#americans you don't know how good u have it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

disneyprincemuke · 4 months

Text

of drunk regrets * fem!driver

the morning after vegas

what does one do when you have no recollection of getting married?

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver, mick schumacher x fem!driver

notes: hi late update and that’s because i was crocheting the entire day lol

(series masterlist)

she hums turning around, her arm landing on something solid instead of a soft pillow. she opens an eye, flinching back when her eyes land on someone’s clothed back, then groans when nausea slowly hits her.

“who the fuck is this?”

the person next to her hums. they left their head before dropping it back into the pillow. “mm.”

she looks around to the best of her ability, snorting when she realises that amidst all her drunken antics from the night before, they didn’t even end up on the bed. they’re sleeping on the carpeted floor of her hotel room.

she lifts her head, ignoring the nausea hitting her all at once. the bed is empty.

a hand comes up to nurse her head, looking down at the body lying next to her with the blanket draped over their shoulder loosely. she brought somebody back to her hotel room with her? now that’s just a tabloid rumour waiting to blow up in her face when she opens up her phone.

she leans forward, wobbling slightly, as she tries to get a glimpse of their face. her eyes widen, landing a smack on their shoulder with some force. "what the hell are you doing here?"

"don't hit me, i'm trying to sleep."

"mick! you're in my hotel room!"

"what?" blue eyes are exposed to the dim lights of the room, disappearing once more when mick shuts his eyes. "what am i doing here?"

"how would i know?" she sighs, slowly lying back down on the ground. "i don't remember anything."

"we didn't do anything... did we?"

she looks down at herself, surprisingly dressed in her pyjamas without any recollection of even making it back into her hotel room in the first place. "i hope not."

"you hope?" mick cries, shaking his head in dismay. "this is not good."

"give me a second. i need to think," she sighs, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. "start thinking. do you remember anything from last night?"

mick also sighs, simply shaking his head. he pulls the blanket over his body and snuggles back into his pillow. "no, but wake me up when you've figured it out. i'm really hungover right now, mate."

"really? you don't think i am?"

"i'm sure you are, but– what the hell is this on my finger? when did i get a mood ring?"

"you have a mood ring?" there's a momentary pause. "oh, look. i've got one too. when did i–"

they both sit up hurriedly, hissing in pain as they point at each other with a loud gasp. "no! are you serious? did we really do that? when did we even have the time to do that?"

mick cries. "my mother is going to kill me."

"mine will kill me – i'm barely 21, mick!"

"i'm going to american jail! you're not even legal here!" he rubs his eyes. “i don’t wanna go to jail here!”

she scrambles around for her phone, eyes widening at her notifications.

SUPERMAX you and mick???

RATSELL what's ur ig post about m8?

LOWGAN when u wake up, there's a cup of water and an advil on the bedside for u also, check ur instagram

PASTRY you did the funniest thing last night.

LILLIES thanks for the free pizza wish i could've been there for the actual ceremony though? it's ok, maybe at your next wedding

ALBONO please tell me you didn't

LAW SON i think u may have sent logan over the edge cuz wtf is bro doing in my hotel room ranting to charlotte and i at 5am

MICKEY ur asleep rn i can't sleep when do u think we should renew our vows??? oh no we got married!??!??!

BLYTHE mate u got married without me in attendance??? not saying i'm offended but like seriously?

THE BETTER SARGEANT who u married to? if it's logan istg omg is it mick? i saw ur instagram

LANCE

congrats!!!

if i’d known sooner, i’d have bought you a wedding gift before landing in vegas

i’ll get one before the last race i promise

SEBASTIAN ur very funny, do u know that? text me when ur up, we should talk

MUMMY wowww let me know what wedding gift to get you you grow up so fast, my love

PAPA what is all this ruckus i'm hearing between mum and blythe about you getting married? call me.

KRISTEN (PR) team meeting asap. bring the schumacher.

she glances at mick. "my dad's going to kill you."

mick turns to her, shoulders slumped with his eyes widened in panic. "i really really hope my mother gets to me first." he shakes his head and pats around the ground for his phone. "you know what? i'll just tell her myself."

“don’t bother,” she scoffs, lying back down in the pillow sprawled on the floor. “i vividly remember you calling gina when we were getting pizza that you married me in vegas.”

kristen chews on the inside of her cheek, scanning the group around her. "what is this? i only told you to bring mick."

the girl takes off the sunglasses on her face and sighs. "you think i didn't try telling them off? is this your first time meeting these losers? i– listen, i'm too hungover to tell them off, kristen."

"please let us stay?" max smiles, batting his eyelashes at the older woman. "i promise we'll be quiet. i'm just curious over the events of last night."

"so am i," kristen points out in a soft voice, moving her eyes over the pair seated on the couch on the other side of her table. at that point, they are the least of her concerns. "do you know the pr nightmare you just caused over a couple of drinks? do you have any idea the reckless thing you just did?"

"please don't shout," she says softly, eyes closing. "it was stupid, we know. in my defense–"

"they shouldn't have even let us in the chapel in the first place in that state," mick sighs, shaking his head disapprovingly. “so technically, whose fault is it, really?”

“both of yours for even coming up with the stupid idea in the first place!” logan screams, pointing at them in frustration. “you made a bad decision!”

kristen glances at logan, shooting him a side eye for disrupting her meeting. when logan shrugs, she simply looks back at the married pair her seats. “you’re not even 21! you did this in america too! god!”

“and they shouldn’t have permitted it knowing that i wasn’t 21!” the young girl shrieks, immediately defending herself. this is a hill she is willing to die on. “let’s focus more on the fact that they let two drunk idiots get married instead of the fact that i thought of it.”

“you came up with that idea?” max throws his head back, hissing softly as he shook his head. “why am i not surprised?”

“right? you have to tell her how stupid she is for this,” logan rambles in frustration. “seriously! you couldn’t go one year without making a stupid decision?

she rolls her eyes, glancing at mick from the side of her eyes. he flashes her an apologetic grin and she shrugs with another eye roll in response.

“i mean, you’re an adult. you can do whatever you want, but do you know how legally exhausting the entire process will be from here on out?” max continues, throwing his arms in the air. “knowing you, you won’t like it! there’s a lot of papers to sign!”

“and paper work to read!” logan adds on. “seriously!”

“god, (y/n), how could you be so stu–“

“i came up with the idea,” mick speaks out, turning to max and logan with a small smile. “it’s not her fault, you guys. come on. lay off her a little bit.”

she shoots him a questioning stare. “no, wait–“

mick laughs. “the deal at the pizza place just looked so good. i’m not excusing it because we were drunk, but cut us some slack.”

sebastian, sitting quietly in the corner of the room, finally stands up. he folds his arms over his chest. “it doesn’t matter who came up with the crazy idea to get married in vegas.”

“you’re still not mad?” logan raises an eyebrow. “there’s got to be some part of you that is.”

“how about let me conduct my meeting with my driver in peace? unless you want to take over my job of being her pr officer…” kristen speaks out, looking around the room to shut down any more forms of interruption. she looks back at her. “let me see the marriage certificate.”

“the what?”

“you signed one, didn’t you?“

she scrunches her nose and looks at mick. “did we sign one? i really can’t remember.”

“i don’t,” mick cuts himself off, looking just as clueless, “i literally blacked out last night. i don’t remember anything.”

sebastian beams, standing a little straighter. “i have it right here! look at it, kristen.”

he puts down a piece of paper on the table. the entire room watches the woman read over the paper, lips pressed together.

a small laugh bubbles from her, grabbing the certificate into her hands and bringing it closer to her face. her laugh gets a little louder, sebastian eventually joining her with a hand over his mouth.

“what is so funny?” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “all i can think about is the shopping spree i can’t have this month over the lawyer fees.”

“and the fact that i could end up in american jail for marrying a 20-year-old!”

kristen grins, slamming the certificate down onto the table. “it’s illegitimate.”

“what?”

“oh?”

“surprising turn of events!”

“illegitimate?”

a hand slams into the table, the youngest in the room jumping to her feet. “illegitimate? what about my free pizza? how is that illegitimate? i’m not a schumacher anymore?”

“you changed your name?” oscar pipes up, roaring in laughter, covering his face. this entire ordeal has been very amusing to him.

she turns around sheepishly with a small smile. “i was planning to. how cool would it be to be a schumacher?”

“what the fuck?” logan says to her, bewildered at the thought process. “you’re not married and you’re telling me that’s the only thing you’re concerned about? not being a schumacher in the eye of the law?”

mick giggles, looking up at her with an impressed expression. “schumacher does go along well with your name.”

“i know. should we get married for realsies after this weekend and legally change my name?”

“have you learned nothing from this?” kristen throws her hands into the air. she leans back into her seat, letting out the heaviest sigh of relief as she no longer has to engage with any legal teams. pr wise, it would be easy.

she shrugs, sitting back down into the cushioned seat. “don’t get drunk with mick in vegas.”

“first and last time i’m drinking that much with you,” mick adds on with a snort. though, there’s a small smile playing on his face as he looks at her.

they both know that won’t be the last time they’ll be sending their pr officers into a frenzy. they’re truly a force to be reckoned with.

and, it could have been worse.

“i paid for all the pizzas you ate and threw up last night,” sebastian sighs, shaking his head. “you owe me like $100.”

she nods. “okay, i’ll pay you. still no shopping spree for me this month, i guess.”

mick clicks his tongue, giving her a thumbs up. “i’ll pay him. consider it my wedding gift to you, wife.”

“she’s not your wife,” logan points out with an eye roll. “didn’t even get married in the first place, remember? illegitimate. not even a real certificate. never happened. literally no record of it.”

“i’m curious,” max furrows his eyebrows and lips pouted out. “how did you pull this off to make it seem real, seb?”

“i arrived to their ‘wedding’–“

“not real!”

“logan, cut it out.”

“–before them. i spoke to the receptionist before they arrived; they don’t let drunk people get married. i convinced her to give them the slot anyway just to teach these two a lesson.”

“impressive?” kristen smiles. “you just saved me a lot of paper work.”

“and mick the beating he’d get from her dad if it actually ever happened to go through.”

she smiles, leaning over the arm rest to whisper at mick. she taps him on the shoulder. “we should celebrate with ice cream.”

— bonus

they flood out of the office collectively, the young girl looking down at the mood ring around her ring finger. “we should keep the rings, shouldn’t we, mick? keepsake.”

“to remind you of your bad decision making?” logan questions.

“no, to piss you off.” she turns around and shoves him back gently. “of course, just to keep memory of the one time i was almost a schumacher!”

sebastian tilts his head. “you know you’ll still be you, right? even if you’re legally considered a schumacher? you won’t get his blue eyes.”

“i could,” she hums with a smile. “so, husband. watching the race from my garage tonight like a factory manufactured wag?”

“can’t, wife,” mick sighs. “i work for mercedes.”

“i could get you the second seat if you wanted.”

“you have the power to do that?” she nods. “that’s hot.”

“cut it out, you guys are making max uncomfortable!” oscar grunts, pushing the pair apart.

beside them, max has his fingers plugged into his ears and is humming softly to himself. “it’s not real, it’s not real. they’re not actually married,” he whispers to himself. “and it will never happen.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @darleneslane @meadhbhcavanagh @namgification @inejismywife @2bormaybenot @love4lando

#sebastian vettel x reader #logan sargeant x reader #max verstappen x reader #oscar piastri x reader #mick schumacher x reader #f1 female driver #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fem!driver #female driver #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke vr #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1

852 notes · View notes

yeyinde · 2 years

Text

body electric | everyone x f!reader

It's the burn of hindsight, that fuzzy little thing called moribund that leaks into your marrow as you all take turns showering (they let you go first, unspoken, of course), and converge around the large meeting room where everything—including Simon Riley—was exposed.

Several drinks in, Gaz turns to you and says: never have I ever… had a gangbang before, and things quickly devolved from there.

(Well. You can scratch that off your bucket list.)

Simon, Price, Gaz, Soap, Alejandro, Rudy x f!Reader

⇾warnings: unfettered filth; gendered reader, gendered terminology, female!reader; oral—m&f receiving; unsafe sex; p-in-v sex, fingering; anal, rimming, anal fingering; this is a 6 man gangbang ummmmmmmm what more can i add?

⇾notes: um. yeah. it is what it is and it is nasty.

thank you so much @moondirti for encouraging me to write this, and @sprout-fics and @guyfieriii for the juicy ideas (and full credit for the makeout sess with Rudy goes to @guyfieriii) 🖤

(@ tumblrstaff, please don't delete my blog for this)

also, thank u so much cod fandom. if this revokes my fandom license, just know that it's an absolute honour and privilege to go out into the way i came in—with nothing but filth.

you only have yourselves to blame. and this person in particular 😭

It starts like this:

Price, a little bruised around the edges, and worn from the helicopter, grumbles about needing a drink. Gaz, a little quieter than usual, a little subdued, nods firmly beside him.

It's a spate—Shepherd, Graves—and the cumulation of it all leaves you feeling a little lour, a little out of it. Betrayal, death. You all reek of gunpowder and ichor.

That may be why there is a palpable sense of relief when Alejandro and Rudy fish out some bottles stashed away in the kitchen. He holds two by the nozzle, hefts them in the air, and says:

Who wants some?

No one, not even Ghost, says no.

Several drinks in, Gaz turns to you and says: never have I ever…, and things quickly devolved from there.

That was then, before you knew how Price, Soap, Gaz Alejandro, and Rodolfo, liked to kiss.

Price—rough, just like everything else about him; shades of smouldering tobacco leaves in the form of an unrelenting powerplay. He batters you into docility, leaves you feeling vapid and stupid by the time his hands rubs circles on the small of your back, the other holding your chin and leading you—always a leader, always—in whichever direction he wants. He's a thinly-veiled lesson in discipline. When you stray from his command, his fingers—thick, and bruising—are immediately there to reprimand you. He tastes like leather and smells like suede. His beard grazes your face until you feel a little sunburnt, a little dazed. He smells of low-grade motor oil and charred pinyon, and the musk of it makes you feel more intoxicated than the aged tequila on your tongue.

His tongue curls over your teeth and the noises he lets out are rasping guttural growls. The kicking engine of a classic car that was left to idle for too long. An American muscle car, maybe. The whiplash bellow of a Hemi purring against your lips. A mustang, a Chevelle. Something drenched in masculinity and oozing authority.

It's controlled. Blistering. He shifts your body around until you're tucked into the warm press of his chest. His hold is ironclad. No escape.

It's Soap, then, something falling from his lips. My turn, maybe. But nothing is solid in the effervescent grey matter saturating your thoughts. You feel drunk with pink peppercorn and sweetgrass when it envelopes you from behind.

His hands pull you away from Price, murmurs of soft words, things meant for a lover spill from his full pink lips. So pretty, hen; gonna make you feel so good. His eagerness shows he slots his pelvis to yours, and the hard, firm bulge of him nearly has you seeing stars.

Soap lingers for a moment, fingers tracing the wet curve of your raw lips, chafed and irritated by the bristles of Price's beard.

It wouldn't be wrong to call the way he touches the drying amalgam of yours and Price's—captain Price, superior, boss; untouchable—saliva obscene. It's filthy the way he grazes his finger under the curve of your lip, eyes honeycomb and wanting.

"Wanna gimme a kiss, hen?"

When he asks you like that, soft and hushed, the ghost of his breath across your stinging lips, you can't say no.

His mouth is molten on yours. He kisses you like he's starving for it. It's wet, and messy. Spittle drips down your chin when he shoves his tongue in your cavern, chasing your taste. Teeth clash, and your lips are pulled softly into his mouth until they swell, bruised and numbed. He only pulls away when you gasp, begging for air, grinning wickedly in the amber glow.

You barely have a second to catch your breath before Gaz is there, hands firm on your ass, dragging you into him.

Gaz peppers you in small, full kisses. Open mouth, teeth sinking into the plush bed of your bottom lip, suckling it into his mouth. Then he pulls away, leaves you dazed, and leaning forward, chasing the thrill of him. He huffs, hands sliding around the curve of your waist. Want it bad, eh?

A tidal wave. A storm surge. They batter against you until you're drunk off the taste of them. An illicit elixir of sin. A tantalising tease of what's to come.

