#you might like it!!!! please try it!!!!!!!

[sarcosmiiic]

PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND:

we, as fans, do not have a right to private information. anything shared with us on this is a privilege. please do not abuse it. the cc's could shut down and never talk about it if we overwhelm them.

also, please keep in mind that ONE HERMIT and THE ENTIRETY OF HERMITCRAFT are NOT THE SAME THING. the entire fandom is not 'ruined' or 'completely unsafe' because of the actions of one person.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME THAT THE OTHER HERMITS KNEW ANYTHING ABOUT WHATEVER'S GOING ON WITH ISKALL. this is not some big conspiracy, it's the consequences of one person's actions. they weren't hiding this from us, that's not how hermitcraft works, they truly didn't know. they probably knew as much as us about this, so making it an 'us against them' situation is immature and shortsighted.

ALSO, I AM BEGGING EVERYONE TO PLEASE NOT SENSATIONALIZE THIS. PLEASE DO NOT TURN HATING ISKALL INTO A MEME OR A JOKE.

mcyt'ers being revealed to be less-than-great people is not a rare thing, sadly, but i've seen it turned into a joke/meme/trend in other fandoms. this both minimalizes the actual people's/victims' struggles, makes the entire situation feel less serious than it is, especially to outsiders looking in, and makes everyone in the fandom look immature, petty, unable to take anything seriously, and genuinely harmful.

this server, fandom, and community are not dying, it is not ruined forever, this is one (major, i'm not trying to minimalize it) issue that we're currently dealing with. it will be okay. we will move on. this is not the beginning of the end. please calm down. i love this fandom, god bless all of you. <3

edit: doc has said on stream that we will likely get more information as time passes. like i said, this is a PRIVILEGE. we are not OWED information. please be grateful for what we're given, and POLITELY ask questions if you must. if a cc doesn't give you the answer you want, or doesn't answer at all, LEAVE THEM ALONE. THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE TO HARASS PEOPLE. the hermits are likely just as stressed out as us, if not probably more so, so please keep that in mind when contacting them.

don't freak out, we'll be okay, this is not the end of the world, nor is it the end of Hermitcraft. we will be okay.

second edit: please remember that (at least as far as we know) ISKALL AND STRESS WERE NOT KICKED OR BANNED. THEY LEFT OF THEIR OWN VOLITION.

ALSO!!! VERY IMPORTANT!!!

WE. DO. NOT. KNOW. EXACTLY. WHAT. HAPPENED.

PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME ANYTHING SIMPLY BASED OFF OF OTHER MCYT'ERS PAST ACTIONS/SCANDALS. WE DO NOT KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE MIGHT NOT EVER KNOW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. WE NEED TO BE OKAY WITH THAT AND NOT DRAW OUR OWN CONCLUSIONS.

TWITTER LINKS TO VICTIM RESPONSES:

https://twitter.com/Kasszi_/status/1860670647946604985

https://twitter.com/emoslab_/status/1860697161245323559

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

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It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you���re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

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thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[webism]

☆ Gojo is always so cocky before you peg him. Confident, taking charge as if he's not about to be fucked from behind like a whore. He'll dirty talk you, try to fluster you with his honeyed words as you're pulling the strap on.

"Gonna fuck me so good, baby?" He purrs, wrapping his fingers around the pretty blue strap: perhaps to gauge the size. He jerks it a little, mirrors the way he'd stroke himself to the thought of being fucked senseless by you. "Hopefully you can keep up with me."

It's all talk, a veil of confidence only barely masking his desperation beneath, which burns hot and angry and threatens to ignite into something all-consuming if it isn't soon put out. You think of wrecking his ego, making him get down on his knees and suck the plastic for show. He'd look so pretty, looking up at you through his lashes as he served the strap with his mouth and tongue.

Oh but he's prepped and ready, and you're itching to erode at his cocky smile. You have him lay on his back, so you can watch as his lips curl downwards when you slide a finger into him, rather than the strap he's been promised.

"Fuck, I don't need it," he whines, tries to reach down and pull your wrist up and away from him but you swat him away with a tsk.

"You're so impatient."

"Just fuck me already."

Sweet Satoru regrets his words when you line your pretty blue strap up with his ass and push in only an inch of two. The sharp hiss of him steeling himself with a breath is music to your ears, and though he tries desperately to keep the cocky act up, you can see it slipping.

You give him another inch, and he bites back a moan. "That's... all you got?"

"No," you click your teeth. "But, it's all you'll get if you don't start begging, baby."

He gives you a look, tries his best to look annoyed, but his cock is so hard it hurts and the corners of his lips are curling upwards in a grin regardless. His pleads start out dramatic, joking.

"Please fuck me, babe," he drawls, but as you inch further inside of him at his request, he gasps. Very quickly, any cockiness in his tone is replaced by raw need. "Fuck, more—please, really, I need it."

His eyes are wide at the stretch, the all-encompassing fullness he's feeling, and the grief he feels when you pull almost all the way out of him.

"Wait don't pull out I'll beg I'll—"

His pleads get stuck in his throat when you push forward and bury your strap completely in his ass. Satoru chokes out the prettiest moan, meets your eyes for half a second as you pull back, and then falls into complete ecstasy as you snap your hips back into his again.

From there, he's gone. Malting into the mattress as you fuck him at the pace he responds best to—a torturous middle ground between painfully slow and so fast it's over too soon. Satoru whines, seemingly already overstimulated by your movements, but you're far from done with him.

Satoru Gojo is the strongest. He's untouchable, really, and here you are ten inches deep inside of him and watching as hot tears spring into his beautiful blue eyes. He's sweating, exerting himself entirely to taking all that you can give him; and you're sure he'd take more if you had it for him—he's at the base of your strap and whining like a whore on it.

"Close," his voice is quiet and desperate and you love the way it melts into the air around you. You fuck him harder, faster, a bruising pace that might be more for you than him, but he takes it with shaky breaths and a heaving chest because he's addicted to the shape of your plastic cock inside of his ass.

You fuck him through his orgasm, watch as his cock—which is reddening with angry need—spurts ropes of cum all over his stomach, pearlescent and almost unending. You smile at the sight, stalling your hips to let him catch his breath after cumming so hard without his cock even being touched.

He's a mess, sensitive and breathless as you trace your fingertips through the mess of cum glossing his tummy. Satoru watches with parted lips as you do so, half-expecting you to bring your fingers to his lips for him to clean up the mess he made. But you don't. Instead, you press down hard on his tummy and listen to the lewd noise that rips from his throat when you feel just how deep you are inside of him.

"Here, baby," you coo, grabbing at the wrist Satoru shoots down to try and pull your hand from his stomach with. You press his palm down onto his cum-covered stomach and have him feel for himself the bulge that you've created with the tip of your strap inside of him.

A moment passes, something flickers in your gaze that turns Satoru's mouth dry. "Don't move your hand, Toru, understand me? Keep pressing down."

Satoru parts his lips to protest, but you're pulling out and plunging back into his ass with a mean thrust of your hips before he can say a word. The nastiest moan slips from his lips, half ecstatic, half overstimulated.

"Fucking you so deep you can feel it from the outside, huh baby? Taking my cock so well, letting me use you like you're the toy."

Your words are enough to encourage Satoru into a second round; though this time you're meaner than before. You pull his legs up a little, manage a position that allows you to get impossibly deeper inside of him, and hen thrust your hips forward to test the water.

He's drooling. His lips are wet with spit and cheeks stained with new-flowing tears. He loves it, though, you can feel the clench of his ass in the way it becomes just that little bit harder to thrust into him. With each mean snap of your hips though, you watch as Satoru presses down harder on his belly to feel you bullying your plastic strap into his ass.

You find a nice pace and match it with your fingers wrapped around his cock. Stroking him only makes your lover needier, bucking his hips up instinctually just to gasp at how the movement fucks himself onto your strap too. By the time his second orgasm is approaching, you can't tell who's doing more of the work: he's frenzied and cumdrunk and can't see straight between the blinding pleasure and tears in his eyes.

"Good boy," you praise as he cums again, his whole body racked with tremors and his eyes quite literally rolling back as he releases all over the hand that presses down to feel you. You give him a minute, let his catch his lost breath and wipe his tears from his eyes with the hand that isn't covered in his own cum.

Though, once you're confident he's at ease enough for you to slowly pull out and start giving him aftercare, his legs lock around your waist and keep you buried deep.

You've never seen such a look on his face before—ravenous.

"Again."

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[imaginaryf1shots]

Forced | Max Verstappen Ver

WC: 22.2K

Max x reader

Summery: Jos made a deal years ago that he can't get out of, and Max is the one to see it through.

Warning ⚠️: abuse(mental, physical), a little naive reader, slight ptsd, eating disorder implied, depression and suicidal thoughts, mention of parent death, family abandment, cursing, Jos being an ahole, injuries

AN: Dark one. Read the warnings.

SAT THERE EDITING SINCE THE RACE JUST SO I COULD GET IT OUT TODAY!!

Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Charles Ver., Carlos Ver.

How he ended up here was a mystery to Max, but here he was, sitting in a private room at some overpriced restaurant, his father on one side and a stranger across from him. Across from him sat the man he only knew as Mr Wilkins, his sharp eyes practically dissecting Max with every glance.

Max prided himself on being observant. He noticed the little things, the subtle shifts in behaviour, the unspoken tells. And tonight, Jos Verstappen was a man he barely recognised. His father, usually so confident and composed, was jittery, avoiding Max’s gaze, his hands restless against the polished table. Jos had been skittish for days, dodging every question Max had thrown at him. And now, this.

“Have you told him?” Wilkins’s voice cut through the tension, cool and unwavering. His question was directed at Jos, but it hit Max like a stone.

Max glanced at his father, his stomach twisting, this is what his dad has been dodging all week. “Told me what?”

Jos’s gaze fell to the table. He didn’t answer.

“I see you haven’t.” Wilkins said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.”

Jos shifted uncomfortably, his hand reaching for his glass of water but stopping halfway. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” He asked, his voice low and almost pleading.

Max froze. Pleading? Jos Verstappen didn’t beg. Not for anyone. Wilkins, however, remained unmoved, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

“You knew the price all those years ago.” His tone was ice-cold, unyielding.

 “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” Max’s patience snapped, his voice cut through the room, loud enough to draw attention if there had been anyone else around. Wilkins chuckled, clearly amused by Max’s agitation.

“Relax, Mr Verstappen.” He said smoothly, as if the situation was nothing more than a business transaction. “You’re about to receive some… life-changing news.”

Max didn’t relax. He braced himself, his instincts screaming that whatever was coming next would flip his world upside down.

“I’m sorry.” Jos’s voice was barely a whisper, and when Max turned to him, his father’s face was pale, his eyes fixed on the table.

“Well, congratulations are in order.” Wilkins announced, his smirk widening. “You’re a groom.”

Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence settled over the room. Max blinked; certain he’d misheard.

“A groom?” He laughed, but it was hollow, a sharp bark of disbelief. He pointed at himself. “Me? You must be joking.”

 “Oh, I assure you, I’m quite serious.” Wilkins’s expression didn’t waver. Max’s laughter died instantly. His body stiffened, his hands curling into fists on the table.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not even seeing anyone!” He turned sharply to his father, his voice rising. “What is he saying? What’s going on? And what did you do?”

Jos flinched, his hand shaking as he reached for his son. “L-look, Max, I-I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did.” Wilkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as if settling in for a long story. “Let me make this simple, since it’s clear your father hasn’t explained. Many years ago, Jos and I made a deal. I did him a favour, quite a significant one, might I add, and now it’s time for him to repay it.” Wilkins slid a crisp document across the table. Max barely glanced at it. His glare was fixed on the man who’s trying to upend his life. “My business is failing.” Wilkins continued smoothly. “And I need investors. Your father, with his connections and not to mention his three-time world champion son, can help me secure them. And what better way to cement that relationship than a marriage?”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Max’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady.

“Everything.” Wilkins said, his eyes gleaming. “Because you, Max, are the key to this entire arrangement. And let’s be honest, you’d do anything to protect your father, wouldn’t you?”

The insinuation hit like a slap. Max’s gaze darted to his father, whose face crumbled under the weight of guilt.

“I don’t get it,” Max muttered. “What could you possibly have over him?”

Wilkins’s smirk turned razor-sharp. “Oh, I have plenty. How about the fact that Jos embezzled money to secure his career in Formula 1? Or that he cheated his way into a few deals? One word from me, and the media would have a field day. And prison? Well, Jos knows what that’s like already, doesn’t he?”

Max’s stomach churned. He pushed back his chair, the screech of metal against wood cutting through the tension. Grabbing his phone, he stood, his movements sharp and final.

“I’m not doing this.” He said, his voice firm, resolute.

“Max, wait!” Jos half-rose from his chair, grabbing his son’s arm. “Please, just… think about it. Please.”

Max wrenched his arm free, his glare slicing through his father’s desperation. “Think about what? Selling myself off like some business transaction? No.”

“It’ll be good for your image,” Jos added hastily, his tone desperate. “And Wilkins’s daughter—she’s beautiful. Maybe just… meet her. Talk to her.”

Max’s head snapped towards Wilkins, his eyes narrowing. “Your daughter? You’re offering her up like some bargaining chip?” He scoffed, the disgust in his tone cutting deep.

Wilkins shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Believe me, she’ll be happy. And I know she’ll make you happy.”

Max’s gaze flicked between the two men. His father looked like he was on the verge of breaking, while Wilkins appeared positively delighted with himself. The chaos fuelled him; it was written all over his face.

Max exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it.” he said finally, his tone clipped. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, ignoring the sound of his father pleading with Wilkins behind him.

Max went back to his house, the penthouse he shared with his cats. His mind was swirling with emotions and ideas. There must be another way, there had to be. How could they expect him to marry someone he’d never met before? They were acting as if it was as easy as picking up groceries.

His phone pinged with a notification.

It was from his dad. Clicking on their chat, Max barely glanced at the attached picture of you before reading the text below it:

He gave us one week before you have to get married.

Max cursed under his breath and threw his phone, watching as it clattered against the floor, startling his cats.

The week crawled by painfully. It took Jos a few days to show up at Max’s door, trying to convince him. Jos pleaded, guilt-tripping Max at every opportunity. He even showed Max your Instagram profile, scrolling through pictures and pointing out that you weren’t a forever commitment—that marriage didn’t mean he had to be faithful. Jos insisted that Max could continue living his life as usual.

In the end, it wasn’t the arguments or assurances that drove Max to the courthouse; it was the love he had for his father.

Max sat stiffly in front of the officiant’s office, dressed in a blazer, a white shirt, and jeans. He refused to dress up more than that for what felt like a mockery of a commitment. Jos sat beside him, restless, while Max’s thoughts churned. The clock ticked away, but you and your father were nowhere to be seen.

Max glared at the door. Power play, he thought bitterly. Being late was a way to assert control, to make them wait, to show who was in charge.

When Wilkins finally arrived, his booming voice preceded him, pulling Max out of his thoughts.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Max stood without sparing a glance at the group, opened the door to the officiant’s office, and walked in.

You entered moments later, your smile soft but strained when your eyes met Jos’s. Wilkins’s hand gripped your arm tightly as he led you inside, his fingers digging into your skin. You kept your head high and your posture straight, despite the discomfort. When he lets go, you instinctively rubbed your arm but quickly stopped, aware of everyone’s eyes.

Max didn’t look up. He sat rigidly in his seat, staring at the officiant, his jaw set.

“I won’t take long.” The officiant began, sliding a paper in front of Max. He’s clearly paid by your dad. Max grabbed the pen and signed without hesitation, not sparing you a glance. When the paper was passed to you, your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the pen. You signed where indicated, your expression composed, but there was a flicker of hesitation before each stroke.

“Good, nice and easy. Now exchange the rings.” The officiant said.

Max hadn’t brought rings. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Jos, however, handed him a pair of simple bands, evidently having planned for this.

Max took a steadying breath and turned to you. His gaze faltered for a moment. He hadn’t expected this. You were... breathtaking.

For a moment, he hated that it mattered.

The smile you wore didn’t waver, though it was faint and polite, not reaching your eyes. Max took your hand. Your fingers felt fragile in his grip, trembling slightly, yet he didn’t notice the faint pressure marks on your skin from Wilkins’s grip earlier. He just slid the ring on, his movements mechanical.

You took his hand with quiet care, slipping the ring onto his finger with the same delicate precision, avoiding his gaze. When it was done, Max pulled his hand back quickly, rising from his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wilkins’s voice was sharp. Max froze mid-step, his shoulders tense. “You forgot your wife.” Max turned slowly, glaring at Wilkins. His father’s chuckle grated against his nerves. “You didn’t think just signing papers was enough, did you? You’ll take my daughter with you.”

Wilkins placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, making you flinch slightly before quickly composing yourself. Your smile shrank further, barely there.

Max’s eyes flicked to you. Your white dress clung to your frame, the heels on your feet absurdly high. You looked... smaller somehow, standing next to your father.

“Come on, then.” Max said brusquely, turning and heading for the door.

Wilkins leaned down, whispering something in your ear. You nodded quickly, not daring to respond aloud. You hurried after Max, your footsteps soft but purposeful.

Outside, Max’s car—a sleek Aston Martin DBS—waited. You moved to the passenger side without a word, glancing briefly at Max as you settled into the seat. Your hands rested in your lap, clutching your handbag tightly.

The drive to his penthouse was suffocatingly silent. Max glanced at you occasionally. You sat stiffly, your head slightly bowed, offering no conversation. By the time you arrived, Max began to wonder if you ever spoke at all.

Inside the penthouse, Max’s cats greeted him with meowing and weaving around his legs. He crouched to pet them, finding brief solace in their presence.

When he stood, you were still by the door, shoes off, holding them neatly in one hand. Your other hand gripped the strap of your handbag, knuckles pale.

“I’ll show you the guest bedroom,” Max said.

“Thank you.” Your voice was soft, measured, almost hesitant.

Max frowned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the sound of your voice caught him off guard. It was far more subdued than he’d imagined.

You followed him quietly, your movements careful, as though unsure of your place in this space. You take a 360 degree look before your eyes fall back on Max.

“There’s a bathroom attached. If you need anything, let me know,” Max said as he stood at the doorway.

“Thank you.” Your response was the same, polite but distant.

Max closed the door behind him and leaned against it briefly, exhaling. You were too calm, too composed. It unsettled him. You weren’t angry or demanding. You weren’t protesting or pushing back.

That left only one possibility. You wanted this.

And Max despised you for it.

You sat on the bed in the guest room, unsure of what to do with yourself. The room was luxurious, similar to your bedroom back home, a little homier though. Looking around, your eyes landed on the large windows.

Walking over, you pulled back the sheer curtains and opened the window slightly. A salty breeze wafted in, carrying the faint hum of the city below. There were no buildings obstructing the view, just the harbour and the vast expanse of sea. The sight was breathtaking, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

Your fingers twitched, an old habit resurfacing—a need to occupy yourself. But there was nothing to do. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves. You were in a stranger’s home, married to a man you didn’t know.

Last week, your life had been structured to the minute. You’d had your schedule, your tasks, your carefully planned routine dictated by your father. Now, there was nothing. No orders. No tasks. You bit at your nail beds, the nervous habit making a quiet comeback as you sat back down on the bed.

The hours dragged by. At some point, you lay down on top of the covers, staring out the window. The sky shifted from blue to orange as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Hunger gnawed at you occasionally, but you didn’t dare leave the room.

Max had gone about his day as if nothing had changed. He’d spent time on the simulator, played a few rounds online with friends, and entertained his cats. For a moment, it was easy to forget you existed.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the sofa, scratching Sassy behind her ears, that he noticed the wedding band on his finger. The sight brought him back to reality. His eyes narrowed as he realised, he hadn’t heard a sound from the guest room all day.

“Ridiculous.” he muttered, standing abruptly. He hesitated for a moment outside your door before knocking lightly.

When there was no immediate response, Max opened the door to find you sitting up on the bed, your dress slightly wrinkled and your legs tucked beneath you. You blinked at him, startled.

“I was—” Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking over you briefly before settling on your face. “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

“Anything.” You replied softly, your voice timid and polite.

Max’s jaw tightened. Of course, he thought bitterly. The perfect act.

He scoffed and left, the door closing behind him with more force than necessary.

When the food arrived half an hour later, Max knocked on your door again.

“Food’s ready.” He said flatly, turning and walking back to the dining area.

You emerged hesitantly, following the faint sound of Max unpacking containers. He placed a box in front of your spot at the table before sitting down with his own.

You opened the box to find a chicken pasta dish with a side of garlic bread. The sight made you pause, your brows furrowing slightly.

“What?” Max asked, catching the look on your face. “You don’t like pasta?”

Quickly, you schooled your expression into a neutral smile. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

Max narrowed his eyes, noting the sudden shift in your demeanour, but said nothing.

The meal passed in near silence, punctuated only by the occasional clink of cutlery. Max finished his food quickly, while you ate slowly, taking small, measured bites, just like you were taught. When he set his fork down, you did the same, despite having barely finished a third of your meal.

Gathering your food containers, you stood and asked quietly, “Which way is the kitchen?”

Max pointed in the direction, watching as you disappeared briefly. You returned a moment later to collect his empty containers.

Max was perplexed by your actions; you haven’t been there for 12 hours and you’re already confusing him.

From the dining room, Max could hear the sound of water running, followed by the opening and closing of cabinets. When you returned, he sighed and stood.

“I’ll show you around.” He said curtly.

You followed silently as he walked through the penthouse, pointing out the various rooms. The tour ended at the door to your guest room. Taking that as your cue, you nodded politely and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you.

The next morning, you woke early, unsure of what to do. You slipped your strapless bra back on, skipping your underwear, and pulled your dress from the day before over your head. It was wrinkled but all you had.

When you ventured out, you found Max in the living room, scrolling through his phone. At the sound of your soft throat-clearing, he looked up.

His eyes swept over you briefly, taking in the rumpled dress and your heels. “Getting married again today?” he asked, his tone dry.

 “Sorry. I... I don’t have any of my clothes with me.” You flinched slightly but forced a small smile.

Max stared at you for a moment, realisation dawning. He hadn’t considered that you’d arrived with only your handbag.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Without another word, he disappeared into his bedroom, returning a moment later with a plain shirt and a pair of shorts. “These don’t fit me. You can wear them.” He said, holding them out to you.

“Thank you.” You said softly, taking the clothes and retreating to your room. When you emerged a few minutes later, you were wearing his oversized shirt and shorts, which hung loosely on you.

For some reason, Max found himself staring. You looked better in his clothes, he thought absently, before shaking the thought away.

“Can I go out for a bit?” You asked hesitantly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.” Max replied, already turning back to his phone.

While you were out, Max got a call from one of his friends, inviting him to meet up for the day. He took off his wedding ring and left the apartment. He forgot about the rough week he’d been having and went out to eat and relax with his group of friends. It wasn’t until around 8 p.m. that he headed home.

As he reached his floor, the automatic lights flickered on, revealing your figure slumped against the front door. You were sleeping with shopping bags scattered around you, still in his clothes, his shorts slid up showing your legs, just like the dress did, and your heels discarded by your side.

Max scoffed, walking past you and unlocking his door without a word. He glanced back at you, deliberating for a moment. Should he leave you there? Or wake you up?

Before he could decide, Jimmy sidestepped him and jumped onto you, his head diving straight into one of the bags. That was enough to stir you awake. You jolted up, confused and disoriented, clearly not remembering when you’d fallen asleep.

"Jimmy! Come here," Max called, clicking his tongue. The cat ignored him, making Max sigh in annoyance. He looked down at you—those wide, innocent eyes staring up at him—and felt an unfamiliar mix of irritation and concern.

"Get inside," he said firmly.

You scrambled to your feet, still groggy, grabbing your bags and shoes, but not before Max noticed something red flash from the corner of his eye. He didn’t focus on it, though.

“My dad said your things would arrive in the next couple of days.” Max added casually, as if it was just another piece of information. You paused, turning to him.

"Uh, okay." You muttered in response, quickly retreating to your room.

Max narrowed his eyes but didn’t press you further. He was trying to be polite, trying to make things work. Here he was asking his dad about your things, all he got was that meek “okay.”

He closed the door behind you, then went to feed his cat.

He didn’t hear or see you for the rest of the day.

Two days later, two suitcases arrived. You rolled them to your room and opened them with a mix of dread and resignation. Inside were clothes you hadn’t bought and wouldn’t have chosen for yourself. But they were all designer brands, the kind of things you could sell if you needed the money.

You didn’t want to think about it, but you knew you had no choice. You had to get by somehow.

The week went by with Max either going out, working or gaming. You spent all day in your room, but you had seen Max’s nutritionist’s list he had left in the kitchen one day. Seeing the food he’s supposed to eat, all of it you could make. You memorized his food schedule and started preparing his meals, waking up earlier than him, just to make sure everything was ready. By lunchtime, the smell of food would fill the apartment, but Max never caught sight of you. He never heard you.

The first couple of days in his house missed with your sleeping schedule, so you’re awake way before he does, you memorised when he usually wakes up. So, he’d find food ready for him.

Days stretched on endlessly. You passed the time by reading the few books in your room, but there was no TV, no distractions. You stayed in your room, alone, only leaving to prepare Max’s meals or feed the cats. They started to visit you more often, meowing at your door, and you’d let them in. It made the days a little less lonely, even if the fear never really went away.

Despite everything, it was still better than your life in Switzerland. Better than the life your father had forced upon you.

One day, the doorbell rang. Max was engrossed in his simulator, the headset muffling the sound entirely. After the fourth ring, you hesitantly left your room to see who it could be. Half-asleep, you padded into the living room, noticing Max still focused on his sim in the corner.

Opening the door, you froze as your heart plummeted. Standing there was your father.

"Did someone come?" Max called out from the living room, removing his headset. You shrank back, taking a few steps away from your father. Max rounded the corner, his sharp eyes darting between your pale face and the men at the door. “What are you two doing here?” He demanded, his tone already hard.

“We came to talk about what comes next.” Your father replied, his voice steady but full of implication. Max stepped closer, his presence solid and unmoving beside you. Unconsciously, you edged backward, positioning yourself slightly behind him as if to shield yourself. Max noticed your movement but didn’t say anything—not yet.

“Next? What next? We’re married.” Max shot back, crossing his arms. His posture was sharp, shoulders broad, making him look even more imposing.

