#Zip drives were real things??

[toxicanonymity]

needs

3.3k, joel miller x virgin f!reader

joel master list

Summary: Joel wants to find a bed before you go all the way, but neither of you can wait that long.

A/N: Follows ✨ Fires (1.6, prequel), Aches (900), and Thoughts (1.6), but can read alone.

WARNINGS: I8+, big girthy age gap (20/50s), still only one sleeping bag, pining, c*ck hunger, fingering, grinding, masturbation, oral m receiving, cum eating, unsafe P in V, reluctantly pulling out, loss of virginity, pet names, praise, POV alternates, NO Y/N.

“God have mercy,” he mutters to himself.

He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet, he tells himself . . . Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn . . .  

-------

It’s all over your face. He’s never seen anything like it, the way you crave his cock. You shamelessly stare at his pants. His whole body, really. You were bad enough before you touched it, and it’s only gotten worse. You can’t focus, you can’t listen. It’s dangerous.  He should put a stop to this, take it away cold turkey. Sleep back-to-back. But you both have needs, and he's not gonna do that.

Joel feels like he might as well be a virgin himself, it's been so long for him. Frankly, he’s dying to put it in you just as much as you long to have it.  He’s been trying to wait until Jackson so he can do it somewhere safe, somewhere a little nicer, more comfortable. 

He wants to wait and make sure it's nice and special for you, but good lord, you’re makin' it hard. You make the sweetest little sounds when he touches you, and even when he doesn’t, like in your sleep. You ask him things like, “doesn’t sex feel better than hands?” He tells you half-truths, like “not always.” Of course it would with you.  Of course it would.

-

You’re in the forest. With dusk approaching, you're just about to set up camp while there's still light. Joel is taking a leak at the edge of a small clearing, calculating mileage in his head, counting down the days ‘til you should get there. His back could use a real bed, too.  He's shaking his dick dry and a twig snaps behind him. His head whips around and he reaches for his gun. 

It’s you. God damnit, he could’ve killed you. 

“Can I see it?” you ask. 

“What the hell are ya doin’ over here?”

“I just wanna see it.” You look down toward his jeans. “Can I?” 

It’s fair that you’re curious, he knows that. You mentioned it the night before with your hand wrapped around it, I wanna see it, really see it, I bet it’s good looking. You’ve only felt it at night and caught glimpses in the moonlight. At the time, he mindlessly reassured you, you’ll see it, baby, you'll see my cock, and he should’ve known you’d spring this on him.

“Not now,” he mutters, trying to calm his heart rate.  “Can ya gimme a second, honey?” 

“Okay.”  He can hear the sadness, practically see the disappointment on your face. God damnit. He tucks himself away and zips up. You're only about eight feet away.  “Now?”

“No.  Ain’t nothin’ to see right now.” You probably don’t realize what a big difference it can make. 

“What do you mean”

“Just trust me, it’s not how you wanna see it.” 

“Why?" 

“Cause it ain’t as. . .”

“Ain’t as what?”

“Nothin’, baby. Just not the right time.”

“Better if we’re close together, right?” You step closer. 

He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and takes a deep breath. “This ain’t the time or the place, honey.” 

When he looks at you again, your face has fallen, and you mumble, “K.” 

He puts a big, comforting hand on your shoulder and walks you back to where y'all are setting up camp. “When we find a bed, I’ll show ya. . .”  

"And when we find a bed," you repeat. Don't say it, don't say it, he prays to God you don't say it. "We can do it, right?" He doesn't answer. "You can put your cock inside me, right?"

Fuck, you're gonna drive this old man crazy. At least one of you needs your wits about you if you'll ever make it to Jackson. "We'll see," he sighs. 

After a moment of silence, your voice trembles as you ask, "We'll see? Why not yes?"

"Cause we ain't gonna make it there at this rate," he complains, then sighs with instant regret. "I'm sorry, honey. But you gotta try to knock it off with this stuff."

You swallow and your eyes glimmer. "Sorry," you whisper. 

He turns away to adjust himself, then sits down on the ground, leaning back against a log and extends an arm for you. "S'okay, c'mere."

You sit on the ground next to him. He squeezes your shoulder and changes the topic to twenty questions. 

——

He’s nicer at night. He’s nice in the day, too, mostly.  Once in a while, you can tell you’re annoying him, and you feel bad.  If only he knew how many times you thought about it and didn't say something, he’d appreciate your efforts. It’s practically all you think about. It’s even worse now that you feel it in your hand every night, but the last thing you want is for that to stop. 

You had been thinking about it all day when you finally asked what you thought was an easy request – if you could just see it, just a glimpse while he already had it out anyway. 

Even if you don’t get to see it, at least it’s easy enough to recall what it feels like.  Smooth, warm, and stiff. Soft veins, tiny wrinkles. A leaking slit. 

—--

“Can I taste it?” you ask one night with your little fist wrapped around his shaft. 

He groans quietly. “Yeah, you wanna taste it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your hand sticky with the lube of your own slick, a bead of precum under your thumb. You smear the precum and let go of his hard cock, making it slap against his stomach.  You take your thumb into your mouth and hum, “Mmm,” at the salty taste. 

“Whatcha think,” he whispers breathily. 

“Can I have your cock in my mouth?”

“Oh, baby, ‘course ya can.” The zipper of the sleeping bag jingles, then you hear the satisfying zzz as it unzips.  He folds it down and you get up on your knees. You bend at the hip and don't waste a second. You wrap your thumb and forefinger around the base, trying and failing to make your digits touch. 

Then, your lips wrap around the head.  He inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

“God no, honey. Go ‘head, taste it all ya want.”  

 You curiously tongue the slit and suck for more. 

“Oh god damn,” he breathes.

You lick around it under the crown and you’re salivating. 

He wraps his hand around yours and moves it up and down, then leaves you be. “Use your spit, honey.” You let it dribble out of your mouth and onto his tip and catch it in your fist. You kitten lick the shaft, tasting your own tang, and letting your saliva fall out of your mouth as it accumulates, occasionally sliding the open ring of your finger and thumb up and down but mostly forgetting because you’re so focused on it in your mouth.

“Ya like that, sweetie? ya like how we taste?” You take a couple inches into your mouth then suck a little more of it in. It twitches against your tongue. The biggest vein throbs. 

“Alright, baby,” he pants and takes it from you. He urgently pulls up his own shirt, slides his hand a few times, then comes with a groan, his voice and pulsing manhood making you ache with need, even though he already made you come. You stay there on your knees.  In the dim moonlight, you watch his tummy rise and fall with the shiny trail leading to, and pooling in, his navel. 

“Can I taste that, too?” you ask. 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You dip your tongue in the trail below his navel. It’s thicker, headier, saltier than the precum.  It’s not every day you get to taste something new. It’s not often at all. It's delicious.

“Like it,” you whisper.

“Yeah? take all ya want.” 

You lick and seal your lips as you suck it up. You pause to pluck a hair from your teeth, then continue to his navel. You dip your tongue in and his stomach flexes abruptly. You take your mouth off and pause. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 

You tongue his navel, then suck, and he inhales a chest full of air as you do it, his stomach rising into your lips. You lick up every drop. 

“Good girl,” he sighs and  cups your cheek. “Such a good girl," he sighs.

—

All day you think about it in your mouth, in your hand, resting hard against your back, between your thighs. You imagine it all over your body. Doesn’t matter if he’s pressing it up against your hip or resting it in the crook of your elbow, God, you just want to feel it somewhere. You try not to think about it inside you too much because that makes you want it so bad, you could cry. Like really cry.

It’s not a want. It's a need.  You see it happening everywhere you look. You see a tree, and you imagine him sitting on the forest floor against it, holding his cock at attention, ready for you to sit on it.  You see another tree and he’s pinning you up against it with your legs wrapped around him, jeans pulled down under his ass as he rails you. You see a patch of moss and cluster of ferns that would be a nice pillow with him on top of you.

You think about it, and you dream about it, too. You can’t help that. He starts wearing jeans to sleep, and you can’t feel the shape of him quite as well against you, but it doesn’t matter. The fact that it’s there and it’s hard is enough to drive you mad. Even after he gets you off, it's bound to come back at some point in the night. Worst case scenario, you lose sleep over it. Best case, it works its way into your dreams.

----

One night, you're moaning in your sleep again, and Joel can hardly take it. His cock is painfully stiff and the strain against his jeans makes him ache. His hips press into you on their own; he can't stop them. All he can do is take off his jeans in hopes that being free of the rigid confines will lend some relief.  He was wearing them as an extra layer between the two of you for this exact scenario, but he can no longer bear it.

On one hand, he’s taking precautions, like keeping his jeans on.  But on the other hand, in the heat of the moment, when he’s touching you, he’s taking measures to prepare you, and to see how ready you are. Lately, he scissors his fingers, inserts three to see how you take it.  “Good girl, that’s real good,  honey.” He curls them inside you, “Ohhh, baby, you’re takin’ this real good.”

God, he wants a bed for this. You deserve a fuckin' mattress at the very least. He’s gotta wait. And yet now he finds himself taking off his jeans. He carefully removes them without waking you up. He lies there with his fist around his cock for a minute, still in his boxers, doing nothing but softly squeezing, as if that’ll make it go away.  Then he resigns himself to the magnetism of your body.  He curves his form around yours again and silently sighs as the hardness in his boxers rests against you and he wraps you in a hug. He manages not to thrust against your ass, but in no time, you're pushing yourself back against him. "Joel," you mumble in your sleep. 

"God have mercy," he mutters to himself. 

He's gonna give it to ya good one day, but not yet. Not in a sleeping bag on the forest floor. Not yet. . . not yet. . . not yet, he tells himself, taking deep calming breaths. Your first time shouldn’t be like this. Shouldn’t be here. But god damn he wants to take that tight little hole.  

"Joel,” you whine and push back on him again. He can't stand it. He really can't. He has to wake you up.

He whispers, "Whatcha dreamin 'bout, sweetie?" then feels your breathing change. 

When you blink awake, your hips are slowly moving, pushing your ass back into Joel's hard cock until you stop yourself. 

"Sorry," you mumble. "Did I wake you up?" The sweet sound of your voice isn’t helping.

"Don't be sorry, baby," he murmurs into your hair. 

"I dunno how to stop it," you whisper. "I'm sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry 'bout, baby doll." He hugs you tight. “Don’t be embarrassed.” His cock swells harder against you. He whispers in your ear, "They want each other real bad, that's all." 

"I know." 

"Have a good dream?"

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“‘bout what?”

“I dunno if you wanna hear it,” you tell him. Fair enough, he's told you to knock it off, after all. 

“Sure I do, honey. Was it you and me?”

“Yeah,” you wedge your hand between your legs. 

"You want a hand?"  

“Yeah.”

“What’d ya dream?” he asks as he reaches into your panties. "God damn," he whispers. You're soaked, swollen, and your clit is throbbing against his hand. "Poor thing." He thrusts his hardness against your ass.  "No wonder you're tryin' to get at this, huh?" 

You're quiet. 

"No wonder ya can't stop thinkin' ‘bout it." He thrusts against you again and moans softly. "What'd ya dream, baby?"

“It was. . .” you can hardly form words thinking about it. It was so vivid, so real. “We were right here, like this.” 

“Yeah?” He uses your ample moisture to lightly rub your clit. 

He begins to make peace with himself that this might happen before he wants. He hooks his fingers into your panties. “Let’s take these off for a lil bit, hmm? Let her breathe.” 

“Okay.”  You bend your knees as he pulls your soaked panties down. 

—-

"We were right here like this, in the dream?" He repeats. 

“You took it out of your pants,” you whisper. He moans softly, takes his hand away, and jostles behind you. Then you feel his naked cock against your skin. Your breath hitches and you whimper at the contact.  He returns his hand between your legs and lazily circles your clit, pressing his naked dick against you.

"Took it out like this?" He asks soft and deep.

"Yeah," 

He thrusts against you and whispers in your ear, "Then what?"

"You put it between my legs." 

He inhales sharply then wedges his cock between your thighs, shuddering as he slides it forward along your dripping seam and the head meets his fingers on your clit. 

You tilt your hips and he whispers, "Oh, baby. Like this?"

"No, you put it inside," you whisper. 

Joel's breath hitches and he twitches against your heat. You moan. He slides slowly through your folds to your clit and back. He tries to slow down and think it over, but there are no thoughts, just his stiff, aching cock and your tight little pussy begging for it.

——

“Will you do that,” you ask, looking over your shoulder but not enough to meet his eyes. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You think I should? Don’t wanna wait for a bed?” He thrusts in small pulses. “Just a few days, baby.”

“They wanna be together real bad,” you whisper. “how they’re meant to be," you remind him.  

Joel groans at your words. “I know, baby doll.” He takes a deep breath. “How’d it feel in your dream?”

“Full, really full,” you tell him, then sigh. “Felt so big.’

“Ohh, fuck,” Joel breathes into your hair and slides his cock against you, wet and stiff.

“It was like I was hugging you with my, um,” you say, then swallow and tilt your hips. "Hugging it."

“God damn,” he sighs. He pulls his cock back, and as he slides it forward again, it catches at your entrance. You spread your thighs ever so slightly. “You sure ‘bout this,” he confirms, and uses the hand between your legs to nestle his tip just inside. You gasp. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yes, please. Joel, please,” you whine. You push back on him with a small grunt, stretching yourself open on his tip. 

“Oh god, baby,” he sighs, then he holds you still and slowly pushes himself inside with a quiet groan muffled by your hair. “Fuck, you’re–ohh, you’re tight.”  You gasp as his girth parts your walls and your body makes room for him.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod urgently, and he twitches inside you. 

You shiver with pleasure as he pushes further and sighs, “Oh, baby.” 

“Joel,” you whine, “its so big”

“Too big?”

“No,” you reassure him. “I want it.”

He pushes the rest of himself in until his pelvis is flush. He breathes heavily and mutters, “fuck.”

You moan and push back on him. “s’perfect,” you whine.

“you like havin’ me in here?”

“I love it,” you say. 

“As much as the dream?”

“More than the dream.”

“What happened next?” he asks

“Then you it moved like you do in my hand.”

“Yeah,” he begins to rock his hips, his thick cock dragging inside you. “Like this?”

“nnngghh–yeah,” you nod then gasp as you're filled by his length again. “ohhh,” you moan. "And then you came inside—”

He groans, then pants as he’s moving inside you, “Ohh fuck, sweetie I can’t—ohh, I can’t do that, uggghh–god damn.”

“Felt so good, like a massage”

“Ohh, baby, please don’t–”

“And warm”

“Fuck,” he breathes and covers your mouth with his free hand, bicep flexing under your neck as he does it. No way he’s gonna last with you talking like that. 

He begins to slowly move again and you whimper.  You’re right, it is like you’re hugging him. You’re so tight and wet for him, taking his cock so good. 

"Good girl," he whispers, burying his length in you every second or so, only pulling back halfway each time. 

"Such a good girl, wantin' my cock so bad." He moans. "Waitin' all this time—uggh." You push your hips back to meet his thrusts. "That's my girl, takin' me so good," his next thrust is harder and you moan. "Yeah, just like that," he breathes.  His hand teases your clit as he fucks you. You whimper and he repeats, "just like that," his voice shakier, his breath heavier on your ear, “yeah.”

You moan into his hand, and his fingers circle your clit. “C’mon, baby,” he pants. “Gonna come on my cock?” You nod and hum your agreement. “Better do it now, then, you can do it.”

You let go and your clit pulses madly, your walls clench down on him. It feels so good, your eyes well up in tears.

“Ohh, baby,” he sighs, and suddenly pulls out. He replaces his cock with two fingers that your cunt begins to hug. “Such a good girl, squeezin’ my fingers.”  

His aching arousal presses against your ass, and he humps against you as he fingers you. “Ohh, yea--ohhhh.” His cock begins to pulse, spreading a silky warmth across your skin. He moans and sighs as you finish coming on his fingers and his balls empty. 

—-

He uses a shirt of his to clean you up. As his breathing calms down, he hears you sniffling. “Hey, hey, you okay, sweetie?”

You’re fine, more than fine, but you can’t talk.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself when you don’t answer.  He peeks over your side, gently stroking your arm. “Hey, c’mere, talk to me, sweetie.”  You turn around and face him.  “You okay, honey?”

You nod and smile at him with watery eyes.

His brows knit as he finishes catching his breath.  He kisses you on the forehead and wraps you in a hug. You sniffle again and he speaks into your hair. “I know that was a big deal for you, baby.”  He pulls his head back and tilts your chin up. “It was big for me too, okay?” You nod.  He reads your eyes, then presses his lips into yours. He reads your face again, then repeats the kiss and you kiss him back. He kisses you on the forehead and holds you, stroking your head. You fall asleep holding each other face-to-face.

-----

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Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your comments and reblogs go a long way in motivation so if you liked it plz consider saying something 🫶. There's a virgin section on my joel master list right above the one shots. Left in Lincoln is a pretty similar Joel, in terms of how he is with you sexually. For more Joel POV, the most recent raider, Night Air, has a lot.

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[glitter-epoch]

-ˋˏ [ nerve endings ] ˎˊ

≪ zayne x afab!reader ≫ - smut under the cut, 18+ ONLY mdni!!! do NOT!!! - part two of this drabble, but all you really need to know is zayne gave you stitches and neither of you are being normal about it. - warnings: smut at the end, afab reader no gender assigned pet names or references, a couple y/n's, reader got stitches in the first part, no explicit description of wound, slight pain from the wound at one point, fingering, zayne is mean and also anxious, he's real for that, zayne's scars mention

again, 18+ under the cut! mdni!

you’re unscrewing the cap on the ointment zayne ordered for you when your phone rings. the two gigantic strides you take to cross to the kitchen are ridiculous, but you’ve been waiting for him to call since his shift ended.

zayne. his name flashes on the screen, right under the time, 8:08 PM. you fumble to get the phone in your hands and put it up to your ear, cap still balanced between your fingers. 

“hi,” you breathe out. 

zayne is quiet for a moment. something whirrs in the background, mechanical and smooth. 

“hello,” he replies, in that somehow monotonous and matter-of-fact tone. “why are you out of breath?” 

“nothing,” you swallow. “just...trying to get the cap off the ointment you got me.” 

another moment passes. the soft drone of machinery in the background clicks in your mind, finally-  

“are you driving?” you ask. surely he’s not- 

“not anymore,” zayne says, and the whirring dies. “i’m in your parking lot. i have extra bandages and dinner for you. i’ll leave them outside if you’re not in the mood for company.” 

the feelings that pass through you are like a molotov cocktail; fear and excitement and relief all at once. it all burns in your chest. zayne had said he was going to call, but once it got to be past seven o’clock, you wondered if he’d forgotten. and you didn’t really think he would come see you, but...you had maybe thought he might. 

“you got me dinner?” you start, nervously. “that’s too much. thank you.” 

you’re in your pajamas, gauze pad ungracefully peeking out over the waistband of your fuzzy blue shorts.  

“i’m not dressed,” you murmur, unsure of what exactly your goal is in saying so. you do want him to come up- 

“i don’t care about that,” he replies. “but if you need time to put something else on, i can wait. i didn’t call you until eight.” 

“yeah,” you huff, “what were you doing?” 

zayne sighs. “buying you bandages.” 

“quit paying for things!” 

you look around your apartment. it’s clean, thankfully, uncluttered and dusted; countertops gleaming to the usual degree once they’ve been wiped down. he says he doesn’t care about your outfit, and you believe him. 

you can see him in your mind’s eye- buttoning your trousers, zipping them up like it was nothing. 

“i’m glad you came,” you say, chest buzzing with nerves. “i’ll come let you in. do you remember which building i’m in?” 

“i’m already outside.” 

you scamper all the way downstairs, gliding over the complex’s steps so fast it’s a miracle you don’t slip and fall. by the time you get to the bottom, you're out of breath again; the cut over your hip sore. 

zayne’s hair is blown over his forehead by a cold breeze that curls in through the open door of the apartment building, quickly sucking all of the warm air out of the lobby. you step aside, ushering him in. 

“oh, it’s cold,” you complain, narrowing your eyes out the glass door as you shut it behind him. “are you cold? no. you have that massive coat.” 

zayne looks down at his black overcoat; the sharp triangles of the lapels framing his jaw, which is just as sharp. he takes one pale hand out of his pocket to brush the hair out of his eyes. you’re smart enough not to ogle this time, but your eyes do snag on something- 

scars. little ones, all over the back of his hand; one deeper, longer one down the center. 

if he notices your gaze falter, he doesn’t say. 

“it is cold,” zayne chides. “you shouldn’t have come down here in shorts.” 

“i was barely outside,” you retort. 

“why are you wearing them in the first place?” is zayne’s reply.  

“they have cows on them,” you mumble, pointing at the wide nose of one on your shorts. “here, come upstairs. is that soup?” 

“yes,” zayne replies simply.  

his tone is a little icier than it had been at akso, but his porcelain cheeks are red, and his lips are wet with cold, too. there’s a small black thermal bag on his other arm, and mug in that hand (also scarred, you see, and his fingers move around aimlessly). he’s nervous.  

he’s nervous. 

you’d grin if you weren’t about to throw up. 

. . .  

he’s so tall. his shadow seems to stretch out across your living room as he sits down next to you on the sofa; half-a-cushion away. it seems intentional. 

“you didn’t have to heat it up for me,” you scold. 

zayne nearly ignores this, but provides you with a small mm and shake of his head. “you shouldn’t be reaching up that high, at the microwave; your stitches could tear.” 

you inhale, trying to settle in as he clearly does the same beside you. the back of your couch barely meets his shoulder blades. the lights are low, the overheads in the kitchen a distant glow. the resting screen of the television, the far-off lights of linkon, and one small lamp on the side table remain.  

zayne’s taken his jacket off, and his usual white button-down is gone. the charcoal-grey slacks remain (they’re tailored. they have to be. nobody’s legs look that good in department store slacks).  

his shirt is black, and thermal; with subtle waffling. it looks soft, but it’s tight around his biceps. at this waist, the shirt leaves a tiny bit of room- he's strong, his shoulders are wide, but he’s lean, you think. 

things you’d never have noticed in his usual uniform, and also, things you do not need to and should not be noticing. 

you avert your eyes only to find him rolling up his sleeves.  

Lord. zayne fluffs the rice inside a small plastic box with a fork and stirs a couple of glazed chicken strips into the container, a healthy amount of steamed broccoli also placed in the side tin. instead of handing it to you, he slides it across the coffee table as a small curl of steam rises from the rice. 

the vein that starts in center of his palm and disappears through his inner-wrist flexes as he pokes the fork into one of the broccoli florets. 

“you don’t eat enough vegetables,” zayne remarks.  

he has his glasses on. you’re too busy noticing this to offer a snide reply to his comment. when you do, it’s too late. he’s noticed your staring. 

“you don’t eat with me enough to know what i eat,” is your pathetic retort. “and you’re a cardiologist, not a dietician. get another degree and then we’ll talk.” 

zayne’s smile is small but victorious. he reaches for the mug on the table and shifts until he’s facing you, knees pointed at yours. 

then he starts unscrewing it. 

“your heart health is more dependent on your diet than almost anything else,” he says, voice low, almost teasing. “other than the aether core, of course.” 

the choice to unscrew the cap right at you, his knuckles moving deftly to twist off the lodged lid, that same center-vein and a few new ones appearing on his forearm. it’s so blatant you’re glaring incredulously at him by the time he offers it to you. 

zayne blinks a little after a moment of you ignoring him, hazel eyes looking a little concerned at your coldness. “it’s soup,” he offers. “not as warm as the rice, so you can hold it.” 

you lower your chin at him, brows low: “what are you doing?” 

it’s more of a statement than a question. and zayne (who’s been weaving this game all day, but now seems to be anxious), says- 

“i’m giving you this soup i made.” 

he sets it down on the table. 

“it’s just broth and some vegetables. protein would have been too much, you already have your chicken.” 

for a moment, you think you’ve gained the upper hand. but your eyes trail after his wrists as he sets the thermos down on the table and plucks the fork out of the rice, chicken still attached. 

one corner of his lip curls when he notices.  

zayne presents the fork to you. when you don’t accept, he cocks his head. 

“i came here to make sure you eat dinner and change your bandage,” zayne says. you’re not sure if it’s pure dishonesty; his voice is too difficult to read, as always. “i’m not sure why you’d refuse the food.” 

at that, you take the fork, and eat the bite off the end.  

“i’m not refusing the food,” you swallow. “and thank you. this was very kind of you. i’m...i’m really surprised, actually.” 

the mirth fades from his features. “surprised?” 

“i just assumed you weren’t going to call,” you add quickly, almost guilty over how suddenly his demeanor shifts. “it was getting late. i didn’t want to bother you.” 

“i told you i’d call,” zayne replies softly. “if i say i’ll do something for you, i will.” 

“you do have a good track record of that,” you reply. 

he nods. “i know i do.” 

gulp. you eat more of the rice, trying to occupy yourself. “this is very good. thank you.” 

“you don’t have to say it again. why were you so worried about me calling?” 

you peer at him, a ball of rice in your cheek. “i-” you murmur over the rice, and swallow quickly. “i wasn’t worried. well, i worried something might have happened to you, but it would have been fine if you didn’t call. you already gave me stitches for free.” 

“i’m your doctor,” is his reply. 

“you’re my cardiologist.” 

“primary care doctor,” zayne counters. and he leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees. he’s still a head taller than you. “are you averse to me caring about all the other parts of you?” 

you inhale sharply to try and hide the flush that bursts in your cheeks. the next time you swallow, he follows it; watches your throat bob.  

“no, i’m not averse,” is your stupid reply.  

he blinks slowly, like a cat. the smirk returns. “mm.” 

“mm,” you bite out, dropping the fork into the box of rice and pressing on the lid. “that was very g...you know i think it was good, but i’m not super hungry right now. i’ll put it away for later, unless you want some?” 

you busy yourself with gathering up the box and the mug, so by the time you steal another nervous glance at zayne, it’s the first time you’re seeing him tilt his head forward at you. the pools of his eyes see everything; it’s like he’s looking straight into your skull. 

“y/n,” he murmurs, slow.  

your own name shocks you. there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not going to say anything else. it’s not just your name, it’s a question. 

he’s asking you what you want.  

and he’s ridiculously patient as you sit there, box of rice and thermos in hand, blinking like a dear in headlights. you think of chickening out. 

