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charlotteking27 · 1 month ago

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Practice Makes Perfect

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Max is teaching you how to sim race, but you are so bad, so when Max is gone to races, you are practicing and getting better, and one day you surprise Max by showing the improvement.

Requested: yes

Warning: none

"No, not like that! You're braking way too late again," Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched you spin out for what felt like the hundredth time. His gaming setup was pristine, with three monitors, a professional racing wheel clamped to a custom rig, and pedals that had just the right amount of resistance. It looked like a mini Formula 1 cockpit in your living room.

The virtual car crashed violently into the barrier, parts flying across the screen as the red "DNF" flashed mockingly. This was your fifth crash in less than fifteen minutes.

"I don't get it," you groaned, releasing the wheel in frustration. "I swear I'm following the racing line exactly like you showed me."

Max leaned over your shoulder, and his cologne distracted you momentarily from your embarrassment. The warmth of his breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine as he spoke. "You're looking at the wrong thing. You're focusing on where you are now, not where you need to be in two seconds."

"That makes no sense," you huffed.

"Let me show you again." He gently moved you aside and took your place, his hands confidently gripping the wheel. "See how I'm looking ahead? I'm already planning for this corner while coming out of the previous one."

You watched, mesmerized, as he effortlessly guided the car through a series of complex corners. He made it look so natural and easy.

The next day's lesson wasn't any better. You managed to lock up the brakes on a straight section of track—something Max claimed he'd never even seen before.

"How is that even possible?" he laughed, not unkindly. "You weren't even turning!"

"I panicked," you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn. "I thought I was going too fast."

On day three, you somehow drove the wrong way around the track after a spin. "At least you're being creative," Max teased as you narrowly avoided a head-on collision with an AI car.

By the end of the first week, you'd discovered at least twenty different ways to crash a virtual race car. You'd flipped it over a barrier, beached it in a gravel trap, and once even managed to get it stuck between two tire walls in a way that Max had to take a photo of for posterity.

"Maybe I should just stick to watching you race," you suggested after a particularly spectacular crash that had Max doubled over with laughter.

"No way," he insisted, wiping tears from his eyes. "You're getting better."

"At crashing maybe!"

"Everyone crashes at first," he said, suddenly serious. "I crashed constantly when I was starting out. The difference is, I didn't have anyone watching me fail repeatedly."

You slumped back in the seat. "I'm hopeless at this."

Max's expression softened immediately. He leaned over, his arm brushing against yours as he reset the sim. "You're not hopeless. Nobody gets it right away." His voice had that gentle, patient tone he reserved just for you, a stark contrast to his competitive spirit on real tracks.

"Easy for you to say, Mr. World Champion," you teased, trying to mask your frustration.

He laughed, the sound warming you from the inside. "I've been doing this since I was a kid. Trust me, I was terrible at first, too." He placed his hands over yours on the wheel, his fingers gently interlacing with yours. The tender touch made your heart race faster than any virtual car. "Like this, okay? Feel the way the car moves. It's a conversation between you and the track."

The next attempt ended with your car upside down in a ditch. The one after that saw you spin out three times in a single lap.

Two days before he was scheduled to leave, you finally managed to complete a full lap without crashing, though your time was nearly double his. Max celebrated as if you'd just won a championship, picking you up and spinning you around the living room. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, his eyes dropped to your lips before kissing you.

"See? Progress!" he exclaimed proudly, his voice slightly lower than before.

You tried a few more laps, still slow but at least keeping the car on the track. It felt like a minor miracle.

"I've got to head out tomorrow for the race weekend," he reminded you. "Three weeks on the road."

"I know," you said, forcing enthusiasm into your voice. "I'll be cheering you on from here."

Later that night, as Max packed his things, you caught him looking at you with that half-smile that always made your heart skip. His gaze held something deeper than just amusement—something that made your cheeks flush with warmth.

"What?" you asked, your voice softer than intended.

"Nothing," he replied, setting down the shirt he was folding and crossing the room to where you stood. "Just thinking how cute you look when you're concentrating on not crashing." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be amazing by the time you get back."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Maybe," you said with mock confidence.

He kissed you goodbye the next morning, lingering longer than usual. His hands cupped your face tenderly as he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours. "I'm going to miss this," he whispered. "Miss you."

"It's only three weeks," you reminded him, though your heart was already aching at the thought of him leaving.

"Three weeks too long," he replied with a sigh, stealing one more quick kiss before reluctantly heading out the door, leaving you with his spare key and the sim racing setup all to yourself.

𐙚

The first day alone, you just stared at the equipment. It was intimidating without Max there to guide you. But after scrolling through social media and seeing posts about his qualifying session, determination filled you. You sat down and turned everything on.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself. "Let's do this."

The first week was disastrous. You crashed constantly, forgot brake points, and once even forgot how to shift gears properly. But you kept at it, setting an alarm to practice two hours every day.

You started watching YouTube tutorials while eating breakfast. During lunch breaks, you studied track maps. Before bed, you watched Max's old races, noting his racing lines.

By the second week, something clicked. You weren't good—not by any stretch—but you were finishing laps. Your times were improving by fractions of seconds each day.

The third week, you became obsessed with Spa. You drove it over and over, memorizing every curve and every elevation change. You knew where the shadows fell across the track at different times of day, where puddles would form in the rain simulation.

Max called every night, usually exhausted from his race weekend.

"How's everything at home?" he'd ask, his voice softening when your face appeared on his screen.

"Perfect," you'd reply, carefully hiding the racing gloves you'd bought yourself behind your back. "Just missing you." The words weren't just part of the deception—you meant them, counting down the days until he'd return.

"Miss you too," he'd say, his eyes reflecting the hotel room's dim lighting. "The bed feels too empty without you." His voice would often drop to a whisper on those words, as though sharing a precious secret. "Haven't touched the sim setup, have you?"

You laughed nervously. "Why would I do that? You know I'm terrible."

The day before Max was due home, you set your personal best—still nowhere near his times, but respectable. More importantly, you completed twenty consecutive laps without a single crash.

You heard his key in the lock the next afternoon and jumped up from the couch, heart pounding with excitement.

"Welcome home!" you called, throwing your arms around him.

Max hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. "God, I missed you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes drinking you in as though memorizing every detail of your face. Then he kissed you deeply, backing you against the wall, three weeks of separation dissolving in an instant.

After dinner and catching up, he glanced at his sim setup. "I think I need to blow off some steam. Want to watch me do a few laps?"

You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile. "Actually… I was thinking maybe we could race together?"

He looked surprised but pleased. "Really? You want to try again?"

"Something like that," you said mysteriously.

You sat down at the rig, and you let him choose the track. Your heart leapt when he selected Spa.

"You go first," you insisted.

Max shrugged and proceeded to drive a nearly perfect lap. When he finished, he handed you the wheel with an encouraging smile. "Your turn. Remember what I taught you about the bus stop chicane?"

"I think so," you said innocently.

You settled in, adjusted your position, and started your lap. You hit the first corner perfectly, feeling Max's surprise beside you. By the time you navigated Eau Rouge flawlessly, he was leaning forward, completely focused on your driving.

"How are you—" he began, but stopped himself as you nailed the next series of corners.

When you crossed the finish line with a time only five seconds slower than his, Max's jaw literally dropped. You turned to him with the biggest grin.

"Surprise?"

"When did you—how did you—" he stammered.

"Every day while you were gone," you admitted. "I wanted to impress you."

His stunned expression melted into something incredibly tender. He pulled you into his lap, nearly knocking over the wheel. His arms encircled your waist as he gazed up at you with adoration. "You practiced all that time for me?"

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under the intensity of his gaze. "I know how much you love this, and I wanted to share it with you properly."

Max cupped your face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." He kissed you softly, then more deeply, one hand sliding into your hair to draw you closer. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. "But you know what this means, right?"

"What?"

A competitive glint appeared in his eyes. "Now we can race against each other for real."

You laughed. "I'm still not going to beat you."

"No," he agreed with a mischievous smile. "But it'll be fun to watch you try."

He pulled you closer, your bodies fitting perfectly together. "Best welcome home ever," he whispered against your lips before kissing you again, slow and deep, the race forgotten for now. His hand traced lazy patterns along your back as you melted against him, feeling as though you'd won something far more valuable than any virtual race.

