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maruflix · 2 months

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— ★ 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓. (𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄-𝐀)

☆ — “S.. SORRY…. ARE YOU ANGRY?”

SYNOPSIS : Everyone fears them, but who do they fear? (+ bonus text messages✨)

FEATURING : Umemiya Hajime, Sakura Haruka, Tomiyama Choji, Togame Jo, Takiishi Chika x f!reader

Read the SECOND PART with Suo Hayato, Kiryu Mitsuki, Hiragi Toma, Kaji Ren, and Endo Yamato here!

UMEMIYA HAJIME

Everyone knows by now that one of Umemiya Hajime’s love languages is teasing. Once you get that man’s attention on you, he will not stop pestering you until the end of the world, showering you with his attention to try to get yours.

But sometimes, he can be too much.

“Wha- Hajime!” You’re peacefully reading the manga you just bought when it’s suddenly snatched from your hand. The sun beams on Umemiya’s face as he sticks out his tongue playfully, a beautiful smile adorning his features.

You glare up at him, or rather, at his right arm who’s now holding your manga. You make a futile attempt to swipe it away, but the white haired man only holds it up higher away from your reach. The pages are now flipping away and you grimace, knowing that you’ve lost the page you were reading earlier. And it was such a good scene, too…

“Give it back!”

But Umemiya only grins wider, stretching his long arms higher and higher. Next to him, his friends shake their heads in disbelief at his childishness. “Then take it baaack~” He can’t lie, he loves seeing your pretty eyes shining in anger. He loves seeing all your expressions, but he can’t deny that he has a mean streak in him. It’s satisfying to tease you and watch you get all flustered and annoyed.

“Umemiya Hajime!”

His friends looked away upon hearing the murderous tone in your voice, knowing that their leader is completely and utterly done for.

“You have three seconds to give me my manga back.”

Umemiya can be a bit oblivious, but he’s not stupid. Slumping his shoulders, he gives you a look resembling a kicked puppy and gingerly hands you the manga back. “O-okay… don’t be mad at me…” He pouts, but is met with a deadly glare.

“See?! Now I have to find what page I was reading!”

Nervous, he tries to help you but doesn’t know how, so he resorts to stuttering next to you, making you more annoyed. “S.. sorry…. Are you angry?”

“Heck yes I’m angry!”

You dodge his kisses, only relenting when he literally kneels down in front of you and begs you to forgive him, resting his head on your lap.

SAKURA HARUKA

“Help!”

A woman’s voice breaks through the day’s tranquility, followed by sounds of feet thudding on the ground. Several shop owners and pedestrians turned to look at what’s going on, their brows furrowed when they found out that it was another pickpocket.

The young man in question is already taking off, a woman’s wallet clutched between his arm and torso, speeding down the street, a victorious smirk on his face. However, just as he’s rounding the corner, his face comes into contact with a fist, causing him to fall to the ground.

Rubbing his nose crossly, he looks up to see a white and black haired boy, towering over him with his arms crossed intimidatingly in front of his chest. His lips are pursed in a straight line and his eyes are burning. He looks scary, if it wasn’t for the cute purse that hangs on his arm. “What the heck?!” He spits out, quickly getting to his feet to make an escape.

An arm shoots out in front of him. “That wallet. Give it back.”

“Mind your own business, boy!” He moves to push him away, but he effortlessly takes his arm and twists it behind his back, making him yelp in pain. The pickpocket tries to hit his assaulter’s head, but is instead whacked on the head with an object. He flops down on the ground, holding an aching head with an aching arm, the stolen wallet quickly forgotten.

Sakura Haruka rolls his eyes at the weakling in front of him before picking up the wallet and returning it to its rightful owner, who thanks him over and over again.

Just another day as Furin’s guardian.

“Sakura Haruka!”

Sakura flinches when he hears his full name being called out in a harsh tone, already knowing who it is without having to turn his head. He’s practically shaking in his boots when he finally faces you, hands on your hips, glaring daggers at your boyfriend.

“Did you just whack someone in the head using my purse?!”

Gulping, Sakura’s hands move to pat your purse, trying to return it to its original state (it now has a small dent from where it comes into contact with the pickpocket’s head) but fails miserably. “Umm..! Please wait a moment…” He grumbles, gently hammering your purse to fix the dent, finally succeeding as the purse returns to its form with a satisfying ‘plop!’

“You…” Taking big steps towards your boyfriend, you glare at him with rage, grabbing him by his collar.

It is truly a sight: the Sakura Haruka, who usually holds other people by their collar, is now having his own collar grabbed by a girl, and instead of being offended, he only looks mortified.

“I-I fixed it! Here, good as new!”

“It’s not the same! You’re an idiot!”

Not far from there, Kiryu holds up his phone, recording the whole thing. He stops the video when the two of you finally stop arguing and Sakura slings an arm around you, giving you a peck on the cheek before turning beet red. Chuckling to himself, he opens up the gang group chat.

TOMIYAMA CHOJI

Even after his fight with Furin High’s Umemiya, Tomiyama Choji is still an enigma. He looks like someone who wears his heart on his sleeve at first glance, but no amount of bubbly cheers and close-eyed smiles can tell a person what’s really on his mind.

Like right now.

The Shishitoren guys are chilling at the Ori, chatting and opening up bags of chips. The mood around them has greatly improved and they are now much more comfortable with each other. Tomiyama and Togame join them, sitting a bit further up, but still engaging in conversation.

“So, where’s the little princess?” Togame casually asks in an attempt to make small talk, but pauses when he feels his friend stiffen up.

Tomiyama smiles, but his eyes betray him.

“Umm.. is everything okay between you two?”

“Of course!” The Shishitoren leader beams, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

The guys in the front lower their voices, partly out of nervousness but also out of curiosity. They have often seen Tomiyama’s girlfriend hanging around at the Ori, laughing at his jokes and matching his energy. But not today.

“Well..” Togame ponders whether he should pursue the matter, but he’s actually a bit curious as well, so he presses on. “She usually comes here after school ends..”

At this, Tomiyama’s smile finally fades. He glances at the other guys, who instantly snaps their head away as if they weren’t at all eavesdropping earlier, then glares at his friend openly. “... What of it? She doesn’t have to come here every single day, does she?”

Togame knows now that he’s touched a nerve, so he drops it. Sighing, he opens up his phone, something that he rarely ever does, and decides to save the day by contacting a very special person.

You burst into the Ori not long afterwards and Tomiyama immediately bolts to you, tackling you down and muttering apologies in between sobs. When you finally forgive him, he gives you the brightest smile and kisses your cheek, pulling you up from the ground and guiding you to sit down next to him, his arm encircling your waist.

TOGAME JO

Togame Jo is a calm person. A very, very calm person. But calmness doesn’t equate to patience, and the Shishitoren guys know that better than anyone. It’s no easy feat to be the second-in-command, especially with someone like Tomiyama as the leader.

Togame rules with an iron fist. It’s true that he has mellowed down after the altercation with Furin, but the fact that he is intimidating remains standing. Now, he’s not even fazed when he argues with Tomiyama and stands his ground stubbornly, something that he usually avoids before fighting Furin High. That is why everyone still interacts with him cautiously, especially when they get a feeling that he’s in a bad mood.

Today is such a day.

The guys witnessed first hand how badly Togame and Tomiyama’s bickers can go, both sides unrelentingly stubborn. They’ve stopped fighting each other, but the tension is still there.

Just then, a girl walks up to them, an annoyed look on her face as she proceeds to… lecture Togame?

“Tomiyama told me that you threw the first punch!”

“Huh?!” Togame glares at his friend, who returns his glare with a victorious grin. But he can’t say anything because it was true, he did throw the first punch— he got Tomiyama good.

“I told you to solve your arguments with cool heads, not fists!” The girl is you, and you’re now scrunching your nose in frustration at the two guys in front of you.

Aruma, Kanuma, and some of their friends are hiding behind a wall as they shamelessly peep. They thought that Togame would certainly explode right about now. He has looked irritated all day, just got into a fistfight with his friend, and now he’s being lectured by some girl? Their friend, perhaps, but still… lecturing the Togame Jo is a pretty nerve-wracking sight.

Imagine their surprise when instead of exploding in anger, Togame lets out a small huff and looks at the ground. “You never take my side… is your boyfriend Choji or me?”

Tomiyama roars in laughter when you guiltily try to cheer him up, the previous arguments forgotten. He’s still laughing as he snaps pictures of the two of you. You’re hugging Togame tightly, face buried in his chest, but unbeknownst to you, Togame is now smirking as he rests his chin on top of your head.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

Takiishi Chika is an all-around scary guy. He always looks two seconds away from socking someone in the face, he beats up everyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way, and he’s made it clear he isn’t interested in making friends.

Lately, though, another person has been added to his entourage. Not another scary guy like Endo Yamato, but rather a beautiful girl who looks like a perfectly law-abiding citizen.

The first time you show up, Endo is damn sure that you won’t last more than a week. Either you get too scared, make a mistake and get punched in the face, or Takiishi will grow bored of you and tell you to stay out of his way.

Neither happened.

He’s been counting the days: it’s been exactly four months, and he notices that you have only been getting closer to Takiishi. But perhaps, perhaps, today will be the day that you break.

You’re standing your ground fearlessly, staring at him angrily. Takiishi, as usual, returns your stare with a stoic one. “Why don’t you want to spend more time with me?!” Your face is all scrunched up, your hands balled up into fists.

Takiishi blinks. Once. Twice. He clearly disagrees with your earlier statement, but he doesn’t know how to respond, so he remains silent. But he clearly made the wrong decision because your frustration grows, tears glistening in the corner of your eyes. Surprised and unsure how to react, Takiishi opens and closes his mouth mutely.

“So it’s true, then. Endo was right.” You sigh in defeat, tears now running down your face, “You don’t actually love me. You like him more than me.”

Endo nearly chokes when Takiishi snaps his head towards his direction, his face dark and eyes flickering in pure anger. He’s sure that Takiishi would stomp his way to him and bash his head in, if it weren’t for your sobs.

He watches, learning his lesson about messing with you when Takiishi quietly pulls you into his arms, calming you down by rubbing your head gently. His movements are stiff and awkward, but even an idiot can tell that he treats you like a treasure, letting your tears wet his black jacket.

But it wasn’t finished yet— Takiishi kindly makes sure that Endo completely learns his lesson when he beats him half to death, threatening him to never talk to you that way ever again.

NOTES : Wind Breaker fandom, I offer tribute!!!

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker x you #wind breaker fluff #umemiya hajime #umemiya hajime x reader #sakura haruka #sakura haruka x reader #togame jo x reader #togame jo #tomiyama choji x reader #choji tomiyama #chika takiishi x reader #chika takiishi #⟢ : maru’s writing !! ࿔*:･

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

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Tribe leader/Viking Sukuna headcanons

After seeing this fanart, a sweet anon sent me this prompt: "Imagine that you are a simple girl in another tribe who attracted the leader Sukuna who at that moment came to negotiate with the leader of your tribe, he became interested in you and decided to make you his wife and cooperate with your people. So you left with him and began to live with him and give birth to his heirs."

Thank you so much for sending me this! When I saw the art, I was thinking of something along those lines, too! The picture reminded me of the tv show Vikings, so the following headcanons take place in that time.

Pairing: Viking!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: Smut + fluff Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, arranged/forced marriage, virginity loss, blood, breeding, pregnancy, slight lactation kink, having children, miscarriage (Sukuna comforts reader afterwards. He doesn't just want her because of the heirs she can give him), general mentions of violence and human sacrifices. All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared for his ruthlessness in battle and his strength that seems almost god-like. All the other tribes try to stay on his good side and forge alliances with him instead of giving him a reason to burn down their towns.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who looks so intimidating when he comes to visit your settlement. Tall and broad-shouldered with all those buff muscles on display and the bones of his enemies decorating his clothes.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you can't take your eyes off when you and the rest of your tribe gather in your leader's throne room and watch the negotiations. He sends shivers down your spine, but not just in a fear-inducing way, if you are honest. He is so enticing. Powerful and intelligent, and so attractive.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a beautiful man. His face is too pretty for a warrior. Not even his scars and tribal tattoos can hide his beauty. A smug smirk lifts the corners of his lips, and his voice is calm and confident. He moves gracefully like a big cat, beautiful but deadly. He is the most stunning man you have ever seen, and you hang on every word that falls from his lips as if he carries ancient magic in his voice.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose icy blue eyes scan the crowd slowly, glittering like two precious jewels in the firelight illuminating the crowded room. Your breath catches in your throat when that intense gaze lands on you. You feel like a small animal trapped in the gaze of its hunter. Should you lower your head to show him your respect? Or will he take affront if you dare to look at anything else but him?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes the decision away from you when he smirks at you and laughs softly before he turns his attention back to your leader.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who announces his conditions for a peace treaty in a confident, demanding tone. The voice of a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows he is too powerful to get turned down.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who suddenly points a long tattoed finger at you and speaks the words that will flip your whole world upside down, "And I want her."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your heart drop with his demand, but all you can do is stare at him in a mix of fear and excitement. A murmur runs through the crowd, and already, several hands are pressing against your back, shoving you towards Sukuna, making you stumble and screech as you are about to fall at his feet.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who catches you before you hit the ground, his muscular arms holding you easily, an amused smirk lighting up his handsome face, light blue eyes glittering in amusement as he drawls teasingly, "Aww, someone's eager to become my little wife, huh?"

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you sit on his lap that evening when a big feast is held in his honor and to seal the peace treaty with your tribe. You barely dare breathe, full of fear as you sit on his strong, muscled thighs, gasping when one of his large hands wanders under your skirt to squeeze your thigh possessively.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has two of his men stand guard in front of your door so no one will attack his future wife or maybe to prevent you from sneaking away. But you aren't even sure you want to run from him. Who are you here in your current tribe anyway? Just another orphan who grew up to help on one of the farms. Isn't this new role much more important? To be the bride of Ryomen Sukuna? To be a means that allows your tribe to prosper and ensures peace and trade with Sukuna?