Alejandro kisses you with unmatched finesse. Velvet soft sensuality that tastes of spiced clove and armoise. It starts slow. Just the press of his lips on yours. They lift into a grin, teeth sealed when you whimper and try to chase the santalum on his tongue. He laughs: a low, throaty chuckle, and wedges the tip between his teeth. A small taste, but not nearly enough to satiate you. You feel a little bit like you're floating in the clouds when his tongue finally fills the gap between your teeth; roiling over every inch of space he can find.

You feel like a beached log—ruined by the gritty sand on the bottom of the seafloor, and spat back out into dry land. Covered in the taste of them all, you find yourself slipping off a steep precipice into a chasm you can't climb out of.

It's Rodolfo, then, who grounds you.

His hand is warm on your chin—a beacon of light in a dark tunnel. His lips are a balm to your irritated, bruised flesh. It's sweet. The taste of sweet Brachetto d'Acqui and hedgerow blossoms. He smells of golden copal and kisses you like he's pressing his lips to the hands of his Father; a baptism in soft skin and reverent touches that make you feel like you've been found. Its featherlight whispers of his lips across your skin: the corners of your mouth, the soft skin between your chin and lower lip.

Hands on your waist, hot and heavy. Soap sinks his face in the space between your shoulder blades with a slow drawl of your name, teeth grazing your flesh. His stubble abrades your flesh until you're trembling in their embrace. Static shocks of pleasure bloom in the pits of your stomach.

Rodolfo's head drops, murmured words spilling in hymnals as he nuzzles your neck. Soft, gentle. He puts you together again just to dissolve you into ashes from psalms.

Gaz leaks grape cigarillos, and nag champa incense when he presses flush to your side.

It's when he asks Alejandro if there's any oil, any lube, does it start to sink into your sun-warmed flesh that this is happening. It's real.

You could blame Gaz— never have I ever had a threesome or a gangbang —but the idea mushroomed inside of your head, sporous and damning, until it was all you could think about. you, of course, weren't immune to the sudden hush that fell over the group drinking near the table when you stammered out your answer:

No, I've never had a threesome or a gangbang before.

It all happened so suddenly. The atmosphere was a rich, dense cloud of feverish energy buzzing around you; a miasma of hedonism in smoke and white musk.

Price, then, behind you. Alejandro's barking laughter (no way, cariño, you're too beautiful to never have been fucked like that before). The way Soap's eyes gleamed in the light. Rudy's quiet shake of his head. Ghost's eyes liquifying: heavy, midnight oil on your skin. The sound of glass cracking when Gaz said:

Well, would you?

Would I…? Silence. Poignant. Stifling.

Would you ever have a gangbang?

It spiralled from there. Gaz's words burrowing into your skin. His hands—are hot and heavy on your body. Soap dropping to his knees as he lifted your leg up on his shoulder, breathing deeply against your clothed cunt.

Want to, hen? Wanna take all a'us?

Alejandro's sharp breath. Might break her, hermano. Don't know about you, but I'm a big man.

Yeah, Price's mouth on yours, breath ghosting over your trembling lips. The scratch of his beard rubbing your skin until it was pink and flushed. Ain't the only one, mate.

Lips searing into yours. Sensual rolls of his tongue from Alejandro, hands roaming across your back. A soft, sweet series of kisses that left you breathless from Rudy. Messy, almost hypoxia-inducing ones from Soap that made your head spin, and drool dripped down your chin, your neck, covering your chest. An intense, blistering assault by Gaz, his hand firm on the nape of your neck.

It felt a little bit like a dream. Feverish and desperate. Tinged in the surrealism of being passed around like a prized trophy kissed after a well-won match.

It feels like a cacoethes and carries the taste of Alejandro's tequila. Bad decisions made under terrible influence.

And now—

Now:

There are hands on your body—many of them, in fact: Price holding the back of your knees up to your chest as he swipes his tongue over your aching cunt, lapping at your clit; Soap's on your nipples, pinching and tugging until you're mewling at the sharp pleasure-pain that ripples down your spine. Rodolfo stroking your face, murmuring in dulcet Spanish about how good you are, how pretty you look with your captain between your thighs. Alejandro's fingers ghosting over your torso, and trailing down to your throbbing clit when Price forces the thick of his tongue inside your quivering hole.

It edges into overstimulation; you're equally aware of every single brush across your trembling flesh, and completely gone at the same time. Dissolved into liquid mush.

And they haven't even really started yet.

Gaz is gone somewhere in search of the petroleum jelly in the office upstairs. Ghost leans against the wall—not willing, you think, to partake but still here, still watching you spread out on the table where he dropped his mask for the first time as everyone touches you.

"Fuck, cariño," Alejandro rasps, his finger pressing against your clit in tandem with Price's tongue fucking into the clutch of you. It's too much—his voice is heavy with sin and the heft of it makes you quake. "Bonita. You're so pretty like this, eh? All flushed pretty carmesí and aching for it."

Rodolfo, Rudy he murmurs low in your ear when you whimper his name, chuckles. "She's stunning, eh, hermano."

"Fuckin' right," Soap breathes, his fingers drifting across your smeared lips. "You want this, aye, bonnie? Want us to fuck you silly?"

All you can do is moan brokenly around his hand, fingers rubbing across your tongue.

"Where's Gaz?" Price grumbles into your cunt, beard grazing your inner thighs. "Wanna fuck this tight pussy already, love. Need to feel you around my cock—"

He punctuates his words with the tips of his blunt fingers, pushing two of them into your dripping hole. The sting makes you keen, makes your knees shake. You want to say too much, too sudden, but you can't speak around the three fingers shoved into your throat.

The look on your face makes Alejandro groan. "I want your mouth, cariño. Can I?"

"Christ, hermano," Soap huffs, amused. Tone draped in sex. It makes your thighs quiver. "Ready to start, then?"

"I am," Price grouses, nose flushed against your clit. "I've been thinkin' about this cunt for a long time, love."

They move in tandem. Seamless weaving with one singular goal of stuffing you full of all of them.

Soap pulls his hand away, rubbing your slick over his flushed cock.

You moan against Alejandro's cock when he presses it to the seal of your quivering mouth. His hand is firm on your head, but his eyes are gentle. He waits for you, holding still until you give him your affirmation to continue. The sight of his flushed, tanned cock makes you whimper. He smells of sin: oud and myrrh; heady and thick. Your head swims with the way it clots in your lungs.

Your mouth aparts, tongue rolling out over the weeping head of his cock. It's salty. Brinny. You moan a little when it slides deeper into your mouth.

"Jesus—," Soap pants, rough and slurred. The noise jars into you.

Hands fall over you again, and you lose track of who is touching you when Price groans into your cunt, and Alejandro pushes your jaw open wider, sliding more of his cock into your mouth.

The air buzzes with something bordering on frenetic. Pent up energy from the success of the mission, the alcohol spuming in your veins. The high of the win burns through everyone.

This—a gangbang —would never have happened if it wasn't somehow the perfect storm, the coalescence of all the right emotions.

It's intense. Surreal.

And then Alejandro pitches his hips forward with a smoked groan, murmurs:

"Fuck, gonna cum, cariño. Are you gonna swallow it for me?"

A hushed silence falls around you. It's one thing to attend, but another to partake, and you wonder if they are realising that this is the point of no return.

It's met with a soft moan.

You want it. Want his cum. Want to taste more of that salty haar tang in your throat, feel it settle in the pit of your belly. Hot and syrupy thick.

He pitches his hips forward, hand sliding up the length of his cock not buried in your throat, stroking himself as you suckle on his head. It's sloppy, and wet, and fuck —

Alejandro is the first to cum. The first to spill his milky release on your tongue. It's salty, briny. Not at all dissimilar to the margaritas he handed you hours ago.

His moan is choked and hoarse, a low bellow in the depths of his belly that rumbles through you in a series of deep uh, uh, uhs.

You barely have time to swallow when Rudy is there. Hands on your cheek, eyes lidded and pleading. Can I, cariño?

Alejandro's cum spills from your tongue when he pulls away, dribbling down your chin, neck. It puddles on your chest where Soap's thumb catches the droplets, smearing them around your hard nipples.

You nod, swallowing down the mouthful of cum, brows furrowed in pleasure with each roll of Price's tongue laving at your cunt; the gentle way Soap kneads your flesh.

Rudy shuffles closer, and the flavour of cardamom spumes around you. His body burns hot, heavy cock twitching in his grip. Your mouth drops, tongue lulling out, and he grunts at the sight, eyes cresting.

"You're beautiful, mi Reina."

Rudy's cock brushes across your tongue, eyes shuddering when you wrap your lips around him, head tipping back in pleasure. "Fuck…"

Your tongue laves over his slit, tasting the salty spill of him. His breath is ragged, heavy. There is no warning—just a strangled choke of your name—and then he's cumming on your tongue, ropes spurting over your cheeks and chin.

You gasp, wet and broken, and absolutely filthy.

"That's it—," Price mumbles against you, blowing a huff of air across your slit. It makes your toes curl—the perfect mix of not enough and too much, and—

Rudy strokes your hair, eyes glazed. The angle is awkward, but his mouth slots over yours, tongue rubbing over the mess they made of you. He kisses you like he's worshipping you. Like you're the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he can't get enough.

There is a blunt pressure against your core. A delicious coil inside of you unspooling.

Price has three fingers buried to the knuckle inside of you, tongue rolling over your clit, when you cum around him, knees shaking as you moan at the tight clutch of your walls stretched taut.

"Fuck," Soap breathes, taking Rudy's place when he pulls away from you, lips red and glossy. He pushes his blunt head against your cheek. Cum spurts out, splattering across your face in thick milky ropes. "That's what you sound like when you cum? Jesus—"

You barely have time to catch your breath when Price lifts his head, beard soaked in your slick. Heat pools in your belly again at the sight. He looks like ruin. Wet and dark, and hungry. You whimper when he rubs the scuff of his damp beard over your spread pussy. Coarse hair grazes your clit, and the spark of pleasure has you seeing double. Makes liquid bliss bloom in your chest.

"Couldn't wait, eh, cap?" Gaz returns with a wink, waving the bottle of jelly in his hands when he moves into your periphery.

"Can it, and get over here."

"Impatient."

Price helps you sit up, mouth stinging, and sticky with cum and saliva. His eyes catch in the dimming light high in the rafts. Drunken desire spools in the shades of sapphire blue. His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth.

"Might have to see you like this more often, love."

"Shooting your shot already, cap?" Gaz drawls, humour lacing in his tone.

"Not my fault you waited too long."

"You're lucky," Alejandro rumbles. Firm hands fall to your shoulders, rubbing the knots in your back until your head falls, forehead pressed to Price's chest with a moan. "Should stay here, cariño. I'll make you happy. Get you nice and fat on Mexican food, and swollen with mis hijos e hijas."

"Sí," Rudy's lips brush the shell of your ear, whispering saccharine words in Spanish. "We'll live on the farm. Drinking wine every day. I'll take you to the coast."

You shudder, belly spuming with heat. Overwhelmed, dizzy. It's a dangerous elixir. A deadly combination. It makes you want, yearn.

"No way," Soap huffs. "She's comin' home with us. Back to the UK where she can sit on my cock whenever she wants—"

"You're all wrong," Gaz scoffs. "Price called dibs the moment—"

"That's enough." His command is rough, dry.

Gaz glances at you, and the humour shifts. Darkens. "Fuck, look what they did to you already."

You feel it, thick and viscous, on your burning skin. The flush deepens. You can only imagine what you look like. Your lashes are clumped together, and heavy. Cheeks irritated from the beard burn and the saline smear of cum over your flesh. Swollen, cock-bruised lips. Messy in voluptuary pearlescent.

"You look good," Soap says, taut, and slightly breathless.

They stare at you like you're a banquet—a feast. Your heart thuds in your chest, cum-filled belly rolling. Its—

Powerful. Sensual.

Price's eyes flutter when he leans over you, hands feverish when they fall on your skin. "Gotta move you, now, love. That alright?"

You swallow and taste the ocean. The sea. "Y—yeah."

He shudders. A frisson flurries across his face. "Good."

His hands are solid on your body as they manoeuvre you until your belly is flushed to the table, panting against the damp fabric beneath you. He presses his cock against your ass, letting you feel the iron-hard, velvety soft heat of him. You push your hips back, cunt throbbing. You want it. Want his cock. Want him to fill you up until you're stuffed and fat, and—

Happy, Alejandro said. Happy.

"Soon, love," his voice is a thunderclap in a bottle. You tremble when the balmy heat of him moves away from you, leaving you spread and exposed.

"Fuck," Gaz murmurs. His hand trails down your spine, fingers slipping between the crease of your ass.

He spoke to you about it already. Five of us. Wanna—he licked his lips, eyes hooded and caramel rich—wanna let me fuck your ass?

In for a penny.

Gaz shushes you when you whimper, mouth ghosting over the soft flesh of your ass. He wastes no time. His fingers dig into your cheeks, spreading them open. You mewl. Your body is electrified: too much, too soon, too raw—too exposed; but Gaz groans deep in his throat.

"Fuck, look at you."

He doesn't give you a moment; doesn't waver even when Soap tells him to move away so they can see. There is no preamble. His tongue laves over your asshole, a filthy grunt spilling from his lips as he tastes your flesh.

"Steamin' Jesus, Gaz," Soap groans. Slick noises can be heard behind you. "Fuckin' Christ—"

It's strange. The sensation is heightened by the awareness that everyone—everyone—is watching Gaz devour your ass like it's the best meal he's had in weeks. You quiver, dropping your head into the table. Price stands by your side, cock jerking each time you moan.

His hand on your head is a comfort. A heavy weight. Your hips rock back into Gaz's tongue, keening when it slips into your hole. It doesn't hurt, but there's an insistent pressure as he stretches you open.

A cold, slick finger joins soon after, and the ache makes you choke.

"S'alright, love," Price murmurs, and your lachrymose eyes blink open, gritty and sticky, and dart to him. His hand tightens around the base of his cock. Your cunt throbs at the sight. "Focus on me, yeah?"

"C—captain—"

The rawness in your voice makes him groan. Makes them groan. You can hear Alejandro swear. Soap grunt. More slick noises reverberate around you, and you flush. Cheeks burning. They're getting themselves off to this. To Gaz fingering your tight asshole open for their cocks. Another hole for them to slip inside.

Fuck, fuck fuck—

"That's it," Price coos, low and smoky, and filled with rough tobacco.

His hand threads through your hair as Soap's roam your body, slipping beneath your chest and the table, punching your nipples, stroking your belly. Rudy, or maybe Alejandro—you can't see, can't tell—tap on your clit as two fingers are pushed back into your throbbing cunt.

You want them. Want it.

"P—please—"

Price groans, his cock spitting out prespend that dribbles down the length of him. "I want you to suck my cock, love. Will you do that for me?"

You nod, core quivering as a rush of heat flutters down to the base of your spine. You still taste Alejandro, Rudy, on your tongue.

You wonder if Price tastes just as good.

Price helps you move, and angles his cock toward you, grunting when your wet, sloppy mouth seals over the head.

He tastes even better. Salty and bitter. Tobacco ash and smoke. You want to drown in it.

Gaz stretches your ass as you swallow your captain's cock, and your head still spins with that notion, not quite able to believe you're on your knees for them, spread open, and being readied for all of them that take.

It cudgels into your stomach: a gnarling frisson that makes throb, makes you push back onto Gaz's fingers, his tongue, and moan around Price's cock.

"That enough, Gaz?" He sounds wrecked when he speaks. Ashes and gasoline; it's saturated in want. The air crackles with impatience.

His tongue slides across your fluttering hole in a long, wet stripe, as if savouring the taste of you before he pulls back.

"Yeah—," it's wet when it slurs out of him. His fingers press against your loose hole, moaning a little when you greedily take the tips inside. "Fuck, she's more than ready, cap."

Price wastes no time. He pulls you off of him, and the others—all communicating in a series of strange commands you can't decipher through the rush in your head—all make room for him.

He turns you around, and lifts you onto the table, legs spread around the thick of him. His cock throbs against your pussy when you wiggle back, trying to get comfortable on the bed of masks—Ghost's masks—and it hits you, now, that you're going to get fucked. That your pussy and your ass have been stretched, prepped, and are ready for them. All of them.