The next morning, you woke to find Max already at the sim rig, setting something up. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his profile as he worked, and you took a moment to admire him—the concentration in his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" you asked sleepily, hugging the blanket around you as you padded over to him.

He turned with that boyish excitement you loved so much, his face lighting up at the sight of you. "Setting up a two-player race." He reached for your hand, pulling you onto his lap and nuzzling his face into your neck. "I've got a week off, and we're going to make you even better."

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him from behind. "I like the sound of that."

"Plus," he said, turning to face you with a grin, "now I finally have someone who gets why I'm always talking about apex angles at dinner."

"I created a monster, didn't I?"

"Absolutely," he nodded, pulling you down for a quick kiss. "And I couldn't be happier about it."

As you sat side by side, racing in comfortable silence, sometimes interrupted by his tips or your victorious shouts when you nailed a corner, you realized that the best surprises were those that brought you closer together, one lap at a time.

𐙚

A few days later, Max walked into the living room with a mischievous look on his face.

"I have an idea," he announced, placing his phone on the coffee table.

You looked up from your book. "That look makes me nervous. What are you planning?"

"How would you feel about racing with me on my live stream tonight?"

Your eyes widened. "Your stream? With all your fans watching?" Max's sim racing streams had hundreds of thousands of viewers—mostly racing fans and his F1 followers.

"They'd love it," he insisted, already setting up the webcam. "Everyone asks about my personal life anyway. It would be fun to show them what we've been up to."

Your stomach fluttered with nerves. "But I'm not anywhere near your level."

Max sat beside you, taking your hands in his. "That's not the point. It's about sharing something we both enjoy." His eyes softened. "Plus, I'm proud of how far you've come. Is that weird to say?"

You felt your cheeks warm. "Not weird at all."

"So?" he asked hopefully.

How could you say no to that face? "Okay, fine. But don’t blame me when I crash and embarrass you in front of everyone."

He kissed your forehead. "You won't embarrass me."

That evening, Max set everything up—the cameras positioned to capture both your faces and the screens, while the chat window was minimized but still visible for him to catch questions.

"Going live in three, two, one…" Max clicked the button and shifted into his stream persona. "Hey everyone! I've got something special for tonight's stream." He glanced at you with a warm smile. "Many of you have asked about what I do when I'm not racing, so I thought I'd introduce you to someone who's become my favorite racing partner."

You awkwardly waved to the camera as the chat filled with messages.

"We're doing something a bit different," Max continued. "A few weeks ago, I started teaching her how to sim race, and today, we're going head-to-head on Spa. It's one of my favorite circuits, as you all know."

The chat scrolled by too quickly to read, but you caught glimpses of excitement and surprise.

Max guided you through setting up the race, occasionally answering viewer questions. "Yes, she's been practicing while I was away at races. No, this isn't staged—I genuinely had no idea she was getting this good."

When the race started, your nerves faded away as you focused on the track. Max took an early lead, but you kept your lines clean, remembering everything you had practiced.

"She is actually keeping pace!" Max commented on the stream, sounding amazed. "Look at that line through Eau Rouge—perfect!"

You bit your lip, concentrating as you navigated the trickiest sections. The chat was buzzing, and Max expertly narrated both his driving and yours.

On the final lap, Max was still ahead, but you were much closer than either of you had expected. As you crossed the finish line just seconds behind him, he let out a cheer.

"Did you all see that?" he exclaimed to the camera. "That was impressive!" He turned to you with pride. "You're getting dangerous, you know that?"

You couldn't help but grin at his enthusiasm. The chat overflowed with supportive messages and requests for you to join regularly.

"What do you think?" Max asked, nodding toward the comments. "The fans seem to like you."

You leaned against his shoulder, no longer caring about the camera. "I could be convinced to come back."

"Good," he said, wrapping an arm around you while still addressing the stream. "Because I think I just found my new favorite racing rival."

As the stream continued, with Max answering fan questions and the two of you racing on different tracks, you marveled at how something that started as his passion became a shared joy—one that even his fans enjoyed.

And when Max looked at you between races with that special smile that made your heart race faster than any sim car, his fingers intertwined with yours under the desk where the camera couldn't see, you knew you'd found something more valuable than improved lap times. In that moment, with his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand and his eyes filled with admiration, you realized you hadn't just learned to master virtual corners—you'd found your way deeper into his heart.

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tojicide · 8 months ago

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⠀ REMIND ME! ☆ SYLUS.

summary. six months after your breakup with sylus, news broke of you moving on, which is something he simply cannot allow—not if he can help it.

warnings. fem!reader, infidelity, pet names, established history, hair pulling, face sitting, oral ( fem. receiving ), doggy style, missionary, creampie, aftercare. wc. 6.1k.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Once news broke the N109 Zone of a prospering romance in his district, Sylus couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. It was when he heard whispers of your name adjacent to another man’s that he began to listen.

He was out the front door of his home within a second, his leg swinging over his bike before Luke and Kieran could have a say in the matter.

The two men stood side by side, shouting a frantic ‘it’s normal to move on!’ and a ‘it’s been six months!’ from the doorstep as they watched their white haired boss speed away.

Sylus was sure that if he gripped the handlebars of his motorcycle any tighter, they’d certainly break off.

If he was willing to harm his most prized possession over the pure frustration you’ve stirred within him, you should consider yourself the most lucky yet damned woman alive.

He liked to think he was headstrong, but when it came to you, he lost all of his sense. All rationale was long forgotten. You consumed him and he gladly let you, because all in all, it truly was a blessing and a curse.

For how much he loved to put the pedal to the metal, he’s never once arrived at your apartment as fast as he has just now. He didn’t even bother to properly leave his bike in between the lines of a parking spot before he was practically flying towards your front door, knocking rapidly until you answered.

Surprise was etched into your facial features as you crack the door open just enough to see who your uninvited guest was, but a strong hand pushed it open until it was agape. “What the fu—”

“Where is he?” he cuts you off with a question, his red eyes scanning your cozy living room like a predator on the prowl.

“Excuse you, I— what? Where is who?” Your questions stammer out as your brain tries to catch up to the scene in front of you.

Sylus forces himself to turn around and face you, realizing that his erratic behavior was likely confusing you. As expressed, his common sense was truly slipping from him. God, he’s missed you, and he absolutely hates the look you’re giving him. It was one that made him feel like a pure inconvenience to you (even though he certainly was behaving like it).

“Your… boyfriend,” he clarifies, almost choking on the word. The fact that the title was no longer his was already a problem in and of itself, but losing it to another man was something he simply could not allow. “Where is he?”

“Oh, I see,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as you give him a once over. “You think that you’re going to barge into my apartment and pummel the ever living shit out of my boyfriend?”

“More or less,” he answers, his long strides continuing a bit further down your hallway. “Preferably more.”

You scoff, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you watch your ex–boyfriend scope out your apartment that he’s all too familiar with.

“He isn’t here.”

“So I’ve gathered,” he replies, his head poking into your bedroom.

Sylus did his best to sound nonchalant, as aloof as can be, though his heart rate was through the roof. He saw no signs of any male presence—no messily discarded clothes, no misplaced shoes, no second toothbrush in the bathroom—which meant that your relationship wasn’t as serious as he’d imagined.

And boy, was he relieved to figure that much out.

You straighten off the wall as he enters your bedroom, hurriedly walking behind him as you speak, “Y’know, since your objective for coming here can’t be achieved, you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Did I say that was my only objective?” he simply asks, eyes scanning your bedroom.

A bit had changed since he’d last been in here. You changed your comforter to a floral pattern, and you even matched the drapes to the shade of your bedding. Your attention to detail was something he admired about you, and his attention to detail was something you used to love, though as his eyes fell to your open underwear drawer—you’re growing to hate it. A lot.

“Get out of there!” you exclaim, rushing to shove it closed, only to catch his slender finger in the crossfire.

He winces slightly, lifting his already bruising finger to your line of vision. “You’ve wounded me, sweetie. Kiss it better?”

You scoff, slightly pushing his hand away from your face. In any other context, you would have apologized, but given the fact that Sylus had entered your apartment without invitation and threatened to harm your boyfriend within five minutes of his arrival was enough to make you think that this made the two of you almost even.

