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no-144444 · 3 months ago

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pointe shoes and racecars- o.piastri

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summary: you and oscar had grown up together, and grown apart. now you're teaching him ballet for a mclaren video. will you two reconnect?

pairing: oscar piastr x fem! ballerina! dancer

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Oscar Piastri was your best friend’s older brother, what could go wrong?

You’d moved to Melbourne when you were a kid with the rest of your family, and your brother quickly started karting at a local track. In comes the Piastri’s. You were sitting on the sidelines, bored out of your mind when a little girl a bit older than you came up to you with another girl, about your age, and another little girl, much younger than all three of you.

“Which one’s yours?” The eldest asked.

“The one in the red kart, my brother. You?”

“The one in the fluro yellow. He’s our brother,” she explained. “I’m Hattie, that’s Addie, and that’s Mae. Wanna be friends?”

You nodded. “Yeah! I’m Y/n.”

And since that day, you were. Turns out you and Addie ended up in the same class in school and became fast friends, then you ended up in the same ballet class, and it all snowballed from there. Playdates became hangouts and dolls became bitch-sessions, and soon enough you were all grown up. You were a constant in the Piastri family home, sleeping over most nights to carpool to early ballet, then school, then back to ballet, and then back to the Piastri home. You watched every race with the girls, growing up alongside Oscar and your brother from the beginning. You watched both of them in Formula Renault, Formula 3, Formula 2, and finally, Oscar’s second year Formula 1 was coming up, while you brother (Jack) was staying yet another year in F2. It was funny, whenever Oscar was home in recent years, you always seemed to miss him. You didn’t mind. Oscar and you weren’t all that close, you were closest to Addie, Hattie, Mae, and Nicole. Though, he texted you when he was away and you responded, apologising for missing him, he always told you that he’d ‘see you on the stage one day anyway’. He’d always supported you. You’d always supported him.

Sadly, your time living with the Piastri’s had come to an end. You had been given the chance of a lifetime in the form of a full scholarship to the Paris Opera Ballet School, and you weren’t going to turn it down, much to Nicole’s dismay. That was two years ago. Two full years of living in Paris, down.

Paris was amazing. You missed your family and you missed everyone back in Melbourne, but you loved it in Paris. Your new fellow dancers were so welcoming and nice, and you’d made fast friends with a group of them. You’d been doing French in school since you were a kid, and you loved getting to speak it with native speakers. You’d even been named an Etoile (star) in your first year. You’d helped the Paris Opera Ballet with their online presence and started a YouTube channel with some of your fellow dancers which had garnered over 4 million subscribers. Everything was brilliant.

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“Alright everyone, gather around!” Carole called. “We have been invited to the McLaren garage this weekend for the Monaco Gran Prix,” she explained. “We will be attempting to teach some of the staff some of Balcony Pas de deux from ‘Romeo and Juliet’, and also having a photo shoot with Vogue while we are there. Y/n and Hugo, I want those lifts as clean as possible! Chop chop!”

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The week went by and finally you were walking into the McLaren motorhome behind one of the staff members who was showing you around. In the end only 3 people from the company were required to go, Hugo (Romeo), Laura (one of the company's pianists), and you (Juliet). You walked around, keeping an eye out for Oscar, or the rest of the Piastri family who had all told you they’d be visiting.

You were quickly ushered into a makeshift filming studio and told to warm up while they gathered the people you’d be doing the video with you. You chatted and warmed up, trying a few of the lifts from the show and just generally practising your moves.

The door swung open and there he was. Oscar with a grim look on his face who hadn’t even recognised you.

“Do we really have to do this?” he not-so-subtly asked Lando beside him.

“Mate I don’t want to do it either-”

“Y/N!” Nicole’s voice cut through all the noise of the motorhome and the piano stopped. She ran and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug as you laughed.

“Hi Nicole,” you beamed, hugging her back. Hattie, Addie, and Mae weren’t far behind her, and joined in on the hug, emotions flowing as you all started to catch up.

“How are you? How’s work? How’s Paris?” Hattie asked immediately.

“How’s Paris? Is it amazing? Can I visit sometime?” Mae asked, speaking over her sister.

“How are you?!” Addie squealed, taking your hands.

“I’m great, so happy to see the four of you,” you smiled but it dampened as Hugo reminded you of the job at hand. “Sorry guys, we’ll need to catch up later, the fun police has just-”

“Quoi? Je ne suis pas la « police du plaisir » ! Nous avons un travail à faire !” (What? I am not the 'fun police'! We have a job to do!) He defended, but by then the girls had already cleared out, and you’d already turned your attention to Oscar and Lando.

“Hi,” you smiled at Oscar.

“Hi,” he smiled back, a hint of blush on his cheek. “I almost didn’t recognise you.”

“I could say the same for you,” you chuckled. “Became a Formula 1 driver and forgot about your friends, huh?”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Don’t even.”

“Ready for some ballet?” Hugo smiled at the two men, who both just grimaced.

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You started warming them up, learning quickly that while Lando was not flexible, Oscar was even worse.

“And go down further if you can,” you instructed, pushing down on Oscar’s shoulders.

“Bug, I can’t go any further,” he chuckled.

“Bug?” Hugo questioned.

“Childhood nickname,” you dismissed. “Don’t start using it.”

Hugo nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. “Noted.”

“Holy shit, you’re ‘Bug’?” Lando gasped. “He talks about you all the time!”

You chuckled as Oscar’s cheeks went a brilliant shade of pink. “Sure Lando, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Alright!” Hugo announced. “Let’s start on some variations!”

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The boys watched in horror as you and Hugo danced around the room. Balcony Pas de deux, your favourite number of the entire show. You did everything perfectly, Hugo did everything perfectly, but when you two danced, sometimes there was something missing. You usually thought that it was just a lack of romantic chemistry because you were such great friends, or maybe it was something else. Lando and Oscar applauded as you two finished your piece, then you turned to them, smiling.

“I have to lift him?!” Lando stressed. You laughed with Hugo.

“No, you’ll be lifting me,” you explained. “Hugo’s going to teach you the moves and you’ll just need to lift me. You don’t even have to go on pointe. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

The boys stayed unconvinced. You’d picked an easy enough professional routine and you were sure they'd get it eventually. You started with teaching them how to properly lift someone so they wouldn’t get hurt, and they wouldn’t drop you. Unsurprisingly, Oscar was very good at this, you remembered how Addie and you would force him to practice lifts with you in the confines of the Piastri family home, and shockingly, the muscle memory was still there after so many years. So, you moved onto teaching him the moves for the first 20ish seconds of the dance. And unsurprisingly, he was very good at the lifts, not so good at the dancing. He couldn’t get his back leg low enough, or he couldn’t extend his arm enough, but you barely noticed. You were having too much fun to notice. You realised you’d been missing fun when dancing with Hugo. Juliet was this spontaneous, youthful character who was full of love and a craving to be loved. Oscar brought out that fun side of you. He always had. You laughed and smiled as you both danced, laughing when he’d trip or almost drop you, but neither of you cared. You moved on and taught him up to about the one minute mark in the piece. There was a lot of repetition and not a lot of male dancing in the first 60 seconds, so he was practically in the clear, all he had to do was smile and lift you. And he did. There wasn’t a moment where either of you weren’t smiling. He looked a bit uncoordinated and you looked thousands of times better than him, but you two were both smiling like little kids.

His hand slipped and he almost dropped you to the floor, concern and shock plastering itself on his face as he scrambled to catch you. “Shit, are you alright?” he asked, somehow catching you by pulling you to his chest.

“I’m fine Osc, no bruised sternums here,” you chuckled. He laughed, reminded of a crash you had in karting as a child.

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As the session came to a close, you did the first minute of the dance with Oscar and with Lando and determined that while Oscar was better at the lifts, Lando wasn’t half-bad either.

“Alright everyone, thanks for tuning in and tell us if you want to see us attempt this again!” Lando smiled at the camera.

“I have no idea how you do that every night,” Oscar sighed, clearly tired and out of breath.

“Sometimes twice a night,” Hugo corrected. “And yes, it is tiring.”

“I don’t know how you sit in a boiling car going 300 kilometres per hour for ninety minutes every Sunday,” you smiled.

“It is tiring,” he shrugged, smiling. “Do you want to grab lunch?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you nodded. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

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Catching up with Oscar felt great. You didn’t realise how much you two had in common. From movies, to books, and everything in between. You were even too busy laughing to hear Hugo call you to join him for the Vogue shoot.

“Y/n!” He repeated, gathering others' attention. “Come on! We are being timed here!”

“Coming!” you called back. “Sorry, I completely forgot about the time. Good luck in free practice today, please don't get yourself injured,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “Love you Osc!”

“Good luck!” He called after you. “Love you too Bug!”

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“Childhood crush?” Hugo asked as you two relaxed after the shoot, exhausted after your day.

“Nah, best friend’s brother,” you explained.

“Oh, so even more of a rom com then,” he chuckled.

You scoffed. “No. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“Friends? Friends don’t look at you like you’re the only person in the room, friends don’t somehow laugh their whole way through the first 60 seconds of Balcony Pas de deux, friends don’t make puppy dog eyes at you, and still call you by your childhood nickname!” He laughed. You groaned.

“We’re not like that! He’s just… he’s intense with his eye contact-!”

“He wasn’t intense like that for me!”

“I don’t know what to tell you!” You finally gave up. “Come on! There’s no way he-”

“Bug?” Oscar popped his head in the door, sweaty and smiling. “How’d it go?”

“All good,” you nodded. “How did Free Practice go?”

“Good,” he nodded, out of breath. “Went fastest in sector 2.”

“Very impressive!” Hugo smiled, pretending to know what that meant. You chuckled.

“I was wondering if you wanted to stay for the rest of the weekend,” Oscar offered. “Both of you, of course,” he gestured to you and Hugo. “I know you're busy but my mum would kill me if I didn't ask.”

You smiled. Someone else could cover Juliet for one weekend, right? “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“I’d better get back to Paris, but thank you for the kind offer,” Hugo smiled.

“Cool,” Oscar smiled at the both of you. “Addie has offered her room if you want to share with her, but there’s also my apartment, if you want your own bed.”

“My own bed please, Addie kicks in her sleep,” you chuckled. “Thanks Osc.”

“No problem.”

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You said your goodbyes to Hugo and followed the Piastri’s around Monaco for the rest of the day. You saw some of the sights, but eventually ended up in some fancy dinner with good food and good people around you. You were laughing at anyone’s jokes, telling stories, and genuinely just enjoying yourself. Paris had many things, but it didn’t have the Piastri’s. Sometimes you wished you could just shrink them and put them in your pocket to have them with you at all times.

“So, how’s Paris?” Oscar asked as the night died down. You two were on your way back to his apartment and you were a little bit wine-drunk, but neither of you cared.

“It’s amazing, but it doesn’t have you guys,” you patted his shoulder. “I miss you guys like crazy.”

He smiled. “I miss you too.”

“How’s Monaco? It’s so funny that we’ve lived an hour plane ride away from each other and we still haven’t visited each other,” you chuckled.

“Monaco’s nice,” he nodded. “But it doesn’t have you here.”

Suddenly you were a lot more sober than you were 5 seconds ago. “Well, I’m here right now.”

“Exactly,” he smiled. “It’s really good to see you Bug.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you smiled. “Beetle.”

He laughed as you brought up his old nickname. Most people resorted to calling him ‘Osc’ or ‘Ozzy’ now that he’d grown up. He thinks his mum stopped calling him ‘Beetle’ when she visited him at school or races because you weren’t around to be ‘Bug’. Neither of you remembered why it had started, but you and Oscar were Bug and Beetle. It probably would’ve made more sense to have Addie as Beetle, with how much time you two spent together, but in reality it was just both your mums’ collective hopeful thinking that your friendship would turn into something much more. It might’ve, if you’d both stuck around long enough to see it through. Some part of him wondered how his life would’ve turned out if he’d stayed. Not that he didn’t love his life, he did. He was everything he’d ever dreamed of (well, not a Gran Prix winner yet so, not everything), well, everything but one thing. He didn’t realise it at the time, but in every single one of his visualisations of his future that he did as a child (something about a winner’s mentality? He didn’t understand it at the time), he’d imagined you being there with him. He never explicitly said it, but you were either his girlfriend or wife, or something other than a friend. It had always been a certain to him. You were his Bug. He was your Beetle. It just worked.

“What’re you thinking about?” you asked, leaning into him as the street lights illuminated his face. Since when was he so pretty?

“Us as kids,” he smiled. “Remember trying to teach you karting?”

“You mean bruising my sternum? Yes I remember the month of agony thank you very much,” you chuckled. “And I remember how stressed you were running over to me. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen you lose your cool.”

“Well I was about as stressed then as I was today when I almost dropped you,” he laughed.

“Well, you saved me this time,” you chuckled. “My knight in a shining papaya?”

He laughed. “Sounds about right.”

As you two came up to his apartment building, your conversation died down. You two went up to his apartment and he gave you the grand tour, finally showing you your bed for the nights. You said your ‘goodnights’ and then a problem plagued you. It was just meant to be a day trip to Monaco, you were meant to fly back earlier, and now here you were in Monaco with just your dance bag. What was in your dance bag? Your various shoes, a multitude of toe pads and things to stop the pain, three different water bottles, and some random leotards and a skirt.

“Osc?” you knocked on his door, hoping he wasn’t asleep already.

“Yeah?” he came to the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Of course, classic Oscar, asleep in seconds. “Everything alright?” He yawned.

No. Everything was very much not alright. He’d come to the door with no shirt on, and you really couldn’t focus on the problem at hand. “I have no clothes,” you blurted out.

He immediately opened his eyes and stared at you, then his brain processed fully what you said. “Oh, no pyjamas,” he nodded. “Sorry, I thought you meant- I’m actually just going to stop myself now.”

You chuckled. “Probably best.”

“Well I’ll give you a hoodie and some of my shorts?” he offered. “Just to sleep in, and then I can bring you to the shopping centre down the way. I think there’s a Zara there or something.”

“You really don’t need to bring me, I’m sure I can find it on my own. I’m sure you’re busy tomorrow-”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head, handing over the clothes. “I have time for you.”

“Thanks Osc.”

You went to sleep with significantly more to think about, so did he.

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You woke up the next morning to the sound of a smoke alarm, a shouting Nicole, and a cursing Oscar. You quickly got up to witness the commotion.

“Y/n! Thank God you’re here!” She groaned and turned to Oscar. “I cannot believe you live on your own, you’re 23 and you can’t make eggs without almost burning your building down?!”

“It wasn;t my fault!” he defended. “You’re the one who came to the door!”

Nicole rolled her eyes as the girls laughed, watching this all unfold. Addie came over and stood beside you, smiling brightly at you.

“What?” you chuckled.

“Nothing,” she smirked. “Nice hoodie.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I had no other clothes,” you explained as the arguing continued.