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring, and the dark look in his molten sapphire gaze makes you wonder if he feels it, too. If it's hitting him with just as much of a punch as it is you.

His cock nudges against your hole. He pauses, eyes flickering up from the seal of your cunt around his flushed, engorged head, to confirm, one last time, if you want this. If you're sure.

It's debauched and absolutely filthy, but—your hand reaches out when Soap steps up, cock bobbing with each step, and you grasp his shaft. Alejandro's fingers ghost over your bruised, swollen mouth, and you let him lead your head to his throbbing cock, lips sealing over the leaking head.

Rudy's hands are reverent when he takes your other hand, bringing it to his length.

It's all the confirmation he needs, but still. Price waits. Your heart thunders in your chest. Your captain—always so—

The thought is nipped when you nod around Alejandro, and he pushes inside of your pussy. Stretching your cunt with his girth. You moan, legs falling open wider as he splits you apart.

It's good. It's too much. It's—

He feeds it into you, lips curled up in a snarl as you split around him. He grunts—rasping growls that spool inside of your core until you're white-hot, and whimpering.

"Come on, love," is rucked from his throat. A battering ram against your chest swinging hard, and ferocious until you see stars. "You can take me."

It makes you tremble. Makes the world around you grind together; tectonic plates shifting, crashing. Earthquake tremors along the base of your spine, rattling your bones. It cracks them open, and leaks Nirvana through your bloodstream.

Price's cock wrenches you open. Each inch jarring the soporific slurry of sex and smoke congealing heavy in your veins until you're mewling around Alejandro's cock.

His groans of pleasure as resin thick; smouldering sandalwood. Cracking sap. He works himself inside of you, gruff praises falling from his still-damp lips. You feel good. This pretty cunt was made to get ruined, wasn't it? Take me, love. That's it. They slide over your skin, oud oil and syrup thick, until your flesh prickles with goosebumps.

Alejandro's cock hits the gummy walls of your throat, his grunt curls over you. Clove and amber. You burn. There is a give, and then—

His hips slide against yours, cunt stuffed to the brim with his cock. Tears leak down your cheeks at the feeling of him sitting so heavy inside of you, at the blunt press of Alejandro's cock choking you in shallow thrusts.

"Bloody hell—," he groans, head tipping back as he stares at the seal of your pussy taut around the base. "Look'it you. So full of cock. You look like you were made for this, pretty thing."

"Our little slut, eh?" Alejandro huffs, pushing his hips closer to your face as you lap at him. "If her pussy feels as good as her mouth, hermano, I won't last too long."

"Fuck, can't wait to fuck you next," Soap grunts, his hand wrapping around yours as he guides you along, showing you what he likes. "Cannae fuckin—"

Rudy's hand falls to your swaying chest, rubbing your aching nipples as Price begins to fuck you, filling you up over and over again with his fat cock.

It's good. It's so fucking good. You whine around Alejandro, and feel molten pleasure bloom in your belly as they use you, revere you; eyes fixed on your body as you take them all in.

"I'm gonna cum soon," Price grunts, his hips pistoning into you hard enough to jar the table. The metal legs grind against the cement floor. The room filled with the scent of sex and the lewd noises that spill from the wet squelch of your cunt greedily swallowing down your captain's cock. The suckling sound of Alejandro fucking your throat. "Look at you, look at this pretty fucking cunt taking me—"

Soap's fingers fall to your clit as Price hits the plug of your womb with the blunt head of his cock, sending pleasure ricocheting down your spine until you're arching off the table. Muscles coil, tightening together as he knocks into the soft walls of your pussy, sending you reeling.

"Ah, fuck—," Alejandro grunts. "I'm gonna cum, cariño. You'll swallow it for me, eh? Swallow it all—fuck—"

He cums down your throat for the second time, hands stroking your face as he feeds it to you with muttered words in slurred Spanish too fast for you to pick up.

You can't focus. Can't think—

The taste of cum on your tongue, the blissed noses that spill around you, and the way Price fucks you deep, battering against your fluttering walls have you seeing stars.

You moan, nearly choking on the thick cum that drenches you. Soap leans down, spits on your clit, and rubs the mess in with his fingers. It's feral. It's disgusting—

Your cunt spasms as you're shoved over the precipice, squeezing and throbbing like a heartbeat around the thick plug of Price's cock as he spears it against your womb; a battering ram into your flesh.

"Jesus, captain," Soap sounds awed, voice pitched low and slurred. "Just givin' it to her, aye?"

"Fuckin' hell—"

He cums inside of you with a grunt of your name draped in liquid sin. Cock twitching deep inside of you, pressed taut to your womb. He holds it there and makes you take it. Drowns your cunt in his thick cum.

It's wet between your thighs. Your throat clicks when you swallow, nose burning from the flood of briny cum Alejandro poured down your throat.

Price pulls out slowly, taps the head of his sticky cock against your clit, and you flush at the feeling of him leaking out of you.

There is no respite. Gaz's hands are on your body, head numb and fuzzy, as they speak about the intricacies of fucking you, of filling you up.

"Think she's ready for two?"

"Are you?" Soap's fingers fall to your aching cunt, spreading the thick cum around your clit. "Can you take us both?"

"No. Not yet." It's Ghost who speaks, and your belly rolls at the low husk of his voice.

"Yeah, give her one more."

Soap's fingers slip into your cunt, and curl against your sensitive walls. "Fuck, captain. You filled her up good."

Rudy's thumb presses against the seam of your mouth, eyes pleading when he stares down at you. His thick cock grasped in his hand.

You're little more than a ragdoll. An offering between the gods. Soap parts your thighs, head tapping against your throbbing cunt.

Price leans against a beam close by, eyes burning into you in search of any glimmer of distress. Having him close by calms you. Makes you relax. You settle, mouth popping open for Rudy as Soap pushes himself into your pussy.

"Fuck, your pussy feels incredible—"

He lets out a string of curses in rapid-fire Scots, burying the full length of himself into your cunt.

He fucks you like he's aching for it. A madman. His hips bludgeon into you until you're seeing stars, until you're choking around Rudy's cock. It's too much. Too much—

You want more.

Rudy's hands are gentle on your face, brushing your hair away as he cants his hips. His cock slides over your tongue, and you try to hollow your cheeks, to make it good for him, but the blistering pleasure makes your mouth fall open.

"It's okay, bonita." He murmurs, resting his head on your tongue as he fists the length of himself. "Just like this, okay? Just like this. Let me—," he fucks into his palm, eyes rolling back as he rubs his weeping slit over your tongue.

Gaz's hand grabs your swaying breasts in his hand. "I'm gonna fuck your ass next, yeah? Gonna split your little hole open on my cock. You don't want, don't you? Wanna be fucked in all holes, like a little whore."

Fuck. Fuck—

Rudy pushes his cock into your mouth, groaning as molten cum sputters out, drenching your tongue and cheeks.

"Oh, fuck—," Soap pants, hips slamming into you. His eyes are fixed on your messy face. "You look so fuckin' pretty with cum all over you, so fuckin' good for us, aye?"

His eyes snap shut, brow furrowed in pleasure as he buries the full length of himself inside of your spasming pussy, filling you with another load of cum.

It's good. It's so good. The sensation of hands on your body isn't foreign anymore. Alejandro moves when Rudy finishes, stroking your hair, and leaning down to kiss your forehead. You go to him eagerly, mouth parting as he slips his softened cock into your mouth.

Words are murmured around you, grunts and groans of pleasure so robust and full that you clench, aching at the sound of their bliss.

Fingers on your nipples, your clit, makes you see white. Makes your back arch as liquid pleasure blooms inside your core again.

Soap pulls out, and you barely have time to mourn the loss of him when Gaz slots between your legs, fingers falling to your ass, and slipping inside with a groan.

"Nice and loose, now," he purrs, spreading his fingers inside your tight channel. "Gonna fuck this pretty asshole. Gonna fucking ruin you. Alejandro's gonna fuck your pussy after, eh? Maybe me and Price can fill you up at the same time, huh?"

"Gaz," his name is drenched in smoke, a shuddering rumble that stabs tight into your core when Price speaks. Your cunt throbs at the thought. "If you don't hurry up—"

"Alright, alright, cap."

Rudy's behind you at the head of the table, hands roaming over your skin, smearing cum all over your flesh. He murmurs low, sweet words in Spanish you can't hear over the roaring in your ears when Gaz spreads your legs, cock nudging against your virgin hole. It's comforting, though. His presence is solid. Your hands grip his forearms, whining at the sting, the blunt pressure pushing into you.

Soap groans. You can hear his voice to your left along with slick sounds of him touching his spent cock.

"That's so fuckin' hot. Steamin' fucking Jesus—"

You're relaxed enough that Gaz slips inside without much of a burn. It feels strange: a heavy pressure, a slight sting. You're prepared enough that it's more foreign, and uncomfortable than it is painful. But it's—

Full.

You moan when his hips buck shallowly, pushing more of him into your asshole. It's weird. It's strange. It's—

"How does it feel, love?"

Price's fingers fall on your throbbing clit. Alejandro's—you think, maybe; you can't see through the blurred tears in your eyes—push into your sopping cunt, groaning wetly at the lewd squelch of the cum inside of you.

"It's—"

Belly full. A pressure unlike anything you'd felt before. Snug, and tight, and—

"Good," you whimper, arching your back. Your nipples are tugged. Pussy stuffed with three of Alejandro's fingers. Ass full of Gaz when he finally, finally, bottoms out with a moan. "It's so good—"

He fucks you slow, steady. Savouring the tight clench of you around him.

Price works your clit, murmuring about how good you are. How pretty you look, full of cum and getting your ass stuffed with cock.

"You were made for this, weren't you? Little cockslut."

It punches the air from your lungs when he hisses it into your ear.

Gaz pushes the length of himself inside your ass, moaning about how tight you are. How he can't wait to fill you up. His hands fall, sliding over your ass cheeks until he brushes over the rim of your stretched hole, hips stuttering.

"God," he chokes. "Fuck, you look good."

"Yeah, she does," Soap breathes, hands palming at your body, rough and hot and tacky with his release. They glide up the length of your body, pressing into your swollen mouth. "Open up for me."

His fingers taste of pennies when he pushes them against your tongue, stroking over your flesh. He thrusts them in tandem to the rolls of Gaz's cock splitting you deeply. It's a filthy crescendo of moans, grunts, the sloppy wet sound of your gummy mouth being fucked by three of Soap's fingers, and the lewd, fleshy snap of Gaz's pelvis and thighs slapping against yours.

Rudy strokes your hair, pushing the tangled mess of it out of your eyes, and murmurs about how good you're being. The soft praise prickles over you like the warm glow from an altar candle. The heat makes your eyes burn, stinging with tears, and you take what they give you, and try not to get lost in the rapture of their flesh staining your skin.

Price's finger pushes against your sensitive clit. Rudy's soft voice permeates around like burning incense. The heavy weight, the foreign slide, of Gaz stretching your channel makes you keen low in your throat, muffled by the messy drag of Soap's knuckles on the roof of your mouth.

You cum again, shuddering from the billowing pleasure blanketing you from all sides, and fall into the embrace of Rudy's arms. Price's hands are a plinth on your hips, keeping you up, keeping you grounded, and Gaz works himself to completion, scorched words of bliss spilling from gritted teeth.

Soap leans down, tongue catching the mess spilling from your gaping mouth. Alejandro rubs your fluttering walls. It's intense. Overwhelming. You're surrounded by a dense smog of pleasure and musk: clove cigarettes, bayberry, oakmoss, and the thick tang of a wet, loam and humus forest.

The drawling moan Gaz lets out makes your core ache. He buries himself deep, hips glued to the plush seam of your ass, and he spills deep inside of you.

"Joder, cariño, you look good with your ass stuffed, eh?"

You can't speak around Soap's fingers. The only noise that spills is a sloppy, wet moan.

Gaz presses kisses into your spine, slowly, slowly, pulling out of your ass.

"Yeah, she does." He slurs, rubbing his chin over the small of your back. "Who's next?"

Everything blurs into a fever dream of hands and tongues, and the delicious stretch of your cunt, your ass, as they stuff you full of them. Filthy words are whispered into your temple as they grow bolder with your body.

Price gets you off just by slapping his palm over your clit until you clench around Rudy's cock. Soap licks up your tears, fingers pressed as far down your throat as he can get them, and murmurs how sexy you look full of cum. How he can't get enough of your tight cunt and pretty little hole.

You were made for them, Alejandro whispers, and pulls your hips down until you're seated on his cock. The blunt head of Rudy's cock soon presses to your wet asshole, bottoming out with a deep groan. His hands are reverent as they run across your flesh, choked whimpers falling out about how fucking stunning you look when you're stuffed to the brim.

You sob between them as they share a messy kiss over your shoulder, grunting into each other's mouths as they ruin you.

Gaz and Price drag you away soon after they finish, petting your messy hair away from your sticky, sweaty forehead, and splitting you apart between them. You scream into Price's chest as he holds the fat of your ass cheeks open for Gaz to rut into like a man starved for it. Possessed. He coos in your ear when Soap shoves his cock into your gaping mouth, choking you on the thick of him. So fucking good, love. Meant for this. After we'll run you a bath and you sit on my cock while I clean you up, hmm?

You feel a little stripped down to the marrow, pulverised under their wanting hands; when Price presses into your womb, and cums again. The molten spume inside soothes the throbbing ache of your core. A debauched balm to a raw wound.

It would be a lie to say you hate the way it feels to be so full of them. To have their taste in your tongue, sticking to the back of your throat, pooling in your belly, your pussy, your guts. You're full and sore and you feel like one massive contusion—broken and battered and barely clinging to sentience—when his cock slips free with a wet squelch.

It's a little surreal, but—

Comfortable. It shouldn't be. It should be weird, and awkward, and—

Fuck. You had sex with five men in the span of several hours. Your teammates, your captain, no less. And yet.

Yet:

You feel full in a way you'd never been before. Satiated and stupidly fucking happy.

Price snorts when you lay back on the floor, a blissed-out smile tugging on the corners of your mouth.

"Liked it, did you?"

You don't have the capacity for speech. Words escape you. They can't seep through the salty mess in your throat.

Instead, you moan—low and needy—and feel your belly quiver when Price's eyes flash. Smoke and embers. And when Alejandro groans aloud. When Rudy's hand trembles on your skin. When Soap's hand falls to his spent, softened cock, unable to stop the thrum of desire when you sound like you had the best meal in years. When Gaz shivers, and says please tell me we can play this game more often.

It's good. It's—

Footsteps. A hush. A shadow falls over you.

Then: "decide to join in, after all, Lt?"

Ghost's hands are hot on your sensitive flesh.

He says nothing as he crouches down on the floor where Gaz and Price dragged you, but his eyes are liquid when he stares at the mess of you. Drenched, you're sure, in cum; it leaks down your chin, out of your sensitive, raw pussy, and your aching hole. Doused in their pleasure, and burning from the sting of their ardour.

"Fuck, Lt," Soap murmurs, dazed. He'd spent himself on your face only moments ago, and when your glassy eyes fall to him, you find him staring fixed at the apex of your thighs where Ghost slots himself between. "You're gonna ruin her—"

You don't know what he means until you look back. The air in your lungs catches, eyes widening. He's huge. Fat and throbbing, prespend leaks down the absurd length of himself. It twitches when he catches you staring at him, sticky, numbed mouth dropping open.

"S—sir—"

His hand slides, fists the base of himself. He taps the head of his cock against your quivering, sloppy cunt. "Can you take me, pet?"

Shit. Shit—

You don't think you can, not at all, but—

Slick noises around you. Grunts of pleasure. Murmured words. They want to see you split apart on his cock. Stuffed full. Your belly lurches. Heat simmers inside of you once again.

Your trembling eyes find his, and you lay back against the floor, knees parting. Inviting. Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip.

"Fill me up, sir—"

He snarls.

Ghost doesn't wait. Doesn't touch you with softness, or reverence. His hands are branding, white-hot, when they fall to your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest. His eyes are glued to the messy seam of your cunt, spilling viscous cum down your ass until it pools below you in a puddle.