A small smirk tugs at Sylus’s lips as he presses his finger to his tongue, soothing the stinging that you caused. Your eyes linger on his mouth for a bit longer than they should, and if he noticed (which he certainly did), he didn’t say anything.

“I see you went shopping,” he mumbles, his eyes falling to your now closed underwear drawer. “That’s a shame, baby. A damn shame.”

You can’t help the scoff that leaves your mouth. “Why’s that?”

“I hate the idea of another man seeing you in such a way,” Sylus answers, tilting his head to the side as he gives your body an agonizingly slow once over, “in such pretty fabric, at that.”

Heat rushes to your face at his implication, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re uncomfortable or if you’re flustered by his forwardness. You figure it’s a mixture of both, but you mask it with an annoyed huff.

“I can do what I want,” you refute, crossing your arms over your chest. “And if what I want is to buy panties that you’ll never have the privilege of seeing me wear, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Sylus clicks his tongue, shaking his head with the slightest smirk curving upwards on his lips. He finds your attitude to be just as adorable as it is frustrating. With the way you look, arms tightly crossed over your chest with the tiniest wrinkle in between your eyebrows, he’d liken you to an angry kitten.

“If you’re trying to rile me up, you’re succeeding,” he states, drumming his fingers on your dresser.

Your eyes flit away. “I’m not trying to do anything. In fact, I want nothing to do with you.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. It’s the first time he’s looked remotely upset with you from the moment he arrived. “Your boyfriend may fall for this little act of yours, but I won’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sylus straightens up, his tall frame towering over you. You almost feel antsy under his gaze, but you do your best to hide it.

“I am what your heart truly desires,” he quietly murmurs, his finger tracing from the middle of your collarbones to the valley of your breasts. “And you can lie to him, you can even lie to yourself—but you cannot lie to me. I can see your deepest desires, remember?”

Betrayal is your body’s first instinct. Your breath hitches in your throat the moment the pad of his index finger runs across your skin, and you physically have to fight off a whine from escaping your lips.

In an attempt to salvage the situation, you straighten up, glancing towards your bedroom door. “That’s… bullshit, Sylus. Get out of my head.”

“It’s nothing of the sort,” he replies with a much gentler tone than the one he possessed prior. “And I’ll do no such thing. Your mind is my favorite place to be.”

He studies his reddened finger for a moment, silently deciding to steer the conversation from its more serious direction. “It still won’t feel better until it gets a kiss from its favorite girl, you know.”

Against your better judgment, your eyes betray you by studying the reddened pad of his finger. It shouldn’t be as enticing of a view as it is. You find it to be almost criminal.

“You can lose that finger for all I care,” you scoff, trying not to remember how good it used to feel inside of you.

“So brash.” Sylus forces a pout on his lips, though it doesn’t last long. He presses a kiss to his own finger before he extends his arm to rest on the edge of your dresser, keeping you caged against your drawers.

“You’re awfully lucky that I’m a forgiving man,” he murmurs, his red eyes trained to yours. “You can do almost anything to me and I’d allow it.”

Judging by the way your expression lights up, that seems to give you an idea.

“Really?” you inquire, narrowing your eyes. “Say, if I punched you square in your face, would you allow it?”

“I’m not opposed to finding out,” he answers, his eyelids fluttering as he continues to drink in your beauty. “You know I love it when you’re rough with me.”

That comment forces a flush to your face, and you almost have to pinch yourself to keep your mind from bringing forward all of the memories that proved just how true that statement was.

It infuriates you how easily he could get a reaction out of you, no less than six months after you broke up with him. Perhaps that was why, in a split second decision (one that you’re hardly aware you’re making), your fist goes flying towards his face.

Sylus firmly stops your wielding hand before it can make contact with his cheek. His fingers unwind your fist and bring your hand close, allowing him to press a few chaste kisses to your knuckles.

“Have I told you how pretty you look today?” he asks, his voice slightly muffled by the kisses he’s peppering along your palm and wrist. “So, so beautiful.”

Only he would say such a thing after you attempted to inflict bodily harm upon him. You wish you could rationalize his behavior, but you can’t—that’s just Sylus.

Your body betrays you in every way, shape, and form. Your face is flushed, your eyes are half lidded, and the mere contact of his lips on your knuckles is enough for butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

Grasping onto the last bit of common sense you have, you pull your hand from his grasp.

“It’s time for you to go,” you insist, beginning to slide against the dresser to escape his gaze.

Sylus allows you to create a bit of distance between the two of you, lifting his arm up from your dresser to let you walk away. The last thing he wants is to make you feel suffocated—the very reason you broke up with him in the first place.

He tried to do better, but when it came to you, he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t an animal, though. He loved you more than words could ever describe, and he’d allow you anything you wanted. And if physical space was what you wanted, he’d grant it to you.

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he quietly says, his voice carrying an unforeseen vulnerability to it, “but I can’t do what you’re asking of me. I can’t let you give yourself to a man who doesn’t deserve you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “How can you be so sure he doesn’t deserve me?”

“I know you, baby. That’s how.”

A beat of silence passes, and he conjures up the courage to continue. “And I’m positive there isn’t a single soul who could possibly deserve your favor,” Sylus reasons, loosely crossing his arms, his toned biceps showing through the sleeves of his black button–up shirt. “Not even myself. I’m man enough to recognize that.”

His answer catches you off guard, but you do your best to maintain your front. You don’t want him to see how his words seem to squeeze at your heart.

“Then why are you here?” you genuinely ask.

Sylus knows he’s backed himself into a corner, and contrary to what you might think, he’d intended to do just that. He wants you to give him the green light to speak every word that he’s longed to say to you from the moment he’d seen you last, and now that you have, the floodgates are open.

“I’m selfish,” he admits, taking a tentative step towards you. “I’m drunk on you, and I can’t bear the thought of sobering up, even after all this time. It’s unfair, it’s horrible, it’s cruel—I know this, sweetie. But… I find my serenity in your eyes, and with you gone, my life is purgatory. The confines of hell must be more pleasant than what it is that I feel when I’m without you.”

Internally, you’re floored. Gobsmacked, even. Externally, you’re looking at him with the same soft expression you’ve worn this entire time.

Met with your silence, Sylus begins to internally panic. He slowly takes a few steps towards you, and when you don’t attempt to maintain the distance between you, his hands move to cup your face.

“Rid me of this life,” he whispers, his mouth so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fan across your lips. “I can’t go on, not without you beside me.”

You truly hate how easy it is for him to reduce you to nothing but putty. You have a new boyfriend, you’ve moved on, you’ve allowed the love that you and Sylus shared to be nothing more than history.

You wanted to believe that moving forward was the best thing you could do, but if that was true, why is it that your heart hadn’t felt full until you laid eyes on Sylus? It seems to beat differently, like it’s finally come back to life in his presence.

Noticing the softening of your eyes, Sylus can’t help himself. He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, holding both of you there for a few seconds. The sheer tenderness of his action was enough to make you melt, and you were sure you would’ve if his hands on your face weren’t grounding you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he admits, tilting your head up so that he can look into your eyes.

Sylus was never one for verbal affection (or being desperate for a woman’s favor) prior to you, but he’d make this exception a million times over if it meant he could have you however you’d let him.

You’ve nearly forgotten all of your allegiances, and you can’t even blame yourself for it. You know that indulging in him is like eating a forbidden fruit, and even then, you can’t forbid yourself from its taste—not when you know how sweet it is. What you feel goes beyond want; it’s pure, unadulterated need.

“No response for me?” he asks.

You shake your head, swallowing the growing lump in your throat. You carefully slide out of his grasp and sit on the edge of your bed, his eyes trailing you as you do so.

You’re a firm believer that nothing is real until you’ve said it out loud, Sylus is more than aware of that. He doesn’t want to push you too hard, too fast, too much, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

As you sit, your thighs naturally part and your skirt rides up just a bit, enough for the pink fabric clothing your pussy to be shown. That sight alone was able to elicit behavior that you’ve never once seen from Sylus.

“God, you are a privilege,” he murmurs, taking a few steps towards you. Without hesitation, he slowly descends to his knees before you, his hands trailing up your thighs. “Such a sight,” he adds his eyes flitting to the dampening fabric of your underwear, “such a beautiful sight.”

If his words weren’t enough, the sight of him kneeling in front of you was enough to make you faint. (Or scream. Or cum. Maybe all three at the same time, you’re not sure.)