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large hand has a firm, unrelenting grip on your arm as he leads you to his horse the next morning. But he lets you say goodbye to all your loved ones, taking their blessings and well wishes with you before your future husband helps you onto his horse.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is such a rough man, but whose hands are surprisingly gentle when he lifts you onto the back of his giant horse. He sits behind you, his firm muscles pressing against your back, rippling with every move he makes. His muscular buff arms cage you in, keeping you captive or keeping you safe. You can't tell which one of the two it is.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes a conflict rage in your chest. On the one hand, you are scared of this dangerous big man who has the power to just demand to have you as if you are some cattle. On the other hand, you can't deny that small hidden part of you that feels excited that such a powerful and attractive man desires you enough to want to make you his wife.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes your pulse flutter nervously when you feel his strong arms around you and hear him order his men around with his low, velvety voice, telling them to find a good resting place for the night.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses you roughly on that first night. His large hands that cup your face are calloused, but his lips are warm, and his tongue is soft and so skilled when he pries your mouth open and licks into it. It's nothing like the shy, clumsy kisses you shared with the boys in your settlement. Sukuna is a feared warrior, a powerful tribe leader, someone who people believe is actually the son of a god. And you can feel all that in his kiss. Deep and intense, making your head spin and your body brim with a desire you have never felt before.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rides with you again the next day and trails teasing kisses down your neck to pass the time during the long ride. You are sure he is fully aware of what he is doing to you. How he makes your heart race and makes a mix of fear and arousal throb in your veins. Especially when he grabs your chin to tilt your face up and capture your lips in a heated, wet kiss, licking unashamedly into your mouth in front of his men, showing everyone that you are his.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who whispers in your ear, "Are you scared of me, my little wife?" and then breaks out in loud, barking laughter when you exhale shakily and tell him, "Only a fool wouldn't be scared of you... but maybe I am also flattered that you picked me, my lord."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who still chuckles while his tongue licks a lazy stripe up the side of your neck, and he huskily tells you, "I am not a lord. I am a god. And I saw a goddess right there in that shabby throne room. I had to take you with me. It was a sign from the gods. You will give me such strong and beautiful children. Together, we can conquer the whole world."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who forces himself to keep his hands off you before your wedding night as a show of respect to the gods, but who lets you feel his desire for you when he hugs you from behind and presses his hardness against you once you have moved into his house.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who has you dressed in the finest garments for your wedding day. A beautiful red dress lined with gorgeous white ermine fur that was specifically made for you. Your neck, wrists, and ears are decorated with glittering gold and precious gemstones.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who makes you squeal when he swoops you up into his muscular arms and carries you into the ceremony hall, accompanied by the loud cheers of his people. Your hand is shaking when you exchange wedding rings with him, but you stay brave, speaking your vows and taking Sukuna's heavy sword when he offers it to you as his promise to protect you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who sacrifices several of his enemies to the gods to ask for their blessings for your marriage and your fertility. He looks scary with the pattern painted onto his face with fresh blood. But at the same time, it makes him look feral in a way that makes an unknown heat throb between your legs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shares his food and mead with you on the decadent feast held after the wedding ceremony, where you sit on the throne next to his. One of his strong arms stays wrapped around your waist the whole evening, and the deep glances he sends your way make your skin tingle with anticipation.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who takes your virginity that night, making you cry out in pain when his thick cock splits you open for the first time. But his lips silence your cry, and soon you make other noises. Loud moans of pleasure fall from your lips as your new husband moves inside you with deep and sure thrusts that hit a spot inside you that makes you scratch the broad muscles of his back and arch up against Sukuna's huge body. Your cunt throbs around his cock as you find the sweetest and most intense release you ever had.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who afterward pushes two of his long fingers into your used cunt to push his seed back into you, leaning down to kiss you savagely and murmuring in your ear that he wants to see your belly hard and swollen with his heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who paints his clan symbols on your face with a mix of your virginal blood and his cum, telling you that you are his forever and that you are blessed by the gods now too after taking his seed into you.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is so proud when you show the first signs of pregnancy.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who becomes extremely protective and possessive now that you carry his heir. Who worships your body every night, cupping and kissing your swollen breasts, licking at the drops of milk that already spill from them, telling you it tastes like the nectar of the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose large rough hands caress your swollen belly gently, who kisses it, and talks to your unborn child, telling his son, as he predicts, that he will be born under the blessing of the gods. That he will become a great leader and a god himself one day.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is triumphant when your first child is a boy with pink hair and a strong build and loud voice. A future leader just like his father. The first heir of many more to follow.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is feared by everyone but treats his wife and newborn child with a gentleness that surprises you. He asks you to let him hold your baby and carry him in his strong arms. And the way Sukuna looks at your child tells you that he doesn't just see little Yuuji as an heir but as someone who has Sukuna's heart.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose hungry and proud gaze follows you for days until he has you under him again, fucking you with hard, deep thrusts, moaning loudly, and pumping you full of his seed over and over again. "You gave me such a strong heir, my love. I know you'll give me so many more."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who rushes to your side when you have a miscarriage during your second pregnancy. Who hugs you to his broad chest, wipes the sweat and blood off you, and cradles you in his arms.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who kisses your tears away and reassures you when you are scared he will kick you out if you won't give him more heirs.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who shakes his head and tells you, "I mourn our unborn child, but I thank the gods for not taking my beloved wife away from me too. You are more to me than just a vessel that gives birth to my heirs. You are my wife, my companion, the one who the gods sent to me as my soulmate. I love you. Even if we have no more children, I will never take a new wife."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who you see in a new light after the reassurance and love he gave you on that day. And suddenly, you find yourself falling in love with your husband, too. You treat him more tenderly. You caress his soft hair when the two of you cuddle in your bed to keep each other warm. You kiss the tattoos on his face and smile at him, your heart fluttering when Sukuna smiles back at you and pulls you into a slow, tender kiss. You will never forget the happiness in his eyes when you tell him you love him too.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who fucks you thoroughly that night until the two of you are sweating and rolling around on top of the warm furs, kissing and caressing each other needily while he fills you with his hot seed until you are overflowing from it.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is delighted when you give birth to your second child, and that child looks like the perfect mix of the two of you. He grins at you and tells you that this is clearly a child of love, conceived on the night you confessed your love to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who is actually a caring husband who truly treasures you. Who likes to spend his nights with you wrapped under the warm furs, making slow love while he kisses you deeply, rolling his hips with those slow, languid moves that make you sob his name and come undone so sweetly on his cock.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who likes to hold you in his strong arms afterward, with your head resting on his broad chest and your small fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest and abs. He loves to talk to you for hours every night, telling you all about his day, about his current worries and plans, about political things and battle tactics, trusting you with all his secrets.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, whose love fills you with warmth even on the coldest winter days. Your heart is held securely in his strong hands. And you know that no one will dare lay a hand on you or your children in fear of Sukuna's wrath. His strength and power make you feel safe here in your new home.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who teaches you how to enjoy sex to the fullest. Who teaches you how to ride his cock and his face. Who teaches you how to take from him too. Because he is your husband, and that means he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who trusts you with ruling in his place during his absence. Who declares that anyone who disrespects you will get sacrificed to the gods.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who keeps you on his thick, strong cock all night before he has to leave for one of his various exploration trips or battles, savoring you to the fullest. Making sure to fuck you so good that you will still feel him for days after he set sail.

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who pulls you into his arms one last time before he boards the ship, kissing you deep and long. And there is this burning love in his blue gaze when he tells you, "I will do anything in my power to come back to you, my love. I have the gods on my side. But if, for whatever reason, they should decide it is my time to enter Valhalla, then I want you to know that I will wait there until you join the afterlife, too, and I will come find you, no matter where you are."

+ Tribe leader Sukuna, who luckily doesn't go to Valhalla and always comes back to you with more scars on his gorgeous body but with the same love in his eyes.

AAAHHH I AM IN LOVE WITH HIM!!! This became much longer than I intended, but I really miss the show Vikings, and I love Viking!Sukuna to an insane amount, so it is what it is ;) This was, once again, very self-indulgent, but hopefully, some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it too! Thank you so much to the nice anon who sent me that prompt!

Please let me know what you think. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #jjk x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fluff #sukuna x you #tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage

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zephyrchama · 4 months

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Water Wrinkles

Seven demon brothers sat solemnly in a circle around you. You did your best to ignore them. It wasn't often that you got to spend time at the human world villa, and you were intent on soaking up as much sun as you could before returning to the Devildom.

You reclined your beach chair back, crossing your arms under your still-wet hair. It was a gorgeous day. Perfect for being at the pool.

Leviathan let out a muffled sob. As the demon with the highest affinity for water, he blamed himself.

"Let us take you to a hospital," Satan insisted for the tenth time.

"They're going to laugh us out of the ER," you nonchalantly repeated.

Satan lowered his eyes and muttered, "I couldn't find any traces of a curse in the water... So how...?"

Asmodeus had his head in his hands, unresponsive. Sometimes his fingers curled around the ends of his hair. You briefly glanced over to make sure he didn't pull his hair out - that would be grounds for a real emergency.

"I can't bear to watch. Lucifer, do somethin'," Mammon whined. He was fidgeting all over the place and winced whenever he looked at your feet.

The oldest glared at you. You knew it was out of concern, but his fears were unfounded. Even Lucifer refused to listen to reason when he thought you were in danger.

"Actually, yeah. Lucifer, can you pass me a towel?" you asked. It was embarrassing having seven shirtless demons intensely staring at you. If they wouldn't let you go back in the water, maybe covering up would make you feel less self-conscious.

Lucifer didn't move. It was Beelzebub who plucked a spare towel off his younger twin and handed it to you with a shaking arm. He looked like a wet puppy, having been the one who first discovered your "condition" and swept you out of the pool.

Belphegor hadn't gone in the water that day. He only hogged the plush towels because of how comfortable they were and, following Beelzebub's lead, dumped them all onto your chair. Now he sat, wide awake. He was anxiously squeezing a loose chunk of concrete but at some point, without realizing, it got crushed to powder in his hand.

You had more than enough towels now.

"In half an hour you're going to forget this all even happened," you said to reassure the worry warts.

"In half an hour, you might be gone!" Mammon snapped back.

"You're going to be a wrinkled mess of skin and bones," Asmodeus weeped quietly.

Leviathan pressed his hands over his ears. Though, with nothing to cover his eyes he was forced to look at your wrinkled hands again. Based on the noises he was making, you'd think someone was torturing him.

"As I've said!" you reiterated. "All humans get wrinkly in water. Look, now that I'm drying off it's going back to normal."

Beelzebub grabbed your ankle, raising it for the brothers to observe at eye level. "I don't see a difference."

You didn't expect the sudden manhandling and slunk several inches down the lounge chair while the demons stared at your foot. Kicking and twisting your leg was futile. You modestly crossed your free leg.

"I think it's getting worse," Satan said.

"We need to take action," Lucifer decided.

Asmodeus was actively quivering now. Belphegor and Leviathan had crept behind you and started picking at your wrinkly fingers. You tried to swat them away to no avail.

"Give me 25 minutes! Literally! Probably even less, this will go away on its own! I just need to dry off."

"We need a solution now," Mammon asserted. The cogs in his brain were turning. "We need fire."

You tried to sit up, to jump up and stop Mammon before he burned the whole villa down in an attempt to dry you off, but Beelzebub had not let go and you stumbled. You grazed your knee on the concrete and winced.

A second round of panic overcame the demon brothers. Beelzebub let go, Lucifer picked you up, and Belphegor wrapped your knee with every available towel he could lay his hands on. Asmodeus and Leviathan were crying on each other's shoulders. Mammon came running back, oblivious to the second disaster that just occurred, with a flaming stick in his hand that Satan tried to keep at bay. If you got burnt on top of everything else, they'd probably go insane and destroy the human world.

In the midst of the chaos you caught a glimpse of your hand. It was practically dry. You couldn't even see the wrinkles anymore. You angrily wiggled in Lucifer's grasp as various hands fussed over you.

"Stay!!" you shouted over the clamor.

The brothers went tumbling to the ground, save for Lucifer who fought to stay rooted in place. You could finally hear yourself think again. There was primarily one thought on your mind.

"I just want to go swimming."

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yanderenightmare · 1 month

Text

Gojo Satoru

TW: yandere awakening

part two

gn reader

Thinking of having a nullifying cursed technique without knowing it…

Curses, attacks, and techniques have no effect on you—once cursed energy comes into contact within your range, it ceases to exist. You're a human erasure for all things paranormal.

And it’s beyond strange for a certain six-eyed limitless sorcerer...

Gojo sees on a molecular level—it's like converging x-ray and thermal and night-vision into one lens that's both microscopic and telescopic at the same time—he sees energy and atoms—he sees everything, he sees through everything. Nothing escapes. The tiniest shift in someone’s expression indicates exactly what they’re thinking, and he can tell—as if he can read minds even though he can’t. Everything is just so obvious. Everything. Even though he is blindfolded, he can see. All things energy, light, heat, movement, what someone had for lunch, the tiniest vibration in the ground and buildings around him, the slight shift in the wind when a butterfly flaps its wings a mile away. It’s all there for him, laid bare before his many eyes. Everything, and then he bumps straight into you.

It's by no means any powerful encounter—his body is much taller and bigger. It’s rather you who’s dealt an impact, bouncing off and staggering back until falling hard on your ass.

But he’s no less shocked because of it. Something just passed through both limitless and six eyes. An attack from a curse? A technique from a sorcerer? Here? Now? On the open street on his way to buy mochi? No… what’s going on? What on earth was that?

“Ouch—what the? Watch where you’re going! And what’s up with the blindfold, you lunatic!?”

Watch where you’re going, huh… He’s never heard that before. Even stranger, who is speaking? He peels his blindfold up and… wow.

He can see you. No, not like he can see the others around you—passing bodies full of flesh and blood and bones and food. You’re none of that, you’re just a face and body. You have a rumpled expression—sour. He can tell you’re upset, but it’s harder than it’s supposed to be. He has to think about it all on his own. Yes, you’re mad. At him? Yes. You’re mad at him.

You’re mad at him, and yet he doesn’t care. There are more important matters. Like, who the hell or what the hell are you?

“Well?” you state snappily, and yes, it was you who had spoken earlier. “Are you gonna help me up or what?”

He doesn’t know if he should. You’d only touched him indirectly before, through two layers of both of your clothing. What if your skin burns his? What if everything ceases to exist?

He does it anyway.

Reaching down his hand, he holds his breath and recites seconds within his head as if he’s counting down towards the end of the world—one, two, three, and…

It burns. But not in a bad way. But it burns—everywhere all at once—igniting him like a matchstick ripped across the red. It burns, but it feels good. And he realizes he’s felt cold his entire life.

“Uhm, you can let go now,” you drag him out of his discoveries.

He looks away from his grip on your hand and at you, now standing, and wow, really wow… It’s like he’s seeing for the first time. There’s so much he's blind to, and yet, nothing's ever been clearer—the smoothness of skin, the soft differences in its pigment, the vividness of eyes—your eyes. He knows they aren’t, but they’re the biggest he’s ever seen.

“Hey, buddy, are you alright?” you ask now, leaning towards him—a hand on his shoulder, its burning warmth seeping in through his jacket, as the other remains in his. “Is there someone I should call?”

Oh right. He must be acting like an asylum escapee.

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m great. I’m Gojo. Satoru Gojo,” one after the other, words leave him as if he’s forgotten how to act normal.

“Okay then—that’s good, uhm, Mr. Gojo.”

How strange. He can’t tell what you’re thinking at all—in fact, he hasn’t the slightest clue—it’s all a guessing game. It’s as if before, all he needed to do was look at a book to know what was written within, but with you, he actually needs to read. And he's never learned how to.

“Uhm, alright, so I’ll be on my way then—”

“No!” his grip tightens, and you gasp with a jolt, looking at him even wider than before. Shit. “I mean… I’m sorry. I should… I should apologize for walking straight into you. Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, I’m good. It’s really alright. No need to worry. I should really go, though—”

You look positively freaked-out now—if he were to make a purely uneducated guess. You tried pulling your hand to yourself again, and it became more clear—he was making you uncomfortable. But still, he didn’t want to let go. Even with limitless off, nothing had ever felt as good as the contact he was feeling right now. He doesn’t think he can let go. But shit—people are beginning to stare…

“Okay, I’m sorry—” he lets go, and you instantly hurry along with quick steps, shuffling through the crowded street as if you’d just encountered a madman.

