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burningfairytales · 2 days

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In honour of our favourite ace’s birthday, lemme dump this bit of unedited writing on you.

Happy Birthday, Bokuto!

They make it through the first two rounds of the Interhigh Qualifiers with ease.

Really, it’s almost too easily. Konoha is expecting something to go wrong at literally any moment.

They’re the last ones on the morning of their second day, because Bokuto insisted on checking the merchandise stand before their first match, and even though he’d whined and asked Akaashi to join him, their vice-captain had insisted that at least one of them should be with the team, and had trusted Konoha to “reign him in before he spends too much money, Konoha-san. Thank you for your hard work.”

He’s prepared to drag Bokuto to the arena kicking and screaming, which it turns out he doesn’t have to, because Bokuto is actually excited for their match, and goes willingly with one more t-shirt and two matching keychains in his hand.

(The t-shirt, of course, is as ridiculous as any he’s ever bought, with the English words ‘POWER UP’ in big bold letters on its front. The keychains are of Vabo-chan, which fine, Konoha understands, but does Bokuto really need two?)

The other shoe drops when they’re making their way down the hall and towards the arena, and really, Konoha’s been waiting for it to happen - it’s just that he’s been expecting Bokuto to go all depressed over something small again, something laughable, something to joke about with the others, maybe tease Bokuto about afterwards.

He’s not expecting to come across two players from the team they’re about to face, standing a few metres away and talking, loudly, about Fukurodani.

Or rather, their captain.

“Have you seen their captain, though? Doesn’t he feel a bit… useless?”

He isn’t expecting the way Bokuto freezes for a moment, the way his shoulders slump imperceptibly, how he seems to shrink in on himself.

“I know! He looks strong and all, but I heard he sometimes messes up the simplest of plays.”

A chuckle.

“Maybe the team would be better off without him.”

The hallway is quiet when they leave, and Konoha glances at Bokuto from the corner of his eye. And it looks a bit like someone had poured salt into an open wound or found a bruise to poke at, the way Bokuto presses his lips together, wincing at a phantom pain, like his heart is bleeding.

“Hey, Owlhead,” Konoha starts. “You know they’re just talking sh-”

“Konoha,” Bokuto interrupts, straightening. Throws him a brittle smile, his lip quivering. It’s the saddest goddamn thing Konoha has ever seen. “I’m going on ahead, okay? Akaashi was right, I should have stayed with the team. Gotta warm up and all!”

His laugh lacks all his usual enthusiasm, and he turns, making his way towards the arena.

Konoha watches him go, watches the bow of his head, the downward pull of his shoulders as if he’s carrying something heavy.

Bokuto is ridiculous. He’s too enthusiastic, gets discouraged too easily. He’s simpleminded, and a bit of an airhead, and Konoha teases him for it often - but Bokuto is his teammate. Konoha knows he can joke about it because the things he says aren’t one hundred percent true, and he’s not always one hundred percent serious.

He can joke about it because he knows that Bokuto knows that.

But that just now, that was something else.

Konoha clenches his fist. He turns on his heel, following the other two players in the direction of the bathroom. Anger tightens his chest, sizzles in his gut, hot and dizzying.

“Hey, you!” He calls, when he catches up with them. “I heard you talking shit about our captain!”

The two of them look at each other and then at him. One of the two shrugs, unimpressed.

“So?” He asks. He’s the taller of the two, probably taller than Konoha. “He just seems like a bit of an idiot.”

Konoha grits his teeth. How dare they?

How dare they?

He’s in front of them before his brain even registers the movement, grabbing the taller one’s collar and shoving him against the wall.

“You don’t talk about him that way,” he grits out. “You don’t know him.”

“H-hey,” the shorter one says, his voice suddenly small. “Don’t take it personally. It’s not like we were talking about you.”

But it is personal. It is personal in a way Konoha doesn’t deign to explain because they have no idea how their team works. They don’t know half the stupid shit Bokuto pulls, or the way he’s there for his team when one of them needs him. They don’t know that he keeps stealing their food when they go out to eat, or the ongoing prank war with Nekoma High that Bokuto puts all his effort into winning. They don’t know how he makes sure they all know that it’s not their fault when they lose a match. They don’t know how he pushes them - encourages them to try harder, give it their all.

They don’t know shit.

He considers, for a moment, the consequences of punching one of them, just for the sake of it. Considers if it’s worth the suspension that’s likely to come his way. But just as he decides he’ll just have to risk it, a voice stops him.

“Konoha-san.” Akaashi stands at the end of the hallway. His back is straight, his hands hang loosely at his side. “We’re waiting for you.” His voice is quiet; calculated. “Let’s join the others, shall we?”

With a long exhale, Konoha lets go. Takes a final look at the two and almost laughs at the relief on their faces, because really, they have no idea.

That Akaashi’s calm demeanour shouldn’t at all be reassuring to them - that the fact he keeps his hands at his side betrays his anger, because it’s likely a conscious decision, or else he would be fiddling his fingers. That his quiet is the lethal kind.

Akaashi probably took one look at Bokuto’s deflated form, came to find Konoha two seconds away from throwing punches, and most likely realised exactly what must have happened.

They don’t know that their calm, collected vice-captain doesn’t get angry - he gets even.

“You don’t know us,” Konoha repeats, this time with a smirk. “But you’re about to.”

***

He tells the others what happened while Akaashi is off in the corner warming up with Bokuto - speaking to him most likely, while doing the thing that never fails to cheer him up: spiking Akaashi’s tosses.

Komi glares daggers over the net, looking just as ready as Konoha to drag them out of the arena and settle things off-cours. Washio frowns, and Onaga keeps sneaking worried glances at their captain. Saru’s mouth is drawn downwards in an unhappy line.

Their collective anger isn’t surprising, of course. Bokuto is their teammate, too.

“Let’s show them what we’ve got,” Komi says, a fist in the air. “They won’t get away with this.”

“I have an idea.” Akaashi’s voice is quiet as he approaches, like the subtle cracking of ice before an avalanche. “It’s a bit unorthodox.”

Behind them, Bokuto is talking to their coach, but he seems at least in somewhat higher spirits than before. Konoha wonders what it would be like, to have whatever these two have going on. To know and understand each other so completely.

“Let’s hear it!” Komi says.

“It might be a bit difficult to pull off,” Akaashi says slowly, “And it certainly won’t be very nice.”

Konoha laughs. “Akaashi, haven’t you heard? We’re not very nice people.”

***

Unorthodox is a good word to describe Akaashi’s sets - none of them could be considered textbook, which makes them anything but predictable.

He dumps the ball over the net not once, but twice, sets the ball to Konoha even though the blockers are on his side, and throws him a look that clearly says, I expect you to get around that.

Konoha snorts as he jumps. No pressure or anything.

Luckily, the blockers apparently aren’t expecting that bold a move either, because they’d already taken a few steps to the other side of the net, and are scrambled to get back into position just a second too late.

He scores, and laughs at the sheer audacity.

Most notably, Akaashi lets Bokuto spike however he seems to want to, even though he would normally try to reign him in - there’s a particularly bold backrow set that Konoha has to admit is actually kind of impressive. Not that he’s about to say that out loud.

(“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls between sets, “You haven’t used a single feint this tournament. Not today or yesterday.”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess? Do you think I should?”

“I think,” Akaashi says, and his smile is lethal, “I think it might be fun.”

Konoha shudders. He really, really doesn’t want to get on Akaashi’s bad side.)

By the end of the second set, Bokuto is back to his old self, laughing and whooping with every scored point.

He does use a feint then, cheerfully tips the ball over the blocker’s hands, punches the air in victory with an emphatic, “hey, hey, hey!” when it hits the floor on the other side of the net.

Konoha catches the smile on Akaashi’s lips as he watches Bokuto - warm and proud and so full of something else, something big and overwhelming that it catches Konoha off-guard. But before he can blink, Akaashi has already schooled his features into careful indifference, turning back towards the net.

Oh, Konoha thinks, as the puzzle pieces fall into place.

Oh.

***

It’s probably the most unconventional they’ve ever played - definitely the most risky, and, dare he say - the most fun, too. He’s sure Coach Yamiji will have words with them later, but for now, Konoha doesn’t care.

They didn’t just win - to put it in Bokuto’s terms, they crushed their opponents.

***

“Konoha!” Bokuto throws an arm around him, and Konoha allows it, just this once. “Let’s go get Yakiniku tonight, to celebrate, okay?”

“Sure.” Konoha shrugs. “As long as you’re paying, Captain.”

“Eh! Uh. Hmm….” Several emotions flit over Bokuto’s face. “Okay, yeah. Sure. We deserve it. Yeah!”

And then he bounces off. “Akaashi!” He calls, “Help me pay for Yakiniku later!”

With the advantage of hindsight, Konoha supposes it’s obvious. He watches how Akaashi’s focus shifts the second he hears Bokuto call for him. How his entire body turns in the direction of his voice before he’s even finished what he’s doing, like it doesn’t have a choice but to move, the pull of Bokuto commanding its movement like some sort of gravitational force.

He sees how Akaashi’s entire demeanour changes - it’s nothing obvious, nothing someone not from Fukurodani would even notice. But Konoha, like everyone else on the team, is practised in the art of recognising their setter’s subtle shifts, and so he sees:

The small, upward quirk of his lips, his open posture, how he reaches out and lightly touches Bokuto’s wrist with two fingers - Akaashi, who never initiates any physical contact with anyone.

Everything about him becomes softer the second he lays eyes on Bokuto. The same way, Konoha supposes, reviewing these past two years in his head, the same way Bokuto is softer around Akaashi than with anyone else on the team as well.

How did it take him this long to notice, he wonders, when it’s right there, written plainly on Bokuto’s face, and in the curve of Akaashi’s shoulders.

***

On the bus ride home, Bokuto stops at nothing to point out how amazing they were today. He mentions almost every one of Saru’s spikes and Washio’s blocks, compliments Komi on his receives and recreates Konoha’s plays with exaggerated hand gestures and dramatic flourish.

It’s completely ridiculous, in the way Bokuto always is, and Konoha feels his own chest with pride anyway. Komi high-fives Saru, and Onaga chuckles behind them.

Next to Bokuto, Akaashi catches Konoha’s eye and gives a subtle nod. Konoha smirks.

And this - this is why their team isn’t better off without Bokuto - not that Konoha is ever about to tell him that. Because Bokuto always tries his hardest, whether it’s during a game or off-court, whether it’s about volleyball or lifting their spirits. Because he reminds them of their strengths and still dares them to do better.

Because he is theirs, for better or for worse, and they will always, always rally behind him.

#bokuto koutarou #bokuaka #akaashi keiji #konoha akinori #fukurodani #haikyu #haikyuu #writing #ficlet #volleyball nerds

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cephei-ea · 2 days

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Memento (Geto)

CHAPTER ONE

Warnings: angst, derogatory slang (ball gargler), suggestive themes, yandere

Genre: Comfort, Angst

Word count: 2.7k

╭─────────────────.★..─╮

Suguru was different than the rest. At least that’s what you thought, having known him for so many years now. He’d always stood out. While others threw tantrums, he remained stoic, while others ogled, he respected, while others lied, he remained honest, while others judged, he remained understanding.