“Allow me the night,” Sylus pleads, his desperate red eyes finally locking onto yours. His hand moves to brush your hair from your face, tucking it loosely behind your ear. “Just the night. One night to indulge you.”

Lying would be no use, all things considered. He’d already shamelessly eyed the needy area between your thighs, knowing that the arousal collecting there is for him. Your stomach swirls with a mixture of guilt and need, and you honestly feel like you’re in an impossible position.

“Sylus,” you breathe, your heartbeat thumping so hard that you’re surprised your chest hasn’t burst. “This is so wrong.”

He shakes his head as his large, gentle hands move to rest on your knees. “Your pleasure means more to me than a simple case of right and wrong.”

“I wish it was as simple as you make it seem,” you say, a long sigh leaving you.

“Can’t it be?” Sylus questions, his thumbs idly stroking your knees. “Allow me this one night to remind you of how I feel about you, how you feel about me. If you want me to leave you alone by the time morning comes, I will accept that with a smile.”

You’d like to imagine that you’re stronger than this, that the idea of a final night of lovemaking with your ex-boyfriend to get him out of your head for good isn’t appealing—but it is.

It’s something you’ve thought about before (in the dead of night with your hand stuffed down your shorts), but never did you think it could become a reality.

Only now, with him kneeling in front of you, it was.

“Okay,” you sheepishly murmur. “Remind me.”

You know this is absolutely horrible of you to do, but you can’t find the will to deny yourself this. As much as you tried to get Sylus out of your head, you never could. Not long enough for it to make a difference, anyway.

(Perhaps this, a final intimate night between the two of you, will be just what you need to move on for good.)

Sylus knows that his time with you is limited, but he plans to make it the best night of your existence.

(Perhaps if he can remind you of how much he’s willing to give, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you—you’ll change your mind.)

His large, strong hands trail up as he drapes your legs over his shoulders, pressing a few kisses to your calves and inner thighs. He presses a kiss to the fabric of your underwear, his tongue drawing out to taste the wet spot.

Sylus isn’t sure what’s come over him, but he honestly feels like he’ll either implode or cry at the sight of you right now. To have you again is something he’s dreamt about more than he’d like to admit, and he plans to show you just how much your absence has affected him as his fingers slide beneath your skirt to hook under the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Thank you,” he mutters against your skin, tugging the clothing piece down your legs. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters aloud the moment his eyes land on your heat.

He could seriously cum in his pants right now, and if he’s not careful, he will. His hands lock onto your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed to give him better access to your glistening cunt.

“Pussy’s all mine,” he breathes, licking a long stripe up your slit.

You would have replied if he hadn’t buried his face in between your thighs. His tongue laps at your wetness before he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly at it with hollowed cheeks.

A cry leaves your lips at the sensation, your hand gripping onto his white hair as you revel in the feeling his tongue is giving you.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, his own moans rumbling into your cunt, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. Sylus could do this for days if you let him, but after not having you like this for so long, he can’t help himself from needing more.

Within moments, he’s slowly pushing you higher on your bed, still licking at your pussy until he’s physically unable to. He looks up at you with crazed eyes, licking his spit-slick lips as he kicks his shoes off.

“Sit on my face,” he murmurs, moving to lay on your bed. When he’s met with your hesitance, he’s grasping onto your arm to carefully pull you towards him. “I might die without it.”

You’ve never once seen a man so pussy drunk in your entire life, but you’re in absolutely no position to deny him. So, you move to hover above him, your hands resting on your headboard. You hear a satisfied moan beneath you, and he’s soon hooking his arms around your thighs.

“You won’t die without it,” you grumble. “In fact, you might die because of it. Suffocation—”

“Suffocation of this kind might be the best way to go,” he cuts you off, licking a faint swipe against your folds. “In fact, when we’re old and withered, it might be my last ask of you.”

Your face flushes, and you can feel heat rushing to both your cunt and your cheeks. Noticing the coy face you’re making, Sylus can’t help himself from laying a faint smack on your ass, squeezing its plushness as he stares up at you.

“For now, though,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I want you to let go for me. Can’t have you dangling this pretty cunt in my face without letting me taste it.”

As you hesitantly begin to relax your thighs and lower on top of him, he lifts his head up to meet you halfway and gather your slick on his tongue.

“Very good, baby,” Sylus purrs, dropping his head back onto your sheets as he pulls your hips down the rest of the way, “now sit.”

When all of your weight crashes down on him, a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sheer passion behind the movements of his tongue. He almost seems to be more incentivized. His eyes flutter shut as he mouths at your pussy, the moans leaving his mouth in combination with the absolute filthy sounds of his tongue are enough to drive you insane.

Sylus feels like he’s finally left purgatory and has transcended into heaven. With his pretty girl on his face, taking her on his tongue, making the most beautiful little noises—he’s honestly never felt better.

(Well, there is that whole new boyfriend thing looming in the back of his mind, but he’s sure that you’ll take care of that once he’s done taking care of you.)

One of your hands leaves the headboard to grasp onto his hair, your eyes screwing shut as you rock your hips over his tongue. “Sylus,” you breathe out through a moan. “I’m— oh, shit—”

Sylus’s cock twitches as you moan his name, his eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands help to guide the rocking of your hips. With his other, he palms himself through his trousers, his mouth working tirelessly to make you feel good.

Even as self-admittedly selfish as he is, he can’t bear the idea of putting his pleasure above your own—even if the ache is physically eating away at him. With you writhing above him, the sounds you’re making, the look on your face, it’s all too much—even for him.

Your mouth lulls open as you let out the most beautiful whine he’s ever heard, and his tongue slows down, working you through your first orgasm of the night. He eagerly collects your juices with his tongue, his eyes rolling back as he finally presses a final kiss to your swollen clit.

“I can stay this way forever,” he says against your inner thigh, placing a kiss to your warm skin, “you and me,” he places another kiss, “together.”

You shift to lay beside him, out of breath and looking beautifully disheveled. Sylus licks his lips and lies starry–eyed beside you. Soon enough, a huff of laughter escaped his throat, realizing he might’ve said too much there.

Sylus turns his head to look at you. “Was that enough to get an ‘I miss you too’ out of that mouth of yours?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your hand running over your face. “No,” you lie.

That was the best orgasm you’ve had since your breakup, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You’ve developed quite the attitude,” he muses, rolling on top of you. He slots his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. “That boyfriend of yours must not fuck it out of you like he should,” he adds, the low volume of his voice rumbling against your skin as he kisses along your jaw, “like I can.”

Before you can think twice, you’re lifting your hips against the bulge in his pants, a soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the very prominent shape of his hardened cock. With a grunt, Sylus pushes your hips down, his fingers brushing against your inner thighs.

“Such a needy little thing,” he chastises, his hand moving to cup your mound. “First you’re insisting I leave, and now you’re hoping I’ll give you my cock. You’re sending me mixed signals here, sweetie.”

You’re seeing stars, and your hand grasps onto his wrist, feeling the way his muscles tense as he begins to toy with your clit.

“I want it,” you whine, your toes curling as the pad of his middle finger circles your entrance, “you’re… you’re being a tease.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, licking a long stripe up your neck. “If you want it bad enough, you’re going to have to prove it, baby.”

Your head tilts to the side as Sylus pulls away from your neck to look down at you. His fingers move to work at the button of your skirt, tugging it down your legs and tossing it onto the floor of your room.

“How?” you ask.

He presses his lips to yours as his hands tug up your shirt, breaking the kiss to carefully pull it over your head. His large hands palm at your breasts, bringing your perked nipples in between his fingers.

“Pick up the phone,” Sylus answers, releasing your breasts to sit up in front of you, his hands moving to undo his belt.

Your curiosity soon turns into something much more lustful as he pulls his trousers and boxers down his thighs. His shirt goes next, the articles of clothing decorating your floor. His cock looks even better than you remember, but he snaps his fingers in front of your face to gather your attention.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, shaking your head to snap yourself out of your trance.

“Pick up the phone,” he repeats, reaching to your bedside table to hand you your cell.

You take the device from him, looking at it with confusion. You were embarrassed that you hadn’t even noticed it ringing, far too distracted by the sight of him stroking his hand along his length, but your embarrassment soon turns into dread as you read the caller ID.