You're wrecked. Ruined. You'd had all of them inside of you—your mouth, your pussy, your ass—except him, and your belly flips, head a muddled slurry of want, want, want as the fat head of his cock slips over the milky mess, catching on your ruined, red hole.

"Thought you got lost, Ghost," Alejandro says, words carrying secrets you can't make sense of.

"Never."

He pushes the mushroomed head into your cunt, rumbling at the give of your body as you part for him, sucking him in deep. Ghost fills you up until your belly bulges with the length of him.

Soap moans at the sight. At the way you take the massive cock burrowing deep inside of you.

They all seem to be enjoying the way he ruins you. Over the heft of his shoulder, the thick bracket of his arms, you see them all staring at the way he wrecks you. Batters your body with wet, sloppy noises spilling out.

He fucks you slow: long, deep plunges into your core, gaze sliding in increments to your face, slack and tacky with lashes clumped together with an amalgamation of spittle and cum, and the stretch of your cunt swallowing him to the root. It's intense. Dizzying.

You feel pushed past your breaking point: overarching beyond the mettle until you're a raw nerve exposed to the corrosive chemicals in the air. Split apart and reassembled into something new and vulnerable. You're chafed and aching, and it edges on painful, and blistering like a third-degree burn being rubbed against rough wool. But despite the sting, the graze still feels good when it itches over your inflamed skin. A balm that burns before it soothes.

Ghost—Simon, now, you suppose since he's currently eight inches deep inside of your sore cunt—seems to somehow know. Maybe it's the hoarse crackle in your throat when he hits you deeply, or the exhausted droop of your eyes when he presses his weight against you, filling you up until he sits heavy in your chest, but he takes pity on your poor, battered body bursting with the molasses thick heft of euphoria that congeals inside of your marrow. His thrusts are punctured by the soft way he gazes at you. A physical weight to his stare slams into your chest with each roll of his hips, nudging you back to that steep precipice you'd dropped from so many times you'd lost count.

The dance is familiar.

But the gentle, almost possessive, way he touches you isn't.

"Fuck, Lt. Can see you bulging through her belly."

Soaps words are met with a rasping snarl, a brutal piston of his cock into your gummy, wrung-out walls. A hand falls to your belly, feeling the swell, and the pressure has phosphenes burning your eyelids when they snap shut at the heavy mist of pleasure that falls on you.

You don't think you can cum again. Your head is a slurry of intense pleasure: gummy and stupid on the way they fucked the sense out of you. Synopses misfire. You feel like you're barely cognisant anymore.

It's not good enough, though.

His fingers find your clit, pressing against the tender nub until you're bucking against him, trying to get away from the agonising euphoria pounding through your core.

"I want to feel you cum on my cock, pet."

You can't—

You really can't. But he doesn't relent. He shoves himself into your quivering cunt until you see stars flash across your eyes, and the scent of nirvana permeates in the air.

If you won't go willingly to the vertiginous edge, he'll drag you there instead.

A sharp thrust has your mind whiting out; the overstuffed feeling of being stretched to the brim sits heavy in your core. Your nails press into his shoulders, desperate to hang on to something tangible, real. They dig deeper until the moons flood with blood. It makes him groan—deep, low; rucked coals over open flames—and the noise has you reaching for Orion with your bare hands, mouth dropped low to catch the cosmic dust that permeates in the air between you.

"Fuck—" a sharp whimper has him huffing into your neck, a satisfied noise he can't bite off, can't stifle.

He likes it. Likes spreading you open, and watching you squirm. Likes the flash of pain that flickers across your face when he first kisses your drenched core with the fat head of his cock. Eyes wide, fixed on the scrunch of your brow, the wrinkles in your nose, the deep, punctured gasps that spill from your gaping mouth—he misses nothing, stare branding you.

It's the thick of him when it splits you apart, breaks you in half, that really captures his full attention. Stuffed to the brim, and clawing at him for respite from the way he fits inside of you; he takes it all in. Eyes never wavering. Liquid want flooding the bottom ring of his lower eyelids, a molten pool half hidden behind his lash line. He gazes down at you, fans of ash cresting over.

And then when he bottoms out, when his cock is fully seated inside of your body that struggles to make room to fit him, he lifts his gaze. A perfect polynya. He stares at you, then, watching—almost placidly, impassively—as you grit your teeth from the burn of taking him to the root. A slow roll of his hips to test your mettle; a harsh grind of his cock nestled taut against the plug of your womb. It has you singing.

A test of the water. A battering of the futile clutch you have over your sangfroid. He won't start until it breaks. Until it shatters.

His hands are hot when they grasp the soft skin behind your knees, pointing them down toward your swaying chest as he fucks you open in deep, almost languid cants of his hips until you're grabbing at the ground, and mewling his name. Broken, now, by his cock.

Simon is a storm.

A gale. He ravages you until you're dizzy with the brutal way he takes you—and takes, takes, takes —and begging for mercy.

None comes.

You can't barter with a typhoon. Can't make deals with a hurricane.

It hits. Breaching your shores with enough force to ruin.

"Simon," it is whispered low, constricted. The air in your lungs is liquifying; condensation builds until you're choking.

Another huff. He thrusts harder, head notching into something that has you lurching forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder. You spasm around him until he growls in your ear.

His thighs widen, pitching his hips low as fucks into you, a touch savage. Your leg slips from his hold, the back pressed against the muscles of his beneath you. The coarse hair of his legs tickles your flesh. Goosebumps erupt. You shiver.

The breath you gasp in is wispy, and thin. It isn't enough to quench the ache in your chest, but nor is it enough to truly let you slip into the throes of hypoxia. He brings you to the brink, lets you gaze over the edge of that unknown abyss, but refuses to let you any further. His grip is unyielding. It burrows into you.

Like this, with black moulting over your vision and phosphenes glimmering in the cosmic yonder that stretches out in front of you, you can feel everything. There is a startling clarity that rocks through you. You can feel each ridge and vein of his cock as he slams it into you, prying your walls open as he steals all the air from your lungs.

"Shit—"

He cums with a grunt that sounds like it was dragged through barbed wire. Liquid pleasure blooms when you feel him twitch inside of you, and all you can do is cling to his massive shoulders as he rides you through the throes of bliss battering into your core.

Eyes drink you in: wide in the pale moonlight that spills from the window, cut at the bridge of his nose by the mask, jowls snapping at you. He's bathed entirely in black; drenched in tenebrose. A Stygian being looming over you, taking its wares from the tight clutch of your body, and forcing the air from your lungs until it's filled with the scent of him, and nothing more.

"You look good like this," he murmurs, eyes fever red and cosmic black. "Fuckin' hell, pet. You were made to be fucked, weren't you?"

Your eyes roll back into your head at the gruff sin leaking from behind his mask.

"Yes," you whimper, voice shredded and wrecked. He's not the only one who groans at the sound of you, ruined and aching. "Fuck, I love your cocks—"

It feels like the end. Like you'd been spat out on the wrong side of a tornado, and thrust into a battle you weren't, entirely, prepared for.

But you won. There is victory in the ache that thunders through your joints. A hard-fought war that left you a victor in the middle of a burning no man's land.

You can hear them around you. Price stroking your hair, and whispering about how good you were. Gaz and Soap huffing with exhausted laughter that sounds a touch delirious, as if they still couldn't quite wrap their heads around the act they were buried balls deep inside of you mere moments ago.

Alejandro and Rudy mutter to each other in blistered Spanish. You hear the clink of bottles as they toast each other over a victory, and a fucking gangbang.

They take turns touching you. Caring for you. Rudy makes you drink water, eyes melted chocolate—glossy and sleek with the remnants of pleasure. Aqui. He says, pressing the cool bottle to your sweat-slicked forehead. Aquas. Drink up, mi corazón.

Alejandro supports your shoulders when you struggle to sit up and take a sip. Gaz has a towel pressed to your cheeks, cleaning up the flaking mess of dried cum and sweat. Soap's hands clench yours tight when the bottle shakes in your grasp. Price is there to hold it steady.

Ghost hasn't taken his eyes off of you once since this started. You meet his stare, gloaming light shading everything in gold. He tips his chin. A promise in the obsidian cut of his eyes.

Thought you got lost, Ghost—

Gaz huffs. Gems shatter. Crushed into shards that sit in the palm of your hand, waiting to be reassembled.

(Someday, you think.)

"Best game of never have I ever, ever."

"So….," Soap slurs, cheeks pink and eyes swimming with incipient desire. "Round two?"

8K notes · View notes

decolonize-the-left · 5 months

Note

is it possible to ever stop being a settler if u were born white in america? genuine question im sorry if this sounds stupid i just dont know and youre smart about this

This is actually a great question and one better answered if you can figure out what's makes a settler and a native so different.

The short answer: no. As long as the USA exists then you are a settler. Further, to continue defining yourself as an American is to continue claiming a settler identity. If you don't want to be a settler you need to stop identifying as such and seek to dismantle the USA in solidarity with natives.

The long answer:

Going back to what makes settlers and natives so different. Settlers have no connection to the land. They don't know what grows in it because they've never had to rely on it. They don't see it's worth because they can only see the value that destroying it brings.

They don't see the medicine or food or shelter or burial grounds that have brought people together for thousands of years. They don't see that it can continue to do so for thousands more.

And that's because settlers rely on their colonialist powers to provide for them.

So instead of seeing community and life in the land and people, settlers see things like parking lots and hotels and competition.

Their food will come prepared for them to use and they won't think about the animal it came from or the people exploited for it to end up on their table. They don't know where it came from either and the same goes for near everything else in their houses.

Settlers are defined by not only their complicity in this system & it's violence, but their resistance to make the same connections to the land. Settlers have dehumanized the earth and its inhabitants, reduced us to commodities. Respecting the earth is laughable to settlers.

So is it possible to not be a settler in America?

I can't tell you the answer is to be Ojibwe or Sámi or Taino, but the answer is certainly to live indigenously.

These New People will have to carve out their own cultures and ways and traditions. And as a people who exploited and displaced millions of people and created a 'melting pot', I feel like the first step should be dismantling white supremacy in the name of peace and tolerance. Wouldn't do any good to try moving forward without addressing the ideology that brought us all here.

It should be to learn about community, the people its made of, and actively loving them instead of passively tolerating them. Learn about their traditions, events, and/or holidays and see how they can be more included in community events and celebrations

The more you do this the more realize how often we're truly left out while others are centered.

Seek to change that.

Refuse to follow the current American values of bias, hate, and judgement.

#answered #asked #indigenous #native #ojibwe

847 notes · View notes

caesium-55 · 3 months

Text

—seven days. [ iii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: hi hello welcome to part three. i flunked the quiz. lemme know what you think. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED. this chapter kinda sux. can't believe i went through a breakup just last week and i still cant write decent post-breakup scenes.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab hope i didn't forget anyone.

masterlist.

you: *sent a link*

him: ?

him: what's this

you: benefits of crying

you: read it it's enlightening

him: some people do not cry over a breakup you know and that is totally okay

you: why crying helps.

you: 1. tears release toxins, stress hormones to be specific. it is good to let all the bad energy out.

you: 2. it aids sleep. no need for further explanation.

you: 3. crying releases oxytocin and endorphins. i know you don't know what an oxytocin or an endorphin is but they're happy chemicals.

you: 4. crying helps you receive the support you need from the people around you. EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY is okay, max. stop treating it like an STD.

him: it feels like an std

you: pussy

you: emotional vulnerability is a thing and it's normal so stop trying to be a big strong man when you're barely holding it together.

you: you may look fine now but i know you

him: please stop

you: no

you: 5. crying has a self soothing effect. very nice actually. it activates the rest and digest system.

him: what even is that

you: the parasympathetic nervous system

him: ??

you: this is why you shouldn't have dropped out of high school

you: education is important yknow

you: youre already lacking in three forms of intelligence, academic, emotional n social intelligence

him: fuck you im smart

you: fuck you 2 and yeah you're smart but only in geography

you: you probably can't do your taxes

him: im dutch so the company's account department do it for me by default

him: the american system is just weird

you: cant argue w/ u there

you: also, 6. crying helps restore emotional balance

you: see? you need that

you: yknow now that i think abt it you should consider seeking therapy

him: what makes you think i’m not in therapy right now

you: well have you considered getting MORE therapy?

You stand in front of the body mirror, holding the Red Bull polo shirt against your body to see how it looks on you for one last time. On your right sleeve, the word MANAGER is written in bold, white text. Because that was what you were. Just a manager.

In another universe this is not the shirt that you’d be wearing. The MANAGER would have been ENGINEER. In another another universe where your family has been well-off enough to continuously send you to karting school and you would have been the one driving the fucking car by now.

You know, if Max has even tried talking to Horner and suggested that you should be moved into the engineering team, then you wouldn't be stuck wearing this god-awful polo that burned your skin every time you wore it for work. Everybody reduced you as Max’s American manager and because you are American, most of them kind of just assumed that you're dumb, you know?

Does the world even know how smart you are? That you graduated top of your class, got the best thesis award, and that you had finished your masters just this year? Did they even know that a Japanese car company wanted you on their research team? That a NASCAR team wanted you on board as one of their engineers? Does Max even know?

Fuck no. He only knows that you're the best at ironing clothes and organizing his Google calendar and memorizing his entire coffee order by heart. He knew you're good at extinguishing kitchen fires and kicking ass in YSL Opyum heels. You doubt he knows that you can do Calculus in your sleep.

You can take it if the world puts you down for your appearance. But if the world puts you down because of your intellect? That's a different story. You'll take any insult to the face but not to your intelligence.

You have four days left in Monaco so you have begun packing already. You're right, everything did fit into three suitcases. Also, you haven't told Max yet. For some reason, you’re too anxious. Which is shocking to say the least because you never ever gets anxious when it came to Max Verstappen. You wouldn't have lasted this long working alongside Max if you were a pussy.

Max Max Max Super Max Max—

“[Name] here. Need anythin’, champ?”

Hearing a sob on the other end of the line immediately activates your fight or flight response. Your eyes widen and you toss the Red Bull shirt aside. Your legs leads you to the nearly empty shoe rack stationed beside the front door, grabbing the pair of shoes at the very top of the tiny shelf and throwing them on.

“I’m comin’ there. Hang on, Max. You wait for me, okay?”

He doesn't answer, just continuing to sob and the sound absolutely breaks your heart.

You run to his penthouse at a speed that will even put the RB19 to shame. Not even bothering to knock, you barge in and yell his name in the empty halls of his penthouse. You search in the kitchen. He's not there. The living room. Not there either. The room where his simulations are. Not there. You run to his bedroom upstairs.

The door is locked. Dammit. Panic overflooded your system.

“Max, sweetheart, you there?”

No answer, but you can hear a faint sound behind the door if you press your ear against the wood. Firefighter training covered how to open a fucking door when it was locked so this once again becomes a situation where you're grateful that you did that tiring and borderline suicidal volunteer work.

Max keeps a fire extinguisher inside his penthouse as per your advice. There is one stationed in almost every room inside his house. You knew there is one inside his room and another one just at the end of the hallway. You make a quick run for it and once you have the extinguisher in your hands, you run back to his door.

“Step away from the door!” you instructed while your mind mentally calculates your payment plan as you hit the door knob with so much force, the walls tremble at your strength. You're functioning on pure adrenaline. Your instincts only yell one thing and that is: go to Max. No one and nothing in this world will keep you from him. It isn't long until his bedroom door broke down. With one last final kick, it crumbles down from its hinges and you forcefully pry it open and sprint inside.

Max tucks himself in the tiny space in the corner of his huge bedroom, his knees shoved up to his chest. A 181-cm tall man trying to make himself as small as possible.

This is it. This is the bottled-up emotions he's been storing since Abu Dhabi. You cannot say you have not anticipated this. Max is bound to explode sooner or later.

Panic attacks have made a home in Max’s body since he was a child. That's what one gets when they’re parented by someone like Jos Verstappen. He killed Max’s soul and made the boy a machine and for what? To shape a child into a man, a racer that he wanted to be but failed to become at the cost of Max's mental health and childhood.

When Max looks up with that heartbreaking look on his face, you almost crumble. Almost, because you cannot crumble. Not when Max needs you.

Sometimes, you forget what it took for Max to become the champion that he is today. A childhood sacrificed for his dominance on the tracks. A whole lot of hatred from the people to become a WDC. And now, a love lost for his third consecutive championship.

