's good, I promise. I made it myself.”

Finally, much to your relief, he opens his mouth, allowing you to feed him. The spoon is withdrawn and you focus your attention on getting another mouthful for him.

Soft cries catch your attention, and when you look back, you can see tears running down his face. His head is raised enough that you can finally get a good look at him. Not only did he sound young, he looked it too. Early teens if you had to guess. His sallow face served to emphasize how large and round his blue eyes were, and you could see some patchy attempts at facial hair growing on his chin and upper lip. You also couldn't help but take note of the way his eyebrows were… swirled? That's a first for you. 

He hiccups and lets out a sob, “It's so good…” 

There's a painful pang in your heart at the sight, but you force a smile onto your face while holding out the lunchbox to him again, “Well, there's more where that came from. Please, take it.”

After a moment of hesitation, his shaky hands reach for it, brushing against yours in the process. You keep your hands on it for a second to ensure that he has a good grip on it before relinquishing your hold. Now that you've seemingly gotten through to him, he's enthusiastically wolfing down the meal. You doubt that it'll last more than a minute or two. A part of you questions if giving him this much food is really a good idea given his current state, but your desire to get anything into him overrides that fear.

Movement under his shirt catches your eye and momentarily leaves you simultaneously confused and disturbed. Was he infested with insects like the bodies? But wait, that lump under his shirt is too big to be some bugs. What the hell is that?

Then, a small head pokes out through a hole in his shirt, by the shoulder. It was a small, gray rat. Its nose wiggles as it sniffs the air, then quickly climbs the rest of the way out of his shirt and scurries down the boy’s arm. You’re about to try to smack it off him when you see Sanji stop eating long enough to grab a piece of food, then hand it to the rat. He rubs the top of its head with his finger for a second before resuming his meal.

Is that rat his pet? Must be. You can’t help but be touched by the fact that he was willing to share his food with something most people, yourself included, saw as nothing more than a pest. It makes you feel a little bad for wanting to get rid of it.

While he eats, your mind is running in all directions as you scramble to figure out what to do? A part of you wants to leave him here and bring the help to him due to his weakened state, but you're afraid that you won't be able to find him again if you do. Given the state of this place, everything looks the same. And with the way he's nestled in what is effectively a valley between mounds of destroyed buildings, it would be really hard to spot him. 

Your attention flits back to the survivor. He already finished your lunch and was now licking the container clean. Maybe he'll have the energy to walk with you to the ship now that he has some food in him. It isn't too far away, and you're optimistic that he trusts you enough to agree to follow you. Yeah. That seems like the best course of action. 

With a plan settled on, you nod to yourself and reach down to unclip the canteen on your belt. You unscrew the lid and hold it out to the boy with a smile, “Thirsty?”

The smallest hint of a smile tugs at his lips as he takes it from you, then guzzles the water inside of it. His smile gives you more hope that he'll be willing to cooperate with you. He stops drinking momentarily, then cups his hand and pours a small amount of water into it for the rat who eagerly starts lapping it up.

Making conversation about his pet should help to get him more comfortable with you. “Is that your pet? Does the little guy have a name?” 

His eyes drift down to his companion, a small smile still gracing his lips as he nods. He gently pets the rodent again as he speaks in a soft, albeit scratchy, voice, “Yeah… his name is Choux.”

“That’s a cute name.” You scoot closer and reach out to scratch Choux’s head. The rat allows you to, even leaning into your touch. “He’s so sweet. You must have taken really good care of him.”

“I tried to… He’s all I have.” The somber statement makes your heart ache. You can’t imagine what he’s been through. Not just from surviving a buster call, but whatever he must have endured prior to that. Based off that weird helmet he was wearing when you first saw him, he may have been a prisoner. And if his cell was underground, that could explain how he didn’t perish with everyone else. 

The last thing you want is for his miraculous survival to be in vain. You need to get him some help as soon as possible. Just as you're about to ask him if he felt like he could handle a brief walk, you're interrupted by the sound of some bricks rolling down the pile to your right. 