“can you help me change the bandage, please?” you nearly whisper. 

. . .  

“this cut is technically over your lumbar plexus. there’s a nerve here,” zayne continues. he drags the pad of his finger over the flesh between your hip and the curve of your waist, examining and admiring, like you’re a specimen. “obturator.” 

you’re practically ignoring him at this point; your head is swimming, your face is hot as an iron. “obfuscator.” 

he actually laughs, albeit softly. “obturator. with a ‘t’.” 

“yeah, that’s what i said.” 

you’re standing in front of the sofa, holding up the heavy bottom edge of your crewneck. zayne sits on the coffee table in front of you. his left hand traces over the right side of your belly, dances around the stitches he put in earlier. his right hand holds the waistband of your pajama shorts down; pins them to what’s nearly the middle of your thigh.  

you’re looking up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how much of the skin over your pelvic bone is exposed. you’re also trying to steal glances at zayne, who you’re certain isn’t really here, and must be a dream.  

even looking at him is too much, though. 

“you looked that up,” you whisper. “you’re a heart doctor, not a hipbone doctor. you looked up what those nerves were called in the parking lot before i came and got you, cuz’ you knew you were gonna do this.” 

“do what?” zayne wastes no time. 

“do...”  

well. you give up, not wanting to accuse him of seducing you out loud. 

he pulls your shorts up for a moment and grabs the ointment beside him. “this shouldn’t hurt,” he says softly. “i’m only putting it around the sutures, not on the cut. then i’ll put a new bandage on.” 

“okay,” you breathe. 

he pauses. looks up at you. “okay?” 

as in, are you okay? 

you muster up the courage to look down at him, not actually wanting to alienate him. if he left now, you’d absolutely start sobbing. 

“yeah, i’m okay. sorry.” 

“don’t apologize. hold still.” 

he spreads the ointment onto his fingers. like vaseline, it appears iridescent against the low-light of the television and the distant scape of linkon. you’re trying not to drool over the two fingers he’s placing over your hiphone when you remember. 

“your scars,” you say, softly, a little nervous. “were they accidents?” 

zayne stiffens. weighs his words. “essentially.” 

you nod, not wanting to press any further. “not that it matters-” 

you gasp as he starts to spread the ointment around the sutures; a barely-stinging, mostly-cold sensation fluttering like soft wings across your skin. his fingers are cold, not as cold as usual. he’s trying to keep them warm for you. 

“yes?” zayne murmurs.  

“not that it matters,” you continue, trying to steady your breathing. “but i think they’re beautiful. like tree roots.” 

zayne stops for a moment. inhales. you watch the breadth of his shoulders rise and fall until he continues working, circling the cut over your hip with glossy fingers. 

“do you?” he asks. almost a whisper.  

you furrow your brows at him, surprised to hear a hint of insecurity in his tone. once he secures a new bandage over the wound, you know you’ve waited too long to respond.  

“of course,” you manage.  

he looks up at you, then; narrow jaw angled expectantly, his jaw shut tight.  

“you like them?” he asks again, and his voice is darker than usual. 

god. 

you nod, unsure of how else to say it. “i like them,” you start. “i like...i like you, yes.” 

zayne watches you with such intensity you wonder if he’s trying to melt you down like iron. his fingers tighten on your waistband where he holds down the right corner of your sleep shorts; then he pulls that side down further, other hand coming down over the slope of your waist.  

he grips you. his palm ignites with ice; suddenly, extremely cold. you gasp. 

“you like me.” zayne challenges. 

“i like your scars,” you argue, but you can’t take it back. you’ve already said it.  

“you like both,” he replies. his palm smooths down your waist, then snakes around to your front. he places both hands flat to your belly. 

you let go of your crewneck, surprised, as he runs his hands up your front and then wraps them around your ribs, caging you in on either side.  

“there are nerves here, too,” he mumurs. he doesn’t have to lift his arms up much to reach you like this; he’s barely reaching up to begin with. “an intercostal.” again, his hands dip lower, equally soft and calloused. his thumb presses down right under your ribs. “subcostal.” 

“you’re making these up,” you huff, trying not to squirm, not to look too enraptured.  

“you were confident enough in my medical expertise to let me put stitches in you.” 

“well,” you breathe, “i trust you.” 

“you do?” zayne remarks, like he knows exactly how much you trust him; but maybe it astonishes him. “you do...” 

“this is your sacral plexus,” he says next, pressing two thumbs in just to the right of your navel. he goes lower, spreads his hands out; they fan like wings as they travel, colder and colder as he nears your pelvic bone. “obturator, again. this is lower, on your thigh; femoral.” 

“i’ve heard of the femur.” 

he stops to laugh. “you, are...” 

you laugh with him, because if you don’t, you’ll scare off; truthfully, you’re deeply afraid of him looking at you underneath your clothes. 

he senses this. 

“you don’t want me to look at you?” zayne asks, with genuine confusion. 

you look down at him. “no, it’s not that.” 

“it is. you’re afraid.” 

“not of you.” 

“of me looking at you,” zayne replies. he considers this, brows knit together in discontent. “you have no idea how many times i’ve thought about seeing you like this.” 

his voice is sanguine. this is new for him, too; you’ve both never been here.  

zayne looks up at you. he wants to see you, wants to touch you, wants you. 

his fingers curl over your waistband, but he stops. “yes or no?” 

you watch him, trembling under his gaze, under his grip. 

you can’t say it, but you nod. yes. 

he looks down instantly, propelled forward, but as he pulls down your shorts, revealing your panties; he seems more interested in your navel. zayne lifts your crewneck with one hand and lets your shorts fall, adjusting as you step out of them. one hand comes flat to your navel, the other runs across the thin fabric covering your heat.  

you inhale. the hand on your stomach flexes; small jolts of cold prick your skin.  

zayne watches goosebumps rise there. his mouth is open, you notice- just barely, like he doesn’t even know.  

“i don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, almost slurred. “the cold.” 

“no, no, it’s fine. i like it.” 

he flashes you what’s almost a glare, like it can’t be true. “another thing you like.” 

“if it’s you, i like-” 

he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clothed cunt; catches the hood of your clit. maybe he doesn’t notice at first, but when you jolt, he hums.  

“mmm,” he says. “what were you going to say?” 

“if it’s you i like all of it,” you ramble off, “anything. what are you doing?” 

“taking my time.” 

he presses his thumb to that same spot, now that he’s found it, and rubs circles. meanwhile, you bend backwards; he grabs your waist, steadies you upright, and drags his frozen palms up and down your hips. 

“you have to stand up straight, or you’ll tug on the stitches. that will hurt.” 

“i don’t...care.” 

“that’s only because you haven’t done it yet. hold still.” 

you look down at him, gasping as he presses a kiss to the flesh above your panties, next to your cut. his lips are soft, warm, unlike his hands; sheen from his own biting. he does it again, and when you jolt, his grip is firmer. 

“i won’t do anything to you if you’re going to tear your stitches,” zayne murmurs. 

he loops his fingers through the legs of your panties, pulls them down. you nearly shriek. 

“zayne!” 

he hasn’t looked down yet, yet; he’s looking into your eyes. “that would be malpractice. also, i can’t stand to hurt you. i won’t, actually- so please, hold still.” 

“it’s your fault i can’t be still.” 

“try harder.” 

when zayne’s gaze lands on your bottom half, naked, the goosebumps on your belly traveling to your cunt; you can tell that he’d been looking at you in the eyes not just to knock you off balance. he’d been preparing himself.  

you’d be naive to think he doesn’t know what to do next, but for a moment, you think he might not- his pupils are big as moons.  

“hold still,” he says again. this time, with fervor. “please, hold still.” 

he touches you like he’s going to work; like he’s been studying for this his whole life. he keeps one hand on your ribs (clearly obsessed with physically feeling your breath hitch) and runs his fingers up the inside of your thigh, opposite of the wound on your hip. 

zayne looks up at you once before dragging his finger through the center of your core. 

you gasp. 

he cocks his head, and grinds his jaw, icy fingers tightening around your ribs. “fuck.” 

he keeps exploring, but you’re so stunned to hear him curse, practically drunk just hearing him talk, that you’re too busy examining his stoic but somehow awestruck expression when he finds your clit with his thumb. 

“zayne,” you lean forward. 

his brows knit together a bit when you say his name, almost confusion, almost disbelief. “say it again, please-” 

he doesn’t have to ask, really; you gulp it out. “zayne...” 

he lurches forward and presses a kiss to your navel, almost harsh. it stops you from leaning forward too far, but you feel the tug on your stitches.  

“ouch,” you hiss. 

it’s too loud. zayne hears you; drops you immediately. you’re colder than you were with his hands on you. 

“did i hurt you?” he demands. 

you grab him, actually; take his hands back, put them where they were. 

“no, no- keep going, please, don't...” 

you don’t finish. he hears you; rubbing circles with his thumb into the bundle of nerves at the peak of your core. it’s the only finger he can use, technically, from where you’re standing, but something about it is insane.  

you’re so worked up about him touching you, breathing in and out like you’ve just come up from underwater; you forget how good it feels, how it will feel, once he finds- 

“hm,” you swallow, choking over a gasp. 

zayne doesn’t press harder; doesn’t speed up. “like this?” 

you nod. his sigh is audible, ragged. 

“you can say it, though, can’t you?” 

you blink down at him, cheeks burning. “y-yes, like this.” 

zayne growls, almost; softly, and digs his opposite fingers into your ribs. you’re not certain, but he may be feeling around for the best spot to feel your heartbeat. 

“there’s too many nerves here,” he rasps. “to name. but you’re not really thinking about that right now, are you?” 

“i like listening to you,” you choke out. 

zayne smirks. it’s a little broken, with how enraptured he is. “i thought you liked my hands.” 

“scars,” you retort. 

“that was a terrible deflection.” zayne removes his hand from your ribs, too fast, moves down and presses one finger to your heat, inside your folds; he tests it. “can i...” 

you lurch forward. he catches you, lets you drape over his shoulders. it was cruel of him to pretend you could stand the whole time, in the first place. 

“alright,” he rasps, one big hand rubbing the small of your back. “come here.” 

you half-stand, he half-pulls you to the sofa. a red streetlight beneath your apartment blears like a star through the window with the moisture gathering in your eyes. 

zayne helps you lay down, slowly; has you put your head on the armest, and your body in his lap.  

“this will be easier,” he says, smoothing his palm down your front. “try to lay flat.” 

you grind your hips into him, a little humiliated. zayne bucks up; drags a hand over his mouth, either equally humiliated or furious with you. 

he snakes his left hand underneath your crewneck and finds your nipple. he squeezes it, experimentally; you arch and he nods. 

“see? you have more room to move.” 

your nipples pebble under him as he moves about, letting his fingers crawl up to dip into the divot between your collarbones. he presses down there, leans into the ragged breath you take.  

“your hoodie,” he hums. “do you want to leave it on?” 

for a split second, you’re nervous to take it off. but when you lock eyes with him, and see how much he’s blinking, how desperate he is (despite pretending not to be) almost all of your insecurities vanish.  

you sit up, pressing into his lap to shrug off the crewneck. he’s hard underneath you- big. 

“oh, my god,” you whisper. 

“y/n,” he groans.  

zayne exhales sharply and gently cups the space between your shoulder and throat to push you back down. it dawns on you how strong he is, how easily he could throw you around. that, you think, is not in his nature. 

he presses his palm flat to the space between your breasts. you watch his eyes dart around, taking in every inch of your torso, of your now naked body on top of him.  

abruptly, he takes your clit with the pad of his finger again; but only for a moment, as he tests his middle finger at your center again.  

“there are nerves here, too,” he says darkly. “you don’t care about that anymore. can i?” 

you nod, practically shimmying down his lap to bring him closer. “yes, please, yes.” 

he dips one finger into your cunt, experimentally- but it’s easy. he slides the one finger in, and when you gasp, he takes his chance to slide in a second. you almost sit straight up. 

he starts pumping, excruciatingly slow. “do you have any idea how guilty i’ve felt?” 

you squirm, whining; he says nothing about it.  

“how many times you’ve come in to the office and not known i wanted to touch you like this? you come in for stitches on your hips, here,” he says, dragging his free hand down to ghost over the bandage. “i couldn’t believe it. and you had no idea i wanted you like this; it’s been agony.” 

“i did know,” you lie. 

“not entirely,” zayne presses, pumping faster in and out of you, “or you wouldn’t be so worked up.” 

his hands are so big, his fingers are so long; you can’t imagine being fuller than this. 

“zayne,” you whimper. it’s astonishing to you that you’ve ended up like this, but you can’t be bothered to care how you sound. 

he breathes deeply, like it’s sex for him every time you say his name.  

“you’ve wanted this,” zayne drawls. “how long?” 

“always,” you gasp. “a-always.” 

“fuck, y/n.” 

he picks up the pace one more time and you know this is it- he's determined, needs to see you cum. you squirm and writhe around in his lap, and his free hand follows every inch of it; smoothing up and down your body, but you’re almost certain he’s trying to rile you up more than he’s trying to soothe you. 

the coil in your stomach is tightens, taught like a string; you’re close.  

zayne leans down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear.  

“i know everything about you,” he murmurs. “about your body. i know how your heartbeat feels; i’ve stitched you together. but this...is better than anything i could have imagined.” 

you cry out as you come undone, clenching around zayne’s fingers. he pulls you up into him, careful to keep your hips flat as he holds you to his chest. you bury your face in his neck, riding it out, his fingers still inside you.  

“do your stitches feel alright?” he hums.  

“shut u-up.” 

•✧•

if you know medicine and the nerves are wonky i'm begging you. remain quiet. thanks to ⚡ anon for requesting the first part of this!!! love u all!!

@lost-in-time-wanderer ur tag <3

[mingigoo]

hi sie!! i'm happy to see that your requests are open and would like to request something myself c: 1. seonghwa 2. roommate au 3. prompts 11 and 17 4. with spice please 🙏 thanks so much! i rly appreciate you and your writing even if you can't get to this 💕

I hope you like this!!! really enjoyed writing this one :)

— sleep-talker || p.sh (m.)

“You know you sleep talk?” 

“Stop looking at me like that.

🌊pairing ⇢ (fem) reader x roommate! Seonghwa

🌊 summary ⇢ when you and your friends decide on a trip to the beach for spring break, you get stuck rooming with the man you "hate" the most. The line between love and hate is as thin as ice, and you were about to break it.

🌊 genre/au ⇢ roommates au, vacation au, one bed trope, forced proximity au, smut

🌊 warnings/tags ⇢ 18+ minors DNI, wet dreams, fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, PDA, "enemies" to lovers, one-bed trope, teasing, jealousy, intense tension like holy hell

🌊 word count ⇢ 10.2k words

🌊 taglist ⇢ @jjhmk @yesv01 @roe-sinning @meowmeowminnie @yeritheloml @yukine-smx @y00nzin0 @8tinytings @halesandy @shegotboreddsoo @kangyeosangelic @sanshineeeeee @kodzukein @hwaightme @likexaxdaydream @ssaboala @gtr-skyline-lover @wooyoungjpg @lonewolfjinji @asjkdk @charreddonuts (please let me know if I forgot you!)

masterlist

ateez masterlist

“Are you for real right now?”

Spring break. A time for rest, relaxation, and lots and lots of sex.

And now, your plans of being a whore for the vacation were ruined.

“Yes, y/n. I can't afford another room just for you to have to yourself,” Hongjoong, your older brother, mumbled as he stuffed the last bit of clothes into his luggage. “You’ll have to room with Seonghwa. San and Wooyoung already called each other.”

He zipped up his suitcase and stood up to leave, but he couldn't get off that easily. “Please, Joong. I’ll do anything. Cant I just room with you and Mingi?” he hastily made his way out of his room and into the living room, trying his hardest to get away from you. “I’ll sleep on the floor. No blanket, just the floor. Please.”

He turned to face you, a confused expression on his face. “Why are you so adamant about not staying with Hwa? What did he ever do to you?” he asked you, genuinely curious. The truth is, he did nothing to you personally. Maybe that was why you hated him, because god, if he gave you the time of day, you would pounce on him like a cat in heat.

You groaned, running a hand through your messy, unwashed hair. “Because he’s a dumb ass jerk that gets everything he wants.” 

Hongjoong laughed at you and turned away. “It's only a week, y/n. He’ll probably spend most of his time in our room, anyway. Just bring a book to read or something to distract yourself.”

As if reading is the thing you'll be focused on if you were in a room with him. Oh Nah, you'll be wishing he’d walk around shirtless and hoping he somehow takes a shower and walks out with nothing on—

“I hope you're packed and ready….” Joong trailed off as he looked at your messy exterior, and stifled a laugh. “And if you're thinking of getting laid, you might want to shower.”

You slapped him on the shoulder, having no drive to shower. You'll get one when you get there. It's not like you were that stinky.

“Shut up, dickhead.”

You stood on the sidewalk of your apartment building, Hongjoong’s little yellow Geo Tracker sitting there lookin’ all cute. However, the tiny thing only had five seats.

There were six of you.

“Welp looks like I can't go! What a shame, what a shame,” you sarcastically yelled out, tossing your hands in the air exasperatedly.  “Have fun without me!”

“Shut your mouth, will you?” Hongjoong groaned, tossing your luggage into the “trunk” or whatever it was. “It's only a ride to the airport. You can sit on someone’s lap for ten minutes.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why am I the one that has to do that? Wooyoung is like the size of my arm. He can do it.”

Joong shut the trunk with force at your comment, totally disregarding you. “Hop in,” he said. “Enjoy shotgun while you have the chance.”

You got in reluctantly, even though you were very excited about the beach itself. Your excitement was short-lived as you approached the devil’s lair.

“Stay here, I’ll go help them,” Hongjoong mumbled, pushing his sunglasses up on his forehead as he put the car in park. 

You nodded, your arms crossed over your chest. You didn't mind the rest of the group— San and Wooyoung always knew how to make you laugh, and Mingi was absolutely eye candy. You wouldn't mind sitting on his lap on the way to the airport.

Just as you got comfortable with your head resting against the window, the door abruptly opened, causing you to nearly fall out of the vehicle. “For fuck’s sake, who the hell—” your words got caught in your throat as you met eyes with Park fucking Seonghwa. “Oh, it's you…”

He stood there, his thin torso draped in a sheer white top and his long, lean legs covered in a pair of black pants. You swallowed your drool like a schoolgirl, making sure he never knows how you think of him.

“What?” you raised your eyebrow, not moving an inch and not even reaching to unplug your seatbelt. “This seat’s taken, buddy.”

He snickered, his lips mockingly curled up in a sneer. “Oh, aren't you a sweetheart? Now move, I called shotgun.”

“Well, I did first.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

“Yes—”

“Neither of you are getting shotgun,” your brother laughed from behind Seonghwa, San and Wooyoung giggling like the goofs they are next to him. You still didn't move, even as Joong approached and unbuckled your seatbelt for you. “Y/N, please help me out here.”

You debated on throwing a fit, but knowing that it would just cause more problems, you sighed and pushed yourself out of the front seat. Now standing on the curb of the sidewalk right in front of Seonghwa, you tilted your head up to look him in the eyes. His gaze was intense—it made you envision what it would be like in bed, looking down at him from above, and how his eyebrows would knit together in pleasure. God, you needed to get laid this vacation, or you were going to be suffering from delusions.

Without warning, Mingi pushed through both of you, interrupting your staring contest.

“We better go, I don't want to listen to their bickering any longer,” the tall boy huffed as he plopped himself in the front seat, a proud smile resting on his lips. 

San sat in the backseat on the right, Wooyoung next to him in the middle. That left either you or seonghwa to fight to the death for that last seat, but you knew how this was going to end.

And it wasn't going to end well.

—

“You comfortable, y/n?” your brother called from the driver’s seat, looking back at you through the rearview mirror.

You frowned so deeply you could've sworn your face was permanently stuck like that.

There you were, in the back of the car, in the most uncomfortable seat ever. Seonghwa groaned underneath you, his bony body not offering you any wiggle room. You didn't answer your brother, you were certain your expression was enough of a response.

You adjusted yourself on Seonghwa’s lap, looking out the window for any distraction. As you moved, you felt him move his hips, and you had to shut away your filthy thoughts about him as soon as they came. Between his movements and his groans, your stomach was knotting in something more than butterflies.

The car was filled with conversation, however, you and Seonghwa remained quiet and in your own little worlds. As the others bantered, you pushed yourself up further on his lap, grimacing as you heard him let out a grunt in your ear. 

And then when his hands gripped onto your bare thighs, you were the one to gasp.

“Stop moving,” he whispered in your ear with haste, almost like a sneer. You kept your vision forward as his breath danced in your ear. “It hurts.”

You swallowed hard. “Oh? Is your little dick that sensitive?” you whispered back, smirking. You moved again, this time on purpose, feeling his bulge through his pants. You kept your cool, ignoring his shaky breaths from behind you. “Are you that happy to see me, Hwa?”

“Shut your mouth or you won’t see the sunrise,” he hissed, but his voice was weak. 

The ten-minute ride felt like an eternity as he breathed underneath you, your mind constantly thinking about how hard he was getting underneath you and how sweet it would be to turn around and face him to see his reaction to you.

You looked to your right, seeing Wooyoung with a knowing smile on his face. “What?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, grinning. “Nothing, nothing,” he said, letting out a giggle. “Just that you both seem…cozy.” 

You slapped him on the shoulder, your movements causing Seonghwa to wiggle underneath you.

“Dammit, Y/N I told you to stop moving,” he seethed, his grip on your thigh tightening. Hongjoong looked back through the mirror, worry in his expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked, meeting your eyes before focusing on the road once again. “We’re almost there, only about a minute or two.”

“Ten-minute ride my ass,” you mumbled, and as you entered the Airport, you should've known that there were going to be speed bumps on the way in….

The shitty old car hopped over the bump, feeling like it hit a huge boulder. You bounced up, not held by any seatbelt, landing hard, right on Seonghwa’s family jewels.

“Fuck,” he cried, tossing his head back against the headrest. Your hands were now holding onto his legs for dear life.

“Joong, will you slow down for those things? Some of us are suffering back here,” you said, to which seonghwa started laughing.

“You're telling me.” he scoffed.

“Okay okay, I just have to park. I have no idea how this works….where the hell is the long-term parking—”

“Probably over there,” Mingi pointed in the opposite direction.

“No, no, I think it’s—”

“I can't take this anymore!” you cried out, leaning forward to assist Hongjoong since Mingi isn't helping. “There's a huge sign in front of us. How can you miss that? It spells it out, dammit.” you huffed, throwing yourself back into your “seat.” This time, he didn't let out a single groan, probably just as fed up with you as you were with him.

Finally, Hongjoong found the lot and parked the car, and as soon as it was stationary, you tossed yourself out of the vehicle like there was no tomorrow. You knew that you couldn't last a minute more on his lap, because if you did, you would be so tempted to turn around and make out with those painfully pretty lips of his. God, he made you so mad. Ever since you met him, there were only the same thoughts circulating round and round. 

Dirty thoughts.

Seonghwa crawled out of the car like a decrepit old spider, his long legs holding up his body with grace. You bit your lip, looking down at where you were sitting on him. Quickly, you looked away as he noticed your gaze, and ran away to go help the others with the luggage.

You weren't quick enough to miss the achingly attractive smirk on Seonghwa’s face.

Why did he have to be so….. libidinous? He was like a wild animal, able to take the lives away of his prey with just an expression.

No more seonghwa on the brain—it was beach time. You were certain you could find someone at a bar to sleep with later, and it wouldn't be Hwa.

Not now, not ever.

—

You got lucky with the plane ride.

Your seat buddy was Mingi, and Hongjoong knew how much you like your window seats.

Mingi nearly slept the whole flight, his head rested against your shoulder. He snored a little, but it didn't matter. The gentle giant had a place in your heart, so he could do no wrong. 

You often stole glances at Seonghwa across the aisle, his head bobbing up and down as he fought his tiredness. He was so much more likable when he was sleeping, but that was definitely due to the fact that he couldn't stare at you with those entrancing eyes or run that mouth of his.

You were the only one awake by the end of the flight. It was difficult for you to sleep in public places. It didn't feel right. So you would fight off sleep as hard as you could and distract yourself with anything around you.

After the fiasco of leaving the plane, you anxiously trailed behind Hongjoong through the busy airport, pushing past loads of people who had places to be. Thank goodness you were able to leave the airport without a fuss, even if seonghwa was nearly breathing down your neck as you exited.

Luckily, the ride to the hotel wasn't far—and there were more than enough seats for all of you. You distanced yourself from Seonghwa, ignoring his hellish gaze.

The hotel you were staying at stood tall, facing the gorgeous blue ocean for a perfect view. You shut your eyes as you took everything in, smelling the saltiness and the warmth of the air. You smiled to yourself, but your delightful moment didn't last long.

Seonghwa bumped into you purposely, digging his shoulder into yours before walking past you toward the hotel entrance. “Hey, what was that for?” you growled, a scowl on your face.

“You were in the way,” is all he said, not even bothering to turn to face you as he spoke. He continued walking, his beautiful silhouette showing through his sheer shirt. Oh, you wanted to tear it off of him so badly.

You let out a huff of air, but then followed your friends into the building, knowing the end was near if you had to share the room with your snack of choice.

Hongjoong went up to the front desk as you and the boys stood near the doorway, waiting for him to check us in. It didn't take him long, and soon enough, he was walking back over, key cards in his hand, and a bright smile on his face. “All checked in! This’ll be our home for the next week.”

San grabbed his key card first. “Are we all on the same floor? Like in a row? It would be no fun if I had to actually put on clothes to go on the elevator.”

“Yes, San, we’re all on the same floor.” Hongjoong held in his laugh, already clearly enjoying his time away from reality. You stood angrily with your arms across your chest next to seonghwa, who didn't look any happier than you. “And will you two brighten up? You’re killing the vibe.”

You rolled your eyes, glancing up at the boy next to you. His dark hair was slightly frizzy from the humidity, sticking to his forehead like it would if he were sweating. You gulped, thinking dirty thoughts once more before regaining your peace of mind. “I’m not doing anything. It’s all him.”

“No, it’s all you, not me.” he retaliated.

“You’re the one that got a hard-on from me just innocently sitting on your lap.”

“You were purposely shoving your ass on me like a freak—”

“You are ruining the vacation already—”

“Annnd we’re not doing this again,” Mingi sighed and then gripped onto your arm to pull you towards the elevator. 

