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lonerslug · 2 days ago

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34+35+??

a/n: if ariana said "can you stay up all night? fuck me ‘til the daylight?" then i had no choice but to write 5 fics that left me dehydrated, limping, and spiritually transformed, bruh this fic took way too long. this post contains nothing but sickening smut, filthy filth, and hot women ruining me six different ways, every pairing is its own little porno novella. i made sure nobody goes home unsatisfied, so please hydrate, stretch, and turn your notifications off this is 10,000+ words of certified coochie combustion. yall have been warned ➤ MINORS DO 👏 NOT 👏 INTERACT ➤ scroll carefully, some of y’all can’t handle the grayson section ➤ reblogs and likes pls, i worked my clit off enjoy sluts 💌 —mama mila

pairings [SEPARATE]: sevika x reader, ambessa x reader, grayson x reader, vi x reader, caitlyn x reader

warnings... mdni ;; 18+ ;; nsfw ;; rough sex ;; dom/sub dynamics ;; oral ;; toys ;; overstimulation ;; degration ;; praise ;; body worship ;; size kink ;; straps ;; mommy kink ;; mirrors ;; cigarettes ;; orgasm control ;; fingering ;; marking ;; choking ;; hair pulling ;; slapping ;; gagging ;; titty sucking ;; age gaps (all legal) ;; spit play ;; possesiveness.

꒰ Sevika - baby, you might need a seatbelt when i ride it…

You wake up to her mouth already between your thighs.

It’s the softest kind of sinful. Blankets pushed down to your hips, sunrise sneaking through the blinds, and Sevika’s massive hands gripping your thighs like handles as she eats like she’s starving. Like this is breakfast. Like you’re hers.

You twitch when her tongue circles your clit again, sleep barely clinging to your body as she works you open. She's deliberate, slow, heavy licks, her nose brushing your mound as she hums against you. Your legs twitch once, twice.

"Morning, sweetheart," she rasps, lips slick and chin shiny as she peers up over your stomach. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You just looked too good.”

She kisses the inside of your thigh. Then bites it.

Your voice cracks, barely above a whisper. "Sevika!"

“Shh.�� Her eyes are dark. “Back to sleep, baby. I’ll take care of everything.”

You’re already soaking, but she drags it out. Makes out with your pussy like it's your mouth —slow, tongue heavy, teasing your hole and sucking your clit between her lips until your hips buck off the bed. She laughs, low and smug.

“Already squirming?” she murmurs. “Barely been ten minutes. Thought you liked it slow in the mornings.”

"You're insane,” you hiss, fisting the sheets.

She shrugs, voice full of that cocky rasp. “You say that like it’s new.”

You whimper when her fingers join her tongue. Two thick digits, slow but deep, curling up with practiced precision. You swear she knows your body better than you do. She sets a rhythm that makes your thighs shake, tongue flattening over your clit while her fingers drag across your sweet spot like a perfect key.

The orgasm hits you so hard, your vision blurs.

She keeps going.

Doesn’t even let you come down. Licks through it like she lives for your overstimulation, like every whimper you let out is worth waking up for. She only pulls back when you tug her hair and sob out her name.

Your breath stutters. “ohh I can’t! ”

“You will,” she growls, eyes dark and gentle all at once. “One more, baby. Just one.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re folded in her lap in front of the mirror.

She’s got her strap inside you, big, thick, and black with a low curve that rubs perfectly. Her thighs are spread wide, muscles flexing beneath you as she makes you grind down on her cock slow and sloppy. The mirror reflects everything: your flushed cheeks, your soaked thighs, the way she grabs your ass and helps you bounce, your teary, fucked-out eyes blinking up at your own reflection.

“Look at that,” she purrs, one hand grabbing your jaw and turning it to the glass. “Takin’ it so good. So deep.”

"Too much," you pant. Your hips are trembling, thighs burning, and her strap is buried so deep. You’re full in a way that makes your stomach ache, the angle hitting all the right spots as your slick makes a mess across both your legs.

“Nah, you got room,” she rasps. "This pussy always knows how to make space for me."

Her arm wraps around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach to press you down. She grinds her hips up, feeding you more of the strap, and you nearly collapse when the tip bumps your cervix.

“Thought you said you wanted a seatbelt?” she teases, breath hot against your ear. “Where’s all that bratty energy now, huh?”

Your hands scramble against her thighs, fingers digging into her thick, muscled skin. She’s wearing nothing but a wife beater, sweatpants half-down her thighs, strap cinched so tight around her hips it creaks when she moves.

And she moves.

Bucks her hips up into you, holds your waist down and grinds until you’re gasping, legs shaking, nails leaving crescent marks on her skin. You can feel your orgasm building again, too fast and too deep, your stomach's already tight, eyes already glassy,

“Go ahead,” she murmurs. “Cream on it. You're doing soo well, baby.”

You wail as you come, whole body tensing in her arms as she fucks you through it.

꒰ Ambessa - show me can you keep it up? Cause then I'll have to keep you up,

You asked to be on top.

Ambessa laughed.

And now you're here, legs trembling, face flushed, mouth locked around her tit, while your soaked pussy grinds down onto her strap like your life depends on it.

Her hand spreads across your ass, massive and hot, guiding your movements as you try to ride her in rhythm. But you’re falling apart. Every bounce makes her cock grind deeper inside you, her pelvis pressing into your clit just enough to keep you constantly on the edge.

“You wanted to be in control,” she growls, tilting your chin. “Show me, baby. Show me you can keep it up.”

You moan around her nipple, lips wrapped tight, tongue flicking it in desperation. Her tit is heavy in your mouth, sweat-slick and perfect, and she groans when you suck harder, needier.

“Such a greedy little mouth,” she purrs, flexing her hips up. You whine as the strap hits deeper.

“mmh too big...”

“I know,” she smirks. “you begged for it.”

Her arms flex, muscles rippling beneath her skin, and suddenly she’s lifting you, not off the dick, but just enough to bounce you down harder. She does it like it’s nothing. Like you weigh less than the glass of wine she drank earlier.

Your thighs burn. Your hands grip her shoulders. You can't stop moaning into her chest, sucking her tit like it’s air, while she takes your hips and drives you down on her cock over and over again.

“Fuck, Ambessa m-mommy”

“Mmm. That’s more like it, little girl.”

She slaps your ass, not hard, commanding. “Such a sweet little mess. Look at you. Crying already, and we’ve barely started.”

“I can’t,”

“oh you will.”

you’re bent backwards on her gold-trimmed bed, throat dry, legs shaking, while she fucks you into the kind of submission that leaves your soul floating.

“Open your legs for mommy.”

You obey instantly. Her voice doesn’t allow disobedience. Ambessa kneels between your thighs, strap glistening from the last round, her lips glistening even more.

She goes slow this time.

Not because she’s being gentle, but because she enjoys watching you unravel. Her hands keep your legs spread wide, and her mouth... god, her mouth moves like she’s tasting the finest fruit in the empire. She hums, deep and low, like she owns your body and wants the world to hear it.

You writhe.

"Stay still," she warns. "or I’ll tie you down."

The threat makes you clench.

She chuckles. Then she spits on your pussy and dives back in.

You cum with a scream, thighs trembling so hard you nearly kick her in the face, but she holds you still, licking until you’re sobbing, too sensitive, too full,

She loves it.

“Poor thing,” she croons, rubbing your stomach. “so small. So easy to ruin.”

Eventually, you pass out.

For like... six minutes.

꒰ Grayson - you might think i’m crazy, the way i’ve been craving…

You’re in her lap. Her big, warm hands are resting on your thighs, just under your skirt, her mouth brushing the corner of your jaw.

She whispers against your skin. “You gonna tell me why you came here at midnight in something so short?”

You shift in her lap. It’s already hot between your legs. Her thigh is thick and firm beneath you, and you can feel her muscles move through her slacks when she shifts. Her hand glides to your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You gasp when she slips her thumb into your mouth.

“There,” she murmurs. “just like that, relax. You’re safe here.”

She kisses you. Full lips, gentle pressure, firm hold. You moan into her mouth, and she just drinks it in, one hand cupping your ass, the other sliding up your back beneath your shirt. Her fingers are calloused. Warm. She slides them up until they find your bra clasp and unhooks it like she’s done it a thousand times.

"Is this what you wanted, darling?" she whispers against your lips.

You nod frantically. “Please, I need —”

“I know,” she says softly, like she's soothing a fire. “Let me take care of you.”

Grayson sets you on her desk.

Pushes the reports aside, the polished nameplate, the pen you’d been chewing on earlier. Her hands go to your knees and part them like it’s nothing. Like you belong to her.

She sinks to her knees.

Your heart skips. You’ve seen this woman command entire divisions. She’s terrifying in a court, powerful in every room, and she’s kneeling in front of you like worship.

Your panties are already soaked.

She doesn’t even pull them down at first. She just presses her face into the damp fabric, nuzzling, inhaling. Her breath is hot through the cotton.

“So sweet,” she murmurs. “You’ve been wet since I called you ‘darling' earlier, haven’t you?”

You whimper. "mhmm yes ma'am."

She doesn’t make you beg long.

Her tongue is slow at first. Gentle. She kisses your inner thigh. Then licks you through your panties, long, slow, messy licks until you’re squirming and your hands are in her hair.

She slips your underwear down your legs and hums when she finally gets her mouth on you.

Her tongue moves like she’s memorising you. Circling your clit, pressing into your folds, curling up into your entrance just to tease. Her hands are on your hips, holding you still.

You start to cry when she moans into you.

It’s too much, too intimate, and when you sob out her name, she finally looks up. Her mouth is slick. Her eyes are kind.

"That's it. Let go. I've got you."

When she slides two fingers inside, it’s perfect.

Not rushed. Not rough. Just deep, slow, and careful. She watches your face the whole time. You can’t look away. She’s so beautiful like this, face flushed, sleeves rolled up, blue jacket still buttoned, hair mussed from where you gripped it.

She curls her fingers, presses her palm against your mound and drags her touch across that perfect spot inside you. You cry out, back arching. She doesn’t stop.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you come.”

And you do.

You fall apart on her fingers, thighs shaking, body quaking as her mouth claims your clit again and she keeps working you through it, gentle but relentless, dragging the orgasm out until your nails leave marks on her desk.

You don’t even realise she’s lifted you until you’re in her lap again, back against her chest.

Her fingers are still inside you, lazily fucking you as you twitch from overstimulation. Her other hand is on your chest, cupping your breast.

“Such a good girl,” she murmurs against your neck. “So good for me. You did so well.”

꒰ Vi - Got the neighbors yellin earthquake, 4.5 when I make the bed shake,

"Strip. Now."

You’re naked and on your knees in seconds, thighs already shaking in anticipation.

Vi pulls out the toy bag like it’s a ritual. Unzips it, slow and smug, and holds up the strap first —black, thick, and buzzing lowly in her palm. Your mouth drops.

"Remember this one, baby?" she grins. “The one that made you cry and drool last time?”

She climbs on the bed, already strapping in. The curve is perfect, the base buzzing quietly while she fastens it to her hips like a fucking weapon. She's not even undressed yet, just in that damn hoodie and those godforsaken gray sweats, letting her strap do the talking.

“You know the rules,” she says, licking her lips. “Color?”

“r-red,” you breathe, already throbbing.

She nods. “Good. You’re gonna need it.”

First, she ties your wrists.

Not tight, but enough to keep you still. Arms above your head, ankles spread by her hands as she crawls between your thighs, eyes burning.

“Missed this pussy,” she whispers. “Missed the way you taste when you’re desperate.”

Her mouth hits your cunt and you scream.

No teasing. No warm-up. She eats you like she’s starving, fast, messy, spit and tongue everywhere, her nose grinding your clit as she groans into you like she’s trying to leave a mark. You writhe, sobbing into the pillows, already close because she knows you. Knows how to lick, suck, fuck with her tongue and make your brain go blank.

You come in like 90 seconds. She doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t even slow down.

She just slides two fingers in, curling, rough, and holds you there while you writhe, overstimulated and crying into the mattress.

“Already?” she laughs. “You’re falling apart and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

When she flips you over, your thighs are trembling.

You’re on your back now, wrists tied above your head, legs open, and Vi between them with that strap angled just right. She holds a vibrator in one hand, silver, sleek, vicious.

She clicks it on. Presses it to your clit. You scream.

She smiles.

Then lines up the strap and slides in.

You didn’t know you could feel this full.

The dildo is thick and long, already vibrating inside you as she fucks in deep and slow. Your body arches off the bed, muscles tightening as she grinds her hips down, rolling the toy against every sweet spot inside you. The vibrator is still on your clit, held tight between you.

She’s fucking you into the mattress. Literally.

The bed frame bangs against the wall, once, twice, loud enough that the neighbor knocks from the other side.

“Vi, oh!” you gasp.

She laughs. "Let ‘em hear," she grunts. “Let ‘em know who fucks you this good.”

Your orgasm hits like a truck. You go stiff, back bowing, a cry ripping from your throat as you clench around the vibrating strap and the toy makes your clit throb. Vi watches the whole thing, smirking, sweating, thrusting through your release like she’s on a mission.

Then she turns the vibrator up. Another level.

You sob. “No no no I can’t Vi, please!”

She leans over you, breath hot, one hand wrapping lightly around your throat as she slows the thrusts to deep, grinding pushes.

“You can,” she purrs. “You’ll give me one more. I know you will. You’re my good little mess, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, tears falling, thighs twitching as she forces another orgasm from your wrung-out body.

You scream again when you come. She kisses your open mouth, still fucking deep and slow, like she wants you ruined for anyone else.

꒰ Caitlyn - You such a dream come true, true. make a bitch wanna hit snooze, ooh

Her accent is worse than the teasing. Worse than the lingerie she bought you, white lace, half-off, thin and already soaked. Worse than the mirror showing every inch of your shame, flushed cheeks, trembling thighs, the way your cunt clenches nothing when she so much as grazes your skin.

"Eyes up," she commands softly. "I want you to watch yourself fall apart."

She touches you like it’s a lesson in patience.

No rush. Just long strokes over your stomach. A kiss behind your ear. Her hand sliding between your thighs and resting there. Not rubbing. Not moving.

“Desperate already?” she muses. “So needy for my fingers. Or is it just the sound of my voice?”

You nod, frantic. “n-need you”

She hums. “Manners.”

“Please, Miss Kiramman.”

She smiles. That smile. Dangerous. Rich. Full of pride and ownership.

“Good girl.”

The first touch is electric.

Her fingers press against your clit, slow circles that drag a whimper from your throat. Your legs twitch. She holds you still with one hand at your lower back, the other teasing your entrance without giving you what you want.

"So responsive," she murmurs. “I could do this all night.”

And she does.

She edges you. Brings you close, then pulls away. Toys with your nipples, mouth warm and wet, tongue swirling slowly as her fingers sink inside you, just enough to make your thighs shake. Not enough to let you come.

Over and over. You sob. You beg. Your knees give out.

Caitlyn just tilts your face up to the mirror again.

"See that? That’s what I do to you.”

You finally break when she pulls out the vibrator.

Small. Silver. Discreet. She turns it on and presses it to your clit with precision, holding it just right while two fingers slide back in. Your whole body convulses.

"oh Cait, please I can’t!"

She clicks her tongue. “You’ll come when I say, not before.”

You’re sobbing.

She kisses your cheek. “You’re like a dream come true, darling.”

Your orgasm hits when she lets it.

She leans down, voice velvet against your ear. “Now, my love.”

Your body shatters. You scream, legs twitching, tears streaking your cheeks as she works you through it, vibrator still on, fingers slow and loving, her lips murmuring praise into your neck.

"That’s it. That’s my girl. So perfect for me."

reblogs are appreciated!!

taglist: @georgiahs-stuff @shanesevikasfuckdoll @illbecanon @sevikas-whore @barelykiramman @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @riotstemple29 @amri0ram @yuripilledfemme @mommyissuesismypersonality @butchpuppyy @shxdy0ariia @kousanosgf @lucidfairies

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junkuna · 2 days ago

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| thinking ab the look on sukunas face when she says “dada!” 1st !

the competition starts off as a joke. mostly.

you’re lying on the floor one afternoon, baby between you and sukuna, all squirmy limbs and drooly grins. she’s nearly one now — chubby cheeks, curls in every direction, her favorite hobby is throwing expensive things off tables and laughing like she’s done something groundbreaking. she’s also been babbling nonstop for weeks: ba ba ba, ga ga, ahh!

“any day now,” you say, wiggling your fingers in front of her face. “come on, sweetheart. say mama. you know you love me more.”

sukuna snorts from the other side of her, one hand propped under his chin. “in your dreams. she’s a daddy’s girl. always has been.”

“she literally bit your finger this morning and laughed.”

“because she’s my daughter. feral and mighty.”

you roll your eyes, but your heart’s too full to argue. especially when your daughter blinks up at you both, fists curled tight, mouth opening and closing like she’s almost got it.

from that day on, the war begins.

it’s ridiculous. every spare second, one of you is whispering sweet nothings into her ears like she’s a tiny, impressionable oracle.

“mama,” you say sweetly as you rock her to sleep. “say ma-ma, baby. you can do it. ignore the big scary man.”