It is, of course, none other than your boyfriend.

“Sylus, that’s— that’s crazy,” you stammer out, looking between his eyes, his dick, and your phone.

He snickers, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands grasp onto the plush of your hips to pull your ass up. “What’s crazy is the fact that you expect me to fuck you without your boyfriend’s knowledge.”

“You’re above adultery?” you gasp out.

Sylus shakes his head, his hand moving to prod your entrance with the tip of his cock, his other hand grasping onto your hair to pull you back against his chest.

“Obviously not,” he replies, licking along the shell of your ear. “Just want to show him how beneath it you are.”

Your heart slams against your chest as he takes the device from you and answers the call, holding the phone to your ear.

“Let him hear,” he purrs, slowly pushing his cock inside of you. “The noises you make with my cock buried inside you are such a prize. It’d be a disservice to not share.”

A sharp whine leaves your lips as he tugs on your hair, tilting your head to give himself better access to your neck as he bottoms out inside of you. “Tell him what you’re up to, sweetie,” he simply says, sucking a faint mark onto your neck.

On the other end of the line, your partner begins to blab on about his day, though you’re hardly able to listen, not when Sylus is pushing his cock inside of you like a madman. Your body tenses as he stretches you out, the sensation forcing a moan out of your mouth, though the man on the other end of the line didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, resting his chin on the crook of your shoulder to press an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, “taking my cock so nicely. Missed this pussy so much.”

“—so then, I told him… wait. Are you with someone?”

Your heart rate skyrockets as Sylus draws his hips back only to pound the length of his cock inside of you. “Oh, fuck… y-yes,” you choke into the phone, almost breathless.

“Thank you for your confession, my dear,” Sylus teasingly remarks, knowing that your response was a reaction to how good he feels inside of you rather than an answer to your boyfriend’s question.

He presses a faint kiss to your shoulder as he thrusts into you again, using his grip on your hair to push you back onto your stomach. A hand smoothes over the curve of your back, his long fingers hooking around the plush of your hip to remind you that he’s still present despite the situation. He then brings the phone to his own ear, watching with a wide grin as you arch your back to take as much of his cock as you can.

“Our friend can’t talk right now,” he says into the receiver, grunting as your walls clench around him. “She’s gotten lost and found herself on my cock, which is such a positive turn of events, let me tell you,” the pace of his hips thrusting into you only seems to get more intense with each word he says, “considering it’s right where she belongs.”

“W-what? Who the fuck are you? I—”

“I can’t stay on the line to talk much either,” Sylus continues, his free hand grasping a bit tighter onto your hair as he tugs on it to fuck deeper and harder inside of you, his skin slapping against yours with each heavy thrust. “Have to make her cum for all the times you couldn’t.”

You’re lost in a whirlwind of sensations, your mouth gaped open as you moan out with each thrust he makes, your back arched as much as you could make it. You can feel a pool of warmth building inside of your lower stomach, and you let out a cry of pleasure.

You haven’t been fucked this good in, well… six months. That much is obvious to the both of you, given the way you’ve been losing your mind with each forceful push of his hips. He knows your body in ways you’ll never understand, and luckily for you, you don’t need to understand in order to receive the pleasure that he’s desperately trying to give you.

“Sylus!” you gasp out, serving as a warning for how close you already are.

“Mm, I have to go, duty calls,” Sylus says into the phone, releasing his grip on your hair to move his hand between your legs, two of his fingers circling your clit. “Call my woman again and I’ll kill you.”

Tapping the screen to end the call, he tosses your phone mindlessly, and it’s only when you hear it drop against the floor do you turn around to look at him.

“Sylus!” you scold.

He gives you a wry smile as he slowly pulls out of you, rolling you onto your back. “I’ll buy you a new one, pretty. Don’t worry.”

You open your mouth to protest, but when he slowly pushes his cock inside of you again, you’re hardly in the protesting mood at all.

Sylus towers over you, his forearm propping him up as he slowly fucks into you, his red eyes trained to yours. “God, baby, I’ve missed you.”

Almost instinctively, your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to you. There was a hidden intimacy of this position that you’ve always loved. He obliges to your request, resting his forehead on yours as he thrusts harder inside of you.

“You take me so well,” he whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “So, so beautifully.”

You mewl at the softness of his praise, your eyes glossing over as he continues to fuck you into oblivion, your walls tensing around him. He hisses at the feeling, dipping his head to press a kiss on your cheek.

He can tell that you’re close, and he knows just what you need. He won’t give it to you so easily, though.

“Sweetie?” he breathes out.

You nod your head before breathlessly replying, “yeah?”

Sylus gives you a smirk as he raises his bruised finger to your lips. “Kiss it better. Let me use it on you.”

Protest is not on your agenda anymore, not by a long shot. You kiss the pad of his finger without hesitation, and you proceed to capture it with your mouth, your tongue soothing the bruising.

He smiles at the sight, a groan leaving his lips as he continues to thrust his cock inside of you. “So pretty, baby. God, you’re beautiful.”

Sylus retracts his finger from your mouth to bring it to your clit, his spit-slick finger rubbing it in beautiful, moan-earning circles. He watches as your eyes almost immediately haze over at the stimulation.

He lowers his head to suck on your nipple, his free hand palming at your other breast as means of stimulating you in any way he can. After a moment, he latches onto your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak.

“God, ah— Sylus!” you moan, your hands wrapping around his neck.

He nips at your breast before he pulls away, a guttural moan leaving his mouth as he feels you clench around his cock. “Going to come for me again, beautiful?”

You nod your head, rising up from the pillow to press a kiss on his lips, and his large hand moves to cup the back of your head as he kisses you through your orgasm. His fingers gently thread through your hair, giving you the best of both worlds.

“Cream my cock, baby. It’s all yours, always will be,” he mutters against your lips, his thrusts growing slower as he twitches inside of you.

Sylus breaks the kiss to look down at you, a heavy pant leaving him. “Where do you want me?” he breathlessly asks.

As if that were a question you ever responded differently to, he still needed to ask, even though you answered just the same. “In… in me.”

He nods his head as he thrusts inside of you a few more times, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek as he bottoms out inside of you, stuffing you full of his thick, white cum.

A moment passes in which the two of you simply pant breathlessly to each other, your sweaty foreheads pressed together. It was a beautiful scene by all measures.

“I missed you too,” you finally pant out, a smile breaking your lips. “I missed you a lot.”

He chuckles breathlessly at that. “I missed you even more, sweetie.”

Sylus presses a soft kiss on your cheek before he slowly pulls out of you, traveling slowly to your bathroom before returning with a damp towel. He settles in front of you again, using the warm towel to gently clean up the mess he’s made of you between your legs.

You stare at him with the most lovestruck eyes he’s ever seen, and it only makes him smile. “You tired, baby?” he lowly asks.

Nodding your head, you extend your arms to him, and he pulls you in without question. He lies down on his back, holding you against his chest. His large hand runs over your back while the other one tugs your blankets over the both of you, giving you a bit of warmth.

Not that he needed anything more than your presence. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, holding the woman that he loves, running his fingers over her hair just as he used to.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your ear, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. It’s almost concerning how much he loves you, but he can’t help it.

“I love you,” you lazily return the sentiment.

As you cuddle into his chest, you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up today, if he’d left you alone, if he let you move on.

You know it’s crazy to think about.

After all, it’s Sylus. Your Sylus. He’s the only person you’ve ever needed, and now that he’s reminded you of that, you won’t forget it.

note. thank you for reading! please interact if you enjoyed!! <3 i don’t even know what the hell this is—we have possessive, dominant, and soft sylus in one go. but hey, it works for me, so i hope it works for you. pls pls pls give me ideas to write more for this sexy man—i never get tired of him!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

#♥︎ tojicide #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin #sylus #lads sylus #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus smut #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace #lads #love & deepspace

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musicianfiend · 2 years ago

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Play It: Iron Maiden's "The Writing On The Wall"

To achieve the guitar tone for Iron Maiden’s “The Writing on the Wall,” you’ll want to capture Maiden’s signature sound, which combines a mix of clean and distorted tones. Here’s a breakdown of the gear and settings you can use to get close to that tone. Guitar Iron Maiden’s guitarist, Adrian Smith, often uses Fender Stratocasters and Jackson guitars. For this song, a Stratocaster with…

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solelifauna · 6 months ago

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With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?”