“You came,” his voice cracks towards the end.

Your eyes soften, “You called, Max. Course I’ll come.”

You barely brace yourself for the impact that is Max’s body wrapping around yours in a tight hug. The man have literally launch himself from the floor to you at sixth gear speed. You stumble backwards slightly, holding his bed for support so the both of you won't fall down.

“Max—”

“No,” he whispers and his grip on your tightens as if he's afraid that you’ll slip away if he even tried to give your lungs space to breathe. “Don't speak. Stay.”

What Max wanted, what Max would get. So you shut your mouth, shuffle slightly so he'll be in a more comfortable position and allow him take whatever he wants from you. This will be the last chance he’ll ever do it anyway because in four days time, you’re flying to Texas.

You stay for what is probably hours in that position. Crumbled together on the floor, leaning against the side of Max’s king-sized bed. Your shirt is completely damp from his tears but you cannot even bring yourself to care about it.

“Your shoes…” It's the first time Max has spoken since the start of his meltdown.

“Hm?” you turn your head and your nose nuzzles against his hair, making you scrunch it up a little. His hair is tickling your nostrils. If you lean a little forward, your lips will meet the skin of his temple.

“They’re mismatched.”

Brows furrowed, your eyes move to your feet and see that Max is right. Your shoes are indeed mismatched. On your left is one of your Adidas slides and the other is your slip-on Skechers. You ran from one building to another in mismatched shoes. Fucking embarassing.

“Ignore them.”

Silence.

“You good now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” you say. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

You hear Max let out a shaky breath, “Just stay for a while. Don't leave me alone.”

“Okay.”

Eventually, you manage to talk Max out of the hug. You're beginning to feel claustrophobic but you do not want to say it out right so you try to negotiate instead. That's how you and Max found yourselves inside his kitchen again. You're trying to replicate your Abuela's cheesecake, which she was known for back in Austin, and Max is…well, he's Max and he’s trying to be helpful in any way he can. If it's some other day, you'd have shoved him out of the way because you prefer working alone in the kitchen. Having eyes on you gives you anxiety. But given today’s circumstances, you do not have the heart to make Max leave so you task him with doing the little stuff like mixing things and throwing shit to the trash can nearby. And he does so splendidly.

“Thank you, by the way.”

“For what, baby?” You internally wince at your own slip of the tongue. Damn that habit of yours of calling people with affectionate call signs. Thankfully, Max seems to have not noticed it.

“For coming here.”

You shrug.

“I only did what you did for me in 2021.”

Again, your breakup with Leo was bad bad. You spent a month crying for a love lost and Max was there for you. For the most part, at least. You want him to focus on winning and winning alone that you pushed him away a lot of times but you appreciated how he was more obedient to your commands, that he held his tongue so he wouldn't piss you off even though he was not liking your words, and that he was considerate of you.

“I hope you won't go into fights though,” you chuckle. “Like I did after my breakup.”

He smiles, shaking his head lightly and you know he's recalling the memory. 2021 is a hilarious year for you, the Red Bull manager. You went viral after getting into a cat fight with a girl and a whole fist fight with her boyfriend.

You and Leo called it quits a week before Monaco and even though it had been four races since then, your heart was still in a quite fragile state at that specific race weekend. One minor inconvenience was enough to ignite a wild blaze of fire within you and nobody could extinguish the flames.

After Silverstone FP1, you were leading Max to the cool down room to brief him with Horner’s relayed instructions and someone had thrown a glass bottle towards the both of you while walking. Originally, Max was the main target of the bottle but you happened to have moved towards the line of trajectory and the bottle landed on your temple, hard enough that you stumbled upon impact.

You barely heard Max’s shocked gasp and shout of panic over the sound of glass shattering on your foot because the only thing you could register was the terrifying feeling of a thick liquid trickling down the side of your face and you didn't even need to see it to know it was blood.

The only thing you saw was red and it was on fucking sight.

Fucking Hamilton fan. Fucking Hamilton. He’s in Max’s way. He’s in your way. He’s the wall that was dividing you from your dream position in the engineering team.

You shoved the iPad you were holding to Max’s hands and marched down to the woman wearing the Merc #44 merch, swiftly jumping over the barricade and grabbing her by the collar of her pristine white Versace top.

The events that followed were too fast. You grabbed her collar. She pulled your hair. You also pulled her hair. Someone pulled her away from you. You tried to grab her, clawing her bare arms with your manicured nails. She screamed. You screamed back. You pulled out some curse words in Spanish as well because cursing her in one language alone is not enough. Her boyfriend appeared. A quick punch to your cheek. You fell to the ground.

The world stood still. There was a sting on your palm because your skin got torn from the hard surface of the concrete ground. You let a bloodcurdling war cry and your Dad would definitely be disappointed at you for using the boxing techniques he taught you for self defense purposes only to fight a guy two times your size.

Everything was a bigger blur from there. But you did remember the sensation of Max’s strong arms around you, stopping you from lunging forward again. He was saying sweet words to your ear to calm you down but your brain failed to intercept them so you could hear the words, could hear his voice, but not understand any of it. You remember Christian Horner's disappointed face that haunted you even two years later. You remembered feeling so terrified as you sat outside Christian Horner’s office waiting for the final verdict while he and Max and a few of the Red Bull higher-ups argued about your future with the team. You remembered hearing Max’s loud snarl on the other side of the mahogany door: “Did you see her face?! There was blood everywhere! On her nose, on her mouth, on the fucking side of her head!” You remembered the girl taking the case to court. You remembered fearing that you’d be sent to jail. You remembered that she lost the case because it was ruled as self defense and your injuries were grave. You remembered discovering that it was Max who used all his power and got the best lawyer to fight your case. You remembered the atmosphere in the Red Bull garage shifting when you entered it a few weeks later and everyone stared the bandages and bruises. Everyone thought one thing: of course, it would also take a monster to manage a monster like Max Verstappen. You remembered Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion, apologizing personally for the fight caused by his own fan. He didn't need to but he was so sincere with it that you cried when he handed you the apology flowers. God, how could you even hate this man? Your anger towards him was misplaced.

You’d been living with the guilt ever since, that you were horrifyingly violent for a day, that you were capable of killing for a day. And it could happen again. One day. God, you hoped you wouldn't have to see that day. You knew all your coworkers have been careful with angering you ever since. They're terrified of you even. Max should be, too. But then again, why would he when he already saw the horrors done by his father’s hands ever since he was a child? He was used to it.

“I won't,” he says, smiling at you. “I wouldn't want to add anymore problems for you to clean up.”

But you will not be the one cleaning it up because you resigned. You didn’t tell that to him though. Not right now. He just had a meltdown over Kelly leaving him and the news of his manager leaving him too will destroy him.

The cheesecake is a little burnt when you take it out of the oven but it actually adds more flavor to it so yeah, that's a win.

“We should drink,” you suggest.

“It’s mid-afternoon.”

“We drank at mid-afternoon yesterday,” you give him a blank stare. “With Alex and Charles, remember?”

He doesn't say anything as you make your way to his fridge and pull out two bottles of beer. Max has champagne stored somewhere but you have enough of those expensive champagnes. You need beer. Beer is good. Beer is nice. You're a beer type of person and it is time Max becomes one, too.

“I’m no scientist,” you begin, biting off the beer’s bottle cap. “But according to chemistry, alcohol is solution.”

Well, technically, edible alcohol or ethanol is not a mixture. Rather, it's a pure substance that happens to be a liquid at room temperature and typical atmospheric pressure. Pure ethanol is not a solution. Hard spirits though? That's a solution.

Beer is not a hard spirit. It's more of a fermented drink. But Max doesn't know that, though, so you don't bother explaining the science behind it.

Somewhere down the road, the two of you move to his living room. You use the Youtube app in his TV to search karaoke video and have the bestest time of your lives. You're screaming along some Daddy Yankee and El Alfa songs and Max doesn't know how to speak Spanish so he’s just vibing to it.

At 5 PM, you pull out Max’s expensive vodka bottle. Now this is the real shit. The ten bottles of beer? Those are just pregame. Max is already drunk with just those because he’s a pussy but you’re no pussy, so the only right answer is vodka! Viva la vodka or whatever.

Your throat gets tired of singing and Max gets tired from dancing, too, so you both decide to just go entertain yourselves in other ways. First, you introduced Max to beer-pong. He loses, of course. He sucks at everything not racing. Then, the two of you move onto chess. Max gives up mid-game. He cannot understand the rules. Then, lastly, you move to the billiard table Max owned. He only used it when the other guys are over and you do not even know why he bought it when he sucked at playing billiards.

“You know what Kelly said the morning before the race?” Max suddenly says and you look up at him, brow raising slightly. He’s drunk; his skin is flushed and he is all giggly and smile-y as he sits on the billiard table’s side rail and using the billiard stick as some sort of support stand to keep him from falling. You hope he won't accidentally poke himself. You're no better, too. Ten beer bottles and a few glasses of vodka. But you’re not as drunk as Max, and you still have a straight vision and you can still sink the colored balls into the pockets of the billiard table.

“Hm?”

“That it was unfair for her.”

You raise a questioning brow, “Why?”

“I bought shoes and they don't fit her.”

You blink. He laughs at himself as if he has uttered the funniest joke in the world.

“Three years of relationship gone because of a single pair of shoes,” he continues. “She wanted those shoes, too.”

Kelly….what the fuck?

“But that's okay. She….She made me open my eyes, you know? She made me realize what I truly love.”

“Racing.” It's not even a question. It's the truth.

Max stares at you, long and hard, and you look away first because you fear that if you allow yourself to stare too long, you’ll drown in those beautiful blues. This is enough heartache for the day. No need to add more.

“Hey [Name],” he begins. “If I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?”

#manager!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #formula one #fanfic #angst #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33

564 notes · View notes

caraphernellie · 5 months

Text

cowboy like me // e.w. [chapter one]

summary: a modern day princess living under outdated royal protocol in which your own existence is forbidden. in a typical state visit to strengthen your country's relations with the united states, you find it harder than ever to keep your sexuality secret when you meet the president's daughter, ellie williams, and sparks fly.

wc: 2.1k masterlist

content warnings: fluff, angst, eventual smut. homophobia, governments, monarchy, politics. reader is specified as lesbian with she/her pronouns used for plot purposes i sorry, smoking, making out, femme! reader. u-haul lesbians fr. reader plays piano. ellie is a disaster lesbian lmaooooo. she's also super privileged and a bit of an ass. mostly based off of the british royal family in terms of royal protocol and all that shit, don’t kill me if things are inaccurate i’m not american, this chapter is more an intro to ellie's character and establishing tension

authors note: i'm so excited about this fic... but i might hate it in the morning so we'll see!! i've never read/watched red white and royal blue but it did inspire this fic (do not expect it to be anything like rwrb as i said i don't know what happens in it lmao). ellie's the president's daughter obvs. if your country doesn't have a monarchy just pretend there is one. if you're from the us then L 💀 play pretend

converse sneakers pelting across marble tiled floors with an onslaught of urgency, ellie makes her way through the halls. she stops at a mirror for a second, a muse in her mind– eh, good enough.

smoothing down flyaway hairs, ellie realises spending free time in the courtyard outside may not have been the best idea on a cool spring day such as this. the winter is still lingering, breezes battering the flag of red, white, and blue on the roof of the building as warm temperatures are still fresh. still- she needs as much a distraction as anyone else. as if procrastinating on something like homework, assignments, except the only thing ellie has done is make herself late to the introductory banquet of the royal family. all she knows is the president won’t be happy with her.

bringing her wrist to her nose, ellie sniffs, though it’s less sniffing and more inhaling, trying to figure out if she has masked the smell of the cigarette she wasted or if she needs more cologne.

ellie’s caught by a housekeeper with her face stuck awkwardly into her suit jacket, furrowed brows as she inspects her own scent. pausing, a strained smile takes its place on chapped lips.

“he–”

“goodness, miss williams, you’re terribly late,” the housekeeper says, quickly approaching. “staff have been searching everywhere for you.”

“right,” ellie mumbles, straightening up her posture. “sorry. i’ll be on my way to the state dining room right now.”

approaching said room, ellie can already hear the fuss– loud and polite conversations, the snapping of photos, subtle classical playing over the speakers. christ, ellie thinks, how do i render myself invisible?

ellie’s worries ease the minute she steps inside, however, as the commotion isn’t around her own family today. it’s the royal family. and that realisation almost sparks up yet another mini freakout in ellie’s mind. she’s been looking forward to this for weeks, of course she has, a hot princess living in her home for an entire month..? that’s something she could get used to. but it’s real now, and just staring at you is sending a chill down ellie’s spine.

flash photography and yelling of the invited press is suffocating ellie as she ventures further into the room. she hasn’t even been noticed yet, thank god, so she decides to humbly busy herself at the table of finger food. until–

“ellie williams?”

a delicate voice smooth and sweet, ellie’s ears prick up to the sound of an accent unique and she knows exactly who this has to be.

fuck.

ellie makes quick effort to swallow the stupid cocktail frank she was eating and turns around, wiping her clammy hands on the ass of her slacks.

a princess standing right in front of her, of course these things only happen to ellie in her most cringeworthy moments. demolishing a table of finger food… what can she say? she’s an anxious snacker.

“ah-” ellie’s eyes meet your own and she gulps, extending a hand. “a pleasure to meet you, princess…”

get your head in the game, ellie. she clears her throat, putting on her famous, confident smile. and as you place your hand in hers, she acts purely without thinking, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. nobody was watching, but ellie drops your hand in an instant- is flirting with a princess the right move? even if it’s humorous?

your brain just about short-circuits, and ellie’s reeling. that was stupid, so stupid. acting on total whim.

the collar of ellie’s shirt feels too tight as she observes the split-second utter shock in your eyes, though she relaxes as you reward her a smile. and it isn’t that typical, media-trained smile, either.

“charming,” you murmur in response, eyes fixed on ellie’s piercing greens. however delighted you might be to be treated in this way by a girl like ellie, the way in which you hide it is effortless.

and charming, of course, is exactly what ellie is. messy, shirt creased and hair tousled and she honestly reeks of expensive cologne and faint smoke – but she has that handsome smile and that confident demeanour that the girls of washington d.c. fall for so easily.

“i hope so,” ellie says with an awkward chuckle, shoving her hands into her pockets. “that’s the aim of the game.”

you laugh similarly, politely, and make it as clear as possible to glance ellie up and down. “i’ll play.”

and the look on ellie’s face is plain silly at the least, her brows furrowed and eyes wide. “wh- uh..”

“say, it’s a little stuffy in here,” you say, gently fanning yourself, “you wouldn’t happen to know of any quiet spaces we could disappear to?”

ellie’s lips form a small o-shape as she processes the question. you want to be alone with her. a smirk crosses ellie’s face and she nods, “absolutely, your highness. my office.”

“would you be so kind as to show me to it?”

“of course, follow me,” ellie nods her head to the direction of the door. “we’ll have to sneak around.”

your heels click against the floor while ellie leads you down the hall, the sound a constant reminder to her that you’re actually walking alongside her. approaching a large door adorned by a gold plate with ellie’s name carved into it, she pulls a key from her pocket. and yet her eyes are on you the whole time.

the door clicks open and ellie holds it for you, only for her face to turn red when met with the sight of her office.

“excuse the mess,” she mutters, closing and locking the door behind the two of you. “i was uh, in here late last night. i had a speech to work on.”

“it’s alright,” you say, “some organised mess makes it homely.”

“right,” ellie nods. she’s beyond sensical thought now, just going along with anything you say. try harder. this is ellie’s issue, she eggs herself on too much, gets too overzealous, does things for the sake of doing them because her life has quite literally no direction if she doesn’t set herself these impossible dares. “just take a seat anywhere if you like. the couch is pretty comfy.”

ellie makes a pointless attempt to tidy some papers on her desk. she doesn’t necessarily do a lot of work here, though she enjoys being an activist, often writing speeches and finding causes to help others. though it did only begin in the first place as a way to increase the votes for her father’s party during the election- that doesn’t mean it isn’t genuine!

it’s just that ellie’s lazy ass needs pressure to do these things.

she gnaws her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, watching as you sit on the two-seater, eyeing the guitars along the wall of the office. “you play?”