“Let’s go, we got bars to get wrecked at.”

—

“Oh, hell no.”

You dropped your luggage as you entered your room for the week, staring at what was in it.

Or lack thereof.

One bed—a queen, maybe, sat in the middle of the room. A chair was tilted by the sliding glass doors that opened to the balcony, and a lamp stood in the corner. It was cute, of course, but you thought this couldn't get any worse.

Seonghwa walked past you into the room, setting his suitcase on the floor by the chair. “Don't worry,” he hummed, his voice low. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I–” you paused, taking in a breath before continuing. “You can sleep on the bed, I ain't that mean.”

“So you think I’m going to let my best friend’s sister sleep on the floor?” he laughed, but it wasn't out of humor. “That’s funny. I’d get my ass beat.” He sat down on the floor, stretching out his long legs before opening his suitcase. “Just forget about me like you usually do and take the bed.”

You had no snarky remarks to throw at him this time, your eyelids feeling heavier than ever. You sighed, sitting down on the bed with a thud. “Okay, fine. Wake me up when we are going to leave.”

“Yeah yeah,” he snarkily replied, too focused on his luggage in front of him. You shut your eyes slowly, holding on to your consciousness a little longer, before drifting off into a sleep that would cause an unexpected uproar a few hours later.

—

After your amazing nap, you and the boys found your way to a beach bar, sand filling the floor and loud music playing in the background. You took your rightful spot at the bar, sitting right next to Wooyoung, who was already chugging a fruity margarita. 

“You should try this, Y/N,” he let out a satisfied sigh after he finished his gulp. “Tastes like fucking unicorns and rainbows.”

You laughed. “Sounds divine, but I’ll pass and get my whiskey sour.”

He grimaced. “Ew, you should spruce it up a little bit sometimes.”

San sat down on the other side of him, a fancy glass in his hands as well. “Yeah, you’re kind of a bore.”

“San what the—”

“She is, isn't she?” Seonghwa hummed from behind you, and of course, sat his ass in the chair right next to you. You groaned, ignoring him once again, although it was quite hard to not drool as he gulped his beer, his throat bobbing as he drank it.

Fucking hell.

You looked around for any sign of your brother to save you, and once you saw him, you cringed, turning right back around to face the bar. “Dear god, can't he keep his dick in his pants for five minutes?” you shivered, trying to think of anything else other than your brother making out with a random person. 

Seonghwa looked back, a smirk on his face as you ordered your drink. “Hypocrite. Just last week I walked in on you with Mingi in the chem lab,” he snickered, his midnight eyes catching the neon lights behind the bar. “Your tongue was so far down his throat I swear I—”

“Says the guy who I caught watching porn freshman year in the computer lab—”

“Here’s your Whiskey sour,” the bartender awkwardly interrupted, but thank god he did. You quickly chugged it, finishing it within a minute of getting it. He gave you another right away, and you downed that one as quickly as it came. He was cute, a little on the scruffy side, but definitely a good one-night. You gave him a look, feeling accomplished as he smirked a little before serving someone else.

“Maybe you shouldn't drink so fast, y/n,” San murmured from Wooyoung’s side, his strong arms holding his weight against the table. “You get drunk really quick on an empty stomach. Remember what happened last time? You have a bad habit of trying to kiss everything you see.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, setting the empty glass down on the bar. As you did that, you felt the warmth of the alcohol fill your body. “What? Who did I kiss?”

Seonghwa laughed from the other side of you while you focused on San.

“Me.” San blinked. “Tongue and all. But not just me, you kissed the statue outside our campus. You know, that really rusty one?”

You gagged. “Ew, no. stop. No, I didn't.”

“Oh, yes you did,” Seongwha piped in, sipping on his third or fourth beer. “And then you threw up on my shoes when I brought you home.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, taking his beer right out of his hands. “Phew, thank god I didn't kiss you,” you shivered, bringing the bottle up to your lips. After you started chugging it a little bit, Hwa ripped the bottle away from you.

You felt your vision start to sway from the alcohol. You loved the feeling of being drunk—just hated the hangovers. Right now though, you wanted to get wasted and go home with a stranger. The hangover will be tomorrow’s problem.

But seonghwa had to just run his mouth once again.

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” He laughed, a full, humorous laugh. He tossed the bottle to the back of his throat and then continued to laugh at you. “Something about how awful the airplane food was and how drinking milk reminds you of cum.” he grimaced at the last part, but a playful smile still rested on his face. “God you are explicit.”

Your cheeks flushed, looking anywhere but his direction. “I do not sleeptalk.”

You looked to Wooyoung and San for help, but they looked dumbfounded. “I wouldn't know, y/n, I never slept with you,” San smirked, smiling deviously at you. “Unless you’re down with that, I’m all for hearing you sleeptalk in my ear all night.”

“Yeah, me too,” Woo played along, knowing he was just doing it to tease you. Seonghwa, on the other hand, was trying desperately to embarrass you in front of the hot bartender.

“God, it’s so annoying, I wanted to rip my hair out earlier,” he smiled devilishly, his teeth even brighter than normal under all the neon lights. “I thought I couldn't hate you more, but you proved me wrong.”

You looked straight ahead, ignoring Seonghwa’s goofy smile. “Whatever,” you huffed, resting your face on your hand, your elbow holding up the weight. You watched the sexy bartender notice your stare. He smiled and walked over to you.

“Need another sour?” he asked, his cheeks pinched with dimples. You had your eyes set on going home with him, and you were going to follow through with it. Seonghwa can stay outside for the night—or watch, it didn't matter to you. 

“Actually,” you pondered, blinking slowly as the alcohol hit your system even harder. “I’ll take a vodka and Sprite. Grey Goose.” you hummed, watching him nod with a smirk on his face.

Seonghwa chuckled, but you were too focused on your mission to hear him blab about how much he hated you over and over again. Soon enough, that damn grey goose hit you harder than anything. Your eyes fluttered after your second glass, your vision fuzzy, and your heartbeat racing. 

You let out a heavy sigh, unable to remember your original mission.

“Hey,” you coughed, your cheeks burning up from the toxin. You looked around the bar, only meeting Seonghwa’s eyes…..oh…they’re so pretty. “Where did everyone else go?”

He was facing you, looking at you through those sparkling irises of his. He took in a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, your brother left with that girl he was making out with earlier….San and Woo left not too long ago to go to another bar, and Mingi….” he paused, watching your expression change when mingi was mentioned. “Mingi went with them.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Why’d you stop at mingi like that?”

He furrowed his brows. “Why’d you look like that when I mentioned him?”

You sniffled, feeling a burning sensation in your throat from all the vodka. “What do you mean?” you were too messed up to defend yourself. You didn't even know your expression changed.

“You looked…different when I said his name.”

You couldn't help but laugh at his dreary tone. “Pfft. Hwa, do you think that just because I slept with him once that I have feelings for him?”

He frowned, his eyebrows knit with confusion. “You slept with him? Mingi?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. Just once, though.” Oh god, you officially couldn't think straight. Why were you even telling him this? “But that was it.”

He looked at you with an unknown expression, flattening his lips. “So you just sleep with anyone, huh?”

You scoffed. “Well, no, not usually.” you bit your lip, looking at him without knowing how you were looking at him. “I kind of always wanted you, but I didn’t understand why, so I ignore the feeling by sleeping with other guys.”

“That makes no sense, y/n,” he spat. “What are you saying?”

You rolled your eyes, drunkenly gripping his broad shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Awh, shut it, Hwa. Haven't you ever felt that before?” you paused, not realizing how close you were. His eyes were sharp, and his lips parted. “Wanting someone you can't have? Knowing that they wouldn't want anything to do with you?”

He swallowed hard, his gaze piercing into you sharply. “You’re drunk, y/n,” he paused, looking at you intently before shaking your hands away. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Oooh, don't tempt me, baby,” you poked his chest, giggling as he stood up off the barstool. You were completely oblivious to the fact that you just admitted to wanting him, but it didn't seem like he took it seriously. 

“Get up,” he huffed, gripping under your arms and lifting you off your chair. You groaned, wrapping your arms around his waist. You held onto him tightly as he reached into his back pocket to grab money, tossing it onto the counter with a glare at the bartender. 

“Enjoy your night,” Seonghwa growled, holding onto you, and made his way towards the hotel with you clung to him.

“Seonghwa,” you whispered, a giggle under your breath.

He grunted, pulling you along with him. “What?”

You sniffed. “Can I kiss you?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Why?” you mumbled, shoving your face into his chest.

“Because it’s your drunk habit.”

“So would you kiss me if it wasn't?” you asked, completely obliterated. There was no way you were going to remember this in the morning. 

He didn't answer you.

“Come on, Hwa,” you moaned, stopping and gripping onto his collar in front of the hotel. You looked up into his eyes, feeling his intense gaze cut right through your intoxication. You needed him. Needed him bad. “Just once. God, just once.”

“I…” he swallowed, his hands twitching at his sides, crying out to touch you. He kept them away, even if he didn't want to. “Not now. Not while you’re drunk.”

You blinked slowly, watching his lips flatten into a frown. “Does that mean you want to?”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair aggressively. “Please just….let’s get back to the room and get you to bed.”

You groaned, but complied, following him into the hotel and into the elevator. The ride was silent, Seonghwa standing in the corner, farthest away from you, his breathing slowed. You stared at him, leaning up against the wall.

“I really hate you,” you mumbled, glaring at him. He was too sexy, his hair messy, his eyes dark, his long legs taller than a skyscraper. You only admitted your attraction to him when you were drunk, but you couldn't deny the pull you had to him.

He looked up at you, his starry eyes looking from your legs, up to your hips, over your breasts, and finally to your eyes. He took in a sharp breath, biting the corner of his lip.

“I hate you too,” he whispered, his vision low.

And in what world would the words I hate you cause someone’s heart to flutter?

The elevator dinged at your floor, and after a moment of longing stares, Seonghwa gripped your arm and dragged you out. He held onto your drunken body as he searched for his keycard, and once he found it, you tumbled into the room together. 

Your back was pressed against the wall, his arms caging you in on both sides. His forehead was on yours, and you were able to feel his hot breath against your lips.

“Oh,” you hummed, your hands subconsciously dancing at the hem of his t-shirt. You watched his throat bob anxiously as you looked into his eyes.

It took everything in him to move away. He coughed awkwardly and then nodded toward the bed. “Come on, you need to rest.”

“Mhm,” you murmured, unable to move in a straight line. You kicked off your sandals, and pulled off your shirt with ease, leaving you only in your bra and that skimpy skirt seonghwa was looking at all night.

He watched as you walked, holding his breath without meaning to. 

As you neared the bed, you reached back to unclip your bra, but you couldn't reach it. “Hwa?”

He was looking at the floor. “Hm?” 

“Can you…” you paused, giving up on trying to get it off. “Take this off of me? It’s really uncomfortable.”

He blinked, his eyes wide. You couldn't see the confusion in his expression, but you heard the shakiness of his tone. “W-what? Your….bra?”

“Yeah.”

He didn't say anything else. He slowly walked over to where you were, and as his fingertips traced the middle of your back, you shivered under his touch.

He unclasped the hook, but held on to both ends of the bra, afraid to let it drop. “It’s done,” he whispered, backing up slightly.

You dropped the bra onto the floor and then reached to take off your skirt. As you slid it down your hips, you heard seonghwa nearly trip over his feet trying to turn away.

“Do you…always sleep naked?” he asked you, looking anywhere but where you were. You were way too drunk to care about what he sees, but you were also too tired to try. You fell onto the bed, your arm covering your breasts and your underwear still on.

“Fuck, y/n,” Seonghwa huffed, finally looking over and doing everything to not look where he shouldn't. He gently reached for the blanket, tossing it over you in one swift motion.

You shut your eyes tight, feeling his presence loom over you. He brushed away the stray hairs on your face and made sure you were laying on your side. 

“.... I’m so screwed,” he muttered, giving you one last look before walking into the bathroom and turning on the cold water. 

A cold shower, especially knowing that there was a beautiful, nearly naked girl in the bed just outside the door. 

The cold water ran down his body, giving him a rush of pain. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, biting his lip as his attraction to you only worsened. 

—

After his attempt to cleanse his messy thoughts, Seonghwa stepped out of the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips. He hesitated before looking over at you, and after he got a good look at your pretty face, he made his way to his luggage, rooting in there for a t-shirt to toss on.

“...seong…hwa,” you moaned. 

Moaned. 

“....y/n?” he whispered, maybe thinking you were awake and needed something. He didn't want to jump to conclusions, but that sounded too….sensual than just a normal tone.

“I…ugh,” you groaned, “don't stop, please. H…Hwa.”

Seonghwa raised his eyebrows, dropping the clothes he had in his hands, eyes wide.

“Seonghwa….”

Okay, that was the third time. You were most definitely dreaming about him….

“Oh…my…god.” Hwa gulped, cautiously standing up and backing away as far as he could from you.

Little did he know how detailed your dream was.

—

His hands snaked up your bare hips, your legs wrapped around his waist. His lips were on your ear, biting, teeth clashing against your skin. 

He thrusted into you, hard, his hips buckling as he moaned. You cried out his name, back arching, nails scratching. He fucked you hard, his forehead against yours, and his eyes rolled back into his head. 

“You like that?” he whispered, his tongue sliding into your mouth before you could answer. His sweat fell on your cheek, and you moaned out his name once more. You weren't sure how you got here, how this came about, or anything. All that mattered was that you were finally with him, the man you always thought you hated.

“…hwa,” you moaned, “fuck me harder.”

And as he slammed into you with even more force than before, his lips crashed onto yours, his black hair blocking your vision. You wanted more, and more and more—

“Y/n,” 

“Just shut up and keep going,” you cried out.

“Y/N!”

You shot awake, gasping for air as your back hit the headboard. You breathed heavily, realizing that you were dreaming about all of that and that the real seonghwa was standing in front of you, shirtless, with an expression you weren't quite sure you’d ever seen before.

“Seonghwa, what—”

“S..stop it. Don't say my name,” he stuttered, looking anywhere but your body. He quickly tossed a t-shirt at you—his t-shirt. “Just put this on. The guys are down getting breakfast, so we gotta go.”

He quickly walked to his own luggage and grabbed a shirt for himself. You watched him as he tossed it on and slid on his shoes, and with one last awkward glance at you, he left the room in haste.

You were too scared to look down, hoping that you still had underwear on. You weren't too sure if that was a dream or not, but given the way he acted, it made you even more confused.

You felt the wetness between your thighs, clenching them with a sigh. You stood up, tossing on the bra that was laying on the floor as if it was thrown off of you.

After cleaning yourself up a bit, you made your way to the breakfast area on the first floor, immediately noticed by Hongjoong. “There you are! I was worried you weren't going to—” he stopped, noticing the shirt that was way too big on you. “That’s the shirt I got Hwa….”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, shoving a bagel into his mouth to distract himself.

You ignored him and sat down across from him and next to Mingi. You looked up, meeting eyes with the man you thought so filthily about, seeing a swipe of cream cheese on the bottom of his lip. You held back, knowing that it’ll just send you into another spiral if you pointed it out.

But when he stuck his tongue out to lick it off, you felt the tingle in your stomach once more, thinking back at the dream you had, and how his tongue caressed you in more ways than one.

He met eyes with you, his lips parting slightly. His gaze was much different than it ever has been. You've never seen him so….lost. His expression was conflicted, his eyes not leaving your lips.

Wooyoung smirked. “Did you guys fuck or something? What’s with the mood?”

“Wooyoung!” Hongjoong yelled.

“What? I’m just pointing out the obvious,” he shrugged.

“We didn't. Keep dreaming,” Seonghwa muttered lowly, taking another bite of his bagel.

Hongjoong huffed. “I don't want to imagine my sister and seonghwa in that way…that’s super weird.”

“Why?” seonghwa questioned, his tone serious. You looked at him, confused as to why he cared. It seemed like everyone else was just as confused as you. “Ahem, I mean…uh, is it that hard to imagine?” Seonghwa’s voice was shaky, his gaze hopping from Hongjoong to you.

It made your brother laugh. “Well, yeah. You guys hate each other, right?” he took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “It makes no sense for you to even see eye to eye, I couldn't imagine you two in any type of relationship. Maybe her and Mingi, out of everyone.”

Seonghwa dropped his bagel face down onto his plate. “Why Mingi? What’s so special about—”

“I’m right here guys….” Mingi tried to interrupt, but Seonghwa shot him a dangerous glare, causing the gentle giant to hold his tongue.

Hongjoong looked around at the boys awkwardly and picked up his fork to continue eating his eggs. “I’m just saying.”

This was too awkward. You kept stealing glances at Hwa as if he were a magnet. You assumed he felt similarly, because every time you looked, your eyes would meet, and then you would awkwardly stare for a moment too long before looking away.

And when he got up to get more food, you got up, too.

“We need to talk,” you whispered, coming right up next to him as he put a muffin on his plate. “Why are you acting weird?”

He sighed and continued to add food to his plate. “I’m not acting weird.”

As he moved to get a drink from the drink machine, you continued to follow him. “Did I do something wrong yesterday?” you gasped, holding a hand over your mouth as he still ignored you. “Did I kiss you? Dear god, I hope not—”

“No, you didn't,” he said quietly, walking back over to the table.

“Something must have happened, seonghwa—”

He stopped, nearly causing you to bump into his back. “Don't.” he paused, taking in a sharp breath, looking over his shoulder at you. “Don't say my name.”

You frowned in confusion, watching the muscles in his back move as he walked away. You couldn't remember your antics yesterday, but maybe you made him uncomfortable by sleeping nearly naked—he hated you, so you could only imagine how irritated he was.

“Listen, if it was because I was naked, I'm sorry—” 

Everyone at the table looked up as you spoke, including seonghwa. He looked shy, a blush on his cheeks, and he sat down quickly and stuffed the muffin in his mouth.

“Naked?” Mingi laughed, looking from you to seonghwa suggestively. “Sounds awfully smutty, Seonghwa.”

“We didn't—” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “Nothing happened with us.”

“Mhm, okay,” San smirked. “Whatever you say. Anyway, we have a whole day out planned, so you two better get back to your normal selves or we won't have any fun.”

You really needed to talk to seonghwa, but it seemed like you'll be busy the whole day with the boys—and he didn't seem to be very interested in talking to you, anyway.

You tilted your head in curiosity. 

“What are we doing?”

—

The day was eventful.

First, you went to the beach. Seemed innocent, until Seonghwa took off his shirt and got all soaking wet, sending you in a mess of thoughts and a mess below. He would look over at you, and wouldn't look away, paying intense attention to your body in a skimpy little bikini. 

When you went to talk to him, he body-slammed you into the ocean, and normally you would've fumed, but this time, you enjoyed his hands on your bare skin. 

After the beach, you walked along the boardwalk of shops and lots of food. You grabbed a popsicle, licking it without a thought, but when you felt an intense pressure on you, you looked over to see seonghwa looking at you with an expression you've never seen on him. His eyes were focused on your lips, his own lips curled up as he bit them. You continued to eat your popsicle, but couldn't stop looking at him.

When you tried to bring up last night, Hongjoong came over and took the rest of your pop, running away from you like a child.

At dinner, you sat at the far end of the table, as far away as possible from Seonghwa. It wasn't intended, but now there was no way you could talk, as everyone would hear your conversation.

You ate, feeling defeated. Maybe you should just forget about it.

It was still daylight after dinner. As the guys conversed about what to do next, San and Wooyoung decided to go their own way and walk the beach, which was just their code word for “shopping” for girls. Hongjoong agreed with them, shocking you since he was always hell-bent on not going off a schedule. You assumed he was just going to meet that girl he was with yesterday, but whatever, it just meant that you could be left alone with Seonghwa.

After those three left, it was only you, Seonghwa, and Mingi. Hwa stood with his hands in his pockets, awkwardly looking around as you stood outside the restaurant. Mingi was even more awkward, looking at you before speaking.

“Um, I’m just gonna go with Woo and San, so,” he breathed, looking to seonghwa now. “I’ll see you guys back at the hotel tonight.”

“Okay, Mingi,” you smiled. “See you later.”

You watched him leave and then looked at the boy standing next to you.

“So,” you tried to initiate conversation, but seonghwa started walking in the opposite direction from where everyone else went. You followed. “What should we do?”

“I’m going surfing,” he said blandly. “I don't know about you, though.”

“I’ll come with you,” you smiled, finally catching up to him. He let out an aggravated groan as you walked close to him. “Do you even know how to surf?”

He scoffed. “Yeah, of course, I do.” 

“I’m just saying,” you noted, shrugging as you followed him. “You’re too….dainty. I feel like if you fell off you’d break every bone in your body.”

Seonghwa didn't react in any way you were hoping he would. Instead, he kept walking silently, until you reached the part of the beach where the surf shack was. Wetsuits were laid out, ready to be picked up, and surfboards stood tall through the sand and against the building. You stared in awe as you approached, seeing that there was no one else here but you two.

Finally, alone at last. 

“Grab a suit if you’re gonna do this,” he pointed to them, raising an eyebrow when you stood there anxiously. “What? Don't you know how to surf?” he mocked.

You kicked at the sand, your hands behind your back. “Pff. yeah, of course, I….no. I don't.” you pleaded with your eyes sweetly, despite all of the dirty things you wanted to do to him. “Could you please teach me? Pretty please?”

He held his own suit close to his chest as he looked down at you. “Why should I?”

You stepped closer to him, causing him to step back cautiously. “Because I’m pretty?”

“Oh honey, who lied to you?” he joked.

“Please, Seonghwa?” you stressed his name, hoping to break him. You watched his eye twitch as you said it, reminding you of earlier when he told you not to say his name.

“Seonghwa seonghwa seonghwa seong—”

“Okay, fine! Jeez,” he huffed, tossing you a suit, only for it to hit you in the face. “Get dressed.”

You walked into the shack with him, going your separate ways at the locker rooms. Everything went smoothly until you tried to zipper the suit up, only being able to get it halfway. You pondered on asking seonghwa for help or completely turning into a contortionist, but after failing to do it yourself, you gave up and left the room to ask him.

Seonghwa stood amongst the surfboards, his lean body looking delicious in that surf suit. You nearly drooled looking at him.

“Hey,” you started, slowly approaching him as he picked out a board. “Can you help me zipper this?”

He turned to you, his expression conflicted as he saw you. You turned around, showing your exposed back, causing him to clear his throat. “O..okay.”

His delicate fingers brushed against the skin of your back, nearly causing you to shiver. You felt his breath hit the back of your neck as the zipper moved up and up until he zipped it completely.

“....There,” he said, swallowing. “You’re all good.”

He didn't move his hands until you pulled away from him, turning back around to face him. The silence was deafening, so you decided to break it.

“Seonghwa, about last night, what exactly happened—”

“Let’s just get started before the sun goes down,” he interrupted, looking anywhere but your eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

That was good enough for now. You watched him try to pick out a board, but he seemed extremely nervous. After a good bit of time, he grabbed a pink one, causing you to smile. Pink suited him so much, more than he’d probably like to admit.

“Let’s start with some basics,” he spoke smoothly, tossing the board down onto the sand. “Get on it. On your stomach.”

You lay down on the board, looking up at him for more directions. He taught you how to paddle with your arms, explaining that you'll have to dive under the waves sometimes if you were okay with doing that. You couldn't look weak now, especially not to him. So after the little training lesson, you were finally in the shallow water, sand already in every nook and cranny of you.

“Try to keep balance,” he said, his voice raspy. It wasn't the time to turn you on, but of course, he could do it just by his voice. “Keep your chest up.” his hand caressed your back, down your spine.

You looked up at him, his wet hair dripping down his face. You held back, as much as you could, from pouncing on him.

But when you fell off the board and got stuck underwater, you’ve never seen him so concerned before.

He grabbed you under your arms, pulling you back up and holding him to you while you coughed. You were perfectly fine—maybe a little too much water in the ears, but it was the least of your worries. What you cared about was the look on his face and the way he caged you to his body.

“y/n?” he rushed his hand over your face, pushing away your drenched hair so he could see you. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, blinking away the salt that infiltrated your eyes. Seonghwa noticed your distress and gently rubbed your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“Don't rub your eyes,” he pushed your hand away, still not letting you go from his embrace. “You'll make it worse.”

“It hurts,” you mumbled, causing his look of worry to worsen. True, the salt started burning your eyes, but you couldn't get enough of his caring touch—maybe because he’s never shown this side of himself to you.

He took in an anxious breath as he looked around. “Maybe we should get back to the hotel,” he spoke softly, the sound of water filling your senses as you looked at him. 

Everything about his appearance aggravated you—from the way his midnight hair draped his face, dripping with water down his cheeks, to the way his normally judgemental eyes seemed gentle and sweet. He looked kind, the type of man who would worship his lover like a queen, and all the time knowing him, you tried your hardest to only see him in a negative light.

Now, as he held you in the cold, sparkling ocean as the sun was setting, all you saw was your reflection in his eyes and all you felt was the undeniable pull to be with him. To touch him. To kiss him. To tell him that maybe, just maybe, you’ve always had a piece of him in your heart.

“Seonghwa, I…” you paused, ignoring the burn from the salt water. You watched his lips as they slowly parted, his eyes wide as he picked you apart. They looked at you differently, like they never looked at you before, and you wanted him to never stop looking at you. 

The distance between the two of you was nonexistent—you saw every drop of water on his skin, and you were certain he was able to gather the meaning behind your gaze. If he did, he didn't say anything—he only looked back at you with those entrancing irises of his, a look you’ve never seen from him. He waited patiently for you to finish your sentence, but you had nothing else to say.

As your lips neared his, you heard his breath get caught in his throat, and you felt his embrace tighten around you. You closed your eyes, taking in the feeling, hoping that he would be the one to lean in and meet your lips.

He didn't. 

Instead, his hands trailed down your back, the pink surfboard still floating next to you despite being forgotten. His breath was shaky as he touched you, but the moment ended too quickly as he shook himself out of his trance.

“I um, we should, you know,” he nodded towards the beach, even though you weren't too far out. “We should get back to the room.”

You slowly blinked at him, watching his expression stay the same despite the change of mind. He coughed, letting go of you, but then he grabbed your hand and the board before pulling you to shore.

The walk back was quiet. He didn't let go of your hand until you got back to the surf shack, and he reluctantly let go knowing you had to change.