Maybe he is. He sure follows after you like one.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

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evilgwrl · 1 month

Text

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: One

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Minor gore

ANYTHING IN ITALICS IS A FLASHBACK

Masterlist

It only started as a cold. Then it spread to a viral infection, consuming people faster than poison. It didn’t take long for the world to stop, for terror to appear, spreading like a wildfire, destroying cities as quickly as they appeared.

It was a vastly asked question growing up, “Do you think you would survive the apocalypse?” and to those who answered yes, where are you now? For you, surviving came easy. You remember it, the scene playing in your head like clockwork.

“Vienna, we have to go!” You spat, your voice scratching against your parched throat as you watched the dead-alive tear at the walls, staggering limbs chasing after the scent of beating veins.

“I can’t run any faster,” Vienna spat, sheer fire running through her exhausted body as she stumbled upon the concrete road. You trusted her. You were going to get through it together. You were all each other had now.

You didn’t stop, only grabbing her hand as your worn shoes skidded against the floor, the smell of rubber burning your nose. “We need to get over that fence!” You yelled, your eyes blurred from exhaustion as you tugged the girl next to you, your sweat dancing along your palms.

You stumbled, heavy feet clamping into the chain as you attempted to pull yourself up. The taste of metallic engorged your mouth as you bit harshly on your tongue, gripping onto Vienna’s hand in an effort to pull her up.

“You need to hurry!” Your voice yelped out, dragging the girl as if she was a rag-doll, your efforts rushed as you attempted to pull her up. It felt like a movie, the sound of gargling flesh, mangled between broken teeth and rotting skin acting as a soundtrack, yet it wasn’t fiction. This was real, this was reality.

Your leg was now hunched over, your body positioned between the fence as you focused on saving your friend. The clamminess between both of your hands, causing a friction as she continued to slip. “I-I can’t, Y/N, pull me harder,” Vienna exasperated, her voice high pitched as she watched behind her, rotten claws scratching the air.

Vienna’s feet dug into the chain as she wobbled, slick pools of blood flooding at her palms as she sliced the tender skin upon the metal. A grunt left her mouth as she clasped onto your hand, the dead swarming closer, desperate and starved.

Almost comically, Vienna whispered out an “I’m sorry” before tugging. You landed with a whack, your knees hitting the ground as you winced, your jeans skidding across the ground, fresh marks of friction, followed by the prickle of blood appeared quickly upon your palms and knees as your eyes darted to the girl infront of you, clambering up the fence.

Your breathing stilled, the sound of static filling your ears, muting everything around you as your limbs froze up. This was it, you thought, the stench of death approaching you as you attempted to stand, hands gripping out to reach for any weapon as the sound of struggle behind you deafened you.

You covered your ears, tucking your face into your knees as you sat up, flashes of everything you were running through your brain like a compilation. Instead, you were met with the trample of feet and bodies toppling over you. Your eyes adjusted, looking at the huddle of zombies walking near you, not paying you a care as they focused on the flesh of your once friend.

Your body stirred for a second, your flesh searing in the sun as you crawled up, your legs weak. You almost wish you had died then, the sound of Vienna’s scream even after her betrayal paralysing you. You didn’t stick around, your hand securing your satchel as you limped off, the sound of squelching and gnarling being the only thing you left behind.

You kept a calendar on a torn, leather notebook, marking each day carefully since the first. It had been 296 days. 296 days of being alone. 296 of being invisible. 296 days of nothing. You survived in an old farm house, tucked away in a rural forest in God know’s where. It was funny, you expected to see someone, anyone, but you never did.

Maybe it was easier that way, you were a given a chance with someone, and they left you to die. It was easy to make a simple life for yourself out here and you often wondered why the previous owner’s had left.

Your food was supplied by the garden, a plethora of fruits and vegetables adorned across the land as you tended to them. There were animals too. Cows, chickens, horses. You grew to care for them, speaking to them often as if they would reply. It was worth a shot, you thought, and it made you less lonely.

You survived by fending for yourself, learning how to shoot an arrow as you hunted the occasional deer in the forest, tenderising the meat on their gas stove. There was a small town nearby, practically untouched that you had raided, using the spare pickup truck that dusted away in the garage.

You had never seen anyone, but if you did, whoever lived here didn’t shy away from guns, the shotgun he left behind and the small pistols he littered around the house, along with your bow and arrow, were your forms of protection. Everything was simple. Everything was as perfect as it could be, you were fine.

It was a regular occurrence for you to ride now, your ass plush against the saddle as you trotted around the acreage. It was rare to see zombies along here, the silence speaking for itself, and if they did, they didn’t pay any attention to you walking over to them and chopping their head off with an axe. You found it comforting as you listened to the whistle of the horse’s nostrils, breathing out slowly.

As it grew dark, you locked the barn, securing it tightly before heading inside. You were thankful for fire as you chucked a log of wood you had chopped into the burner, lighting it with a match. You locked the door, front and back, as you shut the blinds, a simple routine you did to soothe yourself. Your feet, covered by fluffy socks you had found in a cupboard, padded against the floor as you headed up the creaky stairs.

Your body conformed to the blankets covering you, hushing you to sleep as your body gratefully accepted. The only thing that would wake you would be the sun, and the haunting memory of Vienna.

The teapot whistled, steam singing out of the nozzle as you carried it to the bath. Though it was a luxury to shower in hot water, it had rained these past couple of weeks, allowing for the rain tank to fill up and be put to good use.

Your body scorched against the porcelain tub as you stepped in, the muscles in your thighs kneading themselves into tight balls before the tension released. You used one of the several soap bars you had stored, scrubbing against your tender skin as you washed yourself. Your fingers trailed against the gash of a scar on your forearm, a reminder of the fence, a reminder of her.

You finished up, your body snug around a towel you had recently washed using an off-the-grid washing machine they kept stored in the basement. Thank God people lived like that before civilisation turned to shit, either that, or Amish. You weren’t complaining about either.

You changed into a pair of shorts, the weather slowly warming up as the winter passed, the celebration of spring approaching on your calendar. You fed yourself with an apple before approaching the barn, the key clicking against the door as you greeted the animals, feeding them with a mix of leftover animal food and vegetables. Sure, it wasn’t the best diet, but it fed them well enough to provide milk and eggs.

Your feet padded against the hay-covered floor, arms stroking the horse you were most fond of (that you called Nancy) before letting her out, straddling her waist with a saddle as you dragged her to the fenced paddock. You were quick to grab Cecil, the male of the pair. While he was now fond of you, your stomach had still not fully forgiven him for the brutal kick he gave you when you first met.

Once your legs grew, sore, staggering to continue directing the horse, you huddled inside, as you began to sew, using an old dress you found to create a shirt and a skirt. You hummed softly to yourself, the silence of the house speaking back to you, the distance sound of a chugging engine humming in as you stilled.

Like a statue, you froze before dropping expletives, your body slinking over to the window as you looked outside. Is that.. a truck? The soft hum of the engine grew closer as you rushed to grab your shotgun, before rushing outside, hands flailing around as you waited for the car to turn around.

“This is private property!” You yelled, your voice stern, “You need to leave.” Your face was vastly covered by the large gun you held, doing your best to intimidate whoever it was that drove on the land.

You heard the sound of doors opening, before four different doors closed. You lowered your gun, eyes squinting as you froze. You almost felt like your eyes were betraying you as you took in the group before you.

A man wearing a bucket hat, raised his arms slowly, slinking towards you as you stepped back. “Listen, we ain’t- we ain’t trying to scare you,” he spoke, his voice authoritative, “we didn’t think anyone would be out here.”

“Well, I am,” you snapped, lowering the gun slightly to look at him, “So fuck off, you and whoever is behind you isn’t welcome here.”

A man, the tallest of the group, stepped forward. He was intimidating, a black balaclava with a skull face situated on top covered his identity, his frame bricked with muscle as his chest puffed forward, “Listen-“ he began before the man with the hat cut him off.

“We ain’t here for issues, sweetheart, simply need a place to stay. We were in the military and we would greatly appreciate it.”

You furrowed your brows as you raised your gun again, “If you were in the military, why the fuck are you still here? Shouldn’t they have shipped you off somewhere safe?”

“We were on a mission, stuck in a safe house in the middle of nowhere. We assumed we had lost connection when no one could contact us. Took us a while to realise what had happened,” he spoke, arms over his chest, “I promise we ain’t here to hurt ya, at most we just want to eat and if you don’t want us here tomorrow, we’ll get out of your hair, a’right?”

You stilled, taking in their clothes, lined with badges and gear you would only seen on someone in the military. You lowered your gun before turning on your heel back to the house. You waited for a second, not moving, before you heard the sound of multiple feet against gravel before they walked into the house, soft sighs leaving their lips.

“Do you have supplies?” You quipped, tone harsh as you looked at them, placing the gun down yet keeping it in arms reach. Sure you had never shot one, but how hard could it be?

Another man nodded and you could finally take a look at him. Does he have a Mohawk? You couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh as you stared at him. “Got some bottled water in the boot, and some military meals we found at some shops along the way as well as some toiletries. It’s not a lot- but it’ll help,” he said, a thick Scottish accent causing you to scrunch your brows together in an attempt to understand him.

You nodded slowly, still not taking your eyes off of them before reaching into a cupboard and pulling out a labelled pot. The words stew stared back at you before you turned on the stove, letting it simmer. “The best I can feed you all with notice is left over deer stew. If you don’t want it, fend for yourself else where,” you snapped, rubbing between your eyebrows as you grabbed a spoon.

“That’s more than enough, thank you,” the hat man said, his arms resting on the table before he headed outside, to presumably grab the supplies in the boot.

“You been out here this whole time?” An unfamiliar voice spoke. You turned to him. He was handsome, with a boyish smile and soft features, his skin a complimenting shade of brown.

“Not the whole time, ended up here by mistake I suppose but I’m not complaining.”

“You survived this entire time by yourself?” The masked man gibed, looking you up and down as if you were useless. You shot him a nasty glare, your tone spiteful, “Yes, I have and now I have four dickwads at my door, begging to stay with me.”

The man silenced himself, eyes crinkling slightly as he turned around. “What’s your name?” The Scottish one asked, stepping closer to watch you heat the food as your body tensed.

“Y/N,” you said curtly.

“I’m Soap,” he announced, bouncing softly on his feet as he breathed in real food for a change.

“Hell kinda name is Soap?” You spat, staring at him.

“Military name, lass. Real names John,” he added, a small smile on his face before he turned to the others. “That’s Gaz, or Garrick,” he said, pointing to the handsome one, “and that’s Ghost, or-“

“Just Ghost,” the masked man grumbled. You rolled your eyes at his lack of manners, growing more frustrated by the second.

Soap strummed his fingers against the counter before clearing his throat. “The one outside is Price, names also John so it’s easier to just call us Price and Soap.”

The man you now knew as Price walked back in, hands clutching plastic containers filled with water bottles, items stacked on top as he placed them on the counter. “Thank you,” he said, gesturing towards the stew as you nodded.

“There are two spare bedrooms upstairs that you can rest in for the night, I’ll show you to them after we eat,” you say, grabbing a ladle and 5 China bowls.

As you sat down, you felt yourself relax slightly, trying to reassure yourself that if they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so already. Would others around the house be that bad? You shook your head, shaking the idea away.

They’re leaving first thing tomorrow.

#poly 141 x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley #ghost #john soap mactavish #soap #captain john price #price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #ghost smut #soap smut #gaz smut #captain price smut #141 au #141 smut #poly!141 smut

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scuderiahalf · 3 months

Text

middle man — arthur leclerc

pairing. arthur leclerc x ferrari driver!fem!reader

summary. you never set out to date your teammate's brother. in fact, it took arthur months just to convince you to go on a single date, but charles' opinion of you hit an all time low after he became aware of your relationship and nothing you did seemed to help mend your previously strong partnership. when charles takes it a step too far, you decide that you’ve had enough of it. 6.7k, 18+

warnings. injury, descriptions of injury, smut, dom/sub dynamic (sub!reader), fingering (fem receiving), impact play, penetrative sex, mirror sex

. . .

The slightest of contact was all it took. That was all it ever took. One second, you were making the overtake for P2, and the next, you were in the wall.

There was barely time to brace. Barely any time to hit the brakes. Reaction time was trained, drilled, conditioned into you until it became second nature. Thank god it was, otherwise, you might not have walked away from this one.

Your ears were ringing when you opened you eyes after impact. Your vision was swimming but you were conscious. You heard the cadence of the question in your ear more than you could actually understand the words being said.

Are you okay? Y/N, are you okay?

You weren't really sure if you were but your mind went to those that were watching the race, your fans, your team, your family, your friends. Arthur. They needed to hear you say that you were okay. The gritty details could come later.

"I'm good. We're good. That was a rough one, huh?"

You're sure that the pain was still evident in your voice. It was unavoidable after however many Gs of force you just withstood in that crash. You turned the engine off, took a moment to center yourself.

You had crashed. You were a Formula One driver. It was the Azerbaijan Grand Prix, the fourth race of your second season with Ferrari after your Haas contract expired two years ago.

Your boyfriend's name was Arthur Leclerc. Privately (and jokingly), you called him Artie because it made him cringe and you thought it was funny. He was your teammate's little brother.

He was the first person to make it to the circuit medical center after you had been loaded into the medical car. He was shaking as he hugged you, not from fear but from restraint, not wanting to hurt you by squeezing you as tightly as he wanted to.

"You are okay? Tell me you are okay."

"I'm fine, baby."

"I could strangle Max Verstappen sometimes. 'Leave the space' must only apply to others."

"Arthur, it's okay. It's just part of the sport."

He looked you over for a moment more before catching your mouth in a searing kiss. It spoke volumes, and you understood exactly what he meant by it.

I deeply respect your love of the sport but I would burn the FIA and the whole world to the ground if it meant keeping you safe.

"I love you," he said when he pulled back.

"Je t'aime," you returned.

That exchange of I love you's in your and Arthur's respective native languages of English and French had been a staple of your relationship since very early on. Your first "I love you" had been in each other's mother tongue. It had stuck ever since.

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes,” you insisted, “A little dizzy, but okay.”

“Dizzy? You did not say you were dizzy.” That was the doctor that had checked you for any signs of a concussion.

You turned to face her. “Yes, but I had—“

You lost your balance as you turned. Your typical coordination escaped you and Arthur had to catch you to stop you from tipping sideways.

The doctor pulled out a phone. “I’m calling an ambulance. You’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m fine—“

“Mon coeur, please sit down,” Arthur urged.

Your calm but obviously worried boyfriend refused to leave your side even when it meant leaving for the hospital before the end of the race. You tried to convince him to stay for his brother but he wasn’t having it.

In the hospital room after you had completed all the precautionary brain scans, Arthur checked his phone.

"Maman is asking about you," he said. "Lorenzo, too."

You both took note of the lack of another of his family member’s text message, but you had grown all too used to it. It was easier not to comment on it.

"Tell them I'm fine."

"I will tell them we are waiting on your test results."

"Don’t worry them. I’m fine, Arthur.”

"We will know that once they have gotten their results."

Arthur had a very convincing poker face but this needless argument showed how concerned he truly was. He kept worrying his bottom lip between his teeth whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

You tugged on your intertwined hands to pull him closer. “Hey. I’ll be fine. It’s probably just a concussion.”

“You cannot know.”

“Then, call it positive thinking.”

Before anything more could be said, the doctor returned with the results of your tests.