“hm? no,” you say, watching ellie take a warm toned acoustic and sit beside you. “i’m a pianist, though.”

“pianist?” ellie chuckles, thumb stroking over each string of the guitar. “you’ll have to play for me sometime.”

you nod, watching intently as ellie begins playing a quiet tune. she can’t help but notice your rigid, straight posture. she can’t tell if you just have great posture, or if you’re uncomfortable.

but, noticing your eyes lingering over her nimble fingers as they pick at the guitar, ellie’s lips curl upwards just slightly.

she knows well when she’s got a girl worked up. she’d never expected the princess to be this easy.

“music is just beautiful,” you say with a small nod, again, that genuine smile small as ever on your lips insecurely. “nothing like it.”

“you think so?” ellie muses, and when you manage to finally stray your eyes from her hands, you meet ellie’s own soft gaze. “because i think… even the most beautiful ballad couldn’t compare to the solid view i got right now.”

you scoff, turning quiet as heat fills your cheeks. your brows furrow as you tilt your head a nod to the side, studying ellie’s features, searching for any hint of dishonesty. and it’s like she can tell that, with your gaze silently begging her to not be messing with you- she turns her expression more serious.

“you’re something else, williams,” you retort, though adjusting yourself a little closer. knees touch, and you don’t flinch away.

“yeah?” ellie grins. the room goes silent, ellie no longer continuing to play her tune. the guitar on her lap, she rests her chin over it. “something good, or something bad?”

there’s a more subtle smirk on her face now. she begins to move, setting the guitar down and leaning it against the couch as she shifts even closer.

“mmm…” you think for a moment, a smaller expression of interest visible across your features. “something that my head tells me is not a good idea, but my heart says is just fine.”

how the fuck did i get here, ellie wonders? she’s running on pure luck at this point. stumbled in late and somehow she’s got a princess way in over her head.

and ellie doesn’t leave you waiting a moment longer– the second you lean closer she’s grabbing your head and meeting your lips in a fervent kiss, one you gasp into and immediately lean into, hands falling into place with one on her chest and the other on the back of her neck.

pulling away breathlessly, ellie chuckles a bit and shrugs her shoulders, “eh- oops?” she looks almost embarrassed by her own reckless act. “sorry.”

there’s too much going on for you– just too much in your head. your first kiss, the first other lesbian you’ve ever met. her words get you weak in the knees, yet she gets just as flustered by her own actions which seem to only ever work on impulse. so you start laughing, and you can’t stop.

ellie herself laughs a little, watching you giggle at her pink face as you lean into the back of the couch and hold up a cushion to hide your face. it’s all snorting and snickering and ellie’s face is getting redder.

she snatches the cushion out of your hands and raises a brow at you, “if you keep being that cute i’m gonna–”

“sorry,” you laugh, “sorry-”

ellie can’t help but notice how much it seems like you really needed this laughing fit, the way it’s instantly relaxed you…

“that’s it,” she mutters with a chuckle, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer. “c’mere.”

the yelp of surprise that ellie’s movement elicits has her beaming, holding you on her lap. she rests a hand on the back of your head, the other cupping your ass. it’s indecent, indelicate to touch a princess like that, and yet you’re not stopping her. ellie’s already found herself addicted.

because this time ellie lets herself just go, pressing her lips to yours. she swipes her tongue over your bottom lip, grunting as you gasp. with your lips parted she slips her tongue into the kiss. she isn’t just kissing you, she’s devouring. she’s making sure not to leave an inch of your mouth unexplored, nor will she allow it for your body, getting rather handsy. every pretty little sound you breathe motivates her to continue, pulling you back in every time you pull back for air.

a hand slides under your dress, gripping your thigh, the other squeezes your breast before gliding to the curve of your ass, and she slumps into the couch. her boxers are growing uncomfortably wet and she needs to do something about it, hold you down on her desk and–

a key turns in the door and her eyes snap open, as do yours. not a single word is said but the panicked look you share tells all as you move back onto the couch beside ellie, smoothing down your dress. she grabs her forgotten guitar and moves it onto her lap.

and in mere seconds, the door opens to reveal a housekeeper who had used the master key to get in. and she’s clueless, though a little discomforted by the taut smiles you and ellie offer.

“sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” she offers awkwardly. “nobody has seen either of you in a long time, it was requested by president williams that we search the place.”

“ah,” ellie muses, clearing her throat before her voice can come out as weak as it feels. “i understand. we’re alright, yes, sorry, um… we needed a quiet place.”

sitting there with that prim and proper posture once again, your leg crossed over the other, you stare at ellie, resisting the urge to reach over right now and fix her hair after having ran your hands through it with desperation.

this is going to be an interesting state visit.

tag list (msg me or find my tag list in my pinned post if u want to be tagged!!): @dinasvampgf

🙈🙈 omg this fic..

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou2 x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #fem reader #⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ fanfic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x you #ellie x yn #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x yn #ellie fanfic

726 notes · View notes

rainbowsky · 1 month

Text

Sorry I've taken so long to address this, I've had a very busy day and didn't have time to finish this post (which I started yesterday).

I'm talking, of course, about the incredibly controversial situation surrounding DD right now. I've gotten some messages about it so I figured I'd give my thoughts in a bigger post so that I don't have to keep repeating myself.

(CW: racism, spoilers FPU)

I know that by now most people are aware of the situation, but I'm going to start from square one for those who are just catching up on the topic.

There is a scene in Formed Police Unit where Chinese UN peacekeeping troops need to rescue a group of citizens who are surrounded by terrorists. In order to accomplish this they disguise themselves as people from the community. This being Africa, the troops were disguised using blackface.

Yes, I am saying that DD and his castmates appear in the film in blackface.

I am not going to post a picture of that here. It's just something I can't post on my blog. I understand that many of you will want to see for yourself so I'll link a clip of the scene, which was posted on Weibo. Please be aware before clicking - this is full-on blackface. Always take care of yourselves, and if you think it might be upsetting to you don't click. You don't need to see it to be a 'good fan'.

Background

For those who may not know, this movie was filmed years ago, in 2021. During those years I have seen many anti attacks against DD, claiming that he is racist and has worn blackface. Here's the photo that was circulating back then.

At the time I thought the makeup that he was wearing was likely anti-reflective black paint or camouflage paint such as is used by snipers (which he played in the film). I assumed that he was wearing his own hoodie over part of a military costume, because he was wearing a cammo shirt and what might have been combat trousers.

I was certainly not expecting full-on blackface from this movie.

There's no getting around it - this is extremely difficult to look at.

Blackface is widely viewed as offensive and racist. It shouldn't be hard to understand why. Putting on another person's ethnicity like a costume is deeply insensitive, particularly when you consider that BIPOC (black, indigenous, and other people of color) are so frequently targeted, exploited and marginalized. For those in positions of privilege and power to put on the appearance of the people who they oppress and exploit... it's just shocking and awful.

Blackface is most frequently talked about in an American context, but it's actually a problem globally - including in China. More on all that here.

The film

I have not actually seen the film, so I don't know much about the context beyond what is being discussed in the fandom. As I said earlier, in the film a group of UN police officers need to infiltrate an area in the community and take on disguises in order to do so.

In promotional media this film is being presented as based on true stories from real missions*. It seems the situation in question really happened on a Chinese peacekeeping mission, and the UN troops disguised themselves as black citizens in order to infiltrate and extract the endangered captives.

*I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt on this because it doesn't change how I feel it should have been handled.

This is important context that is being conveniently left out of much of the backlash about this situation. People are outright claiming that DD plays a black person in the movie - that he wore blackface to perform a role that a black actor could have played. This simply isn't true, and people making these claims are antis and liars. There's simply no excuse for not knowing the full context.

Having said that, I don't really think it matters how it ended up in the film. I do not think there is such a thing as a palatable or appropriate use of blackface. In this day and age it is nearly universally understood to be racist, and it's extremely controversial.

I can understand if they were trying to be accurate to the mission that they were portraying, but surely there are other ways they could have accomplished this scene (perhaps with the clothing but not the blackface). 'Historical accuracy' isn't as important as cultural sensitivity, not by any stretch of the imagination. In the interest of respecting audiences they could have adapted the scene to make the use of blackface unnecessary.

I really see no excuse for anything like this in 2024.

Audience reactions

Chinese sensibilities around these topics are very different from what we are used to in the West.

According to fan repos audiences initially didn't recognize any of the actors, and once it became apparent that they were in disguise, laughter erupted around the room. In fact, most fans are laughing a lot at the photos and video even on social media (although some Chinese netizens have been upset by it and have voiced complaints to various stakeholders).

It is also being widely discussed on Chinese social media as an exciting scene of heroism in the film.

I feel the need to point out that the laughter and mockery is a huge part of the harm, here. As if it's not bad enough that these actors are performing in blackface and presenting a perversion of black ethnicity, it also becomes an opportunity for audiences to mock and disrespect black people. It's become an opportunity for social media to be filled with racist jokes and mockery.

Roadshow statements

There have been some clips circulating of PR and roadshow moments with black cast members and some black audience members who have spoken up in support of the film and to thank the cast and crew for telling the story. Here's one example.

International fans have been dismissing those statements as ignorant or coerced, which I think is offensive and deeply fucked up. There's no planet on which I'm going to - with a totally straight face - say that a black person's response to the movie is not legitimate just because it doesn't comport with my own view.

This is a complex issue and there are inevitably going to be a lot of different perspectives. I hope people won't exacerbate the problem by supplanting black voices on this issue with their own, no matter what's being said. If there's any manipulation going on, let's assume it was in their choosing supportive black figures to speak for the film rather than claim that the black spokespeople are insincere.

China has a lot of issues with racism, there's no doubt about it. It's a huge part of why so many people try to whiten their skin, or why they mock each other when their skin gets tanned/darker. There is a lot of sinister, fucked up stuff going on in China around race - both in the country and in their dealings with other countries.

But we can't claim to speak for black people in China, particularly when they are speaking for themselves! I would hope this is extremely obvious!

Where's DD in all this?

It's understandable that bystanders will react to what they're seeing and might immediately deem it unacceptable - and DD along with it. Their reactions are valid, but as fans I hope that we can look at him with a bit more empathy. I hope that we can take a moment to try to see things from his perspective.

DD has been interested in and an avid fan of black culture since he was a small child. We've all seen how much he immerses himself in hip hop, street dance and the accompanying music and fashion. And yes, he's been accused of cultural appropriation in the past for wearing locs and durags.

However, I think fans need a bit of perspective here to get a sense of where DD might be coming from. Here's a guy who loves black culture, who has close friends who are black, who regularly works with black artists and who supports black artists, in a culture where racism against black people is prevalent and often extreme.

I think DD would probably be amazed to hear the accusations of racism against him. He likely has very few people in his orbit who are anywhere near as supportive of or as closely connected to black people as he is. He likely stands out in his circle as being particularly into black culture and connected with black artists, and probably regularly faces ignorant questions or digs from people around him about his close association with black artists and culture.

Not just because of racism alone, but also due to the racist parallels the government tends to draw between black culture, street dance, hip hop, etc. and criminality/moral degradation*. It's likely that ignorant people in his orbit have expressed concern or wariness toward him because of these associations.

*That is, until breakdancing became an Olympic sport, then they were suddenly onboard with some of it.

I'm not saying that he doesn't have a lot of learning to do (and if this situation becomes what I think it might become, he'll have a big opportunity to do so), I'm just saying that his ignorance isn't mean-spirited. He's coming at this from a totally different angle than any of us are, and he is immersed in a totally different cultural perspective than our own. In his world, his interest likely makes him a bit of an anomaly.

So those painting him as a horrible racist... it's just not how I see it.

The element of choice

I've heard many people say that DD 'didn't have any choice' about this role, that turning it down would not have been an option or that he would be under some kind of threat if he didn't take this role. I don't agree with that characterization of things. I don't think it's quite as 'gun to the head' as a lot of fans paint it.

I think it's more likely that he simply didn't realize that the role would involve blackface when he accepted it, or that he thought that blackface in this context - to infiltrate a terrorist cell and save civilians - would be fine. We don't need to depict China as forcibly compelling actors to take unwanted roles if we want to make sense of this. There are simpler, more logical explanations.

DD wouldn't have been the one deciding how to depict the scene - he didn't have that power in 2021 - but I also doubt he would have had a major problem with it given everything we know.

We must overcome our Western tendency to see things only from our own perspective. This has a totally different cultural context in China, and the voices we listen to about it should not be issuing exclusively from white faces that are not at ground zero of this situation.

Final thoughts

This film has had me worried from day one. I think most people have been expecting it to be full of offensive portrayals and propagandistic fuckery. There are so many ways in which a Chinese film about the UN is potentially a sticky, tricky mess. This blackface thing is likely just one problem on a towering pile of problems.

However, I'm not going to sugarcoat this - this has the potential to be a real shitshow for DD, and I am concerned. Especially if this film gets an international release.

We need to brace ourselves, because I don't think this is going to just disappear. DD has endorsements with international brands, and this could definitely cause backlash for those brands unless the issue is addressed and the scenes removed. There's no planet on which brands like Chanel and Lacoste can afford to have one of their spokespeople plastered everywhere in blackface.

If this film gets an international release and those scenes are left intact, it's possible he will lose some brands.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that, but let's face it - things like this have consequences, and that's why it's so important for producers and artists to be sensitive about what they're portraying.

While I think there's some endorsement risk here for DD, and the potential loss of some international fans, I want to be clear about one thing: I don't think this will threaten his career overall. In China this just isn't an issue in the way it is internationally.

I do hope the film team addresses this issue in some way, ideally by removing the scenes. They just finished doing a massive edit to remove ZZH from the film, surely they can handle something like this. But let's not hold our breath...

Everyone has the right to make up their minds about DD. As I've often said, being a turtle isn't for the faint of heart. That's not just because turtles are frequent targets for bullies, or because we have to constantly live with uncertainty and doubt.

Being an international turtle also isn't for the faint of heart because there are a lot of cultural and political minefields to navigate, and many ideological differences to adapt to. There's a huge learning curve and a lot of unknowns, and turtles who want to survive have to make peace with the fact that we and the boys are from different worlds in many ways. We may never know where they really stand on issues that are important to us.

However, in this case I feel confident that I know where DD's heart is on this issue. He simply doesn't hold hatred, disrespect or disdain for black people. Quite the contrary.

I think we'd all just feel a lot better if he had a good grasp on how to be a better ally.

And while we're waiting for that, I think we should put our money where our mouths are and learn more about these issues ourselves, both in China and locally at home. We want DD to be a better person; let's be better people too.