“dada,” sukuna whispers like it’s sacred, holding her in one arm while pouring juice with the other. “you wanna say dada, don’t you? you love your old man.”

he even cheats — you catch him once holding her favorite stuffed animal hostage until she says something even vaguely “da”-adjacent. she just smacks him in the face with it and shrieks.

score: baby 1, sukuna 0.

but then—one lazy sunday morning—everything changes.

you’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, trying to pour cereal with one hand and not burn toast with the other. your daughter is sitting in her high chair, hair wild, cheeks puffed out like a tiny chipmunk, watching sukuna pace around the room shirtless and still half-asleep.

he stops to lean against the counter, eyes still heavy-lidded, and yawns out, “hey, gremlin, what do you want? you hungry?”

and then—

“dada!”

the spoon in your hand clatters into the sink.

sukuna blinks. straightens. turns to her like she’s just summoned a divine prophecy.

“…what did you say?”

“dada!” she squeals again, tiny hands smacking the tray. “dada dada dada—!”

and sukuna — sukuna, the king of curses, the war god with enough arrogance to swallow cities — makes the most inhuman noise in the back of his throat. and you see him smile like never before.

he grabs her from the high chair, lifts her high into the air like she’s made of gold and sunlight. “say it again,” he begs, spinning her in a circle as she giggles, squeals, clutches at his face. “again, princess. say it again for dada!”

“dada!” she shrieks, absolutely thrilled with herself.

“that’s my girl,” he breathes, cradling her close and pressing his forehead to hers. “that’s my girl!!”

you’re watching from the doorway, arms crossed, heart squeezing painfully.

you should be annoyed. you should tease him, remind him how smug he’s going to be for the next forty years. but you can’t. not when he looks like that — glowing, flustered, borderline emotional. his hands are so gentle. his voice is just a whisper.

he turns and sees you watching. freezes.

“…don’t,” he says quickly, brows furrowed. “don’t make that face.”

“what face?”

“that face.”

you smile. “not my fault you’re a big softie.”

“shut up.”

“you’re blushing.”

“it’s warm in here.”

he’s still holding her like she’s the world’s most precious artifact. she’s started chewing on his shoulder now, drooling through his shirt.

“dada,” she says again, this time softer. like a secret.

and you swear you see his throat bob.

“…you win,” you admit quietly, walking over to kiss the top of her head. “but only because that was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen.”

“damn right i win,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her tiny knuckles. “she knows what’s up.”

“guess we both do.”

you press a kiss to his cheek this time, and his ears go pink.

—

perm taglist : @whorishminds @throatgoatgeto

#fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #junkuna #jjk x reader #fluff #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader fluff #baby daddy #ur married #idk what else to tag #ok bai

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rawme-price · 3 days ago

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Gaz and Ace!reader who are horribly in love, but you never told kyle you were ace.

Sure, you really should tell him. Because open and honest communication is important. A relationship built on lies is bound to crumble, but you really like kyle. You maybe even love him, and the last time you told a boyfriend you were ace it ended in disaster.

You dont think you can take another heartbreak. Not from kyle.

So you just...dont tell him. You do all the cute couples things, go out on dates and gross people out with insane levels of PDA. Hell, you even meet his teammates! (You pointedly ignore the guilt crawling in ur gut when johnny says hes never met any of kyles past partners)

Of course, there's no avoiding it. Months into the relationship and a very heavy make-out session has kyles hands teasing at the edge of your waist band. You subtly avert his attention, drop to your knees instead. Except halfway through pumping his cock into your mouth, gaz pulls you off with a furrowed brow. Your stomach twists at his worried expression. "Hey, hey. Baby, is everything okay? You...you dont have to suck me off if you dont want to. You know that, right?"

You laugh nervously, glance away. "What- what makes you think I dont?"

Kyle raises an unimpressed brow "oh I don't know. Maybe the fact you were grimacing the whole time."

"Oh shit- kyle baby im sorry its-" you begin to apologize, scared that you somehow hurt his feelings worse than telling him no.

"No, no dear, im not mad. I just- i dont want you to force yourself to do it." Kyle reassures, hand slipping around your waist. His voice turns low and sly with "besides, there's other ways to have fun. Cmon, any preference? I'll do whatever for you honey"

Shit. There's no getting out of this.

"No. Its, I dont want to do anything." You take a deep breath, look away. "Im...im ace, kyle. I just dont have those...urges. its nothing against you, that's just how I am."

You begin to do damage control when kyle doesn't respond "if thats a deal breaker for you, thats okay, I wont blame you. But If it is you have to tell me now, please, I cant- i cant handle the uncertainty if it will or wont work, i-"

"Why the hell would that be a deal breaker?" Kyle's absolutely baffled voice has your eyes snapping back to him, and he looks a bit like a kicked puppy "baby. I love you. Okay? Love. I'll love you even if you never touch me."

He sounds so certain, so honest. It feels miles apart from the boyfriends who reluctantly agreed to try even after you revealed you were ace. Or the boyfriends who told you to change or they'd leave. Unbidden, tears well in ur eyes.

"But- but you won't be satisfied! And- and you'll think you still want me but you wont- and-" why the hell are you saying this? Are you trying to get him to leave?

Kyle just coos at you, cups your jaw in his hand. "Hey. No, baby, look at me. Sex is just one of many ways two people feel good together, yeah? If you dont feel good, then I dont want to do it. End of story. Its just like going on a date, you wouldn't want to go if you knew I was having a bad time, right? Same thing."

You sniffle, lashes wet "so...so we're not breaking up? You still want me?"

"Yes. Of course honey." He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then proceeds to kiss all over ur face until you begin to giggle. No trace of tears left.

"Besides," gaz says with a grin "ive got a perfectly good left hand and plenty of toys back home."

You scrunch your nose and make a fake gagging sound "ew. Youre gross babe."

"You love me though!"

"....I do."

#reminder that we love and support ace people here!!!#cod #cod smut #cod fluff #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #ace reader #ace!reader #remember guys dont be like reader. be honest with ur partners and dont force urself to do things that make u uncomfortable.

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cressidagrey · 3 days ago

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White Horse - Chapter 44: December 2024 - Part 3 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes:

As a writer, we spent our days trying to come up with the perfect words. I don't think I can find them for this moment. So I am just gonna say: Thank you for reading along.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hülkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly and Yuki Tsunoda)

Lando: wait guys have you seen the baby photo 😭😭😭

George: WHAT BABY PHOTO

Carlos: ??? whose baby??

Yuki: YOU GUYS ARE SO FAST WHAT’S HAPPENING

Alex: No wait Do you mean Max and Belle’s baby????

Lando: …oh

Lando: uh

Lando: i thought you guys knew

Lewis: Knew what, Lando

Sebastian: Lando.

Lando: ok well like the baby is here 🥲 surprise?

George: THEY HAD THE BABY AND NO ONE TOLD US???

Esteban: When??!?

Logan: Bro I blinked and missed an entire Verstappen

Zhou: Wait is this confirmed or Lando chaos

Oscar: Confirmed.

Lando: Wait wait I wasn’t supposed to say it?? Daniel and Oscar knew!!

Daniel: I was SWORN to secrecy.

Carlos: You. You knew. AND YOU SAID NOTHING.

Daniel: I didn’t want to die????

George: Max had a whole human child and didn’t even tell us.

Fernando: Max has entered his dad era. We are all unimportant now.

Mark: That man used to rage about banana peels in Mario Kart. Now he has a son. I’m not okay.

Sergio: What’s his name?

Lando: Oh I’m definitely not allowed to say that.

Yuki: You already leaked the baby you can’t stop now

Lewis: You better hope Belle doesn’t see this

Lando: she’s gonna murder me

Oscar: Yeah you’re 100% getting iced out of baby cuddles for this

Valtteri: I can’t believe Daniel managed to keep it quiet and Lando didn’t. That’s personal growth.

Daniel: I was WAITING for this chaos and it delivered. Thank you, Lando.

Lando: do not thank me. i am afraid.

David: Genuinely thought this was going to be about Max buying a new cat or something.

Nico R.: What if the baby’s name is Cat Verstappen

Lando: ok you asked for it 🥁

Lando: 👶🏻✨ Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen ✨👶🏻

Lando: [image attachment: baby Emilian in a tiny white onesie, swaddled in a soft grey blanket, a bit of Max’s arm just visible, Belle’s hand resting protectively on the baby’s chest]

Pierre: STOP IT

Carlos: I AM CRYING

Logan: That is the cutest Verstappen I’ve ever seen

George: Look at his tiny fingers 😭😭😭

Zhou: Oh he already looks like he’d yell on the radio

Fernando: He has the forehead. He’s destined.

Sebastian: That name is beautiful. Jean and Hervé? Very French.

Lewis: Tell Belle the name is stunning. Seriously.

Daniel: Max really dropped a “future world champion” on us with that photo huh

Valtteri: He already has better PR photos than all of us combined

Checo: When can we meet him??

Lando: bro they literally got home like two days ago

Alex: I’m prepared to wear a hazmat suit if it means holding that baby

David: I’m crying in the commentary box.

Nico H.: I still can’t believe Max Verstappen has a son

Nico R.: I want to know where “Jean” came from Because Emilian and Hervé I get. But Jean?

Oscar: Apparently it’s for GP and Jos. Jean is the French/Italian version of John. Gianpiero = John Peter. Johannes = John. Max and Belle are cute like that.

Yuki: that is RIDICULOUSLY sweet. i’m going to punch something

Carlos: They’re disgustingly romantic. I love it.

Lando: I didn’t cry but I did get suspiciously misty when Belle told me

Daniel: This group chat is now officially called Baby Verstappen Support Group™

Sebastian: Honestly? I’m fine with that.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/formulababble: Max and Belle have been suspiciously silent on social media for a few days now 👀 either they’ve finally started their Christmas movie marathon or that baby is HERE.

@/TheDRSzone: Max Verstappen disappearing from sim racing. Belle not even liking Victoria’s Instagram posts. If that baby isn’t born yet, I’ll eat my tire warmers.

@/f1wagsightings: Belle hasn’t posted a story in four days and Max was last seen speed-walking out of an FIA gala. If this baby isn’t already in footie pajamas I don’t know what to believe anymore.

@/skyf1girlies: It’s been 84 years since Belle posted a baked good That baby is OUT I’m convinced

@/notapiastriupdate: I swear if Max just casually drops “yeah our son’s here” in a post-race interview like “yep, tyres were tricky and we had a baby,” I’m gonna need a defibrillator.

@/paddockcryptid: not me zooming in on the reflection in victoria verstappen’s coffee spoon to see if there’s a baby carrier in the background someone help me

@/mclarenmama: me checking belle’s page 6x a day for a baby announcement like i’m not a grown adult with a job

@/f1gossipqueen: baby verstappen being born and everyone in the paddock knowing except the internet is peak power couple behavior

@/helmutmarxism: me refreshing @studio_b for a soft black-and-white photo of max holding a baby with the caption “you were worth every lap.” give. me. the. content.

@/stillnotjean: 📉 max radio silence 📉 belle nowhere to be found 📈 my stress levels someone post a blurry foot or a hospital bracelet or SOMETHING

@/maxielcentral: I’m not saying the baby is here but… Max hasn’t touched Instagram. And Belle’s last story was a croissant and a blurry cat. That's pre-birth behavior.

@/oscarspov: counterpoint: maybe they’re just sleeping. like. nesting. pre-baby hibernation. let them rest.

@/gridgossipqueen: if they pull a “he’s two weeks old actually lol” reveal I WILL COMBUST.

@/thisisnotokay: they went radio silent. they’re always unhinged and sappy. something happened. i can feel it in my bones. they are hiding something from us.

@/canelababy: Imagine they’re just sitting at home, eating soup, scrolling through all of us losing our minds like 👶🫗📵

***

When Gianpiero Lambiase first met Max Verstappen, the kid was eighteen years old and already impossible.

Impossible to reason with. Impossible to intimidate. Impossible not to believe in.

Max was sharper than anyone had any right to be at that age. Fire in his blood. Pure instinct in the car. Arrogant as hell, too—but with the kind of talent that made you forgive it. GP remembered thinking, I’ll either lose my mind working with this one or help him win a World Championship.

He hadn’t predicted four.

And he definitely hadn’t predicted this.

Belle opened the door barefoot, hair pinned up in a loose knot, cardigan sleeves pushed up. “Hey,” she said, soft and warm, stepping back to let him in. “You made it.”

“Of course I did,” GP replied. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The flat was quiet in that distinct way homes get when a baby is sleeping. GP stepped inside carefully, almost like raising his voice would wake the walls.

Max was in the living room, sitting on the sofa with a blanket draped over his legs and something—someone—small and swaddled in his arms. He looked up and smiled.

It wasn’t the race day smirk. Not the podium grin. Not even the soft one he saved for Belle when he thought no one was looking.

This was something else.

“Hey, GP.”

“Hey yourself,” GP said, stepping forward. “Is that the new teammate?”

Max huffed a laugh and looked down. “This is Emilian.”

Belle came to sit beside Max, curling into his side. “Four days old. Already stubborn.”

“So… definitely your son, then.”

Max didn’t argue. Just adjusted Emilian slightly so GP could get a better look.

And GP felt something he wasn’t prepared for settle in his chest.

The baby’s eyes were closed, his face peaceful in that fleeting, newborn way—like the world hadn’t had time to press in yet. He had Max’s nose. Belle’s mouth. A full head of blonde hair that stuck up at strange angles. And he was so small.

“I met you when you were practically a baby,” GP said quietly. “And now look at you.”

“I know.” Max’s voice had that edge of disbelief, as if it still hadn’t fully sunk in.

Belle glanced up at GP, a teasing smile on her face. “You want to hold him?”

GP blinked. “I—me?”

“Of course you,” she said, already shifting so Max could carefully pass the bundle into GP’s arms. “You’re part of the family.”

Emilian fit neatly against his chest. Warm. Soft. Breathing in tiny, measured puffs.

GP cleared his throat. “He’s… perfect.”

“He’s ours,” Max said. “Somehow, that still feels insane.”

Belle leaned into Max and murmured, “Tell him.”

Max blinked. “Tell him…?”

She nudged him. “Tell him.”

“Oh,” Max said, like it had slipped his mind. “Right. His full name’s Emilian Jean Hervé.”

GP blinked down at the baby, then back up at Max. “Jean?”

“Yeah.” Max scratched the back of his neck, a little sheepish. “Belle liked Hervé. It was her father’s name. And Jean is for… you. And Jos.”

GP’s heart stuttered.

“You both have names that come from the same root—Jean, Gianpiero, Gianni, Johannes. It just felt right,” Belle said. “You're the only man Max has listened to for the last decade. And the one who’s seen him through everything.”

Max looked up then. Not blinking. No smirk. Just honest.

“You’ve been with me through every championship. Every fight. Every mess. I wouldn’t be who I am without you,” Max said. “You’re family.”

GP looked down at the baby again.

Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen.

He couldn’t speak for a moment.

He thought about eighteen-year-old Max, all raw edges and impossible speed. He thought about every race since then—every pit wall scream, every radio war, every goddamn miracle.

And now here they were.

Max, barefoot on a couch. Belle at his side. A baby in his arms.

Their baby.

His name.

GP swallowed hard. “You… didn’t have to do that.”

“We wanted to,” Belle said.

For once, GP didn’t have anything clever to say.

He just held Emilian a little tighter and smiled.

***

Max had just gotten Emilian down for a nap, a rare victory after a fussy morning that involved three outfit changes, two nursery walkabouts, and one minor existential crisis involving a lost pacifier.

Belle was curled up on the couch with a cup of tea and a blanket over her legs, looking at Max with the quiet kind of love that made his chest ache.

And then—

The doorbell rang.

Max blinked. “Are we expecting someone?”

Belle glanced at her phone. “No.”

Max moved carefully, instinctively trying to walk silently even though the nursery door was closed. He padded across the flat, squinted through the peephole, then opened the door.

And stared.

“…Daniel?”

“MAX!” Daniel Ricciardo beamed like the sun and launched forward, dragging Max into a full-body, back-slapping hug before Max could say anything. “Merry early Christmas, you absolute legend!”

Belle’s voice floated from the living room. “Did you say Daniel?!”

Max finally pulled back. “What—how—why are you here?”

Daniel held up a carry-on suitcase and a ridiculous holiday-themed gift bag covered in cartoon kangaroos wearing Santa hats. “Surprise visit. I got a flight. And I couldn’t let all the group chat chaos be the only way I met your kid!”

Max just blinked again.

Belle came into the hallway in fuzzy socks and one of Max’s old shirts, eyes wide. “Wait. You flew here? Just to meet Emilian?”

Daniel grinned. “Yes. Obviously. I am his favorite honorary uncle.”

Belle stared at him.

Max muttered, “I think Lando and Oscar might fight you on that.”

Daniel wiggled his eyebrows. “Then they should’ve gotten on a plane first.”

Five minutes later, Daniel was sitting cross-legged on the nursery floor, absolutely enchanted by the tiny bundle Max placed in his arms. Emilian made a soft, sleepy sound and curled his fingers instinctively around Daniel’s thumb.

“Mate,” Daniel whispered, awe in every syllable. “He’s so small.”

Max, leaning against the wall, folded his arms and smiled.

Belle, curled up in the rocker with a pillow at her back, watched them both.

“He has your nose,” Daniel added, looking up at Max. “But Belle’s eyes. I can tell.”

Belle laughed softly. “He was born not even a week ago, Dan.”

Daniel ignored that. “Still. It’s in the vibes.”