Your new friend cowers immediately and snaps his head up in the direction that the bricks came from, and his pet scurries back into the safety of his shirt. You follow his gaze, and what you see is the biggest relief.

“Dad! I'm so glad that you're here! I found a survivor and he's hurt real bad! We need to get him back to the ship!” You jump up onto your feet and wave at him as if he can't already see you. 

Zeff is staring down at the two of you with an unreadable expression. Before you can make a move to climb up and tell him everything, the boy latches onto your arm and pulls you down. The move is unexpected enough to make you lose your balance and fall back with a yelp. The second that you're on the ground, his arms wrap around you, pressing you against his chest. 

When you turn your head to look at him, his eyes are wide and his teeth are bared. His posture reminds you of a terrified, cornered animal.

In an attempt to soothe him, you gingerly rub one of his arms, being mindful to not touch the many wounds on it. “Hey, it's okay. That's my dad. He might look tough, but he's nice. I promise,” your voice is low and you try to make it as soothing as possible so as to not rattle his nerves any more than you already have. 

“A survivor? Is that so?” Zeff is slowly making his way down to you, and the boy's hold tightens on you with each step. He scrambles back, dragging you along with him. 

It doesn't take long for Zeff to get to the bottom, and when he does, he effortlessly grabs your arms and wrenches you out of the boy’s grasp. He eyes you up, presumably checking for injuries. His next words confirm that, “Did he do anything to you?”

“No, no! Nothing like that! I found him when I was looking around. He had this helmet,” you point over to where it's laying, “on his head, so I helped him take it off. And then I gave him my lunch since he's starving. Which, might I add, he said was really good.”

“Look at the state of him. He would call dog food gourmet.”

“Be nice!” you swat at Zeff’s arm with a scowl on your face. You shake your head, reminding yourself to stay focused. “Whatever. We need to get him back to the ship. He needs help. Is the doctor still on board?”

Zeff doesn't answer at first, instead choosing to stare down at the boy. The survivor is pressed up against a pile with a rock clutched in his hand, but with how hard he's trembling it's hardly an intimidating display.

“What's your name, kid?”

You're about to admonish Zeff for focusing on such a detail right now, but he holds up his hand to silence you. You heave a sigh, but keep quiet. Admittedly, you are still curious about what the boy's name is since he refused to say it earlier. 

At this question, the boy bristles and shifts uncomfortably. He looks down at the ground and squeezes the rock tighter before quietly muttering, “I… don't have one.”

“Well, we have to call you something.” Zeff examines him, arms crossed and drumming his fingers on his side. You aren't sure if he's trying to think of a name, or if he's hoping that the boy will cave and fess up if he waits long enough. 

You decide to brainstorm a name for him as well. Whether he was being truthful about not having a name or simply didn't want to associate with his old one anymore, you wanted to give him a new one. 

Regrettably, it would seem that every name you've ever heard has evaporated from your brain. You stare hard at the nameless boy, hoping that you'll note something about him that inspires a name. Your gaze settles on his unique eyebrows that you had gawked at earlier, and it hits you. 

“What about Arlette?” 

The swirl of his brows reminded you of the buttery, cinnamon flavored pastry Zeff made with you a while back when you were sailing through a winter climate. You just hope that the boy won't be offended over being named after a dessert. 

Much to your relief, his blue eyes shine, and he perks up at the proposed name. He nods vigorously and you get another glimpse at his ghost of a smile. 

“Arlette… I'm Arlette.” His voice was just as hoarse as it had been before, but there was a glimmer of emotion to it now. A wide smile breaks out across your face at the sight of him being happy. But, happy or not, he was still in rough shape. There really wasn't time to waste. 

You tug on the jacket sitting on Zeff’s shoulders to get his attention, “Hey, is Chervil still on the ship? You didn't answer me before.”

“No, he isn't. He thought it would be best to be out walking around in case anyone hurt themselves while climbing on all this mess.”