You both were silent as you looked at each other, but the ache in your chest convinced you to break this tension.

Before you entered the changing room, you quickly turned back around to face seonghwa, who still stood with that….sex-charged expression on his face.

“….Stop looking at me like that,” you hummed, your chest heavy as he breathed in deeply. He looked at you with those bedroom eyes of his, half of his wetsuit already off. He looked deadly, which didn't help your desire.

He swallowed hard but tried his best to remain calm. “Like what?”

You took a step closer, reaching back to your zipper to pull it down just a little. You shrugged it down your bare shoulders, making sure he got to know that there was nothing else but you under that wetsuit once again.

And when you got as close as you could, you said the words you knew would be life or death for him. 

“Like you want to fuck me,” you shrugged, acting all cool even though you were falling apart by the second. You were lucky you were at the surf shack at such a late time of day, and that no one else was here except you. 

He choked on air, stepping away from you until his back hit the wall. You noticed how his chest rose and fell as he breathed in, and how delicious it would be to just lick him all over….

“I…” he gulped, but his eyes lingered on your shoulders and the curve of your breasts. “I don't know what you mean?”

You smiled through your haze, mind focused on getting to the bottom of his sudden change of attitude towards you. You reached out, gently guiding your hand down the plain of his chest, down his slim, but muscular waist. Oh, you couldn't get enough of him already.

You smirked. “Then tell me why you’ve been eye fucking me all day, or at least what happened last night, so I can understand.”

He blinked fast, looking from your lips, down your neck, to your bare shoulders. 

“You…” he took in a sharp breath as your hands trailed down his body. “You sleeptalk.”

“I know that already,” you whispered, looking into his captivating gaze. 

He leaned forward slightly, veins popping in his neck as he strained against his judgment. “I mean, you…kept moaning my name. I…I couldn't take it anymore….I can't take it anymore. Every time you speak I just want to fucking shut you up with my mouth for fucks sake.” he huffed, subconsciously gripping your hips as he grits his teeth. “You so annoying, so damn annoying, I can't—”

“Then take me,” you spoke against his lips. “Fuck me. Just like you did in my dreams.”

His forehead pressed against yours as you pushed him further against the wall.

“And how did I do that?” he growled, his fingertips tugging at your wetsuit. “Was I rough? Gentle?” he paused, lips pressed to your neck. “Did I make you say my name, or was that all you with that filthy little mouth of yours?”

You couldn't speak as his lips glided down your neck to your collarbone. He sucked on the skin there, roughly, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and run your hands through his dripping-wet hair.

You moaned, biting his earlobe. “I want you to tear me apart.”

He smirked against your skin, his eyes finally meeting yours. 

“Rough it is, then.”

Without warning, he bit his lip hard as he pulled your wetsuit right down to your ankles, the water from his hair dripping onto your bare shoulders. He nearly growled as you stood in front of him, naked as ever, his gaze darkening before gripping the back of your neck to pull you to him.

As he sucked on your neck, you pulled down his suit with aggression, not quick enough for the hunger in both of your souls. His hot breath tickled your skin, his hands clawed at your hips, and his lips begged to kiss yours as you shoved him against the wall once again, skin on skin. He breathed heavily, his eyes dancing from your breasts to your waist, to your lips.

You gripped onto his hair, staring into his eyes for a moment before you locked your lips with his, tasting the saltiness of the ocean and the sweet warmth of his saliva. Your tongues fought for their lives, dancing as you deepened the kiss. Foreheads slamming, hands invading space. It was all over for your sanity the minute his long fingers glided against your core, his middle finger finding your clit and rubbing gently. His kisses were rough as his fingers delicately touched you, fueling the fire within you even more than it already was.

“Seonghwa,” you moaned against his ear, causing him to move his hand faster with a grunt. “Push them in me.”

He hissed, his eyes rolling back into his head as he pulled his hands away for a moment, only to suck his fingers in front of you before shoving them into you, curling them up inside you. You arched your back against him, crying out as his lips found yours once again.

He kissed you deeply as he made love to you with his hands, his fingers long enough to reach deep inside of you—but it wasn't enough. You bit his lip sharply as he fingered you, causing him to hiss in pleasure. “I need your cock in me. Now.” you licked his jawline, watching him squirm in your embrace. 

His cheeks were flushed red as he looked at you, his eyes looking as if he were intoxicated. “I…fuck,” he sucked in a breath, kissing you as his fingers moved faster and faster. “Okay.” 

As he pulled his fingers out of you, he licked them once more, his eyes on yours seductively. 

“You taste so good.” he moaned, his mouth parted. He then lifted you up, walking you over to the table of waxed surfboards in the middle of the room. Shoving everything off with one hand, he threw you onto the wood, causing you to let out a little grunt.

“You’re so sexy,” he leaned over you, slamming your hands above your head before silencing your moans with a rough kiss. “So fucking sexy, you have no idea how long I wanted to shove my dick inside you.” His words were like gasoline to your fire, causing you to cry out in a whimper for him to do exactly what he said he would do. You kept your mouth shut as he tugged you to the edge of the table, lining up his hard-on to enter you.

After a look of longing, he spit onto his fingers and rubbed them onto his cock and your heat, his chest falling and rising with his heavy breathing. He then buried himself inside you, deeply, causing your breath to hitch. He was even bigger than your dreams, tearing apart your expectations of his skills. You tried your best to free your arms from his hold, but as he moved in and out of you, you had lost the desire to escape it. You really liked the feeling of his fingernails tearing into your skin.

“Ah,” he whimpered, his hips rocking quickly, his eyes shut tight. His thrusts were deep, not slowing down for a second.

Your legs curled around his shoulders, his one arm holding your hands and his other piercing into your ankle. He grunted as he pumped into you, tearing at your insides, feeling him fill you up. “Hwa,” you groaned, back arching in pleasure. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”

He grunted in response, speeding up faster as his hips slammed into yours. You felt him quiver inside you, precum dripping into you without a care. You loved the feeling, you didn't care about the risks in the moment. 

You climaxed without warning, your legs tightening around his head. He kept muttering your name over and over again against you, kissing the skin of your ankles as he continued to fuck the living shit out of you. You started to see stars as he nearly cracked your spine, and right before he nearly came, he flipped you over onto your stomach without ever leaving you.

Your face was shoved against the wood of the table, the sweet smell of sex enveloping your senses. You cried out his name as he gripped onto your hips, moving faster as his own orgasm came close. His lips met the small of your back, his fingers gripped your ass with haste. 

“I’m going to come,” he mumbled, his voice raspy. “Can I come in you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Come inside me.”

As if your words stirred something within him, he immediately moved in shorter movements, his grip on your ass tightening as his orgasm came. His breathing shallowed as he came into you, filling you up with his cum. You let out one last moan as you felt his warmth, and he kissed the back of your neck as he finished.

He pulled out of you slowly despite how rough he was—he could've been rougher, but you didn't want him to think of you as the insane slut everyone thought you were.

Even though you only ever slept with others because you couldn't have him.

And now…..what comes next?

He helped you sit back up to a normal position, and when he saw the dark, purple bruises on your neck and collarbone, he gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” his fingers gently brushed against your hot skin as if he didn't just totally destroy you. “I kind of….went crazy, didn't I?”

You smiled up at him in a daze, both your cheeks blushed in embarrassment and enjoyment. “I like crazy.”

He paused, standing proudly in front of you with that delicious body of his. You sighed in contentment, a lazy smile on your lips. “I dreamt of this. Literally.” you reached out to him, pulling his lips down to yours. He kissed them softly, opening his mouth wide as he made out with you. You didn't want to pull away, but as the thought of you both having sex in a public surf shack came to your mind, you pulled away quickly, startling him.

“Um, so,” you laughed awkwardly. “Should we head back now? We are kind of in a public place….”

Seonghwa looked around, smirking as he leaned forward on the table, kissing you once more. “It was kind of thrilling, not gonna lie.”

You leaned into his embrace, his hands caressing your back romantically. “So,” you whispered against his lips. “We should get back. And this time, you better sleep in the bed with me.”

“Oh, baby, I plan on doing more than just sleeping.”

—

After countless rounds of ‘sleeping’, you ended up waking up late in Seonghwa’s embrace, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder as he held you. He quite literally rocked you all night long, and you even discovered his love for reverse cowgirl—making him come within two minutes of the fifth round.

Now, as you lay in his arms while he slept, you finally felt content. He was all you ever wanted, even though your words said otherwise this whole time of knowing him.

“Hey,” you turned around in his embrace, pressing your lips against his forehead. “Seonghwa.”

“Hm?” he grumbled sleepily, his eyes blinking open to meet yours. 

You smiled, running a hand through his messy hair. “We should get up. The others are probably waiting for us in the lobby.”

“Ugh, why?” he groaned, holding onto you tighter. “ I don't want to leave this bed today. Or ever.”

You giggled, pecking his lips. “Come on, Hwa. I really would like to get a tan on the sand today.”

His eyes were wide open now, but he blinked slowly from his sleepiness. “We barely got any sleep,” he huffed, shoving his head into your shoulder. “And I can't kiss you in front of everyone, I can't wait the whole day to touch you.”

You grinned chaotically.

“Who says we have to hide it?”

—

“Dear lord,” Wooyoung huffed, sitting with his arms crossed at the beach. “Are they ever going to stop and come up for air?”

Your friends sat on towels on the sand, while you sat on Seonghwa’s lap as you made out with him. His hands gripped your face as he stuck his tongue in your mouth, both of you having no care for those around you. 

“I knew this was going to happen,” San mumbled with a smirk, elbowing Wooyoung playfully. “Just let them have their fun. It’s been a long time coming.”

“Pfft,” Woo scoffed, looking at how seonghwa touched you.

 “I always thought I would be the one tapping that.”

“Wooyoung shut the fuck up.”

[fangirl-dot-com]

Alex Albon ft. Lily - Karma

Aaahhhhh, welcome to part 5 of this series! Now this one takes place farther into the season. But, I wanted to publish this series as one, instead of doing separate chapters for when they happened after races. This one is going to take place leading up to the Silverstone Grand Prix! So the July 3-ish (Austria is July 2 and Silverstone is July 9, so the week in between). As of this chapter, reader now has three different couples who would absolutely do ANTYHING for her. 

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love you all <;3 

[TAG LIST IS CLOSED]

“Are you for real?” you muttered to yourself as you looked at your mismatched luggage. You really needed to ask Lando if he could get you some new suitcases with that fancy company he has a partnership with. And someone had tried to get into your suitcase, because you noticed the latch had a few scratches on it. You’d definitely be calling the airline later. Max was right, you should have just flown in with him on Air-Max. 

Definitely next time. 

At least you had all of your luggage. You were still standing next to the carousel when another small bag caught your eye. For some reason, the tag also had your name on in. You carefully grabbed the bag with mesh windows and looked at it. This was definitely not yours. You stepped away from the area and took a seat on a bench. You placed the bag on your lap and unzipped it. Your eyes widened at the sight. 

Inside was a large, fluffy cat. Big eyes stared up at you as you stared back. Your head leaned to the side, and it’s head followed you. Your hand bolted to your phone in your pocket. You needed to call the number one cat-dad. 

The phone rang for a few before, and before Max had an opportunity to answer, you voice flooded the air. 

“Max, I have a cat and I don’t know what to do with it!” 

Max paused for a bit on the line. 

“Hello?” 

“I heard you kid. Aren’t you supposed to be at the airport?” 

You huffed. “I am. But when I was getting my bags, this carrier-thing had a tag with my name on it. I opened it and there’s a cat inside! I’m too young to be a mother.” 

“Y/n,” you could image him pinching his brow. 

“I had a goldfish once and he died three days later.” You were starting to freak out. 

“Take a deep breath.” You did as instructed. “Ok, here’s what you’re going to do. First, does the cat have any identification on it?” 

You reached in and carefully parted the cat’s fur. On his neck was a little collar with a pendent that had a figure of a horse. Other than that though, there was nothing. 

You spoke into the phone, “No. It doesn’t.” 

Max sighed on the other line. “When I fly in, I will meet you at your flat and we’ll see what we can do. Are you being picked up at the airport?” 

“No. I have to go get my car. Someone brought it last night so I could drive to my flat by myself for a few days before the race.” 

“That’s nice kid. When I get in, I’ll call and come over. Kelly has been wanting to see your flat for a while. Something about her promising you that she’ll help you decorate the rest of it? Can’t believe you didn’t ask me.” 

You deadpanned, even if he couldn’t see it. “Max, you display your championship trophy on your Red Bull mini fridge. You have no interior design instincts.”

He sputtered over the phone, before he was interrupted on the other side. “Ok kid. I’ll see you when I get there. Houd van je geitje.” (Translation : Love you kid) 

“Love you too. Have a safe flight.” You hung up and looked back down at the cat, who seemed to be more wide awake. “Hi bud.” Your hand reached under its face and scratched lightly. The cat started to purr lightly. 

You stood up after you re-zipped the carrier. Luckily, it had a shoulder strap so that your two hands could be free to get your suitcase and keys. “Ok cat, let’s get going.” 

You started to make your way to the pickup car line. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people there. You walked right up to the counter. You gave the nice lady your name and ID so that she could get your keys for you. 

As you waited, your mind drifted to your semi-new vehicle. You had finally decided what car you actually wanted, so Christian, Vito, and Max had decided to come with you for the purchase. You, of course, had matching cars. One for Monaco and one for London. Lando had begged you to get a Jolly like he had, but you wanted something a little more classy. 

Your dark green Porsches were your children. 

Unlike Max, you didn’t want to necessarily buy a car that “supported” a rival team. You were tempted with one of the new Audi models, but the two Porsches just screamed at you. It had taken a while to get approved, but they had finally become yours about two months ago. The one you kept in Monaco was an older, classier model. The one you had in London was a bit more flashy with its convertible top. 

As you were daydreaming about driving your beloved car once again, two people had come into the room. And one of them did not sound happy. 

“What do you mean our hotel has been canceled. Yes I know we still have the nights for the two days closer, but not for the next two! Where are we supposed to stay? Also, has there been any news on Horsey?” The man sighed, and sounded like he was choking back a sob. “Ok, please keep me updated.” 

Your curiosity got the better of you. Turning your head, your eyes landed on one British-Thai Williams driver and his amazing golfer-girlfriend. You decided to be friendly, and a bit nosey. 

“Hi Alex,” you almost whispered. 

His and Lily’s head whipped up at your voice. He was able to shoot you a small smile. 

“Uh, is everything ok?” you prodded. 

Alex’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words. When he couldn’t, Lily spoke up for the two of them. 

“Well, our hotel was canceled and we really can’t find a place go figure. And the airline somehow lost Horsey.” 

You cocked your head. “How does an airline lose a whole horse?” The two of them giggled. 

Alex finally spoke up, “Logan thought that Horsey was an actual horse the first time as well. Horsey is actually my cat.” 

Your eyes bulged. You were about to speak when the nice lady returned with your keys. You quickly thanked her before walking closer to the couple. You gestured for them to follow you. Once the three of you were outside, you parked you suitcase before pulling the carrier closer. 

“So, I’m thinking that he’s actually yours then.” You handed the carrier over. You had never seen Alex act as quickly as he did. He gently placed the small bag on the floor and unzipped the top. Horsey’s head popped out and he meowed loudly at the sight of his owner. Alex scooped him up and brought him close to his face. 

You continued, “Somehow, he had one of my name tags on his bag. I’m glad that Max now doesn’t have to help me find where he’s supposed to go.” You offered a small smile as your hand now rested on the top of your suitcase handle. 

Alex now had a bright smile. “Thank you so much. I was devastated when I couldn’t find him. The airline swore that he was on the flight. I guess he just got a bit misplaced.” He turned to Lily. “Now what are we going to do about the hotel situation.” 

Lily got out her phone and started to scroll; Alex’s head was leaned over, trying to see the screen. An idea popped into your head. 

You spoke up, “Well, my flat has a guest bedroom and my car is big enough to hold the luggage.” You shrugged as you pointed in what you hoped was the direction of your Porsche. 

Lily shook her head, “We don’t want to intrude.” 

Your hands waved in front of you. “Nonsense. I invited first. And besides, a friend of Logan’s is a friend of mine.” 

Alex looked shy as he smiled, “Well if you don’t mind. It would only be for a night or two!” He quickly added that last bit. Redness flushed his embarrassed face. 

“Perfectly fine. I think Max and Kelly are coming over tomorrow if that’s ok,” you asked as you made your way to the car, Alex and Lily followed. 

“Y/n. It’s your flat, we don’t care.” You popped the trunk and struggled to get your suitcase in. Stupid clothes. Alex quickly shoved the fur ball into your arms and took yours and Lily’s suitcases. The two of you smiled at each other as you also watched Alex struggle. 

“What did you both pack in here?” 

“Clothes,” your voices sounded at the same time. A smirk was shared as the trunk finally was able to be closed. You handed the cat back to Alex as you opened your door. Lily climbed into the passenger seat, while Alex took up the back row with Horsey. 

You carefully turned your car on, and it rumbled to life. You slowly backed out of the parking space, turned, and headed to the exit. As you stopped at the stop sign, your finger pressed the button for the top to fold back. As soon as your car was outside the garage, the sun seemed to fill up the extra space around your group. 

As you drove to your flat, you mentioned, “Lily, you can play some music if you’d like to.” 

She swiped up on her phone and connected it to the Bluetooth. “Any song you want to listen to?” 

You thought for a moment. What song could you choose and not be embarrassed to death. Lily seemed like a T-Swizzle woman. 

“Uh, how about Karma by Taylor Swift?” You thought that Lily would be the excited one, but a gasp from Alex had your eye brows raised. 

Lily rolled her eyes, “Alex is such a swiftie.” 

It was your turn to gasp, “I say when we’re all together, us, Daniel, and Lando need to go to a concert together.”

“Lando is Swiftie?” 

“A closeted one, but a swiftie none-the-less. I think Charles is one too.” 

Alex also added, “George is one as well.” 

“Shut up. I love that. Go Carmen.” Lily finally took this opportunity to sing. You rolled the dial for the volume and turned it up. As the car flew down the street, the three of you screamed at the top of your lungs. 

“Karma is a cat!” Alex held Horsey up in the middle. 

“Purring in my lap cause he loves me,” Lily say along. You had been able to put your sunglasses on. You felt cool. Look at you, hanging out with adults. If Max could see you now. 

The drive to your flat wasn’t a long one and you got there quickly. As the car came to a stop under the covered walkway, your doorman came out to meet you. 

“Hi Richard,” you sweetly said to the older man. He wasn’t like grandpa old, more like Christian-old. 

“Welcome back ma’am. I see you’ve brought visitors?” He gazed at the driver and golfer. 

“Yes sir. They’re staying for a couple of days. Something went wrong with their hotel.” By now, Lily had been given Horsey and Alex was working on getting the luggage out. 

“Glad to see that you’ve taken Mr. Verstappen’s advice.” Richard smiled at you. 

You scoffed. “Max just thinks that I have no friends.” 

Richard replied, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you really don’t.” You heard Alex laugh behind you. Your eyes squinted at the Thai. 

“I will leave you down here.” Alex looked worried for a bit before Richard started to laugh. “Richard I don’t pay you enough to laugh at me.” 

“Y/n, you don’t pay me.” 

“I know. All right folks, let’s go upstairs.” You took your suitcase from Alex and hauled it behind you. Richard always so kindly parked your car for you. Something about how he didn’t want you to have to walk from the parking area to the door. 

The elevator was filled with a comfortable silence. You quickly sent a text to Max to explain the situation. He and Kelly were already planning to stay at a hotel nearby. Your flat was open to them if they didn’t want to sit in the room. 

The elevator doors opened and you led the pair to your door. You looked over fondly at Logan’s door as you unlocked your own. You would have invited him over as well, but he wasn’t getting in until later. 

Once the lock had clicked, you opened the door and was met with the scent that was undeniably you. The warm hints of vanilla and cinnamon wafted around the space. You were so glad that the automatic air freshener had kept working while you were gone. Your apartment in Nice never smelled the best, and it was so depressing to come back to. 

“Welcome to mi casa, that’s French for front door.” You channeled you inner George Russell and held your hands out wide, showing off your living room. The pair just looked at you a bit strangely. You put your hands back down. “That’s actually not French, uh, Arthur and Charles would have my head.” 

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, but it’s too late to change anything. “Uh, I can show you the room? It’s not decorated the best, but there’s a pretty big bed and closet space.” You turned around to start walking down the hallway. They followed you closely. 

Once you opened the room, the two gasped. You winced, thinking that it was a bad one. 

“Y/n this is so lovely,” Lily told you, putting her hand on your shoulder. 

You beamed at the praise. 

“Thank you,” you shyly muttered. Alex still had a look of shock and awe as he stepped into the room. You think that the big window helped bring the room in a lot. 

“You need to tell me how you decorated this,” Lily spoke as she looked around the room. You rubbed the back of your neck. 

“Well, Kelly helped me a lot. And I spent a questionable amount of time on Pinterest. The rest of the house still needs some help, but the bedrooms were the easiest to get done.” 

“It looks great,” Alex finally found his voice. 

“Thank you. You two are welcome to look around. I’m going to go unpack and take a shower. Did you two want to go to dinner? Or we can stay in and I can make something?” 

The girlfriend and boyfriend looked at each other, silently communicating. Finally Lily broke eye contact and looked at you. 

“If you don’t mind, and if it’s no trouble, we’d like to stay in.” 

“You two both agreed with that by looking into each other’s eyes?” They nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll go to the store after.” 

Lily offered to go with you and you happily accepted. The minute you got to your room, you allowed yourself to breathe. You shot a quick text to the group chat with you, Max, and Kelly. 

Little Racer: 

Hey, so we made it and I’m making dinner tonight  Do you two want to join? 

Big Racer: 

Sure kid. We land in a few hours.  Just let us know when you want us to come over! 

The Better Half:   

Hi sweetie, sounds good.  Are we still on to go out tomorrow? 

Little Racer: 

Max you still need to learn how to not type with punctuation Yep I’m all good! Also, Lily and Alex are staying with me for a bit, could I invite her as well?? Max and Alex can do something manly 

Big Racer: 

eXcUsE mE? Interior design is manly enough 

Little Racer: 

*Blink* sure 

The Better Half: 

Max, I love you, but your apartment is terrible  We’ll talk more about it at dinner  See you then Y/n <;3 

Little Racer: 

Bye Kellyyyyy &lt;3 Bye Max

Big Racer: 

Why does SHE get a heart and not me :( See you soon kid 

You placed your phone down on your charger and got clothes for after your shower. You didn’t want to take long, as there were guests that you needed to entertain. You just stuck to the basics to get the stale airplane air off of your skin. You’d feel better once you smelled like yourself. You changed right after, not caring about your wet hair. 

You were pleased to see the two on your couch. You worried that they might have felt as though they needed to wait for your instruction. You grabbed your cross body bag and your sneakers. 

“Lily will you be ready to go in the next few? Also, Max and Kelly might come back while we’re gone, so Alex could you let them in?” Alex gave you a nod and Lily let you know that she was ready whenever you were. You slipped your shoes on and headed for the door, Lily was right behind you.

You had texted Richard beforehand that you were coming down soon. It was nice to see your car waiting for you. Richard held the keys on his finger that you took as you passed. You have him a quick thanks and tipped him well. He had told you time and time again that he was paid more than enough, but you never listened. You weren’t stingy with the people who were good to you. 

The trip to the store was uneventful. You were thankful that Lily was with you so that she could buy some adult drinks that your ID would not be enough for. The plan for the meal was simple enough. Something that could cater to your, Max’s, and Alex’s diets without any one of your trainers getting onto you. 

When you got back, you noticed an unfamiliar car in the front. You shrugged at the sight, knowing it was probably Max and Kelly’s rental for the first few days. As you opened the door, you could hear Alex and Max talking wildly. You rolled your eyes. 

“Wow, thanks guys for the offer to help with the groceries. Real nice.” The two immediately shot up and you laughed. Alex took Lily’s bags while Max took yours. Kelly stood up to give you a hug. 

“Hi Y/n,” she said, bringing you into her arms. You squeezed tight. It had been a while since you’ve seen her outside of “work.” 

After you let go, Kelly reached over to give Lily a hug as well. Seeing the two women in conversation, you made your way to the kitchen. 

“Kid, your lack of Red Bull in your fridge is disturbing,” Max said once he saw you. 

“Was that a Star Wars quote?” you asked, giving him a hug. 

“Possibly.” He shot you a sneaky smile. By your legs, Horsey had started to rub up against you. You leaned down to pet him. 

“I think he likes you,” Alex said in a sing-song voice. You just scoffed as you pet him.

“Everyone likes me.” Now that earned you a scoff from Max. You looked up at him and raised your eyebrow. “Name one person who doesn’t.” 

“Marko?” Max questioned with a wince.

“False. He texted me early and said that we need to get brunch this weekend. You’re losing your spot as Red Bull’s golden child.” Max only responded with an eye roll. 

Alex thought hard as well. “Uh, there’s that one journalist who seems to hate you. What’s his name again?” 

You rolled your eyes at the mention, “Louise Tynker. Mans has made it his mission to get me to say the wrong things. Like last week he asked if I thought Daniel should have taken Checo’s seat instead of me.” 

Max smirked, “And what did you tell him?” He took a sip from his drink. 

“I told him that Daniel is a great driver, but Christian made a decision to put me in the seat instead. Sorry that I didn’t know I was in the running for even being considered to take the seat.” 

“And what did you say after that?” Oh. 

You exhaled a laugh, “I told him that his microphone might get more juicy answers if he got it out of his ass.” 

“That’s my kid.” Max raised a hand and you hit it. Alex’s eyes were wide at the confession of the story before he started to laugh as well. You quickly got the dinner ready, and before you knew it everyone was enjoying themselves at your table. 

As you picked at your food, you decided to ask, “So do you two want to come with us to look at decorations or do you want to just stay here?” 

Lily groaned, “Alex has no design skills.” Alex gawked at her. 

Kelly spoke up too, “Same with Max. Y/n are you sure you wanted to invited them?” All eyes were on you and you shrank back into your chair. 

“Uh. He can’t be worse than Max?” 

Max squawked in his seat, trying to come up with an argument. 

Lily cut into her dish, “Trust me, he is. He put all of his trophies in the laundry room.” 