“Yes, but how will I get investors if no one sees you two together?” Your father raised a brow, his gaze flitting to you. You froze under his scrutiny, feeling as though the floor might give way beneath you. His eyes moved past you into the house.  “Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Your father stepped forward, but Max immediately blocked his path, his stance rigid and unyielding.

“That’s not happening.” Max said through gritted teeth. “And neither is whatever scheme you’re planning. Now piss off will you.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into a sharper tone. “Listen here, boy—”

Max cut him off, stepping closer until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “No, you listen. I married your daughter. That’s the deal. How you get your investors is your problem, not ours. You don’t come here. You don’t ask us for anything.”

Your father’s eyes darted toward you again, making you whimper softly. The sound was barely audible, but Max caught it instantly. He shifted, positioning himself fully in front of you, effectively blocking you from view.

“Your daughter is mine. She’s my wife now. You gave her to me—your choice, your consequences,” Max growled. His words were deliberate, cutting.

Your father’s expression darkened as he leaned closer. “I can still expose your father.” He threatened.

Max’s gaze flickered to Jos for a moment before refocusing. He felt the faint tug on his shirt where your fingers clutched the fabric, trembling. Whatever hesitation he had vanished entirely.

“Then do it.” Max bit out, his voice cold and venomous. “Expose him. And when it all falls apart, you’ll suffer just as much as him.”

Without giving your father, a chance to respond, Max slammed the door in their faces.

The moment the latch clicked, your hand released his shirt, and you took a shaky step back. Max was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm himself.

“I’ll have to talk to security about keeping them out.” He muttered, his voice low.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, barely audible.

Max turned to you, his eyes softening despite himself. You were on the verge of tears, and it was written all over your face.

“It’s not your fault,” Max said, his tone gentler than you’d ever heard it before.

Before the tears could spill, you turned and hurried to your room. His cats trailed after you, their tails swishing curiously. Max stood there for a moment, staring after you, wondering when his pets had gotten so attached to you.

In your room, you curled up on the bed, pulling the covers tightly around you as emotions overwhelmed you. Seeing your father again stirred everything you had tried to suppress. This was the longest you’d ever been away from him. Even when he was on business trips, his presence loomed over you through cameras and speakers. If you stepped out of line, even slightly, his voice would thunder through the house, ensuring you never forgot he was watching.

No one had ever stepped up for you. The staff in your father’s home were emotionless, stoic—just following orders. No one had ever comforted you, protected you, or even looked at you with kindness.

But today, Max had stood up for you. Max, who barely tolerated your existence, had blocked your father and shielded you. Max who has no idea what kind of relationship you have with your father. Maybe it was out of anger or frustration with the situation, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, someone had been in your corner.

The realization hit you like a wave, and the tears came. You sobbed quietly, your body shaking under the covers. The loneliness is killing you, why are you even living, what do you do in your day, no one will miss you if you’re gone. You tried not to think such dark thoughts but times like this you couldn’t help it.

The cats jumped onto the bed, circling you. Sassy licked your face, her rough tongue brushing away some of the tears. You patted her head softly, whispering a thank-you under your breath. Maybe they’d miss you if you were gone.

The next morning, Max was by the door, bags packed for two weeks of racing. The apartment was eerily silent—something he usually didn’t mind. But after hearing you cry last night, the quiet felt heavy.

He’d paced in his room for hours, debating whether to check on you. Max might not like you, but he wasn’t heartless. He hated hearing anyone cry, especially women. When he finally decided to go to your door, the sobs had slowed, and he didn’t want to risk waking you.

Now, standing by the door, he hesitated again. Eventually, he knocked softly.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be gone for two weeks.” He said, his voice awkward but trying.

There was silence for a moment before your muffled voice came through. “Okay. Thank you.” It cracked on the last syllable, heavy with sadness. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Max replied, lingering for a second before leaving. He didn’t know what else to say, but he couldn’t ignore the tightness in his chest.

Max had thought about you more than he’d like to admit. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, no matter how much he tried to push them away. He didn’t like you, he knew next to nothing about you. Yet, somehow, he felt much less dislike toward you now. The truth gnawed at him: he barely knew you. Still, he’d left you in his home with his cats and had lived with you for over a week before heading to the race.

For once, Max couldn’t wait to get home. He was the first out of the paddock, the first on the plane, and the first off it when they landed. By the time he walked into the house, it was nighttime. The air inside was cool and still, the lights turned off, and the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound.

Jimmy and Sassy came trotting out from somewhere, nuzzling into him in greeting. Max bent down to stroke them absently, his mind already drifting. He headed to the kitchen for a drink, opening the fridge. Frowning, he pulled out a bottle of water. Everything inside was exactly as he’d left it—nothing had changed. No empty shelves, no dishes used. The realization unsettled him.

Max closed the fridge and moved to the pantry, only to find the same: untouched, just as it had been before.

A strange thought crept in, and his chest tightened as he turned on his heel, heading to your room. Your door was slightly ajar, and alarm bells went off in his mind. You always kept it closed.

“Y/N?” He called softly, knocking lightly before pushing it open.

The room was eerily tidy. The bed was made with military precision, the same way his mother liked to do it. Nothing was out of place, nothing personal added. It was as if no one had lived in it at all. Max’s heartbeat quickened as panic set in. Where were you?

He searched the house—your bathroom, the laundry room, even his own bedroom. You weren’t there. Finally, he ended up in the living room, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

Jimmy meowed loudly, trotting toward the terrace door, which was slightly ajar. Max frowned and followed him, pushing the door open wider.

The sight stopped him in his tracks.

You were lying on the floor of the terrace, flat on your back, eyes closed. Sassy was curled up next to you, and Jimmy padded over to join her. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Max thought the worst.

“Y/N?” His voice wavered as he rushed over, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/N?” He repeated, louder this time, hands hovering over you as though afraid to touch. “Are you okay?”

He shook you gently, then harder when you didn’t respond. “Y/N!”

Your eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp, and you bolted upright—right into Max’s forehead.

“Fuck!” He groaned, clutching his head as you did the same.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, reaching for him instinctively. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Max glared at you, rubbing the sore spot. “I should be asking you that. Why the hell were you sleeping out here?”

You looked away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I wanted to see the stars.”

“In your pyjamas? On the floor? It’s freezing, Y/N!” His exasperation was palpable, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—concern.

You bit your lip, nodding, wishing you could disappear. “I’m sorry.”

Max sighed heavily, standing and extending a hand to help you up. “Come inside before you get sick.”

In the kitchen, under the bright lights, Max finally got a good look at you. You looked exhausted—darker circles under your eyes than before, your frame thinner, your movements sluggish. He couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was deeply wrong.

“Here.” You placed an ice pack wrapped in a towel against his forehead, your fingers brushing his skin lightly. Max caught the faint scent of lavender and something softer, uniquely you.

“I’m fine,” He muttered, gently taking the ice pack from you. “But you should have one too.”

You hesitated before nodding, fetching another ice pack for yourself. As you pressed it to your own forehead with a quiet hiss, Max leaned against the counter, studying you.

“Why didn’t you eat any of the food in the fridge?” He asked suddenly.

Your eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t touch anything, I swear—” Your hands falling to your side brining the pack with you.

“Don’t put it down.” Your hands flew back up. “I know you didn’t,” Max interrupted, his tone softer now. “That’s the problem. What have you been eating?”

“I buy my own food.” You mumbled, looking anywhere but at him. Everything you do and say just confuses him more.

Max frowned. “And you don’t put it in the fridge?”

“I did.” You said quickly. “I just… ran out.”

His brow furrowed further. “You don’t eat anything from my food?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Max stared at you, his chest tightening. “So, let me get this straight: you cooked meals for me, but you didn’t make anything for yourself because you didn’t want to use my food? Seriously, Y/N, what have you been eating?”

“Yeah.” You said it like it was obvious, you then hesitated. “I managed… Do you not want me to cook for you anymore?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Max sighed. “I’m saying you can cook yourself food while cooking for me.”

“But…” You trail off feeling embarrassed of what you have to say.

“What? Tell me.” Max said and you meet his eyes for a second before you look at the floor.

“Your food is expensive; I don’t have a lot of money.” You mumble and chew at your lip. Max stands there in silence, he knew your dad is going bankrupt but not enough to not have money.

“Your cards are empty?” Max asked, his tone a bit cold. It wasn’t directed or because of you, but the more he finds out about your dad the more agitated he gets.

“I uh, I don’t have a card.” You admit and put the ice pack on the counter, you try to escape the kitchen and this conversation.

“Wait.” You stop in your tracks and turn to face Max, knowing there’s no escaping this now. “What else are you hiding from me? How have you been paying for your food, and you went shopping on your first day?”

His eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced by your words, and your mind flashed back to that first week in Monaco, just after you arrived.

You had left the apartment, the weight of Max’s indifferent nod still heavy on your shoulders. Monaco was unfamiliar, but you’d lived in many countries—surely you could figure it out.

Walking into the first jewellery shop you found, you approached the counter with a timid smile. The attendant greeted you warmly.

Italic is French

“Bonjour, madame, how can I help you?”

You hesitated before asking, “Do you buy jewellery?”

The woman’s friendly smile faltered. “I’m sorry, madame. We don’t.”

“That’s alright, thank you.” You murmured, retreating quickly.

The next three shops were the same story, the polite rejections wearing away at your resolve. By the fourth, a kind attendant told you there weren’t any jewellery shops in the area that would buy second-hand pieces, but she gave you directions to one on the other side of the city.

Following her directions, you trudged through unfamiliar streets, the cobblestones cruel to your feet in towering heels. The mismatched outfit you got from Max, drawing unwanted attention and making the walk even more uncomfortable.

Finally, you reached the shop and stepped inside, relief washing over you.

“Bonjour, madame. How can I assist you?” The girl behind the counter asked with a professional smile.

“Do you buy jewellery?”

“Yes, we do. What are you looking to sell?”

You exhaled deeply, reaching up to remove the Tiffany Victoria stud earrings from your ears. “These.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she took them. “T-These?”

“Yes. Can you pay in cash?” This just got weirder for the girl, you bit your bottom lip, your smile is now gone. “Look, my-uh, my dad cut me off, I just need money to get by.”

The girl’s expression shifted from confusion to concern as she glanced at you. “Um… I’ll see what I can do. Please, sit down.”

You sank into a chair, your nerves fraying. you sat chewing on your nail bed, feeling nervous. When the girl returned, she wasn’t alone. A man accompanied her, likely the manager or owner.

“Ilaria tells me you want to sell these earrings.” He began, holding them up to inspect.

“Yes, please.”

His brow furrowed.

“Madame, these are worth over 27,000 Euros. Unfortunately, we don’t carry that much cash on hand.” You deflated, the man now knew what Ilaria was talking about, he feels bad for you, he glanced at your wedding ring and wonders what kind of husband you have that left you selling your belongings for money. “However, I can offer you 5,000 Euros immediately and pay the rest in instalments, or when the earrings sell. Does that work for you?”

You nodded, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you.”

The man typed up a quick agreement on his laptop, printing it out for you both to sign. With the cash in hand, you left the shop feeling lighter, though the weight of what you’d done lingered.

The thrift store you passed on the way had looked promising, but once inside, you realised even second-hand items in Monaco carried hefty price tags. Thinking over the money you have and what’s the priority.You focused on the essentials: four shirts, one pair of jeans, one pair of trousers, and two pyjamas. The total price had your eyes go wide. Shoes would have to wait—your heels would suffice for now.

On your walk back it was already afternoon, you didn’t have anything to eat yet. But that was alright because you were heading to a grocery store next.

The prices there were equally shocking, but you told yourself it didn’t matter—you didn’t eat much anyway. You picked up a few basics for the week and some fresh produce before heading to a shop for a few sets of underwear. Glancing at the money you have left when you paid had your heart clenching. Ordering online must be cheaper, if only you had a card.

By the time you returned to the apartment, your arms heavy with bags and your wallet considerably lighter, you knocked on the door, only to be met with silence. A second knock, then the doorbell, brought no response.

Your stomach dropped as you realised Max wasn’t home. Exhausted and hungry, you sank to the floor outside the door, rummaging through your grocery bag for a cucumber, eating it as you waited for your ‘husband’ to come back.

You waited until Max went to bed before you ventured into the kitchen to put away the food you’d bought. The rest, you stashed in your room. You didn’t want to inconvenience Max.

You were already using his bathroom products, which you assumed belonged to his mother or sister, but you tried to keep to yourself as much as possible.

The memory faded as Max’s voice brought you back to the present.

“How exactly did you manage?” He pressed, his eyes narrowing further.

Your shoulders sagged, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I sold my earrings.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Your earrings?”

“They were worth twenty-seven thousand Euros.” You explained, your voice barely audible. “But they’re paying me in instalments, so it’s like I have a job. I didn’t realize how expensive Monaco is.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as the pieces began falling into place.

Max’s jaw clenched. “What about the clothes? I thought your dad sent your things.”

Your face fell, and you looked away. “I can’t wear what he sent me.”

“What do you mean?” Max asked, his voice gentler now. “Can you show me?”

You hesitated, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t letting this go. Wordlessly, you led him to your room and opened the walk-in closet, both your ice packs forgotten in the kitchen. Pulling out the suitcases your father had sent, your hand was on the zipper for a while.

“You don’t have to show me.” Max said feeling that all this is bigger than he initially thought.

“It’s fine, it’s not my things anyway.” You said and unzipped the first one and stepped back.

Max crouched down, pulling out the first item: it’s a very small and tight crop top, the shorts will all show your butt, the jeans had rips on the butt cheeks or were skintight, and it’s coming from him. shirts were sheer, necklines low, and skirts that barely covered anything. His frown deepened as he opened the second suitcase—heels in every colour, some taller than seemed practical. The final suitcase made his stomach turn. It was filled with lingerie, nothing else.

He closed it with a sharp snap and turned to look at you. You were standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, avoiding his gaze.

“I’ll take you shopping this week.�� Max said firmly. “Or you can order whatever you want online. No arguments.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, really. I the got basics and when I need more, I can sell the other jewellery I have—”

“No, next time you want clothes I’m getting them for you” Max interrupted, his tone leaving no room for debate. “You’re not selling anything else. The food in the fridge is for both of us.” You wanted to retort, but he just continued. “Both of us may have not wanted this, but I’m not having you starve or spend money you don’t have. You’re my responsibility now.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, and your heart skipped a beat. Max Verstappen is the nicest man you have ever met. He looked so scary the first time you saw him and you dreaded living with him, but here he is, being the kindest soul, you have ever met. He won’t gain anything in return but he’s still nice, he’s kind. For the first time in a long while, you felt safe—truly safe. Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them back, nodding quietly.

“Okay?” Max asked, his gaze softening.

“Okay,” you whispered.

That night, the suitcases were left by the door for donation. Max watched as you retreated to your room, and he made a promise to himself to be more attentive, to keep an eye out for you.

That night, Max decided it was time to reach out to you. Hearing your quiet sobs and observing your timid behaviour had forced him to confront an uncomfortable truth: you weren’t the only one forced into this marriage. For you, it must be infinitely harder. He had his friends, his job, and the comfort of his own home. You had none of that.

The next morning, Max woke early, ordering food for the both of you before you could wake and make breakfast yourself. He wanted to catch you off guard and show a gesture of goodwill.

When you finally emerged from your room, the smell of freshly baked goods wafted through the apartment.

“Good morning. Max greeted, passing you as he carried plates to the dining table. “Come on, grab whatever you want, and let’s eat together.”

You paused, wide-eyed and uncertain, watching him retreat to the dining room. Your stomach growled loudly, betraying your hesitance. Without overthinking it, you reached for a croissant and followed him.

“Thank you.” You murmured, sitting across from him as you noticed the glass of orange juice already poured for you.

Max glanced up. “I’d like us to talk a little after breakfast.” He said, his tone calm.

You froze mid-bite, your stomach tightening as fear flickered across your face. “Talk?”

“Don’t worry.” He reassured, noting your reaction. “I just want to get to know you better.”

Relieved, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. But as you ate, your mind spun. What would he ask? You hadn’t spoken much about yourself to anyone before. The way you’d been raised didn’t leave much room for idle conversation or personal interests. You have been taught what to do for when you got married, but Max is unlike anything they’ve told you a husband will be like.

After finishing breakfast, the two of you moved to the living room. You sat stiffly, your back straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap. Max, sitting on the other end of the sofa, observed you with a faint smile.

“Relax.” He said lightly, leaning forward. “This isn’t an interrogation. I just thought we could set some boundaries or rules and figure out how to make this work for both of us.”

You nodded, unsure of what to expect. “Rules?” Rules you understood. You could follow rules.

“First.” Max began. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

You frowned slightly. “I like to cook.”

“That’s fine, then.” Max said quickly. “But it’s not something you have to do. Same with taking care of Jimmy and Sassy.”

Your frown deepened. “But then… what would I do?”

Max hesitated, realising how rigid your perspective was. “You can do whatever you want. What did you do before… you came here?”

“Well…” You paused, uncertain. “Dad had a schedule for me.”

“Schedule?” Max raised a brow. “Like, what kind of schedule?”

“I woke up at six, exercised for an hour, showered, then had classes until three. After lunch, I went to ballet for two hours, then a piano class for an hour and a half. Then I helped with dinner and went to bed.”

“Every day?” Max asked, his tone incredulous.

You nodded, smiling as though this was entirely normal. “The times changed sometimes, but… yes, since I was 12.”

“Fucking hell.” Max muttered, his jaw tightening. Memories of his own gruelling training sessions under his father’s watch flashed through his mind. The times he had to train for hours on end, walk home alone. But Max loved racing, he thrived in it. And unlike him, you didn’t seem to have any passion or choice in what you did.

Pushing his anger aside, Max decided to steer the conversation away from your father for now. “Why didn’t you buy more food while I was gone?”

“I don’t have a key.” You said simply, scratching nervously at your nail bed—a habit Max noticed for the first time.

“That’s on me.” He admitted. “I’ll get a key made for you.”

He paused, his gaze softening. “How much food do you usually eat?”

You shrugged, not giving it much thought. “Enough.”

“Are you full when you finish eating?”

Your voice was quiet. “Not always.”

Max’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening again. “Right. That’s it. I’m ordering more food.”

Despite your protests, Max ignored you, placing a large order with the determination to figure out what you liked. When the food arrived, you stared in disbelief at the sheer amount spread across the table.

“That’s too much.” You whispered, overwhelmed.

“Just eat,” Max said firmly.

At first, you hesitated, but the hunger gnawing at your stomach made you give in. Bite after bite, Max urged you to try different dishes. “This is amazing—taste it!” he’d insist, or “You’ll love this one.”

You tried to keep up, but the more you ate, the heavier the food sat in your stomach. Not eating a lot had shrunk your stomach, you get full fast, but it seemed like something Max is not accustomed to. When Max handed you another dessert to try, your body couldn’t take it anymore. Springing up, you rushed to the nearest bathroom and barely made it in time before throwing up.

Max was right behind you, holding your hair back as you emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You finally sat back, trembling and exhausted, you flushed the toilet and washed your face and mouth. He handed you a towel to wipe your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded weakly.

“Was the food bad?”

You shook your head. “Too full.”

Max stared at you, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you stop eating?”

“You told me to keep eating.” You said, looking at him through your lashes.

Max groaned, running a hand through his hair as the pieces fell into place. You asked him if you could go out the first day, you stayed in your room unless he asked you to come out or to make him food, you stop walking when he told you to, you’ve showed him your bags when he asked. You’ve been doing exactly what he’s been asking you to do without as much as a remark or hesitation. You haven’t left the house to get food because he didn’t tell you, you can leave. This is fucked. “You don’t need my permission to stop eating, or to do anything for that matter!”

“But my teacher said I should always ask you, I’m sorry that I sometimes do things without asking, but-“

“Stop.” His sharp tone made you fall silent immediately, he groans, he’s done it again. He sighed, softening his voice. “Rule number one: you don’t need to ask me for permission to live your life. You can do whatever you want. I’m your husband, not your… owner.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Max leaned forward, his eyes locking with yours. “You’re free, Y/N. You’re not under your father’s control anymore. You can pursue whatever makes you happy, go wherever you want. You’re free.”

Your lips trembled slightly as his words sank in. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, but his voice softened when he saw the fragile hope in your eyes. For a fleeting moment, it was as though a veil had been lifted. The small, hesitant smile on your face wasn’t much, but to him, it felt like a victory.

“I… I’ve never really thought about being free.” You admitted, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “There’s always been rules, schedules, expectations. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Max’s heart ached at your words. He had grown up under his father’s strict guidance, but at least he had racing—a dream to hold onto. But you? You hadn’t even been allowed the space to dream.

“Then start small,” Max said gently. “You don’t have to figure it all out today. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Your smile wavered as a question formed on your lips. “Why are you being so kind to me now?”

The question caught Max off guard, but he didn’t look away. “Because I’ve been an idiot.” he admitted. “I was so focused on how unfair this whole situation was for me that I didn’t stop to think about how much worse it must be for you. You’re here, in a place that’s completely unfamiliar, with someone you barely know.”

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as tears threatened to spill.

“And the more I think about it.” Max continued, his voice tinged with anger—not at you, but at the circumstances. “The more I realise how much you’ve been… controlled. By your father, by this arrangement. I can’t change the past, but I can make sure you don’t feel like that anymore. Not while you’re here with me.”

Your breath hitched, and a tear slipped down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, embarrassed by your reaction. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max said softly. “Just… promise me you’ll try. Try to let yourself live a little, yeah?”

“I can try.” You whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his expression that you hadn’t seen before. “Good. That’s all I’m asking for.”

For the rest of the evening, Max stayed close but didn’t push you further. He handed you the remote to the television and suggested you pick something to watch while he cleaned up the kitchen. At first, you stared at the remote like it was a foreign object, unsure if you were really allowed to make the choice.

When Max returned, he saw you had settled on a light-hearted comedy, though you looked almost guilty about it. He sat beside you on the sofa, keeping a respectful distance.

“Good choice.” He said, nodding at the screen. “I like this one.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. It’s funny.” He glanced at you. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do. I just… I’m not used to picking.”

Max’s chest tightened. He didn’t know whether to feel anger at the people who had conditioned you this way or frustration at himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Well, from now on, you can pick whatever you like.” He said with a small shrug, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

You nodded, a tiny but genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

As the film played, Max stole a few glances at you. You didn’t laugh out loud at the jokes, but he could see the faintest quirk of your lips, the way your shoulders relaxed just slightly. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

When the credits rolled, you turned to him, your expression a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “Thank you, Max. For… everything today.”

He waved it off, leaning back against the cushions. “Don’t mention it. This is just the start, yeah?”

You nodded again, the hope in your eyes a little brighter this time. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

The next day, you heard Max calling for Jimmy. His voice carried through the house with growing urgency. Curiosity tugged at you, so you stepped out of your room to see what was going on.

“Have you seen Jimmy?” Max asked as soon as he spotted you in the hallway.

You shook your head. “No, I haven’t.”

“Strange, he never wanders off too far. Let’s check around the house.” Max suggested.

You nodded, and the two of you began searching every nook and cranny. As you walked past one of the guest rooms, you stopped and tugged at the handle of the door. It didn’t budge.

“I can’t open this door.” you called out to Max, who quickly came over.

He gave the handle a firm tug but had no more luck than you. “It’s locked from the inside.” He muttered, pressing his ear to the door. That’s when you both heard it—a muffled, distressed meow.

“I think Jimmy locked himself in.” You said, your voice tinged with concern. “What are we going to do?”

Max frowned, considering his options. “Let’s look it up on YouTube.” He said, pulling out his phone.

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, watching a video tutorial on unlocking a door without a key. The longer the video played, the more your frown deepened.

“This looks complicated.” You said, glancing up at Max, who seemed equally dubious.

“Yeah, it does.” He admitted before disappearing down the hallway. Moments later, he returned—with a hammer.

“You’re going to break the door down?” You asked, your eyes wide in disbelief.

“What other option do we have?” Max countered, already sizing up the door as though it were a rival on the track.

Before you could argue, he raised the hammer and brought it down with a loud bang. You flinched at the sound, your astonishment quickly turning to amusement. Holding Max’s phone in your hands, an idea struck you.

As Max continued to hack away at the door—his small hammer looking almost comically inadequate against the solid wood—you began recording. The absurdity of the scene combined with Max’s intense focus had you giggling quietly.

Max paused mid-swing, glancing over his shoulder when he heard your laughter. He smiled to himself. The sound was soft and delicate, like something fragile coming back to life. He decided then and there he wanted to hear it more often.

Finally, after several minutes of determined hammering, Max managed to break a hole large enough to reach through and unlock the door. As soon as the door creaked open, Jimmy bolted out of the room like his tail was on fire, his fur puffed up and his eyes wild with panic.

“That was… something.” Max said, running a hand through his hair as he headed to the kitchen. He set the hammer down on the counter and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, taking a long sip.

You followed him into the kitchen, your focus still on the phone. The video you’d taken was playing, and a smile tugged at your lips as you watched Max’s determined hammer-wielding.

Max turned to you, noticing your amusement. “I want to give you, my number.” He said suddenly, his tone casual despite the faint flush creeping up his ears.

“Hmm?” You hummed, looking up from the phone.

“My number.” Max repeated, shifting slightly, the tips of his ears went red. “In case something happens, besides you’re married now. You should have each other’s numbers at least.”

“Oh.” You said, handing his phone back to him. “I don’t have a phone.”

Max froze, staring at you like you’d just announced you didn’t believe in electricity.

“You don’t have a phone?” He asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

You shook your head. “No. My dad said it was a waste of time and that it was better for me to focus on my training. He said it was for my protection… from guys online.” You shrugged, your tone casual as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Max set his water bottle down with a heavy thud, his jaw tightening. “I hate that man more every day.” He muttered under his breath.

You blinked at his reaction, confused by the intensity in his voice. “It’s not that big of a deal.” You said, brushing it off.

“It is.” Max said firmly. “You’re getting a phone tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth to protest but stopped yourself. The truth was, you’d always secretly wanted a phone. It had seemed like a symbol of freedom—something you never had. And now, Max was offering to get you one without you even asking.

“Okay.” You said softly, a small grin spreading across your face.

Max noticed and couldn’t help but smile in return. He picked up his water bottle and took another sip, his chest filling with quiet satisfaction.

Just then, Jimmy sauntered into the kitchen as if nothing had happened, his tail held high and his expression one of utter nonchalance.