Suguru was always a safe space for you. That’s what you thought, having spent so many months and so many years by his side after his defect. The defect hardly mattered, nor did his tendency to lash out at the followers, or his distaste for “monkeys” or his switch to psychotic behavior.

You loved Suguru through and through. He was your home, your person, your moral compass, despite his lack thereof, and your ambition.

Now, as you both stood atop a rooftop, gazing out over the city below, his hair brushing past his shoulder and blustering out behind him. For the first time in weeks, and something that really only happened in front of you, he wore clothes that you thought suited him a bit better than those robes he constantly brandished. Something cleaner and more simple, a black t shirt a size too small and a pair of sweatpants with their usual sag near his ankles.

You would never admit it to Suguru, in fear of how he would react, but you’d spent the better part of your afternoon at Jujutsu High, speaking with Satoru. If Suguru found about your meeting behind his back, well… you were sure he wouldn’t take it well. At all. But it wasn’t any attempt to betray him, or break his trust. Rather, Satoru asked to meet, as he did every now and then; maybe once or twice every few months. Because whether Suguru realized it or not, his best friend still cared about him enough to contact his… lover(?) in hopes that you would catch up and tell him how everything’s going. If Geto was okay, if he still held bags under his eyes and if he still walked about brooding and the seeming epitome of depression.

So that’s what he did. Every couple of months, you’d receive a call from “DNI” on your phone, asking you to meet either at his house, the high school you once attended and taught at or at a park in order to simply catch up. It was nice, really. Not just to be able to catch a break from the responsibilities of being Geto Sugurus right hand and… lover(? [Or whatever you were to him]), but also speaking with Gojo calmly, without any qualms after so many years apart.

<<<

“Thanks for coming.” Satoru was always smiling, noting the absence of a smile on your face, and the way your expression had drastically changed. “I know it was a bit of a stretch, asking you to meet up.” He continues. The depressive look that had finally vanished from Sugurus eyes was replaced, perhaps stolen, by the same look you once bore, of brightness and certainty. You’d taken on new burdens and Suguru had released them. Heavy bags ran evento your eyelids, your cheeks carved in tighter and the clothes you once wore confidently becoming a size too big.

If seeing Suguru los himself in the same way only to defect hadn’t hurt Satoru, this surely had. Perhaps because the blame for his other friend losing herself could be placed entirely on Suguru or perhaps because the person you’d become was the plain opposite of who he knew you were. Or maybe because he wish he could help more, because the new version of you was more of a stretch from your true self than it was for Suguru or because he simply couldn’t watch it happen again.

“Satoru.” You try a smile, though it’s a shell of what it once was. The sight sends a chill through Gojo. It was as if you and Geto had entirely traded demeanors. A shame, and almost sickening to see, consider in the way you’d stuck by him following his defect. “It’s been a while.” The words are genuine but speaking alone is like spice on your tongue, a sharp reminder of your sore throat. There were so many potential causes, all being some direct or indirect result of accompanying Suguru. Sickness, his crudity the night prior, or the laughable amount of sobbing you still did every night. Whatever it was, you still held no regrets and told yourself you’d follow him to defect in every timeline and in every universe.

You loved Suguru.

“You look like shit.” Gojo said, the second thing he’d really said to you since the last time you saw him, so many months ago. You huffed a breath of humor. But suddenly, the playful lilt in his voice was gone and so was your attempt at a smile, your eye bags weighing you down. “What’s he done to you?” You didn’t answer when he asked, because really, he hadn’t done anything. You shook your head.

“Satoru. You have to understand how difficult this decision was for me.” You explained, finally able to explain your side. “The way I look now is no one’s fault but mine.” Satoru opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “It was my decision to follow him and lead this life. The consequences are just…” you tried to explain but your throat closed up. “We’re more different than I thought we were.” Your tone was guilty, your voice shaking. Gojo shot you a look that was all but pitiful, his fists enclosing at his sides and the air filling with tension. “Don’t look at me like that.” you whispered, sighing. “I’ve second guessed myself enough, I can’t start regretting things now.”

He stepped forward and his hand was in yours, pulling you along to the desk chair. “I don’t pity you.” He explained, though his expression doesn’t waver and you grit your teeth. “You made the decision a lot of us were too scared to make.”

>>>

So every two months, you and Satoru would catch up, him bragging about his new students and you expressing your deepening love for Suguru, despite your differences. It had been nearly 2 years of this trend before you made a mistake. You’d spent just a little too long at Satorus house gaming and playing card games. It came out of no where, one night on the rooftop when Suguru turned to you after a few moments of silence.

A big smile split his face so you reached for his hand, offering a small one in return. “Sugu~ Should we make plans for a date this weekend? We still have a couple of days.” He intertwined your fingers before leaning forward to press a kiss onto your lips, consuming your mind whole like always.

It wasn’t long before his thin eyes were staring you down, a change in mood so sudden you almost flinched, his smile faded. The darkened bags under your eyes had not subsided, only deepened.

“Where have you been?” He asked, the night air chilly and the goosebumps on your skin evident beneath his touch against your neck. He all but ignored your suggestion, his grip tightening and his eyes boring into yours. It was clear to you, though maybe not to anyone else, Suguru was angry. “All day, while I was working with those monkeys to achieve our goals?” His voice deepened as he spoke, still the smooth and entrancing melody it always had been. There was a falling of his features, a darkening in his eyes and a pinch between his eyes.

“W…” you began, voice small and fearful. You’d always been a bit on edge around Suguru. After all he was Geto Suguru, the second most powerful sorcerer and a man who had time and time again shown how far he was willing to go, how much he was capable of changing and how ready he was to abandon everything he once claimed as his, in order to reach his goals and regardless of how unreasonable they seemed. “What?”

Of course while Satoru held the title of the strongest, he was the epitome of bubbles and sunshine.

Suguru was different in that regard, brandishing an aura that told all those around him that he was a dangerous man with a willpower and ability to detach that rivaled even the most stoic of warriors.

So when Sugurus body turned to yours and he stepped forward, you stepped back. Of course this only alerted him more.

“You reek of Satoru.” It was expected that Geto would be angry. His voice filling with a tone of betrayal and distaste. Still, the man was calm in lifting a his nose to a lock of your hair and inhaling the scent of his former best friend. Questions berated at his mind: Why had you done this? How did you hide it from him until now? When did you find the time to visit Gojo? Where had it even happened? But Geto remained silent, a silent expectance between you to know what he was thinking.

“Suguru it’s not-“ you tried for an explanation. No matter what you could say, it was all incriminating and nothing was good enough of an excuse to go behind his back. “I.. I didn’t do it to hurt you.” Suguru wrapped his lithe fingers around your upper arm and yanked you toward him, nearing his face to your neck and pushing your hair away to brush his nose against your skin. His voice was in your ear, a chill reminder of his uncanny control over you. His hand ran from your neck down your sternum and to your waist.

“I’ll kill both of you.” He hushed against your ear, a warning. You knew Satoru was stronger, but you also knew Suguru was being honest, and would die trying. It was that known sense of determination and unfiltered anger that scared you. The threat reverberated in your ear, making your chest pound with nerves. Then, you knew he had the wrong idea because of the way he pulled you against his body and looked down at you.

“Sugur, it wasn’t like that-“ he was quick to interrupt you, pressing his fingers into your back. Instead of coming off as a threat, it only spurred your reeling mind on, his touch a sharp contradiction to his cruel words.

“Going to another man’s house behind my back ‘wasn’t like that’?” You had no explanation really, only guilt and a heart that was easily swayed by your feelings for him. “I mean if you were gonna get with another man, you should have at least done a better job at hiding it-“ he plucked a white strand of hair from your shirt, eyeing it as it floated to the ground.

“-No!! No, Suguru, I promise you it’s not what you’re thinking!” You grabbed his hands in yours and watched as the pinch between his eyes dispersed, bringing up his palms to your face and holding him close. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” He still held a look of suspicion, his fingertips then coming to brush against your skin.

“How is he?” Geto briefly changed the subject, gripping and tilting your head to the sides and pulling your shirt down just past each of your shoulders and then your collarbone to view your chest. Checking for any bruises or marks or… lovebites. The thought made him sick. The situation you two were in made him sick.

Your breath hitched in your throat, his touch like fire against your skin and leaving flames of desire in their wake.

“He’s good. He asked about you.” You smiled, his finger releasing your shirt only to grip your elbows and run up to the side of your head, haphazardly pushing away any hairs that followed the wind to obstruct his view of your face. “He misses you so much, so does Shoko.” Your face molded with sentiment, meeting his brown eyes, chocolate coated and sweet as such. “You know that, right?” You reached for his hand and pressed closer, not daring to mention his suspicion of you.

Suguru didn’t answer. Instead, he reached to get your hand in his and looked back into your eyes. “I don’t really want to hear it.” You sighed, but there was hint of emotion in his face you knew he kept well guarded.

Hurt?

A squinting in his eyes, the raise of his brows and pinches at the corners of his lips. “Especially when you went to visit Satoru.” His voice is dangerously low, offering you no comfort or inkling of a moment to explain any further. “At his apartment.” In all fairness, it was hard to question why Geto cared so much, seeing as he’d made it a point to ignore all your desires for a genuine relationship with him. Rather than blatantly ignoring you, he’d strung you along for years now.

At some level, it was more than you could hope for that he even allowed you to stick around. Much less that he allowed you in his bed every night. Then at some level, you thought it was the least you deserved to receive a proper relationship from him.

You loved each other, didn’t you?

“Suguru I told you it wasn’t like that-“

“Does it really matter what it was ‘like’ when you went to his apartment alone, to do God knows what?” He paused, the scowl on his features was not leaving room for another word from you, so you glued your lips shut. “What have you been doing all day that you smell like him???” The anger in his face was only growing with every moment. What could you really say? You knew it was wrong to go behind his back. And if it wasn’t, it gnawed at your heart every two months, as though you were doing Suguru a disservice, if not disrespecting him. “Did you fuck him?” He asked with a lilt in his voice that told you he was jumping to conclusions.

“God Suguru do you have to be so crude?” You scoffed and ripped away from his hold. “Of course I didn’t fuck him; we spoke.” Suguru looked out on the city below, and you knew he was not listening, only hearing your words. “Because when I decided to stick by your side for years and when I joined you back then, I left behind everything.” Your throat was closing up and the sting behind your eyes told you it was time to end the conversation. “And everyone I cared for.” The bump in your lovers throat bobbed and he still couldn’t meet your eye. “For you. Because you were worth losing everything for.” And you took a step back because the proximity was making you want to cave in on yourself. “They were my friends, too, Suguru. Except I wasn’t caught up in my own head and I still loved them when we left.” Suguru only allowed his facial muscles to relax.

“I gave you the option to stay behind. I made sure you knew that you didn’t have to stay. If you’re saying you’re regretting that now, then I guess Satoru is having more of an affect on you than I thought.” Where you stood now, there was no chance to indulge in the cool night air to calm your heated nerves. What you knew was that you needed to be away from Suguru.