#bjyx #yizhan #ggdd controversies #please rebloggers don't tag with his name or the name of the film #i don't want this outside the turtle circle - the fan wars are horrific

245 notes · View notes

luviemax · 1 month

Text

a dream with a football player- oneshot

a/n: loook who the cat dragged in (me), song inspo here

-> jude bellingham x female!reader, no physical descriptions of reader, all photos taken from pinterest

warnings: half smau and half fic, reader has a bsf named audrey who's obsessed w football, reader has a grandma, google translated spanish.... and lets just pretedn the photo at the end isn't from american football....

masterlist

yourspamaccount location: Valencia, Spain

liked by: audreycore, friend1, friend2, and 12 others!

yourspamaccount: guys... i'm lowk tweaking rn... i had this dream with this super cute guy in it and i'm worried i'll NEVER find him again... #saveme... anyways i only have like a few more days at grandma's beach house so i'll make the most of it while i'm still here ig :(

audreycore: DON'T WORRY BABE WE'LL FIND HIM FOR U -> yourspamaccount: PLEASE! I NEED MY MANZ

friend1: STAY STRONG WARRIOR!! -> yourspamaccount liked this comment!

friend2: sending my thoughts and prayers to you in this difficult time -> yourspamaccount: thank you... your well wishes are recieved gratefully

"Okay," Audrey begins, setting her bag down onto a spare chair at table the two of you are sitting at, "Try and describe him to me." "Well..." You wistfully sigh, beginning to skim through the menu of the beachside restaurant the two of you are at, "he had these beautiful brown eyes, and he was tall," you inhale sharply, and begin to whisper-yell at your best friend, "Audrey. He was like, kinda tall. He was like, above 6 feet tall. Maybe 6'1", give or take?" Audrey lets out a low whistle. "That's pretty good. He fits your criteria," Audrey trails on, looking at the menu herself, "Tall, pretty eyes... Oh, what was he wearing?" "A jersey of some type," your eyebrows knit together, trying to piece together whatever happened in your dream the previous night, "Maybe he plays sports? The shirt was white, and there was some sort of symbol on it..." You trail on, trying to put together your thoughts. "Go on then, maybe I'll know something," Audrey chuckles to herself for a moment before going on, "Wouldn't it be absolutely wicked if you capture the heart of some football player and I'll get the best seats for every match?" She chuckles, "Well, rest assured, in the infinitesimal chance that whatever you've described to me happens, I'll make it work," You continue, "It seemed like a round symbol? Like circular, maybe? And the colours were yellow and blue, if I'm not mistaken.... And, oh! There was a crown on top of the entire circle situation." You purse your hands together, satisfied of the detailed explanation you've pieced together. Audrey simply sits there with her mouth agape. "Dude," she sighs, "you're talking about Jude Bellingham, aren't you?" You simply tilt your head in confusion. Although football has such an intense influence over the population of Spain, you haven't lived here before, and you were simply here to indulge in the picturesque summer scene in Valencia with your grandma at her beach house. Audrey picks up on your confusion, and snatches her phone out of her bag, and begins to furiously type something into her phone. Then, she slides the mobile device over to you across the table, and your jaw drops. There he was, in all his glory, the man, quite literally, from your dreams. With a gummy like smile and twinkling eyes, he was, quite literally, everything you could wish for. But then... you look at his follower count, with a whopping 30.4 million followers. "Look at how many followers he has," You whine, almost like a petulant child, "I have no chance." "Hey..." Audrey starts, taking her phone back from your grasp, "Never say never. To be fair, you have a better chance than the rest of the crowd. You're near Madrid. He lives in Madrid. It's not that enormous of a place. There's always a chance that you'll bump into him somewhere." You simply sigh in response. "Don't feed my delusions, Auds."

yourspamaccounttagged: audreycore

liked by: audreycore, friend1, friend2, and 16 others!

yourspamaccount: good news guys: we found the guy from my dream! bad news: he has 30.4 million other side hoes...

audreycore: DO NOT WORRY, Y/N Y/L/N! JUST BELIEVE IN THE POWERS OF MANIFESTATION, AND IT WILL HAPPEN!! -> yourspamaccount: audrey.... i think you're more excited than me... -> audreycore: yes.

friend1: girl... wtf! -> yourspamaccount: tell me about it!!

For the most part, you're just minding your own business. There aren't many days left in Valencia for you; as much as you love this sunny, safe refuge, it's quite impossible for you to stay here forever and just abandon all your responsibilities, It's not that your grandma hasn't offered though, she's tried to coerce you into staying here in this beachy paradise with her, but you simply can't accept. You have too many things back home, whether it be work or school, it'd just be too much. You might just take her up on the offer though, only later. Aimlessly, you roam the streets of Valencia. You observe the bustling crowd, the energetic children, the dads who are playing sports on the sandy shore, and the moms who are catching up on their tans and gossiping about whatever it is. That's when your daydreams are interrupted by a light tap on your shoulder. "Lo siento, discúlpame..." (sorry, excuse me...) The freaking Jude football guy who was in your dream comes up to you, albeit in slightly broken Spanish. You're starstruck for a second, but you quickly snap back into reality. "Hiya, can I help with anything?" You reply to him using English, sensing that he was probably more fluent in the language. "Oh my goodness," He breathes out a sigh of relief, "Thank God you can speak English. I don't think my Spanish would've gotten me anywhere at all," he laughs, and you let out a chuckle at his joke too, "Do you know where this place is, by any chance? I just can't seem to get the GPS working..." He shows you an address, and you immediately recognise it as a restaurant which you frequented with your family as a child. "Oh, absolutely!" You try and keep your cool, hoping that you aren't being too forward, "I could totally help you there. I used to go there all the time as a kid." "Really?" He smiles gratefully at you, "Are you sure that won't be too much trouble?" "Absolutely," You reassure him, "Alright, follow me..."

At first, the walk is filled with some sort of tentative, nervous silence. You're anxious to break the ice, but thankfully, Jude does it for you. "So, I never caught your name amidst all of that chaos..." He trails off, fiddling with his fingers. "Ah," You chuckle, "Y/N. You?" You turn slightly to face him, and tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes. "Y/N," He repeats, as if he's testing the taste of your name on his tongue, "Pretty name for a pretty girl. I'm Jude." "Very nice to meet you Jude." You smile at him, and then nod as you steadily go straight ahead, eyes diverted to the ground, trying to hide the warm flush that's beginning to spread on your cheeks. "So..." He starts, kicking loose gravel from beneath his feet, "What brings you to Valencia?" "Ah," a smile graces your face at the thought of your grandmother, "my grandma has a beach house here. I usually come here during the summer to just relax." "I see," Jude nods insightfully, "so you're not from around here?" "Well, I was technically born here, but my parents and I moved away to Florence when I was young for my dad's work," You shrug, "What about you? What brings you to Madrid?" "Ah," his lips press together to form a tight line, "Just some work stuff. Contractually, I'm obligated to stay here." "You don't sound happy about that." You let out a soft laugh, a quirk an eyebrow at him. "Nah," he begins, shrugging his shoulders in a half-hearted motion, "it's not that bad here, but I think that because I'm not so good at Spanish, I've found it a little hard to adjust. And I think I'm just homesick, really." "Yeah, I get that," you nod, sympathising with him, "What part of the UK are you from?" "Stourbridge," He replies, "you probably haven't heard of it. It's further West." "Ah, I see," you stop, as you approach the restaurant, "Oh shit." You cringe. "What's wrong?" Jude jogs up to you from a little further behind. "It's closed," You sigh, looking defeatedly at a handwritten sign that's been posted, "the lady who runs the place went to Bali for her son's wedding." "Damn," he sighs, "I'm hungry. But that's nice for her, I guess." "You know what?" You take a leap of courage. "What is it, Y/N?" When he says your name, your heart skips a beat, and butterflies begin to swell in your tummy, warm and fluttering. "Just follow me." You take his, much larger, hand in your own, and lead him to a place which you've come to know as one of your favourites on this entire earth.

"Oh my goodness." Jude is in awe as you guide him to the pier of the beach, staring at the twinkling fairy lights strung up, with the vacantly setting sun in the background. "Yeah," You smile, "Come on, take a seat." You gesture your hand to a small booth, one that's been labelled yours. "Cariño!" (sweetheart)Your grandmother calls out, walking over from the entrance of her restaurant. "Hola abuela." (hello grandma) You stand up to greet her, kissing her cheeks. "Ah, and this must be your friend?" Your grandmother switches to English, walking over to your table. "Abuela, this is Jude," He stands up to greet her, basically towering over her, "And Jude, this is my grandmother." "Hola, it's very nice to meet you." Jude gives your grandma a smile, and extends a hand for her to shake. "It's lovely to meet you too, Jude," your grandma smiles, "any friend of Y/N is a friend of mine. Let me get you two some menus." Before she departs, however, she whispers a few words in your ear, "Él es muy apuesto, muy alto tambien!" (he's very handsome, very tall too!) "Abuela!" You exclaim, a pink tint covering your cheeks, before you playfully swat her arm and chase her away. Her delighted laugh simply echoes as she walks away. Soon enough, the two of you place your orders, and eagerly await for a warm, homecooked meal.

"So," you start, and take a small sip of the lemonade that's been served to you, "You said something about living here for work?" He scratches the back of his head in response, "Yeah, wait, I'm so sorry, but you seriously don't know who I am?" You hum, too preoccupied with sipping your drink, "Not really. Only vaguely. My best friend, Audrey, told me who you were. She's a big football enthusiast, but I'm more a motorsport fan myself." He clicks his tongue. "Ah, I see." You giggle at the prospect of telling him about your dream, and although you thought it was quiet enough for him not to hear, he manages to catch it. "What is it?" He questions you, quirking his head to the side. "It's probably going to be really stupid." You sigh. "It's fine." He smiles. "You're going to find me weird after." "Hm, probably not." He traces his fingers along the rim of his cup.

"Today wasn't the first time I've seen you." You begin, testing the waters. "Well, you've probably seen me on billboards and all... I am kinda famous around here after all..." He jokes, which makes you let out a laugh. "A few days back, I had this dream, and it was by the beach which is outside my grandma's place. And I was having the greatest time. The sun was setting, and my toes were just touching the water. But the best part was that I wasn't alone. I was with this guy, and he was tall, and he had the most mesmirising brown eyes...." You're too nervous to meet his gaze, so you begin to gaze beyond the pier, into the vacant distance. But before you know it, he's next to you, and his fingers are on your chin, gently guiding your face back to his direction. "Wanna go recreate it?"

yourusername has posted!

liked by: judebellingham, audreycore, friend2, friend1, and 173 others!

yourusername: truly a night to remember <3

judebellingham: ur the best -> yourusername liked this comment!

judebellingham: i love your grandma -> yourusername: a bit out of your age range, is she not? -> judebellingham: i'll just go for the next best thing i guess :/ -> yourusername: thanks a lot...

audreycore: BELLLLINGIIIIMOOOOOOOOOOOO -> yourusername: ok.... -> judebellingham: thanks xx -> audreycore: i passed away

friend2: OK SERVE!!!! -> yourusername liked this comment

judebellingham has posted!

liked by yourusername, audreycore, erling.haaland, and 3,242,672 others!

judebellingham: ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername: cute -> judebellingham: thanks but i have a gf -> yourusername: not you, the seashell. -> judebellingham: oh...

erling.haaland: Ouch... -> judebellingham: EERLING IM SORRY -> erling.haaland: make it up to me when the wound isn't so fresh :(

audreycore: BELLINGIIIIMOOOOO -> judebellingham: AUUUUUUUUUDREEYYYYYY (idk what your surname is)

football_wagss: new wag alert????

user1: UGH OMG GOALSS

football_wagss has posted!

liked by user1, user2, user3, and 124,523 others!

football_wagss: yourusername, girlfriend of jude bellingham, and close friend of yourusername, audreycore, spotted at the Bayern vs Real Madrid semi-final to support Jude!

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham smut #football x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham blurb

155 notes · View notes

1onelypoet · 5 months

Text

stuck by the glue pt4 || op81 smau

a/n: last part. im a little depressed abt it but im working on a (hopefully) much better smau with like writing (does that make sense?) sooo. again thank u guys sm for the love 💕 ALSO OSCAR NEW IG POST WAS SOSODOD

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader

fc: beabadoobe

warnings: cursing and the mildest of mild innuendo

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, lnfour, opeightyone and others

oscarpiastri First race back was a crazy one 🥴

view comments

mclaren A day to remember!

oscarpiastri 👊👊

landoscar OP81 WDC 2024 🗣🗣

landonorris Great job, mate!

pastry4piastri im so normal abt him!

oscarpiastriswife same.

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, littlebodybigheart and others

tagged yourbff, yourfriend1

yourusername it's a blacked out blur but im pretty sure it ruled 🍒

view comments

youfriend1 there's no bond like the one between drunk dutch girlies who don't speak english and drunk american girlies who don't speak dutch 💕

yourusername nothing brings ppl together like alcohol-induced nausea 💓

landonorris think you guys forgot to invite me

yourbff we didn't invite you! yourbff girls only 😘 yourusername esp after that comment 😐 landonorris I'm not sorry.

y/ntaylorsversion oscar is not giving up lmao

oscarpiastri added to their story

[caption: my world ❤️]

seen by yourusername, lilymhe, logansargeant and others

yourusername got me giggling n blushing n shit 🤸‍♀️ oscarpiastri that's the goal 💕 also why are you cartwheeling yourusername y not 🤸‍♀️🤸‍♀️

yourbff simp oscarpiastri only for y/n ☺️ yourbff ok that's kinda sweet ig... still using the emojis like a grandpa tho!

yourbff added to their story

[caption: last day in the netherlands w my bae yourusername n her man]

seen by yourfriend1, yourusername, oscarpiastri and others

yourusername we're such masterminds 🤞🤞 yourbff imagine if they dont figure it out lmao even tho we layed it all out yourusername HELP bet they're gonna say it's logan again yourbff nah logans mine 🥊🥊 he just doesn't know it yet! yourusername LMFAOO i ship it 💝

logansargeant i thought y/n and oscar were hardlaunching? yourbff y/n is wearing the same jacket as the one in oscar's story so u can tell it's her logansargeant who's gonna notice that 😭 yourbff twitter the chronically online hoes etc logansargeant ...so you

yourusername added to their story

seen by oscarpiastri, f1gossip, landonorris and others

oscarpiastri ❤️❤️❤️ can't wait to show you off yourusername AHHHH U CANT SAY SHIT LIKE THAT cant wait to show u off too ☹️☹️

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, f1_gossip, laufey and others

tagged oscarpiastri

yourusername love u to the moon and to saturn ❤️

comments have been limited

oscarpiastri ❤️❤️❤️

oscarpiastri This guy's very lucky!

yourusername ur such a dork oscarpiastri You love me though ;) yourusername yeah <3

yourusername im the luckiest logansargeant this is disgusting oscarpiastri Don't be rude to my gf yourfriend2 U TELL HIM OSCAR

oscarpiastri I love you so much

yourusername I love you toooooo

laufey so happy for you my love

yourusername mwah

alex_albon Congrats!

yourusername omggg thx alex

yourfriend1 YALL R SO CUTEEE

yourusername thank u bb

oliviarodrigo cute! (sleeping on the highway 2night)

gracieabrams love! (gonna go bathe with my toaster) conangray amazing! (taking a long walk off a short pier)

lilymhe you guys are the cutest I'm crying

yourusername lils 😭😭

yourbff ngl this made me tear up a little

yourbff no but fr, there is nothing better than seeing u happy. so so happy for u y/n ❤️

yourusername ur gonna make me cry. yourbff good.

logansargeant photo credits pls

yourusername no logansargeant wow okay i see how it is

mclaren Welcome to the family!

yourusername sobbing. oscarpiastri I can confirm this

landonorris the draining life of a thirdwheel...

oscarpiastri It was like 3 times. landonorris 😔😔

logansargeant same mate yourbff hi im free monday 8pm xx landonorris FIFTHWHEELING NOW

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, clairo, mclaren and others

tagged yourusername

oscarpiastri All's well that ends well to end up with you ❤️

comments have been limited

yourusername AHHHHHHHH

yourusername best. bf. ever.

oscarpiastri best. gf. ever. landonorris get. a. room. yourusername no ❤️

landonorris UM THE 7TH PIC??? THERE ARE CHILDREN PRESENT!!!

carlossainz55 You are the child. yourusername OKAY GO OFF KING 🔥🔥🔥

lilymhe we've all seen the pictures. she looks amazing! and, um, he's there...

alex_albon I'm starting to think you're y/n's girlfriend lilymhe I am! alex_albon @/oscarpiastri you seeing this, mate?

mclaren 🧡🧡🧡

logansargeant again, no photo creds? this is insane.

oscarpiastri 😬😬

danielricciardo Congrats, mate! 🎉🥳🎊

oscarpiastri Thank you!

landonorris not the emojis...

alex_albon ❤️

liamlawson30 We should go on a double date sometime!

oscarpiastri We'd love to!

opeightyone Aaand couple of the year award goes to...

yourbff u better treat her right or else

oscarpiastri I will 🫡🫡

youfriend1 not the public threat smh youbff 😘😘

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, honeymoon, f1gossipgirl and others

tagged mclaren, oscarpiastri, landonorris

yourusername 1st gp as papaya girlie <3 also yes ik the top n skirt arent papaya i have no orange clothes :(

view comments

oscarpiastri Stunning 💕

yourusername <3

mclaren Our favorite papaya girlie!

y/nupdates admin is so real for this

landonorris @/oscarpiastri get the girl some papaya clothes

mclaren ^^

justaninchident HELP THE EAT PASTA DRIVE FASTA

#f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #op81 #op81 fluff #op81 x reader #smau #fluff #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fluff

315 notes · View notes

seoafin · 1 year

Note

I need your thots on house husband geto,,how he cooks and cleans and all he asks from you is a kiss every now and then [ever since i read nitc all i've been thinking about is how he asks rip!mc for a kiss in exchange for anything]

ohhhhhhhhhhhh

"You don't cook at home?"