“Not a fan of sleeping in a leo?” she smirked.

“Shockingly no, and also, we have to go shopping for clothes now, since all of mine are in Paris.”

“Shopping! Yes!” Mae cheered. “Let’s go,” she said, immediately starting to drag you out of the apartment.

“I’m not even dressed-!” Your complaints were met with nothing but more pulling.”Alright, alright! Let me grab my phone and my wallet, then I’ll be back out to you, yeah?”

“Yay!” Mae cheered.

You went back into your room, tried your best to make the hoodie and men’s shorts combo look good (it didn’t) and grab your things, then came back out. Oscar was cleaning up the kitchen as Hattie talked to him about the free practice and quali today, and Mae jumped up the moment she saw you.

“Time to go!” she announced. “Bye Osc, good luck! See you at the track!” she called, already halfway out the door.

You chuckled, following behind her, Addie, and Nicole. “Bye Osc!”

He grabbed ahold of your hand and placed a key in your palm. “In case you want to come back and change,” he smiled.

“Thanks Osc,” you grinned. “Maybe leave the cooking to me tonight?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Osc, you’re letting me stay at your house, and you got me a paddock pass to see you. Let me make you dinner.”

He nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

His hand lingered for another few seconds before Mae called back to you, willing you to ‘come on!’.

“See you later,” you smiled.

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Shopping was fine, you bought some clothes and essential hygiene and makeup, then went back to Oscar’s apartment and got dressed just as FP3 started. You all rushed over to the track to watch, and it went well for Oscar, quali was probably going to be interesting, as per usual. Monaco was always a very special track and you really did enjoy looking around at the beautiful scenery. You noticed how the cameras followed you around, but you just put that down to being with his family.

“Y/n! Can I get a photo?!” a young girl asked. You smiled and knelt down to be at her level.

“Of course you can,” you smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Carlotá,” she nodded. “I do ballet! I love you, you’re so good. I want to be as good as you one day!”

“Well I can’t wait to see you on stage one day! Maybe we’ll even get to dance together,” you chuckled, heart warmed by her enthusiasm.

“I hope we do!” she smiled.

You quickly got a photo with her and then you were back on your way to the McLaren hospitality with Addie talking your ear off about her new college courses as you listened intently. Suddenly, Oscar was in front of you, sweaty but smiley.

Nicole immediately pulled him into a tight hug and you saw the weight lift off of her shoulders, if only for a short time. “All my kids are safe,” she sighed, and you knew you were a part of that. You’d always admired how much she cared and how deeply she cared about everyone in her life, it was incredible. Hattie hugged him next, then Addie, and lastly Mae. You smiled and gave him a pat on the back as Zak Brown ushered you further into the hospitality for a ‘family lunch’.

“So, I never knew Oscar had a girlfriend,” Zak smiled, turning to you.

Your face dropped. “Oh, um… he’s not my boyfriend. I’m just a family friend,” you explained. The air in the room had been sucked out and everything was a bit more awkward.

“Oh gosh! Sorry, I just thought because of the video- I really need to remember to not just believe YouTube comments,” he chuckled. He’d somehow charmed his way out the awkward moment, and you found yourself laughing too.

Oscar wasn’t laughing. He quite liked the idea that his boss thought you were his girlfriend. He was just as fond of the internet thinking you were his girlfriend. He’d made a devastating revelation last night. His mum had been right all those years when she told him that he’d end up with you. Well, not that you’d ended up together yet, he still had to do the ‘asking out’ part. Nicole watched as his frown deepened the more you laughed at the comments of the YouTube video of you teaching Lando and Oscar ballet with Hugo.

“Wow, I think you might need to post something to tell everyone you’re just friends,” Zak laughed, showing you some more comments.

You nodded. “I’ll post a baby picture or something,” You chuckled, turning to Oscar. “At least you’ve got the acting part of ballet down.”

He smiled. “Exactly.”

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As the day progressed, you watched with bated breath as quali went underway, and Oscar qualified P2. You were ecstatic, jumping up and down with Addie and Nicole as Hattie and Mae cried in the back. All five of you had never been good with toning it down during his races. You just loved him so much, NOT like that, obviously. But in the friendly, totally platonic, family friend way.

Nicole led the rest of you through the motorhome and you finally found him, sweaty and smiley once again.

“Osc!” Nicole cheered, pulling him in for a hug. Addie, Hattei, and Mae all joined their hug, and you weren’t sure if it was right for you to join too, so you stayed back, taking a few photos of the five of them hugging. A part of you wanted to make it your wallpaper, but suddenly Oscar was in front of you.

“Congratulations!” you smiled.

“Y/n, I’m tired and I really don’t want to beg for a hug, please?” He smiled. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around his neck, his went around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Well done Osc,” you smiled.

You didn’t catch the way Addie and Hattie smirked at each other, or the way Nicole gushed over the two of you, or the way Mae took a few photos of the two of you, immediately sending them to Oscar’s phone, knowing he’d want them.

You pulled back, a bright smile on your face, then turned to the girls. “Alright, I’m making dinner tonight, you guys ready to go?”

“Oh, we have a booking at this restaurant tonight,” Nicole sighed. “Another time?”

You nodded. “Of course, see you all later,” you smiled.

If you’d looked slightly more to your left, you would’ve seen Oscar silently beg them to not intrude on the date you didn’t know was a date. Of course, being the Y/noscar shippers they were, they obliged with as minimal smirking as possible, which was a lot. You hugged them goodbye then turned to Oscar.

“Alright, you go shower and then direct me to the nearest supermarket!” You instructed and he smiled.

“Sir, yessir,” he joked, saluting you. “You can wait in my driver’s room if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

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Your evening was wonderful, you spent the evening walking around Monaco and grabbing supplies for dinner, then the actual cooking was rather enjoyable (aka you cooked your famous chilli and he sat in the corner, chatting away to you) and finally, cozying up on the couch with your favourite childhood movie, Cars. Well, it was his favourite, yours was Ballerina. Anyways, as the film continued on, you found yourselves getting closer and closer to each other. First it was an arm around the back of the couch, then an arm around you, then you were leaning into his side, until you had your head on his chest and he had a satisfied smile on his face.

As the film came to a close, you got up and stretched, yawning.

“Y/n,” he spoke. “I’ve really enjoyed having you around these past few days,” he smiled.

“I’ve really enjoyed being around you,” you smiled back.

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. It wasn’t exactly the smooth delivery he’d imagined since he was a teenage boy stalking your instagram from thousands of kilometres away, but it would work. Hopefully.

“Pardon?” You stared at him shocked.

He let out a nervous breath. “I’m in love with you.”

You nodded. You didn’t exactly know what to make of it all. You loved him too, so why wouldn’t your mouth make the words? This was so stupid, just say it! Say it! Say-“I love you too,” you finally blurted out after a few seconds of buffering.

His nervous frown turned into a bright smile, and his hands landed on your waist, pulling you into him. He hugged you close for a moment, internally calming down. “Kept me waiting there,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” you smiled. You pulled away a little bit, then pressed your lips to his. “Brain fart.”

He laughed, then pressed his lips to yours again, in a perfect, Oscar, kiss. You could feel his hands on your waist, every brush of his brush against your forehead, every piece of skin on yours. You couldn’t get enough.

“You have a race in the morning,” you whispered, pulling back from the kiss just enough to remind him.

He nodded, connecting your lips again. His kisses were getting more and more heated, more and more consuming, more and more hungry. He was barely listening. He was kissing you. Everything little him had dreamt of.

“Oscar,” you pulled back, getting serious. “Wait until after the race, alright?”

He nodded, pressing his lips to your again, this time quicker and softer. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” you smiled. “I would want to too, just… I don’t want to impair you’re-” you awkwardly tried to explain as he tried to hold back laughter. He failed and ended up laughing in your face, only making you laugh too.

“God I love you,” he smiled bashfully.

“I love you too.”

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The next morning, you woke up to Oscar beside you, his arms wrapped around you. You smiled. This felt right. He felt right.

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You walked into the paddock hand in hand and Nicole immediately gasped. “You’re finally together?!”

You laughed. “Yeah, we are,” you nodded. The four of them were a mix of cheering and crying, all ecstatic for you both.

“If you hurt her I’ll kill you!” Addie warned, pointing a finger in Oscar’s face.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiled, looking at you.

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You watched in awe as he crossed the finish line in P2, celebrating with his sisters and mum. You all ran to the Parc Fermé, ready to greet him. He ran over to you five, hugging his mum first, then running straight to you. He smiled then pulled you in for a kiss.

“Congratulations,” you smiled, pulling back.

“I have to watch you dance now,” he rushed out as Addie pulled him over for a hug. “I love you!” He shouted, being pulled away by Lando, knowing they were on a time crunch.

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2,830,623 likes liked by landonorris, y/nballet, and others oscarpiastri Bagged myself a dancer, and a second place trophy. Great weekend :)

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user83: WHAT THE FUCK MY WORLDS COLLIDING

user73: BRO HAS ULTIMATE RIZZ -> Hattiepiastri: INCORRECT BUZZER, they've been in love with each other since they could walk, they just didn't know it yet.

nicolepiastri: My babies ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

landonorris: NOW HE'LL STOP THIRSTING -> oscarpiastri: polly not...

y/nballet: my love ❤️

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7,830,725 likes liked by oscarpiastri, hugomarchand, nicole piastri and others

y/nballet: Bagged myself an Osc :)

oscarpiastri: I love you ❤️ -> y/nballet: No papaya heart? -> oscarpiastri: shut up please.

user73: WHAT IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS??? -> user26: they've been friends forever and now they're dating :)

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri x fem!reader #f1 fluff

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jirsungs · 4 months ago

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NO IDEA ☆ l.dh

pairing: loser!donghyuck x fem!reader

no idea synopsis: a story where both you and lee donghyuck seem to get what you want. he's the perfect pawn in making your ex-boyfriend jealous and the smarty pants tutor helping you pass your math class. donghyuck has it easy too, he's finally able to seek out and experience the world of dating through you, his long-devoted crush and surprisingly enthusiastic tutoring student. but then again, when meaningless tutoring sessions soon evolve into reciprocated feelings, is it really that easy?

genre: college au, nonidol au, fake dating au, social media au (includes written chapters), classmates to friends to lovers, he's a nerd & she's a popular cheerleader (you see where this is going), he fell first but she fell harder trope, kinda based off to all the boys i've loved before, fluff, crack/humor, angst, one-sided pining that turns into mutual pining

warnings: explicit language, unrealistic college partying, talks about family issues (this does NOT reflect any of the idol's families!), yuqi has an ex gf, some alcohol consumption, kys and sexual humor, bullying, hyuck and his buds are mistreated ☹️, hyunjin is a bad bf!!!, cheesy af, unrequited love, bad insults that sound like they're from the 2000s, HELLA miscommunication

no idea playlist: btr's no idea, taylor swift's you belong with me, the vamps + demi lovato's somebody to you, james arthur's can i be him, ariana grande's daydreamin, fitz & the tantrums' out of my league, shawn mendes' treat you better, bruno mars' just the way you are, lonely god's marlboro nights, the 1975's i'm in love with you, sam smith's like i can, arctic monkeys' wanna be yours

author's note: FIRST HYUCK SMAUU! how we feeling 😏 i needed to get this idea out of my system! plus, i love this type of trope, and haechan just fits the nerdy role 😭 I HAD TO! but happy reading :D <3

comment if you wish to be tagged for the story's updates!

profiles: "ncu freaks" + jeno 🤔 | gal pals & two men

intro. #manifestationiskey 🩷

ep 1. but a FAILING?

ep 2. i guess i'm her tutor

ep 3. WHY IS HE ATTRACTIVE

ep 4. COUGH y/n bag him COUGH

ep 5. i know i can treat youuu bettterr

ep 6. YNHYUCK PLOT IS FINALLY SAILING!

ep 7. bro texts with his 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓪𝓵𝓹𝓱𝓪 mode on 🐺👅

ep 8. bro fumbled HARD 🤦‍♂️

ep 9. LET THE BOY LIVE!! HES IN LOVE!!

ep 10. THE HARD LAUNCH GOES CRAZY

ep 11. lemme guess, fake boyfriend responsibilities? (written)

ep 12. jeno got me up... plotting

ep 13. AMAZING fake boyfriend

ep 14.

ep 15.

ep 16.

ep 17.

ep 18.

more to come. . .!

started: 09/06/24 finished:

© JIRSUNGS. ANY TRANSLATIONS/REPOSTS/PUBLISHES OF MY WORKS ON ANY PLATFORM ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES, & FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU, MWA! <3

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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Ao3

ASTARION

⤷ The Arrangement (on-going series): masterlist

⤷ Book - Astarion comes across an interesting book and decides to share the knowledge with you. Quite literally.

⤷ Lockpicking - You ask Astarion to teach you how to lockpick and things get... out of hand.

⤷ Pointy Ears - You accidentally find just how sensitive Astarion is when it comes to a certain part of his body…

⤷ Curiosity - Astarion wishes to satisfy his curiosity when it comes to breastfeeding... and comes up with a proposition that is mutually beneficial.

⤷ Oral Fixation - Astarion is quite sure you are going to drive him insane from how adorable and clueless you are when eating those juicy fruits around him... and he just has to do something about it.

⤷ Unexpected - Astarion has barely ever considered starting a family with you in the old-fashioned way, but an unexpected conversation might just trigger that urge.

⤷ Breathe - Astarion is more than eager to show you the perks of not breathing.

⤷ Questions - Your curiosity drives you to ask Astarion a very unexpected question, and he's more than happy to give you a proper reply.

⤷ Patience - You are too eager to ride Astarion, and he proposes a solution to your impatience. After all, experience is the best teacher and impatience its fiercest enemy.

⤷ Backfire - You should have known better than to make Astarion jealous, and now you are left to deal with the consequences.

⤷ Reading Session - Astarion walks in on you reading a rather suggestive book, and far be it from him to interrupt your learning process.

⤷Trance - Astarion is having a hard time trancing, and you offer to help him out in more ways than one.

⤷ Fever - You're running a fever, and Astarion offers to cool you down… only to make things a whole lot worse.

⤷ Everything - You're used to staying still whenever Astarion feeds on you. This time, he wants you to feel everything.

⤷ Comfortable - Astarion walks in on you in a rather compromising situation. Naturally, he offers to help, but then you ask him to promise you something that he was not expecting…

(LINKS ARE CURRENTLY NOT WORKING - I'LL FIX THEM SOON 🙏)

MIGUEL O'HARA

✫ 18+:

⤷ Tension - Miguel walks in on you late at night doing something unexpected, which makes things really awkward afterwards…

⤷ For Science - There has been a rumour circulating in regards to Miguel’s venom. It has to be too far-fetched, right?

⤷ Intimacy - Lack of intimacy after childbirth can weigh a relationship down. Thankfully, Miguel always finds new ways to keep the spark alive.