Max shook his head fondly. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Daniel didn’t look away from Emilian. “I can’t believe you’re a dad.”

There was something real in his voice now—no jokes, no chaos. Just warmth. Wonder. The kind of reverence you had to earn.

Max crossed the room slowly and crouched beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

“I can,” he said softly. “Because of Belle.”

Daniel’s eyes flicked to her. She smiled, and that was it—he almost teared up.

“You two made a person,” Daniel whispered. “A whole person. He has a name and everything. Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen. That’s a good name. Sounds like someone who wins Nobel Prizes and then disappears into the mountains.”

Belle giggled. “We went through a lot of names.”

“And none of them were Daniel?” he gasped, scandalized.

Max groaned. “Don’t start.”

***

Jos had always assumed there were some things in life that didn’t change.

Like the smell of fuel in a garage. The dull ache of old mistakes. The stubborn weight of regret.

He hadn’t expected Max to ask him to come by so soon. Hadn’t expected to be let in at all, if he was honest.

But then again, his son had grown into the kind of man Jos sometimes didn’t quite know how to hold—steady, calm, light around the edges. Especially now. Especially today.

“Come in,” Max said at the door, a quiet kind of peace in his expression Jos had never seen on his own face in the mirror.

Belle appeared just behind him, cradling something small and wrapped in soft fabric.

The baby.

Max’s son.

Jos followed them into the living room, somehow more nervous than he’d been walking into Spa in the rain in ’94. Belle settled onto the couch, and Max—his Max—leaned in to take the baby from her arms with a gentleness that made Jos go still.

Like he’d been sucker punched.

Max turned and walked over to him.

“This is Emilian,” he said.

Jos swallowed.

The baby blinked, pale blue eyes not quite focusing. A yawn. A soft squirm.

And Max held him like he’d done it a thousand times.

Not stiff, not impatient. Just… steady. Secure. Safe.

He was already doing it differently.

Better.

Jos hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted that until he saw it with his own eyes.

“He’s beautiful,” Jos said, voice rough.

Max gave a crooked smile. “That’s Belle’s influence.”

Belle rolled her eyes from the couch. “He has your nose, Max.”

“Poor kid,” Max muttered, and Jos snorted despite himself.

There was a silence then. Comfortable, for once.

And then Belle said it, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she didn’t know what it would do to him. “His full name is Emilian Jean Hervé.”

Jos looked up sharply.

Max’s mouth twitched. “Hervé is for Belle’s father.”

“And Jean,” Belle added, “is for you. And for GP.”

Jos blinked.

“You—what?”

“Jean is the French form of John,” Max said, calm and deliberate. “Same as Johannes. Same as Gianpiero. We thought it was a good way to honour both of you.”

Jos had been many things in his life—angry, proud, short-tempered, driven—but rarely speechless.

He looked down at his grandson. Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen.

They’d named him for him.

Even after everything.

Even when he hadn’t always deserved it.

“You didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Belle said simply. “You’re his grandfather.”

Jos exhaled slowly. His hands twitched by his side.

Max must’ve noticed, because he stepped forward and gently offered the baby.

Jos hesitated. Then took him.

Emilian was warm and heavy and heartbreakingly small in his arms. He looked down into that soft, scrunched face and thought—

Max was never this calm as a baby.

He didn’t know what hurt more: the memory of holding his own son with hands too harsh, or watching his son now, being the kind of father Jos hadn’t known how to be.

But there was no bitterness in Max’s eyes. No distance. Just quiet pride.

“You’re doing good,” Jos said gruffly, eyes still on the baby.

Max didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.

He just sat beside him, close enough to count as forgiveness.

And Jos… Jos sat still, holding the next Verstappen in his arms.

Soft.

Safe.

Loved.

It was more than he’d ever given Max.

But Max had found a way to give it anyway.

And Jos had never been more proud.

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

Comments:

@/maxverstappen1: He’s perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you for our son.

@/emilie_abadie: Crying again. Still not over the name. Still not over the tiny hat. Still not over you two being parents

@/landonorris Congrats, you two 💙

@/lilymhe: He’s already cooler than all of us.

@/sophie.kumpen: My heart 💙

@/gridbabywatch2024: THE BABY. IS. HERE. Twitter was right. Also—Max cuddling the baby like he’s pole position?? crying.

@/maxfluffarchives: imagine being born and your dad is a 4x world champion who looks at you like the sun just rose

@/danielricciardo: CONGRATULATIONS I LOVE HIM ALREADY

@/oscarpiastri: Welcome to the grid, little man.

@/lilyzneimer: He’s beautiful. Congratulations, you two 🩵

@/charles_leclerc 😭😭😭 Félicitations. Il est magnifique.

@/teamredlineofficial: Our newest recruit has arrived 🍼 Sim rig arriving 2032.

@/lorenzotl: 😭😭😭 welcome to the family, emilian.

@/paddockwivesunite: We have a new paddock baby!!! He’s perfect. Sending love 💕

@/mrsverstappenfan88: This is the announcement we’ve all been waiting for!!! Welcome baby Emilian!! Congrats Belle and Max!!

@/tracksidebabywatch: WE HAVE ARRIVAL CONFIRMATION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THE BABY IS REAL.

@/arthur_leclerc: Okay but when does he get a kart?

@/nico_rosberg: Huge congratulations. Wishing your family every happiness!

@/f1: Congratulations, Verstappens! 💙

@/redbullracing: Our newest and tiniest team member. Welcome, Emilian 💙

@/victoriaverstappen: I’M SOBBING 😭 Welcome to the world, little man. You’ve made us all the happiest. 💙✨

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/formulababies: We were right. The silence = baby. Also: Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen is the most elegant grid baby name ever???

@/helmetbuckle: can’t believe max went from “i love my girlfriend” to “i love my wife and our son emilian” in like 18 months growth.

@/verstappenf1: Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen is gonna be the most overachieving baby in Monaco. You just know it. He’s probably already lifting his own head.

@/sainzfries_ no bc. max. four-time world champion. and now he’s just sitting on a couch swaddling his baby boy like the world doesn’t even exist outside of that room. help me.

@/f1teaofficial: 🚨IT’S OFFICIAL: BABY VERSTAPPEN HAS ARRIVED🚨 Max and Belle just posted the softest birth announcement in history and we are NOT OKAY 👶 Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen 🗓️ Born Dec 18 💙 SEND HELP

@/nocontextf1: [photo of Max with the baby] caption: he used to throw hands with Esteban Ocon now he cries over swaddling cloths

@/f1memesdaily: How it started: Max Verstappen vs. the FIA How it’s going: Max Verstappen vs. a baby with strong opinions on swaddling 😭😭😭

@/RedBullNotices: Max: wins a 4th World Championship Also Max: “He’s perfect. You’re perfect. Thank you for our son.” Me: 😭😭😭😭😭

@/emiliepov: THEY NAMED HIM EMILIAN I KNOW EMILIE ABADIE IS SOBBING. I KNOW IT.

@/F1CHRISTMASDRAMA: F1 Twitter: WHERE IS THE BABY Belle and Max: drop perfect photo like a bomb 48 hours before Christmas Us: 🫡 RESPECT.

@/F1TeaSips: MAX AND BELLE HAD THE BABY. REPEAT. THE BABY HAS BEEN BORN. WE HAVE A BABY VERSTAPPEN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. 🍼🔥

@/screaminginsector3: Belle: gives birth quietly Max: quiet for 3 days Instagram: drops literal perfection The rest of us: feral. sobbing. sending casseroles.

@/girlsonpole: Baby Verstappen is already more emotionally well-adjusted than 80% of the paddock men. He is loved. He is safe. He is squishy. 10/10. No notes.

@/teamLHdata: Can’t believe Max Verstappen won four championships and then turned around and did this Father of the year loading Belle carried the paddock wives storyline and the actual baby

@/f1namehunters: Okay so: ✅ Emilian – Max’s middle name + Belle’s best friend Emilie ✅ Hervé – Belle’s dad ❓ Jean – WHO IS JEAN?? WHO ARE YOU, SIR???

@/softverstappen: not me spiraling at 2am trying to figure out who Jean is Like?? Belle’s secret French ex?? A great-uncle? A poetic choice?? An homage to God is gracious??? I’m losing it.

@/f1familytree: Here’s what we know: – Emilian = Max Emilian Verstappen – Belle’s best friend = Emilie – Belle’s father = Hervé – Jean = ???

Current theories:

It’s symbolic

It’s a tribute

They just liked how it sounded

@/gridloredept: “Jean” is the mystery box of this baby name and I for one am obsessed

@/babyverstappenthreads: It gets better: Jos = short for Johannes → form of John Gianpiero = “Gianni” + “Piero” → John Peter = also John Jean = French version of John SO. Jean = both Jos and GP I’m SCREAMING

@/mclarenspy: me reading a baby name announcement like it’s ancient runes:

Emilian for Max and Belle’s ride or die

Hervé for dead dad with complicated feelings

Jean for two of the most important men in Max’s life

@/babystoryboard: I just realized Jean = Jos and GP. I’m never recovering from the Verstappens being this thoughtful.

@/emilianupdates: Emilian Jean Hervé. It's giving Max. It's giving Belle. It's giving "We sat down with a name book and got emotional about people we love." I will never be normal again.

@/softverstappen: NOOOOOO the baby is named after MAX’S MIDDLE NAME, BELLE’S BEST FRIEND, HER LATE FATHER, AND THE TWO MEN WHO RAISED MAX ON AND OFF TRACK 😭😭😭😭😭

@/emilianbabyupdates: Not them using Jean as a stealth tribute to both GP and Jos. That is so Max-coded. Subtle. Personal. Emotional. GP probably cried. Jos probably grunted. Balance.

@/lanielshipping: Me: oh cute name Me after 0.5 seconds of digging: I’m emotionally shattered, this baby is a thesis in familial love and generational healing

@/piastribraincell: Can’t wait until Emilian grows up and asks “why is my name so long” and Belle’s like “because we had a lot of people to love” 😭

@/maxverstappenfanclub: Max’s entire post reads like: 🏆 four-time world champion 👶 now a dad ❤️ named my son after everyone who ever held me together 🫠 I’m not okay

***

The apartment was warm with the kind of cozy, golden glow that came from fairy light and the sheer love of a home that had waited all year to become a family. The scent of pine from the tree in the corner mixed with something sweet in the oven. Sophie recognized it as Belle’s doing—she’d always preferred soft rituals over grand gestures.

They arrived mid-morning, after a surprisingly smooth flight from Belgium, Tom carrying bags, Victoria carrying Lio, and Luka barreling in like a whirlwind of excitement. Hailey clinging shyly to her Oma.

Max opened the door, in a hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was messy. His grin was unmistakable.

“Hey,” he said, before pulling Victoria into a one-armed hug, careful of the toddler she carried. “They just woke up from a nap. Come in.”

Sophie stepped inside, blinking at how different it all felt. The last time she’d seen Max, it had been in Qatar, champagne-drenched and smiling like someone who finally saw the finish line.

Now?

Now he was someone’s father.

The door clicked shut behind her.

She heard the quiet creak of the nursery door open, the shuffle of Belle’s slippers, and then—Belle emerged, wrapped in a thick knit cardigan, baby tucked gently against her chest.

Everything went still.

Sophie’s breath caught.

He was… so small.

Max moved to Belle’s side without needing to be asked, his hand naturally resting on her back. It was instinct now, Sophie could tell. The baby shifted slightly at the sound of more voices, but didn’t fuss. Just blinked with dazed, heavy-lidded curiosity.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Victoria whispered, one hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God. Look at him.”

“Come here,” Belle said softly. “Meet Emilian.”

Victoria came first, eyes wide, the tears already threatening before she even got close. She was holding Lio on one hip, but passed him off to Tom without a word so she could cup a hand carefully over the back of the baby’s head.

“He’s perfect,” she whispered. “You made a perfect person.”

Belle laughed, tired and glowing and so happy Sophie felt it like a pulse through the room. “I think I had help.”

Max smiled, quiet and proud.

Luka, bouncing impatiently, piped up: “Is this the baby you were talking about?”

“Yes,” Max said, crouching slightly to bring Luka closer to Belle. “This is your cousin, Emilian.”

Luka’s eyes were huge. “He’s tiny.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “You were tiny once too.”

Luka looked skeptical. “No I wasn’t.”

Everyone laughed.

Lio had hidden behind Sophie’s leg, but Belle crouched a little, shifting Emilian into one arm.

“Lio,” she said gently. “Do you want to see him?”

The little boy crept forward, peering up with awe at the baby’s tiny hands.

“Is he real?”

Max snorted. “He better be.”

“Would you like to help me hold him?” Belle asked, already sitting carefully on the sofa, adjusting Emilian into the crook of her arm.

Lio nodded solemnly, and Belle guided him up onto her lap, steadying his small arms so she could hold just the tiniest bit of his weight.

Sophie’s throat ached.

She remembered a part of Max’s life—when he was all grit and drive, when his heart was locked up so tight he didn’t even know it was there. She remembered watching him grow, fight, rage, win.

But this?

This was something else entirely.

She stepped closer, blinking back the emotion, and finally sat down on the edge of the sofa beside Belle.

Max looked at her, eyebrows raised, like he knew.

“Can I?” Sophie asked softly.

Belle smiled. “Of course.”

She passed Emilian over carefully, gently, and Sophie took Emilian into her arms.

He was warm. Soft. Solid and impossibly delicate at the same time.

And as soon as she held him, Emilian yawned—one of those full-body, milk-drunk yawns that scrunched his nose and stretched his limbs.

Sophie felt something in her crack open.

“Oh, Maxie,” she said.

He blinked. “What?”

“You did it,” she whispered. “You really did it. And he’s—he’s so loved.”

Max sat on the armrest beside her, close enough to brush a fingertip along Emilian’s tiny hand.

“I don’t know how I got this lucky,” he said, barely audible. “But I did.”

Sophie smiled through the tears gathering behind her lashes. “You made your own luck.”

Across the room, Victoria had her arms around Belle now, the two of them whispering and laughing as the kids explored the rest of the living room.

Sophie looked at the baby again—Emilian Jean Hervé Verstappen.

Loved already.

Held by hands that would never let him feel small.

And for the first time in a long time, Sophie felt nothing but peace.

***

Victoria had held a lot of babies in her life.

Friends’ babies. Cousins’ babies. All three of her own—each different, each chaotic in their own way. She knew how to support a newborn’s head with practiced hands, how to sway gently without thinking, how to recognize the difference between a sleepy whimper and an impending storm.

But nothing—nothing—prepared her for this.

“Do you want to hold him?” Belle asked softly, her voice warm but tired.

She was curled into the corner of the couch, a pale cardigan wrapped around her, Emilian tucked against her chest like a second heartbeat. Her eyes were sleep-heavy, but happy.

Victoria nodded, unable to form words for a second. She passed Lio off to Tom, then wiped her hands on her jeans like she hadn’t held at least three spit-up-covered toddlers in the last five years.

Max stepped forward to help, as if he knew. “He’s a little grumbly if you wake him too fast.”

Victoria smiled, heart fluttering, and held her arms out.

Belle passed Emilian over slowly, carefully, with the kind of reverence usually reserved for crystal vases and miracles.

And that’s what he felt like.

A miracle.

Victoria looked down—and forgot how to breathe.

He was so small.

And so real.

Pink cheeks. Long lashes. The tiniest fingernails she’d ever seen. A tuft of soft brown-blond hair at the top of his head, not quite dark enough to be Belle’s, not quite fair enough to be Max’s. A perfect blend. He made a sleepy sound and wriggled, then settled into the crook of her arm like he belonged there.

“Oh my God,” Victoria whispered.

Max smiled next to her, quiet and proud. “He looks like Belle when he’s mad. And like me when he’s hungry.”

Belle rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too. “You wish. He has your exact grumpy face.”

Victoria let out a watery laugh.

She rocked him gently, her hand cradling his tiny head. She’d thought it would feel like holding any other baby. But it didn’t. This wasn’t just her nephew. This was Max’s son. Belle’s son. This was the little person they’d dreamed about. Fought for. Loved already, with a quiet ferocity that lived in every corner of this home.

“I didn’t think it would hit me like this,” Victoria murmured, eyes still locked on the tiny bundle in her arms. “But it’s like… the second I held him, everything changed.”

She looked up at Max.

And for a moment, she didn’t see the World Champion. She didn’t see the fierce competitor, the driver who’d made a career out of dominance and calculation.

She saw her big brother. The one who used to cry when he skinned his knees. The one who slept curled next to her during thunderstorms. The one who, against all odds, had grown into a man who was kind and loving and steady—and now, someone’s father.

“You’re going to be so good at this,” she whispered. “You already are.”

Max looked like he might cry.

Belle blinked hard, and reached out to squeeze Victoria’s hand.

Victoria pressed a kiss to Emilian’s forehead, her voice thick with emotion.

“Welcome to the world, little man,” she whispered. “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

And somehow, in that quiet living room in Monaco, with the smell of vanilla and the sound of soft breathing, Victoria felt like she was the lucky one too.

***

It was chaos.

Unrestrained, unapologetic, joyful chaos.

Children’s laughter echoed down the hall as Hailey shrieked with delight and Luka tried to convince Arthur to help him build the world’s tallest Lego tower. Someone had spilled cranberry sauce on the tablecloth. Someone else had already opened dessert. Max was trying to slice bread while also keeping Emilian’s little hat on his fuzzy head, and Charles was mid-argument with Tom about how Monopoly was a broken game and shouldn’t be used to determine anything except how quickly families could descend into war.