Dammit. That isn't convenient at all. Who knows where he even is right now. You gnaw on your lip, feeling unsure of what to do now. 

“You're dead set on helping this kid, aren't you?” Zeff heaves a sigh and shakes his head, ��You're too damn soft to be a pirate, you know that?”

His comment is eye roll inducing to you, and you're quick to retort, “Yeah, well who raised me to be this way, dad? Hm?”

You make your way over to Arlette and pull him to his feet. He wobbles a bit at first, then finds his balance, but his hands don't leave yours. 

“Didn't I just talk to you about sassing me, you brat?” He turns his head, pretending to examine the horizon or whatever excuse he would elect to use this time if pressed for one, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips. “Just worry about getting Arlette there to the ship. I'll go run down Chervil.”

There's the Zeff you know and love. “Thanks, dad! You're the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know I am. Just go.” He waves you off as he turns his back to you.

Not needing to be told twice, you keep a firm grip on one of Arlette's hands as you begin to climb. It's going to be a slow process, you can already tell, but you know better than to try and push him to go faster than he can handle. 

You've only made a few feet of progress when Zeff calls out to you again, “Wait.”

He quickly climbs up to where you two are and pulls off his jacket, then drops it onto Arlette's shoulders. “He's such a damn twig that he's going to freeze as soon as the wind hits him.” Typical of Zeff after doing a kind thing, he makes himself scarce, lest he hear someone (you) point it out. In the time it takes you to blink, he’s already scaled the rubble and vanished from sight.

A quiet chuckle escapes you, and you turn your head to look at Arlette, “See? Told you he was nice. He's just grumpy about people noticing that fact.”

Arlette is staring down at the jacket with a perplexed look on his face. His free hand comes up and his fingers ghost over it as if to confirm that it’s really there. Choux makes a reappearance, popping out of Arlette’s shirt yet again and sniffing at the coat. He climbs out, then scurries over to a pocket on the breast of the jacket before happily curling up inside of it with his head poking out just enough to be able to see.

Zeff probably isn’t going to be all too happy about you bringing a rodent onto the ship, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. The last thing you want to do is separate Arlette from his dear pet.

You gently tug on Arlette’s hand to encourage him to keep moving, which he does, “So, Arlette, have you ever been on a pirate ship before?”

[blackamethyst2004]

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕊𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕣

After the Kingdom Of Beasts (Coming Soon?)

Princess!MCxDragon!Sylus

Warnings: Smut, VirginxExperienced, biting, marking, oral!femrecieving, tail play kind of, pet names, jealousy, praise, over protectiveness, kidnapping (Not By Sylus), Violence, murder, stalking,degradation, some fluff at the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~18+ Minors DNI~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I didn’t know what happened at first, it was a normal day in the kingdom, I had snuck out of the castle before, I just wanted to pick some flowers. It was boring at the castle anyways. Of course I had foremen caught before. So father sent a few guards with me that day. My father had always been understanding. But today felt different. It was my 19th birthday. Father was planning a ball this year. Much like every year. Except this time a few more higher ranking nobles were invited other than the overwhelming array of family members. I was simply in the town garden. Plucking roses because they looked good today. When I saw him. He looked like a Knight so I didn’t pay much attention, until he started getting closer. He didn’t look familiar, so I started a conversation.

“Hello, you must be a new Knight.”

*I said respectfully. The man’s gaze darkened as he grabbed my arm pulling me into his armor, a blade poking at my neck. My eyes widened.*

“Don’t say a word Princess. If you do both you and your father will be carved into new decorations…”

The man said darkly, as he pulled me along my legs were scraping against the floor. I tried to move trying to break free only for 6 more men to grab me from the bushes. I began to panic, where were my guards. I frantically looked around and noticed that they were on the ground in a pile. It was so silent how did these guys beat my guards up so fast. My eyes shifted to the Crests on the men’s armor. They were from a different kingdom, and they weren’t just any guards. They were apart of the dragon slayer guild. This guild only had an obsession with me for a mainly one, My kingdom played a large part in stopping the Dragon Lords rampage and blocked off the kingdom of beasts. almost 100 years ago. The kingdom of beasts was a kingdom ran by a dragon lord, and his lover. They built a sanctuary for none-humans, beasts even. Since there is a rumor that the dragon lord is still alive, and will return to wipe out the rest of the kingdoms, many kingdoms apart of the Dragon Slayers want to make deals with my father. Yet, my father doesn’t want anything to do with murdering a dragon who hasn’t done anything wrong. I let out a groan as the group shoved me into a carriage putting a sack over my head. All I could do was think.