⤷ Perfect Morning - Miguel’s definition of a perfect morning involves a comfortable bed and being buried deep inside you.

⤷ Comfort - Miguel has been having nightmares as of late and seeks a level of comfort only you can provide.

⤷ Breakfast in Bed - Miguel wakes you up to breakfast in bed.

⤷ Stress Relief - Peter B. Parker should know better than to swing by unannounced.

⤷ Sharing is Caring (I) - (II) - A mission has both Miguel and you sharing a room… what could possibly go wrong?

⤷ [COMPLETE] (0) Sweet Girl , (1) Frustration , (2) Suit Up , (3) Obsession , (4) Consequences , (5) Discovery , (6) Double-edged Sword , (7) Confession , (8) Devotion - Miguel’s desire for you has been taking a toll on him, and he really has no other option…

⤷ Second Intentions - You’ve been tense lately, and Miguel offers a massage. Quite thoughtful of him… except you know exactly why.

⤷ Tracking - You find out Miguel has been tracking something that concerns you… and him.

⤷ Gentle - Miguel shows you how gentle he can be during your pregnancy and how worthy you are of it.

⤷ Backfire - The math is simple: you make Miguel jealous + push him past his breaking point = hot rough sex. Too bad Miguel doesn’t do simple.

⤷ Side Effect - Miguel has been acting off lately and you find out why… the hard way.

⤷ Stubborn - As far as you’re concerned, you just want to stay in bed all day, admiring Miguel’s glorious chest.

✫ Fluff/Comedy/Comfort/Hurt/Angst/Misc:

⤷ Memories - You are ready to tell Miguel he is going to be a father… but he isn’t.

⤷ Revelations - Miguel asks you to keep a secret, so naturally everyone is about to find out.

⤷ Solution - Period cramps always leave you feeling miserable, so Miguel offers a solution.

⤷ Tiny Spider - Your daughter has a few questions, and you suspect Miguel might just open a portal to another dimension.

⤷ Another Chance - You go into labour and all you know is that you need Miguel more than ever.

⤷ Broken - You wonder if Miguel is broken beyond repair, because he surely believes that.

⤷ Family - Miguel is a natural when it comes to being a father.

⤷ A Series of Firsts - You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

⤷ Appreciation - Miguel catches you staring at a very specific part of his body…

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incognit0slut · 4 months ago

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PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up.

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you?

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. “Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

#behind closed doors #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction #gifwriting

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hannieehaee · 6 months ago

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what if girls noticed nerd jk was getting attention from mc and that made them curious enough to try and speak to him and mc gets a wittle jealous and possessive 👀👀👀👀🥹🥹🥹🥹

18+ / mdi

content: loser!jungkook, sub!jungkook, softdom!reader, afab reader, smut, situationship implied, jealousy, penetrative sex, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, extra

wc: 1897

a/n: loved this prompt omg thank u for requesting anonymity<333

masterlist

you weren't a jealous person. that just wasnt part of your personality.

never had you ever had to feel jealous about any boy you liked giving attention to someone else. nor did you think you'd ever have to.

so why was it that you were currently green with envy as you watched an unsuspecting jungkook be bombarded but the attention of three girls?

that was your boy toy, not theirs. you had been the one to find him and take him in and wreck his mind, so why were they suddenly so interested?

the two of you were supposed to meet in one of the many hallways leading to the campus' quad in order to head over to get some lunch before your tutoring session. however, after having waited over ten minutes leaning over the wall in which you'd usually wait for him, you began to grow annoyed. you walked around a bit, attempting to see if he was nearby, only to never locate him. even after a phone call and three texts (three!!!), there was no response from the boy. it wasn't until you walked over to the next hallway that you spotted him from afar, a shy mess as three girls surrounded him with flirty smiles.

one of them kept reaching out to touch at his chest, pulling at the neck of his dress shirt to reveal more of his skin – jungkook shyly took a step back, but the sight still bothered you. another annoyingly twirled her hair as she made eyes at him – jungkook's eyes didn't meet her own, but the implication made you far too angry. the last one had grabbed his phone from his hands, likely entering her contact info in it – this was the one that made you fume the most.

you weren't close enough to hear the conversation, but you could still see every single move and action coming from the girls, all targeted at your jungkook. you'd never felt this jealous in your lifespan.

sure, you weren't official with jungkook, but you still did not dare look at any other guy now that you had jungkook all to your disposition. how could you when you had such a pretty and obedient boy so obsessed with you?

soon enough, you grew far too annoyed at the sight, marching over there decisively, ready to rip heads off it necessary.

you made it close enough for jungkook to finally spot you behind the three girls, with them being too distracted by the pretty boy to realize you were currently standing at a short distance behind them. jungkook immediately perked up, features morphing into those of shock upon taking notice of the annoyance in your face. he opened and closed his mouth a few times, which alerted the girls of your presence, causing them to turn to you.

"baby-," is what slipped out of his mouth, immediately covering it in embarrassment.

rather than shocked or ashamed, the girls seemed bothered by the interruption, giving you looks of disdain and disgust while your eyes remained on jungkook.

"what are you doing with my boyfriend?", you finally spoke up, annoyance reeking from your voice.

"b-boyfriend?", asked jungkook, unable to mask the shy smile making its way to his face.

the most annoying girl of them all scoffed, jungkook's phone still in hand, "boyfriend?", she tilted her head to the side in mock curiosity.

stepping forward, you snatched the phone from her hand, grabbing onto jungkook's hand with the other and stepping in front of him before facing the girls again, "i'd appreciate it if you didn't hit on jungkook. he's taken," you said before marching away once more, dragging a willing jungkook along with you.

you didn't look back at all as you walked away, not even to check on jungkook. still annoyed, you held tightly onto his hand all the way to your dorm, not uttering a word at the boy the entire time.

"i'm so sorry, i didnt- hmph!"

"shut up, jungkook, just- just shut up," you rasped before attacking him with your lips.

the moment you made it into your dorm, jungkook was ready with apologies as soon as you closed your door, turning to you with his pretty doe eyes and a pout. you could tell on your way here that he noticed your discomfort at the previous confrontation, likely scared that you were mad at him.

but you could never be mad at him. you knew those girls only showed interest in him when you first noticed him. it had quickly become a hot topic when you and jungkook began to be spotted together hand in hand, though you never confirmed any type of relationship to anyone. you'd noticed more girls taking notice of jungkook ever since, but these had been the first ones to try and shamelessly take him from you.

so you dragged him home and pushed him up against the wall, not allowing a single word from his lips. you were far too bothered to have a conversation. you needed to confirm to yourself that jungkook was yours and that no one else could even go as far as looking at him with suggestiveness in their eyes.

"'m sorry- they- fuck, i didnt-"

the poor boy kept trying to sneak in apologies in between kisses, but your lips wouldnt stop attacking his own, sucking into his tongue until he submitted to your kiss.

eventually, your lips trailed down to his neck as your hands unbuttoned his dress shirt, wasting no time in running your hands up and down his sculpted physique. sometimes you cursed at yourself for never having noticed such a pretty boy before – especially when he'd been pining after you all along.

"hated seeing you with those girls," you grunted into his skin, nails scratching down his chest and abs, drawing a hiss from him, "so fucking annoying ..." you muttered.

"i didnt- i didnt realize they were flirting with me, i-im sorry," he stammered, too lost in your touch to give you a better explanation.

you disconnected from him, grabbing onto his belt loops and harshly pulling him into your living room, with him numbly following you. pushing him onto your couch, you threw off your shirt and wiggled your pants down before sitting on him, lips immediately finding his again.

"made me wait for you," you whined, "made me watch those girls be all over you ... so mean to me ..." you huffed into his lips.

he shook his head but continued kissing you, "m sorry ... 'm so- so sorry," he pleaded, hands digging into your hips and attempting to make them make contact with his own, but you persisted against it.

"you're sorry?", you asked, pulling away. grabbing onto his hands, you placed them on your bare tits, knowing it always made him crazy when you let him touch you, "you didn't look sorry back there, though?"

his eyes remained on your tits, hands shyly squeezing at them. his glasses were foggy by now, making you have to remove them to wipe them before putting them back on him, "i ... im so sorry," he mumbled again, without much thought. he kept biting his lips and looking down at your tits, head shyly tilting forward to seek permission to get them in his mouth.

"do you want them, kookie? you want those girls?", you sneered, throwing his hands off you and huffing above him, no longer sharing any contact apart from you sitting on him.

this woke him up from his lust-filled trance, "n-no! no, i could never- i want you! i only want- it's just you!," out of character, his hands went to wrap around you, pushing your against his chest. for once, he did not ask for permission as his lips went to your chest, desperately kissing and sucking at it as apologies left his lips.

you sighed in contentment, fingers running through his locks, "my kookie ... you're mine, right? only mine?", you asked, sighing again at how good he worshiped your body. his hands were restless as they felt up your hips and ass, attempting to push you against him so you'd grind on his hardening cock, this time successful.

he groaned at the friction, nodding into your chest, "yours ... y-your boyfriend," he sighed, nibbling at your nipple before softly licking at it.

"need ... fuck, need to show you you're mine," you decided, suddenly pulling away and drawing a whine from him. your hands went in between you to help him remove his pants, pulling them down low enough to pull his dick out.

"please ... show me. need you to show me ..." he cried before breaking his voice with a gasp, hands tightening around your waist when you lowered yourself onto him with no warning.

"m-mine, fuck- you're all mine," you rasped, open mouth against his own, unable to properly kiss due to the sudden stretch.

"t-tell me you're mine too ... please-", he begged, nosing at your cheek.

"'m yours, pretty. your girlfriend, hmm? just like- how you're my boyfriend. right, kookie?", you groaned out in between bounces, catching jungkook's groans right in your ear.

the poor boy did not stand a chance. your words got too him too easily, making him begin to beg to cum faster than expected, and far sooner than he usually did.

but you still needed to punish him a bit. even if he had been aware of the girls flirting with him, you had still been forced to bare witness to their grubby hands on him, a sight that still made you see red.

"can't cum, yet, bunny ... be good and wait for your girlfriend," you commanded lightly, "you'll be good, right, bunny? my pretty bunny ..." you rambled, slowing down your thrusts and leaning back so your clit would rub perfectly against his pelvis. it made you lightheaded.

he nodded without any other words, gasping every so often when you'd tighten around him. hands were greedy in how they dug into your plush skin. likely leaving marks.

"'m gonna cum, bunny," you revealed, "gonna give it all to you ... with me? hmm? cum with me, baby?", you were a mess just as he was, whining out every word pathetically.

yet he fared far worse than you, unable to form any words, simply whining your name as he nodded against your skin.

taking this as a green light, you let yourself go, continuing to bounce crazily on him whilst your orgasm took over you, eyes rolling back when you felt him find his high along with you.

"s-so good ... m-mine ... only want you ... just y-you," he grunted, falling back against the couch with eyes shut close.

you let yourself fall against him, nuzzling into his warm chest and drawing patterns on his skin with your fingers, refusing to make a move to slip him out. wrapping his arms around you, he gave you the impression he also wanted you to remain there.

"i'm sorry," he started, "id never flirt with anyone who wansnt you ... too shy to even flirt with you in the first place," he chuckled shyly.

"it's okay, bunny. just like you so much ... it drove me crazy to see them think they could just have you like that," you grumbled, kissing his skin to calm your annoyance at the memory.

"i only want you," he reassured, hands caressing your back softly.

"me too, bunny."

#bts scenarios #bts imagine #bts fanfction #bts x reader #bts oneshot #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut

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gguk-n · 6 months ago

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The Exception (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- 4 times Max let y/n get away with whatever she wanted and 1 time he didn't.

I just have so much love for maxie and I wanna show it so it came out as this. Hope you like it!! I hope maxie is only loved tbh

Max was very young when he had moved to a Netherland. If someone asked him when it was, he'd probably never be able to tell. But he could tell you about the annoying neighbours he had growing up. Yes, he did spend most of his time karting and didn't have the time at home or in school like normal kids his age would but the fleeting moments spent at that house in Netherland left behind fond memories that he can look back and only because of a certain little girl with chubby cheeks and two identical braids on either side of her head who had made quite a place in his life. Jos wasn't very happy with Max wasting his time entertaining those kids but he couldn't do much when the children's father was a tall bulky man who could take Jos out in one punch, insisted on letting the kids play together. The tall man had 3 kids Max noticed when he had dinner at their place for the first time; the oldest being the girl who we mentioned before followed by 2 younger brothers who seemed to love karting. They asked Max so many questions about it that they got scolded by their mother for ruining dinner for everyone but Max thought was cute because the youngest couldn't even pronounce karting but had a lot to say. Every time he would spend time with his neighbours, it would always be with the 2 young boys who wanted to learn how to kart better and become like Max like the younger one put it. Even now it makes Max laugh reminiscing about those days. They never really made it professionally though.

2008

Max and the 2 boys were playing around when their older sister asked if they would like to join her for a session of afternoon tea with Mr Whale and Miss Teapot. The brothers made a face of disgust and ran away from her, dejected she turned around when Max agreed. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She quickly dragged him into her room and had him sit next to Mr Longneck, the giraffe. An hour later Max was found in Y/N's room with two pigtails if you could call them that on the top of his head, a tiara and the prettiest necklace Y/N owned. Looking at himself in the mirror he couldn't help but laugh. Y/N on the contrary looked pleased with her handy work. She thanked him for being a good and compliant customer and to come back again if he ever wanted to look pretty. It wasn't easy to get Max to do what you wanted except he couldn't say no to her puppy eyes. She even gave him a drawing of him in his kart saying that it would bring him good luck since she couldn't be there and placed her favourite bracelet on his hand.

If Y/N was to ask him about the bracelet, Max would say he lost it as soon as she gave it to him, but deep down in the watch drawer of Max's Monaco apartment sat a brightly neon pink bracelet with Y/N’s initials.

2014

Y/N had started highschool and remained the annoying self Max had come to love. Her over the top demeanor and affection to screaming at the top of her lungs whenever she spotted Max never failed to make him smile. Having joined Formula one this year, meant Max was way to busy to be home but Y/N seemed to never forget to text him regularly. She would ask him to get autographs of other drivers or souvenirs from different countries. It was a regular race weekend when Y/N texted Max asking him to explain how the engine in a go kart worked. In a split second Max was on call with her asking "why do you need that?" to which she replied "I'm doing a project on that. I even made a small scale replica of your kart Look here!!!" She exclaimed. "I just need to shrink you and place you inside it" Y/N laughed. Max told her not to worry and that he would text her the details in a hour or so. Actually it took a couple hours and Y/N was starting to get agitated and called him back. Max replied with a almost done and smiled at her. He had literally written her entire report for her and sent it to review. Y/N almost screamed when she saw the assignment. She thanked Maxie for doing this for her and that she owed him her life. Max was just happy to be of help, he told himself more than he told her because who stays up till 5 in the morning on a race weekend doing someone else’s project.