You were okay, only a concussion as you had thought. You had a fair amount of bruising and a bit of whiplash to commemorate one of the worst crashes of your career but other than that, you seemed fine.

They still wanted to keep you overnight for observation but you should recover in a timely fashion.

When the doctor left, you only had time to shoot Arthur an “I told you so” look before his phone started ringing. The caller ID showed his second eldest brother’s name.

He answered in French, a language you knew almost fluently after living in Monaco since your rookie season. You had really buckled down to learn the language after beginning to date Arthur.

“Hello? ... I am at the hospital with Y/N. … I know but congratulations on third. Sorry I missed the celebrations.”

You couldn’t hear what Charles was saying, only your boyfriend’s responses. It was now over two hours since the end of the race. Charles must have only just gotten time to call Arthur.

“I know I am, but Y/N was dizzy and the doctor was concerned and I couldn’t just leave her. … She is part of Ferrari, too. I have a duty to both her and the team. … I was not needed at the garage. … And I said I’m sorry I missed your podium but I wasn’t going to leave her alone. What if something happened?”

You sunk back into your hospital bed. They were fighting again. Because of you.

You and Charles had been rookies together back in 2018. You had started your F1 career at Williams before moving through Haas to where you were now, your second year at Ferrari.

You were a handful of years younger than Charles and he had always treated you like a little sister. When you got the Ferrari contract, Charles was over the moon. You remember him going on a half hour tangent about how much fun it would be having you as a teammate, how excited he was for the next two years.

Charles adored you. At least, he used to, before you and Arthur told him you had started seeing each other.

Since then, Ferrari has been a minefield.

Charles was distant and cold. He stopped sending TikToks and stopped laughing at your memes. He unfollowed you on Instagram for about a week before the Ferrari PR team made him follow you again.

The PR department was working well past overtime thanks to you and Charles. You had learned not to try and approach him even when there were cameras around because he would continue to ignore you and it would further fuel the drama mill.

You missed your friend. You missed the fun you two had last year as teammates.

Now, you were with Arthur. And you loved him. And he made you so happy. But you missed being able to talk to Charles without him looking at you like you were the gum on the bottom of his shoe.

Arthur’s voice had gotten sharper the longer he spoke to Charles. “Not that you bothered to ask but Y/N is fine, by the way. We had to go to the hospital to scan her brain and make sure but she would be. Not like you’d care.”

Arthur hung up and tossed his phone onto a table where he couldn’t reach it. You reached out for his hand and he took it, kissing your knuckles and sighing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Do not apologize. This is not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“It is not. It is Charles being impossible for no reason. Before we were dating, he—“

He adored you. He called you mon ange. He praised your driving any time he could. He invited you to dinners with his family, which was how you got to know Arthur outside of racing.

Now, Charles couldn’t stand the sight of you. It hurt, you weren’t going to lie. Charles was your teammate and friend, but more importantly, he was Arthur’s brother.

You didn’t feel it was your place to try and close the gap gouged between you and Charles, not when he was Arthur’s family. You didn’t want to complicate things further, didn’t want to try and repair your friendship before the bond between brothers was mended.

“Maybe…”

You lacked the confidence to continue your thought. You didn’t want to suggest what you were about to, even if it could potentially fix everything.

You were selfish when it came to Arthur. You didn’t like sharing him and you especially didn’t want to let him go.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

“What? No? No. Why? No. Why would you want to—? Have I done something wrong? Why would you say that?”

You were quick to reassure him. “No, no, no, baby, it’s not that. I was just thinking that it might be a good idea to take a bit of time and come back to this in the off season. When Charles can separate me as your girlfriend from me as his teammate.”

“No,” he insisted. “No. I do not want him to ruin this any more than he already has. I do not want to take a break.”

“Okay. That’s okay. It was just a suggestion.” One that you were thankful Arthur objected to so vehemently.

“It is a dumb suggestion. I do not want a break. I will never want a break from you.”

“Okay.”

You let him lean in and kiss you. It seemed that Arthur was selfish with you, as well.

You were no stranger to Charles Leclerc’s yacht. You had spent many nights attending parties hosted by your friend on his impressive vessel and even more days lounging around or exploring islands along the Monaco coast.

But ever since Charles found out about you and Arthur, you hadn’t been invited back. Until the weekend between races, a week after your crash.

And you hadn’t exactly been invited, it was more that Charles had been told by his mother that you would be spending the day with the family and there was no getting out of it. Though, as the day stretched on and tensions grew higher, you were really wishing that you were the one who could have gotten out of going.

Your concussion wasn’t as severe as originally feared. Your ribs were still tender and the skin of your torso bruised but you were set to race at Miami next week as long as your checkup in a few days went well.

Arthur sat down beside you on the large daybed you had taken to reading on. It was shaded and secluded enough to be comfortable but not so far from the main seating area that you couldn’t easily rejoin the larger group. It was where you had usually set up camp whenever aboard Charles’ yacht.

Your boyfriend handed you the fizzy, non-alcoholic beverage you had requested. He accepted a kiss as gratuity.

“What are you reading?”

“One of those spicy fantasy novels you make fun of me for.”

“Oh, the porn books.”

“They’re not porn books!”

Arthur just laughed because he liked teasing you. He laid his head in your lap. You, of course, let him because you were not actually upset.

You smoothed the hair off his forehead lovingly.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not hurting?”

“No. I’ve been doing my stretches and using bruise cream. I’ll be right as rain next weekend.”

Arthur seemed pleased with that answer. “Will you read to me?”

You regarded the content on the page you were open to. “I’m not exactly at a publicly appropriate chapter.”

“Am I not a better option than ink on paper?”

“You are not always readily available.”

“You are far more busy than me. You are always away from me.”

“Exactly. I need something to do with all my free time in my hotel room. All alone. Just me. And my hands all over… my latest smutty book.”

“You kill me, woman,” Arthur groaned, sitting up to kiss you.

You let out a peel of laughter when Arthur pushed you onto your back. You two were not in the habit of making your close friends and family uncomfortable with excessive PDA, so Arthur abandoned kissing you to pin you down, gentle and conscientious of your torso.

“Okay! Okay, you’re better!”

Arthur leaned down over you. “Better than what?”

“You’re better than my books.”

“Good.”

He kissed you, then wiggled his fingers against your neck to make you shriek.

“Arthur, Y/N. Come eat!” Pascale called the two of you over to the group.

Arthur helped you sit up, then held out a hand to help you down the steps to the deck below because god forbid you take the three stairs on your own. You didn’t mind; you liked that he wanted to help you, even with things you didn’t need him for.

You smiled at Arthur, able to forget about the Leclerc civil war for a moment. Then, you turned toward where everyone else was sitting in the main seating area.

Charles was glaring daggers.

Your stomach dropped. You pulled your hand free from Arthur’s to fix your hair then didn’t take it again when you were done.

Arthur looked at you odd, noticed where you were glancing. He glared back just as hard at his older brother.

“Arthur,” you muttered in reproach.

“If maman was not here, I swear I would smack him across the face.”

“Arthur, please.”

After the race in Azerbaijan was over, after podium celebrations and post-race interviews, Charles had spoken a little too loudly about how it was your fault that you had crashed, that it was what happened when you "still drive like a rookie five years into your career."

The video that some random clubgoer had managed to capture of your teammate badmouthing you while you spent the night in the hospital for observation had gone more than a little viral.

To hear him talk about you like that just made you sad. You didn't have the energy to be mad over it.

Arthur did not share those feelings. When he first saw the video, it was everything you could do to keep Arthur from charging halfway across Monaco to kick his brother's door in. Instead, you anxiously sat on the couch in your living room as he and his brother shouted at each other over the phone.

If it wasn't for Pascale's not at all subtle attempts to get her boys to make up, you and Arthur never would have come today. But she was your boyfriend's mother. She would not accept a refusal of her invitation for today.

You ended up sat beside Arthur and about as far from Charles as possible as sandwiches and chips were passed around. You kept making eye contact with Pascale, awkwardly smiling whenever you did before glancing away.

"Charles, do you have any more wine on this boat?" Pascale asked.

Charles stood. "I'll go get some."

"Arthur, why don't you help your brother?"

You held your breath. You truly admired the balls on that woman, and the unapologetically obvious pursuit of making her sons make up. When you glanced at Arthur, almost hopeful, you saw the dark edge to his gaze as he looked at his brother; he was still too angry to be left alone with Charles.

You didn't believe Arthur would actually slap or physically harm Charles in any way but things would not be made better by Arthur confronting his brother right now.

"I'll help," you said before Arthur had to respond. "Lead the way, Charlie."

You false enthusiasm shriveled into nothingness by the time you reached the stairs down to the bar. You trailed after him below deck, staying several paces behind.

Charles was silent as he began opening cupboards. He hadn't so much as looked at you when you took his younger brother's place in assisting him.

"Charles, I—"

"I do not want to hear it, Y/N."

You swallowed around the nervousness trying to clog up your throat. "Are you ever going to let me explain?"

"There is nothing to explain. You are my teammate. Arthur is my brother. You both go behind my back to start dating each other and do not care of what it will affect."

"Believe me, we've talked about it. At length. We know it's a risk."

"And you do not care," Charles concluded, ducking down below the bar and out of view as he continued his search.

"No, we decided it was worth it." You took a breath. "I don't know how to talk about how in love with your brother I am without making you uncomfortable but if I had to choose between him and racing, I would hesitate."

That statement may not sound all that impressive but Charles had once said to you—after many, many drinks following a successful race weekend for Ferrari—that he would know he truly loved a woman if when he had to choose between her and never racing again, he hesitated.

As a fellow driver, you understood exactly what he meant. That was what you felt for Arthur. That was what the youngest Leclerc meant to you. That was how hopelessly in love you were.

"I love Arthur, I really do. And I know it's messy and complicated and whatever else but I don't care about that. At the end of the day, I am happier with Arthur than I have been in a really long time."

Charles was silent behind the bar. He was still ducked down. It felt like you were monologuing to an empty room. It made it a little easier to continue.

"While I am willing to put a little strain on my career for my relationship, what I have never wanted to put strain on is your relationship with your brother. I never wanted anything like this to happen.

“I never wanted to go behind your back. I never would have pursued my feelings for Arthur if he hadn’t been so persistent but he wore me down and I couldn’t tell him no.

“I am truly sorry for breaking your trust. But I cannot stop loving your brother. I will not let him go just because you cannot accept us, despite all the difficulties it may come with.”

Two bottles of wine appeared on the bar top just before Charles stood upright again. He still would not look at you.

"If you can't forgive me for pursuing a member of your family, that's fine. I understand. But Arthur is your little brother; do not throw that away because of me.

"Hate me. Be mad at me. Ignore me on media days. Unfollow all my socials. Make the entire world think you despise me. I don't care; just don't take it out on Arthur.

"I am not worth you two falling out."

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Charles finally looked you in the eye. You held his gaze, imploring him to listen to what you were saying.

His expression did not change the longer he surveyed you. Then, he took the bottles of wine, walked right past you without another word, and went back above deck.

"That is it?" Arthur asked as you recounted the events to him later that night.

He was sat on the lid of the toilet as you washed your face before you two were going to settle in to watch a movie.

"Then, I told him I'm not worth you two falling out over and he walked away. Without a word. Just back up the stairs and that was that."

"You are."

"Are what?"

"Worth falling out over."

You sighed. "Arthur—"

"You are. I am serious."

"Arthur, I'm not going anywhere. You don’t have to choose between me and Charles; I don’t want you to.”

“I am not losing you because of him.”

“I’m not asking you to compromise. I’m not letting you go because of Charles, either, but we have to try and make this work. He’s your brother. That has to mean something to you.”

“He is being unreasonable.”

“Have you even tried to talk to him about it? Or have you just been pretending nothing’s changed?”

“Nothing has changed," he said stubbornly.

“Okay, that's one of the problems."

"It should not matter that we're dating."

"No, it should. And it does. I'm dating my teammate's brother; that is going to change some things. You do recall the HR meeting all of us had to suffer through, don't you?"

Shortly after telling Charles of your relationship, you and Arthur had gone to Ferrari to make them aware as well. There had been no major backlash from the team but there had been a several-hours-long meeting with HR and PR that you, Arthur, and Charles all had to be present for.

Arthur physically shuddered at the memory. "Do not remind me."

"Us being together changes things. You cannot ignore it and hope everything will blow over."

"He hasn't even apologized to you."

"Worry about me later. Fix your relationship with your brother before it's too late."

"Y/N, you are not understanding. I cannot fix my relationship with Charles if he is going to speak of you like he did in that video. If he is going to treat you like he has been, nothing is going to be fixed."

"He's your brother—"

"And you are l'amour de ma vie. I do not care that he is my brother; I will not tolerate anyone speaking of you in such a way. I cannot remove you from the situation. I cannot make up with him until he stops treating you horrible.”

You had not realized Arthur’s view on the whole situation. You supposed it made sense now that you thought about it.

Charles was generally being mean to you, not his brother. When the two youngest Leclercs argued, it was over you. Charles seemed convinced that you would never prioritize Arthur or his career over yourself or your own.

True, you would never give up your seat for Arthur, but you wouldn’t do that for anyone. Should the time ever come where Arthur got an F1 seat, you would never give him anything; he would have to work just as hard as anyone else to race against you. That was racing.

You do not think that Charles meant anything to that extreme of a degree. He perhaps meant that Arthur would seldom be prioritized in place of a career in F1, period, but you and Arthur were on the same page about that.

You had spoken in length about it. You had laid everything on the table a few months into your relationship and spoke about it all until you reached a true and total understanding.

And Charles… Well, Charles would always see Arthur as his baby brother, as someone to protect, as someone who is young and unknowing of the world even if he was snugly into his twenties.

“You need to speak to him. Really speak to him. Talk everything through.”

“He needs to apologize, first. Then, and only then, will I talk things out.”

“You are. So. Stubborn,” you growled at him, jokingly pretending to choke him in your frustration.

“If I was not, how would I keep you in check?”

He slid his hand right up under your oversized sleep shirt to hold your core in his palm. Your freshly washed face went a little pink.

“I don’t need to be kept in check,” you said indignantly.

“Don’t you? You always seem to find some way to misbehave and then I have to punish you for it. You know how I hate to punish you.”

“Don't lie. You love my punishments as much as I do.”

He rubbed his hand over the cloth of your panties, pushed his fingers between your closed thighs to prod over the fabric at where you had already started to ache for him. It took so little to get you worked up, just a few touches and some dirty words and you were ready to melt into any mold Arthur wanted.

“Backtalk.” He clicked his tongue at you. “Already misbehaving.”

“I’m debating my point. That is not misbehaving. You’re just being mean.”

“Keep talking and I can show you how mean I can be.”

“That’s not fair—“

You didn’t get to finish your thought before Arthur stood and pushed you against the bathroom counter. Your thighs dug into the edge of the counter as Arthur pressed against your back, hips nestled into the soft curve of your ass.

“Arthur—"

"Hm?"

He slowly slid your hair out of the way. The collar of your ancient sleep shirt was easily stretched to the side so Arthur could kiss the bare skin of his shoulder. His teeth bit into the curve of your neck just enough to feel but not hurt.

You whined, pushed your hips back into him. "Don't tease."

He slid a hand up to your neck, met your eye in the mirror. "Be patient."