“Look at that troublemaker.” Max said with a chuckle, watching as Jimmy headed straight for his water bowl. “Acting like he didn’t just give us a heart attack.”

You laughed again, and Max found himself smiling even wider. Yes, he decided. He would make sure you laughed more often—no matter what it took.

The next morning, you make breakfast for both you and Max. It’s a quiet meal, shared in comfortable silence, before you both retreat to your rooms to finish getting ready. Dressed in one of the shirts and jeans you bought, you hold your heels in your hands as you head to the door. Slipping them on, you wince slightly as the straps press against the tender skin at the back of your feet. Max steps out shortly after, and together you leave the penthouse.

The car ride is tranquil, with you staring out the window for a while before glancing around.

“I like this car.” You say softly, running your fingers over the leather seat. Max smiles, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. He’s driving the same Aston Martin today, saving the Valkyrie for another time. It gets him too much attention.

“Can you drive?” Max asks after a moment, glancing at you.

Your cheeks flush. “No.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll have to change that.” There’s a note of determination in his voice. He’s a Formula 1 world champion; his wife will know how to drive. “You do want to learn, right?”

“Yes. Maybe not in a supercar, but yes.” You admit with a small smile. Another form of freedom you’d been denied. Another gift Max wanted to give you.

“We’ll start with a sedan.” He says, already planning out the details in his mind.

At the Apple Store, Max leads you inside, where you both gravitate toward a display of phones.

“What colour do you want?” He asks, standing close beside you. After a moment of contemplation, you tell him your favourite. Max nods, relaying the choice to a sales assistant, and adds a laptop, iPad, mouse, earbuds, earphones, and a phone case to the list.

“That’s too much.” You whisper, leaning toward him.

Max takes your hand gently, and you freeze, startled by the unexpected intimacy. His gaze is steady, his voice low so only you can hear. “It’s not too much. I want to give you everything you weren’t allowed to have.” His thumb brushes over your wedding ring, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “This is just the beginning.”

Reluctantly, you let him take the lead, wandering around the store as Max finalises the purchases. But after a while, your feet begin to ache, and you take a seat in one of the chairs near the display laptops. The relief is immediate, but you can feel the cut on your heel reopening.

From across the store, Max notices you frown as you touch your foot. His sharp eyes take in the subtle signs of discomfort, and when he sees you sigh, he excuses himself from the cashier. He walks over, carrying the bags, just as you look up and smile at him—a real smile, one that lights up your face.

It stops him in his tracks. For the first time, Max feels the warmth of your happiness directed at him, and he’s momentarily stunned. But as you stand, he notices the slight wince and follows your gaze. His eyes fall to your feet, he can’t see anything. He makes you walk in front of him and then he sees it, the backs of your feet are red and bleeding.

“Y/n.” He says his voice a mix of concern and frustration. You glance at him, confused, until you notice where he’s looking.

“Max.” you murmur softly, instinctively stepping to the side.

“Take them off.” He says through gritted teeth, crouching beside you.

Your cheeks burn as you look around the store, worried about the eyes on you both. “Max—”

“You’re in pain. Take them off.” He insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. When you hesitate, Max gently sets the bags down and reaches for your foot.

“Max!” You protest, placing your hands on his shoulders to stop him. He looks up at you, his eyes blazing with determination, and your resolve crumbles. Slowly, you step out of one heel, using his shoulder for balance, and then the other. The relief is instant.

Max clenches his jaw as he examines the heels. They look pristine on the outside, but the insides are stained with blood—both fresh and old. His chest tightens.

Standing, he towers over you, the anger in his eyes sharp enough to make you step back. “Do you even like wearing heels?” He asks, his voice tense. You shake your head, unsure how to answer.

“Not really.” You admit quietly.

“Damn it, y/n!” Max’s voice rises slightly, and you flinch, your heart was beating hard in your chest. He freezes, his frustration giving way to dread as he sees you retreat. You’re scared. Not of the world champion standing before you, but of what he represented—a shadow of your past. Gone the smile you had when you saw him, you’re frowning, trying to be in control of your feeling and reactions.

“Y/n—” You turn abruptly, walking away on bare feet, your steps hurried. “Wait!” Max calls after you, and you freeze in place. “Fuck.”

Max hates himself so much right now. Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as he approaches you. He’s taken so many steps towards making you comfortable and here he’s undone most of them. Max leaves the bags and heels and walks up to you, he takes your hand in his and pulls you out of the store. He quickly finds a hidden spot way from praying eyes and ears. When he finally faces you, he sees the tears in your eyes and wobbling lips. “Shit, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” Tears leave your eyes, and Max feels himself tearing up, he messed up, he messed up really bad.

“I didn’t mean to be angry at you, I’m sorry.” He says, his voice breaking. “I’m just angry about how you were treated, I want you to be happy, I want to make your life easier. I’m angry at how no one cared enough to stop it. But I rushed you, and that’s on me.” Max stops for a second, you’re not looking at him. “That’s a lot of I’s, I was selfish, I thought about how I wanted you to feel and now how you wanted to take things, I rushed you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I remind you of him.” His voice cracks.

A sob escapes your lips, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning into him. Max wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you as you cry. For the first time, you’re not crying alone, you weren’t hugging and comforting yourself. He doesn’t try to shush you or pull away. He just holds you.

Max may have caused you to cry, but he didn’t leave you to cry, he came after you and apologised. You know that as much as everything he’s doing is new to you, it’s also new to him. Every day you’re realising that you’re not normal, that what you went through isn’t normal.

“When you’re ready.” Max murmurs into your hair. “I’d like to know everything. Everything your dad did to you.” You shake your head, and though it pains him, Max doesn’t push. “When you’re ready.” he repeats.

You don’t know how long you stay there, shielded by his embrace, Max just holds you, hiding your face from the world, giving you the comfort you need. When you finally pull away, Max wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Let’s go home.” He says softly, crouching to untie his shoes and place them in front of you.

“Max, you don’t have to—” You begin your voice is ever soft, clearly you’re exhausted..

“Humour me.” He insists with a small smile. You nod, sliding your feet into the oversized shoes as Max ties the laces snugly.

At the car, you slip in and Max turns on the car before he jogs back to the store to grab the bags but returns empty-handed when it comes to your heels. He tosses them in a nearby bin, not wanting their memory to linger.

The drive back is quiet. Both of you are lost in thought, but the silence is no longer uncomfortable. It’s reflective.

The car ride back is heavy with unspoken thoughts. You’re lost in the moment you flinched and stepped away from Max. He hadn’t even raised his voice by much, his hands remained by his sides, yet you flinched. Scared.

You didn’t want to feel scared. You knew, deep down, that there was no reason to be scared. Max cares. He’s shown you more kindness and humility than anyone else in your life, even during the days when he ignored your existence.

For Max, the silence in the car speaks volumes. He’s seen his share of abuse—read about it, watched it unfold in the media—but now, sitting beside you, he’s realising the extent of your mistreatment. It wasn’t just mental or emotional. It was physical, too.

The quiet lingers as you both walk into the penthouse. Max turns to you, his expression soft.

“You can get changed, and we’ll set up your devices,” he says.

You nod and retreat to your room, shedding the thrift store clothes for your pyjamas. The soft fabric feels like a balm after the day’s events.

When you return to the living room, Max has unpacked everything from the bags. He looks up at you, his expression warm.

“I wanted you to open the boxes.” He says, his voice almost shy. He knows the joy of opening something new, especially something you’ve wanted for so long. He wonders if you’ve ever had that experience. Sitting beside him on the sofa, you tuck your legs under you. “Where do you want to start?”

“The phone?” You suggest.

Max grins, handing you the box. You unwrap it, excitement bubbling in your chest. He guides you through setting it up, letting you explore while he works on the laptop. He’s already created an email for you, logging into everything you might need.

His number is the only contact in your phone, and you ask him to transfer the video of him breaking the door. He obliges with a faint chuckle.

“Max?” You ask hesitantly, looking up from the screen.

He hums in response, glancing over.

“Is there an app for Formula 1?”

His brow arches. “Yes. Why?”

“So, I can know when you’re racing.” You admit shyly, holding out your phone. Max’s smile softens as he opens the App Store. “Now I can also look up anything I didn’t understand from watching last time.”

“You watched the race?” This is news to max; he had no idea you watched the last two races. It’s something you’ve done on his smart TV but didn’t want him to know at first thinking he’d be angry.

“I didn’t.” Max admits. “Did you enjoy it?”

Your smile grows, and it feels like the first time Max has seen you truly at ease. “It was fun. I didn’t understand everything, but you came first both times.”

The pride in your voice makes his chest swell. “Well, now you can text me if you don’t understand something. After the race, I’ll explain everything.”

As the day unfolds, you grow more comfortable beside him on the sofa. Max helps you connect everything to your phone, downloading apps like Netflix and upgrading his Spotify to a duo plan. At some point, he broaches another idea.

“Can I order you some shoes?”

You glance up from your phone, hesitant. “Just one or two.” You say.

Max nods with a smile, but later, as he sits with his laptop, he realises he has no idea where to start. He’s never shopped for women’s shoes before. After a moment, he glances at you.

“Do you mind if I invite some friends tomorrow?”

You blink, surprised. “It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”

“And you live here too.” Max counters gently. He sends a quick text before adding. “Let’s watch a film.”

You pick a random movie, and as night falls, the weight of the day catches up with you. The popcorn bowl between you grow forgotten as your eyes drift shut. At one point your eyes snap shut and don’t open again your head eventually tilts to the side, landing on Max’s shoulder.

Startled, Max glances down. For a moment, he freezes, unsure what to do. Your soft breathing fans his neck. Max tried not to move much but get you in a comfortable position, you groaned when he moved and buried your face into his shoulder. Max’s arm was in the air, he didn’t know what to do. When you moved closer, he placed his arm around your shoulder. That settled you down and he relaxes.

By the time the credits roll, Max thought it’s best to get you to bed. Carefully, he moves, trying not to wake you. He slides from under you, laying you down on the sofa before scooping you into his arms.

In your room, Max pulls back the covers and places you on the bed, tucking you in as you mumble incoherently. Jimmy jumps up onto the bed, curling up beside you. Max lingers for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

For the first time, you look peaceful. Truly relaxed.           

Max opened the lamp by the bed, casting a soft glow in the room, Jimmy jumped on the bed and curled into himself to fall asleep. Max took you in, he’s never seen you so relaxed before, so at peace. He wonders if it’s the only time you truly relax. Instinctively he pushes a few strands form your face. You sigh. With a soft smile Max turns off the lamp and leaves your room.

That night, Sassy sleeps in his bed, as if the cats have decided to split their time between you both, keeping you company in their own way.

The next day, around noon, Max’s friends arrived. You weren’t sure what to expect, but stepping out of your room, you froze when you saw the familiar face of the Ferrari driver who had been racing against Max last week.

“Hi, I’m Charles.” He introduced himself warmly, leaning in for the traditional Monaco greeting. You exchanged a quick press of the cheeks before your gaze shifted to the woman standing beside him. She was stunning, elegant, and radiated a warmth that put you slightly at ease.

“I’m Alexandra, but you can call me Alex.” She said, extending her hand. You repeated the greeting and introduced yourself.

“I’m y/n.”

Both of them noticed the rings adorning your left hand but didn’t comment. You’d noticed that Max wasn’t wearing his, though you hadn’t commented on.

The four of you moved into the living room, and you instinctively sat beside Max. His presence anchored you, offering a sense of security in the unfamiliar social situation. For a while, the conversation flowed lightly until Max and Charles excused themselves, heading to the balcony. You hesitated, but Alex smiled, clearly sensing your nervousness.

 “How long have you been in Monaco?” She said kindly.

You thought for a moment. “About a month.”

“That’s still pretty new! I’m guessing you don’t have many friends here yet?”

You shook your head.

“Well…” Alex said with a mischievous grin, “I’ve been looking for a new shopping partner. Maybe you’d like to join me sometime?”

Your cheeks warmed. “I’m not very good at shopping.” You admitted, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay! We can figure it out together.” She reassured you before pulling out her phone. “Here, let me get your number.”

She tapped it into her contacts, and you found yourself relaxing slightly. Alex didn’t press you with questions about yourself, instead sharing light anecdotes about her life. At one point, she showed you a picture on her phone—a beautiful painting that immediately drew your attention.

“That’s gorgeous.” You said, leaning closer. “It looks so calm and peaceful.”

“It’s by Claude Monet, part of his Water Lilies series,” Alex explained, watching your expression soften. “Do you like art?”

You hesitated, a small smile forming. “I do. I always wanted to study it.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Really? I went to art school! I’d love to talk more about it with you.”

Excitedly, you leaned in as Alex recounted her studies and experiences. You felt a spark of joy in the conversation, a rare moment of connection that felt genuine. When Max and Charles returned, you and Alex were laughing at one of her stories.

“What’s so funny?” Charles asked, sitting beside Alex and kissing her cheek.

“Oh, I was just telling y/n about my old art professor.” Alex replied. She turned to Max, her smile widening. “Did you know she loves art?”

Max’s gaze shifted to you, his expression softening. “You do?”

You nodded shyly.

“She wanted to study it.” Alex added, and you saw the flicker of recognition in Max’s eyes as he took that in.

“Do you guys want to go out to eat?” Charles asked, your eyes snapped to Max’s you don’t have any shoes. But before you could panic, Alex chimed in.

“Why don’t we order in instead? It’s cozier that way.”

You shot her a grateful look, and she winked.

Lunch was lively, Charles regaling you all with stories from his and Max’s childhood. You found yourself laughing more than you had in years, and Max couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sound of your laughter, the way your face lit up—it was like watching a new side of you emerge, you leaned towards him when you laughed.

Charles isn’t stupid he knew Max cared for you, even if he didn’t know exactly what’s going on. He’s known Max since they were kids, there’s something between the two of you.

“You should come to a race sometime.” Alex said casually.

You glanced at Max, who raised an eyebrow as if to say it was entirely your decision.

“Maybe.” You said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “If you’ll be there.”

Alex clapped her hands in delight. “Of course, I will! It’ll be so much fun.”

After Charles and Alex left, you helped Max clean up, the two of you working quietly in sync.

“How was it?” He asked, his tone careful.

“They were nice,” you said with a soft smile. “I had fun.” Max relaxed slightly, but then your smile faltered. “I’ve never had friends who weren’t chosen by my dad.”

You didn’t elaborate, but the weight of your words hung in the air. Max didn’t press, giving you space to share only what you were ready to.

Once the kitchen was tidy, you leaned against the counter, watching Max move about. He glanced at you curiously.

“What?”

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“For what?”

“For everything.” You said, your voice trembling slightly. “For telling Charles and Alex what I needed without saying anything personal.” You tell him and glance at the floor before you look up again, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you for being the kindest person I ever met.”

Max froze. “I wasn’t kind at first.” he murmured, guilt flickering in his eyes.

You shook your head. “Even then, you cared more than anyone else ever did.” Your voice broke. “I know you didn’t want this,  I know that my dad forced you into it. And you didn’t have to be nice to me, but I’ve been alone for so many years.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Max was in front of you in an instant, his hands gently cupping your face. He wiped the tear away, his eyes locked on yours. “My sister…” you whispered, Max frowns he had no idea you have a sister. “She turned eighteen and left. I was nine. She never called, never sent anything. And my mum died giving birth to me, and after that... it was just my dad.” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “No one ever asked what I wanted or cared if I was okay. As long as I did well in school, no one cared.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with an unspoken rage. But he buried it, focusing instead on you. Still holding your face, and your eyes not wavering away from each other, Max leans over and places his lips softly on your forehead.

“I promise you’ll never feel like that again.” He whispered against your skin. “I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into his chest, letting him hold you. For the first time, you felt like you could let go of the weight you’d been carrying for so long.

When you finally pulled back, Max smiled softly, and you returned it, the moment settling between you like a quiet promise.

It was a quiet Sunday morning with no race this week. You and Max had just finished breakfast—something simple, part of the diet routine his trainer had him on. You were following his plan, eating smaller portions, and Max had noticed you snacking more these days, which made him happy. After everything that had happened, he wasn't pushing you to eat more than you wanted.

Max sat back with his tea, scrolling through his phone when it rang. The number was familiar—it was his mum.

Bold is Dutch

"Hey, Mum."

"Hey, honey, I just got off the phone with your dad." Sophie’s voice sounded tense, and Max tensed instinctively, already sensing where this conversation was going.

"Yeah?" Max asked, trying to sound casual.

"He told me something weird… he said… he said you got married." There was a long pause, and Sophie didn't give him time to run around it. "Max, is this true?"

Max cursed under his breath, closing his eyes. The silence dragged on.

"Look, Mum, it’s hard to explain." Max began, but Sophie wasn’t having it.

"Hard to explain? Max, did you get married? Yes, or no?" Her voice was sharp now, demanding an answer. Max rubbed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

"Yes." He admitted.

"And you didn’t think to tell us? Who did you even marry? What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Is she pregnant or something?" Sophie’s voice cracked with worry. Max could hear the disbelief in her words. His mother wasn’t the type to overreact, but this was too much.

"Mum, calm down." Max sat up straighter, his voice calming. "Look, Dad signed a contract years ago, and if it ever gets out, he could be sent to prison. The man who signed it made me marry his daughter to keep everything quiet."

"What the fuck is wrong with your father?" Sophie wasn’t expecting Max to have an answer to that. "You can’t get out of it?"

"No, I couldn’t." Max’s voice was steady but firm.

"Is she living with you?" Sophie asked, her worry turning into concern for Max’s well-being.

"Yes." Max's voice softened slightly.

"Mum, be careful. I don’t know her, but she could be the one who asked her dad to do this. You can never be too sure with people like that."

Max paused, a flicker of protectiveness for you rising in him. "Mum, she’s not like that."

There was silence on the other end of the line as Sophie processed his words. Max felt the weight of her judgment shift. He had to convince her of this, for you.

"She’s nice. Quiet. Really beautiful. And she’s nothing like her dad. If anything, I’m just happy she’s away from him."

Sophie was silent, the tension hanging thick. She wasn’t used to hearing her son speak so openly about someone like this. "

"You like her." She said, the words not quite a question but more of a realization.

Max let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "I do." And for the first time he’s said it out loud.

“I want to meet her.” Sophie said, her voice firm but not unkind. She’ll cast all judgment to the side until she met you.

“I’ll talk to her.” Max promised, knowing it was important for you to decide if and when you felt comfortable with meeting his family.

After the call ended, Max sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts before heading back to you.

“y/n.” Max called as he entered the room. You looked up from the iPad, where you’d been experimenting with ProCreate.

"In two weeks, it’s the Dutch Grand Prix. Do you want to come with me?"

You raised an eyebrow, a little hesitant. "Will Alex be there?"

Max smiled, the corner of his lips twitching.

"I don’t know, but my mum and sister will be, and my mum wants to meet you." You bit your bottom lip, a nervous habit you’d picked up, and started scratching at your nail bed. "You don’t have to come if it’s too much."

"No, it’s okay… do they know?" You asked, hesitant but curious.

Max nodded. "Yeah. I don’t know about Victoria, but Mum wants to meet you first before anything." He gave a small, reassuring smile. “I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready."

You nodded slowly, but the nerves were already starting to bubble in your stomach, your mind started overthinking every possible scenario that could happen. "I don’t know… what if they don’t like me?"

Max’s voice softened, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Don’t do that." He said gently, cupping your face. "Don’t get lost in your thoughts."

You sighed, your shoulders sinking a little. "I just…"

"Show me what you’ve done." Max said, cutting through your train of thought. He gently nudged you aside and sat next to you on the couch.

You hesitated before showing him your drawing on the iPad. Max leaned in, studying the strokes and lines you’d created. He didn’t know much about art, but the smile on his face said everything. To him, it looked good.

He turned to you, eyes soft. "It’s great. You’re really talented."

You felt a warmth bloom in your chest at his compliment.

He’s been talking with Alex for help, he’s getting you a good starter kit, different mediums and everything until you find what you like. Max has another an empty bedroom, where his sim was supposed to go, before he sat it up in the living room, he can convert it to your studio. He was making sure you had everything you needed to thrive.

"Will you come to the next race with me?" Max asked softly. "Just so you can see everything before you meet my mum and sister. It’ll be nice to have you there."

You agreed to go with him to the next two weeks, first stop was Hungary and then it was the Netherlands.

Alex would be there as well, and that eased your nerves a little, knowing you’d have someone else you were comfortable with.

Max also made sure you had some new clothes, a few more pairs of shoes—something that made him happy. You’d ordered them online, and he was genuinely excited to see you enjoy these little things.

While packing, Max’s eyes fell on the wedding band he’d taken off and placed on his bedside table. It had been there ever since, untouched. Without thinking much about it, he slipped it into his luggage.

The atmosphere of the paddock was nothing like you’d expected—it was electric, buzzing with activity. Alex made sure to meet up with you once the drivers had to go in for media duties. She showed you around, introducing you to the other WAGs, who were all genuine and easy to talk to.

Lilly showed you TikTok, and you downloaded the app instantly, amused by how much you were missing out. The girls didn’t pry into your relationship with Max. They accepted you for who you were—just a friend of Max, now Alex’s as well.

The weekend was enjoyable, thanks to them. You watched the race from the Red Bull garage, chatting with Max between sessions. Some photos were snapped, but no one really knew who you were. Your anonymity remained intact, despite the rumours circulating about you and Max.

Max kept an eye on the gossip online. He didn’t care about the usual scrutiny, but his family was off-limits. No one had asked for his life to be under a microscope. And now, you were part of his family. You shared his name.

That thought made something in Max shift. He felt a deep sense of possessiveness, pride even, that you had his last name. The primal part of him loved that you were his, and that realization struck him late that night. He wasn’t just liking you anymore—he was falling for you. Fast.

But Max wasn’t used to slow. He liked things fast, hard, and with determination. He knew what he wanted, and now that he had you, he would do whatever it took to keep you.

Usually, Max flies with his friends from race to race on his private jet, but since he’s bringing you this time, it’s just the two of you.

“How was the race weekend?” Max asked, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It was a lot.” You admitted, and his heart sank a little. He wanted you to enjoy it and wondered if he should’ve asked if you wanted to go in the first place. “But I enjoyed it. It was different from seeing it on TV. Also, the girls were all very nice. I’ve never been to something like this before. I wanted to see you win, though.”

“Maybe next time.” Max chuckled softly before adding, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

You and Max arrived in the Netherlands on Monday. The first two days, you’ll stay at his mum’s house, and then he’ll move to a hotel closer to the track. Your nail beds were raw from all the scratching you were doing, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.

In the car, Max took your hand in his, gently running his fingers over the red and irritated areas. You glanced at him, expecting a question or a comment, but he remained focused on your hand, his touch warm and soothing. Your heart raced, a blush creeping up your cheeks as his attention left you feeling giddy. No guy had ever held your hand before.

Your mind wandered. Every small thing Max did made you question whether it was all platonic or if he had feelings for you. You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him. Every time he was near, your heart skipped a beat, and you felt weightless.

When you arrived at his mum’s house, his mum and sister were already at the door, waiting. As you both walked up, pulling your luggage behind you, Max greeted Sophie with a warm hug. Victoria waited her turn before stepping in for her own hug.

After they let Max go, Sophie turned to you with a kind smile. “Hi, I’m Sophie,” she said.

You smiled timidly and offered your hand. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

She shook your hand warmly before Victoria followed suit.

“Let’s go inside,” Sophie said, leading the way.

Max lingered for a moment, his eyes meeting yours as if silently asking if you were okay. You gave him a small smile, and the two of you followed them inside.

Once inside, you placed your bags next to Max’s and joined them in the living room. Max gestured for you to sit next to him on the couch, while Sophie and Victoria settled across from you. It felt like an interview, the kind where every word mattered.

Sophie broke the silence first. “Tell us a little about yourself, y/n. Max hasn’t said much.”

Your fingers unconsciously returned to scratching. “I-uh, what do you want to know?”

Sophie gave you a reassuring smile. “Where did you grow up?”

“Oh, we moved a lot. I was last in Switzerland, but before that, we lived in the UK, Spain, and Germany for a while.”

“It must’ve been hard moving countries and losing your friends.” Victoria said sympathetically.

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I learnt many languages.” You dismiss their concerns, you’ve never had much of friends in the first place, so moving wasn’t hard on you in that aspect.

“Oh? How many do you know?” Sophie asked, intrigued.

“German, Spanish, French, a bit of Italian, and some Dutch.”

“You know Dutch?” Max asked, clearly surprised.

You smiled genuinely for the first time since sitting down. “Yeah, not fluently, but enough. It’s a little similar to German and French.”

“That’s impressive.” Sophie said.

“Thank you.” You replied, brushing off the compliment.

“Did you watch Formula 1 before meeting Max?” Sophie asked.

“No. I had no idea about it until… Max.” You hesitated, unsure how much to share.

“What are your socials? I want to follow you.” Victoria said, pulling out her phone.

“I don’t have any.” Your fingers returned to scratching. They both looked at Max, who nodded in confirmation. You added quietly. “Didn’t have a phone until Max got me one.”

“Really?” Victoria’s shock was evident.

“Your mother was okay with this?” Sophie asked, her voice softer now. She would never leave her daughter without a phone in case something happened to her, and she needed help. Even if just an old phone or limit access to internet, but not having a phone is bazaar. Your nail digs into your skin.

Max glanced at you, his concern growing as he noticed your nails digging into your skin. Without a word, he took your hand in his again.

“I think maybe we should rest first.” Max says wanting to get you out of this situation.

“It’s alright.” You squeeze his hand, Max is closer to you now, your hand in his on his thigh. You give him the smallest of smiles, before turning to his family. “My mum died giving birth to me.”

“And your siblings?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

“Ran away when she turned 18.” You said matter-of-factly. “I know you’re just looking out for Max, but I would never hurt him. I only want the best for him.”

Sophie softened. “Thank you.” She said with a small smile.

Later that night, you were in one of the spare rooms, dressed in your pyjamas, staring out of the window when Max knocked on the door.

“Come in.” You called.

Max stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright.” You replied simply.

“They weren’t too much, were they?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, they love you.”

“They do.” Max paused, guilt creeping in. Even with his rough childhood, he’d had his mum and sister. You’d had no one.

“Don’t do that,” you said, raising a hand to smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Do what?” He took your hand from his face into his. He studies your hand, making sure there’s no more cuts on them.

“Feel guilty. Hate that you had a better life than me.” You said softly. “We’ve both had rough childhoods, but we’re here now.”