He kept the small scale replica of his Kart on the mantle above the fireplace if anyone wanted to know what happened to the kart.

2018

Y/N was freshly 18, so getting drunk was the only thing on her agenda. On a night out, she was so drunk that no one could get her to move because she wanted her Maxie and would only leave with Maxie, she enunciated. Her friend was able to open up Y/N phone and thankfully find a Maxie in her favourite contacts. She called the number to be met with a groggy but worried voice. "Hi! This is Y/N's friend Kate speaking. Am I speaking with a....maxie?" she said tentatively. Max let out a sigh while rubbing his eyes, "Yes, this is Max speaking." "Can you come pick Y/N up?" She asked hesitantly followed by, "She won't leave with anyone but you apparently." Max was already out of bed and near the door when he said "I'll be there in 10, where are you guys at?" She sent him the location and waited for 'maxie'. Nothing could've prepared them for this. They had thought Maxie was a friend, a boyfriend maybe even a neighbour; they did not think Maxie was Max Verstappen, F1 driver for Redbull racing. He apologised for the inconvenience and crouched down to Y/N level who seemed to have realised that he was here. She cupped his cheeks and giggled while turning his head to the crowd of people standing, "Look, this is my Maxie." Hearing Y/N say my maxie made his heart beat faster then it should've, he admits but that girl had a tight hold on his heart and he couldn't really do much about it. She stood up and wrapped her arms around Max asking him to carry her since her legs felt like mush. Max gladly carried her back to his car, as he fastened her seat belt she asked him to take her back to his place since her parents would probably disown her if she come in drunk for the 6th time this week. Max looked shocked and asked her to stop drinking so much since it wasn't good for her. All Y/N could mumble was that the alcohol made the pain in her heart bearable. This broke Max's heart. Who would dare hurt his precious little angel, if he met that guy he was so dead, Max thought. Little did he know that guy was the one driving her back home.

Y/N was a nuisance when drunk, she reminded him of the little girl he had befriended when he moved here. She wouldn't listen to anything he asked her to do that night until he agreed to let her do make up on him which he would gladly agree to, real or not.

2022

Y/N had recently graduated and was looking for a place to stay. It was one of those nights after a fruitless apartment hunt Y/N facetimed Max. He looked very comfortable in his sim racing chair in his luxurious apartment in Monaco having moved recently. "Maxie" the younger girl sighed. "Meisje, what's the problem?" came a concerned voice. "I can't seem to find a decent apartment, I've been at it for months now." she said. Max offered to help her find the right place and Y/N started listing out all the things she wanted in her apartment which was sounding a lot like Max current apartment which was true, that was Y/N's dream apartment currently; after seeing it a couple months ago when she had visited him as a housewarming surprise and even held a party for him. "You can move to Monaco, the house you're looking for is here" Max said. After a long pause Y/N replied with a chuckle, "I don't make formula 1 money. I'm too broke to afford a house here. In Monaco, I'd have to sell my organs to afford a place there." As if it was the most obvious thing, Max offered her to stay at his place and look for a job here.

The allure of Monaco was too much and Y/N was able to thankfully find a job there so that she wouldn't be completely dependent on Max which he wouldn't have minded. Max never let her pay rent, he'd always tell her to cook good food and that was rent sorted.

2023

It was the night of the Abu Dhabi grand prix. Max had just won his third WDC so him and his friends decided to go out to celebrate, Y/N included. The night carried on as usual, Max not touching much of the alcohol since Y/N decided to down drinks like a thirsty person. She was now in the middle of the dance floor making herself familiar with Lando's crotch, much to Max's dismay. He made his way to her and led her away from Lando while she shouted at him to let her go. They were now stood in the quieter part of the club but you could still hear the music blasting. Y/N looked visibly annoyed at being taken away from the dance floor. "You are drunk, you'll regret it tomorrow." Max said. "That's for sober me to deal with. Drunk me just wants to forget about everything and having an eventful night with a guy would do just the trick." she said. Max winced at the words and held her arms so that she could steady herself. "I don't wanna feel like this," was this the alcohol giving her the confidence, "the guy I've been in love with for ages can't seem to see me as a woman. I've been trying for years now. If I walked out naked, I'm sure he wouldn't even be phased." she sounded dejected. "Any guy would want you, Meisje." Max whispered. "But not the one I do" she stepped closer, enough that their breaths mingled. The woman in front of him was driving Max mad, had she not been drunk he would've shown her how much any man would want her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked into his eyes before saying, "He's so dumb, can't even see the woman in front of him." The statement felt oddly targeted. "You know, he's a 3 time world drivers champion and he doesn't even get that I love him so much." she said while looking into his eyes. "You're in love with me?" Max exclaimed. "I have been since the day you let me make pigtails on your hair but thanks for realising now." she replied sarcastically. "You're drunk, you don't know what your saying" Max replied. "Well, sober me would never tell you this but I love you Max Verstappen. So much that you make my heart beat faster and my chest swell when you look at me. I think about marrying you and having a family with you, but you think I'm joking." she declared. Max couldn't help but smiled, "Tell me all of this in the morning when you're sober so that I can tell you that I love you too schat and then I can finally kiss you." "You can kiss me now" Y/N made a kissy face and eagerly leaned in. Max shook his head and carried her back to the hotel room.

Y/N indeed remembered everything and the first thing she did even though she wreaked of alcohol was finally kiss those soft pink lips.

this is just brain rot at this point. hope you liked it

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sophiesfilosofy · 11 days ago

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How to suck cock (long post)

This is not about shoving his penis in your mouth and moving your head, making love to his penis is a technique that comes naturally to some but is foreign to others.

The secrets to a pleasurable head giving session are:

1) Relax.... relax your whole mouth including your toungue but remain in control of your gum movement

2) Forget that you have teeth and remember that your tongue is the only tool you have and need to pleasure him.

3) When sucking his penis, do not aim straight for your throat, aim for the upper palate, it helps with the gag reflexes.

4) Let your toungue work for you, move your tongue around his penis and play gently with it. Make circular movements that make him feel your texture.

5) Do not be afraid to spit on it and make it sloppy...that also helps with avoiding the taste of his pre cum. Do not mind a little spit escaping your mouth, it drives some men crazy.

6) There is no time to think about spitting or swallowing, you do what comes naturally to you.

7) The hand that you use to hold the dick in place has to be moist, firm but gentle and stroke the penis the whole time..

8) Lick his dick, suck his dick and blow his dick....get creative and listen to his moans, they are your best directors.

9) Do not go in too rough too soon, start off gently and tease his dick by blowing warm air on his balls while you trace the line of his sack with the tip of your wet finger, you can even lick a little...he will be ready to burst 😋

10) Lastly, have fun and enjoy making your man happy...remember that a little gag never hurt anyone and in this case, it tightens the grip a bit and drives the man insane.

#cnc r4p3 #r4p1std4d #r4p3 fantasy #r4p3 k!nk #r4p3 kink #r4p3 m3 #r4p3b41t #r4p3toy #tw r4p3 #r4p3 k1nk #cnc fr33use #cnc somno #cnc brat #cnc kidnapping #rough cnc #cnc k!nk #cnc free use #soft cnc

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dollgxtz · 3 months ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt. 3

Word Count: 9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, mentions of suicide, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake @letgobro @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leialmela

AN: It seems like these chapters just get longer and longer xDD. Hope yall don't mind! This is also on my A03 if you feel its too long to read on tumblr. Please heed the warnings and don't read this if you're sensitive to the subjects. Also! Reader has no specific skin tone, I just use images I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you want! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know, also please make sure your tumblr settings allow you to be tagged! <3

"I hate you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, muffled by his chest. The words come out broken, hollow, lacking the fire they once carried. But it’s all you can manage, the last flicker of resistance in a sea of overwhelming fatigue. "I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair. "But it doesn’t matter, sweetie. You’re mine now. Hate me all you want, I’ll still take care of you."

Read Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4

You ease yourself into the bath, the water just a touch hotter than you'd like, enveloping your skin in a near-burning sensation. It’s almost too much, the heat prickling at your body, but you stay still, letting the warmth slowly settle around you. Steam rises in soft, curling tendrils, and you can feel the tension in your muscles begin to release, even as the heat clings to you, almost suffocating in its intensity. Your breath catches for a moment, but soon you adjust, your body reluctantly surrendering to the soothing, yet overwhelming, embrace of the water.

Despite the searing heat, you slowly begin to lose yourself in thought. When was the last time you'd allowed yourself to truly relax since this whole nightmare began? As much as you hated to admit it, the water felt good—comforting even—offering a fleeting sense of escape. For once, your worries seemed to dissolve into the bathwater, sinking like stones to the bottom. No thoughts of impending doom, no fear lurking at the edges of your mind. Just you, the gentle bubbles, and the soft, soothing scent of cherry shampoo drifting in the steam.

And no Sylus.

Your face twists into a scowl at the very thought of him. No. This was supposed to be your time, a moment for yourself. You can’t let him invade this too. Don’t think about him, you urge yourself. Focus on the bath. Focus on the warmth. Desperate to banish any trace of him from your mind, you sink lower into the water, leaving only your nose and eyes above the surface, your breath shallow as you try to disappear beneath the heat.

But it doesn’t work. His presence lingers in your thoughts like a shadow you can't shake—the memory of his touch, his voice, the sickly sweet promises he’d whisper after those twisted "sessions."

Before you can stop yourself, you plunge fully beneath the water, submerging yourself entirely, as if you could drown his memory along with your thoughts—perhaps even drown yourself if that’s what it takes to make it all stop.

The deafening roar of water fills your ears, muffling the world around you. Instinct keeps your breath held tight, but a dark thought persisted—what would happen if you really… let go? Sylus has made it clear he has no intention of releasing you. Maybe this, right here, is your only way out.

A tightness coils in your chest as your body begins its primal fight for air. The burning need to breathe claws at your lungs, but there’s no panic—just a calm, almost eerie resolve. Slowly, deliberately, you part your lips, ready to let the water rush in. This is it. Your escape. The only freedom Sylus can't take from you.

Death.

You wonder what kind of face he would make when he would discover your barely warm body bobbing in the bath water, having escaped the clutches of his captivity in a way he could not undo.

You wished you'd be around to see it.

Just as the warm sensation of water touches the back of your throat, a sharp tingling prickles across your scalp. A second later, you're violently yanked from the water, gasping for air as the bathroom floods back into focus. You blink wildly, clearing the stinging bathwater from your eyes, only to be met by a familiar face.

"Why willingly subject yourself to waterboarding?" Sylus asks, his tone laced with disappointment, as if you’ve failed some unspoken test. You glare at him angrily, grabbing at the grip he has on your hair.

"Don't tell me I'll have to supervise your baths too?"

"Let go!" you shout, clawing at his fingers, desperately trying to free your hair from his grip. To your surprise, he does, and you quickly retreat to the far edge of the tub, pressing your back against the cool porcelain. Water clings to your skin, dripping down your face as you try to steady your breath. His eyes roam over you, calculating, as if taking in every detail. Suddenly self conscious of your naked figure, you hug your arms around your breasts. You notice, for the first time, the shopping bags dangling from his other hand. He sets them down with unnerving care before casually crossing the bathroom to grab a stool.

You watch warily as he pulls it up beside the tub, seating himself directly across from you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I wasn’t trying to kill myself," you snap, your voice sharp as you avoid his gaze. "I’d rather not give you more reasons to watch me."

Sylus chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your defiance, as if your words barely register. Without another glance at you, he begins rummaging through the bags at his feet, his movements methodical and unhurried. After a moment, he pulls out a small white box, and you narrow your eyes, watching as he carefully peels away the packaging. Something small and silver tumbles into his palm, catching the light.

"Nail clippers?" you ask, disbelief creeping into your voice.

He nods, then casually tugs down the collar of his shirt, revealing the jagged red scratches you had raked across his skin during the last time he had forced himself on you. The sight of them makes you smirk—small, uneven lines, but they’re there, vivid reminders that you hadn’t gone down without a fight. You can almost feel your nails digging into him again, that brief moment of satisfaction before he'd pinned you, your resistance crushed beneath his weight.

"The first step in taming an angry kitten," he muses with a grin, "is taking her claws." His voice is disturbingly light, almost playful, as he reaches out toward you.

You hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. Your instincts scream at you to pull away, but what choice do you have? Reluctantly, you slip your hand into his, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as he curls his hand around yours. His grip is firm but not harsh, his skin warm against your own, the casual dominance in his touch making your stomach churn. He watches you closely, his gaze never wavering, as if daring you to resist.

"Isn't that called declawing?" you mutter bitterly, trying to keep your voice steady as you avert your eyes. You watch instead as he presses the clippers to your nails, the metal cool against your fingertips. The soft snip of each nail being cut echoes in the quiet bathroom, a steady, unnerving rhythm.

Sylus smirks, tilting his head as he replies, "Oh?" His tone is amused, almost mocking. "Would you rather I pull them out instead?" His voice remains calm, and you're unsure if he's joking or not.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Each clip of the clippers feels more invasive than the last, stripping away not just your nails, but a part of yourself—your small weapon of defiance.

It struck you as odd. Just yesterday, the two of you had been locked in a bitter struggle on his bed—panting, groaning, bodies slick with sweat, fighting for entirely different goals. For him, dominance. For you, escape. And now here he was, calmly and methodically clipping your nails, the act almost tender, as if you were lovers sharing an intimate moment.

Neither of you speaks until he finishes. Sylus turns your hands over slowly, inspecting his work with the same detached precision, ensuring he’s clipped them short enough. Finally satisfied, he releases your hand, letting the clippers fall from his grasp with a metallic clatter against the bathroom floor. You frown down at the newly cut length of your nails, feeling stripped of yet another small defense.

Before you can dwell on the thought, he leans over the bath, his face inching dangerously close to yours. There's hardly any space to retreat, and you’re forced to face him, your breath catching in your throat as his presence looms over you. His lips find the soft skin of your neck, leaving light, deliberate kisses that send a shiver of tension through your body.

Sensing your stiffness, he chuckles under his breath, the sound low and familiar, before cupping your face in his hand. His fingers are firm, cradling your jaw with unnerving gentleness.

"Relax..." he whispers, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, almost teasing kiss. "I won’t do anything now. Didn’t I promise you a break?"

His words echo in your mind, bringing with them the memory of his promise from this morning. Instead of threatening you for obedience, he’d dangled a twisted form of kindness—a reward, rather than punishment. A carrot, not a stick.

Promising that if you didn't put up a fight this morning, that would be the only time he would be inside you that day.

You would have been an idiot to refuse such an offer. Almost daily assaults had left you feeling sore and exhausted. Sure, you knew he was offering you crumbs of kindness as a way to train you into obedience but you were much stronger than that. He wouldn't break you so easily.