Before the carriage could even get far. I heard the sound of panic, something heavy was hitting around the carriage rocking it. Then I felt the wind hit me from the now open door. Where I was grabbed once more. I began to thrash my body, only for my legs to touch the dirt road. Pulling the sack off my face I was met with bright crimson eyes. Long silver hair, half of his face covered by a white and gold mask. He was very tall, well, he was very large. I stepped back nearly falling at his body type, it was like a chiseled wall of white skin with dark assets. He was wearing a black suit, with a suit jacket, that hung off his shoulders. He placed his hand on his hip and look down at me. Two large dragon horns poked out of his white mullet. I let out a slight fearful whimper.

“You’re actually pathetic, you look like a shaking kitten.”

The man said his voice deep and rough in a way that his words slid past my ears like honey.

“Well how am I supposed to react! I’m surrounded by kidnappers that-“

I said. Looking around to see the kidnappers were all laid out like discarded props. Passed out.

“Hmm…did you do that?”

I asked. My eyes shifting to him. He crossed his arms. Giving me a look as if he thought I was the dumbest person alive.

“No, the wind did it.”

The man said sarcastically, he reached down and rippled off the crest of someone’s uniform, before he turned away, sending a half hearted wave.

“I figure you’re smart enough to find your way home.”

The man said. Disappearing into the distance. That was the first time I met him, it had been two years since that day, and He had saved me countless times. It got to the point where we started writing each other letters. This time it was different, the letter I wrote him was an invitation to this year’s ball for my birthday. Since this was a public event. I hoped he’d come, perhaps in the years he kept saving me and writing letters back to me I had developed a slight feeling for him. How could someone be so blunt and annoyed with my letters, the. Proceed to write me back.

As I anxiously let the maids dress me, they had me wearing a ruffled punk dress, and some pink heels that had straps spiraling up my leg. With a white feather masquerade mask. After adding all the unnecessary jewelry I was ready for the ball. The night drew long. No sign of him. What was worse was my father neglected to inform me that this was a. All to get all the princes a chance to fall in love with me. All night, princes, high ranking nobles, and even townsfolk were passing me around in dances. I was exhausted to say the least. I stepped away from the party, hugging the wall as I adjusted my heels, the pain in my feet was nearly unbearable. I sighed as I quickly snuck my way out into the garden, I just needed to breath, I let out a groan, and tried to remove my heels.

“Torture these things are.”

I said to myself. I let out a tired huff and leaned back, looking up at the sky that was covered in dark clouds. Thunder struck as rain began to fall. Of course why wouldn’t this happen, with a grunt, I prepared to get soaked as an umbrella covered me. I turned and looked up at the person holding.

“You have a knack for getting into trouble….don’t you…”

He said. Of course it was him. I let out a frantic sigh.

“My masked savior strikes again….”

I exclaimed. He sat down beside me holding the umbrella up. He looked at me through the mask, as I sighed.

“I’m surprised your actually came to the ball…I was worried for a sec.”

When I spoke he just looked at me. As if taking in every word. I’ve never had someone listen as intently. That night I talked to him for hours that night, and several nights after. I had finally found out his name, Sylus. One day after a long night of sneaking out to dance with some towns folk, I was exhausted. It was snowing and I couldn’t get over the wall. I shivered, snow sticking to my clothes and hair, I heard a twig snap and instantly knew who it was.