Pascale stood in the doorway for a moment, watching it all.

And her daughter — her Belle — was right in the middle of it.

Not hosting. Not planning. Just being.

Hair pulled back in a soft twist, feet in woolly socks, baby Emilian in her arms. Her face was flushed with warmth, laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth as Victoria handed her another glass of that ginger-sparkling-water thing Max had been making in batches all week. Sophie was helping Lio into his little reindeer jumper and looked like she was having the time of her life. Max looked utterly content, relaxed in a way Pascale still wasn’t used to seeing.

It was loud. It was messy.

It was family.

And Pascale had never seen her daughter look so… whole.

There was no ache behind her smile. No tightness in her shoulders. No carefully composed stillness to avoid becoming too much or not enough.

Belle was easy here. At ease. Surrounded by people who didn’t just love her, but liked her. Admired her. Protected her.

Pascale remembered, with a pang, the Christmases of their past.

How Belle used to sit quietly, helping with dishes, stepping in to soothe tensions, carrying too much weight in too small a frame. How she used to buy everyone’s gifts by herself, wrap them while Pascale was distracted, and never ask for anything.

How often Pascale had let that happen.

How little she had seen it.

Now, Belle sat with Max curled around her shoulder and Emilian sleeping soundly on her chest. Charles leaned in to whisper something that made her laugh. Arthur brought her a second helping of dessert. Lorenzo tucked a blanket around her legs without asking.

And Pascale… Pascale just watched.

She felt a lump in her throat and didn’t try to swallow it.

She had missed so much. Taken so much for granted. Spent years thinking Belle would always be fine simply because she never asked for more.

But Belle had asked. Quietly. Indirectly. Through everything she had given.

And now, Pascale could see — finally, fully see — the life her daughter had built.

A husband who adored her.

A child who would grow up surrounded by gentleness and laughter.

Friends who showed up unasked.

Siblings who were trying.

And a family — one part Verstappen, one part Leclerc, all hers — who made space for her in ways Pascale never had.

“Are you alright, Maman?” Belle’s voice cut through her thoughts, soft and curious.

Pascale blinked. Her daughter had noticed. Of course she had.

She nodded and stepped forward.

“I’m more than alright, chérie,” she said honestly, touching Emilian’s soft little cheek. “I think… I’m just finally catching up to you.”

Belle tilted her head, eyes warm.

“That’s alright,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

****

It was late afternoon after christmas when they drove out to the stables.

The sun was low and warm, spilling gold over the fields. Emilian was tucked securely against Max’s chest in the carrier, swaddled and softly snoring, a tiny hat pulled low over his ears. Belle walked beside them, one hand on Max’s arm, the other cradling a bag of snacks for the horses.

“Are you sure he’s warm enough?” Max asked for the fourth time since they’d parked.

“He’s fine,” Belle said, amused. “He’s the human equivalent of a microwaved cinnamon roll right now.”

“He’s just so small,” Max muttered, glancing down at the bundle on his chest like he still couldn’t believe they’d been entrusted with a real person.

“That’s how babies work, mon amour.”

“Yeah, but—he was born like five minutes ago. Should we even be outside? What if a horse sneezes on him?”

Belle laughed. “If either of them sneezes on him, you have my full permission to drive us straight to the hospital. But I promise, they’ll behave.”

The stables were quiet, the way they always were in the late afternoon — warm hay, the sound of birds, the distant clink of a water trough. Fleur was the first to poke her head over the stall door, ears pricking as she caught sight of them.

Max slowed. “Okay. Here we go. One horse. One baby. Minimal chaos.”

Belle stepped ahead of him and held out her hand to Fleur, who snuffled it politely before nuzzling her palm. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said softly. “I missed you.”

Galahad followed a second later, his dark head unmistakable even in the shadow of his stall. He let out a gentle huff and leaned over to peer curiously at Max — or more specifically, the little bundle strapped to his chest.

Max stopped a safe distance back, protective instincts firing at full throttle. “He’s not a carrot, mate.”

“He’s interested,” Belle said with a smile. “They both are.”

She stepped back beside Max and gently lifted the edge of Emilian’s swaddle. The baby stirred, then blinked up sleepily, face scrunching in protest at the sunlight before nestling back down against Max’s chest.

Fleur stretched her neck out — slow, deliberate — and sniffed the air just in front of them. Galahad followed suit, his huge dark eyes locked on the baby, ears twitching slightly.

Belle reached out and placed her palm on Max’s chest, just beside Emilian’s head. “This is Emilian,” she said softly. “He’s ours.”

The horses didn’t move.

Then Fleur, ever the gentle queen, took one slow step forward and nudged her muzzle just an inch closer — not touching, but close enough that Emilian let out a little sigh, his nose scrunching.

“He smells like milk and baby wipes,” Max whispered. “And stress.”

“He smells like love,” Belle said quietly.

Galahad made a low, curious sound and blinked slowly, his head lowering. Max didn’t move — too stunned to speak, eyes flicking between the baby and the horses like he was watching two worlds overlap.

Fleur finally leaned in — the lightest touch — and brushed her nose over Belle’s shoulder. Max reached out instinctively with one hand to stroke her cheek.

“He’s safe,” Belle murmured. “They know.”

Max swallowed hard. “This is... really emotional for something that smells like hay.”

Belle laughed, tearful. “You’re allowed to cry, Max. Nobody here’s taking pictures.”

“I’m not crying,” Max said, absolutely crying. “It’s just—dust.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “You know, I always dreamed of bringing my kids here one day.”

“And now you have.”

They stood like that for a while — Emilian asleep, horses quietly flanking them like sentinels, the light painting everything gold.

Eventually, Galahad let out a soft snort and nudged Max’s elbow, clearly unimpressed with how long this meeting had gone without snacks.

Belle pulled an apple from the bag and passed it over with a grin. “Fine. You’ve earned it.”

“And they didn’t sneeze on him,” Max muttered, almost to himself.

Belle looked at him fondly. “They love him already.”

Max adjusted the carrier, brushing a kiss over Emilian’s hat. “He’s going to love them too. How could he not? He’s got your heart.”

Belle looked at the four of them — her son, her horses, her husband trying not to cry — and thought:

This. This is the life I wanted.

THE END

#max verstappen fanfiction #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smau #max verstappen fic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #max verstappen fluff #mv1 fanfiction #max verstappen imagine

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egophiliac · 2 days ago

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I.CANT.WAIT.FOR.THE.TWISTED.WONDERLAND.STORY.UPDATE.ANY.LONGER! LIKE.ONE.WEEK.IS.STILL.FAR.😭

THE END IS IN SIGHT, YOU CAN DO IIIIIIIIIIIT

(...meanwhile my big fear right now is that if we don't get 7.5 next month, then we aren't gonna get it until at least November due to the traditional big Halloween block. 😭 Twst PLEASE I can't wait that long --)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #maybe sort of not really???????#eh let's be safe anyway #eng has anniversary in september right?#so i wonder if they're aiming to do an anniversary timing thing there also 👀#crucially i do not pay attention though so ignore everything i say about schedules #now hold on as i talk about schedules for a while #(marking this as yet another post that is NOT going to age well but look. i'm venting.)#because august is a complete mystery right now (birthdays aside) and it is eating my WHOLE brain #like. i feel like it makes sense for 7.5 to be the big thing for august?#aside from the blazing jewel live ofc but that's in like two weeks so they have the rest of the month there #and that way they can leave us on a terrible cliffhanger and have that halloween block + end of year time to prep for 8 #no LISTEN they LOVE pulling shit like this. 7.5 is going to end with malleus tripping over his stupid blot stone and exploding or whatever #and then we gotta pretend everything's totally fine as we go visit halloweentown with him again :)#AND ALSO they wouldn't have teased it on the stream if they were just going to make us wait 5+ months for it? right?#r-right?!#i'm grasping at straws and coming up with nothing #god i hope they aren't going to make us wait until they've done full pickups for all of the ob boys. i might actually implode.#...WAIT is THIS going to be where we finally get those diadorm reruns #i was obsessed with those as the sign that 7 would finally be ending and then they just kind of never happened #tell me you didn't just forget about them twst #TELL ME YOU DIDN'T JUST FORGET ABOUT THEM

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luna-azzurra · 2 days ago

Text

"I Found Out What You Did" Dialogue Prompts

(For when your character finds out someone else made a painful sacrifice, took the blame, or protected them at a cost.)

✩ "You lied to me. To protect me. And you thought that was okay?"

✩ "How long were you planning to let me hate you for something you didn’t do?"

✩ "You took the fall. And you didn’t tell me? Why?"

✩ "You think I wouldn’t have done the same for you? You think I don’t care that much?"

✩ "All this time I thought you betrayed me. And you were bleeding for me in silence."

✩ "You absolute idiot. You beautiful, frustrating idiot."

✩ "I don’t know whether to hug you or punch you."

✩ "That wasn’t your burden. That was ours. You didn’t have to carry it alone."

✩ "You didn’t even give me the chance to stand with you. You just, decided for both of us."

✩ "This changes everything. And also... nothing."

#writing advice #writing #writer on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #writer tumblr #character development #writblr #writing help #oc character #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #fic prompt #writing prompt #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing inspo #writing is my therapy

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mishappeningss · 2 days ago

Note

the bit you wrote for lando on the romantic moments post had me kicking my feet and giggling. it was so cute oh my goddddd. but now i need to know if there has been anymore moments like that between her and lando

if platonic soulmates exist, ynlando is the number one.

more about driver!yn

THE HAND ON HER BACK

She’s still dazed from the race. Fourth place. Brutal. Just off the podium.

Her helmet’s off, her suit’s unzipped halfway, and everything around her is moving way too fast — photographers yelling names, press pulling drivers left and right, someone calling her name but she doesn’t catch it.

Then — A hand gently presses to the middle of her back.

Just enough pressure to ground her. Guide her. Subtle, steady, careful. She turns her head. It’s Lando.

He’s not saying anything. He just tilts his chin slightly — a silent, familiar signal: this way. come with me.

And she does.

She lets herself be steered through the crowd like it’s nothing. Like it happens every weekend. Like she’s not barely holding it together from missing the podium by two-tenths.

They don’t speak. Not until they’re behind the garage, alone, where the noise fades.

“You did good,” he says.

She just nods. Doesn’t trust her voice.

And then he adds, quiet enough that it’s not for anyone else: “You’re gonna beat us all soon. I’m not ready.”

She snorts. Wipes her face. “Good.”

Later, someone catches the video — that small gesture. That hand on her back. That wordless moment.

user: why did lando put his hand on her back like that. why did it look like muscle memory. why did she move immediately like he does this every week

user: it’s the placement for me. he didn’t grab her arm. didn’t yank her. didn’t speak. just the smallest touch and she followed him. 😭

user: they act like a married couple with 3 kids in college and 20 years of history it’s actually scary

THE HOODIE

Morning of FP1. It’s colder than usual. Her driver room’s heater is busted. She’s freezing.

She walks past McLaren’s hospitality and jokingly complains into the group chat:

someone bring me a hoodie or I will DNF from frostbite.

Thirty seconds later, there’s a knock.

She opens the door to see Lando, already in his race suit, hair slightly damp, holding out a hoodie. It’s navy, oversized, still warm from him wearing it.

“You’re dramatic,” he says, handing it over. “But here.”

She blinks. “…You ran to the motorhome for this?”

“No,” he deadpans. “I teleport.”

He walks off before she can say thank you. She ends up wearing it all morning. Doesn’t take it off until pre-race briefings.

Of course a fan spots her in it. Of course the photo ends up online. Of course it’s chaos.

user: girl. GIRL. GIRLLLLL. she’s wearing his hoodie again. she didn’t even try to hide it this time 😭

user: the way she’s just out here in enemy colors. for him. norris what do you have on her

user: it’s not even romantic i swear. it’s something worse. it’s best friends with gentle urgency.

user: also… tell me that hoodie wasn’t fresh off his back. it still had the sleeve crease 😭

THE ICE CREAM

Post-qualifying. She’s in a mood. P6. She wanted more. She’s sweaty, annoyed, sitting on a crate outside the hospitality tent, scrolling mindlessly on her phone with her helmet in her lap.

Without saying a word, Lando walks up and places a cup of ice cream next to her.

It’s her favorite flavor. She looks up. He doesn’t sit. Just shrugs and goes,

“I didn’t want to listen to you complain later.”

She scoffs. “You’re the one who always whines.”

“Exactly,” he says, walking off. “Know your competition.”

She eats it anyway. She smiles anyway. The camera catches it anyway.

user: lando casually bringing her ice cream after qualy and walking off like a romcom lead… what the hell is going on

user: this is enemies to lovers but they skipped the enemies and the lovers and went straight to soulmated

user: idk if this is flirting or just chronic codependence and at this point i’m fine with either

user: i’d kill to be so close with someone that they bring me ice cream before i even ask 😭

THE RAIN DELAY

It’s pouring. The race is delayed. The drivers are all huddled in the garage or pacing like animals.

She’s sitting on a folding chair, helmet on the floor, boots up on a cooler, face in her hands. No one’s talking much. Everyone’s restless.

Lando walks over, flips a Red Bull crate upside down and sits next to her.

“Want to play a game?” he asks.

She looks up. “What game?"

He shrugs. “Who’s the most annoying person on the grid. We say it at the same time.”

They count to three.

“Oscar.”

“Charles.”

They both burst out laughing. It’s loud and sudden and completely out of place in the middle of the damp, quiet garage. People turn and stare.

She leans her head on his shoulder. Still laughing. He doesn’t move.

Later, Sky Sports posts a zoomed-in video of it. No mics. Just the two of them, whispering and laughing like they’re in detention.

user: WHY is she so comfortable with him. WHY is her head just on his shoulder like it lives there. WHAT IS HAPPENING

user: he literally sat down next to her and started bullying the grid. MY DUO

user: people who know each other in the rain >>>>>

NECK CHECK

Race day. Grid is full. The anthem has played. Cameras everywhere.

Her race suit is zipped. Hair braided. She’s buckling her gloves when Lando walks past her toward his spot.

Then he pauses. Says nothing.

He reaches out, brushes his thumb over the edge of her neck where the balaclava is slightly folded. He fixes it.

“You’d get a rash,” he says simply. Then walks away like nothing happened.

She just stands there blinking. Like… okay? Thanks? Hello?

Someone caught it. A grid photographer. High-def. Too clear. You can see the exact moment her expression softens.

user: the way he said “you’d get a rash” like he’s been keeping track of her skin health 😭😭😭

user: it’s giving medieval knight adjusting the armor of the sword-wielding princess he’s secretly sworn to protect

user: not dating but physically can’t let her go on track unless he’s checked her uniform like a mother hen

top comment: they’re not dating. they’re just the softest duo in f1 history. if they ever do date it’s over for the rest of us.

#formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1!reader #formula one smau #f1 smau #driver!reader #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #lando norris x you #jadeittic

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thatonegrimm · 1 day ago

Note

I have a request! Saja boys react to the "let's break up" prank. Or they try to prank reader and cue saja boys groveling for forgiveness

Thank you for the request! I went with the second one with this. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader — They Prank You

------------------

🧿 Jinu

Jinu sat you down very solemnly, blinking at you like a lost puppy. "I... I don’t know who you are," he whispered, clutching his chest. "You say we’re... dating?"

You just stared at him, deadpan. "Jinu, you wrote my name across five Post-Its on your laptop this morning."

"But what if that was from—before the accident?"

"What accident?"

He paused.

You blinked again.

He broke first, laughing nervously—but your unimpressed silence made it die fast. You stood up, muttering, “You want amnesia? Fine. Forget this weekend’s ramen night. Hope your ghosts feed you.”

By the time you were halfway down the hallway, he was chasing after you in socks, slipping on the floor and begging, “Wait! I remember! I REMEMBER EVERYTHING! EVEN OUR FIRST DATE—YOU WORE THAT SWEATER, PLEASE DON’T BE MAD—!”

------------------

💪 Abby

Abby pretended there was an invisible wall in the kitchen doorway and would not let you pass.

Every time you tried, he mimed pushing you back like a mime in training. “Whoa, whoa, sorry babe. Only demons can pass through this portal.”

“I live here.”

“Then you better manifest some horns, sweetheart.”

You stared him down, then slowly raised your phone and started recording. “Day 1. My boyfriend has succumbed to nonsense. I’m surviving off three strawberries and rage. Please send help.”

Abby panicked. “No, wait—babe—I’ll lower the barrier, I swear!” He dramatically pretended to dismantle it. “See? Open now. Come in. Please don’t report me to the boyfriend union—”

You stepped past him, not even glancing his way.

He was on the ground a second later, clutching your leg like a koala. “You can punch me if it helps. I DESERVE IT.”

------------------

📚 Mystery

Mystery stood perfectly still in the hallway mirror. His bangs had been brushed back—just enough to reveal his eyes.

You walked out of the room and froze. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Just tilted his head very slowly. Eyes gold. Body completely still.

The air got cold.

“Mystery,” you warned.

Still nothing.

Then he whispered, low and distorted: “You called me Mystery. But I’m not him anymore.”

Your soul nearly left your body.

And then. Then. He snorted.