“We’re here now.” Max repeated, his voice heavy with emotion. For a moment, silence filled the room until you broke it.

“You know I’ve suffered all types of abuse from my dad.” Max’s grip on your hand tightened, his jaw clenching. “When I wouldn’t do what he wanted or got less than perfect on tests, he’d pull me by my hair. He loved seeing me stumble, dragging me around like I was nothing. Sometimes he hit me, but never hard enough to leave permanent marks. When my sister escaped, he made sure I couldn’t. He couldn’t break her, so he broke me.”

“He didn’t break you.” Max said firmly. You looked at him, your eyes hollow. “He didn’t. You’re here. You’re strong. You’re not following his rules anymore. You have a phone, you wear what you want, and you’re living your life. If he broke you, you wouldn’t have any of that.”

“All of that is because of you.” You countered. “You made me do all that.”

“No, you let me help you, you let me do all those things for you.” Max wanted you to understand how strong you are, how brave you are. “Someone else would’ve still ben in that shell, they’d still be afraid. Are you scared?”

“Not when I’m with you.” You admitted.

“And I’m not going anywhere.” Max whispers and you lean over and hug him. Something that you have come to love. You may have not experienced a lot of hugs in your life, but Max’s hugs are your favourite. There can never be a hug like his, a hug that makes you warm, feel protected, safe a hug that feels like home. Max waits until you pull away, his fingertips come up to your face and push the stray hairs out of your face. Your eyes locked in an intense gaze. After what feels like forever Max lets out a breath, he leans over and presses his lips to your forehead, before he bids you good night.

That night you dream of him; you dream of what it would be like being in a real relationship with Max. And you wake up wishing it was the truth; you wake up wishing that you were really with him.

Max wanted nothing but to find your dad and beat him up, who treats their daughters like this. How can he be human? He should be locked up. It took everything in him not to track him down, when you told him, and just end him. Just so he wouldn’t breathe the same air you breath, so he wouldn’t walk the same earth you’re walking. Max had to remind himself that you’re with him now, that your father won’t get to you. He gave you to Max and now you belong to him. And so, he planned.

The next few days felt surreal, almost as if you had stepped into a different life. Whether at her home or in the paddock, you spent most of your time with Sophie and Victoria, getting to know them in a more natural way. Victoria introduced you to her children and her partner, who seemed to warm up to you quickly. Their acceptance gave you a quiet sense of relief—you were finally starting to feel like part of something good.

On Media Day, you managed to catch up with Alex and the girls, who urged you to sign up for Instagram, even if you didn’t plan on posting anything. Their light-hearted teasing helped you relax, even if you weren’t ready to make that leap just yet.

Every night, Max ensured that you all ate together as a family. He was quietly thrilled by how easily you fit in, your laughter blending seamlessly with theirs. To him, it was a sign of hope, something he hadn’t realised he was holding on to so tightly.

But you were completely oblivious to the plan Max had set in motion after your heart-to-heart. Behind the scenes, he was orchestrating an end to your father’s influence. He wanted it done discreetly, leaving no room for you to suspect or feel burdened by it.

The energy in the paddock was electric as Quali Day unfolded, Max securing pole position in a thrilling comeback. You had been watching from the garage with Sophie, who nudged you playfully when you cheered so loudly it drew stares.

“You look happier than he does!” Sophie teased, a warm smile on her face.

“Well, he earned it!” You replied, grinning.

Sophie took your hand, leading you to where Max would be arriving. The timing was perfect—he walked in just as you reached the area.

“Max!” You called, your excitement spilling over as you ran up to him. Without thinking, you threw your arms around him. It wasn’t like the casual hugs you had gotten used to giving—it was unreserved, spontaneous. For a moment, Max froze in surprise, but then his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Congratulations.” You murmured against him, your voice warm with pride.

“It’s not a win yet.” Max replied, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your hair.

“You were still amazing.” You insisted, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I was starting to think I brought you bad luck.”

“You can never bring me bad luck.” He whispered, his tone serious. His arms around you a beat after you let go as his team called for him. “I have to go, but I’ll see you after.”

“Okay.” You whispered, stepping back reluctantly.

Sophie smiled knowingly, taking your hand as the two of you headed back to the garage. Neither of you realised that your tender moment had been caught on a live video, now circulating online. But none of you saw it that day, so busy with your lives to log online.

Max’s teams saw the video, they had previously asked Max about your relation to him, but he politely said it’s none of their business. Wanting the reigning world champion to focus on the win, they didn’t tell him about the video.

Max clinched victory in a hard-fought race, and the celebrations were wild. You stood with Sophie and Victoria in Parc Ferme. Max held your hand for a brief moment. He hasn’t talked to you yet about the media and how to deal with them, so he’d like to keep it all as private as he could. But he also wanted you to know how he apricated your presence.

The team went hard in celebrating, there was the photo taking after the media duties, champaign splashing, cheering and jumping around. You watched it all from the side with Sophie. The woman was starting to have a soft spot for you, the more time she spent with you. You left with the women to change at the hotel, for a dinner with the family, apparently even Jos was coming. You had all changed and went to the restaurant at the hotel, and Max joined you all soon after. His mum and sister purposely left the seat next to you empty, Max likes sitting next to you something that they’ve noticed.

As you scanned the menu, Max leaned closer, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair.

“Do you know what you’ll order?” He asked.

“I’m torn between these two.” You replied, pointing at the options. Max leaned in further to look; his face so close that you caught a whiff of his cologne.

“We’ll get both and share.” He decided.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded firmly, his easy confidence making you smile.

Across the table, Victoria nudged Sophie, tilting her head toward the two of you. “Look at them.” She whispered. Sophie smiled back, clearly entertained by the unspoken affection radiating between you and Max.

Sharing the food was a good option, you liked both dishes, Max ate more than you did which is expected. Before you get dessert, you excused yourself to the bathroom after the main course, you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

The moment you rounded the corner, a hand grabbed your arm roughly. Before you could react, another hand twisted into your hair, yanking you back with enough force to make you stumble and you instantly knew who it was. A squeak left your mouth as you were dragged.

“I think you and y/n should date.” Sophie said to her son, the moment you were out of earshot.

“What? We’re married.”

“Yes, but not of your choice.” She says. “You both like each other, already married, why not try to date and see where it takes you, it’s backwards but why not?”

“I don’t know if she likes me.” Max said, feeling insecure all of the sudden.

“Believe me she likes you.” Victoria says and stands up. “I need the bathroom too.”

Leaving her mum and brother to talk, she sped walked to the bathroom, regretting the last glass of wine she drank. Victoria hears a squeak; she turns and just catches a glimpse of you being pulled away. Her eyes go wide, and she rushes back to the restaurant.

“Fucking bitch, shut up!” Your father spat, his voice venomous. Panic flooded you as he dragged you toward the emergency stairwell. Jos was already there, hovering uneasily but saying nothing.

Your back hit the cold concrete wall, and the impact knocked the wind out of you. Tears blurred your vision as your father loomed over you, his face twisted with rage.

“What did I tell you before you left?” He hissed. “I said to play dumb and keep your mouth shut! So, what the hell did you say to that asshole?”

“I—I, I don’t k-know.” You stutter vision blurry.

“The fuck you don’t! What did you say that made him talk to the investors, they’re all pulling out!” He’s screaming now, you flinch wishing the wall to just swallow you. you thought you’d be stronger the next time you see your dad, but here you are a whimpering mess. “Talk! What did you say?”

“I—I don’t know!” You cry, your voice trembling.

“Bullshit!” he roared, his hand striking your cheek with enough force to snap your head to the side. You whimpered, your legs buckling beneath you. The wall behind you the only reason you didn’t fall.

But before he could strike again, the door burst open. Max charged in like a storm, tackling your father to the ground with a roar of fury.

“Oh my god.” You hear Sophie gasp and rushes to your side, she pulls you from the stairwell.

“You fucking asshole!” Max shouted, landing punch after punch. “Who the hell hits women? I told you to stay away from her!”

Jos sees the rage Max is in and jumps into action, fearing his son will be locked up, he tries to pull Max of your father. Jos is far from being in his prime and Max isn’t young anymore. Max glares at his father.

“Max, stop!” Jos finally intervened, trying to pull his son off. But Max shoved him away, his anger boiling over.

“Piss off, this is your fault! You brought him here!” Max spat at his father; his voice thick with betrayal. He allowed him to come close to you, saw him hit you and did nothing.

Meanwhile, Sophie had her arms wrapping protectively around you. Victoria rushed to get security, her heels clicking frantically against the tiled floor.

You hear the shouting from outside, even through your pain you want to go to Max. You try to get back inside, but Sophie stops you.

“Wait, Victoria is getting security.”

“But Max-“

“Will be fine, he wouldn’t want you in there.” Just as she says that she sees the security running in your direction she points to the door, and they rush in. There’s more shouting and screaming from inside.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?” Victoria asks stopping in front of you. Tears haven’t stop, your scalp was hurting, and your cheek was pulsing. It’ll bruise, leaving a mark. “That’s a stupid question.”

“What are you doing? He started it!” You hear your dad scream, the door opens, and he’s pulled outside, his vision falls on you. “I was just talking with my daughter, and he butts in.”

“That’s my wife! And you laid hands on her.” Max says coming out of the door and takes quick steps to stand in front of you, his mum and sister. “You should call the police.”

The security nods and they take your dad away, as one of them call for the police. Jos walks out last, and the glares turn to him.

“I don’t care anymore, I’m getting him to jail, he can do whatever he wants.” Max tells his dad, Jos looks defeated, with what happened your dad will go to the media. There’s no fighting this, Max may have gotten married but, in the end, he’ll still be exposed.

Max then turns to you, he takes you in, your hair is a mess your mascara was running, and tears haven’t stopped leaving your eyes. Also, your cheek is red and buffy. It takes a lot for Max not to run after your dad and beat him some more.

“Schatje,” Max says softly, stepping closer until there’s almost no space between you. His hand cups your uninjured cheek, tilting your face so he can examine it. There’s pain in his eyes as he studies you. “I should’ve hit him more.”

You whimper, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Not now, Max.” Sophie reprimands gently.

“Sorry.” He mutters, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His focus shifts entirely to you. “I’m sorry, y/n. You’re okay. You’re safe now. I promise this is the end of it.” His voice is low but filled with conviction. “I’ll make sure he never comes near you again. This was a mistake, a blip. As long as I’m alive, no one will lay a hand on you again. Do you hear me? No one. I swear it.”

For the first time, you believe those words with your whole heart. Max would do anything to protect you. Overcome with emotion, you throw your arms around him, seeking comfort in his presence despite the pain it causes.

“Max, I... I—” The words stick in your throat as your sobs overtake you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Max soothes, his voice a calming balm. His arms tighten around you, and his hand strokes your back gently.

When Max glances up, his eyes meet Sophie’s. The pain in his expression makes her heart ache. Any doubts she had are gone. Sophie makes a silent promise to herself: she will make sure you feel the love your family never gave you.

“Max, the hotel staff said we can wait for the police in your room.” Victoria interjects softly, breaking the moment.

Max nods in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to you. Gently, he pulls away enough to see your face.

“Come on, schatje. We’ll have more privacy in my room.” His voice is almost a whisper. You nod, letting go of him and letting him guide you. His arm wraps protectively around your shoulders, holding you close to his side. Sophie and Victoria lead the way.

The elevator ride is silent, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Even once you’re in the room, no one speaks. You sit on the sofa, still wrapped in Max’s embrace. Sophie hands you a water bottle, and you whisper a soft thank you.

The knock on the door is almost startling. Victoria opens it to reveal two police officers. They introduce themselves as they step inside, taking seats across from you and Max. One officer pulls out a notepad, ready to begin.

“The hotel staff are providing us with the CCTV footage.” The kinder-looking officer says. “But we need your statement to build the case. Can you start by telling us what happened, Miss Wilkins?”

“It’s Verstappen,” Max corrects firmly. The officer looks momentarily confused. “We’re married. It’s Y/N Verstappen.”

The officers exchange a quick glance before the kinder one nods. “Mrs. Verstappen, can you tell us what happened?”

The words make your heart flutter momentarily, but the weight of the situation quickly crushes any joy. Taking a shaky breath, you grip Max’s hand tightly as he laces his fingers with yours, grounding you.

“I was on my way to the bathroom when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me back. Before I could react, a hand was in my hair. I knew it was my dad.” You explain, your voice trembling. You pause to wipe at your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “He dragged me into the stairwell. He kept asking me about something Max did... something about investors.”

You glance at Max, confusion in your eyes. Max’s jaw tightens as guilt flashes across his face. He now understands why your father attacked you—it’s his fault.

“When I told him I didn’t know, he hit me.” You continue, your voice cracking. “He was about to do it again when Max arrived and stopped him.”

The officer nods, his expression sympathetic. “Has this happened before? The abuse?”

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “Since I was young.”

The pity in their eyes makes your stomach turn.

“When was the last time, before today?” The second officer asks.

You don’t need to think about it. The memory is vivid.

“A week or so after we got married.” You say.

You went and opened the door, taking a step back when you saw who it was. Your heart dropped.

“Well, look who it is? The new bride. Come give a hug to your father.” Your dad opened his arms for a hug, Jos was standing behind him. Awkwardly. This feels like an ambush. You felt so naïve thinking that you wouldn’t have to deal with your father anymore. That you’re free from him. Your father hated that you didn’t instantly follow his rules, so he took a step closer. You then moved closer as well and opened your arms for a hug, he pulled you closer roughly, on hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the roots, the other on your arm. It would leave a bruise if he held you slightly harder. You held in the whimper that threatened to escape. “Why did it take so long for you to open the door?” He didn’t wait or expect an answer. “Just because you’re married, doesn’t mean you can forget what I taught you.” Moving your head back, you instinctively held into his arm for balance. “And what are you wearing? Hmm? I thought I sent you clothes. I’ve spent so much to make you the perfect wife, and this is how you are.”

"Did someone come?" Max called out from the living room, removing his headset. You shrank back, taking a few steps away from your father. Max rounded the corner, his sharp eyes darting between your pale face and the men at the door. “What are you two doing here?”

“What?” Max’s voice is laced with disbelief. You glance at him, biting your bottom lip.

“He didn’t hit me.” You clarify. “He just pulled my hair.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” Max whispers, running a hand down his face in frustration. “You should’ve told me.”

“You stopped him. You told him not to speak to me again.” You say softly, placing your hand on his thigh in an attempt to comfort him. Max looks down at your hand, his heart breaking further. Here you are, bruised and hurting, yet still trying to console him.

“Did Jos witness everything?” The officer asks, pulling your attention back.

“Yes. Today and last time.” You reply. Max’s anger bubbles to the surface.

“We want restraining orders against both of them. And we’ll sue.” His voice is sharp, final.

The officer nods. “That’s the next step. With the footage, this will be a straightforward case.”

“Okay, just a step by step, but with the cameras here, it will be an easy case.” The officer said looking grim. “Mr. Verstappen you attacked Mr. Wilkins, right?”

“Yes, he was hitting my wife.” Max admitted not fearing anything that could come his way.

“It was self-defence.” Sophie added, the officers spared her a glance.

The officers continue asking questions and taking statements from Sophie and Victoria before leaving. Once they’re gone, Sophie and Victoria ensure you have everything you need before saying their goodbyes, leaving you and Max alone.

The silence feels heavy again. Max moves quickly, grabbing the ice bucket that had been delivered earlier. He wraps some ice in a towel and approaches you with careful intent.

“Let me do it.” You say softly, reaching for the towel, but Max doesn’t let go. His frown deepens as he presses the cold compress gently to your cheek, his gaze focused solely on the bruised skin. He still won’t meet your eyes. “Max.” You call his name quietly, but he doesn’t look up. You try again. “Max, please.” Finally, his eyes flicker to yours, and what you see in them breaks your heart. Pain. Guilt. Anguish. “What’s wrong?” You ask, your voice trembling slightly.

“How can you ask me that?” He says, his voice cracking. “Your dad has hurt you twice since we got married, and I didn’t even know. I failed to protect you. Both times. And today... today was my fault. I tried to punish him for what he did to you, but all I did was give him a reason to come after you again. I wasn’t there for you before we got married, and I couldn’t protect you now. I—” His voice falters, and you see tears welling in his eyes. Max is strong, he doesn’t care about a lot of things to cry, but you? He cares about you, knowing and seeing what happened to you is tearing him apart.

“Max.” You say, your hand moving to cover his where it rests on your cheek. You sit up straighter, shifting until you’re kneeling on the sofa to face him. Your hands cup his face, forcing him to look at you.

“I’d still be with him—or worse—if it weren’t for you. You saved me, Max. I’d go through it all again if it meant I’d end up here, with you.”

Your words are soft but resolute. You brush away a stray tear that escapes down his cheek, and Max leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours.

“I love you.” You whisper, the words slipping out effortlessly. They feel right. True.

There it was as simple as that; the words just left you easily and smoothly.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat. He pulls back slightly, and your hands fall away from his face. The smile you wore drops, replaced by panic as your mind races. Did you misread everything? Was Max only being kind because he felt obligated?

“I—uh—I’m sorry if I overstepped.” You stammer, standing abruptly. Your nails dig into your palms as you try to steady your breathing. “This isn’t what you wanted. It’s not what you chose. Of course, you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry—”

“Wait.” Max grabs your hand before you can reach the door, turning you to face him again. His hands rest firmly on your shoulders, grounding you. “Just... wait.” You stop, your heart hammering in your chest. His touch is gentle as he cups your jaw, his thumbs brushing your skin. “I wasn’t expecting it.” He admits softly. “I was surprised, confused, afraid... I still am. I don’t want you to think you love me just because I got you away from your dad. I don’t want that to cloud your feelings. If you love me, I need it to be for me. For who I am.”

His words make your chest ache, but then his next words make your heart soar.

“Because I love you.” He says. “So much.”

Tears well in your eyes again as your voice trembles. “You do?”

Max nods, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I’ve thought about this a lot. About us. About how I never wanted this marriage to be just an arrangement. I love you, Y/N.”

You let out a teary laugh, and Max’s lips curve into a smile at the sound.

“I love you for you.” you assure him. “I promise. This may not have been what we planned, but I’m glad it happened. I’m glad I have you.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, and then his lips meet yours. The kiss is soft and tender, a promise in itself. You kiss him back, savouring the moment. When you finally pull away, you rest your head against his shoulder, letting out a long sigh.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course.” His answer comes without hesitation.

Max gives you one of his shirts, and you retreat to the bathroom to change. When you return, he’s gone, but moments later, he reappears, holding your makeup remover from your room next door. His gaze softens as he takes in the sight of you standing by the bed, wearing his shirt.

You’re too exhausted to notice the way his breath hitches, the way he has to look away for a moment to compose himself.

That night, you both fall asleep quickly. Max spoons you from behind, mindful of your injuries, his presence a shield against the nightmares that might come. In his arms, you feel safe, loved.

When Max wakes before you the next morning, he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before slipping out of bed. The warmth of his arms around you fades as he quietly gets out of bed, careful not to disturb you. He pauses at the edge of the mattress, his gaze lingering on your peaceful face. The bruise on your cheek looks slightly less angry now, but it’s still a stark reminder of everything you endured. Max clenches his fists as guilt and anger surge again, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. You need him to be strong, not consumed by his own emotions.

Max dresses quickly and heads into the small living area of the hotel suite, pulling out his phone. The police had assured him they’d be in touch for follow-ups, but Max wasn’t going to wait passively. He searches for a lawyer, determined to take swift action. Restraining orders would be just the start.

By the time he finishes his call, Sophie is knocking softly at the door. He lets her in, and she immediately places a comforting hand on his arm.

“How’s she doing?” Sophie asks, her voice gentle.

“She’s sleeping,” Max replies, his tone heavy. “I just... I don’t know what else I could’ve done to stop this.”

Sophie shakes her head. “Max, none of this is your fault. You’ve done more for her than anyone else ever has. She knows that. She feels it.”

Max nods but doesn’t respond. His mother’s words offer little solace when he feels like he’s failed you in so many ways. Sophie doesn’t push him further, sensing his need for space, and instead busies herself in the kitchenette, preparing tea for when you wake up.

You stir a little later, the ache in your body making it hard to move. But the warmth lingering on your skin from Max’s embrace makes you smile faintly, even through the pain. Slowly, you sit up. The events of the previous day flood back, and a lump forms in your throat.

Pulling on the robe draped over a nearby chair, you shuffle into the living area, rubbing your eyes. Max is pacing near the window, phone in hand, while Sophie sits at the small dining table, sipping tea. When she sees you, she smiles softly and stands.

“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” She asks, her concern evident.

“I’m okay.” You reply quietly, though the rasp in your voice betrays your exhaustion. Sophie doesn’t miss it and quickly ushers you to the table.

“Sit. I made tea. It’ll help.” She places a cup in front of you before brushing her hand gently over your hair. “Max will be here in a minute.”

Max, who has noticed you now, ends his call abruptly and strides over. His eyes scan your face, and though he tries to hide it, you catch the flicker of pain in his expression.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.” He says, his tone soft but firm.

“I’ve rested enough.” you reply, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine, Max.”

He kneels beside you, his hand covering yours on the table. “You don’t have to be fine; you know. Not yet.”

His words sink in, and you let out a shaky breath.

“I know.” you whisper. “But I can’t let him take everything from me.”

Max nods, understanding. “We’re going to make sure he doesn’t. The lawyer is already working on the restraining order. I’ve also asked them to look into filing charges. I’m not letting this go by easily.”

The fire in his voice sends a wave of comfort through you. He wasn’t just saying these things for your sake. He meant every word.

Sophie steps back, giving the two of you space, and Max pulls his chair closer to yours.

“Today.” He says gently, “We’re going to take it one step at a time. First, we’ll see what the police need. Then, we’ll figure out what’s next. And after that... we’ll go home. Together.”

The word home makes your chest tighten. For so long, that word had no meaning. But now, with Max, it feels like you’re finally finding what it truly means.

Later in the day, after a follow-up with the police and some much-needed rest, you and Max prepare to leave the hotel.

Max’s phone buzzing insistently had been a constant backdrop for the past half-hour, and finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Max, just answer your phone.” You said, pressing an ice pack to your cheek and watching him pace. “It keeps ringing.”

With a sigh, Max glanced at the screen before reluctantly accepting the call.

“Hello?... Yes… what? How did they know?... No, just the police officers and—” He paused, his expression darkening as he ran a hand through his hair. “No, I think I said it in the hallway as well… fuck… okay, yeah… no… I said no, and I mean it. It’s no one’s business… No, because nothing in my contract says I have to… Mate, look, it happened. I’m not happy about it, but it happened. End of story… I’m going back to Monaco.”

He hung up, exhaling sharply as he tossed his phone onto the table. His jaw was tight, and it was clear the conversation had rattled him.

“What was that about?” You asked, wincing as you spoke. Your cheek throbbed, and smiling was definitely off the table until the swelling subsided.

Max hesitated, glancing at you before answering. “Someone from the hotel leaked that we’re married.”

Your eyes widened, and you turned toward the mirror to check your face again, trying to process his words. “What? How—how did they even know?”

“Don’t worry.” Max reassured you quickly, stepping closer. “We don’t have to say anything. I’ve always kept my private life private, and the police won’t release any details.”

“What about the officiant?” you asked, suddenly worried about the people who had been involved in your ceremony.

“If he says anything, he can kiss his license goodbye,” Max replied firmly. “And if your father tries to use this, his reputation—what’s left of it—will be done.”

You nodded, feeling a bit reassured by Max’s determination. But he wasn’t finished.

“Now, I need you to listen to me and think carefully before you decide.” His tone was serious, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “There are two options: One, we can go out and face the crowd together. Or two, I can go out first, and you can follow later when things calm down.”

Your stomach churned at the thought of stepping out there alone. “Do they have my face?”

Max’s silence was answer enough. Your heart sank, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t want to be on my own.”

Max’s shoulders relaxed, and he stepped closer to you.

“Alright, we’ll leave together,” he said gently, taking your hands in his. “But you need to know they’ll be taking pictures of you now. A lot. Once this is public, there’s no going back.”

You swallowed hard but nodded. “It’s okay. I don’t have social media anyway.”

Max’s lips twitched into a small smile. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, careful not to hurt your swollen cheek.

Sophie insists on staying until the very last moment, ensuring you have everything you need before saying goodbye. Her hug is warm and lingering, and she whispers in your ear, “You’re part of this family now. Don’t ever forget that.”

Victoria joins in with her own hug, giving Max a teasing look. “Take care of her, Max. You’re not off the hook just because she married you.”

Max rolls his eyes but smiles. “I know, I know.”

Max checked out of the hotel while you stood close to him, your fingers brushing against his arm for comfort, taking his left hand, you felt the smooth texture, looking down you see his wedding ring. Max smiles and presses your sunglasses up your nose. A Red Bull cap sat snugly on your head, and sunglasses shielded your swollen eyes. Even before stepping outside, the roar of the crowd was deafening, fans chanting and calling Max’s name.

“Stay close to me.” Max murmured, his arm slipping protectively around your shoulders.

The moment the doors opened, the world exploded with flashing cameras and shouting voices. Your head dipped instinctively; the weight of the crowd’s energy overwhelming. Max’s arm tightened around you as the bodyguards formed a path to the car, their presence the only barrier between you and the chaos.

The path was narrow, people pressing in on all sides, and you felt your heart race as the space seemed to close in. Flashes of light blinded you even through your sunglasses, and questions were hurled at Max, some directed at you. But he didn’t stop. His focus was solely on getting you to the car.

At last, you reached the vehicle, and a breath of relief escaped you as you slid into the seat. Max lingered outside for a moment, signing a few autographs for fans before quickly ducking into the car beside you.

His face was drawn, his usual calm replaced by a tension you rarely saw in him. You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently.

“That was something.” You said, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Tell me about it.” Max muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced at you when he felt your touch and gave you a small, weary smile. Lifting your hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it before threading his fingers through yours.

The car hummed quietly as it carried you both toward the airport, leaving the chaos of the crowd behind. Max’s hand remained in yours the entire ride, a silent reassurance that, no matter how overwhelming things became, you wouldn’t have to face them alone.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly with the lawsuit against your father. While the statute of limitations on the abuse you experienced as a child had already passed, Jos provided compelling testimony as a witness, and the case concluded without much trouble. There were some whispers in the media, but Max spared no expense to ensure the story stayed out of the spotlight, keeping your life as private as possible.