You sat at the edge of a nearby dam, the concrete beneath chilling and the view far below just a slight switch from what was normal, a bit of thrill in the otherwise boring maze of a life you’d trapped yourself in. Ever since the night that Suguru cornered you, or maybe before that, things were different. At least for you, the once heavy weight that rested on your shoulders while being at Sugurus side now felt as though it doubled. This wasn’t you, never had been. And when you thought about it, Suguru must have known as well, because when he looked at you, his gaze held a sense of familiarity and recognition he’d not seen in you until recently. That warm sympathy in his eyes that he dared not mention, partially because of his increased workload but also because he recognized it would take you more time to forgive him. Suguru was willing to wait, he knew it’s always lead to him, knew you were coming back.

╰─..★.─────────────────╯

#geto #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto angst #geto suguru #jujutsu geto #getou suguru x reader #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru #Suguru angst #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst

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cloudcountry · 2 months

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since you guys liked my idea so much here it is: WAYS THE NRC BOYS WOULD MAKE YOU WORSE

reader's personality is based more off of in-game yuu than anything? this set of hcs is a bunch of hypotheticals basically. this can be read as platonic or romantic idk each guy is written as if they are the closest person to you, friends or otherwise.

IF YOU SEE A TYPO NO YOU DONT

mentally preparing myself for the "i wouldnt do that!!!!!" comments...and post.

Riddle increases your attentiveness to the rules tenfold. No matter how meek you are, he makes your voice strong—and oh boy does it carry. You’re yelling at people for running in the halls, chastising them for not doing their homework, and opening your mouth wider when you speak. For a school full of troublemakers like Night Raven, the entire student body is so disappointed there’s another Riddle.

Trey makes you more passive, less likely to speak up when you see something. He’s always stood back in the shadows, watching over everything without saying a word, and it’s seeped into your personality, too. You’re spineless now. This world is unfamiliar, why should you try to do anything? You’d only stand out. You don’t want to be outstanding. You want to be as normal as possible. So you stand back.

Cater gets you wrapped up in the hype of social media. It started out as a way to indulge his interests but now you’re on Magicam all day, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. You send things to your friends and say “hey, we should do this” but never make any actual effort to connect with them outside of that. You fall easier into jealousy because you’re surrounded by glamor.

Deuce makes you reckless. He’s so willing to throw himself into things and it spurs you to do the same, no matter how many times your teachers or potential upperclassmen tell you not to. You can’t hear anything but Deuce and his yelling, his enthusiasm and terror for whichever situation you two find yourselves in, knowing that you’d follow him anywhere.

Ace makes you all the more prickly, your sharp jabs and irritating smugness a product of spending too much time with him. You two are two peas in a pod, but to an outsider you two just seem...irritating. You have a talent for getting under people’s skin and have definitely gotten better at lying.

Leona thinks its so cute how you try to defend him at every twist and turn. Like no, he is as dastardly as everyone is saying. Why are you trying to deny it? You’re suddenly seeing reason in the most massive ego-ed people this side of Sage Island and Leona honestly doesn’t know if he should be concerned for you or be amused because of you. (This one in particular was inspired by @loser-jpg LMAO)

Ruggie could have made you prioritize yourself more, but you think he took it a bit too far. See, now you’re snatching cafeteria items and worksheets right under people’s noses, giggling as they demand you give it back. Sometimes they don’t even notice you, but even if they did you’ve learned how to be lighter on your feet.

Jack and you are incredibly uncooperative people (unless you owe someone, of course.) He’s guided you away from asking for help, insisting that the people here will take advantage of you then turning around to say that he doesn’t care, he just doesn't want to get wrapped up in your mess. It’s like you can’t trust anyone but him and your Heartslabyul friends anymore.

Azul has given you one nasty sense of perception, allowing you to key into every little detail and find loopholes in the things people say in a second. He’s turned you into a deadly asset, one he treasures just as much as the student body fears. You read over his contracts and point out what you would do to get out of them, and he adjusts accordingly. What a fine team you two make!

Jade makes it clear that his morals are less than savory, and will often encourage you to partake in things you really shouldn't. You rationalize it as Jade helping you go after the things you want, to finally take and take and take from people when you’ve been so selfless all your life, because it's what you deserve isn’t it?

Floyd will often rope you into his schemes, and it's not wrong before you start doing the same. Once a model student, attending every class, you now skip class and watch with amusement as Floyd threatens another student, hiding your smile behind your hand. They may plead for your assistance, but who are you to stop Floyd? This poor soul clearly owed something.

Kalim instills you with a sense of jealousy and helplessness. He has money to solve all of his problems, his life must be so easy. You’ve lived through so many overblots and received no help from anyone, but Kalim has always been so kind and generous to you. It makes you resent him a little, and anyone else who tries to help, because they all have things that you don’t and that's just not fair.

Jamil twists and bends your mind so much that you can do the very same thing to others. You’ve caught onto his little game and he knows it, eyeing you with anticipation whenever you speak in the same honeyed tone he uses when he wants something. You’ve gotten scarily good at hiding it too, shooting him a smug grin because you know he knows, but nobody else does.

Vil brings out so much confidence in your abilities it’s borderline arrogance. You know you’re capable, so why doesn’t everyone just let you handle this? You can do it, they can’t. So they should just step aside. You’re not doing it to be mean, so why are they getting so annoyed at you? You’re just better.

Rook has some eccentricities, and you’re well aware of them. They put you off at first, but now you’re used to him. It just seems normal now. You’re not sure why everyone makes such a big deal out of his tendencies, that’s just how he is. He’ll stalk you, hunt you down, but he’s having fun! Don’t spoil it for him!

Epel is actually the perfect fit for NRC, you think. He’s a troublemaker, he’s stubborn, and he’s so, so angry. But he’s right! Why should you respect people who claim to be above you? It’s so irritating that they walk around with those annoying smirks on their faces. You two should do something about that, don’t you think?

Idia has a very specific way of talking that can not only be confusing, but can also irritate the hell out of people. Of all things you could pick up from him, you picked up his smug jabs and insults, accompanied by a tooth grin and a laugh. It’s unnerving how much he’s rubbed off on you, a true testament to how close you too are much to the chagrin of the rest of NRC.

Malleus finds so much delight in being your bodyguard, your most trusted companion, that he doesn’t even bat an eye when you use his magic for your own gain. You’ve gotten soft, molding to whatever shape Malleus wants you to be just so he won’t leave. You’re helpless without him, only he has the will and the magic to protect you. So won’t he please stay?

Lilia has a way of dodging the truth, putting a smile on his face even when he’s hurting. It makes you think that, if he can do that, why can’t you? Lilia is smart, he knows how to go about life, so you should follow his lead and bury your problems until they’ll never see the light again.

Sebek has done nothing but berate you for being human since you met him, and even if you’ve gotten closer to him over the course of your stay in Twisted Wonderland, you’re starting to think he’s right. If you had magic, if you weren’t human, you’d be more powerful. It’s a fact. You could do so much more if you weren’t so weak.

Silver has made you complacent. He takes each step carefully, protecting both you and Malleus, so why would you need to protect yourself in any capacity? It’s so nice, having this safety net. If you could, you'd rely on Silver forever, never facing the cruel realities of the world that are blocked by his strong arms.

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gay-dorito-dust · 11 days

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Controversial younger s/o things

Slight mentions of like one nsfw thing, especially for Stanley, it’s not much but still I thought I should say.

Ford worries that he’s far too old for you, but yet is unable to keep his distance from you when you spent every waking moment at the shack with Soos, Wendy, Dipper and Mabel.

He feels like a perv whenever he lets his gaze linger a little too long on you for it to be platonic, yet he could never bring himself to look away as you had him bewitched mind, body and soul for all he knew and he didn’t mind it, even if it did mean he lost sleep dreaming about you being his youthful spouse who often stole his turtlenecks just to get his attention.

He thinks you could be better off with someone your own age, and yet despite believing this, Ford can’t help but harbour this mentality that he could treat you far, far better then anyone your own age. He’d worship the ground you walk on, treat you with respect, dignity and trust.

You’d probably be brought down to the lab quite often per his request. Ford claims he needs your opinion on something but the moment your down there, you’re making out with your back pressed against his workbench as his hands remained above your waist; maybe teasingly trailing to your thighs but still he’s a respective gentleman towards you forever and always.

There the moments you gladly wait all day for moments like these as you got to feel just how badly Ford wanted you in more ways then one ;)

You make out in his bed too but that’s only if you couldn’t make it to the lab, so Ford makes sure to lock the door when you do, for privacy and such.

There’s multiple entries about you and Ford’s conflicted feelings towards you followed with sketches of you looking the most beautiful he’s ever seen you. Seeing you be great and supportive with dipper and Mabel defiantly awakens something in him that he later puts down in the journal.

Will loose it if he ever saw you in his turtleneck, he’s not gods strongest soldier in their regards as he’s more then happy to get on his knees for you right then and there. You in his turtleneck is his secrete fantasy and to see it become reality is enough for this man to believe that there is a heaven.

Stanley feels that you deserve better then him

the girdle stays off! You don’t give a fuck, the girdle stays off and you will fucking hide it from him, much to his dismay but you love his tummy so, so so much!

Heated make outs in el Diablo while on road trips just the two of you at night.

Spoils you rotten however he could in meaningful ways, kinda feels sad that he can’t do more for you like you deserved but you didn’t care as you pepper his face with kisses and reassurance that he’s more then enough for you.

Probs gets jealous of you talking to other older men that has deeper pockets, but is smug as fuck the moment you came back to him with wads of their money in your hands as he pulls you in close by the waist and kisses you firmly on the lips saying, ‘that’s my girl/boy/ spouse.’

You will get love bites from him for making him jealous but also for making him so proud of his gorgeous/handsome/ beautiful spouse. You wear them with pride as you know no one else can elicit the same feeling as Stan did and he’d show off his own love bites with pride as he’s shameless and wants to show that he’s more then taken.

Does get moments of insecurity about your age gap but with a few words of reassurances, kisses and caresses to his body and he’s more than back to being confident of your relationship.

Stan wants you to sit on his lap all of the time, no excuses you’re on his lap and he gets the prettiest view of his unbearably cute spouse as his large hand rubs your thighs, getting progressively closer as to where you needed him most. ;)

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jaylaxies · 4 months

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HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: jake x fem!reader

cw: smut, daddy kink, manipulation, corruption kink, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

a/n: hihi i got a lil carried away w this one! it’s inspired by these two asks here and here! :3 reposting this cause it got community labelled!

Jake is sweet, almost too sweet to be true and that’s why you trust him blindly with everything. The way he never hesitates to give you prolonged hugs, the way his eyes always provide you with comfort and his words sound like sweet melody to you, it’s a given fact that you won’t want anyone else to teach you how to kiss but your best friend Jake, you simply want to be good for your crush, Heeseung, and so you most certainly didn’t wish to be totally clueless when it comes to such things.