You slapped the light switch on. “OH? OH, YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY?”

Cue full chase scene across the apartment. You were ready to throw salt. He was laughing so hard he ran into a wall.

Ten minutes later, Mystery was crouched beside the bed with a makeshift apology gift made of candy wrappers and an actual note that said “i was dumb. punish me if needed.”

He did not prank you again for two whole weeks, a personal record.

------------------

💋 Romance

“I need to tell you something,” Romance said, his expression grave. “Please don’t hate me.”

You lowered your phone, concerned. “What?”

“There’s someone else. I—I kissed them.”

Silence.

You didn’t speak. Just stood. Walked away. Not even slammed the door—just left the room.

Romance sat there for a second, very smug. “Wait for it... wait for it...”

Two minutes passed.

No footsteps.

No yelling.

“...Babe?”

You were halfway down the street with your headphones in when your phone buzzed twenty times in a row. The group chat was lighting up with:

🧿: WHAT DID YOU DO 💪: why is she in front of the 7/11. what did you say 📚: …she looked at me like I was a ghost 💋: IM SORRY I WAS JOKING IT WAS A PRANK PLEASE I WILL NEVER FLIRT AGAIN IN MY LIFE NOT EVEN WITH THE MAILBOX

When you finally came back, he met you at the door with a bouquet, a dramatic apology poem, and what appeared to be a slideshow titled “Proof I Only Want You” featuring 47 pictures of you in various states of annoyed affection.

------------------

🔥 Baby

“Okay, don’t freak out,” Baby said, holding up a charred, twisted scrap of fabric with tongs.

You blinked. “...Is that my sweatshirt?”

“I was lighting candles! For ambiance! But then the ambiance caught fire and your sweatshirt was just—”

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t yell.

You just turned and picked up your backpack.

“No, no, don’t go—wait—it’s not real!” he blurted, tossing the fake charred fabric aside. “It’s a kitchen towel I burned ON PURPOSE. Your sweatshirt’s folded in the closet. I was being FUNNY—”

You kept walking.

“Babe, no. You love that sweatshirt. I love you in that sweatshirt. I PROMISE I’D NEVER—”

The second you stopped in the hallway, he dropped to his knees in pure Baby fashion.

“I’ll wash it by hand for the next year! I’ll give you my whole hoodie collection! You want my Spotify password? Take my soul! Please!”

------------------

One week later, five apology snacks arrived at your desk.

Jinu hand-delivered a playlist titled “Sorry I Pretended to Forget You”.

Abby wouldn’t stop offering to carry things for you. Including you.

Mystery left sticky notes that said “Not Possessed :)” all over the fridge.

Romance kept asking if he should print a certificate of loyalty and hang it in your room.

Baby wore your sweatshirt for a day like penance. You didn’t ask him to. He just whispered, “This is my punishment,” and curled up on the couch.

You forgave them.

Eventually.

But the next time you started acting weird, not a single one of them dared ask if it was a prank.

Lesson learned.

------------------

M-List

#kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #baby x reader #jinu x reader #mystery x reader #abby x reader #romance x reader #saja boys x reader #kpdh

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ilium-ilia · 1 day ago

Text

ichor tongue; salted wounds

simon ghost riley x fem!reader | warlord x servant | masterlist

Epilogue

It has been two weeks since you’ve given birth to Ghost’s son—the heir to the throne, and the tiny love of your life.

Like his father, he is large. Nothing but squirming arms, kicking feet, and fat cheeks. The midwife said he was the biggest baby she’s ever seen anyone birth before, and he fought and screamed with demanding cries the moment he sucked in his first breath. Tiny hands clenched into fists, pumping them into the air as if already fighting; you cried with him the moment he opened his eyes. Darkness like the sky just after dusk—a pure reflection of his father. The moment they laid him on your breast he quieted just long enough for you to point the similarity out.

Now, those same eyes are closed as he feeds. Chiton pushed past your chest, limp cloth laying around your waist, your son eats as if he’ll be starved for the rest of his life after this. Greedy fingers pinching at your tender skin, you beam down at him as your body bounces on the edge of the bed to lull him to sleep.

It’s the quiet moments like these that make everything worth it. When it is only the two of you and the sound of the ocean through the windows with strong waves crashing on the shore as if the earth herself is singing a special lullaby for your child.

The priest said he is going to be adored by everyone. A true ruler with integrity and strength. There will come a day when he sits on the throne and his soft skin hardens with scars that are of the same vein of his fathers, but for now he is yours. Each little finger and toe, every coo, the cries that come in the night—they’re all yours.

“Starvin’ isn’t he?”

So lost in your own enervation, you miss the sound of Simon crossing the threshold into your chambers. Heavy eyes slowly blink until you’ve made sense of his figure crossing through the room, hands occupied with a platter of food. You smile at him as you squeeze your son closer to you. He grunts as he scratches at your collarbone as if your breast isn’t enough—insatiable little man, needing skin and bone, too.

Your husband sets the platter to the side before seating himself next to you. You both look down at the boy who lazily suckles on your breast; innocence reincarnate. The ache in your stomach grows with each moment he feeds—body contracting, blood flowing free from your battered womb, used up of all your resources. When you lean to the side and rest your head on Simon’s shoulder, his hand finds your back. Low, where your spine meets your hips, he rubs. Tense fingers into screaming skin.

“Tired, Mouse?” he asks. All you can do is hum in response.

Simon allows the child to eat for a few more moments before his hands slip around yours. Perking up, you watch as his limp body is lifted out of your arms and into your husband’s, his mouth detaching from your breast with a small pop. Though he seems to grow more and more by the day, Simon always manages to dwarf him. Hardly longer than his forearm, not even the circumference of his bicep—Simon smiles down at his son as he slowly stands.

“All that eatin’ and you don’t even give your mother a thank you?” he asks facetiously. When the child yawns with a squeak, Simon shrugs. “Suppose that will do for now.”

Bleary eyes lazily focus on Simon as he lays the child in the bassinet next to you. Animal pelts cradle him, keeping him on his back while his arms tuck close to his body before he goes limp with another ceremonious yawn. Simon places his palm on the boy’s stomach for a few moments, a habit you picked up shortly after he was born when you feared he would stop breathing in the night. You watch it rise and fall with each tiny breath, and your shoulders slouch with relief.

“Alright little mouse.” Simon’s voice is soft and quiet as he prompts your attention, each syllable delicate so as to not rouse the child. “Let me take care of my wife.”

He situates you on the bed so that you’re laying in his lap, head propped up on his thigh, eyes focusing on the distant ceiling that looms overhead. A large hand gently cups one of your breasts before carefully squeezing, fingertips rolling into the swollen tissue. The pressure that builds leaves you groaning as you shut your eyes, head rolling to the side as you nuzzle your nose into his stomach.

“Still sore?” he asks. He huffs when you nod. The birthing process has been strange for him��frustrating, almost. He does not like seeing you in a pain he cannot mend. “We will see the midwife tomorrow. I’m sure something can be done.”

Once he is satisfied in massaging you, he cradles your head with his hand. Tense fingers press into your skull, lifting you up slightly, but he bears all the weight. You open your eyes when you feel the cool skin of a grape against your lips.

Simon feeds you like this every day now. Whenever he’s able to step away from his duties as warlord, anyway. It’s his way of giving back—of taking care of the woman who gave him everything he could ever want in this world. Understanding, companionship, a child of your mixed blood. His fingers push into your mouth where he lines the grape with your molars and lets you bite before pushing the squished food around until you’re ready to swallow. Then it’s cheese, a slice of apple, tender meat, a sip of water.

“My sweet wife,” Simon murmurs. You could fall asleep like this—you nearly do. Cradled in his arms, his fingers in your mouth, the call of the sea pulling you beneath her waves. “Beautiful. I love you more than the sun loves the moon.”

Allowing your eyes to flicker open, you stare up at him. A humid breeze forces a shiver through your body and causes your nipples to harden, but even then his only focus is your face. His fingertips trace your lips, dancing along your smile, and when he decides seeing is not enough, he curls forward to kiss you. Tongue in your mouth, palms cupping your face, he partakes of your flesh like it’s the only sustenance that he needs.

When he pulls away, your eyes are wet. “I’m going to give you the whole world,” he promises.

If you had a tongue, you’d tell him that he already has.

A pathetic squeak is the precursor to your son’s crying. Both you and Simon turn your attention to the bassinet where you can already see the boy’s fingers reaching up in a desperate search for someone to catch him. You are slow to move, but Simon doesn’t rush you, but the moment his legs are free he’s standing. Your grunting stops him as you grab his wrist and pull back in warning.

Relenting, Simon allows you to stand and scoop the crying babe from his bed. Your touch alone already has his pules calming to whimpering as you press him to your still bare chest. Itchy feet wander around the room in slow, swaying steps, but you stop when Simon’s hands find your hips and he pulls your back to his chest.

The two of you rock side to side like this, like fish caught in a current, or swans dancing on the mirror surface of a lake. Simon’s cheek rests against your shoulder as he digs his nose into your cheek, lips finding that faint scar on the side of your throat and blessing it with a kiss. Your son likes it best this way; when both his parents are within his stunted view.

Still, his whimpering persists and doesn’t calm until you begin to hum. The melody is lost on you; unfamiliar even to your own ears. It vibrates through your chest as you capture the sound of wind through trees, and the gentle lament of a grandmother who will never hold her grandson. Soon, the boy is staring up at you with wide eyes as if he understands your wordless tune. Simon whispers how beautiful you sound before he takes the boy’s hand into his own, chuckling at how his fingers can’t quite wrap around his pinky.

Smiling, you place a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. You have no tongue, but these days you sing anyway.

thank you for reading

#ilium writing #sr ilia #it;sw #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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navybrat817 · 2 days ago

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Hold Me

Pairing: Clark Kent x Female Reader

Summary: You just need Clark to hold you.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Crying, comfort, slight angst, established relationship, pet names, Clark Kent (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Feeling some kind of way. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Clark can always tell when you’re about to cry, sometimes before you do. He’s so in tune with you that he can hear how your breathing changes to something more shallow and difficult, like a weight is pressing down on your chest. If he’s looking at you, he can see how your brows pinch like you're hurting, and the tears build before they fill your eyes. His heart matches to the beat of yours whenever that occurs, as if he’s trying to match whatever pain it is that you’re feeling so that you don’t feel alone.

Today is no different.

He knows you’re crying before he enters the apartment and he freezes. You hadn’t reached out to him, hadn’t called his name, so you aren’t physically hurt. Your texts throughout the day hadn’t given any indication that you were upset, but anything could’ve happened between the time he left work and got home. So he approaches the bedroom slowly and quietly, almost like you’re an animal in the corner. He isn’t sure if you’ll lash out or if you’ll let him help because he learned early on that tears happen for different reasons and assistance comes in many different forms.

Helping you can mean giving you space or holding you close, and Clark hopes today that it’s the latter. He can be clingy at times, admittedly so. He always wants to touch you, and he wants to wipe away the tears that fall. But he won’t do so if that isn’t the comfort you need.

“Sunlight,” he whispers, placing his hand on the door.

He calls you that since you light up every room you walk into. Not only that, but the air around you always seems warm. So when you weep, he wants to weep, too, because nothing should dim your brightness. Not a single thing on this planet should take your smile away.

You sniffle when he pushes the door open and he senses that you’re trying to hide a bit from him when you sit up and wipe your cheeks. He spots the chocolate wrapper beside you as he takes a seat, and guilt settles in his chest when he inhales and notices the shift in your scent. A downside to dating him is that you can’t exactly keep anything from him. He knows when you’re ovulating, aroused, not feeling well, and everything in between. You have your secrets, of course, but just about anything that involves your body is accessible to him. It isn’t fair because you didn’t ask to have a boyfriend so… intuitive.

And, thankfully, he has never been dumb enough to blame anything on your hormones. He’s Kryptonian, but not invincible. He doesn’t have a death wish.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers, not reaching for you just yet. You don’t ask him to leave, but it doesn’t mean you want him in your space.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

It takes a moment, but you rest your head on his shoulder. He closes his eyes and blocks out everything else around him so he can focus on you. Nothing matters more than you.

“You okay?”

Silence follows. The only sound is the steady beat of your heart and breathing. It soothes him when he should be soothing you. “Just felt a little broken inside for no reason and I couldn’t pick up the pieces,” you tell him.

He turns his head to kiss the top of yours. Emotions can often feel like glass- delicate, easily broken, and with the need to handle with care. To feel isn’t easy, and you’re the type of person to feel so strongly. When you love, you love with all of your being. When you’re down, you feel it all, too, so much that it almost snuffs out your light.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He’s sorry that someone as wonderful as you ever feels bad. But you rise. You always do. The good days outweigh the bad days, and he’s thankful to witness how you live each day with an open heart full of hope.

“It’s okay. I feel a little better,” you say so easily because you’re stronger than you ever give yourself credit for and you don’t need the yellow sun for your strength. “Just needed to cry it out.”

Crying does have benefits, as much as it breaks his heart to see you do that. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks. Though you feel a little better, he still wants to be your hero in some capacity. Not because he’s Superman or even Clark Kent, but because he’s a man in love.

You lift your head and your gaze flickers to his, a single tear ready to fall from your eye. “Hold me so I can feel the pieces get put back together.”

He breathes out. “You just want me to hold you?” he asks.

You smile, something warm and genuine, so beautiful that his heart aches at the sight. “That’s all I need.”

His throat tightens. He can’t use x-ray vision or freeze breath to heal whatever caused your tears, and he doesn’t have to. All he can do is be there for you, which is one of the most humane things he can do.

Because how is he human or a hero if he doesn’t try to ease your suffering?

He puts you on his lap without hesitation and smiles when you practically melt into him. “I’ll hold you for as long as you want, sunlight.”

Your lips find his in a wordless thank you, and he brushes away the tear that finally falls. He’ll spend the rest of his life holding you and putting you back together if you ask it of him, the same way you help when he has his off days. Because he isn’t perfect. He stumbles, he makes mistakes, he feels, and he does his best each and every day.

And the best thing he can do today is hold you, tell you that you’re his home, and remind you how much he loves you, the same way you love him.

Can Clark hold me, please? Love and thanks! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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soulsforsales · 3 days ago

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“Try me”

summary: your ex might still be hopelessly in love with you. The only problem? He’s crazy:)

a/n: wrote this at 2am and literally had so much fun maybe I’ll do a part two hehe^^

“You want me to beg, sweetheart? I’ll beg. Say the word.” Jason’s voice doesn’t hint at the desperation you can clearly see in his eyes.

He’s in your kitchen again. After he broke up with you. After he left you behind for weeks, wondering if he was even coming back this time. After he did come back with red rimmed eyes and a stubble on his jaw. After he left—over and over and over fucking again.

You cross your arms, despite the way your heart races. He still looks as good as the first day you met him. Though his hair is longer, as if he couldn’t be bothered to cut them off, you usually did that for him anyway. Jason Todd doesn’t know how to take care of himself, it used to be your job. And you loved doing that. You loved… loving him. But you had to stop before the your love for him swallowed you whole.

Because Jason Todd is a complicated man. Because you could’ve spent your whole life loving him and it still wouldn’t have been enough to silence the demons that sit in his head.

“It wouldn’t matter.” You tell him, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m with someone else now, Jason.” His name is still soft on your tongue, but it doesn’t change anything else. You are with someone else now. Someone who stays. Someone calm and steady and… normal. Someone who works a day job and sleeps in at night. Someone who doesn’t disappear for days. Someone without scars and ghosts. Someone… almost boring.

“Oh please,” Jason’s voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife, “we both know the boyfriend thing is temporary. Let’s stop pretending.” You sigh, you know Jason well enough to know that the swagger he’s showing off is to hide whatever vulnerability he’s feeling at the moment.

“I’m not pretending. I’m very serious, Jason. I’m happy with him.”

Jason steps closer, blue green, glowy eyes fixed on you in a way that used to make your breath catch. It still does. He walks closer and closer until your face almost hits his chest and you have to look up to face him.

“Jas—“

A hand comes up to brush against your cheek. You stiffen. “I miss you,” it’s whispered to you. Jason’s eyes searching your face for something—anything. Gone is the cool guy act, and before you is the Jason you so clearly remember. He’s all soft touches, and teary eyes, lips parted in wonder that he’s not sure this is actually happening. That after everything, he’s touching you again.

“I’m sorry,” another whisper. He leans in until the familiar scent envelopes you whole and you breathe him in like you’ve craved to for so long.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I fucked up. So, so bad. And I don’t know what to do to fix it… I… but I can, okay?” His palm moves to the back of your head when Jason drops his forehead to yours. Your breaths mingling. “God… just… just don’t do this to me.”

He’s so close that for a moment, you almost falter. All others thought float from your brain except the ones your body whispers to you. You could kiss him right now, fill your mouth up with the familiar taste of him. You could—

You won’t. You can’t.

Because Jason isn’t promising you wonders for the first time. You shake your head, pushing him back with a hand on his chest.

“No. No… there’s nothing you can fix. It’s over, Jason. We’re over.”

His jaw clenches, “the fuck we are.”

You stare at him, scoffing. You really can’t believe this guy sometimes.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“You know damn well what I mean!” He yells, hands flying in exasperation. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want this guy! This—this fucking trust fund asshole—what’s his name again? William? Walter? Fucking British twit…” you just stare as Jason rambles on. You can almost smell the hatred and jealousy coming off of him. But more than that, is fear. A silent terror. One that says he’s lost you for good this time.