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on.

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless.

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile.

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

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cloudwisp · 6 months ago

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✮ sylus x fem!reader

contents: fluff and sweetness. pre-relationship. more than friends but less than lovers trope. many shared little moments with sylus that make it special 🤍

⭒ It becomes second nature for Sylus to carry your purse on his shoulder when you both have an outing and he follows you around like an obedient puppy as you shop from one clothing rack to another. Sometimes he gets distracted on his phone whilst glancing up at you every now and then that he doesn’t realize you both are in the men’s section. A rather adorable pondering expression on your face as you hold a shirt up to his chest. “I think this would suit you nicely.” No second opinion is needed and he collects the item from you for purchasing because if you say so then he believes it.

⭒ When Sylus somehow finds himself a passenger because maybe you wanted to test drive his car that easily has 1600hp—he’s thoroughly amused as you feel out the dynamics of the vehicle. More so when you accidentally step on the brakes a little too hard, as you are unfamiliar with the sensitivity of the pedals. In a show of panic, you throw your arm across his chest to brace for the sudden jolt which earns you a teasing remark followed by a playful quip back at him. However, there’s a subtle smile on his lips as you continue down the road because your first instinct is to save him.

⭒ You and Sylus have a casual routine with Friday nights being reserved for the both of you. When you’d normally grab takeout during the busy working week, you opt for a simple home-cooked meal to unwind and enjoy a leisurely evening. Before you can even register the force of habit, you’re pulling out two plates to set the table and like clockwork Sylus appears at your apartment door. A little bag of your favorite pastries to finish off the meal with something sweet because he learned you couldn’t go without it. Funny how he knows these things about you, and how you knew to grab his favorite cheese pancakes on the way home for appetizers.

⭒ The crow twins deliver you something on behalf of Sylus and he receives a little treat from you every other time this happens. You’d pack a small box of savory/sweet baked goods that you made earlier in the day to return his thoughtful gesture. However, at your words Luke and Kieran assumed a surprise wouldn’t be missed if their boss doesn’t know about it. Fast forward to those two apologetic boys surrounded by a swirling red and kneeling before their boss under his menacing stare because those cream puffs should've been handed to him directly. After hearing about this, you made certain to pack enough for the three of them next time.

⭒ Napping at someone else’s home other than your own feels like uncharted territory because sleeping anywhere but your warm and familiar bed places you in a vulnerable position. Even though Sylus has given you permission to make yourself comfortable at his estate several times, the safest place you feel is beside him with your head lulling against his shoulder when you’re running on a few hours of sleep. He’s the picture of comfort with a fleeting kiss to your head and draping his coat over you, and he may even find his cheek pressed against you to catch some shut-eye himself.

⭒ There’s something to be said about Sylus being led by you—he secretly loves surrendering himself to your every whim and that includes you tugging him by the hand and steering him toward the direction of cute ducklings paddle their way into the waters with a splash. Your elated reaction and innocent sparkle is all very endearing to him and he takes a moment to savor it before shifting his gaze to the small animals. “Now, aren’t you glad we decided to have this stroll after all?” You offer him your response and his heart warms when he realizes that you still haven’t let go of his hand.

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #sylus lads #sylus fluff #sylus l&ds #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus lnd #lads sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader

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fuzzkaizer · 8 days ago

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Black Mountain - Volume Pedal

roller volume pedal

"Half the Size of a Standard Volume Pedal!"

cred: blackmountainpicks.com

#black mountain #volume pedal #roller pedal #expression #roller knob

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pedaloftheday · 1 year ago

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youtube

The crew at Hotone Audio has done the impossible: made an Expression Pedal kinda sexy...head over to our YouTube channel as we explore the Ampero II Press Expression / Switcher pedal - this thing is pretty damn wild, folks!!

#pedaloftheday #hotone #hotoneaudio #ampero #amperopress #expression #expressionpedal #guitarpedals #effectspedals #guitar #effects #pedals #knowyourtone #pedalsandeffects #guitareffects #pedalboard #guitarist #Youtube

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mooningningg · 1 day ago

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JJK Rock Band when you're being shipped with another member.

ᴊᴊᴋ ʀᴏᴄᴋ ʙᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ

Notes, lovely anon for requesting this.

★ Drummer!Sukuna, being shipped with Toji.

Sukuna is drinking his coffee when Gojo says it.

"Yo, did you see that post? ‘Toji x that girl who’s always with them’? That’s literally you and your girl."

Sukuna stares at him.

"The fuck did you just say?"

"It had like 60k likes. They said Toji looked at her like she was his whole world."

Sukuna doesn’t blink. Just turns his head and starts glaring at Toji mid-soundcheck.

Toji, blinking: "What?"

Sukuna gave him a dead glare, "Why’re you making eye contact with my girl?"

Toji furrows his brows, "Bro. She said hi."

Sukuna won’t speak to you for like an hour. Just scoffs and slams the kick pedal louder than usual every time he sees your name trending next to Toji’s.

Eventually, you catch him sulking in the van.

"Are you seriously mad about internet comments?"

"They said you’d have prettier kids with Toji."

You climb onto his lap and kiss his jaw. "They’re wrong."

Sukuna grumbles, wrapping his arms around you like a seatbelt. "Damn right they are."

★ Vocalist!Gojo, being shipped with Choso.

Gojo’s mid-hair routine when he opens Twitter and sees:

"that soft girl who follows Gojo around all the time and choso? soulmates. i said what i said."

He freezes, holding the flat iron in one hand.

Satoru exclaims, "I’m gonna be sick."

Suguru turns to look at him, "You okay?"

"No. They’re giving my girl to the goth piano man."

He spends the whole day pouting.

At practice, he refuses to sing Choso’s harmonies properly. He sings them off-key on purpose.

Choso looks at him, eyes half lidded, "...Did I do something?"

"Nothing. Just stole my life partner, but whatever."

Later, you bring Gojo a drink, and he won’t even look at you.

You finally bring it up, "You're being weird."

Gojo replies, "Do you think he'd write you poems?"

"I literally bring you snacks and chapstick daily."

He softens. "You're right. I'm the total package."

Then he snaps a selfie with you and captions it: “me and the girl you can’t have 🧃❤️”

★ Guitarist!Suguru, being shipped with Gojo.

He finds the edit while scrolling late at night. It’s a clip of Gojo tossing you his sunglasses and you putting them on while laughing.

“Gojo x her is the sunshine duo we DESERVE.”

Suguru just stares at the screen, expression unreadable.

Next morning, he sends it to Gojo with no context.

Gojo: "LMAO do they know she falls asleep on your chest?"

Suguru: "Apparently not."

That night, Suguru brings you coffee, sets it down gently, then murmurs, "Don’t wear his sunglasses again."

You blink. "Wait, is this about that video?"

He doesn't answer. Just lifts your chin and kisses you.

A minute later he posts a blurry photo of your hands intertwined on his story with the caption:

“sunshine? she’s always been mine.”

Gojo reposts it and adds: “don’t be jealous I’m prettier 💋”

Suguru blocks him for 24 hours.

★ Bassist!Toji, being shipped with Suguru.

Toji doesn't do Twitter. But he does hear about it from Gojo, who will never let it go.

"They said Suguru and your girl give off forbidden lovers energy."

Toji raises an eyebrow. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means people think she should’ve chosen him instead."

Toji looks across the room where you're laughing at something Suguru said.

He walks over. Picks up your bag.

"We’re leaving."

You blink. "Wait, what? We just got here."

"Too much forbidden love in this room. Come on."

Later that night, he gives you his hoodie and tugs you close while you're brushing your teeth.

"You like his hair or something?"

"You’re the one I fall asleep next to."

He grunts. Satisfied.

Next gig, he wears a shirt that says: “she’s with the bassist. stay mad.”

He doesn’t say a word about it.

★ Keyboardist!Choso, being shipped with Sukuna.

Choso finds a clip of Sukuna teasing you and you throwing a napkin at him. Someone zoomed in on Sukuna smirking and wrote:

“why does sukuna lowkey flirt with her like they’re already married 😭”

Choso stares at it.

Closes his phone.

Later, Sukuna throws a drumstick toward your chair at rehearsal and grins when you roll your eyes.

Choso is silent the entire practice.