Since that fateful day at the hotel, your life had changed dramatically. Your belongings had been moved into Max's room, and now you slept together every night. Max rarely went anywhere without you if he could help it, and the connection between you only deepened with time.

You’d also applied to art school and were now waiting for the new semester to begin. Alex, ever your cheerleader, was ecstatic about the news, eagerly discussing your potential and the projects you could take on. Meanwhile, Charles had taken to bragging that he’d known about your marriage before anyone else on the grid, which only fuelled the Lestappen theories online, especially with your friendship with Alex adding to the chatter.

The windows in your shared Monaco apartment were wide open, letting in a soft sea breeze as you sat in front of a canvas, your playlist softly filling the room. The view was breathtaking, but you were lost in your work, a blend of vibrant colours slowly taking shape on the canvas. You didn’t hear Max enter, fresh from the gym. He’d tried to get you to join him countless times, but you always resisted, finding your balance in Pilates a few times a week.

Max paused when he saw you, your brush gliding across the canvas as you mouthed the lyrics to the song playing in your ears. The sight made his heart swell—this was his proudest achievement, seeing you at peace, content, and thriving. Quietly, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, startling you enough that you let out a squeak, dropping your brush.

“Max! The floor!” You whined, glaring down at the smear of paint on the floorboards.

“It doesn’t matter.” He muttered, his lips brushing your neck before his gaze turned to the canvas. “Again?”

“Not my fault you’re my muse.” You replied cheekily, turning your head to press a quick kiss to his cheek. The painting was of his eye this time—just a close-up as part of a larger composition.

“Would you like me to paint another man’s eyes?” You teased, raising a brow as you wiped your brush on a cloth.

Max smirked, pulling you closer. “No. Just mine, Mrs. Verstappen.”

“That’s what I thought, Mr. Verstappen.” You shot back with a grin.

As you turned to grab another brush, Max pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to you. “I got you something.”

You blinked in surprise as he opened his hand, revealing a pair of earrings—your Tiffany earrings, the ones you’d had to sell to survive. Your breath caught as you reached out to touch them, the memories of that difficult time flashing through your mind.

“Max… how did you…”

“I tracked them down.” He said softly, his blue eyes full of warmth. “I know how much they meant to you, and now they can mean something happy again.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He interrupted, his tone firm yet gentle. “You deserve to have everything you lost, and more.”

You smiled through your tears and threw your arms around his neck, holding him close. “Thank you.” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Max kissed the top of your head, his hands stroking your back.

“Anything for you.” He murmured. “Always.”

Main Taglist: @gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat . @directioner5life . @a-beaverhausen .

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@itgirlofthecenturysposts

[gravegoer]

Do you write for Grayson by any chance? I really wished we got see more of her before her unfortunate demise

Sevika, Ambessa, Grayson

i write for anyone! and you can request a separate thing for grayson if you'd like but I decided to do the 3 butches in 1 so here's some random stuff for them <3 (this is needed after the pain of act 3)

my masterlist

council member sevika fic

Ambessa doesn't love often, but when she does, she loves HARD.

Since you're close to her, she is constantly worried people about hurting you to get to her.

You might have enforcers on you 24/7 unless you tell her to stop and if that's the case. She will follow you around herself. Making sure people know you are always under a close watch by her.

When you walk in public together, she likes you to have your arms wrapped around her bicep/forearm, keeping you as close as possible.

If that's not in your taste she will sling a heavy arm over your shoulder, careful not to weigh you down.

She is always buying you expensive and lavish clothing. If your gaze lingers on anything for too long, you'll see it at your doorstep the next day.

When you see a nice shop you like she's going to take you in and make you try on clothes for her. Putting her hand on your waist as she spins you around. Inviting you to stand between her spread legs so she can see the details better.

If you like to wear heels and your feet start to get tired, she will sit you down and take them off your feet herself, opting to carry you around for the next few hours.

When she carries you, you can see all the scars on her arms and face in full detail. She doesn't seem to mind your staring and might even take pride in herself.

As you're cuddling, she loves it when you trace your fingers over her scars, admiring every bump and edge. She will tell you dramatic stories about how she got them. (Definitely exaggerating some details.)

You could talk together for ages, bringing up random stories and irrelevant details. Her rough hands combing through your hair, or massaging your shoulders.

This was a weekly thing in the hot springs. She sits on the ledge above you while your shoulders slot themselves between her thick, scarred thighs.

She will take care of you without expecting anything back, but she definitely loves it when you return the favor. She will rest her head on your thighs and groan in pleasure when you massage her temples or scalp.

Grayson is a romantic, she will be showing up at your door with flowers in hand.

If she met you in Zaun, she will insist on taking you out on a fancy dinner date at her favorite Piltover resteraunt.

If you refuse, that's okay too. She's fine with eating at any of Zaun's resteraunts. (Just not seafood, please.)

She's asking you what your favorite flower is so she can bring you those instead next time.

And if you are a Zaunite, she isn't ashamed of your relationship, showing you off proudly. After all, all the enforcers do look up to her. What are they going to do?

If you don't know how to shoot, she will be more than pleased to teach you. Your back is pressed against her warm chest as she wraps her arms around you to hold the gun steady.

Her rough voice firmly commands you on where to put your hands and which parts do what.

Speaking of her voice, she knows you love it when she whispers sweet nothings in your ear before you drift off to sleep. Her muscled arm cushioning your head and cradling you close to her chest.

It's easy for her to fall asleep once she knows you're safe and comfortable. (That's why she insists on moving in together.

Actually, she insists on doing a lot of things together. For example, she appreciates when you work out with her, sitting on her back while she does pushups, or maybe spotting her while she presses some weight. (Not that she needs it. She just wants you close)

She instructs you on what workouts you can do and where to place her hands, maybe placing hers on yours for a bit too long.

You can see the sweat gleam on her forehead and the veins in her forearm after every set she completes. This is a sight you can grow to appreciate.

She definitely subtlety flexes when you touch her arm or basically anywhere else she can possibly bring herself to flex. (You notice)

Sevika is the gentlest giant. At first, you might assume her tone is rough and condescending. But after some time, you start to see through her facade.

Her tone around is more firm and calm. It's more around you than anyone else. She tries not to get aggressive or angry with you.

And if she does, she's immediately making it up to you in every way but saying "sorry"

She's bringing you your favroite foods, giving you a little more affection than usual, reluctantly letting you fidget with her mechanical arm.

She does take you out to places, albeit not the fanciest. She makes do with what Zaun has to offer. Buying you a drink at the bar or a trip across the city.

Although she's not really a big fan of PDA, she will let you hold her arm while walking around Zaun. She swears it's a safety precaution to make sure no creeps get close.

When she plays cards at the bar, you are always beside her, no arguements. She doesn't want you sitting by any of the other shady men that play with her.

Maybe if there is few enough people you can sit in her lap and light her cigarillo for her.

What you don't do in public is definitely made up for in private.

She lays on your lap after a long day, taking deep inhales into your stomach to calm down. Grabbing your hand, she'll encourage you to run your fingers through her hair.

Let's you hold her face in your hands and trace her intricate scar while her eyes are closed, completely letting her guard down.

Her large hand engulfs your own as she cradles your hand close to her face, imprinting this memory in her mind.

Just know she is extremely touch starved. Most of the touching she gets all day is punches and kicks, nothing close to the gentle sweep of your fingers on her exposed skin.

She isn't a big gift giver, but if you give her a neat suprise, like an expensive zippo or a new shirt (God knows she needs one) you swear you see a small tear in the corner of her eye. Maybe its just the light.

But who cares because her lips will immediately be on yours, engulfed in a hot kiss.

i feel like sevika needed more screen time in the last act but its okay as long as she didn't die...

[hiraethwrote]

contents : hurt to comfort, no pronouns but written with f!reader in mind, vent post ngl, very self indulgent, reader is going through it, no use of y/n wc 509 an : yeah just a little vent bc life is kinda shit atm but it's okay <3 pushing through

“please tell me what i can do to help.”

satoru's voice comes out thin, words shaping like a desperate plea as he holds your hands in his — his grip is tight, erasing even the idea that he might let go.

you take another sharp breath in hopes to steady it so you can give him an explanation of sorts, but you’re unable to. your jaw snaps shut as quickly as you opened it, chin quivering as the sobs bubble up in your throat again.

his eyebrows narrow in slight despair, something he tries to hide — because he wants to be there for you. the worry he feels is tugging at his skin, but he won’t let himself succumb to it, knowing you need him to be your rock — and he will be.

one of his hands leave yours to graciously cup your cheek, thumb moving on autopilot along the soft lines of your cheekbones. you immediately melt against his palm as the tears continue to roll down your face, chest hiccuping along with your strangled cries.

“you know there’s nothing i wouldn’t do, so just say the words, and i’ll do it!”

your nostrils flare as your lips force into a tight smile, eyes blinking rapidly to dissolve the tears in order to nod weakly — but as you do, you’re not even sure he picks up in the gesture as another sob shoots past your lips.

your fists fall to your lap as his other hand lets go, only for it to cup the other side of your face. slowly and carefully, satoru guides your face closer to him before he gently places his forehead against yours, his soft, white locks tickling your skin.

“close your eyes,” you do as he says. “breathe with me.” and you do.

reaching deep within yourself, you try to push all your sorrows aside and let your body focus solely on satoru's body sitting right in front of you, his care for you communicated clear as day in his gentle cradling of your face.

in unison with him, you take deep breaths, letting your lungs reunite with the oxygen they’ve been chasing so sorely for the past twenty minutes as you’ve been spiralling.

“in,” satoru says softly, hearing how he inhales through his nose, “and out,” his warm breath fanning your skin as he does.

you do it together a few times until a ringing silence fills your ears, no more deep breaths occupying the space anymore.

reluctantly he pulls away, resulting in you carefully creaking your eyes open to meet his kind pools of cerulean blue, greeting you with compassion.

“whatever it is, we will fix it.”

the wording is simple, but the meaning transcends way beyond that — we — we will fix this. not you. it’s not just you who have to go through it. no, with the simple choice of words, satoru promises he’ll walk this road with you. there’s no reason to fear, because you won’t face it alone.

“i’ll make sure of it.”

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[thedivinetarot]

Hold me, love me, touch me, honey be the first who ever did

Future spouse turn on +18

☆ How to chose your pile?

First clear your mind, take a deep breathe and close your eyes. Ask the question in your head "what will turn my future spouse on about me?". And shall the picture you are drawn to the most will be your pile.

☆ Disclaimer:

Please if you are under 18 do not interact or reblog this reading. This content is explicit and is not for you.

This is a general reading so don't put your life on hold for it. Also, this reading is written for the feminine (women, girls) if you are masculine or identify as a man this reading is NOT for you. This reading is for the feminine collective.

▪︎This reading was done using Raider Waite tarot deck and sexual magic tarot deck.

Lots of love 💕

Arya

Pile 1 - sleeping beauty

Your current energy

I feel like this pile’s energy is quite saddening. I see that you had a project to work on and nothing went as you hoped which made you clash with your team members and caused something unpleasant to face. I see that you feel quite empty and insecure towards your own thoughts. You have many creative thoughts to offer and you are so passionate about them but I see that because your team didn't listen to you or do anything you say it left you feeling unimportant or like a "chair's leg" idk how to explain it but they made you feel like an empty vase. Also you might have been feeling quite stuck and gloomy. I see that lately your self-esteem has dropped and you feel like nothing matter or you don't matter anymore. I'm so sorry for that pile one you deserve absolutely the best. Your thoughts and ideas are valuable and if someone didn't take them seriously that doesn't mean that they don't matter. Also, I see that you might be under a psychic attack or telepathy so be careful. I see that this person who is attacking you is quite naive and they are doing it with their whole will which means they know exactly what they are doing. I see that you are trying to get over them like your mind is trying to wash them off but they are like an ink stain that doesn't really go away. But eventually it will so don't worry. For others (people who are under psychic attack or telepathy) this person is trying to communicate telepathically with you so expect them to show up in your dreams or receivesigns from them. I see that what is between you two is not finished yet. You may see that everything has finished buuuttt it is not. This person may come with a love offer and communicate with you very soon. They may be working on themselves right now. Anyways the period of stagnation is almost over or it will be over by the end of this year.

☆ Placements for you:

Pisces, Capricorn, Taurus, Gemini, Libra, Cancer. Or you have Neptune, Saturn, Mercury prominent in your chart. Or you have 12th, 2nd, 10th, 7th, 3rd, 4th house stallium or your sun moon is there. I see also moon in cancer and saturn in libra.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Right off the bat I see that your future spouse will be in love with your breasts. I see everything related to them. Massaging them, sucking them, grabbing them. They also looovvvee how the bra shape them especially corsets and push up bras and also they love how they look with no bra soo ;) anyways. This person is so down bad for you like they are an animal for that part. I keep hearing the song "Addicted to you by Shakira" weird I never listened to that song before but when I described the song to my sister she gave me the name. Also, your waist and belly button. They like how your waist is shaped. I see also that you are this person's dream girl. They see you as the empress, their empress. They like how beautiful you are whether you think it is true or not. I see that they see you the empress to their empror. I also got the collar bones too. Your spouse is going to see you as something so beautiful and otherworldly. I keep emphasizing on the upper body especially the breasts and waist. I see also that they like watching you getting undressed after an event or a party. They like your whole naked form too but mostly your breasts. They also like your size too, no matter how big or small you are they think that you complete them and the chemistry is off charts. I see that you guys may have wonderful sexual chemistry like you two can't keep your hands off of each other. You see those couple who gives off the vibe that they fuck every two minutes? You are like that pile 1 they adore you. This person also gets horny by the fact that you are intimate with them and only them. They get horny or turned on by dim lights and you getting undressed in front of candle lights. Also this person might get horny when you guys hug. They just feel soo hot and bothered whenever you are around. Their love language may be physically touch. They even get horny when you set on their lap too. I see that they might get turned on when you are applying lotion, perfume or even cream on your body they get weak in their knees.

I hope you enjoyed your reading💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Taurus, Capricorn, Aries, Leo, Cancer, Pisces. Also they have moon, Mars, Venus, Neptune prominent in their chart. Sun or moon or stallium in the 1st, 2nd, 5th, 4th, 12th, 10th. Venus in Aries, mars- moon, Venus- ascendant aspects in synastry.

Pile 2 - Woman posing

Your current energy

I see that you might be stuck on someone with Aquarius placements. I see that you have finally made peace with them and you feel kind of imbalanced by that. I see also that this person kept you stuck and out of place. I see also that you are in a place right now where you can't see the truth and you are very conflicted. This confection is keeping you feeling restless and tired. I see that you are fighting internally your anxiety about them. I see that this person knows how to tick your boxes and keep you on edge. Pile 2, this person's intentions aren't fully good towards you. I see that they are only here for fun and good times but believe me it will only end up with disappointment so be careful. I see that this person is manipulating you into thinking that they are so tired and can't live without you but they are not. They know that you'll get back to them, I see that you need to stop giving them the validation that they seek because each time you return to them it make their ego bigger. You are worthy of more than that pile 2. Also, the energy under the bottom of the deck is quite wicked. This person is doing everything in their power to torture you and manipulate you.

☆ Placements for you:

Aquarius, Pisces, Taurus, Virgo, moon in sagittarius, mars in leo, Venus in scorpio, Sagittarius, Venus in Aquarius. Venus, Uranus, Neptune, Mars, moon prominent in your chart or stallium in the 11th, 12th, 2nd, 6th house in your chart.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

I got a lot of 10s in this pile so I guess your spouse really feels turned on by the fact that they are making a family that is going to leave a legacy behind with you. Also, this person really gets turned on when you surrender to them, I see a lot of submission. Doesn't mean that they are dominant but they generally love to see you under them. They might be a soft dom. They won't force you to do anything against your will. This pile is quite vanilla, I see a lot of fluids here. They might feel turned on by your sex fluids or they generally like to play with it. They also get turned on when you tease them. This person is foodie, I am picturing the image of Louis and Peter griffin when they were feeding each other fruits in this scene check it out if you want to. You might feed each other grapes and fruits in general. I'm not getting this person enjoying a specific body part at all. I feel like they enjoy your presence during the act more. Also, they get turned on when you hug them tightly. I feel like this person is quite traditional, they enjoy it when you make dinner for them. I see them getting back from work were you are dressing up nicely and making them a very delicious dinner. Also, this person is into sexting. I see them getting very horny when you are teasing them with your nudes. Idk this person respectively is very traditional and vanilla. I see also that they are very mature emotionally. This person get turned on by eye contact and deep conversations they might spend hours making love and they last very long.

Enjoy your reading pile 2💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Leo, Mercury in virgo and sagittarius, Pisces, Aquarius, Venus in virgo, mars in Aries. Dominant planets in Mercury, Mars, Neptune, Uranus. Stallium/ sun or moon in 1st, 6th, 11th, 12th, 9th house in their chart.

Pile 3 - Lady with flowers

Your current energy

I see that this pile is surrendering to the divine. I see that you are trying to enjoy your life as much as possible. I feel like you are living in a routine, there's nothing much honestly. I see that you are anticipating something. I feel like you want something new in your life, something to break the routine without creeping you off. I see that you always lean towards routine and structure but somehow you desire change. I see that you want change but you are very resistant to it which is creating chaos energetically. Pile 3, set with your self and decide what exactly is holding you back from the change? What is scaring you this much? Writing this down can be really helpful I order for you to acknowledge what is wrong. I see that this duality of wanting change and fearing it is keeping you stuck and confused. But at the same time you are looking forward, you are looking for a sign from the universe or God to intervene and change it. You are deeply feeling optimistic about tomorrow. I see that your energy is quite happy and warm. You might have walked away from something that kept bothering you and now you feel like that thing have no power over you right now. I see that there might be a small health issue that faced you in the previous weeks like cold or fever. But you got better thanks to God or the Universe.

Placements for you:

Sagittarius, Gemini, Cancer, Scorpio, Taurus, Aquarius, Aries. Also, I'm picking up on Mars in Aries, Venus in scorpio, Moon in scorpio. Venus, Mercury, Sun, Mars, Pluto as dominant planets in your chart. Stallium in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 8th, 11th house.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Well first you got triple 888 which never happened in my readings. It means that you are going to experience infinite abundance with your spouse. I see that this person at first will be soft and sweet. They will make love to you softly, they will demand nude pictures of you and they will masturbate to it. They have breeding kink, they will imagine having a child with you while they are masturbating. They are going to make love like there's no tomorrow but as the relationship preced they are going to get scary honestly. I see that they are going to share their sexual fantasies with you. They will ask you to role play with them and the roles are going to be quite dark. Like, they might role play a r*pe scene or something very dark of course with your consent if you are comfortable with that type of stuff or not. With each day that pass they will show their kinkier side to you. I see them using their belt or whip on you. There will be hair pulling too, and heavy BDSM. I see that they will escape reality with you into the bedroom I see them really praising and encouraging you afterwards. They also might tie your hands. I see wax play too, this person is very naughty and kinky I can't with them. This pile’s future spouse might get turned on by pain. I'm picturing Angelina Jolie when she stabed her boyfriend to feel pleasure while they are doing it. This person might get horny when you are in pain. They might cause you pain too. This person is giving Christian Grey, I see that they like being in control and doing heavy stuff to their partner. Idk pile 3, if you might get uncomfortable with that try to communicate with them. You don't have to face all of this. Also, I see that this person will see you as their lover, I got the lover card and Judgement twice which is quite unusual. I see that it might mean that this relationship is meant to awaken something in you, something you are ignoring.

Enjoy your reading pile 3💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Air placements (Libra, Aquarius, Gemini). Mercury in sagittarius, and water placements (Cancer, Pisces and scorpio). Mercury, Pluto, Venus. Stallium in Air placements or houses and Stallium in water placements.

Pile 4 - Woman looking at the stars

Your current energy

I see that there's someone in your life that is spreading rumors about you. It might be a woman with leo placements or a man with Aquarius placements I'm not sure. I see that they feel very jealous of your achievements and how graceful you are. I see that you are the type of person who is very beautiful. You might be beauty with brains, someone who is very intelligent and smart. This person is spreading rumors about you and the cards are telling me that they will get their Karma so don't worry you don't have to do anything about it. The cards are advising you to have inner strength and calm down before engaging in any behavior that doesn't suit your public image. I see that you might be someone who is quite popular and known but very envied by others. Your skills and dedication are drawing the right people into your life and the right opportunities too. I see that if you are planning on traveling somewhere it will happen but also for that to happen you need to find closure and end a cycle in your life.

☆ Placements for you:

Leo, Virgo, Sagittarius, Aries, Pisces, Aquarius, Libra, Leo. Sun, Mars, Saturn, Venus prominent in your chart. Stallium in the 1st, 6th, 5th, 9th, 12th, 7th, 11th house in your chart.

☆ What will turn your future spouse on?

Okay, first thing is this person is very idealistic, very emotional and devoted. I see that they get horny when you tease them with your breasts like pressing them against him or showing them to him randomly make him sexually frustrated. I see that he gets really horny when they see you dressing up for them. A lot of emphasis on glam, they enjoy watching you dressing up, putting on perfume and makeup. You might be their type honestly. Like they were searching for someone like you and they found you soo it is a win win. This person is like pile 2, they are quite traditional. They don't have any weird kink at all. I see that they lean more to making love unlike pile 3 it was insane but anyways no judgment on my blog. I see that your ass is something that they like, they enjoy the size, shape and how soft and squishy it is. This person gets so horny when you are showering or under water. They see you as someone who is so ethereal like a mermaid. They like your body naked and wit under the shower. They might join you there too. I see that they really get turned on when you whisper in their ear and tease their neck. This person is in their head a lot when it comes to you. They might go to work and sit there imagining you two doing it nonstop and when they return home they'll be like a wild animal. He is so soft, like a soft dom again. I can't with him I try to provoke many cards but all I am getting is the cups suit which is linked to love and emotions. I see that this person is very emotional when it comes to you what matter for them is intimacy and how comfortable you are with them. Also, it keeps them going when you are in pleasure. They feel prideful when you reach your orgasm and moaning their name. Also, I'm getting Nikki Minaj here. He'll totally take it off of you after the party. Also I'm getting the song "something about you by eyedress, dent may" this person sees you like something so beautiful and ethereal. They have a lot of respect for you, they won't curse or cuss at you at all during sex. They see sex as something very sacred and romantic only shared between two people. They don't dare to call sex (sex) they'll say (love making) instead. This person is very poetic, they can and will write poems about you and set the right romantic mood for you two to enjoy.

Take care pile 4 💕.

☆ Placements for them:

Water signs (Scorpio, Pisces and cancer). Air signs (Aquarius, Gemini and Libra). Mercury, moon, Venus as prominent plants in their chart. Stallium in the 4th, 8th, 12th, 11th, 3rd, 7th house for them.

Post date: 24th of Nov -2024 Sun

* Feedback is appreciated

[dekuneho]

hello, hello! I am so reverently obsessed with the way you write Katsuki. I came here to ask of you to please on my knees write his reaction to us wearing his merch it would KILL me

wearing his merch ☆ ( ​prohero!katsuki x reader )

i hope you enjoy! ty for requesting this, it was fun to write

This feels…

You tug at the hem, where it's different, reinforced ribbed fabric, wishing it’d stretch the way you want it to. To cover your whole thigh. Maybe cover your entire body along with it. But the material is high-quality — only the best for Bakugou Katsuki. The material isn’t malleable, unlike those cheap, thin knockoffs. It pulls along with your grip but stays true to its shape.

The first line of merchandise of Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. His launch collection, and you're one of the very few first customers.

You’ve been dating Katsuki for more than a year, but this — it feels like one of those milestones. First date, first kiss, first time — shit, it might even be more daunting than any of those. Because this … it feels like it’s more than a matter of supporting your boyfriend. It feels more like getting yourself into trouble. It shouldn’t be so embarrassing. Shouldn’t feel so dangerous.

Your face burns when your eyes catch sight of yourself in the full-length mirror. In his — a hoodie, off-black, disrupted by the bold orange running from either shoulder to the hemline. The skin of your bare legs follow after.

“Ugh.” Your fingers catch on the hem, intending to pull it off, right when the door slides open, and Katsuki’s figure takes up the doorway.

And doesn’t blink even once.

It takes a minute. Maybe more than that to reboot your brain back up.

“Katsuki! You’re back! You’re back?” you exclaim in a rush, ears steaming, dazed. You're torn between throwing your arms out to welcome him and drawing your arms around yourself to keep the hoodie hidden. “I didn’t know you were — It hasn’t even been — How long have you—“

Your rambling falls short as Katsuki takes one heavy step forward. It's like a string snapping.

He almost looks possessed, eyes wild, like he doesn’t know where to even start looking. You find yourself feeling skittish, stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. It’s entirely appropriate. The face Katsuki is making can only be described accurately as predatory.

“Uhm,” you say eloquently.

“Damn,” Katsuki says appreciatively, ruby finally zeroing in on the orange ‘X’ that encompasses your whole front. “Shit, baby, ‘s this all for me?”

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” you say defensively. “I just — uh, wanted to try it on.”

“And you wanted to keep this from me?” he asks quietly, pulling on the hem — dragging it up, and up. You shiver from the cold air on your hips. Katsuki tracks it obsessively. “God damn. Had a wet dream about this, maybe.” He licks over his teeth. “Here you are.”

Wow. Stomach, meet butterflies. Face, meet lava — or, in this case, Bakugou Katsuki, which is pretty much the same thing.

“You’re such a freak,” you say, but heat is pooling rapidly, so maybe you’re not that any better. It’s getting hot. Way too hot. You wriggle from his grasp. “It’s just merch.”

“Mine, though,” he corrects, suddenly searing his quirk-hot hands on either side of your waist. The noise you make is very high-pitched and embarrassing, and Katsuki grins like a bastard when hearing it. “Fuck you think you’re doin’? Think I’m gonna let you take this off?”

He eases you down the bed, until your ass hits the mattress.

You were expecting a reaction. Maybe not to this extent, though. Katsuki's barely out of his uniform and he's slipping his fingers in yours to push it against the sheets, rasping, "This stays on. Think you can at least do that for me, baby?"