He held you there until you nodded your understanding. Only then did he hitch the back of your shirt up to slip his hand inside your panties from behind.

He grabbed a handful of your ass. You exhaled a soft moan.

You hadn't been intimate since the Monday before the Azerbaijan GP, meaning it was pushing two weeks since Arthur had touched you. You were ready to fall apart and he hadn't even really touched you yet.

"Arthur, s'il te plaît."

In the mirror, you could see him smirk at your French. He had told you before that he liked when you spoke to him in French, that he thought your accent was cute.

You knew it was a totally indulgent way to get what you wanted but you didn't care; it worked. His fingers slid between your folds, feeling how slick and ready you were for him.

He cursed into your shoulder, slipping into French to say, "So wet for me—fuck, Y/N."

"Want you, baby. Please."

"Want me? Want me where?"

"Inside me."

"So lewd, mon coeur," he teased. "You're so needy tonight."

"You started it."

"And I will stop it if you are not grateful for what I am giving you."

He pulled his hand out of your underwear and you whined. You reached back to slide a hand into his hair.

"No, please, I'm sorry. Please, don't stop."

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "I will take care of you. You do not need to beg."

He pulled your panties down until you could kick them off to the side. He gently ran a hand over your stomach and ribs. Arthur was always conscientious of you, especially when you were injured.

"Can you bend over for me?"

You did so immediately, elbows coming to rest on the sink counter. Your shirt slid up off your hips to hang loosely around your waist. You felt your arousal hit the air in the bathroom, the chill making you shift your hips.

"So good for me. My good girl."

You could cry from the praise and the fact that his fingers still were not inside of you that exact second. You were embarrassingly worked up.

Arthur seemed to take pity on you, circling his thumb on your clit a few times before slipping a finger into you. Just one was nowhere near enough to fill you up but you dropped your head onto your arms and moaned.

He kissed your backside, knelt down behind you. "So noisy, amour."

Any snarky response you may have had died in your throat when he pressed a second finger into you. That was enough for a bit of a stretch that had you pushing your hips back against his hand.

"Stay still," Arthur warned.

You really did try to listen to him but after slowly scissoring you open with two fingers, he introduced a third and started really finger fucking you. You pressed your forehead against the counter, not able to stop yourself from pushing back into him again, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, searching for something that would stretch you further, reach deeper into you.

He pulled his fingers out of you. Your whine was cut short when he slapped your bared cunt with the same soaked fingers that were just inside of you.

"You are so fucking impatient."

"Just want you."

"Yeah? You want me so bad you cannot even stay still and let me stretch you out? You want to be torn open by my cock?"

You whimpered. That was exactly what you wanted.

He slapped your pussy again. "Huh? Is that what you want?"

You raised your head just enough to be able to watch as Arthur pushed his shorts down. You couldn't see as he pulled his cock free with him stood behind you but you definitely felt it when he pressed his tip against your prepped entrance.

"Oh, fuck—"

He entered you in a swift motion. You choked around a moan.

He was gentle with his arms as he pulled you back against him but ruthless with his hips as he fucked into you without relent. He didn’t press on your bruised torso but he did get a hand around your throat to make you watch yourself in the mirror.

Your dynamic was like this. He was in charge and you loved that. He could hit you, fuck you hard, have you screaming, begging, crying, but where it truly mattered, he would always be gentle with you. His dominance was not just for him; he was always cognizant of your current state and how you were feeling in the moment.

“Arthur.” You breathed his name like a moan, like a prayer.

He kissed your neck, then your cheek. “So good for me.”

Arthur set the pace slow and deep. You could feel him nudging your cervix, stretching you open, the tug of your walls against his cock making you ache for him even more. You were a moaning mess for him in mere moments.

He coaxed you through your first orgasm like that, fucking you slowly from behind as you watched yourselves in the bathroom mirror, his hand between your thighs to push you along. Your legs shook and Arthur held you upright as he kept the torturous pace all the way through your climax.

“You have a bit more in you, amour. Yes?” he asked, still moving his hips as the continued stimulation was making you squirm.

You felt you could barely catch your breath but you nodded anyway. “Yes.”

Arthur hummed, pleased. “Good girl. Bend over.”

If your first orgasm was for you, the second was surely for Arthur. Sex was always a game of give and take with him. Though, even when he was taking, you were always being given so much.

As soon as he had you bent over again, he gripped your hips, adjusted his own, then started fucking into you fast and hard. You grabbed onto the counter to steady yourself, let your head drop onto the quartz as you went pliant and easy.

You were shaking from the overstimulation, from not getting a break between your first high and the second that Arthur was making you chase.

“Come on, amour. Come on.”

His pace was just uneven enough for you to become aware that he was definitely close. He was waiting for you.

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing out another wave of pleasure that had you trembling against the counter. Your head felt light, legs literally giving out and you would have fallen to your knees if Arthur wasn’t still gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, strong arming you into staying on your feet.

You cried his name and your body went slack. Arthur fucked you through your second high and past it, stroked himself out with your body and buried himself deep inside of you as he came.

You mewled at the feeling, at the depth and the spurting warmth. Arthur smoothed a hand up your spine to soothe you. He whispered praises and pressed kisses into your skin until you came back to Earth, getting your legs back underneath you.

"Welcome back, mon coeur."

You could hear the proud grin in his words but could only give a weak groan in response as you pushed yourself upright. Arthur helped you up, then sat you on the bathroom counter and kissed you sweetly before setting to cleaning you up.

He scooped you up into his arms once you were clean and dressed to carry you out to the living room.

"I can still walk," you told him but still happily wrapped your arms around his neck anyway, leaning against his chest.

"I'll have to do better next time, then."

Arthur set you on the couch. He told you to stay as he bustled around getting popcorn and drinks ready.

"What do you want to watch?" you asked.

"Whatever you want."

"Don't give me that kind of power," you mumbled to yourself.

You didn't giving in to the temptation to queue up some cringeworthy romcom you know Arthur would hate. He had given you enough tonight. You could be nice about the movie choice.

You made it through maybe half of the movie (some new Netflix film you thought looked decent) when there was a knock at the door. It was a soft noise, almost hesitant.

You shared a look with your boyfriend before you both checked your phones to make sure you hadn't missed a text from someone letting you know they were on their way over. You both came up blank.

Despite it being your apartment, Arthur pushed you down when you went to stand and ran to answer the door himself. You couldn't quite see the door from the couch, so you strained your ears to listen.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur asked, not quite unkindly but certainly not happy.

"I went to maman's. You were not there."

Charles. Why had he showed up at your door unannounced this late in the evening?

"I've been staying with Y/N most of the time."

Silence followed. It was painful just eavesdropping on the two brothers. You nearly got to your feet to approach them and attempt to mediate but Arthur beat you to it.

"What do you want, Charles?"

More silence. You don't think you were breathing, scared if you made yourself known it would ruin whatever was about to happen.

"I wanted to apologize," Charles eventually said.

"Apologize?"

You bit your cheek to stop from screeching with joy. Finally—finally! You were so ready for this whole thing to be over with. Even if it took some subtle guilt tripping on your part, you were more than pleased at the outcome.

"For how I've been treating you since you told me about you and Y/N. Is she here?"

"Yes."

"Yes, well, it is her apartment, no?" Charles tried for a weak laugh but Arthur did not take mercy and join him. "Er, well... I—I shouldn't have been so quick to judge you two. I was upset, at first, that you had hidden it from me.

"I forget that you are an adult and you have pursued your own career and you do not need protecting from people who might try to take advantage of you—not that I believe Y/N would do such a thing!"

You cringed. This could go downhill really fast considering Arthur's protective streak over you.

"Yes, I am an adult. How you feel will not dictate my relationship. But how you treat Y/N will dictate my relationship with you. How can you speak of her like you have? She has been your friend for so long."

"I know what it has been like for you to constantly be compared to me. I know it has been difficult for you and I have become paranoid in my fame that someone will use the people I care about to get to me."

"That is ridiculous. Y/N is just as well-known as you, if not more. And she knew you before she knew me—how does any of this make sense, Charles?"

Arthur had a point but you could understand where Charles was coming from. It was always a fear in your own mind that something may happen to or someone might try to take advantage of your family or your friends because they were in connection with you.

"It doesn't," Charles admitted. "It doesn't make any sense. I was being stupid. I assumed the worst—thought Y/N was using you to mess with my head—and refused to see it any other way and I never should have treated Y/N as I have been or said what I have about her.

"She is one of the most talented drivers I have ever driven alongside. She is the kindest person I know. She has been my friend for years longer than she has been dating you. I should not have let my judgement be so clouded by my own fear.

"I am sorry, Arthur. And if Y/N is here, I would like to apologize to her, as well."

It was quiet for several moments. You waited in silence, still holding your breath. Had you breathed at all since Charles started apologizing? Was Arthur going to say anything? Was he just standing there?

There was the rustle of fabric followed by the telltale sighs of relief that accompanied a much needed hug. You exhaled and slumped back against the couch. Thank God.

It was long overdue that the youngest Leclercs made up. Thankfully, Charles knew his brother well enough to know that you must also be apologized to if things were ever going to get better.

"Y/N?" Arthur called.

You suddenly remembered that you had been eavesdropping the whole time. Charles had no idea you were just around the corner in your living room. You had heard the entirety of Charles' apology, even the things not meant for your ears.

You cleared your throat. "Yes?"

"Do you think Charles should be forgiven?"

You laughed and went to join the brothers in the foyer. "I absolutely do. Do I get a hug, too?"

Charles' face was red but he seemed to find the humor in the situation, too. He opened his arms for you and wrapped you in a tight embrace.

"I am sorry, Y/N. I know you would never purposefully try to hurt me or my brother. I was rash in my understanding of the situation."

"It's okay, Charlie. I just missed my friend."

"I'm sorry." Charles squeezed you tight once more before letting you go.

When you stepped back into Arthur, he let his arm slip around your waist. He kissed the side of your head. You leaned into him, too pleased with the outcome of tonight to fret much over PDA in front of Charles.

For the first time, Charles didn't seem deeply disturbed by your affection. However, he did sigh faux irritably.

"You two are way too cute together. It was so difficult to be mad at you sometimes."

You and Arthur laughed.

"I am serious! You should see yourselves."

Despite knowing it was an inappropriate train of thought to entertain in front of your boyfriend's brother, you couldn't help but think back to just about an hour ago and how you had watched yourselves through the bathroom mirror.

"Oh, we have," Arthur said, innuendo lost on his brother but not on you.

You smacked him in the chest. Arthur just laughed. Luckily, Charles seemed none the wiser.

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aennasan · 3 months

Text

World Burn (Sylus x Witch!Reader)

Synopsis: The hero sacrificed you for his dreams.

divider: @/rookthornesartistry

a/n: I was listening to Let the World Burn and I thought Sylus was hot.

“Her. I want her.” Sylus declared as he stood in front of the barely alive hero. His voice booming, intensifying the already scorching fire surrounding them. The orange and red embers flickering and dancing, as if mocking. He could have sworn he could hear their spirits laughing, evil, and insulting.

The hero’s once divine visage, full of its glory, is now weakened, bleeding and in pain, kneeling, having no more strength to stand. His right arm was tilted in an awkward angle, broken and unusable. He couldn't even lift his prestigious sword, which he swore he would use to protect the world and slay the villain.

The hero's party failed to kill the villain. They were ambushed, and killed. Most of them died. Except the hero himself and the blood witch.

“If you give her to me I will stop this madness, as you called it.” He paused, contemplating. “You will get back to your king, and claim your title as hero. I will even promise to pretend to be slain and you can get your glory back.”

Sylus stared down at the hero. He cannot help but grin, on the way he saw a glimpse and glimmer of hope in those dark orbs of whom they claimed as righteous.

How pathetic and simple.

“No! Don't listen to him. The villain plays games in people’s minds. You already are a hero!” The blood witch disputed, pale as a ghost she yelled, drained of magic and power.

He chuckled, stomach fluttering on how adorable she looks. She never changed. Still the weakest on discerning the character of allies she puts her trust into. Spectacles broken and cracked. He worries that the glass shards will get to her beautiful brown eyes.

The blood witch and hero are childhood friends. She was scorned and isolated by the town since they do not understand the power she yields. She takes lives to heal. She derives her power from life, and so she was always surrounded by death.

Yet, in the hero’s eyes, he saw potential. A friend, a tool, to whom he can take a journey together and help him achieve his dream as a hero.

She is loyal to him. He is loyal to his dream.

The hero wasn't looking at the blood witch. In fact, Sylus already knew that the hero decided on what path he would walk through.

Sylus understood why.

Although, he knew that the hero is a pathetic and weak minded fool. What the blood witch had done is terrifying, even for his clan.

The hero died. But using her power and the bodies of their party members, she revived him back. It was black magic. Taboo and frightening.

The hero who was revived, had heard the voices and screams of their party members who were used to giving him life. They scream justice, and he watches with a smile how the hero’s mind breaks down and lets go of his strongest ally.

“You…You promise to do that?” The hero opened his mouth to speak. His voice croaked and sickly.

“I do not lie.” Sylus assured.

“How can I trust you to follow on your promise?” The hero asked again.

“The promise using blood cannot be broken.” The villain grinned.

“Wha- What are you doing?” The blood witch was taken aback. Finally realizing that the hero would sacrifice everything for his plans and glory.

Before the witch could stand and stop them, Sylus cut his palm open, and did the same to the hero. The hero hissed in pain. Before he can protest, he clutches their hand to his, and uses his power to seal his promise to the hero.

There was a light, dark, red and murky, surrounding the hero and the villain, until it exploded. The witch was shocked and fell to the ground. She closed her eyes, frightened.

When she finally decided to open her eyes. There was only the villain named Sylus in front of her. The hero, her friend, is nowhere in sight.

“What have you done to him?” She accused him. Her breathing was ragged. Her face devoid of color, contorted in anger.

“I fulfilled our promise. You can feel it, right? He is still alive…. and safe.” He stated as a matter of fact. Dragging the word “safe” before offering a Cheshire grin.

Slowly he walked towards her.

“He…No…No..No, he will not abandon me. The hero is my friend.” Her eyes were wild, as she nodded profusely, trying to convince herself that she wasn't abandoned and left as a sacrifice.

He could smell the fear and pain of betrayal coming off her. Her fears are delicious but the smell of betrayal he despises.

Sylus knew about her. In truth, they were more than acquaintances. He met her when he was just born and knew nothing of his ultimate purpose. He was sickly. And she didn't hesitate to take care of him.

The truth is he was the reason why they found out about her power. She healed him despite knowing the consequences. Her naivety, warmth, kindness, and beauty is her unbecoming.

He always thought her resolve that fateful day was magnificent and beautiful.

He had devoid himself of feeling. But he cannot stop the swell of pride in his chest. Finally, she is with him.

It took a lot. Even of him becoming the villain, just so he could have her.

He crouched down in front of her, excited to see her face up close. By now, she stopped mumbling and blaming herself.

Sylus thought he would see her the same. It was a simple breaking. Nothing to the extreme like he usually does. So he was surprised, then angered, when he saw the look on your face.

Your eyes were devoid of life. Cheeks stained with tears. Mouth trembling. You felt betrayed and miserable.

He is trembling with an unknown feeling of rage.