You looked over at him, “Alex, you know trophies are supposed to be displayed on mini fridges, not washers and dryers.” 

“Hey! Leave my championship trophy and mini fridge alone. You can’t talk cause you don’t have one.” 

You quickly pointed to your F2 championship trophy in the beautiful display case that was the centerpiece in your living room. You raised an eye brow. “Wanna try again?” 

“Trophies don’t belong on mini fridges.” 

You looked at Alex. 

“And not on washers and dryers.” 

You, Lily, and Kelly all hummed in agreement before getting back to the conversation. Tomorrow would be hectic, but you’d have fun. 

Hopefully.

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost @misartymis @boiohboii @alexander-hamilhoe @jayda12 @indesicivelyconfuzzled @fangirl125reader @itscrzy @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fionaschicken @torchbearerkyle @ineedafictionalman @loaksmuntxa @classiclitfreak @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @luisie @jayda12 @comfortzonequeen @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @inejghafawifesblog @treehouse-mouse

[trashmouth-richie]

pretty sure my thumbs have never typed so fast in my life when i got this prompt from @fishwithtitz

prompt was eddie x you smut + an image saying “you’ve been poisoned” at the bottom of a cup of coffee— i tweaked this a bit

18+ minors go away, smut! anal! biting, squirting, no condoms (don’t do this in real life unless you want a baby and can provide for one) a-to-v (also don’t do this unless you want a coochie infection) this is fanfic so pls keep that in mind, another secret gross thing that happens at the end. voyeurism! (kinda) eddie fucks, like reaaallly fucks.

<800k / eddie x fem reader

“fuck.” 

The windows were streaked. Sweaty handprints pressed into the cold glass, telling a story to anyone walking past just exactly what was taking place behind the locked doors of the car. 

The leather jacket you had peeled off of his shoulders laid on the floor along with one of your broken heels (the other— shoved stiletto first into the vent) along with shreds of ripped black pantyhose. 

You sucked the ring on his lip into your mouth with a shaky moan, the heat from your mouth sending his tongue into a frenzy— making his hips thrust into your ass with such force you nearly hit the windshield. 

Facing away from him, hands holding steady onto the dash, your fingernails scrape down the vinyl in long strokes as your tight ass bobs up and down his length.

“nasty girl,” he breathes into your ear, “fucking knew it the minute I saw you.” 

Tonight was Rick’s birthday party, and when your friends had begged you to come out, you finally agreed. 

Angling your neck to the moonlight he holds your necklace close to your throat in an all too smooth motion so it was gathered in his fist. 

The marks he had sucked into your neck were already raised, and he smirked as he bit into your shoulder. 

“Your boyfriend gonna care if you go home with these?”

Whining at the pleasuring pressure of his cock stuffed tight where nobody else has been, you rub a small circle into your clit, inserting your own manicured finger into your cunt. 

“What boyfriend?” you panted out, playing coy. 

He tweezed one of your nipples between his thick fingers, twisting until you yelped out. 

“Oh baby, ‘m fuckin’ you dumb huh?”

Mewling in response he drives into you harder, faster, joining your hand on your clit until your release sprays over the dashboard. Cries spilling out of you and the sweet taste of tears ruining your makeup. He coaxes you on, cheering you like you’re a varsity lettermen. 

Flipping you around so you’re facing him, he licks up your tears, shoving you forward into your own mess—your back slick with it. 

He laughs a mocking chuckle at the sight of you, wrecked because of him. No time is wasted before he splits your pussy open, grunting when your eyes practically cross, knowing he’s bigger than the limp dick you’d been fucking until tonight, until him.

“If you don’t have a boyfriend— who’s car is this?” 

You smile a wicked grin, telling him between gasps and his choked grunts. 

“Perfect.” 

—

He zips up his jeans— door to the car open as he tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear, looking for his shirt, a cigarette between his teeth. 

Standing barefoot on the concrete, you’re no longer wearing the shoes or pantyhose you wore to the party you try smudging your eye makeup to make it look decent in the closed back window, when he speaks. 

“I— yeah, I really hope you’re not expecting me to whisk you away to a fucking castle or some sh—”

You laugh light heartedly, “Eddie— trust me, I know.” 

He shoves his head through the hole of his shirt, planting heavy boots on the ground before he stands taller than you, a devils smirk on his lips. 

“Dating really isn’t my thing, but y’ might be more of a freak than I am, sugar.” 

You both smile, standing awkward in post sex bliss. 

“See ya ‘round?” you ask leaning into him, pressing your chest into the crisp white of his shirt before pressing a small kiss to his neck, leaving before his hands could hold the small of your back. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he looks down wiping the cheesy grin from his face before calling after your leaving frame, “hit me up whenever you wanna fuck in Hargrove’s car again.” 

—

That night at Rick’s, Billy was brought a beer by a pretty girl with smudged makeup, bare feet— a weird little smile on her face before she leaned into him, telling him, “drink up, handsome”.

The beer tasted different but he was already so sauced he didn’t notice. 

He also didn’t notice a white milky substance at the bottom of the cup, or a message in writing that looked similar to the graffiti in the bathroom stalls at the Hideout. 

Devil horns surrounded the scrawled message: 

“How do I taste big boy?” 

—

pls consider reblogging or commenting! it means so much to writers 🖤

hope you enjoyed the feral-ness ❤️‍🔥

[pumpk1n-writes]

Jealousy, Jealousy Is The Venom In My Veins

➥ in which Billy Loomis sees Stu flirting with you and decides to show everyone that you belong to him {ft. AFAB reader, jealousy, smut, marking, praise, bottom!reader, reader being a little shit, stu also being a little shit, stu being a wingman, not an established relationship}

Requested ~ yes / no | Word Count ~ 1.2k

The media you consume is your own responsibility and I will not be held accountable for your choices. I’m not going to block minors from this account, but proceed with caution anyway.

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid

Cold air lifted your hair off your shoulders, sending a shiver down your back. You’d never been more glad to see Stu’s excited smile as he opened the door, gladly stepping into his house and out of the biting November wind.

“Hey hey, pretty girl! You brought the beers, yeah?”

You nodded, smiling at him when he swung an arm over your shoulders and hanging off of you like a big, friendly coat. You both entered the living room, and you noticed Billy’s seething gaze drop to Stu’s arm. Feeling a tiny bit uncomfortable with how sharply he was scrutinizing you, you slunk out of the embrace and plopped down on the couch — opposite Billy.

You still felt Billy’s burning eyes on you as you downed half your beer, but soon your discomfort was drowned underneath the fuzzy warmth of alcohol. You could see the telltale signs of Stu’s own buzz as the night wore on, his actions becoming even more animated than usual and his words getting louder.

The other way you could tell he was getting drunk was the way his eyes and hands would linger on you for a second longer than necessary, and his usually dirty jokes turned to thinly veiled flirtatious remarks.

Billy stood abruptly, setting down the beer bottle he’d been cradling all night none too carefully. You gave him a questioning look, Stu still talking animatedly from your lap, and he returned a half-hearted smile.

When Billy didn’t return after five minutes, you pushed Stu off of your lap and stood to follow him. He gave you a knowing look and a cocky smirk, and you only entertained the question of why for a few seconds before walking into the kitchen.

You were met with the unexpected sight of Billy repeatedly running his hand through already disheveled hair, muttering the same thing over and over and pacing back and forth. After a few seconds he still hasn’t noticed you so you softly said his name and laid your hand on his arm.

He jerked away like he’d been burned, eyes flitting around the room, looking anywhere but yours.

“Billy. . .” With a tremendous amount of effort, he tore his gaze away from the suddenly very interesting countertops and focused on you. He was suddenly hyper aware of the beautiful way your face was twisted in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just—“ and suddenly you were kissing him. It sent electricity down to the tips of his toes and zipping back up his spine. Slowly, too slowly, you reached your hands up to his neck and he gripped your wrists, kissing you back with just as much passion.

Never in a million years did he believe he would have you like you are right now, hands tangled in his hair and your lips on his.

All too soon you stepped back, burning red tainting your cheeks. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

But then you noticed the dopey grin on Billy’s face, a real one this time, and you blush even harder than before, if that was even possible. “What?”

“I’ve been waiting months for you to do that.”

This time it was him who was kissing you, so much more sure of himself then you were, so much more confident. His hands found your waist and his tongue explored your mouth.

After that it wasn’t long for you both to find an excuse to head back to Billy’s house — some bullshit about you feeling a little too tipsy and Billy needing to drive you home. Stu just gave you that same knowing look and made some vulgar comment that you don’t remember. You flipped him off, stumbling a bit for dramatic effect.

The drive was quicker than you expected, your leg shaking with either anxiety or anticipation the whole time. Somehow you made it up to his room in between stolen kisses, your clothes discarded along the way.

Under any other circumstances, Billy would take his time with you, worshipping every inch of your body, but right now he just wanted to watch you come undone, wanted to make sure you’d never let Stu touch you again. His breath was hot against your neck, his hands manhandling you onto your back on his bed.

“You look so good under me,” he breathed the words right next to your ear. You shivered, squeezing your thighs together and chasing any sort of friction. “Shhh, darling, your praise kink is showing.”

You glared up at him. “I don’t have a—“

The words were blocked in your throat when he slipping two fingers inside of you, thumb grinding against your clit. “Mhm. Good girl.” He smirked against your neck when he felt you clench around him at his words.

“Oh.”

He slipped another finger in and you whimpered into his hair, nails finding purchase against the muscles of his back. He curls his fingers and you feel the knot inside of you already coming undone, and apparently he does too because he pulls out, licking his fingers clean before placing them around your neck. “Now be good for me and take my cock the same way you take my fingers.”

You nod, whimpering again when he pushes in. He allows you a moment to catch your breath and adjust to the stretch, his gaze never leaving your heavy lidded eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes,” your throat is dry, your words mumbled, but he still begins slowly thrusting in and out, in and out.

You whine, clutching the sheets under you as a way to ground yourself, eyes screwed shut against the wall of overbearing pleasure.

He bit you neck sharply, sucking on the mark. He did it over and over and over, relishing in your moans and whimpers every time. He was going to fucking make sure everyone knew who you belonged to.

The whole time his brown eyes are focused on your face, on the slight dusting of pink, on the way your nose crinkles when he kisses it, on the way your mouth falls open on a particularly deep thrust.

“That’s it, darling, you’re doing so well,” he punctuates each of his words with a kiss, determined to show you just how much he appreciates you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, can’t believe I have you all to myself now. You’re never gonna let Stu touch you again, huh?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You open your eyes only to be met with his piercing gaze.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes!” You yelped. “Yes, God, yes. Stu will never - shit - he’ll never touch me again!”

Billy’s hand snaked between your intertwined bodies, pressing down slightly on your abdomen to see your eyes glaze over. He smirked down at your writhing form, your hips grinding into his in a desperate chase for release.

“How do you feel?”

You smiled up at him, capturing his lips in a kiss. “So, so good.”

The only thing ringing in his ears were your beautiful moans and the reassurance that no one will ever touch you again as long as he was around. And he was going to be around for a long, long time.

[cheriladycl01]

All in a days work - Alexander Albon x Lifestyle/Travel Vlogger! Reader

Plot: Y/N vlogging her travels with Alex and how she see's so much of the places that they travel too with the Grand Prix

Credit to the-offside-rule for the GIF

"Hey guys, this week Y/N Adventures moves to Belgium. We just had an extremely short summer break but it was so fun! Alex and I went to Thailand for 10 days and then stayed in London with family for the rest! The vlogs already out so you can go check that out" you grin before you stop to one side in the airport you and Alex are currently navigating through.

"We're leaving a little earlier compared to most driver's. We have to be in Spa, and checked into the Hotel Red Bull provide for the race weekend by Thursday the 29th. It's currently the 25th of August 2019 and we are going to Brussels for 4 nights" you say excitedly before you look over to your boyfriend confused.

He was the typical 'airport dad' boyfriend when you both travelled, and you always wanted to catch it on camera because everyone who watched you found it hilarious.

Currently he was looking down at the bulk of paper, checking through the bag meticulously making sure passports and all other essentials were there.

He'd had too many close calls where you guys had forgotten travel adaptors and were travelling with dead phones or times when you'd gotten flight times mixed up by an hour and had to run to the gate.

He turns to look at you, seeing the camera making him groan before turning away with a light blush. You laugh to yourself swinging the camera back round to yourself before looking around.

"We are currently in London Gatwick, and we are going to go find the Red Lion, Spoons so i can tell you guys about the itinerary of this week" you grinned before cutting the camera and taking your on-board suitcase and Alex's hand walking towards the pub.

"Okay, so Alex is at the bar ordering us drinks right now and I'm going to talk you through the itinerary. So we get into Brussels at 11.30 and can check into our hotel straight away. Then tomorrow we'll be going to Les Galeries Royales Saint-Hubert and looking at the amazing art, and then in the afternoon we are meeting with a friend from Belgium whose going to give us a walking tour of the city centre. Tuesday Alex and I have a spa booked and we'll do some shopping! And then Wednesday is our free day where we going to meet some locals and get a real feel for the culture" you say before spotting Alex coming back with your lemonade that you gladly took from him with a thank you and a massive gulp.

"What have you told them so far, sweetheart!" he asks taking a sip of his beer.

"The itinerary for before the race!" you smile at him.

"Hmmm, you've not told them about the fun day trip after?" he offers making you gasp forgetting that you had major things planned for the Monday and Tuesday before Italy.

"Yes guys we are going to drive over to Germany to Cologne so we can spend time in the theme park there!" you exclaim excited.

"Mmm she wanted to go to Ferrari Land but we are saving that for when we go to Abu Dhabi!" he interjects.

"Then we'll be going straight to Italy! Italy is one of Y/N's fav places guys!" Alex chuckles, you guys had met in Italy 2 years prior while he was in F2.

"Yes I'm excited to see you there!"

*Skip to Sunday!*

"So this is actually Alex's first race in Red Bull, he's starting from 17th today as qualifying wasn't what we were hoping for yesterday, was it hunny" you pan to Alex zipping up the outer part of his race suit. He pulls his headphones out and tilts his head to the side, a cute puppy dog expression resting on it.

"Qualifying, your first in Red Bull wasn't what you were hoping for? But it's today that matters!" you smile kindly at him to which he nods, knowing that yesterday he was still trying to get used to the car. It wasn't like the Toro Rosso he had driven since the start of the year, it was more aggressive, something that was a Max Verstappen driving style. But today is what would count, he agreed with you.

"Yeah. I mean it's a hard car to drive and even with the practice sessions it's still hard to get used to! Spa is also a difficult track, so yeah its just about getting used to it!" he smiles, pulling you in by your waist to his side before kissing you and running of somewhere into the garage.

"It's looking like an interesting season though guys. Lewis is strong, Ferrari is strong, we've got 3 new promising rookies one of them being my boyfriend! So yeah I'm excited for today!"

Max DNFed early on not even completing his first lap, whereas Alex stormed through the grid all the way from P17 to P5 gaining valuable points for Red Bull.

"You did amazing Alex! I'm so so proud of you!" you compliment hugging him as you were stood with the rest of the Red Bull Team! It was a really sweet moment. All of the team cheering for Alex as he pulled into the pits. Christian had congratulated him on an amazing first race and the rest of the team pulled him into hugs that you filmed.

The chaos in the garage was something you loved!

"Charles! Charles" you'd shouted over to him as you saw him walking to the cool down room preparing for him P1 podium!

"Oh Y/N! Hello!" he grins looking down at you.

"Well done on P1 it was an amazing race from you today!" you grin, pulling him into a side hug. You both chat for a little while before Seb comes out heckling him inside.

"Well guys, Belgium has been a blast! I'm going to edit these videos on the plane to Cologne and Italy!" you grin before ending up the vlog.

"Ah you all finished up for Belgium baby?" Alex asks peering over you shoulder wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

"Yeah! I'm excited for Cologne! Did you say Lando and George were coming with us?" you ask, tilting your head to the side unsure if Alex's rookie friends were accompanying you on your two day theme park trip.

"Yeah, they don't need to go home, so they said it would be easier travelling with us!" Alex smiles swaying you side to side.

"This will be lots and lots of fun!" you exclaim.

Before you knew it you and Lando look it in turns driving the four of you across the Belgium border into Germany and to the Theme Park you guys would spend time in. You got there late Monday morning all of you being tired and not wanting to get up at the ass crack of dawn. You guys all enjoyed a hotel breakfast together.

All the other drivers were confused about the four all in very chipper moods and all animatedly discussing something.

They had of course asked where you were off to and after explaining you were going to a theme park. Charles, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel all agreed to join you guys which left them in a car behind you following you to the park.

Some people, like Lando, Carlos and George didn't want to go on some of the bigger rides. So it was left to the rest of you, you all changed seats making sure no-one was left alone the whole time. You guys went to all the little food stands, making sure to get Lando waffles and get Charles chocolate covered strawberries.

It was probably one of the best days out, and you knew that people especially the F1 fans would enjoy the vlog around the park. There was funny moments between Lando, Carlos and Daniel. Chares and Pierre had ended up on a kiddie ride just the two of them. You and George had been sat on the mine train together and were talking to each other in what you could only describe as a Texan Drawl.

"So how are you all feeling about Italy, home of Tifosi you've got a lot of pressure Charles" you smile over at him. You guys were all sat in a Chinese themed restaurant around a big circular table, talking about the season so far and what lies ahead.

"I mean, I felt good in Belgium the car had the pace. I feel like I can do the same in Italy" Charles admits.

"How about you babe, you think you can keep Golden Boy Max behind you?" you grin teasing your boyfriend who said he was stressing about Max and how he wont always DNF in a race.

"Yeah, I mean that car is literally built for Max. Pierre I'm sure would agree with me that its a hard car to drive because of that but I feel like I'm getting there" he offers.

And that's exactly how that weekend went. Alex placed ahead of Max, who did stay in the race while Charles won his second race of the season. It was an amazing race weekend followed by lots of shopping in Milan where you treated Alex to a gift congratulating him for his amazing races.

After Italy there was a big break before Singapore, rather than keeping on the road travelling you guys decided to go home and see both of your families in London. You were always travelling and coming home always felt like you were on some kind of reality TV show, where you were sat down before being unloaded with all the current family drama.

You and Alex would share look with each other, making gasps every now and then and interjecting where necessary. But it was always fun telling them about the stories from your own travels. The stories were more dramatic and chaotic from your days of solo travelling before you'd met Alex but you still had funny moments to report back to them.

And Alex's family always loved to hear what you and Alex and all your friends had been up too!

So coming home for this break was very needed!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416

[honeybadger16]

Honey Badger in the Lion's Den

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader x Dan Riccciardo

Warnings: smut, threesomes, fmm, swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

a/n: Maxiel is real, prove me wrong. Let me know what you think about the pairing, I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Being the girlfriend of Max Verstappen has its perks: traveling all around the world, attending luxurious parties, and grabbing the attention of a certain Australian driver who can't stop staring at you and Max.

You and Max had been dating for two years, and enjoyed every second of it. From traveling around the world to attending the most luxurious parties, Max made sure you were always comfortable and happy during the busy racing season. For him, most weekends consisted of tough practice sessions and grueling workouts.

You made it your mission to help him relax when necessary in order to prevent burn out. This consisted of massages or venting sessions before bed. If it was a particularly bad day rough sex in the bed or shower was usually the solution.

This weekend you arrived in Australia, just as Max and Daniel were doing media duties. You couldn't imagine any serious answers were given as the two drivers loved to mess with other during interviews. Watching the two interact from a screen there was no denying Max's boy crush on Daniel. This had been a long running joke online between fans, but it wasn't far from the truth. Max had been idolizing Daniel since they first met, and considered him a best friend. Max would never tell a soul, but whenever his imagination ran loose, the idea of Daniel on top of you made his pants get tighter. He thinks to himself it's wrong to imagine his girlfriend with another man, but it's just a harmless fantasy right?

Australia had been a total disaster for Max, not finishing the race due a gas leak was the last thing any driver wants on Sundays. Daniel had finished 6th, a respectable position considering he was driving in a shitty McLaren tractor-like car. Max was still in a bad mood as night fell on the racing city. Most drivers wanted to go clubbing and celebrate their earned points, including Daniel.

That's when the two of you heard knocking on the hotel door around 10 P.M. Opening the door you find Daniel's signature smile pulling you into a hug. "Hey y/n I haven't had a chance to say hi all weekend, how are you?" You responded by giving him a recap of the shops you visited and the restaurants you tried- his recommendations of course. Max hadn't looked up from his phone, not in the mood to match the Australian's cheery mood. "Are you guys coming out with us? The club we picked has the best champagne."

Max responds by telling him he's too tired to go out tonight and to have fun without him. Daniel could see through Max's bullshit response and looks over to you for an explanation. You shrug your shoulders not exactly sure what to say. Usually when Max had a rough race, him fucking your brains out helped him feel better. That's when you thought of an idea to cheer up Max. It was risky and could ruin one of the closest relationships Max had, but you were positive it would exciting.

Leaning closer to Max, you whisper, "what if we let Daniel watch as I suck your cock?" Max turns quickly around to face you, turning red in the cheeks, "what?" You snake your hand to palm his crouch, already hardening. You turn to face Daniel who's eyes glaze over with desire as he stares intently at the two of you sitting down on the chair nearby. "I think he also wants to watch me take you in my mouth."

Kissing up Max's neck, you unzip his pants and continue to palm his hard cock through his boxers. Max had given in to the pleasure and began making louder noises in response to your touches. You could hear the zip of Daniel's pants as he takes his semi-hard cock out beginning to slowly stroke it.

You decided it was enough teasing for one night and helped Max take off the article of clothing that was separating your mouth and his cock. He was already painfully hard, his tip was colored brightly red, begging for some sort of relief. You began at the bottom licking the shaft and taking his balls in the hands, avoiding the head. "Fuck-please take it all in y/n." You could see how much pre-cum had collected on top of his cock and collected it all on your tongue.

Max soon becomes confused as you get up and walk over to Daniel. He can only watch as you sat on you on one of Daniel's thighs and connected your lips together. After releasing your mouths apart you ask, "How does Max taste?"

"Like fucking Heaven" Daniel is quick to putting his hands on your shirt tugging it off of you. He was pleased to see you opted for a braless outfit as he began to fondle your breasts, kissing you once again. Max began to notice your hips moving against the Australian's thighs, in an attempt to give your clit some attention. Your hands found Daniel's cock and began rubbing him until he was fully erect.

Max thought he had died and was in his personal Heaven, this scenario only played out in his head when he was jerking off by himself, giving him the most intense orgasms. Yet, here they were, his girlfriend and best friend making out as Max got unbelievably harder. He could see y/n whispered something to Daniel as they both got up to remove the remaining pieces of clothing they both had on.

You came up to Max, while Daniel came from the back. Stroking his cock Max let his head fall back onto Daniel's chest. "That's it baby keep going" You however had another idea. You took one of Daniel's hands and placed it on Max's cock, molding it to go up and down the shaft. Max opened his eyes and began grunting louder turning to face Daniel. The two began to make out as Max was reaching closer to his orgasm. Daniel's lips tasted like the pre-game vodka he drank before he knocked on their door. Even though the taste of alcohol lingered on Max's lips he could get drunk on the feeling of having Daniel so close to him only. Why hadn't they done this sooner?

You removed Daniel's hand and instructed Max to lay down as you climbed on top of him and began rubbing his cock on your wet pussy. Finally, you push yourself down, having to adjust to his size no matter how many times you take him inside you. Riding on Max's cock you take Daniel in your mouth moving up and down. Sounds of moans and grunts could be heard as the three of you reach closer to the end.

Max moves his hips at the same time as yours to reach into deeper and faster. Max's cock curves perfectly into you pushing on your walls as you bounce on him in a faster, more desperate pace. He takes his fingers and rubs your clit, "come with me y/n." With the combination of Max deep inside you and stimulation on your clit, you explode first, Max following soon after. The two of you feel as Max's cum fills you up to the brim.

Daniel grabs your head and brings it down on his cock until your nose pressed against his abdomen. "Shit I'm going to cum." He pulls you off and releases his cum onto your lips and face, groaning as waves of pleasure ripple through his body.

You pull off of Max when Daniel puts you on your back, legs open towards him. Max's cum had started dripping out of you when Daniel began licking at your pussy. Throwing your head back in pleasure you couldn't believe you were close to cumming again so soon. He stuck his tongue inside of you licking up all of Max's cum and swallowing it. You finally reached your end as you tugged on Daniel's dark locks and made eye contact with him. As you rode through your second orgasm of the night, you noticed Max had gone to the bathroom and brought water and washcloths for the three of you.

Still breathing hard, you sat up on the bed and accepted the water giving a soft thanks, while Daniel helped clean you up. The room was silent, but comforting. Daniel and Max put on their boxers once more, while you wore one of Max's shirts. In the middle of the bed Max welcomed the embraces of both you and Daniel. He first kissed you also whispering a soft thank-you. He turned to Daniel and kissed him tenderly as the older man accepted the show of affection. Cuddling up all together the three of you drift to sleep, not worrying about the questions you would receive the next day from the other drivers about your absence.

[vinvantae]

Unmasked

7/16

<<<previous part

Word count: 3.1k

****************

As the new year rolled around, the idea of leaving Monaco was a little daunting. It was another step, another place for you and Charles to become closer and the definition of your relationship was becoming unclearer by the day. You knew you needed to talk to the team about it but you weren’t sure how they’d react to the fact the fake relationship they’d made had started to shift into something real.

The day after New Years, you were flying out to Bali for the final stage of the itinerary. You and Charles would be posting simultaneous stories and posts of you both on holiday but still in the ‘soft launch’ format. Your teammate could tell that it was all taking a toll on you, whether you’d admit it to him or not. With all of the speculation about Thirty growing by the day, you were becoming more and more cautious about what you did - not wanting to leave a bad taste in people’s mouths when you finally did take off the mask.

And he realised, you were worried that your relationship would turn people against you. It was hard enough being a WAG of an F1 driver, people simply hating you for the fact you were dating a driver - but when you’d be revealed to be a driver yourself? You were scared, terrified even, that they would think the worse of you.

“…was I being too clingy at Pierre’s party?” You asked, zipping up your suitcase.

Charles remembered back to that night - you were no more affectionate than anyone else’s partner. If anything Charles himself was the clingy one, he wanted to have his hands on you at any opportunity, run his hands over your waist and hips. “No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?”