“Jason—“

“Bet he sleeps through the night, huh? Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream like I did? Does he make you feel good en—“

“Stop it!” Your voice lands, loud and clear and Jason—for once—shuts up. You push both hands through your hair. “Do you hear yourself? This is crazy, Jason! You left me! You refused to step up! You—I loved you! I loved you so much and what did you do with that?! You threw it out the fucking window. You—“

“I know!” His scream cuts through, eyes glassy and red, “I know! You think I don’t wish every single day that I could go back and change things? Stop you? Chase after you and beg for you to fuckin stay with me?! I ruin things—that’s who I am! That’s what I do! But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. And you can hate me—you should hate me but god, please don’t push me away. Just say it. Say the word, baby, and I’ll do anything. Anything to win you back.”

You sigh. He is practically begging now, and you can see what the sleepless nights and guilt has done to him. How miserable he looks.

But it’s not your job to fix him. It’s not your job to hold the broken parts together and get yourself cut open in the process.

“There’s nothing you can do.”

You watch the way his expression breaks. Like his chest cracked open, like this will be Jason Todd’s last straw. His breaking point. And you hate yourself for it, but for once, you need to choose yourself.

Jason walks back to the window quietly. His whole stance is rigid and wrecked at the same time. He pauses near the ledge, back turned to you and then, barely a whisper but you hear it loud and clear.

“I’ll kill the fucker.” Your heart drops. You don’t even know if he’s talking to you or himself.

You step forward, eyes wide, heart thumping.

“Jason. No. You won’t.”

His fists clench, the leather jacket creaks with the movement of his shoulders.

“Try me.” He mutters and then he’s jumping out of your fire escape, disappearing into the lifeless, rainy Gotham night.

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emisluvr · 20 hours ago

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‎ 𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗧 ✶ 𝗣.𝗝𝗦

‎ ♡ 【 k𝓲ss 】 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖿 !

✿ 𓈒 𝒇.𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟏𝟎𝟎𝟔. ─── 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 , 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 & 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗌𝖾𝗑 , 𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄 , 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄

‎ reblog ◜ᴗ⁠◝ 𝟒mwah !

jay pretty much paid for just about anything you wanted. you loved being spoiled—getting pretty much everything you wanted from your sugar daddy boyfriend—and he took pride in spoiling you too. but he always needs you to pay him back in return, just not money-wise.

jay’s sitting on the couch, back leaned against the cushions as his legs spread. he’s scrolling through his phone, wearing a white tank top that gives you a full view of his shoulder and arm muscles, a gold chain, and grey sweatpants. effortlessly hot.

you walk over to him, wearing nothing but a skimpy skirt that he bought you a few weeks ago and a crop top with no bra on. you looked cute, and he’d admit it too—but it’s obvious that you were trying to rile him up.

you straddle his lap without any warning, placing your arms over his shoulders, sitting right on top of his bulge.

while pretending to innocently cuddle him or get his attention for a moment, your eye catches his wallet sitting on the cushion right beside him. you take it in your hands, opening it and pulling out his credit card.

“daddy.. can i buy this purse i’ve been eyeing? it’s really cute, i promise,” you say, voice soft and innocent as you stare right at him with big, glistening eyes.

“what purse?” he raises an eyebrow, eyes meeting yours as he sets down his phone and rests his hands on your thighs.

you pull out your own phone, typing on your search engine before showing him a $2.8k miu miu bag online.

he scans your phone screen, letting out a pent-up breath before saying, “you’re already spoiled enough. you don’t need another one. i just bought you one for your birthday.”

“why nottt? you love buying me stuff..” you pout, a visible look of sadness on your face as he randomly refuses to buy you something—when he usually always did with zero hesitation.

his hands slide up to your hips, grip firm on your skin before staring at you through dark, lustful eyes. “how bad do you want it?” his voice drops.

“so bad.. i’ll be good,” you gulp, still softly pouting.

“yeah? we’ll see.” he smirks, helping set you off his lap before he turns you around and bends you over the couch, ass up as your knees sink into the cushions.

you already knew where this was going—you should’ve known. only good girls get what they want.

he doesn’t bother fully undressing you, instead pulling your skirt and panties down in one go until they pool around your bent knees. then he pushes his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock, already half-hard.

his cock aligns with your core, not daring to push himself inside just yet. instead, he spits—his saliva dripping right where his tip and your pussy meet. he rubs the head through your wet folds, already slick from your arousal and his spit. then his large hand lands a sharp slap on your ass cheek, making you wince as the flesh becomes slightly pink from the stinging sensation.

“you wanna be a spoiled little slut? then show me what you’re worth,” he murmurs, before pushing his cock inside you with no warning. his strokes are deep and rough from the start while you desperately try to adjust to his thickness and length, crying out into the pillow beneath you.

his hand presses down on your lower back, arching your ass up more while his other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back slightly so he can clearly hear every filthy moan and scream that leaves your throat.

his eyes flicker down, watching the way the plush of your ass jiggles against his pelvis every time it slams back down. the skin slapping noises, mixed with the light squelches of your pussy, are obscene—but jay loves it, oh so much.

he spanks your cheek again, your moan catching in your throat before he says, “this what you do for a damn purse? get fucked stupid?”

“daddy—s’too much!” you cry out, his cock ramming into your sweet spot over and over, hitting so deep it nearly brushes your cervix, making your gummy walls tighten around him.

“shut up. you said you’d be good,” he hisses, savoring the way you strangle his cock.

his hand reaches under, rubbing your clit with two fingers while continuing to fuck into you, the overstimulation making you whimper uncontrollably into the pillow.

your limp body jolts forward with each thrust, legs feeling like jelly as you inch closer to your release. he doesn’t slow down, not until you make a mess on him.

“yeah, that’s a good girl. you gonna cum?” he tuts, feeling your pussy pulse around him while his tip simultaneously twitches inside you.

“m-mhmm, daddy. please, fuckfuck—” you whine, eyes rolling back as the knot in your stomach threatens to snap at any given moment.

“you cum for me right now, and i’ll buy the fucking bag,” he groans, breathing getting heavier as his thrusts turn messy, hips stuttering as he’s about to cum.

you obey, cumming with a shaky moan as your milky fluids seep out onto his cock that’s still buried inside you, your body weak as your eyes flutter shut.

he breathes out before releasing his thick, warm ropes of cum inside you, your ass pressed against his pelvis as he makes sure to keep you full of him.

he pulls out, tugging his sweatpants over his pulsing, flushed cock as your body gives out from the loss of contact and falls flat on the couch. he grabs your phone, pulling out his card and ordering the purse.

once the payment goes through, he discards both items on the couch again before saying, “there. good girls get what they want.”

he sits beside you, still laying on the couch as he nearly fucked you to sleep, his hand caressing your head and cheek. “what do you have to say?”

“thank you, daddy,” you softly say.

💌 @murassl, @chuhees, @heebear, @kisuumei, @bangchanwifey, @hoonipies, @sourkiki, @highway-143, @kyanmeai, @nithxhoon, @fdzvie, @curryyed, @heeseungsbm, @goldenmellow, @heesmiles, @hoonprksung, @cheriwonz, @wonberries, @onlyywwon, @sseungcheols, @ilysungho, @enhxlvr

#‎ 💭 𝟐𝗯𝘂𝗻𝗻𝓲 ˆᗜˆ #enhypen smut #park jongseong smut #jay x reader #park jongseong x reader #enha smut #enha fanfic #enhypen x reader #jay smut #park jongseong fic

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 day ago

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Dating in a Dream - Leona Kingscholar

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Leona Kingscholar x Reader 🦁🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting; A little angst; A reader with attitude

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Leona’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 7.380 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

The reader is gender neutral but I use king/queen so you can choose how you prefer to read. When Leona calls the reader 'Queen' specifically, he is comparing the reader to the chess piece.

I also write Neji/Kifaji, you can choose which of the name you prefer to read, the original or the English server version

I hope you enjoy 🦁

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / Ruggie / (Leona) / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack, Ruggie and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream and you land back in the Sunrise City, the capital of Sunset Savanna, just like in Ruggie's dream.

Checking on everyone after dream crossing, Ruggie was fine, and everyone else looked fine with the exception of Azul, who was feeling dizzy and sick. Silver suggests you all get some rest and get some cool drinks to recover. Ruggie says that, because he's the only guy familiar with the area, he would grab some bottles of water or tea from one of the shops nearby, and Jack offers to help him carry everything.

However, that's when they notice something strange. That was supposed to be the busiest and most crowded part of the capital, but... there was less foot traffic, fewer cars, no stalls at all, and every place that sells drinks had its shutters drawn.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” Ruggie approaches someone to try to find out what was going on. “Could I ask you something?”

“Yes?” the lady says, but as soon as she looks at Ruggie: “Eep, a hyena!”

“What? A hyena?!” Another person is startled too. “There's no food left here! Please, just go away!”

They all ran into their homes and locked the doors. Ruggie assures you all that he did nothing wrong. The city is clearly more desolated than it was in Ruggie's dream. You talk for a bit, wondering what kind of dream would Leona be having. You decide to go to the royal palace, since Leona was one of the princes of Sunset Savanna there was a good chance of finding him there. After making sure Azul felt better and was ready to walk, he stood up and you all changed into your school uniforms. You were about to start walking towards the palace when you heard someone saying your name.

“King/Queen (Y/N)?” A child calls you, weakly.

You turn around and see a little beastchild looking at you with sad and begging eyes. When she sees your face, recognizing you, a smile appears and she run to you to hug your legs.

“Please, your majesty! Do something!” The beastchild begs you, crying and sobbing. “We are so hungry...” the child's tummy rumbles. “Make King Leona give our food back. Please!”

You didn't know what to do, there was so much information and it was such a sad sight. At that moment, the child's mother comes to you and grabs the child, taking her from your legs.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness.” The lady tells you, also with sadness in her eyes. “We know you can't do anything.” She doesn't say this in an accusatory way, but as if you were in the same situation. “We know you're trying your best. We know... the herds have moved on.” She looked at you differently when she said this last sentence, as if it meant something more. She bows to you. “Have a safe return home, Your Grace.” The beastwomen turns to leave with the child in her arms.

“Okay, now that the crisis is over...” Ruggie begins by saying calmly. “KING/QUEEN (Y/N)?!” He shouts in disbelief. “King Leona?! Bring back their food? What the heck just happened?!”

“We can discuss this on the way.” Sebek says. “We have to get to that palace AND FAST!”

You all head to the palace while deciphering what you heard from the beast child and the beast woman. The child called Leona king and both she and her mother called you king/queen and your highness. The only explanation was that you were married to Leona in that dream. When they reached this conclusion, everyone looked at each other, especially Jack, Ruggie, Azul and Ortho.

“Leona...?” Azul said with a smile slowly forming as he was holding back. “Leona Kingscholar? In love with a herbivore?” He wasn't making fun of you, he was just quoting Leona himself. “To the point of... hehe, dreaming that he is... married to them?... ha haha HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He started laughing, but he wasn't the only one, Ortho was laughing too and even Ruggie. That even caught Idia's attention, who had been distracted until that moment doing research.

“I can't believe it!” Idia says through the tablet, with that mocking voice that he certainly wouldn't have the courage to use in front of Leona. “The big, imposing, Oresama type macho man whose romantic interest is the poor, weak, isekaied person with a soft heart?! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, my diaphragm is starting to hurt, hahaha!”

“Man, not even I was even expecting this!” Ruggie says. “But I KNEW something was up! Shyeheehee.”

Only Jack, Sebek and Silver weren't laughing. Quite the contrary, they seemed to be respectfully silent. Jack even seemed to want to smile a little, not a mocking smile, but because he thought that this could be one of the parts of Leona that he admired. Both he and Sebek positioned themselves in such a way as to create a barrier between you, in front of them, and the others who were laughing behind them.

Arriving at the royal palace's front entrance, you didn't encounter a single guard. Ruggie says that normally the lionesses have the whole place locked down tight. Which must mean that something was definitely up in the royal palace.

“Knowing that would give me reservations about simply walking in through the front door.” Azul says. “But since we are in the company of Your Majesty (Y/N)...” He smiles.

You then hear some strange laughter. Quite scary ones. After so many dreams, your team members automatically form in front of you to protect you when things like this happen. Jack and Sebek were now between you and the laughing people.

“Well, well, well. What have we got here?” A hyena beastman says, accompanied by others like him and all wearing the same type of what looked like a traditional guard’s or fighter's outfit.

“Hmm, I dunno.” Another hyena beastman says. “What do you think?”

“These guys couldn't be more obviously delinquent if they tried.” Jack comments. “Are they actually guardsmen?”

“They're dressed in the uniform of the Sunset Warriors, the king's personal team of guardians...” Ruggie explains.

“Wait...” Azul thinks to himself. “If they are the king's personal guardians, then... (Y/N).” He turns to you. “If you truly are part of the royal family, then these brutes will listen to you. They have to listen to you. Try to talk to them, but with confidence, this is very important. Remember, you are the King/Queen.” He smiles smugly.

You gather your courage and take a few steps forward, passing by the boys who were between you and the royal guards.

“Hehehehe! Looks like one of you is eager to be our dinner. Dyah hah hah!”

“I order you to let us pass!” You demand. “Me and my guests!”

“Oh yeah? And who do you think you... wait... you...” They smell the air to better understand your scent and finally be sure. “HEEEP! Y-y-y-your Majesty! We didn't know. W-we thought they were trespassers!”

“PLEASE FORGIVE US!” Everyone bows to you.

You say you forgive them for now and that now that they know who you and the others are they will let you pass... right?

“Hum... We are very sorry, Your Highness, but...” they didn't seem that sorry, a little smile even began to form on their faces. “King Leona ordered us not to let anyone in with you. No matter who it was.”

“What?! Why?”

“Oh, we don't question him, your highness. If it's something between you two, we would never intrude hehehe.”

One of them, who appears to be the leader, pulls you by the hand and hands you over to two other guards. As gently as possible for someone who is pulling you against your will.

“Take them inside!” He orders them. “We'll send the unwelcome guests away.”

And so the guards take you by the arms almost like a prisoner, but with much more care so as not to hurt you.

Once you passed through the doors, you had no more reason to fight against the guards. So they released you and escorted you down the hallway until you crossed paths with someone else.

“Ah, your highness. Welcome back.” An old man with blue and white hair and beard, wearing round glasses greets you with a genuine smile. “How was your walk? Hmm? Are those new clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you in them. But please, don't get me wrong, they look very good on you.”

The guards tell him that they found you outside with foreigners, and they even make up a story that they saved you from them, who were trying to kidnap you during your walk. During this, you hear them calling the old man Neji/Kifaji. As soon as you start saying that part was a lie, the old man automatically believes you.

“Cease you absurdity!” Neji/Kifaji scolds the guards. “I know what orders King Leona gave you. *sigh* You can leave King/Queen (Y/N) with me. You may go back to your posts now.”

The guards nod and turn to leave. However, you notice that they don't seem to have as much respect for Neji/Kifaji as they probably should.

“You were saying that the guards were lying about the foreigners wanting to kidnap you.” He returns to the subject calmly and in an understanding tone. “But you said it was true that you were with a group of people. Do you mind if I ask who they were?”

You tell him that they were your friends and he smiles sadly.

“Friends of yours? Well, it would be a pleasure to welcome them and see you enjoying yourself...” The smile fades, giving way to a slight frown. “If it weren't for your husband's paranoia.”

“Paranoia? Are you talking about that order not to let anyone in with me?”

“That is just the most recent one. I wonder how he knew your friends were coming. Either way... *sigh* I'm deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I believe this was not the life you imagined when you married Prince Leona. Being a king/queen of a country in ruins and without food to feed its people.”

This reminds you of that beastchild who recognized you and hugged you, asking you to help them have food again. You tell him this and it made him decide to go and have a talk with Leona again, to try to put some sense in his head once more. But not right now. He'll do it later, after he helps you prepare your royal clothes for you to change into. After all, those black clothes must be very hot in Sunset Savanna, no?

You change into a beautiful suit/dress (whatever you prefer) and only after you're ready do you realize that Neji/Kifaji took advantage of you changing clothes to go and have that conversation with Leona.

You follow the voices until you find the two in the throne room, but you don't go in yet. Instead, you stay in a hidden corner, listening.

“Your majesty, you are the only one who can save this kingdom now.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The former king succumbed to illness after many long years, then His Highness Falena and his family were lost in as unexpected accident...”

“Don't bring that up.” You see Leona, wearing an elegant brown suit with gold necklaces and rings. His hair looked different too, his bangs pulled back. “That was a tragedy.” You also see for a moment the dreamer's silver bird around his head. “Not only did we lose my brother, but we even lost little Cheka... Just remembering it makes me want to cry.”

It's hard to decipher if he's just saying it for the sake of it, or if his words are sincere and he's hiding his true feelings with his disinterested attitude.

“Yes, and you became king in the midst of that tragedy and turmoil.”

“Grudgingly. I never wanted the crown.”

“‘I will work through my grief and push onward to the dawn of a new era.’” Neji/Kifaji reminds Leona. “‘I will work hand in hand with my people for peace and prosperity, paving the way to a glorious future.’ That was what you said in your coronation day. Did you mean a single word of that?”