You simply hummed and nodded in agreement, giving him a small kiss back. You had come to learn that the quicker you returned his affection, the sooner he would relent. It worked, as he almost immediately smiled and leaned back on the stool. He suddenly reaches is arm up and looks at the watch on his wrist.

"Come on out. I bought a few things for you, sweetie," Sylus says softly, his eyes drifting back to your still-exposed body. You tense instinctively, sinking lower into the water as if it could shield you from his gaze. His words may be gentle, but the weight of his attention feels oppressive, suffocating.

Sensing your discomfort, he lets out a quiet laugh. "I’ll turn around. Just don’t try drowning yourself again," he chuckles, as though reading your mind. True to his word, he turns his back to you, but the tension in the room remains thick, your heart pounding in your chest. You wish, more than anything, that he would just leave, give you a moment of peace, but you know better than to ask.

With a deep breath, you grip the edge of the tub, steadying yourself as you rise from the water. The cool air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the bath, and your wet feet make a quiet slap against the cold tile as you step out. Quickly, you reach for the white towel resting on the sink and begin to dry yourself, moving with an urgency spurred by your skepticism that Sylus will stay turned away for long.

As you dry yourself, you notice something unexpected—when you reach between your legs, your hand freezes. A slight gasp escapes your lips as you spot it: crimson streaks, trailing down your inner thigh. For a moment, you stare in disbelief, watching the droplets of blood slowly slide down your leg. Then, reality hits, and you frantically press the towel to your skin, catching the blood before it can reach the floor.

"What's wrong?" Sylus asks, his voice suddenly alert as he turns his head, catching your gasp. His eyes lock onto the bloodstained towel, his posture shifting as he steps toward you, concern etched across his face. "Are you hurt?"

You swallow hard, a strange mixture of emotions flooding through you. "My period..." you say softly, almost under your breath, but then, a smile creeps onto your face, one you can't suppress.

Relief crashes over you like a tidal wave. You’ve never been so happy to see blood in your life.

You aren’t pregnant. You aren’t pregnant.

Your mind races, the implications still sinking in. It’s not over, but for now, you’re safe. Your hands shake as you pull your gaze from the red stain, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts. Then, a creeping awareness settles in—you aren’t alone.

Sylus is standing behind you. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of his silence pressing against you. You quickly wipe the smile from your face, the relief vanishing as you turn slowly to face him.

"My period... it’s just my period," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady. You try to read his face, desperate for any sign of how he’s reacting. His expression shifts—concern morphs into a frown, and then... nothing. His face goes blank, like a mask slipping into place. You search frantically for any flicker of emotion—anger, frustration, relief—but it’s as though he’s walled himself off, unreachable.

Was he angry? Disappointed? You couldn’t tell, and that terrified you. Your stomach twists in knots, anxiety bubbling up again. The relief you felt moments ago is quickly replaced by a new dread. One disaster averted, but what now?

"Right," he says calmly, his voice devoid of any warmth, as though this is just another mundane detail in his well-controlled world. He reaches for the bloodied towel in your hands, his movements smooth and deliberate, like nothing about this situation surprises him. "Don’t worry about this. Just finish dressing."

He leans down, pulling open the cabinet under the sink. Your heart skips a beat as he sets several packages of pads and tampons on the counter, each one the exact brand and size you regularly use. A cold chill runs down your spine. How long had he been watching you before bringing you here? How much does he already know? The intimate knowledge of your life, right down to your feminine products, feels like another layer of control—a calculated invasion disguised as care.

"If you don’t want to use these, I’ll have Luke and Kieran get different ones," he says, his tone disturbingly casual, as though this conversation is perfectly normal.

Your throat tightens. "No, these are fine... thank you."

He gives a slight nod, but it’s mechanical, his face still unreadable, and he turns to leave, collecting the rest of your discarded clothes from the bathroom floor. His steps are quick but unhurried, a man always in control of his actions, of everything around him. He leaves you standing there, shaken, and once again, you feel small under his gaze. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s locked it away. You’ll never know unless he decides to let you.

The door closes behind him, and you’re left alone with your thoughts—and the creeping realization that you may never be truly alone again.

After gathering enough courage to leave the bathroom, you cautiously crack open the bedroom door. You peer out, spotting Sylus lounging on the leather sofa, his eyes glued to his phone. His posture is relaxed, casual, as if nothing unusual has happened. But the moment you step into the room, he looks up—his gaze sharp, as though he’s been waiting for you.

"Took you long enough," he says, a smirk playing at his lips, amusement evident in his voice. The cold, distant air he had in the bathroom has vanished, replaced with the easy confidence you’ve come to expect. He’s back to being the Sylus you recognize, the one who shifts between charm and control like flipping a switch.

You force a smile, trying to match his casual tone. "Yeah, well, drowning myself was starting to seem tempting again," you quip, keeping your voice light. You move past him toward the bed, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between the two of you. But before you can get far, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist with a gentle but firm grip. The sudden contact sends a jolt through you, freezing you in place.

His touch isn’t rough, but there’s something in it that holds you captive, a subtle reminder of the power he holds. You glance down at his hand, then back up at him, unsure whether to pull away or let him guide the moment.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, his voice soft now, almost concerned. But the question hangs in the air, heavier than it should be.

"Oh! Uh... yeah?" you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. As much as you wanted to ignore him and crawl into bed, the thought of food was too tempting to resist. Sylus stands, his grip on your wrist still firm, tugging you toward the bedroom door.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him press his finger against the scanner beside the door. Why is he letting you this close? The lock hums and with a soft click, the door swings open. You stare at it, a thousand questions racing through your mind.

He turns back to you, his playful demeanor from moments ago evaporating in an instant, replaced by something darker, colder. His eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly, the atmosphere feels suffocating.

"Behave," he says, his voice low and serious. "Don’t wander off without me, and if you try anything... you won’t leave this room or the bed for weeks. Understood?"

The threat in his words chills you to your core. You're frozen in place, trying to process what’s happening. Is this real? Are you dreaming? Why now? The door stands open before you, a symbol of freedom, but it feels more like a trap, a carefully laid test. The air between you crackles with tension. One wrong move, and you know there will be consequences.

You shake your head quickly, pushing aside any fleeting thoughts of rebellion. Not now. Not yet.

Trying to break the moment, you turn your gaze toward the unopened bags still sitting in the corner of the room. "Didn’t you say you bought me some stuff?" you ask, your voice tentative, eyes flicking toward the bags. "I’m curious about what’s in them."

Anything to steer the conversation away from the potential threat.

"It’s okay, you can look at them later" Sylus says, his voice smooth and reassuring as he swings the door open wider. The invitation seems casual, but there’s something unsettling about how easily he offers it. His hand loosens slightly around your wrist, though he doesn’t let go completely, as if to remind you that the freedom he's offering has limits.

Your eyes flick from the open door to his face, searching for any hint of what’s really going on. His expression is calm, almost too calm, as if he’s in complete control of the situation, confident that you won’t dare make a move without his permission. The open door, the promise of something beyond this room, suddenly feels less like an escape and more like a stage he's set for you.

Every instinct in your body screams that this isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s a test, another subtle power play to remind you where you stand. The reassurance in his voice only deepens the pit in your stomach. He’s letting you out, but on his terms.

You force a nod, trying to swallow the growing unease. "Okay," you murmur, though the word feels foreign in your mouth, like you’re agreeing to something you don’t fully understand.

Sylus smiles—a small, practiced curve of his lips, but his eyes remain unreadable. He steps aside, making room for you to pass, yet the tension in the air doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, wrapping itself around you like a noose tightening with every step you take toward the door.

As you step cautiously past the threshold, the hallway beyond the door reveals a world of striking opulence. The air feels cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of leather and polished stone. Beneath your bare feet, the floor is a dark, sleek tile, almost black, with a high gloss that catches the low light and reflects distorted, shadowy images of the surroundings. Each step echoes slightly, the subtle tap of your feet magnified by the smooth surface, giving the space a cavernous, eerie quality.

The walls are a deep, charcoal black, lined with intricately carved molding that runs up to the high, coffered ceilings. Elegant sconces along the walls cast pools of soft, amber light, their glow bouncing off the glossy tiles, adding an extra layer of depth to the room. The lighting is deliberately dim, creating an atmosphere of perpetual twilight, where shadows stretch and warp across the dark floor, leaving certain corners cloaked in deeper darkness.

To your left, a grand staircase spirals down, its wrought iron railings twisting in elaborate, almost gothic designs. The banister is polished ebony, gleaming faintly in the soft light, while the steps are lined with a deep, crimson runner that stands in stark contrast to the black tiles, offering a rare touch of softness amid the cold, hard surfaces. The staircase seems to descend endlessly, vanishing into shadows that hint at more hidden secrets below.

Expensive art lines the walls—large, dark oil paintings that seem impossibly old, their subjects watching with melancholy or judgment. The frames are thick, gilded with gold, though their luster is muted with age. Between the paintings, mirrors with heavy, ornate frames reflect fragments of the space, but never enough to give you a full view—only glimpses, distorted by the interplay of light and shadow.

Despite the mansions undeniable beauty, there’s a coldness that seeps through the dark tile, a chill that seems to rise from the floor itself. Every detail, from the smooth tile to the velvet drapes, feels curated and perfect, yet it lacks any warmth or comfort. The space feels like a cage disguised in luxury—beautiful, yes, but suffocating in its grandiosity.

"Kitchen is downstairs" Sylus says, nodding in their direction. You quietly make a mental note of everything as you descend. This is your chance to map out the house, make a potential escape route. Even if Sylus was close behind, you shouldn't waste this opportunity gawking at everything. So he's filthy rich, so what?

Your eyes flit from the deep shadows that pool in the corners of the hall to the heavy drapery that conceals what’s outside. Every window, every door, every hallway could be a potential escape route if you ever get the chance. You tell yourself to remember where they are, how the house is laid out. A plan begins to form in the back of your mind, hazy but determined. One way or another, you’ll need to know this place inside and out.

Each step down the staircase feels like a test, a countdown of sorts. The further you go, the deeper you descend into Sylus’s world. The weight of his gaze makes it hard to breathe, but you know you can’t falter now. You keep your pace steady, your face expressionless, pretending that this is just a simple walk down the stairs, but inside, your thoughts race. Every second counts, and you’re not going to let this moment slip away unnoticed.

The rich, savory smell of roasted chicken invades your senses as you reach the last step, filling the air with an unexpected warmth. The faint crackle of fire and the clattering of pans echo from the nearby kitchen, the sounds weaving into the dark, quiet luxury of the house. It’s a stark contrast to the cold, empty grandeur surrounding you—this small slice of normalcy, of life. But the moment feels fragile, like it could break at any second.

Your foot barely touches the last step when Sylus’s hands clamp down on your shoulders. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through your body, your heart lurching as you instinctively jump.

"You’re jumpy," he says softly, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of amusement, as though your fear is entertaining to him. The warmth of the kitchen clashes with the cold tension between you, and the contrast makes the moment feel surreal.

Sylus guides you away from the comforting noises of the kitchen, leading you into a room that exudes the same dark, expensive elegance as the rest of the house. The atmosphere shifts as you step into the space—less intimate, more like a showpiece designed to impress rather than to live in. It’s reminiscent of a living room, though everything feels just a little too perfect, too polished.

Your eyes widen as a massive flatscreen TV comes into view, its size nearly absurd against the backdrop of rich, dark wood paneling and plush furniture. "Huh? I didn’t know they made TVs this big..." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The screen is so large, it feels more like a home theater than a living room—something you’d only expect to see in movies or magazines. While the Hunter's Association paid you well, this level of luxury was foreign to you, something you'd never even considered owning.

Sylus follows your gaze to the screen, his expression unreadable. "Is something wrong with it? Too big? I can have it downsized," he offers casually, though his eyes search yours intently, as if he’s genuinely concerned about your comfort. His suggestion catches you off guard, and you cock your head in confusion. Why would he even suggest such a thing?

"No! It’s fine," you say quickly, shaking your head, still baffled by his willingness to adjust even something so extravagant for you. "I’ve just never seen one this huge."

Sylus nods, seemingly satisfied with your response, and motions toward the sofa. "Sit," he says, his tone soft but commanding. The sofa is deep, covered in smooth leather, and it practically swallows you when you lower yourself onto it.

He wastes no time sitting next to you, checking his watch again. You fiddle nervously beside him, feeling out of place in such a space. First he lets you out of his room for the very first time in weeks, and now the both of you are sitting on the couch casually as if this was routine.

You desperately wished you could tell what he was thinking.

"Chef should be done in a few minutes" Sylus said, interrupting your anxious thoughts. He tenderly intertwines his fingers with yours, lifting your hand up to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. His gaze is unwavering as he looks at you.

Your gaze shifts, briefly breaking away from his piercing eyes, and lands on a shelf in the corner of the room behind him. Something there catches your attention—an old, meticulously cared-for record player. Its polished surface gleams in the low light, a relic of a different time. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, standing out against the modern opulence surrounding it. You wonder briefly about its significance. Why something so old in a house filled with the latest luxuries?

But the question fades as Sylus’s thumb gently strokes your hand, pulling your focus back to him. He's being tender right now, and feeling bold, you start talking.

"I didn't think the leader of Onychinus would live in such a grand place" you say calmly, eyeing his reaction. Instead of anger of irritation, he simply smiles as if he already realized you had figured out his identity.

"Oh? What were you thinking then?"

"Well...I figured you would be in hiding" you say plainly, gritting your teeth a bit. "This place is pretty easy to spot. Lots of hiding places too."

Sylus chuckles as if you just told him something funny. "Sweetie nothing gets in or out of this place without me knowing, that's hardly a worry"

You mentally curse yourself. Of course he has cameras. Why wouldn’t he? A man like Sylus would never leave anything to chance, especially not in a place like this. Escaping wouldn’t be as simple as memorizing the layout of the house. You’d have to make it past the cameras, the eyes constantly watching, recording every move. The realization makes your stomach sink. Even your thoughts of escape feel smaller, less attainable now.

The air grows thick with the scent of steam and roasted chicken as a figure appears around the corner. The chef, an older man with deep-set lines in his face, moves with quiet precision. He says nothing as he places an exquisite spread of chicken and side dishes on the table in front of you. Everything looks impossibly perfect—the golden-brown skin of the chicken, the vibrant vegetables, the delicately arranged plates. It’s the kind of meal you might see in a restaurant you could never afford, yet it feels out of place here, too refined and elegant for the suffocating tension in the room.

The chef doesn’t speak, not a word, but he gives a small nod in Sylus’s direction before quietly retreating from the room. His presence, brief and silent, only adds to the strange, controlled atmosphere. You find yourself wondering if he knows—if he’s aware of the twisted dynamic at play here—or if he’s just another piece of the puzzle that makes up Sylus’s meticulously crafted world.