“Evening my lord…”

I said gently, as Sylus walked to me, kneeling down to my level, he gave me a look, I sighed, and wrapped my arms around his neck, as he slid on hand under my legs and picked me up bridal style, with a quick leap he was on my balcony, slowly opening the door and setting me down on the bed.

“If you keep being reckless like this, I won’t be able to save you…”

Sylus said. I looked down at him, the last few months have been a mess. I was exhausted really. Too many incidents that I needed to be saved from. I needed to be more careful. He knelt down, his hands brushing against my leg, as he began to unfasten my heels. Gently pulling them off and setting them aside. He always helped me with my shoes, he then stood up and walked towards my bathroom running a warm bath.

“That’s not needed my lord I’ll warm up just by the fire…achoo.”

With my sneeze he rose a brow, before he turned on the water, I looked at him and sighed.

“Do dragons get cold.”

I asked. He looked up at me again, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Only in rare accusations.”

He answered. I had learned a lot about Sylus. He was a dragon, and not just any dragon, the dragon lord everyone was afraid of. Other than that he wouldn’t tell me if the fairytale was true about him and his past lover, though I didn’t pry. When the bath was ready. Sylus head to the window. Climbing out, he never stayed longer than this anymore. As I began to undo my dress. The lace on my corset got stuck. I let out an annoyed groan.

“Why now?”

I complained tugging at knot that only seemed to make it worse, the longer I did it the more frustrated I got. Until I heard the floor creak. And felt a shadow over me. I sighed yet another moment that Sylus saved me. I looked in the mirror, seeing his towering form behind me. He worked so fast at untying the not, his fingers glided over my skin as a shiver ran down my spine. Sylus stopped peaking at me in the mirror as my body trembled under his touch, before he looked back down and finished untying the knot.

“How old are you anyways Sylus…”

I asked.

“128.”

He said bluntly. Not paying much of a mind to me.

“So you’ve undone a lot of dresses in your time…”

I said. He rose a brow, stopping what he was doing holding my corset in his hands

“Must you ask so many silly questions.”

He said. I pouted, turning to him when he was halfway done untying the back of my dress. He moved his hands for a moment. Looking at me concerned. A spark of mischief formed in my eyes. As I reached up my fingers almost brushing against his horns, he quickly stepped back.

“Don’t.”

“What? I only wanted to touch them, I’m curious on how they feel…”

I replied stepping closer, he looked down at me, with a slight glare.

“Your bath is going to get cold.”

He projected. I stopped and let out a sigh walking into the bathroom and closing the door, I finished undressing. And stepped into the warm bath. Hearing a scoff from the other room. I expected Sylus was going to leave without saying goodbye, yet I didn’t hear the door open, after my bath I stepped out in my nightgown. Seeing him sitting on the ground his arms crossed as he seemingly fell asleep on my floor, he didn’t look to a scary when he was sleeping. My eyes flicked to his horns again. As I snuck to him, slowly reaching my hand out to touch his horns. The first touch didn’t do anything. Until my finger slid to the base of his horn, with a slight growl. He grabbed my wrist, holding it tightly as he looked at me.

“Stop…you’re going to-“

He said before my other hand gripped his horn, he let out a beastly growl, his breath hitched as I felt his body warm up erratically. His hand on my wrist loosened as I rubbing the base of his horns with my thumb, his breathing picked up, as I moved my other hand to his horns. He slightly rubbed his horns against my hands, his breaths turning into labored pants. He looked up at me with dark eyes his chest rising and falling as frantic as his breaths. Before I felt something wrap around my ankle and thigh, I looked own and looked at his tail, it was covered in sharp scales, one of my hands moved from his horns as it caressed his tail. His face began to burn. As he wrapped his tail fully around me pulling me to the ground under him. His hands grabbed my wrists and pinning them above my head.

“You’re too curious sweetie.”

He retorted. His large form trapping me against the floor. His tail snapped up. He looked down at me. With a growl he moved closer, his teeth brushing against my neck, my face burned red. I could feel his breath on my skin, was he going to bite me. Before he bit down on my skin he scoffed, planting a gentle kiss on my neck.