Jake was more than willing to help, “of course i'll help, we don’t want Heeseung to be unsatisfied now, do we?” He’d chuckle, hating the fact that you wanted to do it for another man, yet he had his own ways to keep you close to him, one being-providing you help for his own benefit. “But Jake, won’t it be wrong if I use you for this?” You’d ask, genuine concern plastered on your face and he finds it cute how you think it’s you who’s using him, when in reality, it’s quite the opposite.

“Oh, princess. You don’t have to worry about it, I just want to help you,” he’d smile, making you feel at ease as he starts proceeding with his plan, the first step—kissing.

He’d pat his lap, making your eyes go wide but you’d follow and sit on his lap, straddling him on the couch as his big hands would hold you in place and he’d ask you to kiss him, smiling when you lean in for a delicate peck, groaning when he bites your lip, eliciting a weak moan out of you.

“Jake—” you’d whimper, unknowingly pressing your clothed cunt on his hardening cock, feeling a newfound feeling erupt in your lower abdomen, even more so when he cups your cheek, tilting your face to get a better access to your lips, his plush ones serenading you like there’s no tomorrow, “that’s not what you should call me, princess,” he mutters.

Your eyes widen, looking up at him in question, “Heeseung would love it if you call him daddy,” he smirks, “say it, baby.” He’d urge you, throwing Heeseung’s name to strengthen his case. “D—daddy?” You’d whisper, allowing him to caress your swollen lips. “That’s right, princess. You’re such a good girl for me.” He makes sure to take his time kissing you dumb that night, to the point you lose your sleep, clutching your chest as the vivid images of Jake come back to your mind, you wanted more.

And each day, he taught you more, touching the expanse of your body, getting rid of your clothes turn by turn. The wetness returned each time you tried something new with him, your body felt as if it was on fire as he pushed you into your subspace in all the right ways.

“Daddy!” You moaned, gripping the bed sheet when he tasted your wetness for the first time, his warm breath made it tingle to the point you were shivering. “That’s it babygirl, just trust daddy, yeah?” He said against your folds, accent deeper than ever as he immersed himself in eating you out, giving you your very first orgasm.

You were dazed, wanting more and more. Then came the day you finally saw his cock, his eyes staring at you with such intensity as you could only look at his veiny, leaking cock with innocent and curious eyes.

He grunted when you held him, “you’re doing so well, princess. So good for daddy,” he lets out, holding the back of your head gently as you continued to do just as he directed, smiling once he fills your mouth as his thick cum spurts out on your tongue, making you want to gulp it down, “wanna be so good for daddy always.” You’d smile, forgetting about why you were doing this in the first place, Heeseung wasn’t the one you thought about these days, rather, it was your daddy Jake.

“Tell me what you want, princess?” He’d ask with a sweet smile, which almost looked like a smirk, “daddy,” you’d cry out, “want y—your cock in m—me, I can't wait anymore,” you’d tell him as he’d kiss your tears away, “daddy will give you everything you want, babygirl,” he’d pat your head lovingly despite being in such a compromising position, his tip rubbing on your entrance. He doesn’t rush, he loves seeing you squirm, blabbering out words which do not make sense just because you’re so enraptured by the man on top of you—your daddy who’s more than willing to provide you with everything you need.

He loves it, how fucked up his princess looks with her smudged lipstick and mascara running down her cheeks with her crystalline teardrops, which keep on flowing with the immense pleasure you receive. He loves that he’ll get to fuck you, that his cock will be the first to enter your prettiest cunt, which is his and his only. You were reliant upon him for pleasure, nothing else felt good without your daddy and when he finally gave you the taste of his cock buried deep in your pussy, it felt more pleasurable than it hurt.

“Daddy—” you whisper, eyes closing as you let him take over and kiss you, his hands all over your body, as if he had memorized you completely, touching the most sensitive spots as he thrusted even harder in your leaking pussy, your walls squeezing his cock to the point he couldn’t help but groan out, “so wet for daddy’s cock, yeah? You like it, baby? That’s my good fucking girl, all mine.” He’s right, you’re all his now and you won’t want it otherwise, making a creamy mess on his cock.

Your mind fuzzy with his thoughts through and through, ruining your innocence as he moulded your brain in such a way that you couldn’t help but yearn for him.

And just like that, Jake had successfully corrupted you to the point of no comeback.

#ria:thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #kpop smut #enha smut #jake smut #jake hard hours #jake x reader

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badbtssmut · 5 months

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Can’t spell sex without ex. You and Jungkook might’ve not worked out in your relationship but that didn’t mean you couldn’t have sex anymore, right?

Contains: pussy eating and fingering, missionary, half clothed sex, sex from behind, hard sex, casual sex, Jungkook cums in mouth and over face, face fucking

—

The action movie Jungkook was so eager to watch tonight, played softly in the background. It had been a couple months since the break up and as promised, you two could still be friends, with occasional benefits. You both agreed; sex with someone you know and trust, was better than a random hookup.

Your clothes were barely hanging onto your body; your panties dangled off your left foot, your pants were crumpled at your feet, and Jungkook was in between your legs, fingering and flicking his tongue against your clit. Your moans and whimpers filled the room, and you felt yourself nearing your peak. Just when you thought he was going to bring you over the edge, he stopped.

You followed his gaze and huffed. “Jungkook…” He was getting distracted by the movie, not that you could blame him, the main lead was being chased by the bad guys. You knew your ex boyfriend was a sucker for action movies. “Come on, want your cock.”

At that, Jungkook snapped out of his thoughts.

“Yeah? Want my cock?”

“Yes.” You nodded before he crawled over you and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and grinded your wet pussy against his hard member, making him groan. Jungkook’s hand shot to his boxers, pulling them down to free his hardened cock.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock and stroked it a few times before he pulled away from your mouth, looking down at you, before he went to kiss your neck. His cock slid into you, slowly, inch by inch. Your legs tightened around his hips as he rocked in and out of you, fucking into you. The two of you enjoyed the way each other felt, no sounds coming from your lips, except the ones you had between your legs; your pussy sucked in his cock with every thrust.

Jungkook adjusted himself, gripping onto your thighs and snapping his hips back and forth faster.

“Oh, oh!” It took you by surprise, but you liked it. Your hands pushed against his toned stomach. “Fuck, fuck!” Jungkook pounded into you, making your tits bounce with the force. Your ex’s hands moved to yours, and he took hold of your hands, pushing them down above your head.

Jungkook was so good at fucking you; he always made sure that you were enjoying it just as much as he did. His cock was stretching your pussy in the most amazing way.

“Want more cock?”

You whimpered in reply, unable to say anything. He was driving you wild, hitting the right spot over and over again. You were close. Your walls were tightening around his shaft, making him curse.

Then, he pulled out and flipped you on the bed. Your ass was up in the air, and his cock slid right back into your dripping pussy, filling you back up.

With a hand gripping your ass, and another grabbing the hair on the back of your head, he pulled your head back and fucked you hard. Your tits bounced back and forth with every thrust, and you could barely catch a breath. Jungkook let go of your hair and instead wrapped his fingers around your throat, keeping his fingers in a firm hold as he pushed your body down with his weight, fucking you into the mattress.

Your ex boyfriend knew exactly what you wanted, and it wasn't just a simple fuck, but a rough, raw fuck. He wasn’t afraid to use all his force, slamming his hips into your ass. Your body was shaking from the intense pleasure. You could feel the tip of his cock tickling your sweet spot over and over.

His fingers released your throat and instead moved to grab the headboard.

With a hand gripping onto your ass, and the other gripping the headboard, he began to pound with more force, using the headboard for momentum. The bed squeaked and shook underneath the two of you.

Your mouth was hanging open, a string of curses and cries of pleasure spilling out of you.

”This pussy is so good, only my cock can fuck it, isn't that right, Y/N?“ Jungkook cooed. “You don’t let other men fuck that pretty pussy, right?”

"Only you!" Your nails dug into the sheets. "Only you…" You could feel it, the coil in your stomach about to snap.

"You gonna cum?" He asked, knowing full well what he was doing to you. "Are you gonna cum for me?" He asked, slowing down, giving you his cock in slow and steady strokes instead.

You were trying so hard to fight the orgasm that was threatening to spill out of you, but his cock felt so damn good inside you, that you couldn't stop your orgasm. Your pussy spasmed and throbbed, massaging his cock. You cried out, letting yourself succumb to the pleasure.

"Yeah, that’s right. Let that pussy vibrate babe.” He gripped onto your waist, moving your shaking body back and forth on his cock. “That’s right, good, good babe.” He encouraged you, feeling you milk out his cum, his shaft buried deep inside you.

When you had calmed down from the orgasm, Jungkook pulled out and was jerking himself off. You turned onto your back, and took a shaky breath, before you hung your tongue out, looking at him. Both you and Jungkook knew why.

He stopped and scooted closer, hovering over your chest to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you with his weight, his knees digging into the mattress, on either side of you. The tip of his cock pushed past your lips and he grunted as he fucked his cock in and out of your mouth, his hips bucking back and forth, as he used you like a toy. You moaned around his lips as you sucked him off, your tongue circling around his rock hard shaft as you bobbed your head back and forth.

Your hands moved to his ass, and your nails dug into the soft skin, making him curse, before he let his head drop back and moaned, as he came. Jungkook attempted to pull out before he’d cum into your mouth, but he failed, his cum dripping into your mouth and splashing all over your face.

"I'm so sorry," He apologized. “Didn’t mean to do that babe.”

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts requests #bts smut requests #bts fanfic #bts smut fanfic #jungkook x yn #Jungkook x female reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook smut fanfic #ex jungkook #bts friends with benefits #bts x female reader #bts smut reactions

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pucksandpower · 11 months

Text

Breaking Point

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc finally reaches his breaking point after the disaster that was the United States Grand Prix. Something needs to change … and that’s where you come in

“Again, again!” Charles’ voice rings out, echoing through the debrief room, “How can we mess this up? I was on pole!”

Fred Vasseur looks down, sighing, but trying to maintain composure. “Charles, it was a miscalculation—”

“A miscalculation?” Charles retorts, eyes blazing, “This has been a trend all season, Fred. It’s not a one-time mistake. It’s systemic.”

Carlos, looking uncomfortable, tries to chime in, “It wasn’t just about strategy, you know the car—”

“Oh, I know the car,” Charles snaps, “And it was built against my driving preference. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The poor race strategy, the unnecessary swap, and now being disqualified as if my day has not been bad enough!”

Enrico Cardile, the team’s technical director, steps forward, “Disqualification was not anticipated. We followed the regulations to the best—”

“Enough with the excuses!” Charles’ voice cracks with emotion. The weight of the season, the betrayal he feels, finally makes him see red. “Every time there’s an excuse. We’re a team and yet somehow it feels like I’m constantly battling not just our opponents but Ferrari as well.”

A deep silence settles.

The head strategist, Ravin Jain, finally speaks up hesitantly, “We thought the one-stop made sense. The data suggested—”

“Data,” Charles interrupts bitterly, “The same data that led to a decision that every other team on the grid laughed at! Did the data also suggest swapping me with Carlos? Or was I being punished for being able to manage my tires?”

Carlos, despite himself, looks hurt. “I didn’t ask for the swap,” he mutters.