For a moment, you think about the cameras again. They’re watching, just like Sylus. Always watching. You force yourself to focus on the meal, trying not to give away the panic bubbling beneath your calm exterior. You smile faintly, but your mind races with the next hurdle: it’s not just about getting out of the house, it’s about getting out unseen.

Sylus glances at you, his hand still resting on yours. "Eat," he says softly, his voice smooth but with an edge of command beneath it. The invitation sounds pleasant, but you know better. This isn’t a request.

You nod, swallowing hard, a knot of anxiety tightening in your throat. You start with the green beans, methodically chewing, your mind already strategizing. Green beans—protein and energy for running. Every bite, every move from here on out has to be deliberate, with purpose. Escaping this place was never going to be easy, but now it feels even more impossible. Still, you cling to the idea that preparation is key. You’ll need your strength for when the time comes.

As you chew, you glance at Sylus and notice something unsettling. He hasn’t touched his plate. His gaze is fixed on you, watching, as if he’s waiting for something. The unease that had been simmering beneath the surface now starts to bubble up. You meet his eyes, silently questioning why he’s not eating. He smiles tenderly.

"I’ll be tracking your ovulation window from now on," he says casually, as though he were discussing the weather. "Since you’ve gotten your first period since staying here, now would be a good time to start."

The words hit you like ice water, chilling you to the core. You freeze, your fork halting mid-air as the meaning of what he said sinks in. The casualness of his tone, the way he drops such a personal, invasive statement into the conversation as if it’s nothing, leaves you reeling. He’s watching you, gauging your reaction, his smile lingering in the same unsettling way.

The room, with all its lavish furnishings and exquisite food, suddenly feels more like a cage than ever. It’s not just about being physically trapped anymore—it’s the knowledge that even your body is under his control. He’s tracking you, monitoring the most intimate parts of your life. Any illusion of autonomy shatters, leaving only the cold reality of how deeply he intends to dominate every aspect of your existence.

You force yourself to swallow the bite in your mouth, your heart pounding in your chest. Stay calm, you tell yourself. Don’t react. Not yet.

"That won't guarantee a baby" you retort, trying your best to hide a scowl. You know you’re pushing him, testing the boundaries, but the words slip out before you can stop them. The shift in his expression is immediate. The amusement that once danced in his eyes evaporates, replaced by something darker, more calculated.

His face contorts into a deep frown, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he processes your defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, and the air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken tension.

"Maybe not the first time," he starts slowly, his voice dropping a notch, finally picking up his own fork. His tone is calm, but there’s a cold edge to it, like he’s already several steps ahead in whatever twisted game he’s playing. "Or the second time."

He takes a deliberate bite, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to interrupt. After what feels like an eternity, he swallows and leans back against the sofa, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"But it will eventually."

The words hang in the air, a dark promise. His voice is measured, controlled, but beneath the surface, you can feel the underlying threat. Sylus isn’t just talking about biology; he’s making it clear that he will keep trying, over and over again, until he gets what he wants. The casual way he says it, as if it’s inevitable, sends a shiver down your spine.

The words settle in your mind, their dark implications unfurling like a slow, creeping poison. You can’t take it anymore—the calm, the control, the endless power games. Something inside you snaps. The fear, the careful restraint you’ve held onto for weeks, crumbles all at once. Before you can stop yourself, you slam your fist down onto the table, the sharp clatter of silverware echoing through the room.

"Do you even hear yourself?" you shout, your voice shaking with rage. "You think this is some sick game? You can’t just… you can’t control my body like that! You can't just—" Your voice breaks, the dam of emotions bursting wide open. "You think you can force this? That you can just keep me here, like I’m some… some breeding stock? Like I don’t have a say in my own life?"

Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts, your heart pounding in your ears. The words are spilling out now, unstoppable. "You think tracking my ovulation, making your plans—doing whatever sick family fantasy thing you have in mind—is going to work? You have no right! No right to decide what happens to me, no right to decide my future for your delusions!"

Sylus's fork clatters back onto his plate, his face blank at first, but the tension in the air is palpable. He doesn’t interrupt, just watches as you lose control, like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to exhaust yourself, maybe for you to break down entirely. But you don’t care anymore.

"You’re insane!" you spit, your voice cracking as the emotions surge, unstoppable now. "This whole place—this whole twisted world of yours—it’s a prison. Do you even get that? It doesn’t matter how much money you throw at it, how many things you control, it’ll never make you anything but a monster!"

The words hang in the air, trembling with the rawness of your outburst. Your chest heaves, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You’re on the verge of tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not now.

"I'll kill myself before any child of yours ever calls me mom" you say, your words ringing through the still and quiet mansion.

Sylus’s expression shifts, the mask of calm slipping ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, and his lips press into a thin, tight line. For a moment, the room feels like it’s holding its breath. Then, as if something in him cracks open, he smiles. A slow, unnerving grin spreads across his face, the darkness in his eyes momentarily replaced by something even more disturbing—amusement.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. The anger you had expected never comes. Instead, a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, growing louder, filling the room with an eerie echo that makes your skin crawl.

"Are you done with your little tantrum, kitten?" he coos, his voice dripping with condescension. The way he says "kitten" sends a shiver down your spine, the pet name laced with eerie sweetness. Without warning, he reaches out, gripping your wrist with an unsettling gentleness, pulling you toward him with ease.

Before you can react, he yanks you down onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Your body stiffens, the weight of him beneath you both unsettling and humiliating. You feel trapped, like prey ensnared in a hunter’s grasp. His arm wraps around your waist, locking you in place. You try to pull away, but his hold is unyielding.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting as his fingers trail lazily up your back, "you’re just a little ball of anger, aren’t you?" His smile widens as his hand slides into your hair, gently tugging it, controlling even the smallest movements. You feel the tension in your body spike, but any resistance you try to muster is immediately swallowed by the cold reality of his control.

"You know," he continues, his tone light, almost playful, as if you weren’t just screaming at him moments ago, "I could let you keep fighting me. Let you wear yourself out like a kitten clawing at something it can’t catch." He chuckles again, his fingers tightening in your hair, forcing your head to tilt just enough so that you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto yours with a frightening intensity.

"But we both know how this ends, don’t we?" he whispers, his voice dropping into something dangerously low. His smile never fades, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens into something cruel. "You’ll tire yourself out. You always do."

A whimper escapes your lips as his grip tightens in your hair, the pressure mounting to the point where it’s impossible to hold back any longer. The tears you’ve fought so desperately to contain now spill freely, streaking down your cheeks. Your body trembles as the emotional dam breaks, the fear, frustration, and helplessness flooding out all at once.

Sylus notices. His expression shifts, softening in a way that feels strange. The cruel amusement that once gleamed in his eyes fades, replaced by something disturbingly gentle. He loosens his grip on your hair, letting his fingers glide down to your cheek. His thumb brushes away the hot tears, wiping them tenderly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice a quiet coo. The gentleness in his tone feels like a strange juxtaposition to the fear still gripping your chest. His other hand slides down to cradle your face, keeping you close, but no longer with the same force. "It’s okay. I promised I’d take care of you, didn’t I?"

He presses soft kisses on your lips as they tremble and you just let him, the weight of the situation crashing on you. "Just take my cum and have my baby, I'll take care of everything else. Doesn't that sound easy?"

You jerk your head away from him at the mere thought of him impregnating you.

He turns your head back towards him, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your tear-streaked cheek, the touch almost reverent. The sensation makes your skin crawl, the tenderness a cruel mockery of the power he so clearly holds over you. You want to pull away, but his hands keep you there, gently holding you in place as if to soothe the very tears he caused.

His lips move to your hand, kissing your tear-stained fist, as though he’s trying to console you after making you break down. The gesture feels wrong, every soft touch an extension of his control masquerading as care. He’s not only comforting you out of kindness and love but he’s reminding you that even your pain belongs to him, that he can take you to the brink of despair and then pull you back whenever he pleases.

"You can scream, you can break my things, you can throw tantrums, but in the end..." His voice lowers, chillingly calm. "You’re still mine. You still belong to me. Your anger? It’s nothing. It won’t change anything."

The room feels smaller now, his words wrapping around you like a vice, tightening with every breath. You can’t breathe, can’t think, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all over again.

"And as for your outburst..." he says, his lips curling into a faint smile. "It will have consequences."

Your body trembles as his thumb brushes away another tear, his touch tender, almost soothing. And despite the revulsion that twists in your stomach, despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to push him away, you don’t.

You can’t.

You’re just so exhausted.

Without even realizing it, you lean into him, your body betraying your mind. The weight of your exhaustion is unbearable, and the fight you’ve held onto for so long begins to slip through your fingers like sand. Your head rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing providing a sick sort of comfort that you hate yourself for needing.

He holds you gently, his arm wrapping around your waist, securing you against him as though he’s protecting you. The irony is suffocating. This man, who has twisted your world into a living nightmare, is now the one offering you comfort. And as much as you despise him for it, for the control he wields over you, you sink deeper into his embrace, desperate for the warmth and the momentary relief from your own anguish.

"There you go," he murmurs softly, his fingers stroking your hair in long, calming motions. "See? It’s not so bad, is it?"

The words cut, each one a reminder of the power he holds over you, but you’re too drained to care anymore. The anger, the defiance, the hatred—it’s all still there, burning under the surface, but right now, the only thing you can feel is the weight of your own exhaustion pulling you down, dragging you into a state of reluctant surrender.

"I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair.

"But it doesn’t matter, sweetie. You’re mine now. Hate me all you want, I’ll still take care of you."

You hate him for saying it. You hate him for making you feel like you need him. But in this moment, you’re too tired to fight him. You allow yourself to collapse into the illusion of safety, just for a little while, even though you know it’s a trap.

You wake to the sensation of being moved, cradled like you’re something fragile. It’s disorienting at first, and for a brief, blissful moment, you don’t remember where you are. But then the cold reality slams into you.

Sylus.

Your eyes flicker open, and through the haze of sleep, you realize he’s carrying you. His arms are steady, but the feel of his hold sends a chill down your spine. You try to shake off the drowsiness, to push yourself upright, but your limbs feel weak and uncooperative.

"Shh," he whispers, his voice gentle, though it only makes the situation worse. "Go back to sleep. You’re safe."

Safe. The word rings hollow in your mind. You know better. Even though his touch is soft and careful, even though his voice is low and comforting, you know exactly where you are—exactly who holds you.

Your heart sinks as you hear the faint whirr of a door opening. He’s taking you back to the room, the one where you’ve spent so many weeks locked away, trapped. A lump forms in your throat as you realize what’s happening, but you’re too weak to fight it. You had a brief taste of freedom, even if it was a twisted version of it, but now he’s putting you back in your cage.

Sylus steps into his room, the dim light casting long shadows over the dark, lavish space. He moves with deliberate care, like he’s handling something precious, lowering you onto the bed with a gentleness that feels grotesque in its contrast to what he’s actually doing.

Your body sinks into the mattress, your limbs too heavy to lift. You manage a weak protest, a soft whimper of resistance, but he shushes you again, his hand brushing the side of your face with infuriating tenderness.

"Sleep, kitten. You need your rest."

He moves to the door, and you hear the unmistakable sound of the lock. The finality of it sends a fresh wave of despair through you. You’re back in the same room, the same prison, despite the moments of fragile comfort you had shared. It all meant nothing. You’re still his prisoner.

You turn your face into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes once more, but you’re too drained to cry again. Your body aches, your mind is foggy, and sleep still tugs at you, relentless in its pull. You hate that you find any sense of comfort in the bed, in the quiet, but there’s no fight left in you tonight.

With the sound of the lock still echoing in your mind, you close your eyes and let yourself slip back into unconsciousness, knowing that tomorrow, nothing will have changed.

You wake suddenly, gasping for air, your skin slick with sweat. The sheets are tangled around your legs, suffocatingly warm. For a moment, you think it's just another nightmare—the kind that leaves you feeling claustrophobic and panicked—but the heat in the room is real, heavy, and stifling.

You sit up slowly, blinking in the darkness, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Something feels off. The usual low hum of electricity, the steady whir of the ceiling fan, the soft glow of electronics—they’re all gone. Silence presses down around you, and the air in the room feels thick and still, almost oppressive.

The power’s out.

It hits you slowly at first, like a distant thought struggling to surface. The heat, the silence... no fan, no lights. And then it clicks. The power’s out. The fingerprint scanner.

Your heart skips a beat, adrenaline spiking through your veins. No power means the security system that’s kept you locked in this room—trapped and helpless—is down. The scanner on the door, the one that’s monitored your every movement, is dead. It has to be.

This could be your only chance.

You stumble out of bed, your legs shaky, still groggy from sleep but jolted awake by the rush of adrenaline. Your hands tremble as you feel your way to the door in the dark, the oppressive heat clinging to your skin. The room is suffocating, the air too thick to breathe, but none of that matters now.

You press your thumb against the scanner, holding your breath. Nothing happens. The small screen remains black, unresponsive. It’s not working.

A flicker of hope flares in your chest. The lock isn’t powered. You press your palm against the door and push, feeling it give under your hand. Slowly, carefully, you ease the door open just a crack and peer out into the hallway.

The corridor is bathed in shadow, darker than when you last saw it. The ambient lights, the security monitors, everything is dead. The house is eerily still, the silence even more unnerving than before. You step into the hallway, your heart racing as you move forward, each step deliberate and cautious.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you expect to hear Sylus’s voice, or the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, but the house remains quiet. You know he has Luke and Kieran stationed somewhere, but for now, the way seems clear.

You make your way toward the grand staircase, remembering some parts of the house from earlier. The front door is just ahead, at the bottom of the stairs. The hallway stretches before you, dark and endless, but your pulse quickens with the possibility of freedom.

You take a breath and descend the stairs as quietly as possible, gripping the banister for balance. Each creak of the wood beneath your feet feels deafening in the stillness. Your eyes dart around the hallway, searching the shadows for any sign of movement.

Finally, you reach the bottom of the stairs. The front door looms ahead, and you move toward it, the air growing cooler as you get closer. Your hand reaches for the door handle, and just as your fingers brush the cool metal, you freeze.

Voices.

You hear them—low, muffled voices coming from outside the door. Sylus’s men.

"Shit, powers out. We gotta start the generators."

Your heart sinks. They're right outside. You cant go this way without immediately being manhandled.

You glance around frantically, your mind racing for another way out. The house is massive, full of rooms and corridors, but you have no idea where the other exits lead. Still, you can’t afford to stand here and think—you need to move.

Then you remember. The kitchen. Maybe there's a way out there?

It’s a long shot, but you don’t have any other options. You turn quickly, darting down the hallway, your footsteps light and deliberate on the smooth, black tile. The shadows seem to stretch and twist around you, and every small creak feels like it’s echoing through the silence. You try to keep calm, but the fear of being caught wraps tighter around your chest with every passing second.