[fatherbrat]

“what’d you do today while i was gone, hm?” suguru asks.

is he fucking serious?

even if you wanted to answer, you can’t. your mind is gone, any remnants of conscious thought leaving you the minute suguru bottomed out. all you can think about is the feeling of his cock pumping in and out your pussy. you think you might be drooling, and you’re sure he’s smiling down at you—the same way he always does when he knows he’s fucking you dumb—but you can’t bother to confirm that either, not with the way your eyes are glazed over, making everything you see look as fuzzy as your mind feels.

suddenly, he pulls out. you blink a couple times to clear up your vision, pussy clenching around the air.

“i asked you a question,” he says. his voice is in total contrast to his face. his expression is almost playful, but the words sound anything but.

“wh-what?” you’re scrambling to try and remember what question you’re supposed to be answering, but all you can think about is how much you need him to be buried inside of you again.

there’s mirth swimming in suguru’s eyes when you meet them. you frown, frustrated with how much he’s enjoying seeing you like this—completely and thoroughly fucked out.

his hand snakes down towards your clit, brushing against it with his knuckles. it makes your hips jerk, the consequence of already being overly sensitive from two previous orgasms.

“you wanna come?” he asks, abandoning his original question and slipping a single finger inside you. “again?”

it’s cruel. him asking you questions he already knows the answers to. expecting responses when he knows you can barely form a word, let alone a full sentence. teasing you with his middle finger while fully aware of how you ache for his cock.

regardless, you nod. frantic.

suguru only laughs, thumbing your clit leisurely. a shudder vibrates your whole body. “words, baby. use your words,” he taunts.

all you can manage is a shaky “please” as you writhe under his touch. he tuts, pushing your hips down into the mattress to keep you from moving. it’s maddening how vexed he looks when he’s the one who did this to you, denying your orgasm to satisfy his own sadistic whims. suguru catches the mean curl of your upper lip, your body communicating your irritation even when you can’t.

the smile he gives you is callous. “please what?”

your annoyance cuts through the brain fog enough for you to respond coherently. “please let me cum.”

suguru isn’t a fan of the exasperation in your voice, but he chooses to ignore it, murmuring a sweet “good girl” as he plunges his cock into you in one swift movement.

a string of curses falls from your lips, eyes watering as he thrusts at a steady tempo. he says something about your dirty mouth, but you hardly hear it over the hot, coiling feeling in your gut and the static sensation in your limbs.

it doesn’t take long for you to climax again, blissful and babbling again as your cunt flutters around suguru. he groans, not waiting for you to come down before pulling out for the final time.

he tugs your head up so he can tap the flushed tip of his cock on your bottom lip. the way you open your mouth is automatic, as if he pressed a button—a testament to how well trained you are.

you’re still shivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm when he comes in your mouth. it isn’t until after you’ve swallowed down his seed and he’s pressed a tender kiss to your lips that you come out of your cockdrunk daze.

when your vision refocuses, suguru looks smug. “you wanna tell me how your day went now?”

[ellieputellas]

prove you wrong | alexia putellas x reader

You carelessly tell everyone you've never been sexually satisfied to piss off your fuck buddy, Alexia. She decides to prove you wrong and make it known to everyone just how wrong you are. | Inspired by these requests: (1) (2)

tags / contains: wc: 5k, friends with benefits, jealous!alexia, rough sex, strap r!receiving, fingering r!receiving, breath play, a lot of dirty talk, usage of degrading language and names, a bit of orgasm control, dacryphilia if u squint, set when lucy was in barça, semi-public sex kinda

masterlist | please do not repost or plagiarize.

It's been months since you last saw Alexia.

She’s been extremely busy with football, brand deals, and events. As her friend, it made you incredibly proud to see her achieving so much. She’s worked so hard and it was about time that she was able to reap her benefits and gain the recognition she so badly deserved.

But as her fuck buddy, the feral, needy side of you was just writhing with sexual frustration and yearning, wanting her to fuck you after every time you’d watch a game of hers.

You tried touching yourself, trying every new vibrator and toy available in the market but not a single toy could replicate the way Alexia made you feel. The way she moved her tongue, her fingers, her hips – it always drove you insane. Every single time with Alexia left you in a dreamy state for days. The sore muscles from all the positions she put you in always left you aching for days, but you loved every bit of it—each ache serving as a lingering reminder of that night.

On different occasions, you wanted to just text her and beg her to come over and fuck the living daylights out of you but it just felt like you might be crossing the line. You two usually just fucked whenever you had free time to spend together; asking her to make time from her busy schedule just felt personal and… intimate. So, instead, you’d sulk at home and try every single possible way of fiddling with yourself to no avail.

Feeling desperate and horny, you made the mistake of making out with Alexia’s friend and teammate Lucy Bronze. You bumped into her during a night out with friends wherein she recognized you as Alexia’s friend from college. A couple drinks down and one thing led to another.

Even if Lucy was an excellent kisser, you didn’t feel the same electric connection with Lucy that you had with Alexia. Though, since then, you’ve maintained close contact with the Brit.

Despite several attempts of hitting on you, you never really responded to any of Lucy’s booty calls. You knew Alexia and you were just friends with benefits but somehow, you felt like it was wrong to do anything more with a friend of hers. It wasn’t as if you two were exclusive… but you still felt hesitant.

Although, after a while, you grew more and more frustrated with Alexia. How was it possible that Lucy had enough free time to hit you up but Alexia seemed too busy to even send you a naughty pic or even just a cheeky message? You felt neglected and increasingly sexually frustrated.

Little did you know that word had gotten to Alexia that you made out with Lucy.

Ever since the two of you started hooking up, Alexia had grown increasingly infatuated with you, craving the feel of your skin and the taste of your lips at every waking moment. If she could, she'd have you beneath her every day of the week. But as life got busier for both of you, she held back, reasoning that it would be selfish to hit you up randomly in the middle of a busy week just to scratch an itch. Besides, she had always been the one to initiate before, and this time, she decided to wait. She waited to see if you wanted her as desperately as she wanted you.

But the silence from you was deafening.

No late-night texts, no "I miss you," not even a casual "wyd." At first, she convinced herself you were just busy. Then she heard through the grapevine that you'd been kissing one of her teammates at some club.

The news hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her pissed off and bitter. If you'd moved on or decided to have fun with some other girl, fine, you weren’t in a relationship anyway — but it didn't make it sting any less. And to top it off, she had to find out from someone else that you were attending the team’s victory party at Lucy’s place.

The audacity, Alexia thought bitterly. Even if it technically was Lucy’s party, she thought you’d have the decency to refuse or to even just give her a heads-up, knowing that it might be weird to be around Alexia and Lucy. No decency at all.

When you got the invite, you hesitated. But then you decided this was your chance to remind Alexia exactly what she had seemingly forgotten about. After all, she'd ghosted you out of nowhere, leaving you high and dry after giving you the best sex of your life.

So, the night of the party, you slipped into a tight black dress that hugged every curve and sprayed on the perfume you knew drove Alexia crazy. If she thought she could move on so easily, you were more than ready to remind her of what she'd lost.

As soon as you entered Lucy’s place, she was the first person you saw.

It wasn't hard for you to see her. She was usually taller than most girls and she always just exuded a confident energy that never failed to catch everyone's attention. She was wearing a black cap and a black jacket, with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows exposing her muscular forearms. Your mind tried not to remember all the times you watched the veins in her arm bulge out so slightly as she pumped her fingers in and out of you.

You locked eyes and her jaw instantly clenched. She looked upset. You would have felt a bit bad about never reaching out to congratulate her on all those winning games or even checking up on her if you didn't see her arm around a shorter girl you didn’t recognize.

Great. I've been replaced.

You rolled your eyes and headed to the corner of the house where Lucy and her other friends were seated.

"Hey, mami." Lucy greeted you. She stood up and gave you a kiss on the cheek, immediately snaking a hand around your waist. You loved how Lucy was never secretive of her finding you irresistible. Once or twice, you thought about riding that strong jaw but you figured you had to see out a complex friends-with-benefits relationship before entering another one. "Looks like we're all out of seats. Why don't you sit on my lap instead?"

You smirked. "You just would grab any opportunity to have me on top of you, huh?"

She smirked, biting her lip. "You know it."

You sat on Lucy's lap sideways, arms around her to secure your spot as your legs dangled on her side. She put her hands around you with her left hand on your back and the other drawing small spirals on your bare lap.

Alexia must have caught sight of this because you saw her looking over, jaw clenched and eyes darkened.

“I’m just so glad this season is done. I seriously need to go out to the clubs and get laid… get all that tension out of my body.” Patri, who was sitting on the floor beside Pina and Salma, complained to the group before taking a swig from her beer. “Nothing like unwinding to a girl between your legs.”

The crowd chuckled. Ingrid playfully threw a rolled up paper towel at Patri calling her gross. You smiled and nodded along as you let Lucy run her hands up and down your leg. “Thirsty, pretty girl?” She asked.

You shook your head. “You?”

“Hmm, why don’t you grab that beer and help me out?” She asked. You smiled as you grabbed the beer with your free hand and put the bottle against Lucy’s mouth, tipping it a bit as you let her drink from it. You bit your lip as the older girl maintained intense eye contact as you did.

Alexia was practically seething from the sight of it but continued to ignore you, staying at the other side of the room. The girl in her arms was trying to chat her up, asking about football or whatever, but all she could focus on was you.

The conversation continued with the group. “I’d hate to be single right now. How do you have the energy to go out and exert all that effort just to get laid?” Mapi exclaimed as she put an arm around her girlfriend who was sitting beside her. “If I were single, I’d rather just grab my vibrator and call it a day.”

Patri rolled her eyes. “You’re just saying that cause you have Ingrid.” She retorted. “If you were single, you’d be out there in the clubs with us too.”

You could feel Lucy’s body vibrate against you as she chuckled. You grabbed Lucy’s bottle of beer, drinking from it as you continued to listen in on the conversation that was unfolding.

“I agree with Patri.” Irene chimed in, swirling a plastic cup with her hand. “I’d hate to be single and always end up masturbating at night. That would make me miserable.”

Patri nodded, as she raised her bottle high up. “Exactly, exactly!”

“The orgasm you get from a girl does not compare to one you get alone.” Irene added on, garnering a slow clap from the drunken Patri.

You laughed at the interaction. Lucy turned to you with a small smirk. "How about you? What do you think?"

You paused. You noticed Alexia move closer to our group. You hummed in thought, returning your gaze back to Lucy. "I don't know. I feel like it depends. It's a case-to-case basis and it just depends on who your partner is and what you want." You said, loud enough for others to hear. “So, yeah, I don’t have a clear cut answer.”

Mapi nodded to what you said. “Yeah, but having to find someone who suits you… it just takes too much time. If you’re single, you’re basically gambling every single time you decide to sleep with someone.” She said as she shook her head. “Besides, why would you want someone you barely met handling your precious goods?”

“We get it, Mapi. You’re in a loving relationship where you have sweet, sweet, compatible sex.” Patri said, rolling her eyes and making the crowd chuckle.

Before the two could continue debating, Pina chimed in. “Capitana,” She called Alexia over. "Settle the debate for us. What's a better way of unwinding after football season — masturbating or going out to have someone take care of it for you?"

Alexia moved closer to the group, an arm wrapped around a girl and her other hand wrapped around a red cup. She looked serious with her eyes still fixed on you. "She hasn't actually answered the question yet." She responded, looking at you as she tilted her cup at your direction.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, defeated. "I guess, I'd choose just making myself cum."

Mapi nodded smugly at Patri who felt annoyed.

"Really? I always pegged you as a pillow princess type. Like... the type who has to be pleased by someone else?" Lucy asked, fingertips still suggestively grazing your thighs

You hummed in thought. "Well, I haven’t found anyone who pleases me better than I do myself.” You lied with a shrug, looking directly at Lucy and avoiding Alexia’s gaze. “Why bother trying to find someone to aimlessly poke at me until I fake it when I can just take care of it myself?”

The group laughed at your statement but Alexia remained stoic and stiff. "Really?" Her voice dripped with thinly veiled annoyance. "Are you trying to say that no one has ever made you cum before? You always just fake it?”

“Yeah, no one really comes to mind.” You shook your head. "Besides, I'd much rather spend a night getting tired out by my vibrator rather than to be disappointed by some tryhard who fingers like they have carpal tunnel or eats me out with the same limp energy of an old man with his porridge."

The crowd laughed even harder but Alexia looked even more annoyed. If everyone was sober and in the right mind, they'd catch on to her reaction to your bold statement and figure out there was definitely something between the two of you.

You tried to laugh along but you felt weirdly nervous about lying. Alexia didn’t seem too pleased with your statement. Why is she so pissed off? It’s not as if anyone here knows we’ve slept together.

You were pulled out of your worries when you felt Lucy’s hands move higher up your leg, skimming the skin under your tight dress.

"Why don't you give the poor vibrator a rest from tiring you out," Lucy whispered, playfully using your own words. "And have me give it a try?"

You moved closer to her. "Hmm, I don’t know. Aren’t we just friends now?" You said softly so that the group wouldn’t hear too but still loud enough for Alexia to hear, if she tried hard enough. “Sex might just complicate that.”

“C’mon, we already kissed.” Lucy smiled with eyes that flickered from your eyes to your lips. "Besides, isn’t it worth risking it? I know I can pleasure you better than anyone else ever had.”

You smiled and playfully caressed her strong jaw with your fingers. “Well…” You trailed off seductively in a low voice, moving closer to Lucy’s face. "I've always wanted to feel that strong jaw against—"

Your flirting was cut abruptly when Alexia angrily threw her crumpled red cup to the ground and walked out of Lucy’s place. Everyone looked around confused, including the girl she was with. She blinked curiously as her eyes stuck at the door, wondering why Alexia had left so abruptly; the poor girl was just talking about her new manicure.

"Damn, I guess, no one's making her cum either." Patri joked, garnering a bunch of playful slaps and chuckles from the group but the room still seemed to be confused; Alexia was never the type to storm out in anger out of nowhere.

You tried to just shake off Alexia's mood swing and returned to flirting with Lucy but just minutes later, Alexia was storming back into the living room. She stomped her way to you and grabbed your hand, basically yanking you off of Lucy. You nearly tripped over your own feet as she grabbed you.

"What the fuck, Alexia?" You exclaimed as you were pulled by the arm by the tall blonde. "That fucking hurts. What's your problem?"

She didn't speak up. She basically dragged across the house until you reached what seemed like Lucy’s bedroom. She slammed the door loudly and locked it behind her.

Now that you were alone, you could see the annoyed look on her face, the redness across her cheeks, the tightness of her expression… and the slight bulge in her pants. Oh... that's what she had to get from her car when she stormed out.

She slammed you against the bedroom door, towering over you and trapping you with her arms. You gulped as you felt your back press flatly against the door.

Alexia suddenly grabbed your face with one hand, gripping so hard your lips were almost puckering out. "Why are you running your mouth about how no one's made you cum?" She said with a low, threatening voice. Her hazel eyes had darkened under the dim lights of the bedroom.

You stared at her, blinking your eyes in fear. She was so frightening when she was mad; it was like she was a completely different person. Her eyes, which were usually warm, were staring at you pointedly. All of the muscles in her face clenched as she slightly grit her teeth. And, while you were actually scared, you were also getting incredibly turned on.

Alexia squished your face harder, slamming her other hand on the door. You felt the wood pressed behind you vibrate with the force. "Answer." She leaned in and aggressively bit the side of your neck, sinking her teeth into you.

You gasped loudly in shock. "Ahh, Alexia, that really hurts."

She ignored you. She moved her head back to stare you in the eyes before she wrapped her hand around your throat. "Tell me who makes you cum." She asked.

You gulped as you felt her hand tighten slowly. "I'm sorry, Alexia." You responded, feeling incredibly nervous and intimidated. "I'm sorry I lied. I was just joking. I just missed you so much and I was frustrated that you never contacted me and I just wanted to see you react to —"

You gagged as her hand suddenly got tighter. "I didn't ask for an explanation." She growled. "I asked who fucking makes you cum."

You gasped for air as her hand loosened a bit. "It's you, baby. It's just you." You croaked out.

"What did you just fucking call me?" She growled in your ear; you felt the familiar electric tingle in your spine as she breathed heavily against your ear. “You don’t get to fucking call me that when you’ve been such a brat.”

"Alexia," You moaned, correcting yourself. "It's you, Alexia. It's you who makes me cum. Only you make me cum, Alexia.."

You felt like a blubbering mess but Alexia seemed pleased because she let your throat go, and fondly touched your cheek instead with her thumb. You inhaled deeply before leaning towards her to kiss her but she moved away.

"Bad girls don't get kisses." Her mouth quirked up into a smirk. "Bad girls get on their knees instead and offer their mouth like a slut."

You looked down again and you were once again reminded of the strap poking against the front of her denim pants. You gulped but got on your knees and slowly unbuttoned her baggy jeans which revealed a harnessed strap-on above her Calvin Klein underwear.

You bit your lip. You gasped when Alexia grabbed a chunk of your hair and looked down on you. "Open your mouth." She said as she tilted your head back with her hand.

You opened your mouth, obediently. "Now, stick your tongue out, you fucking slut." She ordered in a low but firm voice.

You didn't let a second pass before you followed her instructions, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out as far as it could go. She smiled at your obedience before leaning over and spitting in your mouth. You nearly moaned just from the action but before anything could escape your mouth, she slammed her hips against my throat and fucked your mouth with her silicone member.

She grunted and cursed as she watched you suck and gag on it. "That’s right. Suck like a good girl."

You moaned in response as you eagerly sucked on the strap as if your life depended on it. You were gagging a lot with Alexia’s force and your face was streaked with tears but you felt incredibly turned on by the sight and the feeling.

Alexia was gasping and groaning as the base of her strap pressed against her own clit, forming a dark pool on her grey underwear. You moaned at the combination of the sound of her guttural moans and the smell of her wetness. You could practically feel your core grow more and more moist by the second.

"Fucking suck harder, you fucking slut." Her voice sounded venomous with all the expletives she was hissing out. "You don't get to flirt with other bitches in front of me. I own you."

"Or do you just let any other bitch fuck you like this?" She grunted out, looking down at you. Alexia never went this rough with you before but she was starting to enjoy it, especially the sight of your tear-stained face and puffy lips wrapped around her strap. "Are you that much of a pathetic whore? You just let anyone fuck your throat like this?"

You shook your head, unable to speak as she was filling your mouth with the silicone. She moaned out as she pushed your head even further.

You felt tears sting your eyes as she thrusted in your throat with such vigor and roughness. For a moment, you felt like you were just a doll made to satisfy her lust and oddly, it made your core ache more for her.

Alexia tilted her head back, thrusting against your throat. The base of the strap was perfectly hitting against her clit. It felt satisfying knowing she was getting off of fucking your mouth with her strap even if that meant that your throat would be sore in the morning.

"That's right, cariño." She moaned out. "Take all of me.”

It didn't take long until Alexia moaned out. She pulled your head off of her, making a satisfying sound as it exited your mouth. You coughed and wiped the tears and saliva off of your face, clutching your throat as you started to feel the discomfort spread.

Before you could even do or say anything more, Alexia yanked you up immediately and pushed you towards the bed. You fell backwards on the bed, feeling your dress ride up on your body, pooling together near your hips which meant your underwear could be easily seen by the blonde gir.

You felt so exposed and vulnerable.

She took off her jacket and her shirt, revealing her Calvin Klein sports bra and her toned stomach glistening with sweat. You bit your lip as she walked closer to the bed. The dim light entering the windows from the street lights outside and the small night light in the corner of the room was accentuating every contour of her body.

"Strip. Now."

You frantically tried to remove your tight dress. It made it so difficult to remove as some of it clung to your sweaty skin. You felt unsexy wriggling out of it in bed. But, you also felt nervous, knowing Alexia wasn't always the patient type in bed.

"Hurry the fuck up." She groaned. You tried but she grew more frustrated. She took your dress and pulled it off your body roughly. You heard some seams rip as she did but you didn't give a fuck. You were more concerned about her impatience and how it was gonna affect you.

You were mostly bare in front of her, only wearing a pair of lacy black underwear which was now glistening with your translucent nectar.

She chuckled. "You really are a little slut." She said as she used a finger to graze your core, making you whimper. "Look how wet you got just from getting throatfucked by me. I haven't even touched you and your cunt is all drenched."

"Yes, Alexia." You moaned out as she pressed a finger against your clit.

"You really were talking your shit about how no one makes you cum while your cunt is quivering and soaking wet just from giving me a blowjob." Her fingers were so delicate against your core — a weird juxtaposition with the roughness of her words. "I wonder what everyone else would think if they heard you moaning out my name just after you lied out there. They'd think less of you... they'd think you're a dirty liar who loves to provoke just to get fucked. Isn't that right?"

You gulped and bit your lip as she gently moved her fingers up and down your opening, teasing you with the pad of her fingers.

You were broken out of a trance when her hand was squeezing your face again. "Answer me."

"Yes, yes, Alexia." You responded, almost out of breath. “I’m a liar.”

"And I don’t like liars. Right, cariño?" She let go of your face and backed away slowly.

Before you could respond, two fingers were thrust into your hole, roughly fucking you. You moaned out loudly as you felt Alexia's fingers rapidly move inside you with complete disregard of letting you adjust to her fingers. She leaned over to your breasts, sucking on them so roughly that it was almost painful.

"Alexia," You moaned out. "Please give me your strap. Alexia, please."

Alexia ignored you as she continued to fuck you with her fingers and suck on your torso, leaving you branded with bruises all over and glistening with a mixture of your sweat and her saliva.

"Alexia, please." You whimpered.

She groaned loudly before pulling her fingers out of you. You don't know how but she managed to get you off of the bed and pressed against the door again in a swift motion. This time, your front was pressed against the door — hands against the cold wood — with your butt sticking out.

She grunted out curt instructions for you to steady yourself against the door as she positioned herself behind you. She gripped your waist roughly with her long fingers as she rubbed your cunt with the length of her strap. You bit your lip, holding back your moans, too afraid that your proximity to the door would mean everyone out there would hear you, even with the music they were playing.

You grunted out when you felt her grab your hair and mutter in your ear. "You better not choke down those moans, cariño."

She let go of your hair before slamming the entire length of the strap inside you. You moaned out loudly, struggling to grip yoyr hands against the flat door.

"Baby, it hurts.” You winced as you felt her begin to thrust.

"Who said you can call me baby again?" She practically shouted it before raising her hand, landing it on your right ass. It made a loud sound, quickly followed by your loud cry of pain and pleasure.

"I’m sorry, Alexia." You responded. Alexia grabbed on to your waist again, thrusting her silicone dick in and out of you. You were feeling the pain in your core as the silicone stretched you but it was such an addictive pain. It felt so satisfying being filled by Alexia like this.

Alexia must have sensed how close you were to an orgasm because she picked up the pace. The base of the strap hitting your slick vagina which made a loud sound, accompanying your loud moans and Alexia's grunts.

"Alexia, don't stop. I'm so close. Please." You moaned out, hands and legs shaking.

"Don't cum until I tell you." Alexia's voice was strained as well. You knew the base of the strap was rubbing against her own clit too. "If you cum before I do, I will take you out of this room and fuck you in front of everyone else so they can see how much of a fucking, lying whore you really are."

You moaned at that statement, making it even harder for you to delay your orgasm. You felt your walls clench against the strap. Alexia picked up the speed even more, driving you into a frenzy. You were practically a blubbering mess — face pressed against the door and hands trying to cling on to the flat surface as a string of incoherent moans and words left your mouth.

"Alexia, please." You felt like you were going to collapse any moment soon, struggling to keep your clammy hands from slipping off of the door.

Alexia slammed her dick into you a couple times more before saying, "Cum."

You almost shouted in pleasure as you felt the orgasm ripple through your body, making your legs feel like jelly. You felt the warmth spread through you as you exclaimed her name another time as Alexia thrust a few more times to ride out her own orgasm.

You wanted to fall on the floor and just lay there but Alexia's grip on your hips remained firm that it was almost impossible for you to fall over. She put you upright again, one hand firmly on your hips and the other cupping your chest as she helped you up. She gently guided you back to bed.

You laid on your back, out of breathe as she crawled on top of you. "No one makes you cum right?" She teased.

You rolled your eyes to playfully smack her but she caught your hand smoothly and put it above your head. "I'm not done with you." Her serious face was back.

Your eyes widened. You felt like your body would give up on you if you werefucked again but that didn't seem to stop Alexia.

Her hand found its way to your cunt. You felt her thumb and index finger gently fiddle with your clit before pressing roughly, then pinching it.

"Alexia!" You yelped, instinctively pushing on her shoulders a bit

She let go of your clit and began roughly rubbing instead. You put your arms around her shoulders, holding her closer as she rubbed your core. She moved closer to yoy before kissing and sucking on your neck, leaving more bruises for you to worry about the next morning.

"Oh, Ale, that feels so good." You said in a hum of pleasure as your eyes fluttered shut.

Alexia managed to push the hood off of your clit and began gently rubbing and flicking against the tiny, sensitive part of it, overstimulating you. You moaned out again and tightened your hold of her.

"Who makes you cum?" She asked in your ear.

"You."

"Say my name." She ordered before sinking her teeth on your collarbone and sinking her two fingers back into your vagina.

You gasped before you shouted. "Alexia! Alexia! It's you, Alexia!"

She continued to kiss your neck as she fucked you with her fingers and rubbed your clit with her thumb.

"Alexia, I'm close! I'm so close!" You moaned out as she pumped in and out. "Alexia! Please!"

"Cum for me, cariño." She whispered so gently and as she did, you shouted out her name as you held on to her, experiencing the most intense orgasm of your life.

She chuckled. "Hmm, I don't think you've squirted this much before."

Yoy blinked a bit before sitting up to see that Lucy's bed was completely drenched. You felt your face become red as you realized the mess you two have made.

Alexia was smiling, satisfied at her work. You pouted your lips as you looked at her. "Baby, can I have kisses now?"

She leaned close to your face again. "Only if my princess promises she's going to be a good girl from now on."

"Yes, Alexia." You said, pouting your lips as you looked into your eyes. You gave her an irresistible wide-eyed innocent look — the kind you knew she could never resist.

She smirked before she leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss. You grabbed on to the back of her neck to deepen the kiss but just a while after, she pulled away. "Why don't I take you back to my place and then you can let my neighbors hearyour pretty little moans too?"

You chuckled. "Okay, Alexia."

You got up from the bed, and got dressed with Alexia. She apologized for ruining your dress but she didn't really look sorry for it. She actually looked proud and smug. You straightened up your appearance as much as you could before Alexia and you stepped out of the room.