“My dear dove, you must dry those tears.” He consoles, using his thumbs to remove the fat tears running down her cheeks. She feels cold, like a corpse. She must have exhausted everything just to save an ungrateful dear friend.

“Do not cry for I will make him pay the price of betraying you.” Titling his head to the side, he used his right hand to cup her face and gently help her face him. He gave her a gentle smile.

“What? But he did what you asked him to do. He surrendered me to you.” Her frown was weak. Her will is still not back, but he was glad that she was curious enough to ask him a question. It means, he did not break her fully.

“Yes. But I never promised not to turn his beloved town to ashes, noh? What kind of villain am I if I would just let your traitor, along with the people who scorned you, and called you names scotch free? They say for heroes to be great, they need to be orphaned.” He spoke and beamed at her. Like an innocent little boy, who did not just promise to kill hundreds of people for her. To sully their hands to revenge for her.

It was by then, she finally looked at him. She watches as the flames reflect on his eyes. It swallows everything on its path with no mercy or thought.

She shivered, realizing the inevitable.

#aennasan drabbles #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #sylus drabbles

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littlechivalry · 2 months

Text

Steddie meet-ugly modern AU no Upside Down

Eddie has more than a few pet peeves but the main one is people blocking the sidewalk because they're on the phone. It's inconsiderate and shitty

The guy he's approaching is a prime specimen. Head completely down and walking full speed with no regard for what or who might be sharing the sidewalk.

So Eddie plants his feet. Its a dick move, he knows, but he figures when the guy gets close enough he'll see Eddie and stop short. Maybe raise his head so Eddie can give him a dirty look before they both go back to their original paths.

It doesn't work like that.

The guy never looks up, plows directly into Eddie. Since Eddie was prepared he keeps his feet but the guy goes stumbling. His phone, knocked from his hands, hits the ground with a sharp crack.

Eddie lunges to catch the guy but that brings them both to the ground and an awkward collapse.

"Shit," the guy says, sniffling.

His voice is thick and wet and Eddie is starting to have a real bad feeling.

"Shit, I'm sorry," the guy says. "I wasn't looking where I'm going, 'm so stupid."

He finally looks up and his face is damp and red, hazel eyes welling up with tears.

Eddie is an asshole.

"Hey, no," he says, getting up and helping the guy to his feet. "Its my fault. I didn't realize I was in your way."

The guy stands up, waving away Eddie's help. "No, this is all me. God, this whole stupid day. Of course, of course this would happen."

He's looking at the ground again and Eddie hears the other man hiccup a sob before crouching to pick up his phone.

It's... Eddie's seen worse. But it's in bad shape.

The guy presses the power button but there's no response. Eddie watches him press it again. Then again. He shakes it and tries again.

Nothing.

"Yeah," the guy says. "Yeah. This is perfect. This is actually exactly what I needed."

Oh no, Eddie is the world's biggest asshole.

The guys moves over and takes a seat on the curb, setting his phone on the sidewalk next to him and pressing his face in his hands.

Eddie... doesn't know what to do.

So he sits down beside him.

"You don't need to be here," the guy says.

Eddie shrugs. "I don't have anywhere else to be and it's my fault your day went to shit." The first part is a lie, and Gareth is gonna be pissed if Eddie doesn't get going, but there's no way he can leave now.

The guy shakes his head and sighs, just one soft huff, before he leans back on his hands, tipping his face up. He's not crying anymore and the red flush has faded to pink around his eyes and high on his cheeks.

He turns to Eddie and smiles, chagrined and tired and beautiful, and Eddie... is sunk.

In the face of that expression Eddie has no other choice. "I knocked youdownonpurpose," he almost shouts into that smile. "I was being a jerk and you weren't looking. I didn't-- I didn't think you would fall. I just... I was an asshole."

And the guy... just... laughs.

Eddie doesn't know how to respond. He murnurs an apology. And the guy just laughs harder. Laughs until he's crying again.

"I'm gonna be honest," Eddie says. "I'm not sure what to do here. Are you okay? Is this, like, a breakdown?"

The laughter eventually fades into a few stuttering gasps.

Eddie pulls the bandana out of his pocket and offers it over. The guy takes it and mops at his streaming eyes, dries his face.

The guy turns to face Eddie. The mad light of laughter is gone but so are the tears. Now it's just... calm.

They're still on the curb in the middle of the city. People are passing by, cars and bicycles and other pedestrians. Noise and light and life all around them.

But this moment with this guy feels like...

When Eddie was a kid he was terrified of storms. It felt like every boom of thunder was the moment his home would come crashing around him, like rain would wash his family away, the lightning would burn them all down.

His mom didn't have any patience for him getting upset, more interested in her own nightmares than Eddie's and going to his dad would just make things worse. It wasn't until he moved in with Wayne that storms changed for him.

The first thunderstorm that came crashing down on their trailer sent Eddie screaming into the little hallway, pressing himself to the wall as the lights flickered overhead.

Wayne found him there, curled in a ball on the floor and immediately sat down beside him, gathering Eddie's gangling limbed form into his own lap and rocking him through his sobs until the storm was over.

Once it had passed Wayne carried Eddie out onto the grass in front of the trailer. Eddie remembers pressing his face into Wayne's flannel shirt, letting the soft worn fabric absorb his tears and all the time Wayne humming and swaying them side to side.

When Eddie was ready he looked up. He expected a field of devastation, trailers thrown around like kids toys, trees uprooted, fire and havoc.

But it was quiet. Calm. It felt like the world had just let out a big breath.

Eddie was back in that moment now. This guy had clearly been through a storm and now he was on the other side.

"You wanna get a coffee," Eddie hears himself say.

The guy smiles. "I, uh, I need to get my phone taken care of."

"We can do that first," Eddie says. "Its my fault anyway and i know a guy who can probably fix it."

"Yeah," the guy asks.

Eddie nods. "Yeah. Um... I'm Eddie. By the way."

The guy smiles again, something like the sunrise breaking out across his face. "I'm Steve."

#fanfiction #fanfic #littlechivalry #my writing #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #meet ugly

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pucksandpower · 4 months

Text

Disturbing the Peace

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Max Verstappen x Vettel!Reader

Summary: an environmental activist disturbs the carefully constructed peace of Max’s life and turns his whole world on its head (or in which environmentalism and being a menace both run in the Vettel family)

Max strides across the tarmac towards his sleek private jet, ready to head up to the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes after a weekend of relaxation back home in Monaco. But he stops short as his eyes land on a cluster of protesters glued to the ground around his jet’s landing gear.

A gruff security guard approaches Max. “Sorry sir, we’ve got a bit of a situation here with these Greenpeace loons. They snuck past the perimeter and glued themselves down before we could stop them.”

Max scowls as he reads the words Fossil Fuels = Destruction scrawled across one of the protester’s shirts. He storms over, fists clenched at his sides.

“What the hell do you people think you’re doing?” he fumes, glaring at the seated activists. “You realize you’re costing me tens of thousands just by delaying my flight?”

“That’s kind of the point, bro,” one long-haired guy shoots back with a snide grin. “You’re one of the worst celebrity polluters on the planet.”

But Max’s gaze is drawn irresistibly to you — a beautiful young woman with fierce eyes and hair whipping around your face in the coastal wind. There’s an intensity and passion burning behind your stare that Max finds himself unexpectedly captivated by.

You rise gracefully to your feet, the only one not glued down, and take a step towards the fuming Formula 1 star. “Max Verstappen. Out of all celebrities last year, you were the 20th highest personal polluter. Even higher than Taylor Swift.”

There’s an unmistakable blend of reproach and attraction in your tone that throws Max off balance. He scoffs, trying to regain his bravado.

“What, are you stalking me or something? And I’m supposed to care what some random activist chick thinks?”

You level him with a pointed look. “Not some random chick. Y/N Vettel. Sebastian’s sister. And yes, you should care, because this is your planet too.”

Max blinks in surprise at the familiar surname, now recognizing the resemblance to his former competitor.

Oh fuck, not this girl.

He can’t resist giving you another once-over, taking in your lithe frame, the jut of your chin as you stare him down defiantly.

An amused smirk tugs at his lips despite himself. “Vettel, huh? I should’ve known. You two do have a thing for causing drama wherever you go.”

The dig lands but you don’t rise to the bait, shaking your head minutely. “This has nothing to do with drama, Max. It’s about doing what’s right for the environment before it’s too late to save it.”

“Oh, spare me the self-righteous preaching,” Max scoffs, reflexively going on the defensive even as a small part of him admires the conviction in your voice. “Like your jet-setting around to protest events is really doing the planet any favors.”

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Jet-setting? I take public transit everywhere. Planes are the exception for international events, and I always buy carbon offsets.”

Max feels a flicker of grudging respect at that before quickly stamping it down. He folds his arms across his chest, fixing you with a challenging stare. “Yeah? Well what about your clothes? I’m guessing that shirt was made from petroleum-based synthetic fabrics.”

A look of surprise crosses your face before you recover with a small shake of your head. “It’s actually bamboo. Petroleum-free and sustainably sourced.”

“Your shoes then,” Max presses, gaze dropping to the canvas flats on your feet.

You lift one demonstratively. “Recycled rubber.”

His eyes narrow as he struggles to find another example to poke holes in your lifestyle. You watch him search with ill-disguised amusement, finally taking pity.

“Listen Max, I’m not saying I’m perfect. Nobody is. The point is to keep trying to do better where we can.” Your eyes hold sincerity and — though Max is loath to admit it — wisdom beyond your years. “But you’re in a position of power. With all your money and influence, just think what you could do for sustainability initiatives. How many trees you could plant or clean energy projects you could fund with just a fraction of what you spend on private flights and gas-guzzling supercars every year.”

Max shifts, discomfited by the practicality of your words. It’s harder to be glib and dismissive when you’re not ranting incoherently about the planet dying, but making reasoned arguments. Especially with that intense, scrutinizing gaze fixed so squarely on him.

He clears his throat, resorting to sarcasm as a defense mechanism. “Yeah, that’s cute and all. But then who would keep all those gas station attendants employed? I’m doing them a public service, really.”

The ghost of a smirk curves your lips in a way that makes Max’s chest tighten unexpectedly. “How very philanthropic of you.”

He has to look away from the spark of challenge and — yes, flirtation — in your expression. Max isn’t sure when this stopped being a confrontation and turned into some sort of tense back-and-forth bristling with inexplicable chemistry, but it’s rapidly becoming unnerving.

Seeming to sense you’ve flustered him, you lean in conspiratorially. “You know Max, for someone who acts like such an edgy bad boy, you’re not so tough. I think deep down you know I’m right.”

Max’s jaw ticks stubbornly even as his cheeks burn at your proximity, at the sweet floral scent of your shampoo drifting across the scant distance between you. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

In a daring move, you reach out and lay a hand on his arm. His breath hitches just slightly at the contact as you hold his gaze intently. “Then help me understand. Join me for dinner sometime and we can talk more about this over something other than just shouting at each other.”

The gentle touch, combined with the sincerity shining warmly through those big widened eyes, takes Max completely off guard. He opens his mouth, then closes it, abruptly unsure how to respond to such an olive branch extended from his vehement critic just moments ago.

Before he can formulate a reply, the wail of sirens pierces the air. A police cruiser pulls up as four officers jump out, advancing menacingly towards your compatriots still glued to the pavement.

“Alright, that’s enough here,” the barrel-chested sergeant barks gruffly. “You’re all under arrest for criminal trespassing and failure to obey airport security.”

You hurriedly step between the officers and your fellow protesters, palms raised placatingly. “Please officers, don’t arrest them! I was the one who orchestrated this, I’ll go quietly. Just let them go.”

Max’s heart does a strange little flutter at the selfless gesture, at the protective way you shield your group from the aggression of the snarling police officers.

Before he can think better of it, he’s striding forward and planting himself at your side, a steadying hand on your arm. “Actually officers, I’m afraid I can’t let you detain this woman.”

You blink up at him in surprise. The lead sergeant looks far from impressed, folding his beefy arms across his chest.

“And just who the hell are you to make that call?”

Max lifts his chin defiantly. “Max Verstappen. I’m sure your supervisors would love to hear how the biggest name in racing got falsely arrested on the tarmac because one of their officers couldn’t exercise some restraint.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen almost comically and he takes an unconscious step back, disarmed by Max’s threat to leverage his fame and money. “Oh. Er … Mr. Verstappen, sir. I’m sure, um, we can sort this out ...”

Max cuts him off with an imperious wave, turning his attention fully to you. Your expression is a mixture of shock, curiosity, and — though Max certainly doesn’t dare name it — just maybe a tiny flicker of attraction in return.

“You asked me to try and understand your perspective. Fine, I’ll take you up on that dinner.” He looks you squarely in the eye, expression unreadable. “But you have to promise to hear me out too. No judgements, no protests. Just two people trying to figure out how to make the world better in their own ways.”

You stare searchingly at him for a prolonged moment. Then a slow, wondering smile spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes in the most disarmingly beautiful way. You give a small nod.

“Deal. I’ll keep an open mind if you do.”

Max finds himself returning the smile before he can stop himself. “Deal.”

He doesn’t know why this odd, passionate woman has gotten under his skin so quickly. Or why he suddenly cares what some environmental activist thinks of his choices. But as you take his proffered hand and he helps you step carefully away from the cluster of protestors, Max feels an unfamiliar stirring of hope. Maybe there’s more to this situation — and to you — than meets the eye.

The sergeant looks between you two skeptically, but seems to think better of pressing the issue further with Max’s steely gaze trained on him. With a resigned sigh, he waves his officers back.

“Alright, we’re going to let this one go. But I better not catch you trespassing and causing problems again, you hear?” He jabs a meaty finger at you in warning.

You just smile serenely, still not releasing Max’s hand. “No worries, officer. I have a dinner to get ready for.”

As the police pull away, you turn that brilliant grin on Max again. He finds himself returning it almost against his will, captivated by the fire that dances behind your eyes. For the first time, he wonders if going toe-to-toe with an idealistic environmental warrior might actually be worth momentarily putting his own deeply-held beliefs aside.

Stepping in close, you surprise him by leaning up on your tiptoes to whisper conspiratorially in his ear. “Thanks for playing along back there. I owe you one, Max Verstappen.”

The warm breath tickling his neck sends an unexpected shiver down his spine. You pull back with a mischievous wink before turning and rejoining your fellow activists, hips swaying in a tantalizing way that has Max’s gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.

As he watches you go, Max can’t shake the strangest sense that he’s suddenly entered uncharted territory. And that this is only the beginning of you continually barging into his life and turning everything deliciously upside down.

***

Max lets out a grunt as he heaves the heavy barbell up over his head, sweat beading on his brow from the intense weight training session. After securing the bar back on its rack, he straightens and grabs a towel to wipe his face.

His phone starts ringing from across the room, an unknown number flashing on the screen. Max debates letting it go to voicemail but finally relents with a resigned sigh, scooping up the device.

“Yeah, hello?”

There’s a brief silence before an automated voice responds. “This is a call from a corrections facility. To accept charges and connect this call, press 1.”

Max frowns, caught off guard. He presses 1 warily, curiosity getting the better of him. The line clicks and then a new, very familiar voice comes through.

“Max! Oh thank god you picked up.” It’s you, sounding mildly frazzled but still unmistakably your unique blend of passion and composure.