You reach the kitchen, and the oppressive heat of the house seems to lessen as you step inside. The room is large and dark, no light to be seen through the windows. The scent of stale food lingers in the air, remnants of a meal long forgotten, but you barely notice it. Your eyes dart to the side door.

It’s small, barely noticeable in the corner of the room, half-concealed behind shelves and cabinets. The door leads out to the horse racing track—you remember Sylus mentioning it in conversation once.

You rush toward the door, your pulse thundering in your ears. You reach for the handle, your hand trembling as it wraps around the cool metal. For a brief moment, you fear it’ll be locked, that this last chance at freedom will slip through your fingers.

Thankfully, with a twist and a click it opens.

The space beyond the kitchen is nothing like you expected—no trees, no breeze, just the harsh, cold landscape of the N109 zone. The dark, black midnight sky looms over you like an oppressive blanket, thick and unwelcoming. No stars, no moonlight, just an endless void stretching above you. The air is still and stale, a reflection of the lifelessness surrounding you.

But you have no time to process any of it. You can’t stop now. You have to keep moving.

Your feet press into the cracked, uneven ground as you forge ahead, your breath shallow and quick. As you walk, the outline of several horse stables comes into view. The structures are dark, the animals inside unmoving, their silhouettes barely visible in the low light. Thankfully, the horses are all asleep. None stir as you pass by quietly, your body tense and ready to bolt at the slightest sound. The only thing you hear is the quiet crunch of your own footsteps on the rough surface beneath you.

Ahead, a tall fence looms in the distance, a final obstacle standing between you and the outer edges of the N109 zone. You approach it cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest as you study its height. It’s rusted and worn, but still sturdy enough to make the climb difficult. You don’t have time to think—you have to act.

Gripping the cold metal tightly, you heave yourself up, your muscles straining with each movement. Your hands slip slightly, the rough texture of the fence biting into your palms as you scramble to find footing. Panic flares briefly in your chest, but you grit your teeth and push through the fear. You can’t stop now.

Just as you manage to get a decent grip, you hear it—the unmistakable hum of power returning. Behind you, Sylus’s mansion springs to life. Lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the cold, empty halls that only moments ago were shrouded in darkness. The power’s back. It won’t be long before they notice you’re gone. They’ll be coming for you.

It’s now or never.

With a final burst of strength, you haul yourself up the last few feet of the fence, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The metal digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You pull yourself over the top, balancing precariously for a moment before launching yourself over.

You crash onto the other side, landing face-first on the hard, unforgiving ground. Pain shoots through your body as your knees and elbows scrape against the jagged surface, but you don’t let it stop you. You’ve come too far to be caught now.

For a moment, you lie there, dazed and gasping for breath, the shock of the impact making your head spin. The cold ground beneath you feels like both a punishment and a reminder that you’re not free yet. Behind you, you can hear the faint sounds of activity from the mansion—the twins moving, footsteps echoing in the distance.

They know.

Ignoring the pain, you force yourself to your feet, your body protesting with every movement. The fence looms behind you like a dark sentinel, separating you from the life you’re fleeing. You don’t dare look back at the mansion, don’t give yourself the chance to second-guess your next move.

You start running.

The landscape ahead is bleak and dark, with nothing but cold, cracked streets in every direction. There’s no breeze, no noise apart from your labored breathing and the pounding of your feet against the ground. A few tall and bleak buildings reminiscent of a part of a city come into view. You start making your way there.

You’re outside. You’re running. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the possibility of freedom is real, even if it’s still far out of reach.

In the distance, perched on a dead landline, a mechanical crow preens its feathers. Its head jerks toward a running girl, its red eyes locking onto her figure. Without warning, it spreads its metal wings and takes off in her direction, gears whirring as it follows from above.

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motorsportbarbie13 · 7 days ago

Text

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding

In which you and Max tie the knot.

Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - Master List

After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married.

Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail.

It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble.

“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all.

You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?”

Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?”

Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?”

Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.”

Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.”

He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.”

You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?”

An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?”

You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?”

Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours.

Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day.

“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you.

Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days.

“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.”

You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this.

yourpersonalinsta posted

129,938 likes liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty! >>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day. alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl >>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby user029 dream life fr user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!

December, 2025

The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day.

Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief.

The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you.

Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too.

No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment.

In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick.

You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering.

All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him.

As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek.

“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.”

Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed.

“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?”

Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action.

“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow.

Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.”

Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it.

“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly.

“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.”

“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know it can’t be easy.”

You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had?

Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life.

“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.”

Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?”

“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.”

There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked.

Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.

It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready.

You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two.

“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to.

You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?”

Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa.

“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ”

And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever.

He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.”

You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box.

When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it.

“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.”

“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?”

You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on.

“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?”

Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect.

Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are.

He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy.

The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek.

Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach.

“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.”

The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment.

“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize.

“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.”

A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you.

Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling.

“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife.

maxverstappen1 posted

1,309,292 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO??? user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them >>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing. charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT??? yourpersonalinsta love you, husband >>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl >>>user998 this is such a lando comment oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man! >>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read??? >>>user948 HAHA OSCAR

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,029,398 likes liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan. user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard. kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl! user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!! >>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl. user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER??? >>>user0291 oh my god oh my god

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fluff

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br0kenangel · 3 months ago

Text

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 2

Summary: after your last session with Aegon, you always feel him behind your back, when you were at home you could feel him here. And when your next session come, everything just got worse...

Warning: dead animals, just a little sex scene, minors DNI.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language and I wrote this at 2 AM alone in the home. So I'm sorry if it's not good, I was scared and I couldn't think. Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 3, PART 4

That night, sleep came slowly to Y/N. The room felt colder than usual, the darkness pressing in from all sides. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind against the window sent her heart racing. She pulled the blankets tighter around her, trying to convince herself that Aegon’s words had just been that—a mind game, an attempt to unsettle her. But the weight of his gaze from earlier lingered like a ghost in the room.

He didn’t actually watch me, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. He was just trying to freak me out, trying to get into my head. That’s what he does.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, she imagined him standing outside her window, staring in at her with that unsettling intensity. She quickly opened them again, staring at the window across from her bed. The curtains fluttered slightly in the breeze, and for a moment, her mind played tricks on her, imagining a shadow behind them.

There’s no one there, she repeated to herself. He’s not here. He can’t be here.

She forced herself to roll over, turning her back to the window. But that only made her feel more vulnerable. What if he was watching her now, right behind her? She cursed under her breath, her skin prickling with the sense of being observed.

He’s not here. You’re safe. He just wanted to mess with you. That’s all.

But the thought looped in her head, becoming harder to shake. Every sound in the house became magnified—the creak of the pipes, the hum of the fridge, the rustle of leaves outside. Everything felt threatening. She tried focusing on her breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, forcing her mind to calm.

You’re a professional, she reminded herself, staring at the faint light coming through the crack in the curtains. You’ve dealt with difficult clients before. He’s no different.

But deep down, she knew Aegon was different. He was more than difficult—he was dangerous, unpredictable. The way he looked at her, the way he spoke about that dove, about watching her through the window... it was unsettling in a way that no other client had ever been. And that was what made it so hard to shake.

Hours passed before she finally drifted into a restless sleep, her mind plagued by half-formed dreams of shadows and cold eyes staring through the night.

The next morning, she walked to her office with a persistent unease in her chest. The street felt too quiet, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder every few steps, expecting to see Aegon trailing behind her. But there was no one. Just the usual early morning foot traffic—people heading to work, students with their heads buried in their phones.

He’s not here, she told herself again, quickening her pace. He’s not following you. You’re just being paranoid.

But every time she turned a corner, her heart leapt into her throat, expecting to catch a glimpse of his familiar figure. She tried to shake off the paranoia, but it clung to her like a second skin.

When she finally reached her office building, she sighed in relief, stepping quickly inside. The familiar scent of the lobby, the hum of the elevator, the bright, sterile lighting—everything felt like a small refuge from the gnawing anxiety that had been following her all morning.

But the moment she stepped into her office and closed the door, the unease returned. Her eyes immediately darted to the window, checking for any sign of movement outside. There was nothing—just the trees swaying gently in the breeze, the distant sound of traffic.

He’s not watching you, she reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time. He’s just trying to scare you, and it’s working. Don’t let him get to you.

But even as she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept wandering back to Aegon. His strange, possessive words about the dove. The way he described wanting to clip its wings, to keep it trapped and close. It echoed in her head, too close to how he might feel about her. She shuddered at the thought, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her coffee.

Later, as the day turned to evening and she walked home, the unease intensified. The shadows stretched longer, darker, and with every step, she felt like someone was just a few paces behind her. She forced herself to keep walking, telling herself not to look back.

He’s not there, she repeated, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. It’s just your imagination. He’s not following you.

But the urge to turn around became too much. She quickly glanced over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat.

No one. The street behind her was empty, save for a few distant cars and pedestrians.

Her heart raced as she turned back, walking faster now, nearly breaking into a jog. She couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter how hard she tried. The shadows felt alive, watching her, waiting for her to let her guard down. And it was getting harder and harder to convince herself that it was just paranoia.

When she finally reached her apartment, she slammed the door shut behind her, locking it quickly. Her hands were shaking as she leaned against the door, trying to calm her breathing.

It’s over. You’re home. He’s not here. You’re safe.

But even as she said the words, she didn’t fully believe them. Every creak of the apartment, every shadow cast by the dim evening light seemed to take on a new, more sinister meaning. She jumped at the slightest movement, her nerves frayed beyond reason.

As she sat down on the couch, she glanced at the window, half-expecting to see Aegon’s face staring back at her from the street below. But it was empty, just the soft glow of streetlights outside.

He’s not watching you, she repeated to herself, her voice barely a whisper. He’s not watching you.

But the creeping feeling of being observed refused to leave, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, somehow, Aegon was watching—waiting for the right moment to make his next move.

A week had passed since their last session, but it felt like months to Y/N. Every day, her unease grew, festering like a wound that refused to heal. The feeling of being watched never fully left her; shadows felt longer, eyes sharper. No matter how much she told herself it was just in her head, there was always a faint whisper of doubt in the back of her mind.

Now, sitting in her office once again, facing the man who had been haunting her thoughts, she forced herself to breathe. Aegon was different today. His usual agitation, the relentless tapping of his leg and biting of his nails, was absent. Instead, he sat eerily still, his eyes fixed on the wall to her left, as if he was watching something that she couldn’t see. His lips moved faintly, a soft, tuneless whisper escaping them. She strained her ears to catch it but could only make out fragments of sound—a hum, almost like a lullaby.

The silence in the room felt thick, oppressive, and she had to fight the urge to shift in her seat, to break the suffocating quiet.

I have to ask, she told herself, steeling her nerves. You have to confront him about last week. You can’t let him think he can do whatever he wants.

She took a deep breath and spoke, trying to keep her voice calm, even though her heart was pounding in her chest. "Aegon, last time we spoke, you mentioned something… odd. You said I looked good last night… in my pajamas." Her voice faltered slightly at the memory, but she forced herself to continue. "I need to ask, what did you mean by that?"

Aegon didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to hear her. His eyes remained glued to the wall, his lips still moving faintly, whispering that strange song to himself. His hands rested on his knees, the skin pale and bruised, nails ragged from relentless chewing.

"Aegon?" she pressed, her voice tightening as her nerves frayed. "What did you mean?"

He stopped humming, but his gaze remained unfocused, distant, as if he were somewhere far away. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally spoke, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "Sunfyre died this week."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "Your… your cat?"

Aegon nodded slowly, still staring at the wall. "He was my only friend. The only one who understood." His voice was monotone, lifeless, as though the words were being dragged out of him.

"I’m… I’m sorry to hear that," Y/N said cautiously, watching his expression for any sign of reaction. But there was nothing. His face remained blank, his eyes never leaving the invisible point on the wall.

"He was beautiful," Aegon continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Golden fur. Like the sun. That’s why I called him Sunfyre. He was always warm. Always there."

Y/N swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. There was something deeply unsettling about the way Aegon spoke—as if he was detached from the world around him, floating somewhere she couldn’t reach.

"And now," he murmured, his voice taking on a strange, almost dreamy quality, "he’s gone. And there’s just… noises." He finally blinked, but his gaze remained distant, as if the room had become too small for him. "The noises never stop."

"What… what noises?" Y/N asked cautiously, her fingers gripping the armrests of her chair, trying to steady herself. Something in the pit of her stomach twisted.

"Them," Aegon replied vaguely, tilting his head slightly as if listening for something. "The whispers. The sounds in the walls. They’re everywhere now, you know? After Sunfyre… they got louder. He used to keep them away, but now there’s nothing. Just them. Always talking. Always laughing." His face twitched for the briefest moment, as if suppressing a shiver.

Y/N’s heart started to race again, an icy chill creeping down her spine. "Aegon… have you… have you spoken to anyone about these noises? Has this been happening for a long time?"

"They’ve always been there," he said in the same flat, detached voice. "But it’s worse now. It’s like they’re closer. Watching me all the time. Telling me things." His eyes, still glued to the wall, seemed to glaze over. "I try not to listen, but sometimes… sometimes they make sense."

Her throat felt dry, but she forced herself to ask, "What do they tell you?"

Aegon’s lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile. It was the first time he’d smiled since he entered the room, and it was chilling. "They tell me the truth. About everything. About you."

Her blood ran cold at his words, her mind racing as she tried to keep her expression neutral. "What… what do you mean, Aegon?"

"They tell me how beautiful you are," he whispered, his eyes still locked on that invisible point on the wall. "How you care about me. How you don’t want me to leave. They tell me how you wear that soft panty to bed. The one with the little flowers on it."

Her heart stopped. How does he know? How?

She felt light-headed, her vision blurring at the edges as panic surged through her veins. "Aegon… how do you know what I wear?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head again, listening, as though someone was whispering in his ear. Then, with an eerie calmness, he said, "The voices see everything."

Y/N’s hands trembled as she gripped the chair tighter. "Aegon, I need you to focus. What do you mean the voices see everything?"

"They watch. They’re always watching," he replied, finally turning his head to face her, his gaze locking onto hers. His eyes were wide, unblinking, and filled with a strange, manic intensity that made her heart lurch in fear. "Just like I do. Just like I watch."

The room suddenly felt much smaller, the walls closing in around her. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run, to leave, but her legs felt frozen in place.

"Sunfyre used to keep them away," Aegon continued, his voice a low murmur now. "But he’s gone. Now there’s just me. And you."

She couldn’t speak. Her chest tightened, her thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion. She had to end the session. She had to get out.

But before she could move, the clock on the wall chimed, signaling the end of their time.

Aegon stood up slowly, still smiling, his eyes never leaving her. "I’ll see you next week," he said softly, his voice dripping with a sickening sweetness.

And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving Y/N sitting in her chair, frozen in place, the echoes of his words reverberating in her mind.

The voices see everything.