“People just said-“

“Who’s people?”

“Online they-“

He sighed softly, turning you to face him - your eyes were a little red. “They don’t matter, Cherie. What matters is how you think, what the people you care about think.”

You looked up at him, eyelashes fluttering a little. “And you don’t think I was too clingy?”

“If anything.., you weren’t clingy enough.” The Monaco native chuckled softly, bringing his hand up to cup your jaw - brushing his thumb across your skin. “But that night? If you didn’t notice, I found it hard to keep my hands to myself.”

The way you giggled made his heart leap, the two of you still hadn’t really discussed what you were to each other but he found himself wanting you more everyday. You had yet to share more than a kiss but he wasn’t going to cross any line you weren’t comfortable with. But he secretly hoped that maybe your trip would be the next step in exploring your relationship but you still seemed to have some walls up.

“Thank you. I honestly think I’d go insane without you, Charles.” You smiled softly, learning into his touch. “You’ve been such a rock for me.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me, y/n.” Before you could protest, he leant in and pressed a sweet kiss on your lips. “Let’s go, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

You nodded and hauled your suitcase off of the bed, the two of you heading downstairs to greet Jean-Luc who would take you to the helipad and then to the airport from Nice. He was a quiet man, you'd met a couple of times before but didn’t know much other than his name.

Charles had originally wanted to take the Piasta but you’d convinced him that someone would have to drive it straight back here so it wasn’t worth it. He’d pouted a little but knew you were correct so didn’t fight you anymore. He helped Jean-Luc load your things into the trunk of the car before the two of you slipped into the back, sharing a quiet conversation about the itinerary for your trip.

During the party, Charles had let slip of your holiday plans so you discovered that a few other drivers were going to join for a few days - not what you wanted at first but your teammate reminded you that you had wanted to get to know the other drivers so perhaps it wasn’t the worst idea. And there would be other girls this time like the party so you wouldn’t stand out quite as much.

But for the first week, at least Monday to Friday, it would just be the two of you - soaking up the sun. Or so you thought.

You spent more than a good chunk of each afternoon or evening stuck inside, the rainiest month of the year in Bali was upon you - something the team clearly had not taken into account. Sure the days were mostly full of sunshine and swimming, but heavy downpour had you racing back inside more than you had hoped. Both of you squeezing on a lounger, you reading a book, Charles on his phone, turned into you both being hidden under the duvet in your pyjamas - hair and skin still damp from the sudden change in weather.

By Thursday, you had gotten more than used to checking the forecast - determined not to get caught out - so as the heavens opened that evening, instead of racing back to your room, you were already there. Charles traced his fingers up and down your spine as you napped with your head on his chest, your dinner reservations not until 7. The driver stared up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts as your warm breath fanned across his chest.

All he wanted was the best for you - whether that meant being in a real relationship with him or not? He wasn’t sure. But as long as you were happy, that was what mattered. Your teammate knew his feelings for you were strong, that he was definitely falling for you and he hoped you felt the same but things were still fresh for you both. Going into the 2022 season, things would change - your identity as number Thirty getting closer to being revealed and he hoped, through it all, that the two of you might just make it.

He was brought back into the room when you yawned, sitting up and stretching your arms above your head - looking at the clock. “Wow, that was a good nap… I don’t know if I’m gonna have enough time to get ready!”

Charles chuckled. “It’s only half 5, you’ve got plenty of time. It takes 10 minutes to get to the restaurant.”

You looked back over your shoulder at him, the driver had his arm propped up behind his head - his eyes looking particularly green in the light that was pouring in from the sun beginning to dip behind the horizon. You honestly couldn’t believe your luck that someone like Charles Leclerc was in to you - he could pull anyone but he chose you and the thought made you giddy.

“Some of us have to put in effort to look good, Charles.” You hummed, running a hand through his hair. “You could go out like this and no one would even bat an eye.”

He practically purred into your touch, preening like a kitten. “Pretty boy.”

“Stop that.” He protested, cheeks flushed a soft pink at your words. “Get yourself ready.”

You giggled and slid out of bed, Charles couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you pulled your T-shirt over your head as you walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. He groaned and covered his face with his hands - seeing you in swimwear everyday was torture, your bare skin against his as you relaxed on sunloungers together.

He was trying to behave, but you made it difficult.

The driver grabbed his phone as it buzzed, frowning a little when he saw Max calling - he always got on with the Dutchman, sure, but they didn’t exactly talk much outside of the season.

“Hey mate, everything okay?” Charles propped the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he dug through his suitcase for something to wear.

“You with y/n right now..?”

The Monaco driver frowned. “No? Seriously, what’s this about?”

He heard Max sigh, he could practically see the look on his face. “Look, you don’t have to answer, but… is there something else going on with you two?”

“Max-“

“Okay, that’s not the question I should ask… and you don’t need to answer but I’d appreciate it if you don’t lie to me either.” Max cut him offs

Charles could his heartbeat in his ears, had Max figured you both out? Has he figured you out? “Okay…”

“I know you’ve got some NDA bullshit or whatever but even just… fuck…if I’m right, don’t say anything.”

Charles didn’t know what to do, he could just lie to his childhood rival but he knew Max would see right through him. It was that moment you decided to emerge from the bathroom, - hair and makeup done. You smiled at him softly and raised your eyebrow and mouthing ‘who is it?’ To your teammate.

“One sec.” He said into the receiver, pulling it away just enough so Max could still hear. “Hey, y/n, I’ll just be a minute okay?”

You nodded and started fishing through your suitcase for an outfit, letting your teammate return his phone call. “Still want to ask?”

He could practically see Max’s jaw clench and eyes narrow at the other end of the call. The Monegasque knew that he was playing a dangerous game - taunting Max with your presence. He felt like he was dangling you right in front of the shark, Max was ready to strike and Charles knew it.

“…look, I get it. I’ll drop it.” The Dutchman sounded defeated. “I just… I thought you’d trust me.”

Charles sighed and ran his hand across his face, stepping out onto the balcony - the rain easing up a little. “It’s not that, Max. It’s-“

“No, no. I get it. See you later.”

Before he could say another word, Max hung up. You saw Charles drop his shoulders as he looked at his now dark screen - you didn’t know who he was talking to but his whole demeanour seemed to have shifted. Cautiously, you joined him on the balcony and placed your hand on his lower back.

“Everything okay?” You asked, his green eyes met yours.

You could see the cogs turning as he tried to decide what to tell you - ideally the truth but you knew he’d do his best to protect you. He sighed and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him. “…max… max knows something. I’m not sure if it’s about the relationship or about you being Thirty but… I don’t know what to do.”

“…maybe… maybe we should tell him.” Charles opened his mouth to speak but you continued. “I know… it’s breaching the NDA but if people are going to find out soon anyway with all of these leaks, what’s the harm in letting someone else in? It’s Max, Charles. We grew up with him. I know I’ve grown apart from him but I feel like we can trust him, don’t you?”

“I’d like to think we could but what if-“

You pressed your lips to his in a chaste kiss to stop him rambling. “Then fuck it. I’m so done with this. I want the people, the drivers around me to respect me… see me more than just your girl, a Ferrari admin, y’know?”

“Only if you’re sure, I don’t want you getting hurt or in trouble or fired, sued… whatever.” He sighed softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I… can’t see you getting hurt, y/n. You mean too much.”

You brought your hand up, brushing your thumb across his jaw - smiling calmly at him before leaning in to kiss him again, this time with more purpose. He pulled you closer, hands toying with the toggle of your robe. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back. “Behave.”

“Sorry, sorry.” His cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Hard to control myself around you.”

“Let’s get some dinner okay? We only have a couple more days of peace before the trip gets crashed.” A soft hum left your lips as you pushed some of his hair from his forehead. “We can figure out what to say to Max.”

Charles found it hard to keep to his word, keeping his hands to himself became even more of a challenge when you showed him your outfit for the evening, the soft expanse of your skin was complemented beautifully by the colour of your dress. He wanted to slowly peel it off of your body and worship you but he also wanted to do good by you.

Even if that meant spoiling you fully dressed.

*******

Charles_leclerc and yourusername added to their story

You and Charles sat in the restaurant on Saturday evening, the table opposite you empty as you waited for Max to arrive. The last few days before some of the drivers had shown up were truly wonderful - your teammate had spent every second making sure you had a good time and keeping you distracted from the pressures of the outside. But that didn’t mean you hadn’t prepared for this, that you hadn’t spent hours discussing how best to tell your childhood friend.

Charles tugged lightly at your hand to stop you chewing at the skin around your thumb nervously. He gave it a gentle squeeze before nodding towards the entrance of the restaurant- where you could now see the Dutchman stood talking to the host before pointing towards you both.

“Breathe.” You whispered, noticing the man beside you had stiffened up. “It’s just Max, we’ve got this.”

You stood up to greet the Redbull driver, feeling a little shocked as he pulled you into a hug like he would his guy friends - with the obligatory pat on the back, before doing the same with Charles.

“It’s good to see you both, you look well.” He smiled kindly, unlike the two of you he seemed totally relaxed. “Have you ordered anything yet?”

“Ah no, we were waiting for you.” You sat back in your seat, letting Charles’ hand rest on your thigh. “Thanks for meeting us… I’m not gonna beat around the bush with this.”

You paused for a moment whilst the waiter took your orders, silence settling over the table whilst you took a minute to find your words. “Before I say anything, you have to swear to take this to the grave…”

“Look, y/n, I know we’ve grown apart but I still care about you.” The champion cut you off, giving you a smile. “I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you, you can tell me the truth.”

The truth. He has figured it out.

“You’re gonna make me say it aren’t you?” You couldn’t help but crack a smile, his blue eyes twinkled at you and he raised a brow. “I’m Thirty.”

He burst out laughing, almost falling out of his chair with the way it wracked through him.

“Mate, why are you laughing?” Charles frowned.

The Dutchman wiped his eyes. “Sorry, I just… I knew what you were going to say but hearing you say it? I’ve felt crazy for months… I’m so relieved, you have no idea.”

“How did you figure me out?”

“Honestly? Your story about leaving F2 was always bullshit to me, I never believed it and then when the stories started coming out about who Thirty potentially was… you shot to the top of my list. I'm so happy it’s you, y/n. You deserve this greatness.”

Your cheeks flushed.

“Can I ask something? Why did you decide to tell me, of all people?”

Charles moved his arm from your leg to around the back of your chair, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze - just showing he was there supporting you, not chirping in, just observing.

“Well, for starters, you were on to me.” You narrowed your eyes playfully. “But secondly, I know we’ve grown apart over the years but I know you, Max. Even as bratty little kids, you always had my back.”

“Still do… so, is it just me, Charles and Sebastian who know? Driver-wise.”

You nodded. “And for now, I’d like to keep it that way. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Any time, uh… give me your phone? I wanna give you my number. Just in case.”

After exchanging numbers and enjoying dinner with your teammate and rival, the three of you left the restaurant- a driver either side of you as you approached the car. You turned and gave Max a hug.

“Thanks for not bombarding me with questions, I’m sure you had plenty.” You could feel his chuckle as he gave you a squeeze. “Maybe another time.”

“It was nice to see you again, properly. I hope someday soon everyone else gets to see you for who you truly are.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Just because I know it’s you, doesn’t mean I’m gonna go easier on you, right?”

You grinned. “You never did, Max.”

Even though he was just one person, telling Max the truth had lifted a huge weight off of your shoulders and all of a sudden you felt like you could breathe easier. He played the role of not knowing very well - continuing to treat you the same as before, not wanting to cause suspicion with the rest of the group that had joined you and Charles on the trip. No one seemed any the wiser.

And as much as you hated to admit it, Charles was right. Having some of the grid and their partners with you in Bali was so much fun, and getting to know them all was so relaxing. Sure, they didn’t know the full truth about you but for the first time in years you felt like you could truly be yourself around people.

Whether it was going shopping with Lily or playing cards with Pierre and Carlos, you had started to finally feel like you were a part of something. They really treated you like you belonged, that you were one of their own.

But it made one thought, one feeling, more intense than you could’ve ever imagined.

You had to take the mask off.

It was time to talk to the team.

********

Next part >>>

Here it is, again, sorry that the gap between parts has been longer recently. Had to add some filler chapters that I hadn’t planned for, hopefully will get back into the flow of it soon ❤️

Want to be updated when I post? Join our discord and then head to #reaction-roles and add yourself to my tags ❤️

[sturniozo]

In The Shadows III

Masterlist

The plane ride was filled with silence. I had nothing to say to Matt and he had nothing to say to me. It was that simple so we stayed quiet.

I walk to the car waiting for us, Matt walking right behind me. I text my dad telling him we landed and are now headed towards the house.

My dad sends a thumbs up in reply. It makes me laugh, it’s so like a dad to send a thumbs up instead of a real message. I shake my head and put my phone in my pocket.

“What’s so funny?” Matt asks me as we get into the backseat of the car together.

“None of your business.” I say to him with a glare.

Matt rolls his eyes. “We’re going to have to get along, you know.”

I shake my head. “Plenty of married couples don’t get along. It’s a whole thing.”

“We’re supposed to be newlyweds. We’re still in the honeymoon phase, madly in love and fucking like rabbits.” Matt smirks at me.

“Yeah, like I’d ever let you touch me.”

“I remember a time when you would. When you would beg for me to touch you.” Matt says as his hand reaches for my thigh.

I recoil away. “That was before I found out you were a total douche-bag.”

Matt laughs and pulls his hand away. “What did I ever do that made you hate me so much?”

“You know exactly what you did.”

“I really don’t, love.” He reply’s.

I just sigh and look out the window. Going up the hill to the mini-mansion my father had acquired for our cover.

~

“But, where are you going then?” I ask as I pack up my training gear.

“Hampton’s company.” Matt says calmly.

“Hampton?” I ask. I freeze in place. The name sounds so familiar. Like a name from a story I was told when I was just a little girl.

“Yeah, they had an opening.” Matt says, snapping me out of my trance.

“What’s wrong with this company?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little small with its contacts. I want to do something more than petty hits.” Matt swings his bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” I say as I zip up my bag.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I’ll still be on call for any hits your father would like me to do. You haven’t seen the last of me.”

~

The car pulls up to the villas drive way. There’s a movers truck right outside with people already moving in furniture into the house.

I unbuckle my seatbelt but before I can open the door Matt already has it open for me. “Ready, Mrs. Sturniolo?” He asks as he holds out his hand for me.

I take a breath and put on a fake loving face as I take his hand. “I’m ready, baby.” I say as I step out of the car.

I hold his hand in mine as we walk to the house. We open the front door to see many people walking around putting furniture where they think it belongs.

I hate being rude for my cover, but it has to be done. “Don’t put that there, the couch belongs by the window, for the best sunlight reading.” I let go of Matt’s hand to order the movers around, telling them where to put the furniture.

Matt stands by the door with his arms crossed, watching me. He smirks and leans against the wall.

“Are you going to help?” I ask him.

“I’m just admiring you, dear.” He says as he walks over to me. He wraps an arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head. “I think the end table should go next to the couch, and put the short lamp on the table.” Matt says.

I nod. “The end table, no the other one. Put that there at the side of the couch.” I point. “Now put that lamp on the table.”

Matt grips my hip and turns me around to face him, his lips inches from mine.

“What are you doing?” I whisper to him so the movers can’t hear.

“You’re my wife aren’t you?” He says as he presses his lips to mine.

We pull apart. “Not here!” I say. “Not now, not in front of the movers!”

“I didn’t like the way they were looking at you, I wanted them to know you’re mine.” He says back. I roll my eyes and pull away from him fully.

The day goes on. After what felt like hours all the furniture was finally in the house and in the places I had asked them to be.

I collapse on the couch, closing my eyes as I sink into the cushions. Matt sits next to me and wraps an arm around me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Holding my wife.” He says, pulling me back to him.

“You don’t have to keep this up when there is no one here.” I try to pull away again.

“The best assassins keep up their cover even in private.” He tells me again. I shake my head and sit up.

“The best assassins don’t have to be paired up with you.” I tell him.

“Yeah, but you do.”

There’s a pause before I sigh. “You’re so insufferable.” I mumble.

“Really, what did I do?” Matt asks. “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

I stand up from the couch. “I’m exhausted, Matt.” I say. “How many bedrooms does this house have?”

Matt leans back on the couch, spreading his body out. “A few. Why, you don’t want to share a bed with your husband?”

“God no.” I turn around and begin to walk to the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Matt asks.

“To get first pick of the bedrooms, what else.” I say before darting upstairs.

Matt quickly jumps from the couch and runs behind me. I check out the last room in the hallway, it’s the best guess on where the master bedroom would be. And I’m right. A huge bedroom, complete with a nice large closet and a fireplace, and its own bathroom. I smile and lock the door behind me. I take off my shoes and flop on the bed.

Matt bangs on my door. “Y/n! Y/n, open the door!” He yells.

“I can’t hear you, I’m asleep!” I yell back as I start to get under the covers and shut the lamp off.

“I can’t just sleep in another bed. You’re supposed to be my wife.”

“Tough.” I shout back. “I’m not sleeping with you, for any reason, ever.”

Matt’s silent for a while before he finally gives in. “I’ll sleep in the guest room, but you better set an alarm for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” I ask.

“The party.”

“What party?”

“What do you mean ‘what party?’” Matt laughs. “We’re the new ‘rich’ couple in this part of a very wealthy town. We’re throwing a housewarming party and getting to know the neighbors.”

“You didn’t go over this with me.” I get up from the bed.

“It’s a good strategy to get to know the locals.” Matt says as I reach the door. I put my hand on the knob but quickly take it off.

“What time should I set my alarm for?” I ask.

“Around six, maybe seven.” Matt pauses and I head back for the bed. “Goodnight, y/n.” He says.

I get back into bed. “Goodnight Matt.”

TAGS: @sturniolopookie @savageking3 @tastesousweet @jko3005 @sturniolo0ntop @cheesesoda @stvrnise @blueeyedbesson @crazycoka @bernardenjoyer @sturniolosreads @mbbsgf @xxsadlovexx @whicked-hazlatwhore @sturnsgirl @keira324 @stuniolobbg @timmyscomputer @meg-sturniolo @sturnioloenthusiast @nickdevora @hearts4chris

[itsgodepi]

If I lose my mind | Ch. 6

Series summary: When life has given you more than enough lemons and you cannot figure out how to make a lemonade, the only way to make it work is to get rid of the whole basket. But was it neccesary to send you to a whole different dimension for that? A juicer would have done the job, really. Or, one day you go to sleep as a normal person and the next you wake up as a Formula One driver. You've never been a fan but isn't it like, one of the most exclusive sports? Pairing: CL16, LH44, CS55, DR3 x fem!reader Chapter: Previous | Next Word Count: 2.8k Also on AO3

It is stupid really, the little things you do to reassure yourself that this is not the reality. You found an article the second or third day in France whose headline read something like How to tell if you’re dreaming: 5 steps (with pictures) —yes, it’s from wikiHow, so what? Your mind is playing tricks on you so you won’t believe the important sources—, and you have been following it like a ritual ever since. 

For example, it says to always check your environment for distortions, that appearances can be deceiving in the dream world. And although it talks about your house being different from what you remember or objects looking strange, being in a completely different country from where to sleep in seems to fit that description just fine. 

Another step had been to test your strength and abilities, if you can fly or lift extremely heavy objects, you are clearly not awake. You are not ready to admit the number of times you have tried jumping off the hotel bed and levitating without success, but you would say driving a Formula One car is quite a remarkable skill to learn overnight. 

The one stage you had not been able to get past had been to consider other people around you and analyze whether their presence made sense or not. From the beginning you have been surrounded by strangers, Nick and what he calls the team, journalists and other drivers. This combined with the fact that you have not been able to contact your family or friends yet, has made this step the trickiest one to overcome, nobody during these past few days being able to really tip you off.  

That is until you saw the fucking Fernado Alonso strolling into the drivers’ briefing like it was nobody’s business. 

You had never been too interested in Formula One, the races and everything surrounding the sport honestly bored you, but that was one thing and not recognizing Fernando Alonso when he is literally sitting in front of you was a completely different one. Your father would kill you if that had been the case, how could you not recognize the Spanish driver who you had spent countless afternoons seeing your dad and uncles cheering for when you were a child? It made no sense. So, although he now wore a different team’s shirt —the characteristic blue clothes you remember, nowhere to be seen— and had shorter hair, you were 100% sure of who he was.  

The man’s presence alone managing to convince you once and for all that this was not real. 

That is why, now that you are back in the paddock, jumpsuit zipped almost all the way up and a smile on your lips for the camera, you feel somewhat calm. You have made it through a third practice and the qualifying session in one piece, all ready and prepared to fulfill your media duties in front of more strangers like this is an everyday thing. No recollection of the hours you’ve been seated in that deathtrap of a car fighting for P15, not a single memory of the other car whose lap you supposedly impeded, no nothing.  

It is not a good result, you are aware of that, but you are hoping to win a few positions in the race tomorrow and maybe the first points of your career. Well, that is what you are advised to tell the interviewers at least, how the car is working great under these conditions or something like that. You cannot remember half of the script at this point, but you had done well enough when you were under the spotlight. 

Thankfully, Saturday’s activities have finally come to an end, only a couple social media videos left to record and you will be on your way back to the hotel in no time. The garage is almost empty at this hour, a few mechanics hanging around, taking a last look at the car and organizing everything they need for tomorrow’s race. Nothing compared to the first time you stepped inside building.  

The media coordinator is running late, the whole filming crew is. They were supposed to be in the garage before you even finished the media conference, taking some shots of the car and speeding off the process so you could have some rest before tomorrow’s race. And yet, here you are, trying your best not to doze off in one of those uncomfortable highchairs near the screens while Nick tries to sort things out. He had instantly gone in her search when you arrived, muttering something under his breath as he stormed out of the garage. 

It is not like more than ten minutes have passed really, but the jumpsuit and fitted clothes you wear underneath are killing you. You should have changed without permission, get onto some nice clean clothes before they came back. What is the worst that can happen? A person made up by your imagination is going to come and scold you? 

“Oh, you’re still here!” a soft voice wakes you up from your thoughts, your eyes tiredly trailing through the garage to see where it is coming from.  

Must be someone from the team coming to see what the mechanics are doing, the men still fixing things here and there when half of the pack has already gone back home to rest for the biggest even of the weekend. You would feel bad for them were they not literal products of your imagination. 

However, after fighting with your sleepy brain for a bit, you realize that you recognize that voice, your gaze searching with renewed energy for the man in question. What is Charles doing here?  

You find the driver walking into the garage through the pitlane’s door, his red jumpsuit still hanging from his hips and his hair a mess. His tired smile is contagious, your own coming to play on your lips as he nears your seat. You try to pick up the things you had hazardously thrown in the chair next to yours, thinking he might want to take a seat after the long round of interviews he must gone through, but you soon understand he has a very different idea in his mind.  

Before you can even react or greet him with more than a simple “Hi”, the man is pulling you into a big hug, his arms wrapping around your waist as his face comes to hide on the crook of your neck. Charles lets his full weight rest on your body, your highchair giving him the perfect opportunity to do so as he stands between your legs, like he cannot keep himself upright any longer. “Haven’t seen you all day...” Charles sighs into your shoulder, squeezing your body tighter as if he was letting go of all the accumulated stress, slowly relaxing his hold after a few seconds. 

Confusion paints your features, your arms awkwardly resting over his shoulders while you try to figure out what the hell is he doing.  

It is strange, the sense of familiarity that his touch brings you, the way he molds himself to your body as his thumbs draws circles on your lower back making you feel so at peace. You try to push all those feelings down with a frown, patting him on the back and trying to squirm out of his hold.  

The man seems to not be ready to let go off you though, simply relaxing himself in your arms like this is not literally the third time you have ever seen each other. Charles has been nice to you in the few encounters you have had and all, but that does not make this sudden invasion of your personal space any less weird. And it is not like you are alone either, the mechanics moving around the two of you like this is no big deal, not a second glance at the situation you got yourself into. 

“Com'è andata la giornata?” Charles whispers after a while, voice muffled by the collar of your top since he refuses to break the hug.  

What did he say? Did he just... speak in a whole different language? It is bad enough that you are dreaming in English..., this is getting ridiculous. Are you just going crazy in your sleep or something? 

“Hm?” you confusedly answer, both to gain some more time to make sense of what he asked about and to leave room for him to repeat the question. Maybe you didn’t hear him right? Yeah, that must be it. 

Charles chuckles onto your skin “Troppo stanca per rispondere?”, the soft graze of his breath over your skin making you shiver, hairs standing on end.  

What is he doing? Treating you like you are best friends or something when you are not even acquaintances in the first place, and while he keeps talking to you in a language you do not understand, mind you. 

The man finally puts some space between the two of you after the total lack of response, his face emerging from your neck so you can be face to face. Nonetheless, his hands still come to claim a place on each side of you, leaning into your personal space without a care in the world around you. You can’t even get off the chair because he is in the way!  

There is a silly smile playing on his lips while all this thoughts bubble in your mind, his head tilting to the side as he continues “Or have you already given up on Monza?” 

“I guess I have” you manage to respond after the initial shock, the high-pitched tone of your voice betraying your nerves and giving away just how unsure you are of what exactly he is talking about. You make a mental note to look up what this Monza thing means in case he brings it up at some point, or maybe you should simply run away from him if he is going to pulls something like this again. 

“It was too soon anyway,” Charles shakes his head, regarding you with such a soft look that you almost forget he is a stranger, his actions confusing you even further “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, there’s no rush... We can practice over the break, just study a bit more and we’ll see how it goes” 

And since you are completely lost in the conversation, you decide to give a simple “Okay” as your response.  

You have mixed feelings about the interaction, the bittersweet taste it left behind coming to hunt you when you spot him the next day. Of course you were going to see him, he is a driver and today is race day, but that does not make it any better. You have felt so alone this past week, missing your loved ones locked away within the four walls of the hotel room, that although his proximity had been completely unwarranted and unwanted when he first hugged you, something inside you started missing his warmth as soon as he stepped away. 

Images of yours and Charles conversation keep playing over and over in your mind as you walk through the rows of Formula One cars, back into your race suit while you get through the mass of mechanics and cameras filling the road. The car is already formed up on the grid —yes, you have incorporated some F1 concepts into your vocabulary after all the research—, the prerace activities having finished a while ago and the worse part of the day looming over you. 