A surprised laugh escapes Max’s lips before he can stop it. “You? Calling me from jail? This I’ve got to hear.”

“Don’t sound so delighted,” you chide, though he can hear the smile in your voice. “Yes, I’m in a bit of a situation here. You remember the big event we had been planning to protest that oil baron’s ridiculous superyacht docking in Monaco?”

Max raises an eyebrow even though you can’t see it. “The one where you said, and I quote, ‘No Max, you can’t come. Your pouty little rich boy face is just going to distract everyone from the real injustice we’re protesting here.’“

“... Yes, that one.” You don’t miss a beat. “Well, we may have taken things a step too far. The police showed up and arrested all of us for trespassing and disturbing the peace.”

“You don’t say?” Max leans back against the weight bench, a teasing lilt to his voice. “So let me get this straight — you got yourself chucked in the slammer for causing your signature environmentalist dramatics, and now you’re calling me to help get you out?”

There’s a slight pause before you respond, tone turning softer. “I didn’t want to call Seb. You know how he gets — he’ll just give me that disappointed head shake and lecture about being more responsible. Acting like I’m still a reckless teenager instead of a grown woman fighting for a noble cause.”

Max feels a small pang at the uncharacteristic wistfulness in your voice. For all your sparring back and forth, he knows how much your activist work means to you. And how tirelessly you dedicate yourself to it, often at the expense of other aspects of life.

Chewing his lip, he considers his next words carefully. “I may give you endless shit about being a tree-hugging rebel without a cause, but you know I actually respect what you’re doing, right? Even if your methods are … shall we say, dramatic.”

You let out a small surprised huff of laughter at that. “Did Max Verstappen just pay me something resembling a genuine compliment? Aww, you really do care.”

Max rolls his eyes at the teasing, though his lips quirk in a reluctant smile. Something about your back-and-forth banter has a way of putting him at ease in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m still holding out hope this is just a pesky phase before you eventually come to your senses and realize the error of your ways.”

“Fat chance, hot shot.” The warm amusement in your tone is impossible to miss. “But anyway, since you’re in such a generous mood — think you can do me a favor and come bail me out?”

Max hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, bringing you home with me seems like a surefire way to get your activist cooties all over my ridiculously expensive non-vegan furniture.”

“Max ...” You let out an exaggerated whine that has him fighting back another grin. “Come on, I’m begging you here! I’ll be a model prisoner, I swear.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Max pushes off from the bench and starts grabbing his shoes and keys. “Fine, fine. Twist my arm, why don’t you? I’ll be there in twenty minutes to ply your jailers with my generous pile of my money and spring you from the clink.”

You let out a squeal of delight that has his heart doing an odd little flip despite himself. “You’re the best, Max! Seriously, I owe you huge after this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to make a habit of it. This is a one-time kind of deal.”

The two of you say your brief goodbyes and Max hangs up, head shaking in bemusement. He’s not sure when his friendship with the passionate eco-warrior became so effortlessly comfortable, bantering back and forth like a long-married couple.

But he also can’t deny the way his pulse kicks up just slightly at the thought of seeing you again — windswept hair, fiery eyes, and that bright smile that still catches him off guard every time it’s directed his way.

As Max jogs out to the garage to grab his Ferrari for the short drive to the station, he vehemently tells himself it’s merely because he’s intrigued by the novelty of your clashing personalities. That your relentless conviction is a fascinating change of pace from the empty glamor that usually surrounds him.

But a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispers that he’s lying to himself. That there’s something magnetically addictive about you and your tireless ability to see the world through a different lens than his own. Something that challenges him, stimulates him, reels him in over and over again no matter how much he pretends to resist.

He quickly banishes the thought, jaw setting in stubborn determination. Max Verstappen isn’t the type to get pulled into a girl’s orbit, no matter how intriguing she might seem on the surface. He’ll bail your reckless ass out of jail, have another enjoyable round of opposition-attracts banter, and then carry on with his usual life of racing and living by his own well-established rules.

Right?

The sleek crimson SF90 Stradale tears through the winding Monaco streets, wind whipping through Max’s hair as he pushes the pedal towards the floor. The adrenaline pumping through his veins feels vaguely familiar to the thrill of a heated race — though he refuses to dwell too deeply on why bailing out an eco-terrorist gives him that same edge-of-the-seat excitement.

He pulls up to the modest local jail in record time, the guard at the entrance giving him a skeptical once-over before waving him through. No doubt recognizing the signature Ferrari and flashy persona of the championship-winning driver.

Max swaggers up to the front desk where a bored-looking officer sits shuffling through paperwork. The young man startles at his approach, shooting to attention with widened eyes.

“Oh! Mr. Verstappen, sir! How can I help you today?”

Puffing out his chest just slightly, Max gives the officer his most imposing stare. “Yeah, I’m here to post bail for one of your … residents. Y/N Vettel.”

The cop’s brow furrows as he scans the intake files. “Ah yes, here she is. Environmental activist, part of that big protest at the marina. Disturbing the peace, trespassing, and a few of them even got hit with property damage charges from graffiti.”

Max scowls, that damned protective streak rearing its ugly head again before he can stop it. “I’m only posting bail for Y/N Vettel. The hell did she get charged with?”

“Just peaceful trespassing and disturbing the peace.” The cop frowns contemplatively. “Well, and resisting arrest when she tried to stop us cuffing one of her friends. But that’s about it.”

Rubbing his temples with a pained sigh, Max can’t resist a rueful grin. “Yeah, that tracks. Listen, what’s it gonna cost me to grab her so I can get out of here?”

“For those charges? €1500 bond should cover it.”

Max scoffs at the paltry sum, already pulling out his monogrammed money clip and peeling off a stack of euros. “Whatever, here’s double. Keep the change for your trouble.”

The cop’s eyes widen almost comically, but he knows better than to question Max freaking Verstappen. Hurriedly taking the bills, he produces some paperwork for Max to sign and process the transaction.

“Alright Mr. Verstappen, just need your signature here and here. And if you’ll allow me to get your fingerprints as well for the release forms ...”

Max begrudgingly complies, wanting to get this circus over with as quickly as possible. He taps his foot impatiently as the officer takes his prints and finalizes everything in the computer system.

“Okay, all set. I’ll have one of the guards bring Miss Vettel around to the release lobby. Might be a few minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry it up,” Max mutters distractedly.

He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall, letting his eyes drift shut for a brief moment as he tries to compose himself. Your voice rings in his ears, that unmistakable mixture of sheepishness and determination that seems to sum up your entire persona.

Goddamn it, why did you have to call him? Why couldn’t you have just phoned up your doting big brother like a normal person instead of dragging Max into this? Part of him wants to be annoyed at how easily you’re able to play him, batting those big eyes and pleading for his help like you knew he would give in.

But the thought of leaving you to stew in a dingy jail cell somehow makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. Almost like he’d be letting you down in some weird, convoluted way. Ridiculous as the notion is, Max can’t deny this increasing pull you seem to have over him.

His eyes fly open as the door to the cellblocks finally opens, heavy footsteps approaching. Max takes an automatic step forward, pulse kicking up in anticipation despite himself.

And then you’re there. Hair tousled, t-shirt and jeans covered in smears of dirt and grass stains from the protest scuffle. But those defiant eyes are still ablaze, jaw set stubbornly as the guard leads you out in handcuffs.

“Max! You’re actually here!” Your face splits into a bright, surprised grin at the sight of him.

He tries and fails to suppress his own answering smile, raking an admittedly appreciative gaze over you from head to toe. “What, you didn’t think I’d show up for my favorite little jailbird?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, you flash him a sly look from under your lashes. “I don’t know, I had my doubts Mr. Bigshot Racer would sully his palms rescuing little old me.”

“Well, you know what they say.” Max steps in close, dropping his voice to a faux-seductive murmur as he leans towards you. Your eyes widen infinitesimally but you hold his gaze, seemingly transfixed. “I just can’t seem to quit you.”

You bite your lip in a badly suppressed grin at his corny line. “Did you seriously just incorrectly quote Brokeback Mountain at me right now?”

“Maybe.” He rocks back on his heels with a shameless wink. “Doesn’t make it any less true, does it?”

A delicate blush blooms across your cheeks in a way that has Max’s heart stuttering unexpectedly. The guard clears his throat loudly, shattering the moment between you.

“Erm, right. If you’ll just sign here for Miss Vettel’s release ...” He offers a clipboard to Max.

Tearing his eyes away from you with concentrated effort, Max scrawls his signature across the form. You watch him intently, an unreadable look flickering across your features for just a moment before the guard undoes your cuffs with a loud click.

You immediately bring your newly freed hands together, rubbing at the chafed skin of your wrists gingerly. Max’s jaw tightens at the sight.

“You good?” His tone is gruff with concern despite himself.

Glancing up, you give him a reassuring smile and nod. “All good, just a little tender. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

Something about your easy dismissal of the discomfort rankles Max in a way he can’t fully explain. Like he wants to grab your hands, bring them to his lips to inspect the damage more closely. The sudden urge catches him off guard and he quickly tamps it down, fists clenching at his sides.

The guard seems oblivious to the undercurrent between you, simply giving a curt nod and motioning towards the exit. “Right then, off you go. And try to stay out of trouble from now on, Miss Vettel.”

You shoot the cop your signature wry grin. “No promises, officer.”

Rolling his eyes skyward, Max grabs your elbow lightly and ushers you towards the doors before you can cause any more scenes. You fall into step beside him easily, shoulders brushing in a way that has his skin tingling with awareness.

As the two of you step out into the late afternoon sunlight, you turn to him with those warm eyes that never fail to set his heart racing just a little faster.

“I really do owe you one, Max. Thank you for coming to my rescue, even after everything“

He gives an exaggerated huff, fighting a smile. “Well, it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta bail out all the reckless idiots who can’t stay out of handcuffs for five minutes.”

You laugh brightly, punching his arm in playful admonishment. A spark of electricity seems to jolt between you at the contact and Max freezes almost imperceptibly, mesmerized by the radiant smile you’re beaming up at him.

In that moment, with the sunlight catching in your hair and reflecting those fierce, captivating eyes, Max is struck by how breathtakingly beautiful you are. Not just physically, though that’s certainly undeniable. But the whole intoxicating aura of your idealism, your passion, your relentless fighting spirit that leaves him in a constant state of incredulous attraction no matter how much he rails against it.

You cock your head slightly, drawing him out of his reverie. “Max? You still in there?”

“Huh?” He blinks dazedly before recovering with a shake of his head, shoving his hands into his pockets in what he desperately hopes is a casual gesture. “Yeah, no, I’m good. Just thinking.”

Your brow furrows in concern as you study his face intently. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” Max clears his throat, avoiding your piercing gaze. He nods jerkily towards the car glinting fetchingly in the sun. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they decide to re-arrest your ass for loitering.”

As the two of you make your way across the parking lot, Max resolutely ignores the persistent voice whispering that he’s in deeper than he’s willing to admit this time. That you might just be addictive enough to become something he can’t simply shake off when he’s had his fill.

But rather than finding the notion disconcerting like it should be, he finds himself fighting the strangest flicker of excitement at the prospect instead.

***

The Monaco paddock is a dizzying whirlwind of activity as teams and personnel rush about in their usual pre-race frenzy. Max weaves through the chaos towards his driver room, helmet tucked under his arm.

He pauses as a familiar voice reaches his ears — that unmistakable passionate cadence that always has a way of stopping him in his tracks these days. Max turns to see you holding court in the middle of a cluster of wide-eyed engineers and PR reps, gesticulating emphatically.

“... and that’s just the start! We also need to look into renewable energy sources to power the entire paddock operations. Sustainable cooking practices in the hospitality suites. Comprehensive recycling and composting initiatives. Not to mention overhauling the travel logistics for a lower carbon footprint when we’re shipping this whole circus around the globe every other week.”

One of the hapless reps looks shellshocked, struggling to keep up as he scribbles notes furiously. “I … yes, of course, Miss Vettel. We’ll look into all of that right away. Anything else?”

You fix the poor man with one of your signature intense stares, full lower lip catching between your teeth as you consider. Max feels his heart skip at the seemingly insignificant gesture, cursing under his breath.

“Well, we haven’t even touched on sustainable sourcing for uniforms and merchandising yet. Or the complete overhaul needed for fuel compositions and racing technology to align with a realistic net-zero roadmap.” Your eyes spark with renewed fervor. “But we can circle back on those aspects later. For now I want you to-”

Sensing an opening, the bewildered rep seizes his chance to politely extricate himself. “You know what, Miss Vettel? Why don’t I go gather all my notes on your suggestions so far and we can regroup for a more structured meeting on next steps? I’ll, uh, be in touch!”

He scampers off before you can protest, leaving the rest of the staffers gaping at you with a combination of terror and admiration. You just shake your head bemusedly, rolling your eyes skyward as you catch sight of Max watching from across the way.

“What?” You shrug innocently at his raised eyebrow, the very picture of angelic nonchalance. “Someone’s got to light a fire under these people if we want to actually get some sustainability practices in place.”

Max bites back a grin, sauntering over with exaggerated slowness. “Is that what you call demolishing that poor rep’s entire understanding of the world? Just lighting a fire?”

“Hey, we’re not being paid to settle for complacency and half-measures,” you shoot back without a shred of remorse. “I got hired to shake this whole damn organization to its core until it goes fully carbon neutral. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

Your unapologetic defiance never fails to send a peculiar thrill zinging through Max’s veins. He rakes an admittedly assessing gaze over your crisp pantsuit and loosely swept updo — quite a change from the scruffy activist’s getup he’s so used to seeing you in.

“You clean up nice, I’ll give you that,” he muses teasingly. “Who knew you could look so respectable in professional garb?”

Rather than rise to the bait, you simply flash him a wink and smoothing your hands over the fitted blazer, drawing his gaze helplessly to the enticing curves beneath the tailored lines. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”

Heat prickles at the base of Max’s neck at the unexpected flirtiness, his tongue suddenly thick and useless in his mouth. He quickly masks the moment of flustered silence with a dismissive scoff.

“Great, so in addition to harassing race staff you’re assaulting my senses too? Good to know where your priorities lie, Vettel.”

You laugh easily, canting a hip as you fix him with those dancing eyes that never fail to set his heart racing. “If you can’t handle a little playful banter, Verstappen, you’d better get used to keeping your distance now that we’re colleagues for the foreseeable future.”

The words slam into Max with surprising force, hitting a little too close to the bone. Unconsciously, his gaze darts over you in a way that feels far too intimate for mere colleagues. Lingering on the delicate curve of your neck as you tip your head back, the lush pout of your lips, the swaying tendrils of hair escaping your updo which he inexplicably longs to brush back into place.

All at once the reality of your new role truly sinks in — that he’ll be seeing you at every single race from now until god knows when. The thought fills Max with a dizzying blend of elation and trepidation.

On one hand, the prospect of having you perpetually woven through his life in this shiny new professional capacity is enough to make his pulse kick up in giddy anticipation.

But on the other, it terrifies him to his core. You have an uncanny ability to constantly keep him off-balance, as endlessly fascinating as you are maddening. This casual flirtation between you has taken on undercurrents he’s no longer certain he wants to shy away from acknowledging. At least, not when the thought of shutting it down fills Max with a hollow ache he can’t put words to.