Afterward, you ask, "Are you mad?"

He shakes his head. "Just… quiet today."

Then adds, "Do you think he’s hotter?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

Choso shrugs. "I wear all black. He wears no sleeves."

You wrap your arms around his neck.

"He’s loud. You’re home."

That night, he posts a quiet video of you leaning against his shoulder in the green room, captioned:

“not loud, not flashy, still hers.”

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 3 months ago

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Y/n vs. Lando’s Simulator Addiction

Word count: 620

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Y/n is tired of Lando prioritizing his sim racing over romantic dates.

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Y/n leaned against the doorway of Lando’s gaming room, arms crossed, watching him with an unimpressed expression. His eyes were glued to the triple monitors, fingers effortlessly working the wheel and pedals as if his life depended on it. The sound of tires screeching and engines roaring filled the room.

This had become their routine. Lando had free time? Straight to the sim. Morning? Sim. Afternoon? Sim. Midnight? Still sim. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his dedication—God, she loved how passionate he was—but she was starting to feel like she was competing with a machine for his attention.

“You know,” she finally spoke, making Lando flinch slightly, “I think I deserve some quality time that doesn’t involve me watching you pretend to drive a car.”

Lando barely spared her a glance. “Babe, this isn’t pretending. It’s training.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Training for what?”

“This is serious business,” he said, still hyper-focused. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Oh, that did it. Y/n straightened, jaw tightening. He wouldn’t get away with dismissing her like that.

“Okay, McSimBoy. Let’s make a bet,” she declared.

That finally got his attention. Lando paused the game and turned to her with a smirk. “Oh? You wanna bet me? On the sim? You’ve never even raced before.”

“Exactly,” she said, playing up her inexperience. “So, if I win, you owe me five romantic dates. I get to pick them, and no complaining.”

Lando laughed, tilting his head back. “This is the easiest bet I’ve ever made. And when I win?”

Y/n shrugged. “Whatever you want.”

He grinned. “Alright, then. You’re on.”

What Lando didn’t know was that Y/n had been training in secret for weeks—with none other than Max Verstappen as her coach.

“You know,” Max had said during their first training session, “this might be the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Y/n huffed, gripping the wheel as she tried to keep up with him on the Red Bull simulator. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or scared.”

“A bit of both,” Max smirked.

Every day, Y/n had dedicated hours to perfecting her skills, learning everything from racing lines to braking techniques. Max was relentless, but she loved every second of it. The best part? Lando had no clue.

Lando sat in his usual seat, all confidence, fingers flexing over the wheel. Y/n took her place beside him, cool and composed.

“Ready to lose, love?” he teased.

She simply smiled. “We’ll see.”

The lights went out, and the race began.

Within the first lap, Lando was concerned. By the second lap, he was nervous. And by the third? He was absolutely terrified.

Y/n was fast—not just “surprisingly good” fast, but “how the hell did you get this fast?” fast. She nailed every corner, executed flawless overtakes, and blocked him with zero hesitation.

Lando, gripping the wheel in disbelief, finally shouted, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Y/n grinned. “Guess I do get it after all.”

Max, watching the whole thing from Y/n’s phone on FaceTime, burst out laughing. “Lando, mate, you’re getting cooked!”

Lando’s eyes widened. “MAX?! YOU TRAINED WITH MAX?!”

“Oops,” Y/n said playfully. “Forgot to mention that part.”

Despite his best efforts, Lando couldn’t recover. Y/n crossed the finish line first, throwing her hands up in victory.

“YES! YOU OWE ME FIVE DATES!” she cheered.

Lando sat back in defeat, running a hand down his face. “This is the most betrayed I’ve ever felt.”

Y/n leaned in, pecking his cheek. “You’ll live. Now, start planning date number one.”

And just like that, the simulator had finally lost its grip on Lando Norris.

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strawberry-nugget · 8 days ago

Text

Beach day with Katsuki + grinding and cuddling with him underwater in a sea cave. 🤧🥰

Pairing: Bakugo x fem!reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW-ish, MDNI, grinding underwater, loads of kissing, fluff, i might write smut for this

Unbeknownst to him, Katsuki is the funniest person in existence and today, every time you look at him, you giggle a little more.

Maybe it’s because he’s too huge for the pedal boat the two of you rented for the day, or maybe because he looks ghostly white from the amount of sunscreen on his face. Or it’s both, paired with his ridiculous long sleeved white shirt that he said is specifically for swimming, while he’s peddling in the middle of sea.

Then again, it’s the ‘one piece’ style hat as well.

You’re not even sure when the laughing started—maybe when you first caught sight of Katsuki trying to stuff his long legs under the tiny canopy of the pedal boat, scowling like it personally offended him.

Or maybe it was when he insisted on applying a “proper layer” of SPF 100, smearing it across his nose and cheeks with the precision of a soldier applying war paint. Either way, it’s been downhill— rather, down current— since.

Because now, as he continues pedalling furiously across the open sea in his bright white rashguard, sleeves pulled all the way down despite the heat, face ghostly pale with the overzealous application of sunscreen, and his wide-brimmed fisherman hat flopping slightly with every gust of wind—you lose it again.

You giggle. Just a little at first.

He glances over his shoulder. “What.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “Nothing.”

But it’s not nothing. It’s quite literally everything.

It’s the way his knees keep hitting the bottom of the console, his arms comically too broad for the flimsy little steering lever. It’s the hat string tied snug under his chin like a five-year-old on a field trip. It’s the gruff, sun-drenched expression of a man trying to maintain dignity while slowly being baked alive by the sun and his own fashion choices.

“You’re laughin’ again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re lookin’ at me and laughin’, what the fuck is this funny?!”

You snort, trying to hide your grin behind your water bottle. “You’re funny.”

A new wave of laughter hits you and this time Katsuki shows his annoyance by painting it on his face. He squints his eyes and pouts, jaw almost slack to the side, nose scrunched “I’m careful of the sun. Im not funny”

“You are. You look like a diver ghost trying to cosplay as a sailor.”

He narrows his eyes at you, hat brim casting the perfect dramatic shadow across his sunscreen-smeared face. “You wanna swim back to shore?”

You burst out laughing, the kind that makes your stomach ache and tears well at the corners of your eyes. He glares, cheeks just barely turning pink beneath the layer of zinc.

But you see the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, the glint of embarrassment in his eyes and way past him, finally, the shore of the tiny piece of land in the middle of the shallow part of the ocean where there should be sea caves to explore.

“You’re so cute though Kats”

“Tch-whatever”

By some miracle—and Katsuki’s terrifying leg strength—you actually make it to the island without capsizing. It’s not much more than a slab of rock in the sea, scattered with tide pools and jagged inlets, but it’s quiet, glimmering under the sun like a secret.

Katsuki hops out first, water splashing around his calves. He grabs the edge of the boat and steadies it so you can step out—like he hasn’t just spent twenty minutes being heckled by you nonstop.

“Thanks,” you say innocently, taking his hand as he helps you onto the slippery rocks.

“‘Course,” he mutters, eyes flicking down to your feet like he’s trying not to look anywhere else. “Don’t slip, babe.”

The sun glints off the water, the air smells like brine and sunscreen, and everything feels a little too golden. You wander inland a few steps, the soles of your sandals squelching as you step over barnacles and shallow tide pools. Somewhere up ahead, under the overhang of rock, a dark slit in the stone opens up into a shallow cave.

“Oh,” you grin, turning over your shoulder. “That’s definitely swimmable.”

Katsuki squints at it. “Bet it’s cold as hell.”

“You scared?”

His brow twitches. “No.”

“I think you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He steps forward suddenly, casting a shadow over you, his hat flopping forward like an exclamation mark. “Say that again.”

You’re grinning, not backing down. “You’re scared.”

Without warning, he bends down and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You shriek—startled, laughing, kicking gently at the air as he stalks toward the cave entrance with you dangling upside down.

“Katsuki! Don’t you dare—”

“Too late,” he growls, amused and smug, wading into the water. “Say I’m funny again.”

“You are—you’re the funniest man alive—Katsuki, seriously—!”

And then you’re dropped.

Not hard—just enough for your legs to splash into the cold seawater with a high-pitched yelp as he lets go of your thighs. You scramble up, soaked and squealing, water rushing around your waist as you shove at his chest. He just smirks, towering, smug as hell, droplets clinging to his lashes.