To your shock, a few people from the group earlier were hovering near the bedroom door with mixed expressions of horror and amusement. They tried to not make it obvious that they heard you get absolutely wrecked by Alexia.

“Damn,” Patri shook her head as she turned to Mapi. “I want whatever those two are having.”

a/n: i barely edited this and proofread it once. i might have fucked up with some pronouns and would appreciate if anyone dms me to correct hehe. anyway, i hope you guys liked it esp since this is more intense and rougher than everything i’ve ever written before. tags: @micaluvssoccer @buzzinrusso @hermen0404 @mrcat77 @oh-thats-cute @iamagoddess1 @noone-find-me @zairaaaa @vlt4845 @oakwave @sam23114 @louxbloom @ppx004 @serynsworld @oohtobeagooner @daylightisa @xxforeverinadayxx @itsandreaca @liagracexx @julesthegreatsimp p @mysticfalls01 @maddiewrites11 @besitosakusa @alexiputellas-protector @wosoloverthings @alexiaswiftie @katycat0811 @femmefataledotcom @footygirl114 @baddestbittyontheblock @wosolipa @mpileons @girlmineis @a-pute11as @hella-hecka-gay @alexiaputellasera a + more but i couldnt tag u all aaa

[obianakin]

no, creators can set boundaries. some examples could include:

don’t send me any fanfiction of my works or ask me to read fanfiction

don’t send me or tag me in art of (insert ship here)

don’t ask me to sign nsfw art of my characters

for the sake of the fandom, please remember to tag your nsfw and triggering content appropriately. a creator could also ask for nsfw content not to be added to the main tags for a non-mature work (family friendly works, etc)

all of these boundaries involve things being directly presented to or sent to the creator. the last bullet mentions a creator reiterating a common fandom boundary. these are normal things that anyone on the internet might ask for. anyone - including creators - is allowed to ask for things to be properly tagged around them and for triggering topics to be kept out of their inbox/@ tags

however, problems arise when creators try to weaponize their position as creator in order to force others to police the way they interact with the work. examples of ways creators should not try to exert control over fandom spaces:

don’t create fanworks of x ship

don’t make fanworks where my characters are gay (was very common in earlier internet fandom)

don’t make nsfw content of any sort (more common recently)

don’t interpret my work in a way that relates to (insert minority experience here, like gender dysphoria or growing up in a specific cultural household)

don’t draw political assumptions from my work

anything that would restrict how someone could interpret or interact with an original work

creators have been upset about how people have interpreted their works for centuries. it’s not just the rules of the internet, it’s the rules of art, honestly. you cannot control how other people interact with that art. the sooner a creator is able to understand that they cannot control another person’s understanding and enjoyment of a work, the happier and less stressed that creator will be.

some of you really aren’t gonna like this, but a creator’s wishes should never dictate what fan content is produced for a piece of media.

in the past, authors like anne rice have tried to limit the production of fanfiction. but at least rice was honest - she thought this infringed on her copywrite. back in the day, this was considered a valid argument to not create any fanfiction at all for her works.

do you understand what i’m saying? while you may sound valiant for placing a creator’s “discomfort” above the fan’s natural proclivities in fandom, really you’re just continuing to advocate for censorship in fan spaces.

and for anyone who is a creator, or who wants to become one - get comfortable with the rules of the internet. there will be erotic content made of your characters, there will be weird AUs made with your characters. there will be strange pairings and headcanons, no matter if you interact religiously with the fans or not. you cannot stop people from connecting with and wanting to be creative with your characters.

[marsdql]

enhypen members reaction to you being smaller than them? and just like tiny in general

omg yes I love these !!! enha reacting to you being smaller than them ||

— No warnings just teeth rotting fluff — WC: 1.5k

Heeseung —

It had been a long night, Heeseung just finished work and came home alot later than usual. He slowly unlocked the door, trying to not make much noise in case it wakes you up, but to his surprise, you were still awake, waiting for him.

You walked over to the mudroom where he was putting his shoes away, "seungie..." you whisper, rubbing your eyes. "Hey sweetheart, im sorry i came home la-" you cut him off by wrapping your hands around his torso, barely able to fully wrap your arms around him. "hmm.. missed you, ‘wanna sleep, please."

He hugged you back the same way, wrapping his arms around you, just to realise how his arms were overlapping each other due to your small figure. He slightly shakes you from side to side, in awe of the size difference between you to, being able to move you effortlessly in his arms as if he’s completely holding you. “Hee, you’re squeezing me too hard!” you told him. “Can’t help it. You’re just so… tiny” he said giggling.

A few seconds later, he scoups you up and walks towards your shared bedroom. He opens the door to the room and slightly moves the blankets to place you in the bed. “Let’s tuck you in, yeah? Don’t want you to get squished” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead.

Jay —

It had been a long day, and you and Jay were finally settling in for a movie night. He was already lounging on the couch, looking relaxed as he patted the space beside him. You walked over, curling up beside him with the blanket draped over your lap. As the movie started, you found yourself snuggling deeper into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

Jay laughed lightly as you shifted, realizing just how small you were next to him. His arm instinctively wrapped around your shoulders, but as he did, he noticed how his arm nearly covered your entire torso, his hand coming to rest on your upper arm, his fingers almost touching his own wrist. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the size difference.

“You know,” Jay said softly, teasingly, “you’re practically a pocket-sized person.”

You looked up at him, frowning. “I’m not that small, Jay.”

He grinned, adjusting his hold so you were snug against him. “It’s adorable,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You fit so perfectly here, I can’t help it.”

You snuggled into him further, trying to hide your smile as he casually rocked you side to side. “Stop making fun of me,” you giggled.

Jay just chuckled, his other hand gently brushing your head. “I’m not making fun of you,” he said, his voice affectionate. “I just can’t get enough of how small you are. You’re literally the perfect size for cuddling.”

Jake —

Jake had been busy all afternoon preparing dinner, but when you walked into the kitchen to offer help, he couldn’t help but notice how small you seemed standing in the massive kitchen. You reached for a dish on the top shelf, stretching your arms as far as you could, but just barely unable to grab it.

Jake walked over, his hands lightly resting on your shoulders as he leaned down to grab the dish for you. “Need a hand there?” he asked with a soft laugh, noticing how your arms looked so tiny in comparison to the height of the shelves.

You pouted, rolling your eyes. “I can do it myself, Jake. I just—” But before you could finish your sentence, he scooped you up without warning, holding you in his arms effortlessly.

“Looks like I’ll be doing everything for you then,” he teased, as you playfully swatted his shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he said, his voice warm. “Otherwise, I might just be annoyed by how small you are.”

You crossed your arms and gave him a mock scowl. “I’m not small. I’m… compact,” you insisted, but Jake only laughed, carrying you over to the counter to help with the rest of the meal.

Sunghoon —

The two of you had just finished a quiet walk in the park, enjoying the cool evening air. As you both strolled back toward the house, you found yourself walking closer to Sunghoon. Your strides were much shorter compared to his, and you couldn’t help but notice how you had to take extra steps just to keep up with him.

You tried to match his pace but soon found yourself falling behind as he noticed the struggle. Without saying a word, Sunghoon turned around and scooped you up in one swift motion, your feet leaving the ground entirely.

You gasped in surprise. “Sunghoon! Put me down!” you protested, though you didn’t really want him to.

But he just smiled down at you, his arms wrapped around you securely. “You were falling behind. Plus, I couldn’t let you walk all that way when you’re so… small.” He teased, his voice light and playful. “It’s like carrying a little doll.”

You huffed, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying how effortlessly he carried you. “I’m not a doll, Sunghoon,” you said, even though you couldn’t stop your smile from growing.

He chuckled, his grip tightening just a bit as he walked you back to the house. “Well, I think you might be. I just have to be extra careful with you, doll.”

Sunoo —

You were both in the middle of a late-night study session, books spread out all over the table. Sunoo was hunched over his notes, focused on the material, but you couldn’t concentrate. You were too distracted by how small you felt sitting next to him, the desk towering over you. You reached for your notebook, but your arm barely reached across the surface.

Sunoo noticed the struggle, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Need a hand?” he asked, shifting closer to help you, but as he did, he realized just how easily he could move you in your seat. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, almost completely enveloping you in his embrace.

“You’re so small compared to this desk,” he said with a teasing grin. “Do you need a step stool or something?”

You giggled, leaning into him. “I’m not that small,” you protested, though the warmth of his arm around you was comforting.

Sunoo just smiled, his gaze soft as he adjusted your seat and kissed the top of your head. “But don’t worry, I’ll always help you reach whatever you need.”

Jungwon —

Jungwon had always loved reading, and tonight, you two were curled up on the couch with a good book. You sat beside him, but your attention kept wandering. The way you sat, your legs tucked up under you, made it hard to focus, and you found yourself shifting a lot.

Noticing your restlessness, Jungwon closed his book and glanced over at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, a soft smile on his face.

“I just… can’t get comfy,” you replied, shifting again.

He raised an eyebrow, then effortlessly scooped you up into his lap, adjusting you so that you were tucked comfortably against his chest. You let out a surprised gasp, feeling how perfectly you fit there.

“You’re too small for this couch,” Jungwon teased, his voice low and soothing. “But I think you fit perfectly in my arms.”

You snuggled into him, enjoying the warmth and the way he made you feel like you belonged exactly where you were. “I think I could get used to this,” you said, resting your head against his chest.

Jungwon smiled down at you, his hands resting gently on your back. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ni-ki —

You and Ni-ki had been playing around in the living room, laughing and having fun when you tried to leap onto the couch next to him. But as you jumped, you didn’t quite make it, and Ni-ki instantly reached out to catch you, lifting you effortlessly back into his arms.

“Whoa, are you trying to jump into my arms?” he teased, looking down at you with a smirk. “You’re so light, I barely felt you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the smile creeping up on your face. “I didn’t fall, I just… misjudged the distance,” you said, trying to play it off, but Ni-ki only laughed.

“You really are just a tiny little thing,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “How do you even exist when you’re this small?”

You poked his chest, still in his arms. “I’m not small, Ni-ki. I’m perfectly sized for fun.”

Ni-ki’s eyes lit up with amusement as he spun you around, showing just how easily he could move you. “Well, I can certainly keep you entertained, tiny one.”

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh man I have ideas..

Sevika has a home back in Zaun but she has to have an apartment in Piltover because of councilor duties until she fully adjusts to topside and accepts the insistent offers of a manor. Imagine being her wife and just helping her relax after her first day, cuddling and all that whilst adjusting to the fancy apartment bigger than your old house.

Or..

Sevika taking her wife out for a walk in Piltover, admiring more of the garden as the plants grow upon new soil. A talk about the future whilst holding hands.

Or..

Them renewing their vows, having that damn fancy wedding of the dreams.

Toodles!!!

EEEEEEEEK okay lets do some councilor sevika (also isha and jinx are still alive in this story because i said so. she doesn't need to suffer so much to still be an incredible leader. give her her girls!!!)

men and minors dni

you were the first person approached about sevika representing zaun in piltover's new council post-war.

you were a little concerned to find councilwoman shoola and three members of her personal guard on your front stoop-- and for just a moment you had a flash of anxiety that she was here looking for jinx or isha.

"councilwoman. hello." you say, still surprised. you've met the woman a few times before, both of you attending various re-building efforts around the undercity. she holds up a hand.

"please, dear, we've built a bookshelf together, you've seen me at my lowest. you can call me shoola."

"h-how can i help you counc-- shoola?" you ask. she smiles.

"i'm here regarding your wife."

you frown. "...is she in some kind of trouble?" you ask, already mentally planning how to worm sevika out of her trouble. the councilwoman chuckles.

"quite the opposite, actually. i'd like her to join the council... as an ambassador to the free nation of zaun." she says.

you nearly shit yourself at her words-- sevika's life work casually mentioned like it's just a sidenote. "the-- free?" you ask.

she smiles. "while the deaths of the other councilmembers in the war was a horrible loss, there are some issues i could never get my late colleagues to agree on. now, though... i've been given full authority to reorient the power structure of the council to avoid anymore kirraman's taking over-- and i've always been of the belief that zaun should be free."

"and w-what... you want to arrest jinx in exchange for it?" you ask.

shoola chuckles. "no."

"y-you want isha?" you ask. shoola laughs again.

"what could i want with a child? no!"

"so... what do you want?" you ask, your voice shaking as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"i just want your help talking sevika into the job. i know she can be... stubbo--?"

"bullheaded?" you guess as shoola searches for a kind word to describe sevika's stubbornness. she chuckles at your description of your wife and nods.

"here." she hands you a stack of papers. "i've outlined the full responsibilities of the job. as well as the benefits she will receive for serving. please. look it over and talk to her, would you?"

you do.

it's an excellent proposal.

as the undercity figures out how it wants to self govern, piltover will fund zaun's public infrastructure as if it's their own-- meaning that the undercity will, practically overnight, have access to things like clean water. and schools. and welfare. they will provide these services for up to fifteen years as zaun finds it's footing.

the position outlined for sevika in piltover's council is a way to assure piltover doesn't back out of their promises-- that somebody is there to call them out when they try to cut corners in helping the young nation of zaun find it's footing.

and, while your wife might miss the more physical aspects of her old work, you can see her chewing out some stingy old councilors for their greed in your minds eye, and you can't help but smile.

"what're you smilin' about?" sevika asks.

you jump and slam the folder in front of you closed, blinking up at your wife.

she's back from her meeting with ran, scar and jericho. the four of them have grown close in these past few months as they coordinate rebuilding efforts for various neighborhoods across zaun. you have to gulp, trying not to get dizzy with the possibilities of what sevika's job offer means for them as a team. as team zaun.

"h-how was your meeting?" you ask. sevika raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you and you huff. she sinks across the table from you, easily pulling the folder out of your grasp.

"meeting was fine. the elementary school bein' built in firelight's territory is almost ready to open. first school in zaun." she says with a smile. "now, what were you smiling at?"

"i was approached by councilwoman shoola this afternoon."

sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "did you two try to build a chair this time?" she teases. you groan and kick her shin, before tapping the folder in her hands.

"no. i was asked to convince my stubborn-ass, incredibly loyal, strong, beautiful, hard-fucking-headed wife to join the fucking council."

sevika blinks. "what?"

"they want you in the new council. serving as an ambassador. to the free nation of zaun, sevika."

sevika blinks again, and then she rips the file open, her silver eyes flying across the confidential text. "the fr-- the free nation of zaun?" she asks, her eyes flying up to yours to confirm. you grin and nod.

sevika flies out of her seat and crawls across the dining room table to reach you, tears flowing down her cheeks as she kisses you like her life depends on it.

you're there when shoola and sevika finally sit down to discuss the opportunity. shoola's the first piltoverian to not turn her nose up at the messy state of your small home-- she even grins at the sound of jinx and isha bickering from their bedroom. "you two have made a lovely home for yourselves, here." she says, sitting down at the table and jumping a bit when a toy squeaks under her bum. "i can almost see the love leaking out of the wallpaper."

"could be black mold." you whisper. sevika and shoola both sputter surprised laughs.

"sevika. have you considered my proposal?" shoola asks.

sevika sighs and nods. "i have a few conditions before i agree." she says.

this surprises you. as if the prospect of representing a free zaun isn't tempting enough, you saw the salary sevika's being offered. it's the kind of money that could buy you a house big enough that all four of you could have your own bathrooms.

(secretly, though, you hope you live in a tiny house forever. you like tripping over your family-- being within reaching distance at all times.)

"first. i'd like you to assign me the budget to employ three of my trusted confidants as advisors. i can give you their identities if you'd like, but i give you my word that they're good peo--"

"done." shoola cuts sevika off, scribbling a quick note in her journal before looking back up at the pair of you with a smile. "what else?" she asks.

you smile a bit. sevika blinks, then gulps. "jinx and her little friend ekko get a full ride to the university up top. they're incredibly gifted, and with a little proper education they could advance zaun--"

"you don't have to convince me, i remember how the war went. without them, we'd all be dead. i can arrange that."

"i don't want to leave zaun. i can't represent these people if i'm not living here. i'll need a car to get--"

"would you like a personal vehicle or a driver each morning and evening?" shoola asks.

sevika blinks. "a-a driver." she says, a little shocked.

"anything else?" shoola asks.

sevika nods. "o-one last thing." she reaches over to grab your hand. you have no idea what she could possibly want beyond what she's asked for-- she's taken care of her friends, her family, and her transport.

"anything." shoola says. you think the woman might mean it.

sevika looks down at her lap and sighs. "we... we never really got married." she says. you blink, not at all understanding why she's telling the councilwoman this. "i mean... we had a party and we exchanged vows," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. you squeeze her hand and her eyes flick up to yours, before shyly darting away like you guys haven't been married for a decade now. like you guys don't have two kids together. "but we never... nobody gets married in zaun. 's expensive. the trip up to the justice is too far. and..." sevika gulps, her voice getting shaky as she looks back up at you. "and you're the reason i've fought so hard for our home in the first place." she whispers.

tears start to well up in your eyes and you let out a shaky laugh. "what, 're you proposing to me again?" you ask. sevika snorts and shakes her head before turning to shoola. the woman's drying her own tears.

"will you arrange to have us married? officially?"

"i'd be honored." shoola agrees.

the wedding is small and intimate, you and sevika, jinx and isha, vi, ran, scar, jericho, and shoola.

the councilwoman took you to a beautiful little garden a few blocks away from the council, and she married you, officially, as the sun set and your girls threw handfuls of confetti into the sky.

your whole party marches through the streets of piltover and back to zaun for the afterparty, councilwoman shoola laughing happily as you introduce her to the zaunite tradition of barcrawling.

each bar you enter, jericho happily announces that you and sevika have been freshly married. sevika, being the new spokeswoman of zaun, is quite the celebrity now. all of this is to say, you spend the night drinking many free drinks, hugging many drunk strangers, and kissing your wife on request about a thousand times.

it's the best night of your life.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS | MV1

an: this is literally a crack fic, i had the idea when i was listening to 99 problems by jay-z and i was talking to @iamred-iamyellow please enjoy

summary: max never expected to one day have a 17 year old son. he didn't know he was a father. but now he's got to try and figure out how this nerd is his son. and also teach him how to live a little.

wc: 3.3k

Max never thought he’d be a single dad to a teenage boy, but shit happens.

One minute, he was in Monaco celebrating another podium win, champagne-soaked and grinning for the cameras. The next, there was a seventeen-year-old with his eyes and an attitude to match standing on his doorstep with a duffel bag. His name was Noah—“not ‘Dad,’ just Max”—and he wasn’t here to bond. No, Noah was here because apparently the universe thought karma would be funnier this way.

Max was on the balcony of his Monaco apartment replying to a few emails, the city’s lights flickering like a postcard behind him. He could hear Noah inside, rifling through the fridge, muttering complaints about the lack of “real food.”

“Hey, don’t knock the caviar!” Max called over his shoulder. “It’s got protein!”

“Caviar’s not dinner!” Noah fired back, slamming the fridge door.

Max smirked, chuckling a bit. The kid had a point. The life of a Formula One champion didn’t exactly prepare him for raising a teenager. Most days, it was all jet-setting, high-end sponsorships, and a new girl on his arm by sundown. It was messy, but it was his kind of messy. Now? Now, he had to figure out how to squeeze fatherhood in between the chaos.

“You seriously live like this?” Noah asked, stepping onto the balcony, holding up one of Max’s custom helmets. His tone wasn’t admiration—it was judgement.

“Like what?” Max said, not looking up from his phone.

“You know, like...this. Cars, women, parties. I mean, isn’t it exhausting?”

Max chuckled low, pocketing his phone. “Don’t have time to be tired.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, uh...where do I fit in this circus?”

Max turned, his smirk fading just enough to let a flicker of honesty show. “Haven’t figured that out yet. But we’ll make it work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Max glanced back at the city below. “Now, go grab a drink or something. Just...not the champagne.”

And that’s how it started: the driver, his kid, and a life moving faster than either of them could control.

Max hadn’t had a conventional childhood and he could tell this kid did, well as conventional as it was to be dropped off at your dad who you’ve never met’s house a few weeks before your 18th birthday.

He thought that maybe while he was here he could teach him a few things, take him to a few races or something. 

Max didn’t really know what to do.

The private gym was tucked into the corner of Max’s penthouse, all sleek machines and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. It was rarely used. Most of Max’s training happened at the Headquarters. or with his team, but Noah had been dragging his feet around the apartment all week, so Max figured a little sweat might do them both some good.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, tossing a pair of dumbbells onto the mat. “Let’s see if you’ve got anything in the tank. Ever lifted before?”

“Sure,” Noah replied, unimpressed. He sat down on the bench press, giving the machine a once-over like he was deciding whether or not to trust it.

Max crossed his arms, watching as Noah pushed through a few hesitant reps. “Not bad. But if that’s your warm-up, we’re in trouble.”

Noah glared, setting the weights down with a clink. “Not all of us need muscles for a living.”

Max laughed. “Touché. So, what do you do for fun then?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, fun. You know, like hobbies, friends, maybe a girlfriend?”

Noah shrugged, grabbing a water bottle. “Not much. I play some video games, read, I guess. Nothing crazy.”

“Read?” Max frowned. “What, no parties? No sneaking out? You don’t go out?”

“Go out where?” Noah’s voice had that dry teenage edge to it. “I’m seventeen. I lived in America my whole life. You can’t even get into a bar without a fake ID there.”

Max froze mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never had a drink?”

Noah gave him a look like he’d just asked if the sky was blue. “No?”

Max stared at him, dumbfounded. “God. If only you knew what I was doing at your age when my dad had his back turned.”

Noah rolled his eyes. “Oh, let me guess. Clubbing in Paris. Drinking champagne with supermodels. Living the dream?”

“Belgium, but close,” Max said, leaning against the bench press. “Keg parties in the back of some guy’s trailer in Hasselt. Terrible beer, worse decisions, and my trainer yelling at me the next morning. Still, though. I can’t believe you’re seventeen and haven’t even had a sip.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal,” Noah muttered.

“Not a big deal?” Max barked out a laugh. “Mate, by seventeen, I’d already figured out my go-to drink order. Vodka tonic. Not classy, but it got the job done.” He leaned in, his grin borderline mischievous. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Noah held up his hands, shaking his head. “Oh no. You’re not turning this into some wild ‘how to live’ project.”

Max raised his eyebrows, mock-innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying. Gotta live a little.”

“Maybe I don’t want to end up like you,” Noah shot back.

Max laughed again, but this time it came quieter, almost thoughtful. “Trust me, buddy. Nobody ends up like me. Now, come on. Two more sets, and then I’ll show you how to make a proper protein shake. Don’t worry—I won’t spike it.”

Noah snorted, shaking his head as he got back to work. It was just another morning, another disagreement, but Max couldn’t help feeling like they were inching closer to something real. Something like family.

By the end of the week, Noah was starting to think his dad was running some kind of unofficial competition.

On Monday, it was Marie. She was Monegasque, blonde, and talked like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Bonjour, mon cher,” she’d purred at Noah, ruffling his hair like he was ten. Max had barely noticed her leave, too busy scrolling his phone for his next big sponsorship deal.

Tuesday brought Yasmin, a Brazilian model who walked around the apartment in Max’s oversized shirt, pretending not to notice Noah glaring at her from the couch. She’d tried to make conversation, something about school and books, but Noah had just shrugged until she gave up.

By Wednesday, it was Clara, who had an annoying laugh and kept calling Max “babe” like they’d been married for years.

Thursday was a whirlwind—two girls, both of whom Max forgot to introduce. One of them waved awkwardly at Noah as they left, heels clicking on the tile floor.

By Friday, Noah wasn’t even fazed. He sat at the kitchen counter, eating cereal while Max brewed coffee, shirtless and looking entirely too smug for a guy running on five hours of sleep.

“How?” Noah finally said, his spoon clinking against the bowl.

Max glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. “How what?”

“You know.” Noah waved vaguely toward the hallway where yet another pair of heels had disappeared moments ago. “Them. How do you...?”

Max chuckled, shaking his head as he poured his coffee. “Not that complicated.” He took a sip, leaning against the counter like he was about to deliver some ancient wisdom. “They like fast cars and big dreams. I’ve got both.”

Noah squinted at him. “Yeah, but don’t they know what they’re getting into? Like...you’re not exactly giving ‘dad of the year’ vibes.”

Max laughed, the sound echoing through the kitchen. “Oh, they know. Trust me, they all think they’re the one who’s gonna ‘change me.’” He set his mug down, smirking. “Spoiler alert: they’re not.”

Noah frowned, stirring his cereal. “Doesn’t it get old?”

“What?”

“The whole thing. Girls coming and going. Don’t you ever want...I don’t know, something normal?”

Max tilted his head, studying him for a second. “Normal’s overrated. Besides, why are you so interested? You got someone back in the States?”

Noah snorted. “No. Not unless you count my English teacher who used to give me extra credit just to stop talking in class.”

Max grinned, pushing off the counter. “Smart kid. Learn from me, though—don’t waste your charm on teachers. Save it for someone who can actually keep up.”

Noah rolled his eyes, standing up to put his bowl in the sink. “You’re insane.”

“And yet,” Max said, raising his coffee in a mock toast, “I’m still your dad. Crazy how that works.”

Noah shook his head, walking out of the kitchen. But as he headed toward his room, he caught himself smirking. Max was a mess—there was no denying that. But, annoyingly, there was something kind of fascinating about watching him pull it off.

He had to give him some respect. Three time world champion but he lived his life like an unbothered bachelor that didn’t have a multi-million contract under his belt.

Two days later, Max was standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to decide between a black shirt and a white graphic tee. He ended up tossing the black top onto the bed, shrugging into the white tee. His phone buzzed on the nightstand—a message from the group chat reminding him that their table was already reserved at Jimmy’s.

Max grabbed his watch and headed toward the living room, adjusting it as he walked. Noah was sprawled on the couch, scrolling his phone with the kind of disinterested focus only teenagers could pull off.

“You wanna come?” Max asked casually, pulling his car keys from the counter.

Noah didn’t even look up. “I’m seventeen.”

Max leaned against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And I’m Max Verstappen.”

Noah gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, that’s not how laws work.”

Max stepped into the room, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with one hand. “Relax, kid. You’re with me. No one’s checking your ID.” He raised an eyebrow, adding, “Unless you want to stay here and eat more cereal while I’m out having the time of my life.”

Noah hesitated, sitting up slightly. “What, and hang out with you and your harem of club girls? Hard pass.”