“Excuse me?” Leona says, still unbothered. “I kept my word and paved the way to the future, didn't I?”

Basically, Leona did what he promised, but literally. He pushed through rapid development over the warning of experts and the objections of his people. The plant life has withered, the water's polluted, the wildlife has vanished and there is nothing left to eat or drink. This makes Leona say that he is not like his father and brother, that he would never cater to fools that cling to outdated traditions and customs.

“Your Majesty, you speak too harshly.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The development plan you envisioned was revolutionary, I'll grant you that. But it was out of touch with reality. It simply wasn't possible to implement that plan in the nation we lived in.”

Leona is silent for a second, thinking about what he just said.

“Yes, my plan itself was perfect. Who was it that ruined that perfect plan? The incompetent citizens, that's who. Who are they to complain nonstop when they have no chops of their own?”

“Your Majesty, they're people, not pawns. They vary wildly in capabilities and personalities. They act of their own volition. As king, you should have accepted that and worked with them.”

“What? Why would I work with incompetent idiots? You must be joking. I did everything I said I would. the rest of you better figure it out from here. The last thing I need is to go around cleaning up after idiots.”

Neji/Kifaji accuses Leona of abdicating all responsibility but he defends himself by presumptuously saying that he only offers his leadership to those capable of perfectly carrying out his ideals.

“I've had enough of incompetent fools.”

“You keep speaking of incompetence...” Neji/Kifaji proceeds. “But have you ever recognized a single person other that yourself as competent?!”

Leona doesn't respond.

“Not even your own spouse?”

“What did you say?” Leona gets angry again, but this time it's different.

“Your spouse.” Neji/Kifaji repeats. “Do you also see them as one of your chess pieces? Present just to serve you?”

“Hm he he. Indeed, they are also one of my pieces.” He smirks. “But you're mistaken if you think I only have pawns around me.”

“Oh, yes?” Neji/Kifaji smils slightly, for the first time. “Are they really your queen on this board?”

“Who else would I marry if not a true queen?” Leona smiles smugly.

“Heh heh. The Queen is the most powerful piece in chess. More powerful even than the King itself... is that how you truly see (Y/N)?” He smirks at Leona.

“That would be stretching it too far. Don't put words in my mouth. And Neji/Kifaji... ” The smirk disappeared and Leona glared threatening at him. “If you dare to insinuate that again... I'll fry you up right at the spot and make you be served as our next meal.”

At that moment, they and you hear a commotion outside the palace. You look out the window nearest you and see a crowd complaining that there is nothing left for them there, not even food.

“And I thought things were bad under Falena!” You see Ruggie saying among the crowd. “This is so much worse!” The other protestors agree. “But it doesn't have to be! Give the leadership to King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“We want King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“Buncha loudmouths idiots...” Leona complains. “This is a monarchy, not a democracy. They'd have to get rid of me first. Heh, as if.” He turns to Neji/Kifaji. “Speaking of which, where is (Y/N)?”

“I left them to change their clothes before coming here, Your Majesty.”

“Change clothes? Did they go for a walk again? What have they been up to?”

“That is unknown to me. They returned safe and sound, that's the only thing that concerns me.”

“Liar! You are covering for them... Well, the people are calling for them.” He smirks. “You better go get them.”

“There is no need.” You say, finally entering the throne room and revealing yourself dressed in your royal attire. “I’m here.”

The people continue to protest.

“Ugh... so annoying. How's a guy supposed to nap like this? Get out there and make them pipe down, Neji/Kifaji. Part of a grand chamberlain's job is ensuring their kings/king and queen can live in comfort. I'll do as I see fit. After all, I am still the king.” He smirks.

“Yes, sire. You are still the king.”

“Now get outta here. You're bothering me.”

He withdraws to obey his king's orders.

“And you come with me.” Leona tells you. “We need to talk and that's impossible here with so much noise.”

He walks to the exit of the throne room, into the hallway, and you follow him.

Leona takes you to a large and luxurious living room. You can no longer hear the protests, and when he closes the doors, it seems like a relaxing silence invades the space.

Leona sighs with relief and slumps his shoulders, then he walks to one of the sofas and collapses onto it. Sitting, not lying down. Then he looks at you lazily and beckons you with his finger to sit next to him.

You do so, and as he had his arms stretched out over the backrest, he puts one of them around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You thought he would complain to you about the protestors but... He stays silent, just hugging you with one arm while you rest your head on his chest.

“Did you hear?” He finally says after some time, in a worn out tone. “They want you.”

You don't say anything. You don't even know what to say. He looks so much more exhausted than before he walked through that door.

“I know about your rebels.” He says without changing his tone.

“My rebels?”

“The herds have moved on...” He quotes, the same phrase that the mother of that beastchild told you. “It’s your secret phrase. To recognize each other. You created a group against me.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” You straightened up with no difficulty, since he didn't even try to stop you. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“You heard them.” He looks at you with disdain. “They want you to lead them. To take the throne.” He leans toward you like a predator stalking its prey. “To take my place.”

“That's what they want. Why would I want it?”

He pauses and remains in thoughtful silence for a second.

“Why did you want to marry me?” He asks you without emotion in his voice.

“What? I-”

“You were the one who asked me to be your boyfriend, and then to marry you... You appeared here, coming from nowhere, alone, lost and with nothing, not even magic.” He gets closer and closer, speaking through growls, making you slide across the sofa. “We sheltered you in our palace to help you and what have you done?” The pull of your clothes on the sofa fabric doesn't allow you to move very far, and you end up lying down with him on top of you with threatening eyes and teeths. “You made me fall in love with you, marry you, to then steal my throne!”

“Don't be stupid!” You tell him without fear. “Why the heck would I want your throne?! Especially now. Do I look like I want to clean up your mess?”

His face remains frighteningly angry and he growls at you, but you don't seem the least bit concerned anymore. He brings his face close to yours as if he wants to bite you, but then he simply lies down with his head on your chest.

“Heh heh, it was more fun messing with you in the beginning.” He returned to his lazy, laid-back tone in less then a second. “I know why these people are protesting to have you as their ruler.”

“You do?”

He doesn't answer you right away, he just whispers after a few seconds.

“You’re the Queen.”

“What?” You really weren't sure you heard correctly.

He rises, stretching his arms, but still on top of you. His gaze has changed. It's calm, and you might even risk calling it loving.

“You’re the Queen.” He repeats. “That's what I told Neji/Kifaji. The most powerful piece in chess.” The trace of the smile he had disappears and he sighs. “Stronger than the King itself.”

He gets off of you and sits back down on the couch. He gives you his hand to help you sit down next to him too.

“Of course they like you.” He gets up and starts walking to a window. “I'm the guy who left them without food, without water, who destroyed their home.” He stops in front of the window, looking at the dark landscape. “And you're the kind person who listens to them, who comforts them, who wants the best for them.” He wasn't speaking for himself, he was speaking out what he believed his subjects thought. “The poor, golden-hearted herbivore who's trapped with the tyrant.” He smirks. “Heh heh heh. I wouldn't even be surprised if you were completely clueless about what's going on with these protests.” The next words he whispers so you don't hear. “You always had a way of bringing people together... Stronger than the king himself...”

While he was talking at the window with you still on the sofa, you received a message. Leona didn't notice, and when you looked, it was a message from Idia telling you not to try to wake Leona up alone because it could be dangerous for you while you were away from the rest of the group. They would return to the palace again the next day with a plan. Until then, you should just try to stay safe.

He turns away while yawning loudly and you quickly put your phone back away.

“I'm tired. I need a nap.”

He walks towards you, sits on the sofa where you are, a little away, turns around and lies down with his head in your lap and eyes closed. He opens one of his eyes to look at you and smirks.

“You still get flustered by this? Heh heh. Cute... What? It's not like you have anythin’ better to do, right?”

He closes his eye again and relaxes. You look at his ears and decide to take a chance and pet them like you would a cat. And he doesn't complain, quite the opposite, he smiles slightly without opening his eyes and melts at your touch. After a moment, he turns to hug your waist and continue sleeping.

Before dinnertime, Leona separates from you. You start to get hungry and go looking for him or Neji/Kifaji and he is the one you find in one of the corridors. He greets you with a smile, but sighs when you ask him about dinner.

“My apologies, your majesty, but there is no more food in the palace. No meat or vegetables. Not even water.”

That was really worrying and then you remember to ask about Leona.

“King Leona walked away from you as dinner time approached? *Sigh* He probably didn't have the courage to face you. Seeing his spouse hungry and unable to provide them with food... Not even his pride can handle so much.”

“Watch your beak!” A voice suddenly said behind you.

You turn around, neither of you even heard Leona approaching. He had one hand in his pocket and in the other a brown bag that he threw to Neji/Kifaji.

“You know what to do with it.” He turns and walks away without saying anything else.

“Yes, sire.” Neji/Kifaji still responds. He looks inside the bag. “Bread?” He puts his hand inside and takes out another smaller bag. He smells it. “And I think ithis is cheese. How did he...?” He then looks at you and smiles weakly. “Well... at least he's looking out for someone. Come, your majesty, I will prepare dinner for you.”

“What about Leona?” You ask. “And you?”

“King Leona never liked people worrying about him.” He says and then looks at you with another small smile. “And you don't need to worry about me. You're very kind, but... you know I don't need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We both know this is a dream, your majesty.” He says calmly as you walk through a door into the kitchen and starts preparing your cheese sandwich. “You have nothing to fear. Beings like me have a duty to make the dreamer have happy dreams... but you must have already realized that Leona Kingscholar is making our job practically impossible.”

He finishes your sandwich and puts it on a plate. He asked you to go to the dining room so you could eat at the table. You go through another door and there's a beautiful dining room with a long table and luxurious chairs. You sit alone and he places the plate in front of you. He stands next to you.

“We must eliminate everyone and everything that might wake him up, that is true.” He keeps explaining to you. “But... He is making this a nightmare no matter our efforts. You were, until now, the only person or even thing that managed to lessen his anguish during all this time. The way he created me, from all the memories of the real Neji/Kifaji, does not allow me to continue with my duty to keep him asleep. No matter how hard I try to convince him that he can actually do something to improve this situation, it's useless. There is only one way to make him happy.” He looks at you with certainty. “He needs to wake up. And have you with him when he does.”

When night came, Neji/Kifaji told you that you had the option of sleeping in a bedroom alone if you wanted. He could tell Leona that you didn't feel well enough to sleep with him.

But if you choose to sleep in the same room and bed as Leona, you will enter the room alone as well, lie down on the bed and fall asleep from waiting for him.

You wake up a little later because you feel an arm around your waist and someone behind you. Having seen and heard Leona sleeping so many times, you quickly confirmed that it was him simply by the way he yawned. He pulls you closer and you feel his chest on your back and his breath for a moment on your neck.

If you decide to turn around and look at him, you'll see him looking at you with his green eyes half-closed and with that eyeshine in the middle of a darkness that was only not total due to the weak glow of the moon that entered the room.

“What?” He says lazily and in a deep voice. “You don't look disappointed that I woke you up.” He smirks.

Seeing the way you were looking at him, he pulls you closer again, rubs his nose against yours and only then kisses your lips softly but lovingly. If you allow it, you will make out until you fall asleep in each other's arms.

He was the one who fell asleep first, but you were the one who woke up first.

After a moment of enjoying the sight of Leona sleeping beside you, you try to get up. But as soon as you sit down on the bed and swing your legs out, you feel his arm around your waist, preventing you from getting up.

You caress his cheek or ears and tell him you two should get up. You just hear him mumble and feel him slowly pulling you closer. It is then that you hear a knock on the door and Neji/Kifaji announcing it is time to get up. This makes Leona mumble less satisfied than before.

You two get up and get dressed. When you thought you were both ready, you turned to head for the door but Leona speaks up.

“You sure you're ready?” Leona asks you with a somewhat judgmental look.

You look at your clothes and even look in the mirror again. You genuinely don't know what could be wrong.

“Well, if you think everythin's fine...” he shrugs and walks calmly to the door.

You grab his arm and ask him what you were missing. He doesn't answer you, he just smiles, amused by your frustration. Until you finally order him to tell you what he was talking about.

“Hahahah! Okay, okay. Please, don't attack me. You're such a scary herbivore. Hahahaha!” He mocks you, but then he grabs your cheeks with one hand and kisses your lips passionately and playfully. “Such bad manners for a royalty.” He says with a smirk after the kiss. “Don't even give a proper good morning to their own husband. Maybe you need more etiquette lessons.”

As soon as you arrived at the throne room, you immediately heard the protests of the citizens outside.

“Tch... what now?” Leona says. All traces of good mood he had was gone. “Lately it's been ridiculously noisy. Hey, Neji/Kifaji! You there?”

“You called, sire?”

Leona says that you two are hungry and he orders Neji/Kifaji to bring you food, but he says that there is no food and the two of them start arguing about there being nothing in the castle, much less outside, to eat. They argue as usual until Neji/Kifaji sighs and says:

“I never would have had to suffer such demands under Falena.”

This seemed to be a trigger, because as soon as he finished the sentence Leona jumped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, practically strangling him.

“Don't utter that name!” He threatens him, but Neji/Kifaji isn’t intimidated at all. “In case you've forgotten, that name reminds me of my sorrow all over again. Never, ever mention it in my presence.”

You hear the sound of magic and sand begins to swirl around you like a storm.

“Urgh...! Hahaha... Are you serious about eating me for lunch? Oh, you wouldn't want me. I'd be so tough and gamey and...”

“Leona, NO! Stop it!”

You try to stop him, grabbing one of his arms, but he instinctively throws you back, making you fall and crash against the throne's stairs. As soon as he realizes what he just did, he turns to look at you, regretful, but without letting go of Neji/Kifaji. However, soon after the look of regret gives way to one of anger.

“YOU IDIOT! You think you can save anyone by gettin’ in the middle of a fight, weak as you are?! Learn self-preservation and don't meddle in my affairs again!”

“Unca, nooo!” A child said as the door opened with a bang.

You see a huge white wolf attacking Leona, making him let go of Neji/Kifaji, and only after the shock do you realize it's Jack and the child is...

“Cheka?!” Leona says in disbelief. “No, you're dead.”

Cheka and Neji/Kifaji exchange a few words and both he and you notice that Cheka's voice sounds strange. Meanwhile, Jack gets off Leona and approaches you to help you get up with his snout.

“Why, cheka, I'm a little surprised to see you... alive.” It was obvious that Leona already knew that this wasn’t the real Cheka, or at least not the Cheka from his dream. “Your roaring's improved some.” He smiles smugly.

“You're being mean to all our subjects and Neji/Kifaji. you're a bad king, Unca. This is my kingdom to rule. Step down, Unca.”

“Oh, yes... I would, but there's one little problem with that.” A sandstorm forms again and Leona prepares to attack. “I'm not handin' over the throne to some pipsqueak pretender!”

He attacks Cheka and he breaks down into glitches. He destroyed a hologram. The sandstorm creates a whirlwind that pulls three other people into the throne room: Ruggie, Ortho, and Grim.

“A hyena kid? I've been lookin' out for you hyenas, and this is how you repay me? You bring out a fake Cheka and act like you're revolutionaries? Hah, now that's funny.” He grabs Ruggie. “Treason against the crown is punishable by death. Hope you're prepared to face the consequences.”

You get fed up with all this! Leona prepares to use his signature spell on Ruggie, but you run up to them and get between them.

“ENOUGH!” You shout in his face and suddenly the sandstorm dissipates. “Stop this, Leona! This was supposed to be a dream and you single-handedly turned it into a nightmare!” You grab him by the collar and he finally lets go of Ruggie. “Why do you do this to yourself?! If you're so smart, how come you haven't realized this is a dream? That it's all an illusion?”

“What?! What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Now he was also arguing with you angrily.

“You are being deceived by Malleus right now! You are losing to a lizard you idiot! Just wake up already!”

The dream begins to distort and Leona moves away from you because of the headaches. But at that moment, a group of guards enter the throne room to protect Leona. Several of them attack you all right away, but Neji/Kifaji uses fire magic to protect you. You fight the guards and as soon as the battle ends you realize that Leona has disappeared.

The world had stopped distorting and Leona had just escaped the palace with some of the guards. Meanwhile, they managed to convince Leona that you had let yourself to be brainwashed by opponents of his regime.

“I understand the stupid subjects,” He mutters just to himself, trying hard not to let the guards hear him. “I even understand Neji/Kifaji... but...” Neither you nor anyone else would ever see this, but despite his expression of wrath, he was trying hard not to shed tears. “...them... (Y/N)... my own spouse?!... Why? Why them too?! Why you too?!...” His throat hurt from holding back the tears. “For better... for worse... to love and to cherish... I DIDN'T LIE! WHY DID YOU?!” He finally explodes in anger and roars.

“Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're safe.” The guards who intercepted you the day before run to meet their king. “Things are looking pretty dicey right now. We should find somewhere to lie low for a while.”

“Ah, you guys... At least YOU won't turn your back on me.”

“Heh heh... That's right, Majesty.” Darkness surrounds them all, the ground turns into black goop and the same happens to the NPCs' skin. “We're your only true friends. And everyone else is your true enemy. Even the ones you think you love. We'll turn the world upside-down as many times as it takes. Yes, as many times as it takes...”

Leona lets himself be swallowed by the darkness and shortly after you all arrive and jump into the black goop after him.