Charles takes a breath, looking at his teammate, “I know. It’s not your fault, hermano. But I need to trust the team’s decisions. And right now, I don’t.”

Sporting Director Diego Ioverno tries to mediate, “It’s been a tough season, Charles. Everyone is understandably stressed. Let’s sit down, review everything together, and find a way forward.”

Charles shakes his head, “That’s what we said last time. And the time before that. And the twenty times before that! Empty promises, meetings, discussions, and then what? Nothing gets done and there is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Fred tries one more time, “We’re as frustrated as you are. We’re a family. We’ll figure this out.”

Charles scoffs, “I can’t keep being let down and used. Not like this.”

The room falls silent once more, a heavy cloud of disappointment and tension hanging in the air.

Carlos reaches out, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, “Things will get better.”

Charles meets Carlos’ gaze, nodding slightly. But the fire in his eyes has not dimmed, “I need to believe in this team again. But right now ...” He pauses, “I have a call to make.”

He turns, leaving the room filled with introspective silence. The team is left behind, grappling with their own emotions, knowing that actions will always speak louder than words.

***

Charles steps out into the warm evening air, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing a number he knows by heart but hasn’t touched in months.

“Hey,” Charles’ voice is a low rasp, every ounce of weariness evident.

Then a pause, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me ... look, I know what I said earlier this season. About handling it myself.” He takes a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle.

A longer pause, broken by Charles’ intermittent nods and “Uh-huhs.”

“Every race feels like it’s been one disaster after another. And it’s not just the car, it’s everything. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

He listens closely.

“I told them today, laid it all out. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. They listen, they nod, and then? The same mistakes. Over and over.”

He shifts his weight, the sound of his shoes scraping on the gravel echoing softly.

“I know, I know I told you not to get involved ... but maybe ... maybe that was a mistake.” He sounds defeated, a man at the end of his rope. “I need help. Real help. Maybe it’s time you step in.”

Charles is silent, absorbing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“No, it’s not about leaving the team,” Charles’ voice is earnest, desperate even. “It’s about respect. Trust. It’s about feeling like I’m not constantly fighting against the tide, not just against other teams but within my own garage.”

A long pause.

“What I mean is, maybe some changes within the team would be good. Fresh perspectives. New faces, perhaps. Somewhere I can trust the decisions, the strategy ...”

He sighs.

“I just want to race, you know? Without all this drama. Without constantly wondering if I’m being set up to fail no matter what I do.”

Another pause as he listens, nodding, lost in the gravity of the decision he’s about to make.

“Thank you. Really. Let’s talk tomorrow? Lay out all our options?”

There’s a moment of quiet, only the sound of his breathing, the distant hum of the circuit, the world slowly dimming around him.

“Thanks. Goodnight, Y/N.”

***

“Emilia,” you call out, and before a moment passes, your ever-efficient personal assistant is by your side.

“Yes, Y/N?” Emilia asks, perfectly poised.

“I need the jet prepared. We’re heading to Mexico City,” you say, voice steady and determined though inside, the turmoil from the phone call with Charles still lingers.

Emilia raises an eyebrow slightly, a silent question in her eyes. “Any particular reason?”

You sigh, looking away for a moment, reflecting on the weight of the legacy you carry. “Scuderia Ferrari needs my direct attention. I trusted them to handle things, but ... it’s clear that has not been happening.”

Her eyes flash with understanding. “Of course. I’ll have the jet ready. When do you wish to depart?”

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

She’s already typing into her tablet. “I’ll book you the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons. Will you be needing a meeting space there?”

“Absolutely,” you nod. “On Wednesday, before the Grand Prix. Organize for all team personnel to meet in the hotel conference room. And Emilia ... they are not to know the reason for the meeting or that I’m the one calling it.”

Her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, “Mystery and surprise. I love it. Consider it done.”

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you. And can you make sure Charles knows about my arrival? But ask him to keep it quiet.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

You pause, taking a moment to consider. “Just one more thing. Make sure we have everything we need to review the team’s decisions and strategies for this season. Every little detail.”

Emilia nods. “Absolutely. Everything will be arranged as per your instructions.”

You take a deep breath, “Thanks, Emilia. This … it’s about preserving a legacy, and right now, that legacy is on shaky ground.”

She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If anyone can steer this ship right, it’s you.”

***

The door to the conference room opens with a low creak, and the room immediately falls silent. Everyone turns to see you entering, your presence commanding every ounce of attention.

“Good afternoon,” you begin with ice-cold authority. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice.”

There are murmurs of acknowledgment but no one dares speak up.

“I’ve reviewed our performance this season,” you continue, pacing the length of the conference room, letting each word sink in. “And to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting around the room. You lock eyes with him, “Fred, you promised change. But the only change I’ve seen is our team’s steep decline.”

“I understand your frustration,” Fred stammers, “We’ve faced challenges—”

You cut him off sharply, “Challenges? Every team faces challenges. What matters is how you overcome them.”

Several team members look down, uncomfortably shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact.

You turn to the strategists, “Your decisions have cost us dearly, time and time again. Your inability to read a race situation, to adapt, to strategize effectively ... it’s quite frankly appalling.”

One of the strategists, a middle-aged man named Roberto, speaks up defensively, “We did our best with the information we had.”

Your eyes narrow, “Your best? Tell that to Charles, who has been left out in the cold race after race.”

Moving on, you address the engineers and designers, “Our car has issues that should have been rectified at the beginning of the season. Yet here we are, still struggling.”

An aerodynamicist named Lucia, clearly agitated, stands up. “We’ve been working tirelessly, trying to find solutions.”

You level her with a gaze, “Then maybe it’s time we look for people who can find those solutions more efficiently.”

Lucia’s face reddens, “You can’t just—”

“Actually I can,” you interrupt, “And I will.”

Your attention turns to Xavi, Charles’ race engineer, who has been noticeably silent. “Xavi, your dynamic with Charles has not been the slightest bit helpful. His feedback, his needs ... they’ve fallen on deaf ears.”

Xavi, trying to defend himself, says, “It’s a two-way street. Charles can be difficult.”

You shake your head, “Charles is a world-class driver. It’s your job to bridge any gaps, not widen them. I checked and it turns out that constantly repeating we are checking like a broken record is not beneficial for race performance!”

Taking a deep breath, you make your announcement, “Effective immediately, Roberto, Lucia, and several other strategists, engineers, and aerodynamicists that a personal audit revealed as detrimental to team performance relieved of their duties. Xavi, you too are let go.”

There are gasps around the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Roberto stands, fuming in anger, “You can’t just dismantle this team!”

You lock eyes with him, “I’m not dismantling. I’m rebuilding. And if that means letting go of every one of you who can’t uphold the standards of Scuderia Ferrari then so be it.”

Fred finally speaks up, “And what about me?”

You lean in, “Consider your position on very thin ice. I expect results. And fast.”

You straighten up, the room thick with tension, “Scuderia Ferrari is not just a team, it’s a legacy. My great-grandfather would be rolling in his grave to see what has been done to his beloved team. I will not stand by and watch it crumble.”

With a final, piercing gaze around the room, you pivot on your heel and exit with a flick of your hair.

***

You lean against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather yourself after the emotional intensity of the meeting. The hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of voices but soon familiar footsteps make their way around the corner.

“Charles,” you call out softly as spot the driver.

His green eyes, clouded with a mix of emotions, meet yours. “Y/N.”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitates, “I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

You nod, “It was long overdue. I should have intervened much sooner.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process everything. “It’s ... a lot. I didn’t think you would actually step in like this.”

You sigh, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. But my bisnonno once said that aerodynamics are for people who can’t build engines, and right now, it sure seems like Ferrari can’t do either.”

Charles chuckles dryly, “You have a point. It’s been ... frustrating.”

You gently touch his arm, trying to reassure him, “Enzo also believed that dreams become bigger, much bigger, to build a car that doesn’t slow in the curves, that flies without leaving the ground. I want that dream for you. For us.”

He looks at you, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. A car that allows me to race to my full potential.”

You nod, thinking of the iconic red car and its tremendous legacy, “I know. And we’ll get there. Remember, racing cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win.”

A smile tugs at Charles’ lips, “I haven’t won in too long. I almost forget what it feels like.”

You step closer, “That is going to change. I’m here for the long haul. To rebuild, restructure, and reclaim the Ferrari legacy. Glory will be dressed in red once more.”

He nods and swallows thickly. “Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You smile softly, “We’re a team. And I promise to do whatever it takes to see us on top again.”

***

Early that Friday at Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, you gather the team in the garage.

“Good morning, everyone,” you begin. “I know it has been a whirlwind these past few days but I want to set the tone for this weekend.”

Fred, still adjusting to the new dynamic, nods silently from the back.

“We haven’t had the time to implement any physical changes to the car,” you continue, “But they are coming. For now, the difference will be about being smart … being strategic.”

Charles listens intently, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newcomers in front of him.

Speaking of the new additions, you gesture to the two people standing on either side of you, “I’ve brought on Marit Nilsen as our Principal Strategy Engineer and Claudio Segreti as Charles’ new race engineer. Not only are they exceptional engineers but also global chess masters.”

There are murmurs of surprise and interest among the crew. The world of Formula 1 and professional chess has rarely, if ever, intersected.

Marit, a tall woman with striking blonde hair, steps forward, “Chess is all about strategy, foreseeing the opponent’s moves and countering them. That’s what we’re here to do but on the track.”

Claudio, with his dark hair and deep-set eyes, adds, “Every move and decision we make will be precise. We’ll anticipate, adapt, and overcome.”

Carlos clears his throat, “So what’s the plan for free practice?”

You smile, “Today, we observe. We learn. We see where the car stands, where our strengths and weaknesses lie.”

As free practice commences, there’s a different energy in the garage. Marit, with her sharp analytical mind, quickly picks up on patterns, working closely with Claudio and Carlos’ engineer to ensure both drivers get feedback they need.

There’s a visible shift throughout the weekend. The team, rejuvenated by fresh perspectives, operates with a renewed vigor. And while the car may not have upgrades yet, new strategy quickly begins to make a difference like anticipated.

Qualifying sees Charles securing P3, an unexpected but welcome result. The garage is full of cautious hope but Marit and Claudio remain focused, already planning for the race to come.

Race day dawns and the tension is thick. You pull Charles aside, “Remember, things have changed. Believe in the strategy and the moves we make.”

He nods, “I trust them. And I trust you.”

As the lights go out and the cars roar to life, Charles delivers a performance that’s both calculated and aggressive. Every pit stop and every overtake is orchestrated like a chess match.

The race sees Charles finishing in P2 and Carlos in P4, a significant improvement from recent races.

The garage is a mix of tentative elation and relief.

Marit thoroughly reviews the race data, “This is just the beginning. Once the car upgrades are in place, the board will be ours.”

The sun sets on the Mexico City Grand Prix, but for Scuderia Ferrari, a new dawn is on the horizon.

***

“Fabiano Turati,” you muse, looking at the impressive portfolio before you. “Aerospace engineer, a key player in the development of hypercars for Agnellotti Motors, a professor at Politecnico di Milano. But never in F1?”