“You make it harder and harder to keep myself in control…”

He said. I gasped. My body beginning to heat up. His hand slid down my wrist and arm, before it moved to my hip, tracing down my thigh. His tail wrapped around one of my legs adjusting it towards his hip. I looked at him my eyes full of shock, my body begging for his touch, before he let me god with a breath.

“I shouldn’t.”

He said to himself. Beginning to move away. Without thinking I swiftly wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms pulling him down.

“Wait…don’t go…”

I pleaded. He looked at me with eyes full of attitude. As he slid his hand up my leg, lifting my knee, as he placed a gentle kiss on my knee.

“You want me to stay….”

He asked. What a stupid question, I always wanted him to stay. I nodded, pulling him closer.

“Yes.”

I managed to say, with a slight chuckle, he leaned down, planting more kisses on my knee and thigh, my body trembled as I let out a gasp, he worked his way to my inner thigh. He gently nipped my inner thigh, before soothing the bite with his tongue.

“Do you want it sweetie….”

He asked. Looking up at me, I looked down at him, and nodded.

“Use your words.”

He corrected.

“Yes…”

I stuttered. He smirked, his tail wrapped around my hip, moving my hip up as he grabbed my thigh. Moving it over his shoulder as he began to kiss and bite at my inner thigh his breath gently hovered over my arousal, he hooked his finger against the center pulling it away from my glistening folds. I let out a nervous noise, his eye flicked up at me.

“Don’t worry…I’ll be gentle…for now…”

He warned. He kissed around my core, before I felt his tongue slide in between my folds. I let out a moan, covering my mouth as his tongue circled the walls of my most sensitive area. As he tasted my folds. His thumb traced circled around my clit, through pants I looked down, my hand sliding into his silver hair, gripping his horns, which seemed to cause him to get a bit rough, he grabbed my hip pulling me closer as his tongue hit my most sensitive part, my moans turned into labored whimpers.

“S-Sylus…”

I whimpered, he slid his other hand up my body, under my night gown as his hand cupped one of my breasts, my back arched as my pebbled nipples felt his rough hands. My walls clenched, as I let out a cry arching my back before covering his mouth with my climax. I panted, as he moved from between my legs. His lips glistened with my essence, he looked at me his eyes dark almost animalistic as he licked his lips and fangs cleaning up my extra arousal. He leaned up, his hands moved to his belt, tugging it loose, freeing his erection from the confines of his pants, he looked at me like a beast in heat, his tail pulling me closer, before he grabbed my hips.

“Are you sure you want it kitten…”

He said. Almost entranced by him, I looked at him, and nodded.

“Yes…please.”

I answered. The moment I said that. His demeanor shifted, he roughly grabbed my pulling me against his chest, my arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pulled me into a kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, the sweetness of my taste mixed with his desire. As he slowly slid his head against my folds, slowly pushing his large length into my lending folds, my eyes watered as the sheer size split open my folds with little resistance. I leaned my head against his chest planting heavy when he filled me.

“Relax. You can take it.”

He said. As he began to suck on my neck before he slowly thrusted into me. Pained moans filled the room as he moved my hips up and down, panting heavily as I squeezed his cock. The more he thrusted the more he stretched my pussy out. It wasn’t long before my walls clenched around him. His thrusts got sloppy, when I came on his cock he let out a grunt, his hand covering my mouth muffling my loud euphoric moan, with a few more thrusts, he pulled out of me, painting my stomach with his warm seed, for a moment I just held onto him tightly, as we struggled to catch our breath for a while. My legs trembled, as I fell against him, he looked at me.

“I didn’t hurt you too much did I…”

He asked moving sweaty hair from my face. I shook my head. He wrapped his arms around me holding me close for a while.

AN: I started writing this over 12 hours ago and kept getting distracted so I had to hurry up and finish before I forgot about it. Maybe in the future I’ll rewrite it.