Charles is standing at the front, in that area separated from the rest of the road by white barriers, talking with a taller man that you do not remember ever seeing before. The big logo on his chest gives you some clues though, the two bulls facing each other painted on his race suit giving away which team he drives for. A Red Bull driver.  

It is nice to finally understand the whole color coordination stuff between the car and your clothes, courtesy of the hours you have spent behind the screen researching about the sport. There are ten teams with two drivers competing for each one of them, some of their logos easily recognizable while others —like the one engraved on your shirt for example— are impossible to remember. Don’t know half the driver’s names yet still, only had time to search for mister Carlos Sainz’s whole biography after what happened in the drivers briefing. He is also Spanish, a fact that heavily surprises you, either your mind has made this person up or your father talked about him enough that his presence in the sport has stuck in your subconscious. 

You decide not to walk towards the two men when you enter the area, not because of what transpired yesterday between you and Charles or out of shyness, but due to the strange behavior he has been exhibiting since this morning. Not only him, but all the other drivers you had previously met as well. While they all had been overly familiar and playful with you during Saturday’s meeting, they seemed to be avoiding you throughout both the prerace activities and now the ceremony.  

Everyone except for Lewis. 

When you had come out onto the track for the first time that day, made to walk alongside your teammate, Mick, to one of the vintage cars that would be taking you on a lap around the circuit, you had felt fairly uncomfortable. Mick had not uttered a single word to you outside of the meetings and interviews, only ever greeting you when there were cameras around and even then, it was easy to see how forced it was. It is not like Mick was being hostile or rude towards you, his comments about you always polite and short, it felt more like he was indifferent. The driver preferred to keep you at an arm's length if possible. However, even that indifference felt like a slap to the face when you were surrounded by strangers pushing cameras into your space. 

So, although Lewis had his own army of microphones and videographers at his back when he came over to greet you, in your eyes the man looked like your own personal saviour.  

Who could blame you for the way you gravitated towards him later on in the private area? Away from your teammate and those other drivers that had not dared to send more than a tight smile your way when your eyes accidentally met. On the other hand, Lewis had always been welcoming, a source of calmness that managed to make you forget about everything happening around you even if just for a second. 

“I wanted to stay back for a few days, go to a show in Cannes, but then I’d have to fly straight to Hungary...” Lewis complains, arms crossed over his chest as he walks you to your designated spots on the road 

“I can’t wait to leave, honestly” you confess with a chuckle, surprising yourself with the way you are treating the matter of flying from one country to another every week with such apparent normalcy. Well, amid all this chaos, with twenty Formula one cars at your backs and thousands of people watching from the grandstands, taking a flight is one of the most normal things you have experienced so far. 

Lewis lips stretch into a big smile at your outburst of sincerity, his dark eyes crinkling at the sides “I see you didn’t like France at all” 

“It’s not that...” you try to justify yourself; it is not like you had seen much of the country in this past week either, your schedule tight enough as it is to try and also squeeze some sightseeing in there.  

Would Nick have allowed it anyway? The man had kept you on a short leash since day one, only granting you some alone time at night and even then, he knew exactly where to find you. The happiness with which Lewis recounts his trips around France and recommends a few places to visit before you leave on Tuesday, makes you miss that newfound freedom you had experienced during your external practices in Spain, the taste of that amazing adult life they had been promising you since before you started the university. 

Truly, not everything in this new stage of your life had been as incredible as they had portrayed it, those liberties came with harsh responsibilities that you were clearly not handling well. Are you seriously whining about not having time to walk through the beautiful streets of this French city when you would be incapable of travelling here on your own in the first place? You are only ‘here’ because you are living through the longest and weirdest dream you have ever had, this city does not exist, the floor you are standing on is not real and you have most probably made up all that information you have gathered in those sleepless nights. 

And last, but clearly not least, the realization that for some reason overwhelms you the most and marks the rest of the ceremony: Lewis is not real either. 

Next chapter

___

Author's note: it's so nice seeing you're enjoying the fic, I hope you liked this chapter as well. Thank you all so much for reading!!

Taglist: @purplephantomwolf @raye2000 @yuiiimd @drezzerk33 @leclercdream @homie0sapien @minkyungseokie @carlossainzwho @rewmuslupin @kyuupidwrites @raevyng @lazybot @gills-lounge @hiraethrhapsody @jjkclub

[pagannatural]

2.05 Simon Said

-Dean opens the bathroom door on Sam, saying “zip it up, let’s hit the road,” and showing blatant disregard of basic boundaries that makes sense in the context of Dean raising Sam from infancy.

-Sam had another vision and insists on going to the roadhouse for help finding the subject of the vision. Dean says they shouldn’t be among other hunters advertising that Sam is a freak with a psychic demon connection. Sam is offended. In s1 Dean told Sam they’re both freaks and it made Sam feel less alone, but now his visions are making it too real and he’s sensing that Dean is on edge about his visions and connection with the demon.

-Sam basically ignores Jo. The last time he saw her he was put out by Dean flirting with her. Dean is nice to her but ditches her to follow Sam not once but twice.

-Jo puts on “Can’t Fight This Feeling.” Dean leaves the moment Sam indicates he’s ready and Dean sings the song to him in the car. Most shows will choose songs very intentionally for what’s happening between the characters, and when you actually look at the lyrics it’s very SamDean.

Sam is Dean’s light in the darkness, he’s what gives his life direction, his life has revolved around him. And he’s struggling with a horrible secret and his fears that he’s having trouble keeping to himself. There’s also the matter of Dean repressing his feelings for Sam and trying to be strong.

-Sam thinks Andy is the killer, but Dean trusts his gut that “I just don’t think the guy’s got it in him” which is exactly what he said to Sam earlier about him becoming a killer

-Dean, when Andy makes him tell the truth via mind control, says that Sam is afraid of becoming a murder and “I hope to hell he’s wrong but I’m starting to get a little scared that he might be right.”

Sam is really upset to hear this, he looks at Dean with angry disbelief.

-Sam gets out of the car and follows Andy. Dean knows that Andy can control his actions and thinks that he’s making people kill themselves but his Big Brother pull to go to Sam overrides all of that. Even after Andy commanded him to “leave me alone” Dean is out of the car following Sam within seconds.

-Dean watches from a short distance, and Sam looks back toward Dean when he hears him get out of the car and again when his next vision starts. We get these images of Dean intermixed with the vision to show that Sam is looking over at Dean.

Dean holds Sam protectively and crouches over him. He holds his arm and puts a hand on the inside of Sam’s thigh above his knee, and Sam reaches for Dean. The way Sam goes from big and imposing when he advances toward Andy to small and vulnerable in Dean’s arms is just beautiful.

Andy tries to ask Sam a question about his vision and Dean instantly barks at him to “shut up” because Sam is still talking.

-The vision was a woman setting herself on fire, so when a firetruck drives by Dean looks at Sam, Sam says “go” and Dean takes off while Sam waits with Andy. They don’t even have to discuss the plan, but Dean won’t leave Sam until he says it’s okay.

-Sam tells Andy “You still live in a van. I don’t get it, you could have anything you ever wanted.” He warms visibly to Andy when he says “I’ve got everything I need” and this seems to be the point at which Sam starts to see himself and Andy as similar in a good way. Sam basically lives out of the impala, and he also has everything he needs. Which is Dean. He says “maybe there’s hope for both of us” and Dean pulls up.

-Andy has an evil brother, so we’re in another Cain and Able situation. Evil Brother steals Andy’s girlfriend and tells her that Andy is his, not hers. He also has a thing for making people say everything is okay when it’s not. They’re like Sam and Dean’s twisted mirrors with the possessiveness and denial, only these two were raised apart.

-This episode drew attention to the question of what Sam will become, and to Sam’s relationship with being a “freak.” As a child Sam clung to the outside world for dear life, praying every night and working hard at school and actively avoiding acting like a “freak” as much as possible. Sam fought with John for putting him and Dean in this lifestyle, but a recurring theme in the show is Sam insisting that he doesn’t blame Dean for things. Sam saw Dean being admired at school and thought he was the perfect son in John’s eyes. Dean could be a violent hunter but still be good. So, Sam doesn’t feel like a freak because he’s a hunter, it’s because he feels like something is truly wrong with him, like he’s more like the monsters and freaks that they hunt. I think he believes this because 1 he wasn’t what John wanted him to be, 2 he wasn’t accepted at school like Dean so he felt othered, 3 the trauma he grew up with made him feel guilty and impure, and 4 Dean won’t accept Sam being in love with him so he feels ashamed of it. It’s the only part of him Dean won’t accept.

Reasons 1 and 2 come from flashbacks and the brothers’ arguments on the show. Let’s get into 3, the trauma. Sam was preyed on at least twice by monsters as a baby and child (the demon and the shtriga). Swallowing demon blood changed him and meant that he was marked.

But it’s more than that. His mother’s death was a mystery that John never explained to him, and he spent the first 6 or so years of his life being lied to about what his family was even doing on the road all the time. That matters to Sam. He gives the amulet to Dean in a later flashback because Dean told him the truth about what they were doing, and according to John’s diary he let Dean field a lot of Sam’s questions about Mary. John (unintentionally) gave Sam the message that he couldn’t be trusted with the truth about his own life.

On top of that, John raised him with the underlying, ever present terror that he would be horribly hurt or stolen or killed. John saw danger and darkness everywhere and he wasn’t honest with Sam about why, but he certainly raised Sam to believe that the world was dangerous and wanted to hurt him. One example is Sammy waking up not knowing about the Shtriga, just knowing his dad was losing his shit clutching at him and his brother was holding a gun, terrified. Children can’t tell the difference between being told they will be hurt and being told they deserve to be hurt.

The one person who doesn’t make Sam feel like something is wrong with him is Dean. Sam feels Dean as protective and loving and reassuring. His whole nervous system exhales around Dean. His body knows he’s safe with Dean’s body. We know this because Sam melts into Dean when he’s tired or hurt, he reaches for Dean when he’s in pain or needs help—he knows on a very instinctive level that Dean is safe, Dean will hold him, Dean won’t leave him.

Dean must have been so gentle and attentive with baby/child Sammy for that to be the case. Dean would’ve played the most important role in how their relationship developed early on simply because he was older, and he was given a lot of power over Sam. Dean is deeply possessive and imperfect but the fact that Sam feels safe and good and loved by him is remarkable considering Dean was four or five years old when he started parenting Sam. The warmth and care he provided as a traumatized child himself is staggering.

Their childhood was so fucked up that there was no way they were ever going to be normal about each other, and under any other conditions—basically with anyone other than Dean—who knows what would’ve happened to Sam. They were competing for resources like affection and food and clothing. Parentification is correlated with violent and abusive tendencies, and Dean was exposed to way too much violence and horror as a child to process normally. By all accounts he should’ve been a wreck and he should’ve had zero ability to regulate his own emotions, let alone an infant’s. Instead he made Sam the center of his world and his whole heart.

So. Sam fears being a freak, feels he is good when he’s Dean’s. Dean struggles with the immense responsibility of loving Sam the right way. The ways they love each other Wrong come out in violence.

They save and damn each other by loving and not loving enough, and it will be the absence of Dean’s love that corrupts Sam. The fact that this is the plot of the show and not an insane wincest theory is just ridiculous.

-The episode ends with the song “Fell on Black Days,” which could describe both Sam and Dean’s POV about Sam’s connection to the demon.

“Whomsoever I’ve cradled” sounds like Dean, and the song talks about fate and being blind by wanting to see good. The line “I’m a search light soul they say but I can’t see it in the night” reminds me of “you’re a candle in the window on a cold dark winter’s night.”

Dean is afraid of what will happen if his moral compass and light go dark, and because it’s Dean, he blames himself. “Whomsoever I’ve cured, I’ve sickened now.” A love that corrupts.

[charlie-lec-stories]

Clumsy // CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Sainz!sister

Summary: Charles' clumsiness is a curse and blessing.

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I love clumsy Charles, this story was perfect for this blog. Rate: PG

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Charles Leclerc has always been clumsy. His hands were constantly struggling to keep things steady and his grip was as slippery as pavement on a rainy day. Every piece of food that intended to get into his mouth often did a technical stop at his shirts and most of the brewages ran down the ends of his lips, failing to make it to his tongue. It was a shock to everyone when he decided that he wanted to drive cars in weirdly shaped circles at 300 kph for a living. Charles, the kid who couldn't play basketball because he always loss the grip of the ball, wanted to keep the pace of a car through the sharp corners of the most iconic Grand Prixs. No one could believe it, but they were even more stunned when he ended up being actually great a it. He was really great at it and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the real shock. He still had his fair share of accidents around the paddock, like when he ran into a tyre, falling face-first on the floor while he was trying to go to the bathroom, or when he drove over his own phone with the car because he forgot he left it next to one of the wheels when he kneeled down to tie his shoe. Those were pretty embarrassing moments for Charles, but lucky him, they were private, hidden behind the friendship and confidentiality that characterized his team in Ferrari. But when he thought he couldn't hurt his pride any more, he found a new level of embarrassment.

It was his most guarded secret that he liked Carlos Sainz Jr.'s younger sister. Carlos was his teammate, and Y/N Sainz was a driver for Mercedes, along side Lewis Hamilton. More than "like her", Charles worshipped her. He thought the world of her, admiring everything she did like it was God-touched art. From her skilled driving to her pretty face, Charles could spend his entire life just watching her exist. But his little -massive- crush felt like treason to him, the sting of guilt stabbing him in the chest every time he was in the same room as the Sainz siblings. The younger Sainz constantly spent her free time at the Ferrari garage, glued to her older brother like they were joined by the hip. This meant that Charles had her around all the time, resulting in him letting things slip from his hands, knocking things off tables and tripping over his own feet on a daily basis. He just couldn't keep it together around her and even though she find it cute, he still felt awkward about it. Embarrassing himself in front of Y/N Sainz was his speciality so when him, her and Max Verstappen got a podium together, he did what he does best: fuck it up. She had her hair down, the soft wind of Australia moving it around slightly and he couldn't help but watch it flow while she moved her hands around as she spoke. They were all ready for the podium picture, Max and Y/N were talking about their cars when they were asked to stand close to each other, facing the large amount of cameras with live feeds straight to millions of viewers around the world. Max let Y/N stand in the middle, his arm going over her shoulder while Charles positioned at her other side, mimicking the winner of the race.

"Charles, your suit is open". One of the press correspondents said and he looked down to confirm that his race suit was, in fact, not zipped up. Everything happened in a fraction of a second, he turned around to zip it, the velcro of the sleeve of his suit attached to a strand of hair that was close and as he quickly zipped up his suit that strand of hair got stuck on the zipper. When he turned around back again, Y/N yelped in pain, her head moving sharply towards his chest.

"Auch!". Was all she initially left out, followed by a hiss when she tried to stand straight again. He didn't know what to do, so he did the first thing that came to mind, he zipped down his suit. Her head went even lower as her hair got even more tangled to the zipper. "Charles, you're making it worse!"

"I'm so sorry!". He was about to zip it up again, his face red in a mix of embarrassment and concert for the pain he was causing her.

"Don't!". She yelled and grabbed his hand to stop him. He felt like his hand was on fire, but his spine suddenly cold. He could feel her touch through his body, his brain stopping functioning. "Let me do it". She said calmly as she grabbed her hair and zipper. Her hand so close to his chest was giving him a hard time breathing, he just hoped that no one got to see his blushed cheeks on TV. She worked on her hair for a few seconds, but the public situation wasn't exactly a comfortable space for her to do her thing patiently.

They had to cut it and the missing part was so evident that she was close to crying. She did the best she could to smile anyways and they took the picture. The moment was live streamed and the memes from the fans quickly invaded Twitter. He lost count of how many times he apologized to her, but even if she told him that it was alright as many times, he still felt awful about it. His mother was coincidentally at the race that weekend and she was a hairdresser, so Charles came up with an idea and offered her to ask his mother to fix the mess he made. Y/N agreed and they both walked to the Ferrari lodgings, where his family was. She wanted it fixed for the podium party that night. In the room, she found Arthur, who she already knew from previous races, Charles' older brother Lorenzo and their mother, Pascale. After the proper greetings, Charles' mother took a look at her hair.

"You really did a number here, Char. What a shame, this is a beautiful hair". Both Charles and Y/N blushed, Charles from embarrassment and her at the praise to her hair.

"Thank you, Mrs. Leclerc". She smiled and the older woman mimicked the gesture. The Spaniard sat in front of a mirror and Pascale started working.

"Toc toc". Carlos voice rang behind Charles at the door. "Ah, veo que estáis solucionando el desastre de Charles" (Oh, I see that you're fixing Charles' mess). Carlos stood beside his sister and then looked at Charles. "Next time put some space between the two of you". He said it with a playful smile, but Charles could see that Carlos was being serious about it. The older man was extremely protective over his younger sister and Charles knew that it was hard to pass Carlos' test when it came to being good enough for his little sister. Y/N smacked her brother's arm softly.

"Be nice". She said in a warning tone. "He didn't do it on purpose". She locked eyes with Charles through the mirror and he smiled at her.

"Still, he should keep his distance. You don't need to be all squished together for the picture". There was no point in arguing with him, she knew the hair wasn't the problem, for Carlos, Charles was. Carlos was sure that his teammate liked his sister and he wasn't too happy about it. The siblings talked about it a few times, the older one even offering to go to the Mercedes garage instead of her going to Ferrari's just to keep her away from Charles.

"Max was pretty close too". Arthur added and Charles knew that even though his brother was trying to help him, he ended up doing the contrary.

"Yes, he was". Carlos said in a monotone voice. "But like Charles here...". He put his arm around Charles shoulders. "He won't anymore". Charles nodded slowly while looking at Carlos. "Okay, I'll see you guys later". He dropped his arm from Charles shoulders and bended down to kiss his sister on the cheek. "Pórtate bien, chiquita. Te veo para cenar" (Behave, kiddo. I'll see you at dinner). And with that, Carlos walked out, proud of leaving a terrified Charles behind.

Everyone kept talking while Charles' mother finished with her hair, Charles keeping his distance even though Carlos wasn't present. When the cut was done, Y/N looked even better than before. She smiled and turned around, moving her hair around and looking at it in the mirror. She exclaimed how much she loved it repeatedly and she hugged Pascale tightly. Charles smiled like a fool watching her move around, his eyes going through every millimeter of her face, the way her brown eyes closed a bit as her cheeks went up with her big smile and how her lips looked even more pinkish after biting on them through the whole cut. After many 'thank you's and another round of hugs, Y/N waltzed out the room, going to her own facility to change and get ready for the podium party. She posted a picture with her knew haircut and she tagged Charles, letting all the fans know that everything was alright between them.

"Thanks @ charles_leclerc for the free haircut but please stick to driving. Thanks to his mom tho, for fixing it". Arthur read out loud for all of the Leclerc's to hear. Charles was smiling again, his eyes scanning the selfie and reading the caption over and over again.

The party was alright, everyone was having fun and Y/N was rocking her new hair. Charles followed her around most of the night, wishing he had the guts to ask her to dance with him or invite her a drink. He was too scared, he feared he would make a fool of himself again, the last thing he needed was to step on her or make her fall while dancing. After two hours of not knowing what to do, he found himself sitting on a couch, kind of down and looking at the bottom of his glass. The couch dipped at his left and he looked up, finding a pair of brown eyes looking back at him.

"Why so blue, Charlie?". The girl of his dreams asked him, and he found himself at loss of words. Arthur watched his brother from afar, sensing that he was about to screw up, so he quickly walked to them and saved his big brother with the first thing that came to his drunken mind.

"So, are you coming?". He asked and both drivers looked at him puzzled.

"Where to?". She answered.

"Charles didn't tell you!". He faked surprise. "Next week is Monaco, and Maman will celebrate her birthday, she wanted to know if you want to come". Arthur quickly lied. Charles looked up at his brother unsure of what was happening. He felt Y/N gaze on him so he turned around to face her.

"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you". Charles said quickly. "I was so busy with the press and then we didn't even talked here... I just... sorry". He trailed off at the end. He didn't even know how to properly lie. She smiled.

"Don't worry, and of course I'll go. Your mom is super nice!". She exclaimed excitedly. Arthur walked away and gave his brother a thumbs up, getting an eye roll from Charles.

"Y/N! It's nice to see you again". Lorenzo greeted her when he opened the door. He then moved his gaze to Carlos, who was standing next to his sister. "Nice to see you too, Carlos".

"We come bearing gifts!". The younger Spaniard showed Lorenzo the red wine bottle they brought.

"Wow". He said grabbing the bottle. "With a gift like this you two just earned the VIP Leclerc Experience". The siblings laughed with Lorenzo as he moved aside to let them in. "Maman is in the back yard, with Charles and my girlfriend, Charlotte. Go on, make yourselves at home". Y/N looked around until she found the door to the back yard. Her brother followed her close behind.

"Oh, Y/N! Carlos! I'm so glad you're here!". Pascale got up from the table and walked to them, kissing both their cheeks.

"Happy birthday, Mrs. Leclerc!". Y/N handed her the gift Carlos and her made for the Leclerc matriarch. Pascale opened the little box and found a bracelet inside with three red beads. "Since all of you wear bracelets, we made this one for you, it has three beads, one for each of your kids. We hope you like it".

"I love it!". The older woman took the bracelet out of the box and started to put it on.

"Let me help". Carlos offered. He clipped the bracelet around Pascale's wrist and then she led them to the table. Y/N sat next to Charles, while she proudly watched Pascale admire her gift.

"I think she really likes it". Charles whispered to her. "You choose great".

"Thanks, but you should credit Carlos, I made the bracelet, but it was his idea". Charles looked at his teammate, who was now talking to Arthur and Carla, Arthur's girlfriend, the last two to arrive. The rest of the guests kept arriving, all of them family and close friends. Carlos was amicably talking to Charles' cousins, finally forgetting about his sister. They spent an amazing day. The bottle of wine that the two Spaniards brought was going around the table when the party was entering its last hour, Charles poured some in Y/N's glass. The only ones in the table were Charles' brothers, their girlfriends, Carlos, two cousins and them, the birthday girl having excused herself when the only ones remaining were the young.

"You know, I brought this really expensive wine you're drinking right now and Lorenzo told me that it granted me a VIP Leclerc Experience". Charles could hear the teasing in her whispered voice. "Tell me, Charles, what does this VIP pass include?". Y/N grabbed the glass and took it to her lips. He felt like the wine and her perfume were making him dumber by the second, he wanted to give her a cheeky answer, but he found himself speechless. He finished pouring himself the wine but when he tried to set the bottle on the table, he missed it, spilling the wine over Y/N's lap, staining her white sundress. Everyone stopped talking and looked at them. Charles could feel his face heating up from embarrassment and didn't dare to look at the woman next to him.

"I'm so, so sorry". He said quickly as he tried his best to clean up her dress. He avoided looking at her face and kept repeating his apology over and over again.

"It's okay, Charles". She sighed. "It was an accident".

"I think there's some clothes bleach in the ground floor bathroom". Arthur said quickly. Lorenzo was about to stand up when his little brother kept him down by his arm and shook his head. "Why don't you guys go there? You'll be more comfortable". Y/N looked at her brother who was looking back at her sternly. He didn't like the idea of Charles and his sister alone in a bathroom. Any other day, she would have followed her brother's rules, but she really liked Charles and even though she still wanted to kill him for ruining her dress, she got up and thanked Arthur for the information. Charles clumsily got up too and walked behind her into the house.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N". He repeated while they were squished together inside the small bathroom. They were furiously rubbing a wet cloth with bleach over the red stain but it was persisting. Charles was doing his best to ignore that the dress was up enough for him to see most of her legs and the physical closeness forced by the little space they had wasn't helping.

"Please, stop apologizing". She begged him. She huffed and stopped working on the dress. The temperature inside the little bathroom was going up and they were feeling the heat. She opened the tap and soaked her hands. Running her hand over her forehead to freshen up her face, she looked at him. "You're the clumsiest person I know, I swear". Charles looked down, embarrassed, while she dried her hands with a towel.

"I'm sor-".

"Don't". She cut him off. "Instead of apologizing you should start making it up to me". He felt her hands on his chest and he snapped his head up instantly. She was looking back at him with a smirk, confidence plastered on her face. She slowly ran her hands up to his neck, playing with the hair at the back of his head. She moved closer and Charles felt the air caught up in his throat.

"Carlos is going to be really mad. He's going to kill us both". The last part came up a little breathier than he expected it. She giggled a little, it was kind of cute that he was actually that scared of her brother.

"I'll deal with him, don't worry". She moved closer to him, her lips ghosting his ear. "But first we have to do something for him to get mad about, don't we?". And there went the last bit of self control that Charles had in him.

Carlos was getting impatient and Arthur and Lorenzo had ran out of ideas to keep him sat at the table. They kept offering wine but, as a worthy Spaniard, the man could drink it like it was water. His grandfather would be proud of his alcohol tolerance. Carlos checked the time a few times, looking back at the door to the house to see if his sister ever came out. Carla and Charlotte kept asking him questions and he was doing the best he could to answer them as politely as possible. At some point, it was all too much.

"C'mon! What's taking them so long?". He asked to no one in particular and everyone at the same time. The girls looked at each other worried.

"Tu ne veux pas savoir". (You don't wanna know). Arthur mumbled. Carlos frowned at him. With wide eyes, Arthur tried to make up a fake translation. "I said-"

"Don't bother". Carlos cut him off as he got up from the table. "I speak french". And with that last comment that left the others speechless, he walked into the house. He looked for the bathroom for a few minutes, kind of lost by the amount of doors around the ground floor. Next to the stairs, a door caught his attention. Inside, he heard a sound like a giggle. He opened the door as he asked. "¿Y/N, estás aquí?". (Are you in here?).

"¡Mierda!". (Shit!). Inside, his sister was sitting on the counter, her legs wrapped around his teammate, who was shamelessly sucking a hickey on her neck. Charles quickly moved back, hitting his back against the wall, that was a lot closer to them than he had calculated. Y/N jumped down and walked to the door, standing between her brother and a disheveled Charles, with his shirt half open and hair messy.

"¡Joder, Charles! ¿Con mi hermana?". (Fuck, Charles! With my sister?). Y/N could see her brother's face reddening with anger. "I'm fucking killing you".

"Ahora no, Carlitos, I'm getting the VIP Leclerc Experience". (Not now). She closed the door on his face and turned around. "Okay, where were we?"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As always, I hope you like it!