Fabiano, with salt and pepper hair and an air of quiet confidence, smiles slightly. “It’s not for lack of offers. I have just always believed in pushing boundaries outside of traditional paths.”

You lean back, intrigued, “So why Ferrari now?”

His eyes scan around the garage, “A challenge. An opportunity. A legacy to uphold. And, to put it simply, I think I can make a difference.”

You nod, appreciative of his candor. “We have three races left this season: Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. Realistically, how much can we improve?”

You can practically see the gears in his brain turning, “In terms of complete redesign? Not much. But in terms of optimization and efficiency? Quite a bit.”

By the Brazilian Grand Prix, Fabiano’s influence is evident. While not a complete transformation, the SF-23 sports streamlined wings and a refined rear diffuser, maximizing what the current design allows.

“Initial feedback is good,” Charles reports after the practice session. “There’s a notable difference in the corners.”

Carlos chimes in, “The balance feels better.”

The improvements are evident, with both Ferraris finishing just off the podium. But Las Vegas poses a new challenge: a circuit unfamiliar to all teams and drivers.

“This is anyone’s game,” Marit says, examining the track layout.

Fabiano nods, “This weekend will be all about adaptation.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is an exhilarating rollercoaster. Charles fights for a podium finish, narrowly missing out but showcasing the SF-23’s newfound prowess, while Carlos secures a solid sixth.

As the season finale in Abu Dhabi looms, anticipation runs high. The Yas Marina Circuit will end the year with a test of Ferrari’s mettle.

Post-race, with both Ferraris finishing on the podium after avoiding a pile up that took out multiple opponents, there’s a sense of satisfaction but also of hunger.

“We’ve made progress,” Fabiano says as the garage winds down. “But next season, we’ll aim for a car that is not just evolved but fully revolutionized.”

You smile, “With you on board, I truly believe we can. The future is bright for Scuderia Ferrari.”

***

“Look at her,” Fabiano muses, admiration clear as the blueprint for the SF-24 is spread out before you both in your Maranello office.

“She’s a beauty,” you agree, tracing your fingers over the schematics. “If she performs half as well as she looks ...”

“She will,” Fabiano leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve streamlined the aerodynamics, enhanced the power unit, and made significant weight reductions.”

Carlos walks in with a grin on his face, “Is this the beast we’re taming next season?”

“That’s the plan.”

Charles catches your eye from where he lingers by the door. “It’s a fresh start,” he murmurs, approaching the table almost reverently. “I feel it.”

Over the following weeks, you rarely leave the factory other than to sleep and shower. You immerse yourself with the team, observing wind tunnel tests, joining strategy sessions, and even trying your hand with pit stop drills.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, Charles finds you in the lounge, sipping an espresso. “Mind if I join you?”

You gesture to the seat across, “Of course not.”

He sits and just looks at you until you get the urge to fidget. “I’ve been thinking,” Charles begins, “About the changes, the car, and ... us.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Us?”

Charles smiles slightly, “You and I. We’ve spent so much time together these past weeks. I’ve gotten to know you, not just as Y/N Ferrari but as ... Y/N.”

You flush and not just from the hot coffee, “I feel the same. It’s been ... refreshing. Getting to know the man behind the helmet.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “There’s this great little place just outside Maranello. Quiet, hidden. I was thinking, maybe, dinner?”

Your heart skips a beat but you maintain your composure, “I’d really like that.”

The winter in Maranello unfolds, and as the SF-24 takes shape, so does the bond between you and Charles.

Between brainstorming sessions and late-night discussions about optimal setups, there are stolen moments: shared glances, lingering touches, and dinners that stretch long into the night talking about anything and everything.

Carlos teases, “Seems like the new car isn’t the only thing igniting sparks.”

You roll your eyes but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. You don’t try to deny it. Why bother when you hope it might be true one day?

***

r/formula1

Posted by RaceRundown · 6 hours ago

First look at the SF-24! Thoughts?

RedFever · 6 hours ago

This could be the machine that keeps Ferrari at the top. Just look at those lines!

PitStopPundit · 5 hours ago

Getting major 2004 vibes from this. Could be a dominant year for the Scuderia!

***

You step into the air-conditioned motorhome, grateful for an escape from the Bahraini heat. Charles and Carlos, race suits unzipped around their waists, are animatedly discussing their first day of preseason testing with the SF-24.

“Last year, we didn’t have to sandbag because the car was, well … genuinely that slow,” Charles laughs. “But this time around ...”

Carlos grins, finishing his sentence. “This time, we have an ace up our sleeves.”

You nod, “Just remember, it’s only testing. We still have to see where we truly stand.”

The race weekend finally kicks off and the paddock is full of speculation. After a deliberately unimpressive showing during testing, no one expects Ferrari to be a front-runner.

Yet, when the lights go out, the SF-24 does not just impress …. it dominates. Charles takes P1 with Carlos not far behind in P3. And the world takes notice.

The next few races see a rejuvenated Ferrari. In Saudi Arabia, Charles and Carlos deliver a nail-biting duel with Red Bull, securing a double podium. Australia is a tougher battle, with Mercedes coming to form, but Charles clinches a respectable P4.

The Asian leg of the season has its highs and lows. In Japan, despite a torrential downpour, Charles masterfully handles the wet track to clinch the top step. On the podium, he points up at the sky and then shapes his fingers — first into a one and then a seven — a silent tribute to his late godfather and mentor.

However, China proves challenging and sees the SF-24 struggling unusually with tire degradation. But as Miami approaches, the team regroups and Charles takes a commanding win under the Florida sun.

Then comes Imola, the first of Ferrari’s home races.

As the sun shines brightly over the circuit named after your great-grandfather and grand uncle, you find yourself walking the track alongside Charles. The weight of racing on home soil evident in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You check, sensing his nervous energy.

He looks at you and taking a deep breath. “Racing in front of the Tifosi at home always feel different. I want to make them proud.”

“No matter what happens today, they will be proud of you. The whole team will be proud of you. We’ve come so far.”

He smiles, visibly lighter. “Then let’s give them a race to remember.”

And it is nothing short of spectacular. Charles starts P2, but with determination and brilliant strategy, he overtakes Max in the final lap and secures a victory for Ferrari on home soil.

The roar of the crowd, the sea of red flags, the tears in Charles’ eyes as he stands atop the podium — you make a promise to never forget this moment.

As the sun sets on Imola, the Scuderia Ferrari team comes together, basking in their victory.

As Charles, champagne-soaked and beaming, pulls you in for a damp hug, it is clearer than ever that this season is only the beginning of a beautiful journey ahead.

***

“Norris is approaching on a flying lap. Make sure not to impede,” Claudio’s voice comes through crisp and clear over the radio during the dying moments of Q3 for the Monaco Grand Prix.

You can practically feel Charles’ concentration from where you’re seated on the Ferrari pit wall. The narrow streets of Monaco leave no room for error … Charles knows this better than most.

“Copy,” Charles responds, adjusting his position on the track just enough to give Lando the space he needs to pass while keeping his own momentum.

The clock is ticking and Charles needs a perfect lap if he wants to clinch pole position.

“Tires are feeling good. Pushing now,” Charles says, rounding the first corner with precision. The SF-24 dances around the iconic circuit, the roar of its engine echoing through the streets.

From Casino Square to the hairpin and through the tunnel, Charles’ driving is flawless. Every apex hit and every corner nailed.

“Final sector, Charles. Make it count,” Claudio encourages.

And he does. Crossing the line and jumping to the top of the timing board.

The garage cheers but there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow’s race is what truly matters.

***

Race day in Monaco is always special, but today, with Charles starting from pole, there’s an electric tension in the air.

“Lights out in ten,” Marit announces over the intercom.

Charles, already in the zone, simply nods.

And then he’s lined up on the front row.

The lights illuminate one by one. Then, in a heartbeat, they go out.

The race is on.

Charles gets a strong start, holding off challengers through the initial turns. The streets of Monaco are notoriously difficult for overtaking, so track position is everything.

“Maintain the pace. Tire management is key,” Claudio advises as the laps progress.

As the race unfolds, strategy becomes crucial.

“Plan to box in two laps,” Marit instructs through Claudio. With with Verstappen close on his tail, everything must be executed perfectly.

The pit stop is lightning-fast, the crew working in synchrony. Charles emerges just ahead of Max, who had followed him into the pits.

Throughout the race, Charles’ skill shines. He manages his tires, navigates the backmarkers, and keeps a razor-sharp focus.

The final laps approach. The team, the spectators, the entire Principality holds its breath.

The chequered flag waves and Charles crosses the finish line to takes his first home win. The elation, the pride, the sheer emotion of the moment is overwhelming.

“Monaco, Charles! You’ve won Monaco!”

Tears in his eyes, Charles responds, voice choked, “We did it! This is for Monaco. This is for Ferrari. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup.”

The team gathers beneath the podium, celebrating their victory and the hometown here. Charles quickly sprays the two drivers beside him before aiming the bottle at the sea of red cheering in front of him and soaking his team in champagne.

He thinks back to how this weekend ended last season and let’s his elation wash away the years of dejected he faced before.

Things are different now.

***

“I’ve never seen Monaco come alive like this after a win,” you shout over the pulsating music in one of the city’s many upscale clubs.

Charles grins, leaning in closer so you can hear him. “It’s the magic of a home race victory!”

As the night turns to early morning, alcohol flows freer and the laughter grows louder.

The Ferrari team loves any reason to celebrate and they’re certainly making the most of the location.

Charles pulls you to a quieter corner of the VIP section. “Have you ever danced with a Monaco Grand Prix winner?”

You roll your eyes at the attempt at flirting but laugh as you accept his outstretched hand. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The two of you dance, losing track of time.

The world blurs around you. All that matters is the magnetic pull between you two which has been simmering for so long that it is threatening to overflow.

Charles pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You relish in the warmth of his breath against your skin. “What’s that?”

“I’m drawn to you,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “Not just because of tonight but ... there’s something between us. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He hesitates before wrapping an arm around your waist, “Come with me.”

Without a word, you both exit the club, making your way to his apartment. The air between you is thick with anticipation but also vulnerability … openness.

Once inside, he gently pushes you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours. It’s passionate and intense, like a dam that has been waiting to break.

Charles pulls away slightly, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whisper, eyes locked with his. “But ... Charles, not just for tonight. I don’t want this to be just a result of a victory high or the Monaco night air.”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t want that either. This isn’t about the race or the party. It’s about us. I think it’s been about us for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He chuckles softly. “You think it’s easy, being around you every day, wanting to be close but maintaining a distance for the sake of professionalism? To spend every evening when we’re in Maranello sitting across from you at dinner and wishing that I could call it a date? But tonight,” he pauses, eyes searching yours, “Tonight felt different.”

You waste no time to draw him closer. “No more waiting then.”

***

Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve echoes with the roar of engines and the cheers of fans. Charles dominates the track, mastering the chicanes and the notorious Wall of Champions.

But the race isn’t straightforward. Mid-race, strategy suddenly changes when an unexpected rain shower soaks the track. However, the new strategy team you’ve brought in makes all the right calls and Charles takes the chequered flag.