You all end up at Savanaclaw, more specifically, at the Spelldrive Stadium in their dorm.

“Oh, what a terrible tragedy.” Leona was wearing his dorm uniform again. “Who could have foreseen panicked crowds charging right into Diasomnia's procession of players? Much less trampling THE Malleus Draconia along with all their other competitors?” He smiles smugly. “But we must all rise to the occasion and triumph in this spelldrive tournament. It's what he'd want. Right?”

“So, in this scenario where the Savanaclaw students succeeded in sabotaging Malleus in the spelldrive tournament?” Jack asks.

“Looks that way.” Ruggie confirms. “Seems like this is happening just before the tournament starts.”

You guys talk about that dream and Leona, and Ruggie and Jack say that Leona is the type of person who's never satisfied. Probably no matter what he achieves, whether in real life or in the dream, he'd get bored quickly and lauch right into the next thing to complain about. However, both Ruggie and Jack conclude this with a smile.

“This version of Leona Kingscholar has recollections of his life at school.” Ortho says. “That means it's possible to make him aware of clashes with reality and deliver a mental jolt.”

“And most of the people involved in the spelldrive tournament are right here.” Ruggie complements. “How's about we put on a show?”

Meanwhile, Leona was talking about their next game being against Octavinelle and commenting that they were such small fry they could beat them blindfolded. Azul appears, along with Silver and Sebek who reveal that they, Malleus, and the other Diasomnia students are all fine and in condition to play in the tournament. And all thanks to Azul. Confronted by Leona, Azul just says with a smirk that he signed a more favorable contract, a basic good business practice.

“What in blazes...?” His dream begins to distort. “Why am I getting déjà vu from this? Hrgh!"

“Leona?” The Ruggie with inky black skin asks. “What's wrong?”

“He's waking up from a dream.” The real Ruggie arrives along with Jack.

“Two Ruggies?” Leona looks from one Ruggie to the other. “And, a dream...? Agh! What is this? My head...!”

Leona begins to remember what happened that day, including the colar that Riddle put around his neck and him saying that he would never become king no matter how hard he tries.

The darkness begins to do their job of trying to protect Leona and keep him asleep, so you attack them. After defeating the NPCs and them dissolving into black goop, Jack and Ruggie tell Leona to remember who he really is and then the dream breaks.

Leona wakes up as always, complaining, this time about him not remembering that whole ridiculous plot, your scraggly faces not being the first things he wanted to see when he opens his eyes and asking Jack not to yell in his ear.

“I got a delicate constitution, y'know. You should wake me up more gently.”

“You star grumbling the moment you wake up...” Ruggie says. “That's the Leona I know, shyeheehee!”

“Hey, Ruggie. You've got some explaining to do. What's going- ?!”

The earth begins to shake and the ground is covered in black goop. The dream was collapsing. You all prepare to escape the dream, when you are caught in the darkness and begin to be pulled in.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts.

Grim automatically jumps towards you, but Leona stops him by grabbing him by the bow around his neck. Grim rants at him as if he's stopping him from saving your life, and for a second, his snout looked a lot like it did when he attacked you the night before he was taken to S.T.Y.X.

“You idiot!” Leona says, seriously. “You think (Y/N) wants you to go down with them?!”

He throws Grim for Jack to catch and rushes to you. He first grabs one of your arms, then holds you by the torso, wrapping his arms around your waist. Although this causes him to be trapped in the darkness as well.

“Rgh! This isn't just your weight. There's a powerful tug... Ah, crud. Guess you can't win 'em all...”

“What? What are you going to do?!” You ask, afraid he'll leave you.

He brings his face close to yours and looks you deeply in the eyes.

“Win this one for me, my Queen.” then he turns his face away from you. “JACK! CATCH!”

He pulls you out of the darkness and makes you fly until you land in Jack and Silver's arms. The last thing you see is Leona sinking into the darkness with a smirk. Since he was the dreamer, he still had a chance to save himself, but you didn't, so you all left the dream, whether you wanted to or not.

When you return to Leona's dream, you are back in the devastated, gray Sunset Savanna of the beginning of his dream. But regardless, you, Jack and Ruggie were just happy to see him safe and sound, and him wearing the Savanaclaw uniform showed that he was still awake.

“I never thought I'd see Leona of all people dive into darkness on someone else's behalf.” Azul says with a smirk. “Could this be the power of love?” He was holding back laughter.

“How brave for someone who can be dehydrated at a touch to open his mouth like that.” Leona replied with his own smirk.

“I can see why you're housewarden of Savanaclaw. That was an incredible show of bravery.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Leona shrugs it off and turns to you. “You. We need to talk. Come with me.” He starts walking away from the others. “If someone follows us, won't get out of this dream alive.” He says without stopping walking or turning to look at any of them.

You follow him to a huge rock where the others can no longer see or hear you. He leans against the rock and crosses his arms, casually.

“I remember everything.” He says, impassively and looking you in the eyes. “I was dreaming that we were married.” He analyzes your facial expression, but it doesn't take a genius to know what your little smile means. He smirks. “You didn't need to sleep with me, you know?”

You can't hide how flustered you are.

“He gave you a choice, didn't he?” Leona continues, with that smug smile. “You could have gone to sleep in another room...” He pushes himself off the rock and starts walking around you. “...But as soon as I went to bed...” He stops behind you and whispers in your ear. “...I find you there.”

You turn to face him with a smug grin of your own.

“Well, you didn't mind that either.”

“Why would I?” He takes a few steps forward, slowly, making you take a few steps back too. “I was dreaming that I was your husband...” Your back meets the huge rock and he leans with his forearm next to your head, bringing his face close to yours. “You think I wouldn't want to sleep with my spouse too?”

He looks from your eyes to your lips, but then he looks to one of your shoulders as if he's actually looking behind you. The smile slowly fades and he straightens up.

“I'm sorry.” He says, simply and with that neutral expression.

“What?”

“When I pushed you. You fell against the stairs...” For the first time, he looks away from you. “I'm sorry.” He repeated in a low tone but with genuine regret, at least for his standards.

You say it's okay, that he wasn't being completely himself and that he was going through a complicated situation. You've visited enough dreams to know that the dreamer doesn't necessarily act like themselves in their dreams.

“You can't use that excuse from now on.” He tells you, determinedly. “You can accept that dream as an isolated experience. But if something like that happens again, you won't give me excuses. You'll leave! No looking back. Understood?” He orders you.

You agree with a smile. That was his way of caring about you and protecting you. But with a smirk you ask if that means you can ask him for something to make up for what he did.

“Hm?” He smirks back. “What you mean? You just admitted that I was a victim too. I was going through a difficult situation and wasn't being myself. Your words. Forgiving me in this context was the least you could do for your crush.”

“Oh yeah? I came here to save you, and I even made your dream less of a nightmare for a moment. YOUR crush should get a reward for that at least. It would only be fair.”

“Wasn't that night reward enough?”

“Y-you weren't being yourself. I want a reward from the real Leona.”

“Hehe. Fine. If my Queen insists.”

He holds you by the waist, pulls you towards him and kisses your lips, hungrily. He slowly pushes you with his body to bring you back against the large rock behind you, without taking his lips off yours.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Dating in a Dream #Leona Kingscholar #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Leona x Reader

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heavenlybodies333 · 2 days ago

Text

Friends who fuck -C.K

Clark Kent x bestfriend!reader

You’re standing in front of your full-length mirror, tugging at the hem of your dress, doing that thing where you pretend to be casual while also definitely waiting to be noticed. And Clark? He notices. He always notices.

“You look great,” he says finally, voice a little too low.

You turn over your shoulder and grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms over his chest, like it’ll help. Like folding his body in will somehow contain the flash of heat that just sucker-punched him straight in the gut.

It doesn’t help.

You smooth your hands down your dress. “I don’t know. It’s just a second date. Nothing crazy.”

Clark leans against the doorframe. “You don’t dress like that for nothing crazy.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying—he better be worth it.”

“Oh my God.” You roll your eyes and turn back to the mirror, cheeks flushing. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he mutters, lying through his teeth. “I just think you deserve someone who gets it.”

You laugh, distracted. “Gets what?”

He doesn’t answer. Not out loud. Because the truth is: no one else gets you like he does.

Clark tries to be normal about it. Really, he does. He goes back to his apartment. He eats a dinner he doesn’t taste. He folds the same shirt three times because his hands won’t stop shaking.

You’re out with someone else. And he told you to go. He told you—gently, carefully, with that stupid forced smile of his—that you should have fun. That Lois is his future. That he’s okay now. That he’s happy for you.

He meant it. Until you actually left. Now every second is a countdown until you come back. Until he hears your key in the lock. Until he knows you’re home safe and, for better or worse, not in someone else’s bed.

You return just after midnight, barefoot and buzzed, heels in hand. You smell like wine and your lip gloss is a little smudged and Clark knows he shouldn’t be looking at your mouth but he can’t help it.

“Did you wait up?” you ask, surprised.

Clark shrugs from the couch. “Didn’t mean to.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s not true.”

You toss your shoes to the side and crawl onto the couch next to him, settling against his shoulder like it’s muscle memory. You’ve always touched him without thinking. It never mattered before.

“You mad at me?” you ask after a minute.

Clark exhales through his nose. “No.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not.”

You tilt your head, cheek brushing his bicep. “It didn’t even go that well. He was kind of... cocky.”

“He’d have to be. To think he deserves you.”

You go still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looks down at you then—eyes unreadable behind his glasses, mouth tight, jaw clenched like he’s holding back a thousand things at once. “Nothing,” he says finally.

You don’t believe him. And the silence that follows is thick with everything both of you are too scared to say.

You’re still curled beside him on the couch, the hem of your dress brushing his thigh, the scent of your shampoo worming its way into his brain. Clark’s staring at the muted TV screen like it’s offering answers he can’t seem to find anywhere else.

You break the silence first.

“So… you did wait up.”

Clark blinks. “Didn’t say I didn’t.”

“You said you didn’t mean to.”

“Which is different.”

“Barely.”

He sighs. “It’s not illegal to care if you got home safe.”

You grin and bump his shoulder with yours. “You’re a very noble bodyguard, Kent.”

He glances down at you, eyes soft. “I’m not your bodyguard.”

“You sure?” You tease. “You kinda act like one.”

“That’s because you collect red flags like Pokémon cards.”

You gasp, clutching your chest. “Wow. The slander.”

“The truth.”

You scrunch your nose. “Okay, maybe this one was more of a walking ego in loafers.”

He arches a brow. “He wore loafers?”

“I know.” You make a face. “He also called my job ‘cute.’”

Clark grimaces. “I’d be in jail.”

“You’d be a very polite jailbird,” you smirk. “They’d be like, ‘What are you in for, Kent?’ and you’d be like ‘My best friend went on a date with a walking LinkedIn profile.’”

“I’d get a life sentence,” he mutters.

You laugh and sink further into the couch. “God, I missed this.”

He frowns. “This?”

“You. Talking. Bantering. Acting normal.”

“Was I not normal lately?”

You shrug, but it’s hesitant. “You’ve been… off. Since the Lois thing.”

Clark looks down at his hands. “Yeah.”

You glance at him. “You wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“I loved her,” he says. “I think I still do, in a way.”

You go quiet.

“But it’s different now. It’s not that heartbreak feeling anymore. It’s more like… I don’t know. Missing a place I used to live. Even if it wasn’t really home.”

Something softens behind your ribs. “And where’s home now?”

He looks at you. And lingers. “You tell me.”

You blink. The wine haze isn’t enough to make you misunderstand. It isn’t enough to pretend you didn’t hear him. Not when Clark Kent is looking at you like that—like he just said something true and irreversible and is already bracing for you to laugh or run or both.

But you don’t do either.

You sit up a little. The silence between you shifts, you raise your brows, trying to keep it light, trying to pretend your heart didn’t just trip in your chest. “That a line, Kent?”

Clark shifts slightly, drawing one leg up on the couch.You can feel the heat of him through his stupid flannel. “You don’t really believe that,” he says after a beat.

“That we don’t make sense?” He nods.

You look down, twisting the ring on your finger, feeling your pulse in your throat. “I think we make the kind of sense that scares people.”

Clark’s voice is soft. “Does it scare you?”

You glance up at him, deadpan. “Clark, you once bench-pressed a school bus and still apologized when you bumped someone in line at Trader Joe’s.”

He snorts. “That wasn’t an answer.”

You shrug again, weaker this time. “Of course it scares me. You scare me.”

He tilts his head, confused. “Why?”

“Because you’re the only person who really sees me.” Your voice is small now, too honest. “And that means you could wreck me if you ever decided to stop.”

His jaw tightens. “I wouldn’t.”

You nod. “I know.”

Clark’s hand drifts toward yours on the couch cushion, close enough that your pinkies brush.

You turn toward him slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“If I canceled the next date… would that be stupid?”

He swallows. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Why you’re canceling it.”

You meet his eyes. “Because I don’t want to be thinking about someone else while I’m with him.”

Clark breathes out slowly, “You always think about me?” he asks, almost afraid to hear it.

You nod. “Yeah. I do.”

He closes his eyes. “Shit.”

You smirk. “Romantic, Kent. Very eloquent.”

He opens them again, gaze sharper now. “It’s not just me, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“This—” he gestures between the two of you, “—it’s not just in my head, right?”

You shake your head. “Not even a little.”

And suddenly, everything clicks. The way he’s been lingering longer after movie nights. The way you always end up in his hoodie. The fact that your fridge is stocked with his favorite oat milk and he still pretends not to notice you bought it just for him.

Clark shifts, facing you fully now. “Okay,” he says softly. “Then what do we do about it?”

You pretend to think. “We could ignore it forever and repress all our feelings. Real mature. Very emotionally healthy.”

He laughs, and it’s the first full one of the night—deep and warm and laced with disbelief. “You’d last two days.”

“You’d last two hours.”

“Fair.”

You nudge his knee. “So what do you want to do about it?”

He looks at you for a long, long moment. And then:

“I want to take you on a date.”

You blink. “You already know everything about me.”

“Then let me re-learn you,” he says. “As someone who doesn’t have to pretend this is just friendship anymore.”

You feel your throat tighten. And you try to play it cool, but your voice betrays you: “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Clark smiles, then he adds, “Also… if we’re doing this, you’re never going on a date with someone in loafers again.”

You shove his arm. “Let it go!”

THE NEXT NIGHT

He shows up at your door like he’s not a little nervous—which, of course, means he’s very nervous.

You’re in jeans this time. A sweater. Your favorite earrings. The version of you he loves best—comfortable, open, real.

“Hi,” he says, offering a bouquet of wildflowers he definitely picked himself because the stems are uneven and the bouquet is loosely tied with red string.

You beam. “You nerd.”

He shrugs. “You like flowers.”

“I love flowers.”

“Then we’re off to a great start.”

You eat outside. Some little bistro tucked on a side street Clark found because “you said once you missed places that feel like Paris.”

You did. You barely remember saying it. But he did.

You tease him mercilessly.

“Were you born this wholesome, or did a midwestern grandma raise you?”

Clark laughs, deep and warm. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is when you handwrite thank-you cards.”

“You liked that card.”

You pause. “I did keep it.”

“I knew it.”

You’re both smiling so hard it hurts.

And when you lean in and whisper, “You’re still my favorite person,” he goes quiet. His hand is on the table between you, and you reach for it without thinking.

He curls his fingers through yours like he’s been waiting for permission his whole life.

Back at your place, you’re barely in the door when he kicks it shut and pins you gently against it.

You’re giggling against his throat, breath hitching when his hands slide beneath your sweater, fingertips ghosting along your waist.

“You’re really gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs.

“You’ll survive.”

He nips your earlobe. “Will I?”

You tug him toward the bedroom by the collar of his flannel. He watches you move — the way your dress rides up your thighs, the sway of your hips, the confidence that’s bloomed under his gaze like it’s always been waiting.

By the time you turn and crawl onto the bed, Clark is barely holding on. He kneels at the edge and runs a reverent hand up your calf. Over your knee. Up your thigh.

“This okay?” he asks.

You nod. “More than okay.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “God, you don’t even know.”

He climbs up and kisses you, biting your lip. You whimper into his mouth.

“You want me?” he asks, breath ragged.

You nod, fumbling for his belt. “No,” he says, hand over yours. “Tell me.”

You meet his eyes.

“I want you, Clark. I want all of you.”

He closes his eyes like it physically wrecks him. His mouth crashes into yours as he pushes your panties aside, fingers slicking through you once—twice—before he’s lining up and sliding in slow.

You both groan, forehead to forehead.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he pants. “Perfect. You feel so—fuck—.”

You cling to him, nails raking down his back as he sets a brutal pace, every thrust punching a breathy cry from your throat. He’s so big it hurts a little, but you don’t stop him.

You whimper his name over and over until he’s thrusting into you like he owns you, whispering, “You’re mine, you’re mine, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

He slows down halfway through. Pulls out. Rolls you on top of him.“I wanna see you,” he murmurs.

You ride him until he’s panting your name, grabbing your hips, guiding you through your orgasm—then losing it with his own, a moan deep in his throat as he pulls you flush to him and lets go.

You collapse together, sweaty and breathless. And when he kisses your shoulder, it’s the softest thing in the world.

“Still scared?” he murmurs.

You kiss him back. “Not when I’m with you.”

a/n: slut me out pleaseee

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