The second Aegon left her office, she felt the walls pressing in, the whispers of doubt clawing at her. She packed up quickly, her hands trembling as she stuffed her notebook into her bag and threw on her coat. All she wanted—needed—was to get out.

By the time she reached her apartment, her fingers shook as she fumbled with her keys, her heart still hammering in her chest. As soon as she was inside, she slammed the door shut and bolted it, leaning her back against the wood as she tried to steady her breathing.

It’s just in your head, she told herself, her voice shaky and uncertain. He’s just a patient. He’s just trying to get under your skin. He’s not watching you… he’s not.

But the fear lingered. His words replayed in her mind, twisting around her thoughts like a poison.

With trembling hands, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number she knew by heart. It only took two rings before she heard the familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, babe,” her boyfriend, Jacob, answered. His tone light and warm. “Everything okay?”

“No…” Y/N’s voice broke as the word slipped out. “Can you come over? Please. I—I need you.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be right there.”

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. She paced around her apartment, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on her chest. She kept checking the windows, the corners of the room, every shadow stretching a little too far, every creak of the floorboards making her jump.

When the knock finally came, she practically ran to the door. As soon as she opened it, she fell into his arms, her body trembling with the weight of it all.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jacob murmured, holding her tightly. His hand gently stroked her hair as he guided her back inside, shutting the door behind them. “I’m here. What happened?”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s… it’s Aegon. My patient. He—he said these things and I don’t know, it’s just… he knows things, things he shouldn’t know.”

Her voice broke as she recounted the details, her words spilling out in a frantic rush. She told him everything—Aegon’s strange behavior, his fixation, the way he talked about her. The voices. The watching.

Jacob listened, his face calm and reassuring as he nodded. “Babe, I think you’re just stressed. This guy… he’s messing with you because he knows it’ll get to you.”

“I don’t know…” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. “It felt so real.”

“I know, I know it did.” He pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “But you’re letting him get in your head. He’s trying to make you scared, but you can’t let him win, okay?”

She nodded against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. “You’re right. You’re right… it’s just in my head.”

“That’s all it is,” he said softly, his hands running soothingly down her back. “Just some creepy guy trying to push your buttons. But you’re stronger than that. You can handle it.”

His calm, rational voice slowly chipped away at the terror inside her. She breathed deeply, letting herself believe his words, clinging to them like a lifeline. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed that.”

“I’m here,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

The tension in her chest began to unravel as she melted into his embrace. Slowly, the fear that had gripped her all week loosened its hold. He was right. Aegon was just trying to get under her skin. Nothing more.

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “How about we forget all about this guy, huh? Let’s just relax.”

She nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds good.”

Without another word, he took her hand and led her toward the bathroom. The warm steam from the shower enveloped them as they stepped inside, the water cascading over their skin, washing away the remnants of the day’s tension.

He pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She responded, her hands sliding up his chest, the heat of the water matching the growing warmth between them. His touch was gentle but sure, his hands slowly roaming over her body as he deepened the kiss.

In that moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Not Aegon, not the fear, not the shadows that had haunted her all week. There was only him, the steady reassurance of his presence.

As they moved to the bed, their wet skin still warm from the shower, he kissed her neck, his hands sliding between her legs, slowly caressing her. She gasped softly, her body responding to the comfort and distraction he offered.

He kissed her deeply, and as his hands roamed over her, she closed her eyes, letting herself forget everything. For just a moment, she let herself believe that everything was okay.

The weight of Jacob's arm draped over her gave Y/N a sense of temporary calm, her mind finally lulled into a fragile state of rest after the events of the week. The sheets clung to their bodies, still damp from the shared heat, their limbs intertwined in a way that made her feel, for the first time in days, safe. Protected.

But that safety shattered in an instant.

A loud crash from the other side of the apartment jolted them awake. The sound of breaking glass ripped through the silence like a scream, sharp and sudden. Y/N shot up in bed, her heart pounding so fast it felt like it would burst out of her chest. Her boyfriend sat up beside her, his hand instinctively reaching for her.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, his voice low, urgent.

"IーI don't know," Y/N stammered, already pulling the blanket around her naked body, her hands trembling as she clutched the fabric tightly. Fear crawled up her spine like a cold hand, squeezing her chest. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Jacob swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon. "Stay behind me," he said, his voice grim as he stood, leading the way out of the bedroom.

They crept down the hallway, the air thick with tension, their breaths shallow and uneven. The soft click of the floorboards under their feet was deafening in the oppressive silence that followed the crash. Y/N tightened the blanket around her, the fabric dragging across the floor as she followed behind, her senses on high alert, every shadow on the walls seeming to twist and warp into something sinister.

The moment they stepped into the living room, the metallic tang of blood hit her like a punch to the gut. She froze.

"Oh my God..." her boyfriend whispered, the words barely audible, as his gaze swept over the scene before them.

Doves. Dead doves, strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Their once-beautiful white feathers were soaked in blood, their delicate wings from their bodies, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Some of them were headless, their necks bent at grotesque angles, the floor slick with their blood. Their wings were now broken, shredded, discarded in small, crumpled heaps.

The smell was overwhelming, suffocating. The stench of death and blood filled the air, thick and coppery, clinging to their skin like a second layer. Y/N gagged, one hand flying to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Her eyes were wide with horror as she stared at the carnage before her.

It wasn't just the doves.

The walls were splattered with blood- thick, dark red streaks of it, smeared in long, jagged lines. Words. Horrible, terrifying words written in the blood of the doves.

"MINE"

"LEAVE"

"ALWAYS WATCHING"

The writing was erratic, desperate, the letters dripping down the walls like some kind of twisted arning. The word “MINE" was repeated over and over again, sometimes scrawled so large it stretched from floor to ceiling, other times tiny, scratched into the plaster as if done by someone who had lost control.

The words clawed at her brain, a primal panic bubbling up from the depths of her mind. They weren't just words-they were a threat, a message, twisted and dark, filled with rage. Her chest tightened, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her eyes scanned the room, wild and terrified.

"What the fuck.." her boyfriend whispered, his voice trembling now, his grip tightening around the lamp. "What the fuck is this?"

Y/N's legs were shaking, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her as she stumbled backward. Her eyes darted to the window, and that's when she saw him.

A figure in the shadows, standing just outside the glass, watching her.

Aegon.

His pale, hollow face was half-hidden by the darkness, but his eyes一those wild, burning eyes一were locked onto hers, unblinking. There was something feral in the way he stood, the way his lips twisted into a sickening smile as he stared at her, his head tilted at a strange, unnatural angle, like a predator stalking its prey.

She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Her throat was dry, her voice stolen by the sheer terror of the moment. Her body felt frozen, paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Her boyfriend's voice cut through the fog of her panic. "What is it? What do you see?"

She tore her eyes away from the window, grabbing his arm with trembling hands. "He's here" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. "He's outside... it's him..."

Her boyfriend whipped his head toward the window, but by the time he looked, Aegon was gone. The shadowy figure had vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the echo of his presence behind.

"I don't see anything," he said, his voice laced with confusion andfear. “There's no one there."

"No-no, I saw him!" Y/N insisted, her voice rising with hysteria. "He was there! I swear to God, he was right there, watching us!"

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as she trembled violently. "It's okay, it's okay. We'll call the cops. Someone broke in, this... this is some fucked-up shit, but we'll figure it out. He's not here anymore."

She nodded weakly, her mind spinning with confusion and terror. Her eyes kept darting back to the window, expecting to see those cold, unblinking eyes staring back at her. But the space was empty now, just an expanse of darkness and the dull glow of streetlights outside.

Jacob pulled out his phone and dialed the police, his voice low and urgent as he explained the situation. Y/N barely heard him, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic whirlwind of fear and disbelief.

The words on the walls seemed to pulse in the corner of her vision, the blood dripping down in slow, thick rivulets: MINE. LEAVE.

Her stomach twisted into knots, her entire body shaking as she collapsed into the nearest chair, her legs giving out beneath her. The doves lay scattered around her feet, their lifeless eyes staring up at her, empty and soulless.

She couldn't escape it.

No matter how hard she tried to convince herself it wasn't real, that Aegon wasn't capable of such madness, the truth was there-painted in blood across her walls.

This wasn't just in her head. This was real. Too real.

“There’s not much we can do without evidence,” one of the officers had said, his voice neutral but with an edge of doubt. “But we can check on him, just to ease your mind.”

And so, at 3 AM, Y/N, Jacob, and the two officers found themselves standing outside the grand Targaryen estate. The imposing house loomed before them, bathed in the glow of the moon, its towering facade as cold and uninviting as the man who lived inside. Y/N’s heart was pounding in her chest, her skin crawling with unease as they rang the bell.

It didn’t take long for the door to open.

Alicent stood in the doorway, her face pinched with confusion and irritation, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She looked from the officers to Y/N and her boyfriend, then back again. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Officers," Alicent greeted politely, though her voice held an edge of irritation. "May I help you?"

Y/N’s voice shook as she stepped forward. “It’s Aegon. He’s been stalking me—he came to my apartment tonight. He left… dead birds everywhere, and he wrote on the walls with blood. He’s been following me. Watching me.”

“I’m sorry, but what is this about?” Alicent’s eyes flicked between Y/N, her boyfriend, and the officers. “This must be a misunderstanding.”

“No, it’s not a misunderstanding!” Y/N yelled, her voice breaking as tears welled up in her eyes. “He broke into my apartment. There were doves—dead doves—and blood… He’s been following me, watching me! He’s dangerous!”

Her boyfriend squeezed her hand gently, trying to pull her back, but she yanked away, pointing toward the door. “You have to believe me! Aegon is sick—he needs to be locked up! He’s not right in the head!”

Alicent’s face hardened. “That’s impossible. Aegon’s been here all night.”

The officers exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to proceed.

Alicent’s eyes flicked to the officers, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “My son would never do something like that. He’s not… unwell. He’s just dealing with some personal things.”

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribcage as rage and fear bubbled inside her, her voice rising as she lost control. “He’s a fucking psycho, and he’s trying to ruin my life! He’s stalking me, and you’re just covering for him!”

“Ma’am,” one of the officers cut in, stepping forward to intervene, “let’s all remain calm. We’re here to investigate, but we need to speak to Aegon himself.”

At that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed down the grand staircase.

Aegon appeared, descending slowly, rubbing his eyes as though he had just woken from a peaceful slumber. He wore a loose-fitting T-shirt and pajama pants, his blonde hair mussed, his expression calm, and his movements casual, almost lazy. He looked nothing like the manic, disturbed man Y/N had seen just hours before.

“Is everything alright?” Aegon asked, his voice quiet, soft, laced with concern. His eyes scanned the group, lingering on Y/N for a moment before turning to the officers. “What’s going on?”

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. How could he look so normal? She knew what he was—she had seen him, heard his madness—but now, he was playing the part of the innocent. She could feel herself unraveling, her emotions spilling out uncontrollably.

Her blood boiled at the sight of his calm, innocent facade. He wasn’t the same Aegon she had sat across from in therapy—the one who whispered disturbing things and stared at her with dark, empty eyes. This Aegon seemed so harmless, almost apologetic, as if none of the horrors from earlier could be traced back to him.

"Do you know this woman, sir?" one of the officers asked, gesturing to Y/N, who was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it all.

Aegon blinked slowly, his expression softening into something almost pitiful. “Yes, she's…my therapist," he said, his voice low and even, a hint of sadness laced into his words. "But…I'm not really sure why she’s here.”

One of the officers stepped forward. “Sir, we’re here following a report. This woman has made some serious claims about your involvement in an incident tonight. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Aegon’s face contorted into an expression of confusion, concern knitting his brow as he blinked at the officers. “I don’t know what she’s talking about,” he said, his voice even, smooth. “I’ve been here all night. I haven’t left the house.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes going wide. “What? No—no, don’t act like this! You know exactly what you did, Aegon! You’ve been following me! You were in my apartment tonight! I saw you!”

Aegon shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with what looked like genuine confusion. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I was home all night. I would never do something like that.” He turned to the officers. “I’ve been going through a hard time. I recently…broke up with my girlfriend, and I started seeing Y/N to help me deal with the depression. But…I don’t know where all of this is coming from.”

“He’s lying!” Y/N screamed, stepping forward, her whole body shaking with anger. “He’s making it all up! He’s dangerous—he’s not the person you think he is!”

Aegon didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer to the officers, his face calm, composed, but his voice took on a vulnerable tone. “I think… I think maybe she’s upset because I didn’t reciprocate her feelings.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “What the fuck are you talking about? That’s not true!”

Aegon glanced at the officers, feigning embarrassment. “She…she made some advances during our sessions. I told her that it wasn’t appropriate, but I think she may have misinterpreted our relationship. Maybe she’s just mad that I didn’t…you know, return her feelings.”

Y/N’s world spun. The rage and helplessness surged inside her like a storm, the bile rising in her throat. “That’s a lie! You’re lying! You need to stop lying!” She lunged forward, her hands reaching for Aegon in a desperate attempt to stop him from spinning the truth any further, but her boyfriend grabbed her, pulling her back.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he pleaded, holding her tightly as she fought to break free. “Just stop!”

Aegon’s face twisted into something almost sad. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin her reputation, but…I’m worried about her. I think she’s struggling with some personal issues, and that’s why she’s saying all of this.”

The officers looked back at Y/N, their expressions unreadable, but she could feel their judgment. It was like a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. They didn’t believe her. No one believed her.

“You’re fucking sick!” Y/N screamed, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face. “You should be in a mental hospital! You—” She was hysterical now, her words a broken mess of sobs and fury. “You did this! You—”

“Ma’am, we need you to calm down,” one of the officers said sternly, stepping between her and Aegon. “We’ll handle this, but we need you to calm down.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Y/N cried, her voice raw and desperate. “He’s dangerous! He’s going to hurt me! He’s—”

But no one was listening. Not her boyfriend, not the police, and certainly not Alicent, who stood behind her son, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face as she watched the scene unfold.

Aegon rubbed his eyes again, stifling a yawn as if all of this was just an inconvenience, just a bad dream he would soon wake from. “I just want to go back to bed,” he said softly, looking at the officers with pleading eyes. “I promise I’m not who she says I am. I just…I just want to move on.”

The officers nodded, exchanging a glance before turning back to Y/N.

“I think it’s best if we leave now, ma’am,” one of them said gently, but firmly. “We’ll follow up on this, but…for now, you should go home and try to get some rest.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She had lost. She had been defeated by his lies, by his calm demeanor, by the illusion of normalcy he had created.

Her boyfriend wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back toward the door. Her legs felt like lead, her body drained of all strength, her mind clouded with fear. But as they stepped outside, she turned back for one last look at Aegon.

And that’s when she saw it.

His eyes were wide now, bright and burning with a terrifying intensity. He stared at her, unblinking, a slow, twisted smile creeping onto his lips. And then, with a single finger pressed against his lips, he made a silent gesture.

Shhh...

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

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