When Shoko had dragged you out to a girl's night with some of her old friends from medical school, citing that Satoru and Suguru had kept you cooped up in the apartment for themselves for too long, this was not a question you anticipated to be answering. At first you were overwhelmed. It was a large gathering. Ten became eight, and eight had dwindled to six and then four. Right on the verge of retiring for the night, conversation had shifted to the topic of boyfriends and relationship woes.

And now three pairs of eyes look to you. An amused chuckle escapes Shoko's lips, a lit cigarette neatly slotted between her lips.

You blink, embarrassment washing over you. "I—well." You stare down at your lap. "I'm not really that good at cooking...so my boyfriend...does all the cooking."

Suguru does the cooking. And the laundry. When Suguru's away, Satoru takes care of it. Satoru washes the dishes. Cleans. He sweeps and vacuums and tidies after the kids. You had tried to help, once, but Suguru had directed you away, and now the realization is quickly dawning on you that it may have been because you are simply incompetent at housework.

You may not be able to cook, but nobody is incompetent at cleaning!

Except…maybe you. You don’t know. You’ve never needed to clean. Nothing more than a perfunctory clean every once in a while when you lived alone. You weren’t a messy person. Shoko remarked often that your first apartment was cleaner than it had been when you had originally moved in.

"How sweet," Kuriyama sighs out. "My boyfriend can't even cut a vegetable! He cooks for you? Everyday?"

"U-usually," is your response while your mind races, trying to think back to the last time you had helped with anything around the house. Anything.

"The only thing my boyfriend can make is ramen. Not to mention he's super picky about his food!" Mori shakes her head. "He's so difficult! Honestly I think of dumping him everyday for being so incompetent!"

You stare at her.

Shoko clears her throat. "I'm sure it’s not only that—”

“I agree,” Kuriyama says, nodding, face fiercely determined. “It gets so tiring sometimes taking care of everything. Maybe it’s time to move on!” She leans in. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t happen to have any good looking friends?”

Out of all the reasons that constantly filled your head with why Satoru and Suguru would break up with you, you hadn’t expected your inability to do household chores to be one of them.

Incompetent.

Well, it would certainly be understandable. If anything, you think you would prefer them breaking up with you over something as mundane as not being able to do housework, instead of the many flaws to your character. It would settle easier. It would hurt less. Now you just had to prepare yours—

“Let’s call it a night!” Shoko interrupts, cigarette disposed, taking you to stand up by the arm. “I have to get her back before people start calling,” she says, interlacing your fingers.

Kuriyama sighs. “Just when we were getting to the best part, Shoko!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mori grins. “You should come to our next night out. You can invite your boyfriend too! We’ll make an exception!”

Shoko waves them off, pulling you outside the izakaya.

“I can’t cook either,” she says as the two of you wait for a taxi. You know that. But Shoko bakes. Cookies and cakes and occasionally other baked goods. You spent nights over at her apartment eating cupcakes until late in the morning, watching American dramas and horror movies. Delicious, mouth watering desserts.

“Who expects women to cook nowadays anyway?”

—

When the elevator parts to your apartment, you immediately go to Mimiko and Nanako’s room and check their pink laundry hamper. Empty. Then to Tsumiki’s room. Empty. Megumi’s room. Empty.

You’re seated on the floor of Megumi’s room when the door opens again.

“How was the—”

You push past Satoru to go into your shared room at the end of the hall to check your laundry hamper. Suguru is reading on the bed when you open the closet. Empty. You sit down, knees flush to your chest, dejected.

You don’t need to look behind you to know Satoru and Suguru are exchanging glances.

From your knees, you mumble. “Did you do the laundry?”

It’s Suguru that answers you. “We just finished a load.”

“Oh.”

You sit in silence.

At least, until Satoru gently yanks you up into his arms, and carries you to the bed. You immediately turn face down on your comforter, covering your face.

You think they must be having another one of their silent conversations. You squeeze your eyes shut. Tomorrow, you resolve, you’d wash the dishes after dinner.

You hear the door open yet again with Satoru’s departure, and Suguru softly says your name. You sigh, picking yourself up. You really can’t refuse Suguru when he says your name like that.

“Where are the kids?” You ask, even though you already know where they are. They’d be back early tomorrow morning, before school.

“Educational overnight field trip with Yaga,” Suguru replies, amused as your attempt to delay the inevitable. He plays along, lightly teasing. “It’s not like you to forget these things.”

You don’t meet his eyes. Suguru calmly waits you out until you lamely say: “I don’t help around the house.”

You can tell he’s taken aback. “Is that why you were looking for…dirty clothes?”

You’re embarrassed just thinking about it. “...”

“I like cooking,” he says. “I like cooking and watching you, Satoru, Megumi, and the girls enjoy what I make. And I definitely, don’t think it’s a burden. We order out a lot too, don’t we?” He continues. “As for the laundry, I grew up doing it with my mother. It reminds me of home.”

You reluctantly look up. There’s a soft smile on his lips. “I can wash the dishes.”

He chuckles, hand caressing your face. You nearly close your eyes and lean into it. “You don’t need to. You don’t need to do anything.”

You still want to. Try. It makes you feel better. Slightly. The knots in the pit of your stomach loosen. “Can I help you with lunch for the kids tomorrow…?”

He pretends to think about it. The fondness in his barely suppressed expression gives him away. "Maybe if you give me a kiss first."

"Suguru," you grumble.

He only replies with your name, face erupting into a full blown grin.

Your face warms as you lean close and cup his face with your hands, bringing your lips to his. He pulls you on to straddle his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and breathes you in. His lips briefly part, and you feel his tongue run over your bottom lip.

You pull away, about to rest your face onto his shoulder, into his neck. His dark purple gaze draws you in. “We can take care of you,” he says, softly. Then he kisses you again, and this time you let him take you apart with his tongue. Against your lips: “We can take care of you.”

You draw apart, breathless. You pointedly stare at the wall behind him while you attempt to regain what’s left of your composure. Suguru laughs and presses a kiss to your collarbone, one hand sliding underneath your shirt onto bare skin, thumb lightly dragging over the scar of raised flesh on your side.

“Besides,” he murmurs, lips still attached to your neck. You can feel the slightest kiss of teeth. “Satoru makes more of a mess than the kids. It’s only right that he cleans up after himself.”

“Hey!” The sound erupts from behind the door.

You should’ve known.

—

[extra]

“I’m so sorry,” you bemoan.

Ten minutes prior, Nanako had run into the kitchen, brush in hand and horrified, ("Papa, something's burning!"), then she had looked at you, brightened in understanding, and called back into the hall: “Everything’s alright guys!”

Satoru looks over at the unrecognizable charred pieces of salmon on the stove top, face unreadable. Then he shrugs and drops a light kiss on your nose. “You tried.”

You hide your face in your hands.

You also pretend not to see Satoru discreetly handing Megumi a pack of bills as the kids shuffle out the door for school.

#rip!mc failwife stsg househusbands #what is a man nowadays if he can't cook and clean and do the laundry and the dishes #like c'mon now put 'em to work!!!!!#gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #m.jjk #poly au

1K notes · View notes

thesilmarillionblog · 22 days

Text

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 2

/ Click here to read the first part!

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, heartless Soldier Boy, reader gets hurt, mention of drugs, mention of alcohol, mention of sex, betrayal, Soldier Boy being a dick, reader is a supe, Crimson Countess is a bitch

Word Count: 2031

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

After your argument with Ben about Countess Noir and your relationship, which occurred a month ago, he hardly spoke to you at all. He never looked you in the eye, either. You were never even certain if his love existed in the first place, but it was clear that the thing between you and Ben had been extinguished forever, even though he hadn't formally ended your relationship with words.

You considered leaving Payback behind, but you found it difficult to distance yourself from Ben, which bothered and despised you about yourself. You were terrified that Ben would harm Earving, in addition to the possibility that he wouldn't mind you leaving the squad. After all, he was your sole friend, and Ben's attitude towards him was cruel and rough. He was merciless to everyone except for Countess.

You denied producing movies, TV shows, or signing days since it was too much to bear to watch Crimson and Ben together, participate in commercials, and be the star of movies in front of your eyes. You just stopped showing up with the squad day by day. Nonetheless, when the rumors surfaced that you would soon leave the group, you were forced to sit with Ben and listen to him while he talked absolute bullshit to the cameras.

When the reporter asked you a question, you were so deep in confusion that you couldn't even begin to count how many times you were asked the same question. You were deep in thought when the reporter asked the same question.

“I'm sorry,” You apologized, giving the TV reporter a feeble smile. “I couldn't catch you.” You were irritated by the number of times you were given the same questions over and over again.

You felt that all you wanted to do was shout and punch everybody who spoke to you and asked you pointless questions about Ben and Crimson, as if it were your responsibility to speak and you were their spokesperson regarding their romance or something. All they saw was a façade of lies; if only someone could see through you and realize that you were drowning in all of them.

He kept talking about the rumors, and you felt like you were about to go crazy in front of the camera and kill someone. At that point, the pressure you were under became too much for you to handle. You ignored all the sounds around you and repressed your tears as you inhaled deeply.

“Look, you know, I have things to do. I apologize if I sound impolite, but it would be preferable if you directed those questions to Crimson and Soldier Boy. After all, it's their life to tell, not mine.”

When you attempted to back away to ask another question, the unsettlingly inquisitive man grabbed your arm. God alone knew how much you wanted to break those arms at that very moment and make him eat his own flesh.

Disregarding your previous statement, he uttered, “Y/N, please inform us. Are they really getting married soon? Don't you think it would be fantastic if the strongest supe woman and strongest supe man got married? A formidable duo! Power Couple! The American public is curious about that.”

He was babbling nonsensically and was clearly trying to get you to kill him. Even though you weren't saying a damn thing, he continued talking about them, and you inhaled deeply and waited for him to finish. When he identified Countess as the strongest female supe, you gave him a little smile.

You replied coolly, “I really don't know about their next move. But allow me to ask you a question. Have you witnessed her battling me?”

You stared him in the eyes when you posed the question, as though it were the most important one ever. The way you changed your attitude startled him.

“Well, no,” he said with a confused look on his face.

“Then what makes you believe that she is the world's strongest supe woman?” You continued to smile at him and continued, “Let's just say I'm curious.”

Crimson wouldn't have a chance against you; you knew it. Ben also knew that. However, you felt unimportant and left her aside each passing day because of the way she was seen as the strongest female supe. You were aware that Ben was assisting her in completing the objectives assigned to her—unlike you, she was never able to complete any of them successfully. She just appeared to be powerful and tough because she was with Ben, not because she was really something.

You were aware that her sole concerns were money and reputation, and neither Ben nor the squad mattered to her. A woman could always see right through another woman.

You suddenly burst out laughing when he opened his mouth. Saying, “Hey, I'm just kidding; relax,” you interrupted him before he could say anything more foolish. “But I really have things to do, okay? Glad to meet you. Have a nice day.”

Fuck, you turned into the biggest liar in a single month because of Ben.

Earving saw you had at last escaped the incessant inquiries and the obnoxious reporter, so he followed you to the van. He was also taking a vacation from marketing his latest film. After taking off his mask long enough to sip his, he handed you a soda.

“Hey, what's the deal? You know, you seem anxious these days.” He ate his hamburger quickly and remarked, “I heard the conversation between you and this idiot man. Fuck him; they are so fucking irritating sometimes, it’s hard to stop myself from breaking their necks.”

You took a big sip of your soda and gave him a nod. It was nice to have small talk with Earving, considering he was the only kind and smart person left in the squad after all.

“Yeah,” you said while Ben and Countess got out of their special trailer, and you watched them with a heavy heart when Ben gave her quick and playful kisses.

It was Ben's blindness and his intense care for her that pained you, and it was his seeming blitheness and comfort around her that made you hurt. It was obvious to you that she was lying and tricking him. Witnessing Ben give her everything he didn’t bother to give you wounded you. They had a really open connection, even if there was still some space between you when you were dating.

You were concealed by him like a rat in the shadows, unlike her.

The countess never once left his side, not even for a moment. You were frantically trying to find a moment to speak with Ben once again. If you had been alone with him, you would have succeeded in discovering the cause of his sudden and dramatic change.

“Earving,” you said like a whisper. “Can you distract Countess for tonight?” You turned to him with pleading eyes.

“Why?” he asked as he ate his third hamburger.

“Can you just do it?” You huffed as you kept watching Ben from afar.

“Fine,” he said with his full mouth, spitting the tomatoes. “You fucking stress me out since you’ve started to act like Soldier Boy.”

“Don’t insult me,” you said as you chuckled, punching him softly and stealing his last hamburger.

When Earving managed to divert Countess, it was midnight, and you saw them vanish out of sight. When you saw Ben pull into his own trailer, your heart began to race, and you quickly followed him. You made a self-promise to try it one final time. After all, you were doing this for one another, and when it came to love, pride had no place.

When you entered the trailer, you locked the door immediately, leaned your back against the door, and your hands stilled on the handle as if he would escape any moment. It was dim inside.

You heard him inhaling deeply before he turned his back to you and gave you a look like you were an insect that simply refused to leave the house in the summertime. Though you were close to him physically, the distance between you and his coldness toward you was visible.

He gave you a stern look and maintained his distance from you, asking in a harsh voice, “Why the fuck are you here again? Are you going to start spreading gossip about us?”

You just answered, “No,” disregarding his sour tone and remarks. “Ben, all I want to do is talk.”

“I fucking have things to do; cut it short.”

He was leaning back against the drug- and alcohol-filled table. Though it was obvious that he was getting worse every day, he was unable to recognize his condition.

“Why did you change so suddenly? Did I do something wrong?” Not wanting to come across as hostile and cause him to harm you verbally once more, you asked in a quiet voice. “I just need a simple explanation.”

You continued to stare at him with wet eyes, and he sighed and gave you his signature grin.

“Just admit your pussy missed me; that’s why you are so desperate, so I can give you a good and quick fuck,” he said, giving you a playful look.

Aware that he was only attempting to divert the conversation or embarrass you, you remained silent and paid no attention to the garbage that was pouring out of his mouth.

“Why, Ben?”

“Why do you act like a fucking obsessive woman? Do you need an explanation? Fine, listen to me carefully, then: I can do whatever I want. Is that good enough for you? ”

With a heavy heart, your hands on the door handle tightened. Ignoring his harsh words, your jaw clenched, and you shook your head in denial.

“Why did you act like you loved me and cared about me then?”

“What love? Fuck, I don’t even like you,” he snapped out of nowhere, irritated by the choice of your words. “We just passed some time and fucked, that’s all. Don’t be a bitch about it; you’ll get over it,” he said, giving you a wink.

He sounded so different and cold that it was hard to believe he was the same man with whom you fell in love so deeply months ago. It was like someone else possessed his body and turned him against you in a day.

“Why do you even look at me with such hatred?” you asked, ignoring how much his words pained your heart. Your voice cracked, not knowing how to handle the situation or his unbalanced behavior anymore.

“Fuck!” he screamed at you, finally losing his temper and making a move to approach while you still leaned your back against the door. “You know what? I’m going to marry her.”

You loosened your hand around the doorknob and cupped his face without hesitation, knowing he would do it just to make sure you suffered.

“I swear I’ll walk away the day you marry her, Ben,” you said with a desperate voice, hoping it would mean something to him. “I’ll leave Payback.”

“Fuck you will,” he clenched his jaw, pushing your back against the door. “I fucking swear, the day you leave will be the day of Noir‘s death. No, I’ll make sure to make him even worse.”

“What kind of monster have you turned into?” You whispered and pushed him off of you.

“Yet you told me you loved me,” he said, giving you an unsincere smile.

“I do love you, Ben, and that’s the last time you hear this from me.”

Next Chapter

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

A/N: I was very surprised to see that you wanted another part for this so-called one shot story. Your comments made me very happy. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! You can also check masterlist for another multi-chapter Soldier Boy / Reader story called "Protect Me From What I Want" Thank you for reading this. <33

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series!

108 notes · View notes