In the Spanish sun, it’s a different story. The high-speed corners expose a slight flaw in the SF-24 which leaves Charles fighting valiantly but finishing third.

Despite the setback, you see determination in his eyes. “We’ll get them in Austria,” he promises.

True to his word, at the Red Bull Ring, he dominates. The SF-24 suits the straights and fast corners. Charles takes pole and leads every lap, building a gap that the competition can’t close. The victory feels even sweeter given the circuit’s name.

Silverstone proves challenging. There’s fierce competition, and while Charles doesn’t win, he’s involved in one of the most thrilling wheel-to-wheel battles of the season with Max Verstappen. They exchange positions multiple times, showing pure racing talent. In the end, Charles finishes a proud second after a photo finish.

The Hungarian Grand Prix tests the team. Tire strategy becomes paramount. The SF-24 shows vulnerabilities in the surprisingly sweltering conditions. Still, Charles’ impeccable driving and some cunning strategy calls earn him a place on the podium.

At the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Charles shines brilliantly. He conquers Eau Rouge and Raidillon like few can, making it seem effortless. The SF-24 feels perfectly balanced and he takes another win, smiling at the Ferrari flags waving high in the crowd as the Monegasque and Italian anthems play.

Through it all, you see Charles grow not just as a driver but as a leader and beacon of hope for the team and global fanbase. He is not just driving for himself or for Ferrari, he drives for everyone who believes in him.

***

The warm Italian sun pours golden light onto the expansive villa overlooking Lake Como. The water below sparkles, mirroring the sky. For a brief moment, the hectic world of Formula 1 feels miles away.

You’re lounging under an oversized umbrella, Aperol Spritz in hand, while Charles emerges from the pool, beads of water cascading down his toned physique.

“That swim was perfect,” Charles grins as he flops down beside you.

“You were in there for ages! Trying to turn into a fish?”

He shakes his head like a wet puppy, making you squeal as you try to escape the splashes. “Just preparing for our yacht trip. Besides, I have to burn off all those pasta dinners we’ve been having or else I won’t fit in the car by the end of the month.”

“The troubles of a professional athlete,” you laugh, “I’ve been indulging and I’m not even sorry.”

That evening, the two of you share a quiet moment on the terrace. Soft jazz floats from inside and cicadas buzz rhythmically.

“Remember our first race together?” Charles starts. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I never imagined we’d be here. But I am so glad that we are.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the same heat you feel. “Me too. These moments, away from the track with you ... they’re special.”

The following week, you find yourselves on a luxurious yacht off the coast of Sardinia. Charles’ family and both of your friends are aboard. The sun decks echo with laughter, music, and the soft lapping of waves. There is never a quiet moment and you relish in the sounds of happiness.

As you stand by the railing, watching Charles and Joris race each other on jet-skis, Arthur slides up beside you. “So, how’s life with my big brother?”

You laugh, “It’s an adventure every day. But honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Arthur nods, “I’ve never seen him this happy, you know?”

You smile warmly, your gaze drifting to where Charles has somehow fallen into the water and is now splashing his friend. “He brings out the best in me, just as I hope I do for him.”

***

The gentle lapping of the Mediterranean waves seems like a distant memory as you find yourself in Zandvoort.

“Quite the change of scenery, isn’t it?” Charles chuckles, standing beside you as the sea breeze of the Dutch coast tousles his hair.

You laugh, “A bit but I’ve missed it. Nothing beats the excitement of a race weekend.”

And what a weekend it was. Charles, against all odds, comes out on top at Max Verstappen’s home race. The Dutch crowd offer begrudging respect as Charles takes the top step.

And then, Monza.

Monza is different. There’s an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated anywhere else. It’s the home race of Ferrari … the cathedral of speed.

“Do you know,” you tell Charles as you both walk through the paddock, “I used to come here with my grandfather as a child. This track ... it’s steeped in history. I’ve always loved it.”

“Winning here was like nothing else I have ever experience,” he reflects. “Let’s do it again. We’ll write our own chapter in history this weekend.”

Qualifying is a nail-biter. Charles pushes the SF-24 to its limits, dancing on the edge of control.

“How are we looking?” Charles checks in.

“You’re on provisional pole,” Claudio responds over the radio. “But push on the last sector. Max is close and getting closer.”

And push he does. Charles clinches pole with a margin that leaves no doubts about the capabilities of both the driver and the car.

Race day, the atmosphere is fever-pitched. The Tifosi, in their sea of red, wave their flags and banners, chanting Charles’ name like a prayer. As the lights go out, the battle rages. The strategy is aggressive, a one-stop that requires Charles to defend position in the latter stages of the race.

“Lap 45. Push now, we need widen this gap,” Claudio instructs.

The tires scream in protest as Charles further carves out a lead. But as the laps tick down, Verstappen and Piastri close in.

“Drive smart and hold them off. Four laps to go. You’ve got this,” Claudio urges him on.

Going wheel-to-wheel with Max through the Ascari chicane, Charles pulls ahead. The Tifosi roar, their energy and sheer will pushing him on.

“Last lap. Bring it home!”

And he does.

As Charles crosses the finish line, the crowd erupts. The track is soon packed with red as fans flood the track, surrounding the podium.

From the sea of faces, one voice stands out — yours, “You did it, Charles. Monza is yours.”

He lifts the trophy high, a tear in his eye, “We did it. This is for Ferrari … for the Tifosi … for us.”

***

The streets of Baku and the lights of Singapore both witness the magic that Charles and the SF-24 weave together. Two more wins, two more steps closer to the championship.

And then you find yourselves in Texas.

“Do you remember this time last year?” Charles asks.

“How could I forget? It was the phone call that changed everything.”

Charles laughs but there’s a weight to it, “For both of us. It was a disaster ... pole to sixth and then the disqualification. All because of...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, the mismanagement of the team a heavy shadow neither of you can forget.

“You’ve grown since then,” you point out gently, “The team has grown. Look at where we are now.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, “One year. So much has changed. From one of the worst days in my racing career to ... this.” Charles gestures around, to the revamped team, the transformed car, the very atmosphere of competence that permeates every corner of the Ferrari garage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he whispers, “The championship is within our grasp. Right back where it all went wrong.”

You take a moment to pull out your laptop and open a data sheet, “Here’s the breakdown. If Max gets P2 in both the sprint and the race, you need P1 in both. That’s how we seal the championship this weekend.”

Charles’ eyes scan the spreadsheet, “That’s ... a tall order.”

“But not impossible. Not for you and not for this team,” you assure him.

He chuckles again but it’s brighter now, “With you in my corner? I know anything is possible.”

***

The energy is electric when qualifying day arrives in Austin. You find Charles in his driver’s room, eyes closed in focus as he visualizes the track.

“You ready for this?”

His eyes pop open, determination burning in them. “Ready. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Qualifying unfolds in a blur of fast laps and bated breath. Charles pushes the limits, wrestling the SF-24 around the bumpy circuit.

“Time for one more lap. Give it your all here,” Claudio radioes through.

Jaw set, Charles squeezes all he can from the SF-24. Silence falls as he crosses the line … broken by cheers as his new lap time is set.

Pole position for the second season in a row.

Charles sheds his helmet and rips off his balaclava. “Yes! That’s how we start a weekend!”

The sprint shootout and race similarly see Charles launch cleanly from P1, building a gap early.

“Verstappen is matching your pace, don’t let him get within DRS range,” Claudio advises.

“Copy,” Charles responds, focused.

A late charge from Max raises tensions but Charles keeps him at bay, taking the chequered flag and the eight points.

“That’s the way to do it!” You shout as Charles enters the garage.

“Grand Slam in the sprint, now time for the main event,” he grins.

You rally the team Sunday morning. “Remember, the start is crucial. The car that lines up in P2 has led by the end of lap 1 for five years in a row. We need full focus.”

It seems like barely any time has passed before Charles takes his spot on the grid. Lights out, tires screeching, he holds the lead through the first lap madness.

“Nicely done,” Claudio praises. “Manage those tires now.”

The pit stop strategy is executed flawlessly. Charles takes his second stop, emerging ahead of a charging Verstappen.

“Ten laps remaining,” Claudio counts down.

Charles responds with measured confidence, “Let’s bring it home.”

In the closing laps, he is poetry in motion, hitting each apex and maximizing every straight. Max closes in but Charles is perfect to the millimeter.

“Charles Leclerc,” Claudio’s voice cracks with emotion, “you are the World Champion!”

Eyes wet, Charles radios in, “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you guys! This is unbelievable! Grazie, grazie mille, grazie a tutti! It’s been an incredible season with all of you. This is for the team, for Ferrari, for all the fans, and for everyone who has supported me. We brought it back to Maranello! I’m speechless ... grazie, thank you!”

In the garage, celebrations in full swing, you lean in with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I checked with the FIA — the plank is up to regulation this time.”

Grinning, Charles pulls you into a passionate kiss as the team hoots and hollers around you.

The World Champion smiles so bright he makes the Texan sun look dull in comparison.

You would do anything to make sure he feels like this every season. You will do anything to make sure he feels like this every season.

***

The winter sun casts a warm glow on Maranello as you walk beside Charles into the Ferrari factory. The off-season buzz of activity fills the air as the team prepares for next year’s challenges.

Charles looks at the sleek lines of the new SF-25 with anticipation. “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

“This one’s special. She’ll be fighting for the championship again.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard me right,” you say with a smile. “I made you a promise. Last season was just the beginning.”

As Charles turns for a briefing, you spot Fred across the room. Your relationship has evolved and he now respects the authority you wield for the team’s benefit.

Approaching, you extend a hand. “I wanted to say, you’ve led the team well this past season.”

He grasps it firmly. “We share this success. Thank you for being the catalyst we needed”

You know there will still be challenges ahead. But Ferrari has been reinvigorated. Its racing spirit has been reignited.

That evening, Charles joins you on the terrace of the home you both share when in Maranello and wraps you both in a warm blanket to fight the chill. “Can you believe what a year it’s been?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a dream.”

He pulls you close. “The dream is just beginning and it’s a dream I hope we never wake up from.”

3K notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

needs

3.3k, joel miller x virgin f!reader

joel master list

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

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

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

“God have mercy,” he mutters to himself.

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I see it?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean”

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

“Why?"

“Cause it ain’t as. . .”

“Ain’t as what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

—--

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

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

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

“Whatcha think,” he whispers breathily.

“Can I have your cock in my mouth?”

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

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

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

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

You curiously tongue the slit and suck for more.

“Oh god damn,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

“Can I taste that, too?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he nods.

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

“Like it,” you whisper.

“Yeah? take all ya want.”

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

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

"God have mercy," he mutters to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

"Have a good dream?"

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“‘bout what?”

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

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

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

"You want a hand?"

“Yeah.”

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

You're quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

"Yeah,"

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

"You put it between my legs."

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

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

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

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

——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel,” you whine, “its so big”

“Too big?”

“No,” you reassure him. “I want it.”

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

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

“you like havin’ me in here?”

“I love it,” you say.

“As much as the dream?”

“More than the dream.”