Max grinned, crossing his arms. “It’s not just girls. My friends will be there. Good music, good drinks, a little chaos. You could use some chaos.”

Noah snorted. “I don’t think I fit your ‘chaos’ aesthetic.”

Max walked over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to fit. You just show up, keep your head up, and let the good times come to you. Trust me, kid—it’s not rocket science.”

Noah looked at him, torn between scepticism and curiosity. “And if I hate it?”

“Then you call it a night, and we’ll come back. No harm, no foul.” Max shrugged. “But at least you’ll know what you’re missing.”

Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if anyone tries to buy me a drink, I’m out.”

“Deal.” Max grinned, slapping him on the back. “Now, go change. You’re not wearing that.” He gestured vaguely at Noah’s hoodie and sweatpants.

“What’s wrong with this?”

“It’s not wrong; it’s tragic. Go put on something that says, ‘I’m seventeen, but I could still be cooler than you.’”

Noah rolled his eyes but got up and headed toward his room. Max leaned back against the couch, chuckling to himself. This was either going to be a disaster or the most fun he’d had in weeks.

Fifteen minutes later, Noah emerged in dark jeans and a plain black t-shirt. It wasn’t flashy, but it worked.

Max whistled. “There you go. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t push it,” Noah muttered, grabbing his jacket.

“Alright, kid,” Max said, swinging an arm around his shoulders as they headed for the elevator. “Welcome to the good life. Try to keep up.”

Jimmy’z was everything Noah expected and nothing he was prepared for. The place was loud, packed, and drenched in neon lights that pulsed to the bass of some remix he didn’t recognise. Max walked in like he owned it, breezing past the bouncers and slapping hands with a few familiar faces on his way to their table.

The VIP section was cordoned off with velvet ropes and framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. A couple of Max’s friends were already there, leaning back with drinks in hand, laughing at some story one of them was telling.

Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder, said something about ordering another round, and then turned to Noah with a grin. “Alright, kid. First drink’s on me.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to drink?” Noah muttered, looking around nervously.

“You’re not supposed to get caught drinking,” Max corrected, flagging down a waitress. “Two rum and cokes. Easy on the rum for him,” he added with a wink.

Noah sat awkwardly, trying to ignore the curious glances from Max’s friends. When the drinks came, Max slid one across the table. “Here. Cheers.”

Noah picked up the glass and took a cautious sip, immediately grimacing. “This tastes like gasoline.”

Max burst out laughing, nearly spilling his own drink. “Yeah, it’s not exactly a milkshake, but you’ll get used to it.”

Noah frowned but kept sipping, each drink slightly less terrible than the last. By the time the glass was empty, he didn’t hate it—but he definitely wasn’t in a hurry for another.

“Alright,” Max said, leaning back and draping an arm over the back of the booth. “Time for your next lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yeah.” Max grinned, nodding toward the dance floor where a group of girls was laughing and swaying to the music. “How to get a girl.”

Noah blinked at him. “I’m seventeen.”

“And you’re eighteen in three weeks,” Max shot back, smirking.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”

Max sipped his drink, looking almost offended. “I pay attention. I’m not that bad of a father, you know.”

Noah snorted. “Debatable.”

“Hey, come on,” Max said, leaning forward and pointing at him with his glass. “I’ve got three weeks to turn you into someone who doesn’t spend prom night sitting in the corner playing Angry Birds. Let me work my magic.”

“I didn’t go to prom,” Noah mumbled.

“Exactly my point.” Max gestured to the dance floor. “Now, watch and learn.”

Noah shook his head, but he couldn’t help smirking. Watching Max in his element was like watching a lion stalk the savanna. Ridiculous, over-the-top, and somehow annoyingly effective.

Noah leaned back in the plush booth, his gaze flicking nervously between the drink in his hand and the dance floor. “This feels illegal,” he muttered under his breath.

Max, already halfway through his second rum and coke, let out a loud laugh that turned a few heads. “Illegal? We’re in Monaco.” He gestured broadly at the glittering club around them, as if the name alone erased all laws. “The girls here don’t care how old you are, as long as you’re pretty enough.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “And what if I’m not?”

Max leaned forward, smirking. “You’re my son, so of course you are. Trust me, kid, you’ve got the genes. Now, you just need the confidence to back it up.”

Noah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, sure. Because confidence is something you can just magically summon.”

“Exactly,” Max said, snapping his fingers like it was that simple. “It’s all in the attitude. Look, you don’t need to be the smartest or the funniest guy in the room. You just need to act like you know something they don’t. Makes them curious. Curiosity’s half the battle.”

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s the dumbest advice I’ve ever heard.”

Max grinned, sitting back and gesturing to the waitress for another round. “And yet, here I am. Multi-millionaire. World champion. Living proof it works.”

“Yeah, but you’re—” Noah hesitated, then gestured vaguely at Max’s whole presence. “You.”

“Exactly. And you’re half me. Which means you’ve already got a head start.” Max leaned in, lowering his voice like he was letting Noah in on a secret. “Here’s the trick: don’t overthink it. If you go out there looking like you’ve got something to prove, you’ll scare ‘em off. Just...be cool.”

“Cool,” Noah repeated, deadpan. “Got it. Thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

Max smirked, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But if I come back with two numbers before you even finish that drink, you’re buying me breakfast tomorrow.”

Noah shook his head as Max strolled off toward the dance floor, impossibly confident and infuriatingly charismatic. It was hard not to admire it, even if it made him feel like an awkward kid in comparison.

He stared down at his empty glass, debating whether to order another drink or just leave, when a girl about his age walked past and glanced his way. She gave him a small smile, and Noah froze, his heart racing.

Max’s words echoed in his head. “Just act like you know something they don’t.”

Noah took a deep breath, set his empty glass on the table, and stood up. His palms felt clammy, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to sit back down. But then he caught Max watching from the floor with an infuriating smirk before turning to whichever woman he was talking to this time.

Don’t overthink it, Noah reminded himself. Just be cool.

The girl was standing near the edge of the dance floor with a friend, laughing at something on her phone. She looked up as he approached, her eyes flicking over him in curiosity.

“Hey,” Noah said, trying to sound casual. “You looked like you needed saving from a bad joke.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh? And you’re the knight in shining armour?”

“Something like that,” Noah said, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Or at least I’m not the guy who made you laugh like that.”

Her smile widened, and her friend nudged her playfully before disappearing toward the bar. “Smooth,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you use that line often?”

“First time, actually,” Noah admitted, his lips twitching into a nervous grin.

The honesty seemed to win her over. They started talking—light, easy banter—and before Noah knew it, she was laughing at something he’d said about his dad being a “professional bad influence.”

From the booth, Max had a clear view of the whole thing. He nudged Lando, grinning like a proud idiot. “Lan, look!” He pointed toward the dance floor. “The son of a bitch did it!”

Lando squinted, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Max chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. “He’s my kid. Of course he’s got it in him.”

Noah returned to the table a while later, looking flushed and slightly dishevelled. His lips were swollen, and there was a faint lipstick smudge on his cheek.

Max raised his glass in a mock toast. “Atta boy!”

Noah slid into the booth, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Max said, slapping him on the back. “You’re officially part of the club now.”

Lando smirked. “Better keep an eye on him, Max. He’s almost got more potential than you.”

“Potential? He’s a damn prodigy,” Max joked, laughing. “First drink, first girl, all in one night. Kid’s got a better batting average than I did at his age.”

Noah rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling. As much as his dad’s teasing drove him crazy, there was something undeniably cool about seeing Max so proud.

“Alright,” Max said, clapping his hands together. “Now that you’ve got your feet wet, let’s see if you can do it again.”

Noah shook his head, laughing. “Not a chance. One’s enough for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Max said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “But just so you know—you’ve officially graduated from boring.”

For once, Noah didn’t argue.

the end.

[ddarker-dreams]

Do you have any Chrollo crumbs for those of us who are down bad for this loser of a man? Truly a curse to be attracted to him 😔

"Would you kill someone for me, if I asked?"

You're sitting cross-legged atop freshly washed linens, which smell faintly of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. Before you unceremoniously flung yourself onto the bed, with all the grace of a newborn fawn, it appeared picturesque, like the cleaning staff had ironed out every wrinkle.

In Chrollo's brief absence, you've made the king-sized bed your own. The pillows have been adjusted to your liking. You used the extras to build your ill-fated bulwark down the bed's center, in what would separate you from the enemy for an estimated two or three minutes.

"Where's this coming from?"

While asking this, he gets to work dismantling your barricade, not even dignifying the architectural wonder with a comment.

"A place of curiosity."

"Hm," he hums. "It'd depend on the target."

You scuttle toward the furthest reaches of the bed as he makes himself comfortable, mourning your barricade's demise.

"... Does that mean there are people stronger than you out there?" You ask. He regards you with a blank expression. "I'm trying to gauge my options."

Chrollo closes his eyes and smiles softly. "How morbid."

"Yeah, it's almost like I'm stuck with a person who is a terrible influence," you eye the hand that creeps your way like it's a viper. It lunges out at you, finding your wrist and gently tugging you closer to the serpent. Freeing yourself from the maws of a starving beast would be easier.

"Would that make you feel better?" Hearing his voice so close to your ear makes your skin crawl. You can feel his warm breath, smell the remnants of the cologne he applied in the morning and the complimentary mint left on the suite's countertop. "You're not worried some other scoundrel, far worse than I, might snatch you up?"

You swallow thickly. "I think someone's projecting their own fears."

"Maybe."

He rubs his thumb along your inner wrist's pulse.

"Even your contempt is alluring," he murmurs. There's a breathiness to his voice that makes you shiver. "It's like you were made to punish me."

You scoff at the proposition. "Please. What would that make you, then?"

Chrollo laces his fingers with yours and gives your hand a playful squeeze.

"A budding masochist."

[razrbladekiss]

CRAVE | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: there’s only one thing that joel craves, and it isn’t the mental fucking torture of an overly stubborn twenty-something teasing him ‘til he’s blue in the face. and balls.

PAIRING: dbf!joel miller x afab!reader. legal unspecified age gap.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT. alcohol consumption. pervy old man joel. reader’s dad (i’ve named him sorrrry) is there before joel gets pervy. some religious themes and also descriptions of religion in a negative light (this is MY experience with christianity, if you do not agree then please don’t read), no explicit smut but descriptions of what joel wants to do to youuuu so: mentions of piv, cock-riding, oral f!receiving, choking if you squint, dirty talk asf, joel being cocky which leads to his cock being sad and alone. reader is cunty. not proof-read ‘cus, once again, i’m a lazy bitch and i don’t have time for that. enjoy. 🫶🏻

An end to craving is an end to suffering.

Today’s last stream of sunlight fulgurates through the branches of your father’s prized Texas Ash, hitting perfectly the dime-sized crucifix situated comfortably between two pert tits sheathed in sheer black cotton.

Joel tries not to stare, but it’s impossible. He’s been watching you all fucking night. Every time you get up, he’s been glued to your ass. Whenever you lean over, Joel can’t seem to pry his eyes away from your cleavage. The more he’s been drinking, the more brazen he’s been with his stolen glances.

When your father rambles about some work-related spiel—and you’re sitting so innocently across the way—he can’t help affixing his eyes to the swell of your breasts. Wondering what it’d be like to touch, and grope, and suck on them.

Your mother was right about him. For all of the years that she knew Joel while your parents were together, she’d always say that he was trouble. A good-for-nothing, splenetic, perverted old-man who was but a bad influence. And you never noticed, never cared. You always thought that he was a great friend, and a stand-up guy.

Until today. Until you saw him scrutinizing your form—in front of your dad—you had a lot more respect for Joel. But now you realize that your mother was right. He is a perv. But—fuck—do you love that.

You’re not sure what you enjoy more—disrespecting your insane Catholic mother, or knowing that Joel is undressing you with his eyes—but you can’t help yourself feeding into his fantasy.

“Daddy?” Your father hums, not entirely bothered by the fact that you’ve just interrupted his conversation. He smiles. “Do you want another beer?”

“Please, hon.” He hands you his empty bottle, mumbling something about how he was going to get himself one and that you don’t need to. But you insist.

The blanket over your thighs is being discarded, hiking your dress up with it. Joel gets a glimpse of your lace panties that he likes to imagine you wore just for him, and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Bare, supple skin is on display as you get up from the deck chair. You turn to him with a prurient twinkle in your eye, and ask if he wants a drink too. “Yeah, another won’t hurt. I’m already pretty—“ he hiccups, “pretty far gone, anyway.”

Dad laughs while you saunter to the cooler and make a big show of bending over, completely unaware of the way Joel is trying to conjure up a plan to get you alone tonight. But then…

“Same ‘ere, bud.” He laughs before he’s nodding toward Joel. “Stay the night, if ‘ya wanna. I mean, you’re in no fit state to drive—none of us are—and I got a spare bedroom.”

His nose scrunches up, as if to decline, before you’re turning around with two unopened beers and a small bottle of wine. Your hand wraps around the neck almost romantically, leaving very little to his imagination.

“Yeah, you might as well stay, Miller.” You put down the beers on the table, still holding firmly the Merlot. “I’m stayin’. I got nowhere to be in the mornin’, and dad bought breakfast stuff.”

Two brown eyes are latched to each of yours, and you feel beads of perspiration roll through the valley of your breasts. Despite the evening cooling down, you’re stifling beneath his unyielding gaze.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” Joel concedes. He takes his can and cracks it open, lifting it up to cheers your father. “S’long as you’re makin’ me breakfast, Gary.”

Dad salutes and you smile, sinking into the purple cushion with a satisfied hum. You ogle Joel, biting fiercely the skin of your bottom lip. And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel swigs his beer—letting your dad drunkenly ramble—and doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Wondering how he’s going to make you pay for torturing him like this.

But this hadn’t been your intention when Joel showed up to watch the Cowboys v Browns game this afternoon. In fact, him staying past nine o’clock was completely unintentional and if it weren’t for your dad pumping him full of Coors and Old Milwaukee, he’d be fast asleep at this very moment.

He supposes that he doesn’t mind, being here. Especially because he’s buzzed—still able to speak and think coherently, which is surprising—and gets to spend some rare time with you. Even if it is with your dad.

You watch them converse—the way that friends do—admiring how patient Joel is with him despite him being a little bit too inebriated for his own good. He’s the kind of friend that your old man needs; understanding, forbearing. And it baffles you that they’ve not known one another for longer than seven years, but surmise that they’d definitely be best friends in every other timeline because they just work so well.

But it’s the thought of them being friends—brothers—that urges feelings of unease. Trepidation. Gary’ll have a cow if he finds out the way that his so called buddy has been making googly eyes at his little girl’s titties for the last eight hours.

Joel senses the shift in attitude—you’re not teasing him now—and turns the topic of conversation to you. Dad doesn’t mind, though. Never minds talking to—or about—his kid.

“What made you stay in with us oldies tonight, huh?”

Wine is being swiveled around the glass before you take it back in one swig. A grimace flits over your features, but they both catch it.

“Didn’t feel like hittin’ the bars.” Candidly, you say. It’s refreshing. “Can’t be dealin’ with pervy old men tryna touch me.”

Less refreshing.

Joel’s blood runs cold, and you smirk. He swallows thickly the liquid acrimony bubbling from the chasms of his throat. He wants to screw that stupid grin off of your face—stuff his cock straight between those plush lips and throat fuck you ‘til you’re crying and gasping for air.

He just nods instead of saying anything.

“I’ll kill anyone that touches you.” Dad says, not sensing Joel’s sudden frigid state. “Seriously. ‘Specially if it’s an old fuckin’ degenerate asshole—“

“Alright, Gary.” You halt the hate train, pouring the last few dregs of wine into your glass. “No need to get all protective. No old coot is comin’ anywhere near me.”

You look directly at Joel when you say; “old men can’t do what guys my age can, anyway.”

Dad grimaces. Joel scoffs. You can’t help smiling, feeling very proud of yourself.

“Y’know, you’re still my kid? And hearing this shit is nasty.” Your father tells you around a burp, and realizes that this might be the time to call it a night.

He’s never been able to handle his alcohol, especially after being married to your psychotic beer-loathing, hymn-signing, prayer-group-leading, holier-than-though moronic fucking mother.

He lets himself get too drunk too fast, now. Ever since she went back to Kansas—which was totally code for I fucked the priest and got extradited from the church—he’s really let his hair down, and you’d be lying if you said this version of your old man wasn’t the very best. Because he’s living his life the way that he wants to, now.

It’s nice.

“It might be nasty, but ‘least you don’t have to worry about me bringing home a man your age. Or even worse; older.”

Gary gets to his feet—knees clicking and cracking as he does so—and nods. “‘Spose that’s true, kid.”

Joel. Is. So. Fucking. Pissed.

As you say your goodnights—and put on a few lights so that your dad doesn’t trip over his own feet—Joel is mentally counting down the minutes until he gets you alone on this damn patio. He’s determined to make you regret the few little comments that you’ve made tonight.

“Don’t stay up too late. Y’know how cranky ‘ya get with no sleep.” Dad reminds you. “You too, Miller.”

You hum your response, lifting your empty glass and indicating that you’ll be retiring to your room soon, too.

“Night dad.”

“Night, pumpkin.” He turns to Joel. “Make sure she ain’t up too late.”

He nods and shifts his gaze to you, eyes darkening. “Yessir. I’ll put her to sleep.”

Your father grunts and slides the patio door to close. Leaving his daughter and best friend alone together might be the biggest mistake that he’s ever going to make.

Joel watches him intently behind the glass door, heeding him stumble across the tile. He might be about to rearrange your guts, but he at least wants to be courteous.

Your legs squeeze together, for the only sound you hear is the reverberation of Joel’s I’ll put her to sleep in that sexy, beer-slick tone.

He sees it.

“She makin’ ‘ya squirm?”

You blink at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your pussy.” Joel—as candid as ever—elaborates. “Is she flutterin’ ‘cus ‘a me?”

The fallout of a chemical bomb would be much more appealing than having to look Joel in the eye after such a lewd statement.

“Don’t worry if so. I have that effect on the ladies.”

“Makin’ yourself sound like a slut, Miller.” Coolly, you respond. Your hand is reaching for a can of beer, twining fingertips around the base while another pulls the tab.

Two eyes screw shut when a spritz of alcohol is flushing over your face, neck and chest. Droplets of Bud trickle between those perfect tits that Joel’s eyes have almost burned fucking holes into; forcing even the horniest man on planet earth to render himself utterly speechless.

You trail a finger through the valley of your breasts, collecting the sticky liquid before you’re putting it straight into your mouth; sucking it clean. Your eyes are locked on Joel’s.

“What? Cat got your tongue?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. The sight before him is truly one to behold; his friend’s sweet daughter with her fingers between her tits out in the patio. Nobody’d ever believe him if he told them this. Joel probably wouldn’t even fucking believe himself.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ’ya?” Is what he says in response. He’s quick witted, you’ll give him that. “My tongue stuck in your pretty little pussy—“

Heat flashes over you.

“You’re fucking vile.”

“Ain’t that the way it’s meant’a be?” He lurches forward, and your eyes travel to the small opening of his shirt’s midsection that highlights perfectly the fact that he hasn’t a base layer beneath the flannel.

You see a small patch of hair; brown, and gray and seems a little fuzzy. It’s a sudden reminder that this man is a smidge too old for you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.

“Don’t think so.” Trying to out-douche him, you respond. Joel’s thick fingers are twined together, hands resting over the peaks of his knees. “Think youre meant’a have some kinda respect for me. Y’know, as my dad’s buddy, ‘n all.”

Joel snorts a laugh.

“I’d have respect for ‘ya, but the way that peachy fuckin’ ass was in the air when ‘ya bent over the cooler tells me that daddy’s ’lil girl is more of a slut than me.”

Your jaw rolls. Reaction: gauged.

He inches nearer to you; slimy grin plastered across rough, rugged features. “Only pullin’ your leg, hon. I know you’re no slut. Too much of a prissy bitch—“

“Oh, really?” Irked, you spit.

Joel nods. Pushing at your buttons has never been much of a difficult feat. It’s something that he quite enjoys, actually.

“Mhm, yeah.” The man is leaning backwards in his chair, now. Arms folded behind his head; hands pressed against his dark curls. “Gonna have to prove that you ain’t like your mama.”

Your blood boils. And then it runs cold.

“Don’t gotta prove shit to you.” You defend. Very defensively.

“No, that’s right. Don’t gotta do nothin’, kiddo.”

You see the outline of his dick as it stiffens within the confines of his dark, navy-denim jeans. He’s actually getting off on this.

“Unless you want to—“

“Nah, I’m good.” You’re leaning back, now, lifting your legs to sit criss cross applesauce. The barely-covering-your-crotch sheer fabric of your thong catches his eye; a glint of something wicked flickers through them as he clears his throat.

If you’re playing the long game, then so is he. He can out-stubborn anybody.

“So I’ve heard.” He jabs, insinuating that you’re a prude. Again. “Can prove ‘em all wrong, if ‘ya wanna.”

It’s killing him, this. It’s torture. But he’s strong. Ish.

You shake your head, reaching for your almost-empty can of beer. You’re taking another long pull, making a dramatic show of tilting your head back and puffing out your chest as you do so. His lips purse.

“I’m good.” You tell him again with a syrupy smile. “Rather we just talk. Y’know—be civilized, ‘n all.”

His arms are moving to the sides of his deck chair, now. Joel’s tongue runs along his bottom lip. He gives a quick bob of his head.

“Yeah, we can talk.” His eyes zone in on your pussy; the engorged wet patch situated on the part of fabric that kind-of clothes your cunt. His mouth waters. “But what’ll we talk about, baby girl?”

Another surge of pleasure oozes out from between your thighs, turning what was once a purple thong into a jet-black one. Joel doesn’t mind, though. The sight is sweet; it’s prurient, in some sick way.

“Hm.” You pretend to think, all the while spreading your legs a little bit more. He sees perfectly the outline of your folds as fabric hugs and highlights the inner workings of your beautiful anatomy. “Why don’t we start with what you’re thinkin’ about, Mr. Miller?”

A weakness of his, that is. You referring to him as Mr. Miller has always gotten him hot. It’s innocent, almost. It’s like that’d been engrained into your brain by the god-fearing fruit-loop that brought you up, and you can’t quit saying it in these situations.

“Oh, doll. Not sure you’ll wanna hear what I’m thinkin’ of.” His tone is rough, now. Like 180 grit sandpaper against the wooden walls inside of your fucking brain. You hum.

Mentally, Joel’s cock is spearing open the tight hole between your legs; making you scream his name. He’s thrusting his prick up into your cervix while you ride him like he’s the last cowboy on earth, desperate to feel a kind of pleasure that no man your age could ever bestow upon you.

In his head, he’s picturing your crucifix dangling in his face while you’re pleasuring yourself on his length; glistening with sweat, and cum, and Sierra Nevada. Howling at his girth, speechless at the size of him.

He wants nothing more than to wrap a hand around the base of your throat and fuck you into next week; feeling damp walls contract and seize around his cock—

“No.” You snap him back to reality; halting his train of thought. “No, you can tell me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure she can.

“Fine.” He clears his throat. “Just thinkin’ of stufin’ that warm ‘lil cunt with my big ‘ol cock, ‘s’all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Your tone is teasing.

Joel does not like to be teased.

“If you’d shut your fuckin’ mouth, I’d be able to finish.”

In a moment of pure, unapologetic submission, you nod. The skin of your bottom lip is getting fucking gnawed at by your teeth in an attempt to conceal a moan.

It works. Kind of.

“What was I sayin’…” He strives to recall his last few words; and then he remembers. “Oh, yeah. Stretchin’ out that cute pussy ‘a yours.”

That cute pussy ‘a yours, is twitching. Fuck that, it’s pulsating.

“And you’re so sure of that? You being able to stretch me out, I mean.”

“Dead sure, angel face.” He quips. “I know for a damn fact that you’d be havin’ trouble takin’ my fat cock all in one go; be cryin’ for everyone to hear.”

Through long, thick lashes, you stare at him.

“You’d be seein’ stars; and not just the ones above us right now.”

You look up to the sky and hope to alleviate some of the mental pain being bestowed upon you right now. Which is entirely your own doing, of course.

Joel shifts in his seat so that he’s a little bit more sunken, able to heed clearly the sickly sweetness blanketing the chair you’re on.

“I’ll eat your pussy, too.”

Your attention is snapped back down to Joel, now. Your brows raise.

“Suck your soul right out from between your legs.”

“Oh, Joel.” You moan, a little. He lets his eyes shut for a brief moment, only to open them again to find you taking off your panties.

It’s like Christmas fucking day, this.

“I’d love for you to take me right here; fill me up on one ‘a the sunloungers.” You’re getting off your chair, and Joel’s heart is starting to pound within the chasms of his chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You’re walking toward him; thong in hand. Fingers wreathed through soaked purple cotton.

“Can’t think of anything that’ll bring me more pleasure than you fuckin’ me ‘til I’m crying. Or gasping for air.”

“You ‘n me both, beautiful.”

You smile. You give Joel your underwear, before you’re running your fingers through his hair and he’s letting a hand glide up the meat of your thigh and beneath your skirt.

“Just a shame, ain’t it.”

“What’s a shame, sugar?”

The feeling of his fingertips—calloused and covered in rough skin—is almost orgasmic. But you’re stronger than what he is. So you pull yourself away from his hold, and begin to feel an unwavering sense of need. You shirk it, though.

You’re leaning into him now, breasts pressed against his shoulder, lips touching the shell of his ear. Goosebumps prickle over his neck and you assume that they’re making their way down south, too.

“Huh?” He says to get your attention, for you still haven’t answered. “What’s a shame?”

Fingertips trace over broad shoulders enveloped in soft, warm flannel. You’re leaning closer; hot breath on his skin. Your lips part to whisper:

“If daddy ever found out about this, he’d kill ‘ya.”

“Baby—“

You’re taking the panties from his hand, and tucking them into the breast pocket of his shirt. Fighting a blush—feeling very proud of yourself—your face remains straight.

You tap at his chest and walk away, but not before throwing a “night, Miller” over your shoulder.

Joel looks down at the ground, presently wallowing in some sort of self-pity. But then remembers the visible effect that his words had—and the way he looked at—you, and he can’t fight the stupid fucking grin pushing its way onto his face.

He might’ve just experienced blue-balls at his big age, but to see you submit to his gaze was absolutely worth it.

He just hopes you’ll never tell a soul about his dirty-talk. He has a reputation to uphold, these days.