He’s pulled from his spiraling reflections as an impeccably dressed older man in a crisp suit materializes at your side, placing a wizened hand on your shoulder.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Vettel! I was just coming to fetch you for our preliminary sustainability council meeting with the rest of the advisory board.” The man’s eyes twinkle with unmistakable approval as he regards you. “Although from the looks of it you’ve already started getting the lay of the land around here and, ah, asserting your new directives shall we say?”

You shoot him a conspiratorial grin, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “Let’s just say I’ve had a productive first day on the job so far, Mr. Haywood. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Max recognizes the man as Stephen Haywood, one of the senior F1 board members and the person primarily responsible for bringing you on in this ground-breaking new eco initiative. He chuckles indulgently at your quip.

“That’s exactly what we’re counting on from you, my dear. Ruffling some feathers and dragging this whole operation into the future, come hell or high water. I have the utmost confidence you’re going to revolutionize Formula 1 in ways we can’t even conceive yet.”

You beam at the praise, visibly swelling with determination. Haywood gives your shoulder another squeeze before gesturing down the paddock. “Shall we? We’ve got a long agenda ahead to tackle your big plans.”

“Absolutely,” you say eagerly, turning to follow him. But not before pausing to shoot Max one last heated look from over your shoulder, dropping your voice to a sultry murmur. “Don’t go too far, Verstappen. I’ve still got plenty more to say to you later.”

And with a tantalizing wink, you sashay away after Haywood in that maddeningly hypnotic way that you know reduces Max to an incoherent mess every time. All he can do is gape after your retreating figure, the sway of those hips in that perfectly tailored skirt rendering him utterly useless.

As you disappear around the corner, Max feels the dam inside him finally burst in a torrential flood of overwhelming emotion. Everything suddenly clicks into startling clarity in one shuddering epiphany that leaves him unmoored:

He’s in love with you.

Desperately, all-consumingly, recklessly in love in a way he never saw coming and is wholly unprepared to process. All those months pretending you were just an amusing diversion, a source of intrigue and refreshing friction in his otherwise orderly life. All the times he battled against the obvious chemistry simmering between you, tried to downplay it as mere physical attraction between opposing forces.

But now it washes over Max in one shattering wave of truth — the way his world tilts off-axis whenever you’re around, the gravity of your presence drawing him in against his will. How thoroughly and irrevocably you’ve embedded yourself under his skin without him ever truly realizing it was happening until now.

He grips the wall for support, legs feeling abruptly unsteady as his head spins. How is he supposed to reconcile this revelation? That his heart now lies so completely in the hands of this fierce, untamable woman utterly hellbent on dismantling and revolutionizing his entire life’s work in the name of environmentalism.

The delicious contradictions of having fallen for someone whose core values and purpose seem to exist in such direct opposition to his own are enough to make Max’s head throb dizzily. You are his antithesis in so many ways — that headstrong passion a perpetual thorn in his side, continually pushing and prodding him out of his self-imposed boundaries.

And yet … he couldn’t be more completely enthralled.

It’s that relentless challenging of his beliefs, that refusal to settle for complacency, that has drawn Max in and held him captivated against his will from the very beginning. In you he’s found a riveting counterpoint to the blinkered single-mindedness of his existence, a refreshing perspective that somehow makes him want to be a bigger, better version of himself.

Even now, just the phantom echo of your parting words has him straightening unconsciously, feeling almost chastened and bereft in the wake of your absence. Max has never been one to dwell on his emotions, preferring to analyze and compartmentalize until they’re boxed away into neat, manageable parcels.

But this all-encompassing feeling storming through him in your wake is anything but neat or manageable. It’s wild and catastrophic, crackling with the dangerous intensity of a lightning strike clawing its way across the horizon in slow motion.

Just the thought of looking into those blazing eyes and owning the truth of his feelings for you sends Max into a panic, chest squeezing with anxious breath. You have always seen through his feigned nonchalance, cut straight through to the bone with that penetrating stare. He has no idea how to even begin existing openly in the same space as you without his heart shining through brazenly for the entire world to witness.

His fist clenches against the cold metal of the garage wall as an irrational surge of bitterness lances through him. How dare you just sweep into his rigidly controlled life with all that blistering confidence and conviction, making him feel things he never wanted to feel? Upending his carefully maintained reality without a second thought, all in the name of your damned causes?

You weren’t supposed to get this far under his skin. He was just supposed to have a bit of fun, indulge in your company as a momentary diversion at most. And now Max is in so disastrously deep that he has no idea how to drag himself back out.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there warring with himself, torn between exhilarated possibility and vehement denial. What he does know is that his entire world has been turned upside down. And despite the terror rattling his bones, despite the desperate urge to somehow ignore the sheer enormity of this jolt to his system … he can’t muster the will to try and wrestle back control.

Not when the thrill of finally surrendering to you sends such intoxicating electricity crackling through every fiber of his being.

Max peels himself from the wall with renewed resolve, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He needs to steel himself, because avoiding you is clearly no longer an option. Not when your irresistible pull is only amplified now that you’ll be a near-permanent fixture in his life.

He has to face this head-on, confront the exhilarating chaos you’ve wrought in his carefully cultivated existence. Which means pushing down the churning jumble of emotions rattling around in his ribcage before they become too overwhelming.

“Get a grip, man,” Max mutters sternly to himself, knocking the heel of his palm against his temple as if to physically dislodge his internal storm. “It’s just Vettel. You’ve dealt with her shit-stirring antics a million times before. You can handle this new ... development.”

His words carry neither confidence nor conviction, but Max forges on anyway, straightening his shoulders as he plunges back into the fray of the paddock. If he can just maintain some semblance of outward equilibrium, he can get through this.

One foot in front of the other, he winds past the crowd towards his driver’s room as if in a trance. Any minute now, you’ll saunter back through in that mouthwateringly crisp ensemble, eyes bright with hard-won strategy and single minded intent.

And Max will just … what? Calmly confront you as if his entire understanding of your dynamic hasn’t undergone a seismic fucking shift in the last five minutes?

He barks out a mirthless laugh at the impossibility of such a scenario. Any pretense of indifference has surely been shattered between you now. All his meager attempts at deflecting through banter and heated bickering ring hollow to his own ears after this shattering realization.

No, for better or worse, Max has finally tumbled over that precipice he’d been teetering on for so long when it comes to you. Now more than ever before, he dreads and craves the prospect of your next meeting in equal, searing measure.

Because whether he’s ready or not … whether he thinks he can handle the fallout or not … you’ll be able to read every devastating truth written across his face this time.

When your paths inevitably cross again, Max knows there will be no more hiding from you the shift of feelings you’ve unleashed within him.

This time, he’ll be entirely and terrifyingly laid bare.

***

Three Years Later

The crisp mountain air fills Max’s lungs as he straightens up, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow with a satisfied smile. The freshly tilled soil stretches before him in neat rows, ready and waiting to nurture the seeds you meticulously selected.

“Nice work, Mein Löwe,” you call approvingly from across the yard, one hand resting on the swell of your pregnant belly. “That plot is going to be perfect for all our veggies.”

Max’s chest warms at the undisguised pride in your voice as you survey his handiwork. Just a few years ago, he would have scoffed at the idea of voluntarily getting his hands dirty like this. But ever since that fateful day at the airport … everything has changed.

“Yeah, well, be sure to put me to work weeding and watering too,” he shoots back with an easy grin. “Gotta earn my keep as the cabana boy around here.”

You roll your eyes in playful exasperation even as an affectionate smile tugs at your lips. “I’ll be sure to get you a tiny little outfit.”

The teasing remark might have once pricked Max’s fragile ego. But now he simply shakes his head with a low chuckle, marveling at how natural, how right it feels to be the subject of your gentle ribbing. In the years since that first charged encounter, your barbs have sanded down his prickly edges until only his core of wry tenderness remains.

You cross the yard toward him, sunlight glinting off the tousled tendrils of hair that frame your face. Up close, Max can make out the dark crescent smudges under your eyes from many sleepless nights spent mapping out plans for this property — from the aerogel insulation in the walls to the extensive geothermal heating system to the solar panels spanning the roof.

Most people would have long ago surrendered in exhaustion when presented with building the world’s most environmentally sustainable home from the ground up. But not you. You had steadfastly urged him onward, determined to make this place a paragon of renewable living for your growing family.

His growing family, Max mentally corrects himself with a jolt of surprise that still hasn’t faded, even after all this time.

As if reading his mind, you pause before him, gently taking his calloused hands in yours. “Think you can handle planting all those seedlings tomorrow without me? The back pains are really kicking my ass lately.”

Max’s lips quirk upwards at the feisty lilt to your voice. “Getting a little too old to be bending over in the dirt for hours, liefje?”

“Hey, watch it!” You protest with a laugh, playfully batting at his chest. “I’m literally growing an entire human here. Maybe have some sympathy for your poor wife?”

“Alright, alright,” Max chuckles, sliding his hands reverently over the swollen curve of your belly. A sense of awe washes over him, just as it does each time he’s reminded of the incredible miracle blooming inside you — a tiny life that is half him, half this fierce, passionate woman he once couldn’t stand.

He leans in to press his forehead tenderly to yours. “I’ve got it all covered tomorrow. Why don’t you take it easy for once?”

You let out a derisive snort at the suggestion. “Yeah, like that’ll happen. Maybe if you massage my back tonight, though ...”

“Deal,” Max murmurs without hesitation, tilting his head to steal a lingering kiss.

Your lips are soft and pliant against his, still electrifying even after all this time. Max marvels yet again at this strange, thrilling new world you’ve ushered him into — one of quiet moments and domesticity and fulfillment. A world that his former self, obsessed with roaring engines and adrenaline, could have never envisioned.

But even as your mouths move in that timeless, familiar dance, Max’s mind drifts back to that fateful first encounter outside his jet all those years ago. The sheer force of your convictions had rocked him to his core then, cracking open the crusty shell around his heart. And before he could blink, you had blossomed into so much more than an impassioned activist — a friend, a confidante, a lover … and now the mother of his unborn child.

At last, you pull away with a contented sigh, cradling Max’s face in your tender palms. “Have I told you lately how grateful I am for you?”

“Once or twice,” he teases gruffly, though his chest clenches with an all too familiar ardor. “But you know I never get tired of hearing it, schatje.”

You beam up at him with utter adoration shining in your eyes. A look that never fails to disarm Max straight to his core. How had it taken so many years of chasing empty accolades for him to finally find this all-encompassing serenity?

“I just ...” You pause, worrying your full lower lip between your teeth. A sure sign you’re struggling to untangle an emotion webbed with complexity. “I never imagined I could be this … content.”

Your gaze drifts wistfully across the sweeping valley before your mountainside property, the majestic peaks dusted with snow on the horizon. For a beat, Max envisions it all through your eyes — the staggering beauty of this utopia you’ve carved out for your budding family, its self-sustaining existence treading as lightly on the earth as possible.

“After so many years fighting and railing against the system, to find this pocket of peace ...” You shake your head slowly, almost deliriously. “It’s more than I could have dreamed.”

Inexplicably, Max feels his eyes prickling with a sudden thickness at your reverent murmur. A lump forms in his throat, welling with all the indescribable gratitude and tenderness that still threatens to overwhelm him at times like this.

“You know,” he rasps out at last, tracing his thumb reverently over the sharp line of your jaw. “After that day at the airport in Nice … I tried so hard to shake the way you made me feel.”

A wistful smile plays across your lips at the memory as your eyes meet his in silent invitation. You’re hanging on his every word now — a state Max still struggles to wrap his mind around at times.

“No matter what I did, or where I traveled, part of me couldn’t escape your voice in my head,” Max continues, pushing through the lump in his throat. “Demanding that I question my way of life, open my eyes to how careless I had been.”

You nod slowly in recognition, lacing your fingers through his. The remembered combativeness from that long ago confrontation has faded now, giving way only to understanding between the two people who recognize each other most profoundly.

“At first, I just tried blocking you out,” Max admits with a rueful chuckle. He dips his head until your foreheads are brushing again as his voice lowers to an intimate rasp. “But the more I pushed you away, the deeper you burrowed inside me. Until I finally stopped fighting it and just … listened.”

He feels your sharp inhale as his words skate warmth down your skin. Slowly, almost unconsciously, your fingers tighten around his in solidarity.

“And look at us now,” you murmur at last, awestruck and achingly tender all at once.

In your eyes, Max glimpses the past, present and future stretching out in dizzying symmetry — those first fierce sparks of passion blossoming into the steadfast love that shelters your growing family. He sees the painstaking nurturing required to transform a confrontation into a partnership over years of effort and understanding.

Most of all, he sees the promise of new dawns yet to come, with each one awakening to your cherished, reverent teachings about the earth’s splendor and fragility.

His heart clenches fit to burst as Max drinks in your beauty — flushed and glowing with new life, still beaming with that incandescent fire that had first seared into his soul. Only now, it burns only for him, a flame stoking devotion and passion and sanctuary.

Just as Max leans in to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, the shrill chime of the doorbell shatters the moment. You spring apart with a breathless laugh.

“Fuck, I forgot Seb was supposed to be coming over today!” You give Max’s chest one last pat before turning toward the house, waddling slightly with the added weight of your pregnant belly.

Max grins fondly, trailing after you at a more leisurely pace. He can’t resist one last admiring glance over his shoulder at the pristine vegetable garden stretching behind the cottage — an oasis of sustainable beauty, just like the life you’ve created here.

As you reach the front door, pulling it open eagerly, Sebastian’s familiar lopsided grin greets you both from the other side. Your brother’s eyes immediately zero in on your rounded midsection, his expression melting into one of pure adoration.

“Oh, Bärchen, you’re positively glowing!” He exclaims, sweeping you into a gentle hug. “How’s my little niece or nephew treating their mom?”

You let out a dramatic groan, leaning back to shoot Max an exaggerated look of suffering. “This kid’s already high maintenance, just like their father. I’ve got swollen ankles, back pains, you name it.”

“Hey now,” Max interjects with a chuckle, sidling up to join the familiar banter. He claps Sebastian’s shoulder affectionately. “If they end up being anything like you in the baby stage, we’re in for a whole new world of sleep deprivation.”

Sebastian returns the grin, unfazed. “Like you aren’t an even bigger handful than me.”

You snort indelicately, looping your arm through Max’s as you shuffle back to allow Sebastian inside. “Are you kidding? With my influence, this baby will be an expert environmentalist before they’re out of diapers.”

“You wish,” Max shoots back with a smirk, his eyes twinkling. He knows better than anyone the depth of your convictions — and appreciates them more than he can put words to.

As the three of you bicker playfully, Max’s chest fills with an overwhelming sense of contentment. Just a few years ago, he could have scarcely imagined this scenario — the love of his life heavy with his child, her doting brother at their side, their sprawling eco-paradise as the idyllic backdrop.

But now, as he guides you both into the spacious, sunlit living room, Max knows without a doubt that this is exactly where he belongs.

Here, sheltered in the passionate wake of your ceaseless quest to better the world. Here, in the eye of the storm you had first raged into his life, upending everything until his soul had no choice but to still and listen.

You shoot him a private smile, reading his thoughts as easily as breathing. In your bright eyes, Max sees the future stretching out blissfully — a path paved by your determined heart that he will gladly tread in partnership forever.

All because on one fateful day, you had dared to make him question everything. And in doing so, unveiled the peace and purpose he never knew he craved.

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