You splash him back, hard, both hands against the center of his chest. He barely budges, but the water does, sending a spray straight into his smug face.

“Asshole,” you mutter, squinting at him through the salt. “This shirt isn’t even for swimming.”

“Yes it is,” he fires back immediately, swiping water from his eyes. “It’s UV-protective.”

“It’s ugly-protective.”

Katsuki scoffs like he’s offended, but his grin gives him away. “You’re pushin’ it.”

“Or what? You’ll throw me back in?” You gesture to the waist-deep water, arms flung out. “Go ahead, I’m already soaked.”

He stares at you for a beat too long. You can hear the waves lapping gently against the cave wall behind him, the muffled echoes of water in stone. The cave’s mouth darkens the light just enough that the world feels cooler in here, more private. Your laughter settles into your skin like warmth, like the sun above.

Katsuki’s smile fades into something softer.

He doesn’t answer with words—just wades in closer. His hands find your hips under the water, fingers curling with the casual certainty of someone who knows he’s allowed to touch you like this. You blink up at him, water dripping down your temples, your hair sticking wet and cold to your cheeks.

You reach up and gently push wet bangs from his eyes—those sea-glinting, vermillion eyes that always look a little wild when he’s outside, untamed by four walls or mission structure. “You’ve got sunscreen on your eyebrows,” you murmur.

He rasps a laugh. “Don’t fuckin’ care.”

You lean in. Press your mouth to his in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and the tinny sweetness of your water bottle. His lips are hot and dry and then not—they part, wet now, his breath low and uneven against your cheek as he leans down into you, both of you half-floating in the cool sea.

It’s unhurried. Lazy and warm and something else, too. Something that simmers right under the surface.

His hand slips down your back, tracing the dip of your spine. The heat of his palm feels sharp against the coolness of your skin, and you shiver—but definitely not from the temperature of the water.

You tilt your head and kiss him again. Deeper this time. He makes a sound at the back of his throat, quiet and wrecked, like you’ve caught him off guard. His grip on you tightens—just slightly—and he walks you backwards until your hips hit the slippery rock ledge at the edge of the cave wall.

Water sloshes up, foams around your waist.

“Katsuki,” you breathe against his mouth.

He exhales, lips brushing yours as he kisses you again—slower now. Hands sliding up under the sides of your bottoms, knuckles grazing then the band of your bikini top. “Fuckin’—look at you,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. “Drippin’, laughin’ like that, makin’ fun of me…”

You grin lazily. “You liked it.”

“Did not.” He pouts

“You love it when I tease you.”

He leans in and kisses your jaw, your cheek, just beneath your ear where his breath makes your skin rise in goosebumps. “I like shuttin’ you up.”

“Mmm.” You tangle your fingers in his hair, damp and briny, push it back so you can see the flush rising on his cheeks. His hat is long gone, washed back into the sea like a tiny white flag of surrender, housing his silly UV protective shirt in it as well. For a second you chuckle at the thought.

He looks beautiful like this—messy and wet and glowing, skin ever so slightly kissed by the sun and heat and your hands.

“Then shut me up,” you whisper.

And oh well he does.

Not all at once—he’s too deliberate for that. His kisses turn slow again, wet and open-mouthed, tasting you like he’s letting the heat build in his chest before it bursts. His hand slips under your thigh, lifts your leg around his waist so he can press closer, even though you’re both still half-submerged in seawater. It doesn’t matter. Everything feels far away except the friction of his body and the way he holds you like he’s trying not to lose control in the middle of an Okinawa island.

It’s slow. It’s messy. And it’s summer—thick and golden and heavy in the air between you.

And when he finally pulls back, breathing hard, hands still curled around you like he might pull you under, you rest your forehead against his and smile through the salt on your lips.

“You still look ridiculous,” you murmur before licking your lips “And you taste like sunscreen”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “But now you’re wet and clingin’ to me, so who really won here?”

You laugh, low and breathless. “Shut up.”

He kisses you again. And this time, you let the water take you both.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—held against him, half-kissing, half-laughing in the shadow of the cave—but at some point, the heat gives way to something quieter. Softer. The rush of saltwater settles around you like a warm hush, your limbs suspended, your thoughts weightless.

Katsuki’s arms stay locked around you, solid beneath the surface, palms smoothing over your back as if anchoring himself just as much as you. His thumb brushes slow circles against your spine, and your fingers stay curled in his hair, gently scraping at his scalp. You think he likes that, from the way his shoulders drop just a little, from the breath that stutters out of him like he’s finally letting go.

Your chest presses to his. Stomach to stomach, hips to hips. Nothing between you but warm seawater and soaked layers of fabric that stick in all the wrong places.

You shift, just slightly, adjusting your hold on his waist—but that’s all it takes for your pelvis to slot directly against his. You freeze.

So does he.

The contact is faint—filtered through your swimsuit, through his swim shorts, through the fluid drag of the water—but it’s unmistakably… there. Real. And close. His body is warm beneath yours in the cold water, legs braced wide, feet anchored to the rocky sea floor as if he knows the second he moves, he’ll give himself away.

You don’t move. Not yet. Your lips hover just beside his ear, and nearly trembling with a soft whine.

“Kats,” you murmur.

He makes a sound. Low, nearly voiceless—like a caught breath, or a confession too small to speak. His hands slide lower, splaying across your waist now, thumbs brushing your ribs as he tries—badly—not to shift against you.

He doesn’t want to let you know how hard he is from grinding against you underwater… But your thighs tighten around him.

You pull him closer, wrapping both legs around his hips with a lazy sort of slowness. The water makes it feel effortless, sensual in a way dry land never could. Skin glides over skin without resistance, your bodies suspended, pressed together in a floaty kind of weightlessness that feels too intimate for daylight.

Your forehead rests against his. “Feels nice like this,” you whisper, voice thick with heat.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, mouth parted like he forgot how to close it. But he’s blushing—bright and sharp across the top of his cheeks, even beneath the faint smudge of sunscreen. And not just there. It trails down his neck, creeping beneath his collarbones like warmth spreading from inside him out.

His hands tighten on your waist. “You’re not helpin’,” he grunts, voice rough and low.

“Helpin’ with what?” you tease, nudging your nose against his cheek. “I’m just swimmin’.”

“You’re—fuckin’—” He groans under his breath, the sound vibrating against your collarbone. “You’re grindin’ on me like that and sayin’ you’re swimmin’?”

“You didn’t say stop.”

“Didn’t say keep goin’.”

“Then stop me.”

He doesn’t—Of course he doesn’t.

Instead, his grip slips under your thighs, fingers digging in as he lifts you higher, tilts you just slightly until your core rubs right over and against his. The sensation is muted but unmistakable, heat blooming in your gut, your pulse syncing with the lazy roll of your hips. The water licks at your skin, cool in contrast to the fire rising in your stomach, and Katsuki watches you like he’s somewhere between wrecked and mesmerized.

Your lips find his again—slower this time. Deeper. Salt and sun and breath shared back and forth as you move against him, as the gentle waves lap at your sides like they’re urging you on.

“You feel good,” you murmur between kisses, and you feel him tense—just briefly—before relaxing into you again, letting the truth of your words melt him a little even if he’s hiding from the sun.

“So do you,” he grits out. “Too good.”

You smile into his mouth, pressing your forehead back to his. His hair’s wet, matted, dripping over his blond brows in messy clumps, and you push it away again with gentle, pruney fingers.

There’s a silence between you then, charged by the soft sound of water and lust. Like the sea itself has paused to let this moment happen and in it, you feel everything.

His heartbeat through his chest.

His breath on your cheek.

The twitch of restraint in his thighs.

The unmistakable swell of tension between your hips, straining against its own boundaries in the water.

“You gonna lose it if I keep doing this?” you whisper.

Katsuki exhales shakily. “Fuckin’ maybe.”

And god—you like that. The admission. The edge in it. How he wants to be good for you, even when his body’s fighting against it.

You kiss his neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then maybe we save the rest for when we get back.”

“You’re so evil,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, lips pouty.

“You like it.”

He doesn’t deny it. He just kisses you again, deeper now, like he’s holding himself together with your mouth. Like if you just keep kissing, he might make it back to shore in one piece.

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Dividers by @/cafekitsune

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