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Civilian Asset 3.

Polyamorous/femme/female reader x multiple

Summary: Things go from bad to worse.

Master List / Prev chapter

Warnings: 18+, Mild/brief self harm (over-washing), language, peril, first aid/wound care, discussion of terrorism, emotional break downs

Tagging: A couple folks have asked about tagging. Unfortunately tagging breaks my posts, so I don't keep lists. But I DO reply to each comment on each chapter when I post something new. So it's like a hand-written invitation delivered by butler to your inbox.

A/N: Thank you for your continued support! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Barely edited, but made with love. Keeping chapters short for quicker updates, so that Soap teaser I dropped will actually be in 4. My bad.

3.

You can’t think beyond my face hurts and I thought I died.

The men to either side have you packed in tight, shoulders pressing against yours, knees bumping with every sway and turn. All four of the soldiers keep their eyes on the passing landscape and the road leading through it. The men only speak to make note of potential tails, to confirm or deny the presence of new threats.

You left London a while back, and you’re in the patchwork of expanding towns spilling out beyond the green belt by the time you regain enough sense to notice.

You see very little. Fewer houses. More fields.

None of it really sinks in. The inside of the car smells like gun oil, sweat, and a coppery stink you know rises from your own clothes. Your own skin and hair and empty nail beds.

You let yourself disappear for a while. For maybe an hour, you let the static blanket your mind like snow. It’s like floating on the top of the lake, and if you break that surface tension, you’ll drown, so you let it blind your senses instead. So long as no one notices you, you don’t have to exist. You tell yourself it’s just for a minute, just for a bit, just until something else goes wrong and you have to remember pain, and fear, and whatever else makes up your life in the moment. The protective blur stretches on forever, and you lose track of time.

An itch pulls you back into your body. Eyes on you. Someone watching.

You glance up, and you meet death’s gaze in the rearview. There are eyes, but no face. Only a skull. For a brief instant you think of trying to jerk awake, like you would in a falling dream, because maybe the reaper isn’t real, unlike every other horror of the day. But then you notice the cloth beneath the bone and the military headgear.

It’s just a man in a mask, the one in the front passenger seat with the rifle you noticed as you piled in behind the Scotsman.

Skull-face blinks slowly, twice, confident you won’t look away while his eyes are closed, patiently enigmatic as a cat.

The SUV turns sharply onto a gravel track, and Skull-face turns back to the window, like he didn’t just stare you down through the mirror.

The uneven jolts as the tires dip into grooves and potholes drives away the last of the static. And you blink, eyes still on the mirror, trying to come to grips with reality.

What the actual fuck?

Around the bend, a farmhouse creeps into view. It sits low over the green turf, unassuming apart from old leaded windows that make it look too much like something out of a cottage core mood board for the situation. This isn’t a space for men with guns and tac vests.

But the man in the bucket hat taps on the brakes, nods, and says, “Ghost, Gaz: clear the house.” He doesn’t change gear. Doesn’t park. Even now, he’s ready for an ambush.

You don’t think the men who grabbed you were capable of thinking that far ahead. They did find the original safehouse, though, so maybe you should be a good civilian and keep those thoughts to yourself.

The Brit who clipped the zip ties off your wrists and helped you out of the warehouse pops out with a “Yes, sir.” So does the grim reaper up front. The doors slam shut again, and the two move in concert, guns raised, sights fixed on the windows and door as they approach. The man in the mask takes point, rushing through the door the instant his colleague turns the knob, and they disappear inside.

You’re uncomfortably aware of… everything. Your breath. The ants roving under your skin. The two men still in the car with you. It’s impossible to sit still, and you peer around your enclosure like a gerbil in a hamster ball – technically safe but in no control. The wind stirs the bushes at the edge of the driveway, and you imagine people behind them who move like your escorts. Cold. Efficient. And they’re already too close.

Your neck strains as you try to see through all the windows at once, struggling to catch a glimpse of doom before it drags you under.

“You broken?”

The leader, the man behind the wheel, must be addressing the Scot. It only registers he’s talking to you when you find said Scot watching you, too. There’s more room in the back now, but you still feel crowded and exposed in a horrible, nonsensical mess.

And – oh, right, the man is talking to you.

“Hey.” He doesn’t look through the mirror. He physically turns, arm over the back of the seat, so he can look you in the eye as he asks again, and his words come slow to your adrenaline-scoured brain. “Are you broken?”

You flounder. Puzzled. That… means what? You’re missing context. Is what broken? No bones. They didn’t – technically – hurt you that badly. Everything will fix itself in time. It could’ve been worse. You know that, even if in the moment all you want to do is sprint to the ends of the earth, find a blanket, and curl up in the darkest corner at the edge of the map.

Is he asking if you’re functional? If you can make it through debriefing?

That must be it.

And, fuck, you’d physically fight all four of them at this point if they tried to stop you from passing on the intelligence you’ve literally bled for.

“No.” You’re surprised by your own conviction (and how little your voice shakes). “Not broken.”

There’s an actual twinkle in his eye – and really, how dare he? – but his approval and the uptick of those bushy, bearded cheeks is the right kind of ridiculous in the moment. The Scot huffs beside you, but you don’t have the bandwidth for any more smirks, twinkles, or other bullshittery, so you keep your eyes forward and hope to fuck someone will tell you what to do. You can only hop between so many distractions before you miss a step and fall into a heaving mess on the floor.

“Good,” says Captain Fishing Hat. He turns back to the wheel just as Skull Face comes back.

The burly man signals, and as the boss finally turns off the engine, he opens the door and reports, “House is clear. Gaz is setting up for debrief.”

Gaz, then, must be the youngest Englishman. The Scot shifts, subtly ushering you out, and you scoot along as instructed, letting the men more or less herd you across the yard, through the door, into the kitchen. They keep their heads on a swivel, and that doesn’t help your nerves. Not at all. But they don’t give you time to stop and angst over it, either.

You find yourself in the kitchen, guided to one of four wooden chairs around a square table. It’s covered in tech. A black case sits open on one of the other seats, and the empty foam imprints inside match the boxes, cables, and laptop before you.

“Ready, Kyle?” Fishing Hat asks.

“Nearly, Captain,” Gaz replies. “Working on the connection now.”

So, Captain Fishing Hat is an actual captain. You aren’t shocked. Maybe in shock, but not surprised.

But as you sit where you’re told and watch the screen illuminate, a realization dawns on you. You won’t be debriefing to these men. Someone else at the other end of this connection is waiting for the whole story, and fear flutters to life in your gut like a startled pigeon. Loud, awkward, probably diseased.

What if you’ve misjudged all this? What if it’s a ploy? The enemy of your enemy is not always your friend, and the proper authorities aren’t the only ones hungry for the information you carry. Stiffening in your seat, you prepare for another fight, lifting the prickly guard you let drop as you knelt in the back of the SUV, clinging to the Scotsman’s tac vest.

Just as you’re glancing at the window over the kitchen sink and wondering if you jump high enough to break through the glass before any of the men grab you, a face appears on the screen, and the woman says your name.

You recognize her. Or at least her voice.

It’s the woman from the phone.

You physically droop against the back of the chair, gasping in relief.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re going to be okay.

“Glad to see you in one piece,” she says.

“Me, too.” A rasp taints your voice, and you feel the phantom pressure of an arm crushing your trachea.

“Kate Laswell,” she introduces herself. “This is a secure line. Go ahead and tell me what you know.”

It’s easier than you expect. You’ve been thinking so much about everything you need to say, turning over pieces in your head, putting it into clearer words, ordering it by importance, that now it just flows. You lean forward, desperately ready to spill. But just because you’ve gathered everything into a coherent thread doesn’t make it any less painful to acknowledge. It’s like tugging up a string of barbed wire from your gut, pulling it out of your mouth inch by inch. You worry if you have to stop, the blades will lodge in your throat.

The woman is clearly a pro, though, and she saves her questions.

You list names first: people in American alphabet agencies with ties to a particularly violent white supremacist group. If there’s any chance they could be listening, she could end the call and try again in a secure location. But she must’ve guessed something was off when the official safehouse she sent you to was compromised. This time she’s prepared, and she lets you continue.

There’s a bomb, a new alliance with ultranationalists, someone named Makarov. It’s a test. To see if the American terrorists are as good as they say, if they’re worth Makarov’s investment. There’s a promise of more if they get the body count Makarov’s set (thousands).

The man whose blood you’ll always feel, slick between your fingers as you confused the thump of the nightclub’s base with your own pulse, kept his cover long enough to get the details of the attack. Date, location, time, target. He didn’t live long enough to give you more. He gave you what he thought was most important. You hope it’s enough. You hope it’s worth it.

Laswell thinks for a minute, then asks, “Did the men who kidnapped you indicate they knew how much of this information you possessed?”

“No. They, uh – that was the whole point, I think.” You lift you hand, so she can see the missing nails. “They wanted to know how compromised they were before they shot me.”

You say it so quickly it only clicks after it leaves your mouth. They were going to shoot you. You knew that, but away from the rough hands and zip ties it feels surreal. People like you don’t get shot. People like you have car accidents and a few too many fast food dinners for your general wellbeing. But the gun against your head was real. It’s a true thing that just happened, and that means people like you do get shot. Every safe, calm moment in your life looks like a lie, a skewed carnival mirror in retrospect.

People like you get shot.

People want to kill you.

You may still get shot. That’s why you’re in this safehouse with four heavily armed men.

Time isn’t the endless resource you imaged yesterday morning. It isn’t a solid path with clear, expected landmarks with which to gauge your progress. It’s ice, and the patch under your feet spiderwebs with ominous cracks.

You realize Laswell is speaking again.

“- handle the situation Stateside. Your current location is one of my private safehouses. Not on any list. Totally secure. I think it’s best to stay there and treat it as your base of operations for now, Captain.”

The captain, leaning over your shoulder to get in frame, nods. He’s too close without touching you, but no one’s indicated your part in this is finished. So you stay put.

“Rog,” he says.

“The attack is our chief priority, but closing the active cell in England and following their trail back to Makarov is a close second. I already have taps being set on a few of the names on that list.” Laswell says your name, and she clearly tries to soften her war face, but she’s all business right now. “I’m leaving you in the custody of the 141, under Captain Price.”

He gently claps you on the shoulder, like he’s assuming command. “Understood. Keep us in the loop, Kate.”

“Roger that. Keep your heads down. Stay safe. Over and out.”

The feed cuts out, Gaz – Kyle? – closes the laptop, moving the chaos out of the way as the Scotsman appears with a first aid kit. None of the soldiers leave space for an awkward pause. They all have a mission. Somewhere to be. Something to do.

The captain pulls a second chair up beside yours, meeting your gaze with another of his disarmingly charming smiles that crinkles at his eyes. As he and the Scot begin sorting through the kit, he says, “We’re overdue for introductions. Captain John Price.”

He holds out his hand, and you tentatively accept it in a piss poor handshake, but his smile doesn’t break, and he gestures at the Scotsman. “That’s Sergeant Johnny MacTavish, or Soap.”

The sergeant waves with a handful of cotton pads and disinfectant. He points into the corner, where Skull Face lurks. “Grumpy bastard in the corner’s Ghost. He’s a lieutenant. If you were curious.”

No one offers his real name, and you swallow down every question with a vengeance. The names make them seem real, concrete, and you seize the lifeline they’ve thrown.

You make eye contact with the last man, trying to prove you aren’t a sack of potatoes in human skin and have an actual, working brain between your ears. “And you’re Gaz?”

He smiles, reaching over the table to shake your hand in a way that makes you double down on your bet that he’s the youngest. Certainly the least jaded, even if he’s every bit the soldier the others are. “Sergeant Kyle Garrick, yeah.”

Ghost pushes off from the wall and heads back towards the front door. “I’ll take first watch.”

Whether he’ll be watching the road from a sniper’s perch or chilling by a window, you can only guess, but his captain gives him another nod, and off he goes. Sociable as an alley cat.

“Let’s see about that hand, then.” Calloused fingers rasp along the underside of your wrist as the captain lifts your hand into the light. He arranges it carefully on the table, keeping his touch gentle so you don’t feel the raw bands of irritated skin where the zip ties bruised you.

It isn’t like you’re resisting. The bloody nail beds don’t look right, and you’re struggling to believe they belong to you at all. There’s an experiment where people develop an artificial connection to and fear for an artificial hand. You feel like you’re in an opposite test. Your eyes say the hand on the table belongs to you, but it doesn’t feel that way. If the captain sawed it off instead of gingerly spraying antiseptic ointment over the exposed nerves, you might just shrug it off.

The bandages hurt, though.

The pain tugs at your gut, and you rejoin your whole body with a shudder. That hurts, too. You take a deep breath, and your stomach aches. Your free hand squeezes into a fist, and the scabs on your knuckles crack open. When tears flood your eyes, you can only imagine what new agonies they’d summon if you let them fall, so you blink furiously and pretend your eyelashes aren’t so wet they stick together.

As his captain finishes treating your hand, the Scot – MacTavish, Johnny, Soap, whatever the fuck you’re supposed to call him – takes a seat on the table, pinches your chin, and puts one of those little cleansing pads he’d been fussing with to work. It stings like a bitch, and you flinch despite your best efforts.

Still holding your chin, he angles your face up and blows over a series of cleaned scrapes on your cheek. The tiny breeze might as well be a hurricane. It knocks the soul from your body, and you go entirely still, befuddled.

“The fuck, Soap?” Gaz asks.

The Scot huffs, getting back to work with a fresh gauze pad, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “You’re supposed to blow on cuts,” he grumbles, like he’s trying to sound gruff to make up for the accidental sentiment. “So they don’t sting.”

It makes you want to smile. You can’t remember how right now, but maybe you’ll think back to this moment and smile about it later.

“Thanks,” you say instead.

Soap has not forgotten how to smile. “You’re welcome, bonnie. Let me put a butterfly plaster on this, and you’ll be fit as a fiddle again.”

A nice thought, and maybe true for a soldier like him, but every screaming inch of your body informs you this is a lie.

The captain taps your knee, pulling your attention back to the fading crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He lifts a finger and leads your gaze from side to side, leaning in close to see if your pupils are the same size. “Doesn’t look like you have a concussion. Are you hurt anywhere else? Any risk of internal bleeding? Cracked ribs?”

Gaz, seeing your confusion (because how the fuck would you KNOW if you were bleeding internally?) offers some helpful context. “Did they kick you in the stomach? Any sharp pains in your chest when you breathe?”

Did they kick you? You can’t really remember. Probably. It’s all a furious blur of motion and panic.

“I’m not sure.”

It’s the truth, but it’s a bad one. The captain nods as a wintery flash passes over Gaz’s face. “That’s all right. Let us know if you notice any unusual swelling or new pains, yeah?”

“Okay.”

One more big smile – a bit forced, definitely for show – lifts his whiskers, and he climbs out of his chair, pulling it out of your way.

Gaz steps up to lead you out of the kitchen. You feel like a football – always under someone’s control, being run by one teammate to the next. But what else is there to do to, really? You follow him up a narrow flight of stairs to a pokey hall on the second level. There are three doors, and the first you pass has three twin beds crammed inside. The second is smaller but only holds two beds. And the last door leads to a bathroom. Gaz, clearly used to safehouse etiquette, fishes a washcloth, towel, and little bar of soap out of the deep, dark depths of a cupboard too high for you to reach.

He sets them on the counter in a tidy pile and says, “You really shouldn’t get your bandages wet for forty-eight hours, but I bet you feel like hell. Washing up a little with just the sink might help.”

His big brown eyes fix on you, too soft and looking for some kind of confirmation you’re okay without getting in your face.

Are you broken?

Fuck. They’re all trying to make this normal. What happened isn’t their fault, and they’ve surely seen worse. They probably don’t have to babysit damaged goods after the fact very often, though. The least you can do is try to make this normal for them, too.

“Like a bus ran over me, backed up, and ran over me again.” You think for a minute and add: “Might’ve been some Nazgul, or cave trolls, or some other shit, too.”

The soldier snorts. A grin catches him by surprise and turns his whole face bright. The effort was definitely worth it.

“Tolkien? I like it.” As he moves out of the bathroom, he points at the smaller bedroom. “Take whatever bed in there you want. Since one of us will be on watch, we probably won’t need the other one. Give you a bit of privacy. Try to get some rest, yeah?”

You can’t imagine how you’ll fall asleep, but you act like his suggestion is as reasonable as it sounds.

“Of course.”

He leaves you alone.

You soak the washcloth in tepid water and peel off your shirt. There’s a countdown of little tasks in your head, ways to delay the inevitable. How long can you linger over the soap and cheap terrycloth? What if you just lock the door and keep wake sitting on the cold floor?

Then you notice your reflection.

You haven’t thought about what you look like. It’s less your face staring back and more a collection of hurts, and you struggle to find yourself through the bruises and bandages.

Everything aches, throbs, or stings. You’re so scared you want to smash your head into the counter just in case it’s like in the movies, and time rewinds, letting you wake up in bed at the hostel with a clear head and free day to play tourist. You know how to do that. Always going, doing, seeing. Always a task, a plan, an idea.

Now your hands are empty – apart from that one fucking piece of glitter you can’t get off between your thumb and forefinger. It winks in the light, and you scrub at it in a frenzy. You clean everything in a rush, too rough with your bruises, but you’re on the verge of a breakdown, and you don’t want to fall apart in anything resembling a public space.

It’s all been too much for too long.

You open the door carefully, peek up and down the hall, wary of minding eyes. Then you nearly trip over your own feet getting into the smaller bedroom.

Door shut.

Shoes off.

Everything else stays on, every layer between you and the world outside a blessing as you bury yourself alive under a stiff, scratchy blanket that probably came from a secondhand shop two decades ago. Your breath catches when you breathe in, like you’re choking on the stuff you need to live. The air bubbles out in gasps. Painful. On the verge of sobs. But that would be too loud. You must be quiet and still or something awful will find you again.

It's a good thing tears are silent. You soak the flat pillow with them, hiding in the dark under the covers.

Impossibly, you do sleep. It takes a while, but your body screams for rest, and it pulls you deep as you cry yourself out into nightmares of voices arguing just behind your head, and eyes that send beams of light around shadowed walls.

[hee0soo]

Ambassador of the Heart

PAIRING — Kim Hongjoong x afab!ModelReader

SUMMARY — An encounter at the Balmain Winter Show 2023 leaves you flustered...

GENRE — FashionAU

WARNINGS — none?, maybe racism if you squint

WORD COUNT — 1.3k

~Part 2~

March 2023

As a close friend of Oliver Rousteing and House Ambassador of Balmain Paris, it was a given that you were going to attend the presentation of the Balmain Homme 2023 Fall/Winter collection.

Excited to see what the head designer had come up with you were sitting in your hotel room, waiting for your stylist to put the final touches of make up on your face. The shimmery black and white dress which was put on a hanger, almost calling for you and you couldn´t wait to see it on your body.

The garment was a special creation from Oliver, gifted to you for your birthday not to long ago and so far, you had not had the chance to show it off, making this the perfect occasion to show once more why you were one of the faces of Balmain Paris!

“Aaand, you are done! The only thing missing is the dress!” Juliana said, gluing one last sliver rhinestone to the inner corner of your eyes to give them a little extra sparkle.

You looked in the mirror, baffled by how much a single gem could change the entire look.

“Thank you Juli, It looks amazing as always!”

Putting down the tweezers, the woman handed you the dress to change into, helping you zip it up and fix your hair one last time.

“It was my pleasure dear and now go and get your shoes. You got a show to attend!” she said, smiling proudly at the sight of her work.

The security guard hired for your safety, was standing outside the door, already waiting to escort you to the car.

What you were not expecting however, was the company he already had!

The blonde man, dressed in black velvet, with sun glasses sitting in his perfectly styled hair, looked at you curiously before saying something to, who you guessed was his manager in a language foreign to your ears.

“Mademoiselle! It is an honor to work for you while you are staying here in Paris! My team and I will be with you and Monsieur Kim for as long as you need us! Outside, there are 2 cars waiting for you. Mademoiselle, you will take the first one and Monsieur, the second one will be yours.”

So he would also be going to the presentation?

Having received an understanding nod from the both of you, the guard ushered you into the elevator and into the lobby.

You could hear the screaming of fans from where you waited for the securities go ahead which came just a few moments later.

Bowing your head ever so slightly to the good looking stranger, you said your goodbyes and went straight to your assigned car. The chance of getting to know the man who would be taking the second car, very slim, if not nonexistent!

It was sad if you thought about it. He seemed nice and you didn´t have many real friends as your job didn´t allow you to let your guard down with most people you met.

You always had to be careful of who you let into your life, too scared of getting used for the status you had as one of the most reputable models the fashion world had to offer!

The drive wasn´t very long and you once more were glad that your agent had picked a hotel close to your destination. The thought of you becoming motion sick, sending a shudder of disgust and horror down your back!

A soft sigh escaped your lips, eyes following the beautiful scenery of Paris.

“You´ve always loved France,” the manager teased.

“Why wouldn´t I? It´s a beautifully country,” was your answer, eyes locked on the man in the passenger seat.

The car was filled with comforting silence, thoughts drifting back to the handsome man that you had met in front of your hotel room.

“Who was that?”

The question has slipped out from between your lips before you could stop it.

“Who do you mean?”

“The man in the other car,”

You could see your manager shake his head. A scoff leaving his mouth.

“Nobody really. I think he is part of a Korean boy band or something, I honestly don´t think anybody really knows him.”

Something about the words spoken and the tone he used irked you greatly. It seemed that your manager was not really a fan of the other but you didn´t know why.

To you it had not seemed like he was as unknown as the man in the front seat made him out to be and from the very short interaction in the hotel hallway, he seemed like a good man.

You only hummed, not wanting to seem rude.

When the car pulled into the driveway and came to a halt in front of Hotel Place Vendôme, where the event took place, you registered how many young girls had come to wait in front of the venue this time around.

You didn´t mind and instead enjoyed the screaming and shouts you received as soon as you got out of the car.

Waving at the crowd, you made your way inside, barely noticing the noise from outside pick up just the slightest bit as the next guest arrived.

Meeting all the other guests, greeting everyone and taking pictures was something you knew a lot of your coworkers and fellow people of interest saw as a chore, brought you more and more joy the longer you spend in their company.

It gave you a sense of comfort to know that the attention of the night would not be solely on you!

You made another pose for the camera, playing with it as if it were a toy before waving one last time.

The presentation began and ended without a hitch.

In a quiet corner, Juliana touched up the makeup on your face and fixed your hair.

“Y/n my dear! Come join me!” came an accented voice from a little further away.

Your head whipped around at the mention of your name.

Oliver was standing there in all his glory, waving at you with a bright glint in his eyes.

“You can go,” Juliana patted you on the back only to step back and start a conversation with your manager who looked a little annoyed by the commotion around him.

Oliver met you half way, engulfing you in his arms.

“I missed you dear! How have you been?” He asked, genuinely interested in your well being and cupped your cheeks in his hands. You were used to the affection he liked to show you so this was nothing new.

“I´m fine, thank you for asking. The presentation was amazing as always, your work always amazes me!”

The tall man waved the compliment of and stepped away.

“Don´t try to flatter me you little devil! And now come, I’d like you to meet someone!”

Letting him take your hand, you followed.

“Y/n, this is Kim Hongjoong! Monsieur Hongjoong, this is my good friend y/n y/l/n.”

Now able to put a name to the stranger from your hotel, you watched as the man, Hongjoong, bowed his head and took your offered hand. Even if a little awkward, the other seemed genuinely happy to meet you properly.

“It is, nice, to meet you y/n! You look, lovely?”

You didn´t know what you had expected him to sound like but not like this. 

His voice was higher pitched than you thought but soft and clear at the same time. It was very pleasant on the ears if you were honest. The slight stutter and accent making it more endearing than you would like to admit!

“It´s nice to meet you too!”

You said, letting go of his hand and sounding a little breathless as you were still stunned by the beauty this man radiated.

His eyes lingered on you for another few seconds, smile never slipping from his lips before the moment got cut short by one of the photographers asking for a picture of the 3 of you.

It was almost like you were getting ripped out of a trance and you had to stop yourself from flinching in surprise at the sudden question by the man with the camera.

The pictures were snapped and you added searching for this picture to your to-do list for later.

[midnightnautilus]

Hatchetfield dashboard simulator

————-

🧸 hatchetfieldtoyzone Follow

Come into Toy Zone and save big on all our newest items!

Just…don’t buy them all please you know who you are - Mod L

🐿️ #1sugiestan Follow

I don’t know what you’re talking about 😄😊✨

🧸 hatchetfieldtoyzone Follow

dude you’re one of our only followers im serious I know it’s you

25 Notes

☄️ hellyeahspace Follow

“my star sign makes me this” “my birthday makes me that”

Assign yourself with whatever Pokémon you wanna be. rules were made to be broken

🎸 breakingthelauter Follow

Hell yeah OP you’re so confident

👾 tumblrsfavoriteweeb Follow

THE MAYOR’S DAUGHTER?

256 Notes

⚓️ the-real-linda-monroe Follow

All right, a little notice for all of you.

Yes, I am the ACTUAL Linda Monroe, President of the Hatchetfield Boating Society. This account will be primarily used to keep track of my gorgeous sons and not to associate with the rest of you rabble. If anyone harms a hair on their head I’m suing you out of existence 😇✨👍👌

👨‍⚖️ garygoldsteinattorneyatlaw Follow

You’ll be faced with ME, Tumblr!

⚓️ the-real-linda-monroe Follow

Jesus Christ Gary you’re here too?

43 Notes

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

god they never tell you how tiring truck driving is. like yeah i could just “zip zap zop here are your products” but no for some reason im driving this big fucking tanker down the highway. good thing im basically dead and dont need to take a piss every 2 hours. how do yall do it? well at least you wont be doing it much longer, yeah?

✨ imintofortnite Follow

op. op are you /srs or /j

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

Are those words? I never learned the lingo. you keep your secrets.

🦅 fighting4america Follow

Wilbur, I know this is you. You can’t hide any longer. Please, stop this before everyone gets in serious danger

🍏 ihaveinfinityalternateaccounts Follow

oh look who it is mutuals! that’s a thing you say yeah? John how dare you come onto my turf XD

I’m RATIOING you John and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT

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I feel like we just walked in on two dramatic exes who have no idea how tumblr works

3,678 Notes