“What happened next?” he asks

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

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

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

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

“Felt so good, like a massage”

“Ohh, baby, please don’t–”

“And warm”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

You nod and smile at him with watery eyes.

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

-----

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

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#joel miller x innocent reader #joel miller x virgin reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic #tw virginity loss #Finally F*cking Friday

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 1 year

Note

Conrad deserves better than Belly. After he sees Jere and her kiss, he get his ass to Stanford and meet this cute and smart maybe tutor girl (Haley James style) and falls in love with her and then they show up at Jere's wedding years later and Belly is jelly

I've spent the last five days working on this one.

p.s. it's 2k words...

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

When Conrad finished his exam, he went back to Jeremiah and Belly. He was going to tell and confess his love to her before she had to get home, but when he got to his car, the scene Conrad walked on made him sick to his stomach: Belly and Jeremiah were full on making out against his car. He stopped short of the car and cleared his throat, causing the two to spring apart from their heated kiss and see Conrad looking right at them.

Conrad’s face was white. He would rather have had someone shoot him in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch the two of them kissing.

He didn't know who he was more angry at. Belly, who, not even a day ago, had told him she would have fought harder for him if she knew he loved her that much. Or Jeremiah, who, although he knew how much Belly meant to his brother and how fucking in love he was with her, seized the opportunity to kiss Belly the moment he was alone with her.

‘’Conrad—’’ Belly started, guilt settling in her guts.

He cut her off, his voice cold and cutting. ‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’

His gaze shifted from Belly to Jeremiah. There was so much hate in his eyes. How could Jere do that to him? They agreed to stop hiding things from each other and talk, but Jeremiah must have forgotten already.

‘’You broke up with her, Con, remember? We did nothing wrong,’’ Jeremiah said, pulling facts in his favor to make himself feel better — less guilty — for kissing his brother’s ex.

When Conrad kissed Belly on the beach last summer, he didn’t know she and Jeremiah were a thing — if he could call it that — or that he liked her. If he had, he wouldn’t have kissed Belly or confessed his feelings to her. Had the situation had been in reverse, Conrad wasn’t sure Jeremiah would have backed off.

‘’I’m done.’’ Conrad's voice was resolute, his heart heavy as he turned away, unable to bear the sight of them any longer.

Jeremiah moved to follow, calling out Conrad's name. He didn’t stop, needing to be as far as possible from the painful scene. His mind was racing with a jumble of emotions. Anger, betrayal, and a profound hurt gnawed at him. He had trusted both Belly and Jeremiah, yet they pulled this shit behind his back.

‘’Why do you always have to act like that?’’ Jeremiah said as he quickened his pace to catch up.

Finally, Conrad turned to face Jeremiah, his expression a mix of sorrow and resentment. ‘’You don’t get to tell me how to react, Jere. You kiss the girl I love outside my school, against my car while she’s wearing my sweatshirt. If you don’t see how disgusting and messed up it all sounds—’’

‘’She kissed me,’’ the younger one quickly defended.

Hearing this made him want to pack his bags, get his ass to stanford and focus on school. He needed to turn the Belly page, and in order to do that, he needed to be away from both she and Jeremiah. California seemed far enough, right?

The first days and weeks were tough for Conrad, struggling to accept the definite end of the relationship. She was still all over him like a wine-stained shirt he couldn’t wear anymore.

He blocked both Belly and Jeremiah’ numbers. If he wanted to move on, he had to keep his distance from them. For a while, at least. Then, he deleted all the old pictures he kept of Belly on his phone. There was no going back for them anymore.

He was done.

You met Conrad a little before Christmas break. Just like those cliché rom-coms, you walked right into him and spilled your chai latte all over his sweater. You wanted to break the cliché and not fall for the victim of your clumsiness, but after one look into those beautiful blue eyes, you knew it would be impossible.

After that day, you kept crossing paths around campus and, one afternoon, you asked him out. He was so surprised, but he said ‘yes’.

Although you had sealed the end of the night with a few kisses, you decided to take things slow. You had a very busy schedule with the tutoring lessons on top of your regular program, and Conrad was unsure if it was too soon to get in another relationship, if he was ready for it. The scar Belly had left on his heart was healing, but was he ready to open his heart to someone again?

‘’Have you ever been in love?’’ you asked one night in his dorm while studying.

Your question had caught Conrad off guard. It was visible on his face.

‘’Have you?’’ he returned, not taking his eyes off his textbook.

He was trying to dodge the question.

‘’I asked you first,’’ you said, seeing through his plan.

‘’Then yes.’’

‘’How many times?’’

‘’Once.’’

His answers were flat, annoyed he was by all your questions. He wished you would stop and get back to studying in silence, but you kept going.

‘’On a scale of one to ten, how in love were you?’’

‘’You can’t put being in love on a scale,’’ he said, lifting his head with furrowed eyebrows. ‘’Either you are or you aren’t.’’

‘’But if you had to say.’’

Conrad started flipping through his notes. He hadn’t thought of Belly in months. He missed her — in a different way he used to. She was his friend before they got tangled into this mess.

He didn’t look at you when he finally said it. ‘’Ten.’’

The more time he spent in your presence, the more Conrad was — unknowingly — letting go of his past.

The pictures he deleted months ago became pictures of you, filling his phone until there was no space left. The smell of your perfume lingered on some of his clothes and in his car. He had your coffee order memorized, along with your favorite study-break snack, which he made sure to have in stock in his dorm.

You became part of his routine — part of his life —, brightening his days even on his darkest, saddest nights.

He didn’t want to bother you, but nothing was calming the ache in his chest. He tried getting some air and smoking weed, he even thought of calling Laurel, but it was almost 2am in Pennsylvania. Conrad didn’t want to scare her.

So he pulled up your contact and called, the weight of his grief still heavy in his heart, wishing Susannah was still there. He couldn't believe a full year had gone by since she took her last breath.

You were about to slip into bed when you saw his name flashing on your phone. You almost didn’t pick up, but you got a gut feeling that he needed you.

When you opened your door, a saddened look was etched onto Conrad's face, his beautiful eyes glistening with unshed tears. The sight pulled at your heart and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him for the whole night.

Supported each other through finals and all-nighters.

‘’Getting tired?’’ you said, catching him actively fighting against his own eyelids.

Conrad shook his head, taking a long gulp of his coffee. ‘’No time for sleep. I have this huge exam first thing tomorrow and I still have a lot of chapters to cover.’’

‘’You can take a short nap if you want. I’ll wake you in thirty minutes,’’ you kindly offered, flipping through your notes for a specific annotation.

‘’Nah, I’m good.’’ He flashed you a soft smile, then returned to his studying.

A few minutes later, and you couldn't help but notice that Conrad's eyes had begun to droop. They would halfway close and then he would either blink a bunch of times, or widen his eyes until they were bug eyed. It was cute.

‘’Con? Conrad?’’ you called out gently.

‘’I'm not sleeping. I'm resting my eyes,’’ he mumbled defensively, fighting fatigue.

There was no way he was getting through the night, so you put your notes down and slipped on Conrad’s flannel shirt that was on the back of your chair to shield you from the night air. ‘’We’re gonna need more coffee.’’

As you came back with two fresh cups of coffee, you found Conrad fast asleep on your pillow, still clutching his pen.

And held his hand through the rainiest times — literally.

‘’Isn't California supposed to be the sunniest state?’’ Conrad asked, watching the downpour through the windshield, drenched from head to toe. ‘’The seats are all wet...’’

‘’You gotta learn to live with the consequences of your own actions, Connie baby.’’

It was his idea to get waffles when the sky was looking very gray and angry. He insisted that it would clear out, but a loud clap of thunder echoed on your way back to the car and rain started pouring. You took the road back to campus, but it got too dangerous, forcing Conrad to stop the car on the shoulder of the road and wait for the rain to calm.

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie and a smile curled on Conrad’s lips, still the most beautiful to his eyes despite your wet hair and the slight smear of mascara under your eyes.

‘’Rain happens everywhere. Even in the dryest desert,’’ you reminded him, pulling out your phone to check the weather app.‘’Unfortunately, this one isn't gonna stop anytime soon.’’

You toed off your sneakers, making Conrad draw his eyebrows.

‘’What are you doing?’’

‘’We’re gonna be here for a while.’’ You peeled off your hoodie — also wet from the rain —, leaving you in your skirt and dainty bralette. ‘’Might as well occupy ourselves,’’ you explained before leaning over the middle console and kissing him, fastening yourself to him with a stitch.

The kiss took him by surprise, but he wasn’t complaining. He could spend hours kissing you and never get bored.

You crawled over the console and on Conrad’s lap without breaking contact, your hands easily finding grip on his hair as you felt his hands all over your body, caressing and pulling. The windows were fogging quickly around you, creating a veil of privacy as more layers were peeled off.

Conrad once believed he had found love, that Belly was it for him, but the feelings he felt back then were nothing compared to how he felt right now.

‘’You’re the best thing that happened to me,’’ he confessed, his forehead pressed against yours.

The invitation came in a few weeks before the wedding. Conrad couldn’t believe his brother was going through with this. Everything was happening so fast and seemed rushed. Him and Belly weren’t even twenty. Who gets married so young anymore?

He arrived in Cousins a few days prior to the wedding, surprising everyone — and stealing the attention from the soon-to-be-weds — when they saw a girl with him.

The only person who knew exactly who you were was Steven. A few months ago, you had posted a picture with Conrad at the beach and tagged him, leading to Steven finding out about his friend’s new girlfriend. He was surprised when he saw it, but very happy for Conrad. He deserved better than someone who plays between two hearts.

Laurel put down the table-center she was holding and went over to pull Conrad in a hug. She turned to you, making quick introductions, and Conrad held his breath. He’s always been close to Laurel and her approval meant more to him than his father’s or Jeremiah’s.

While the two of you engaged into a conversation, he saw her. Belly. Dressed in a white sundress and talking to Taylor, she looked just the same. The only difference was, Conrad felt nothing. No pain, no old feelings rising back.

For the first time, what’s past was past.

‘’Belly, come greet Connie and his girlfriend,’’ Laurel called out to her daughter.

Although you had never met her, you could tell exactly who she was in the room — and not only because her dress was white. The jealousy filling her eyes when they fell on you gave her away.

—

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#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty imagine #tsitp #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher x you

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tojisun · 2 months

Text

!! minors dni; simon x cam girl f!reader; kinda sexting; UNEDITED and RAMBLING // divider by @/plutism <3

yall know those ‘ask me’ thingies in instagram and how theyre not anonymous? mmmprmn thinkin about simon finally giving in and sends cam girl! reader replies (he’s not tech savvy, forgive him 😔)

the questions are always fashioned the same way, he’s noticed. you only ever post those, anyway, when you’re in the middle of editing a new video but it’s taking too long so to keep your loyal viewers interested, you entertain them with little questions.

“which toy next?” you posted, showcasing four different sex toys splayed on your bed—a purple sucking vibrator, that bullet vibrator you’ve made multiple videos on, a rainbow-coloured dildo, and another one that squirts which is simon’s favourite if he’s being honest.

you always did cum the hardest when you’re being pumped full. simon wonders how much more intense would it be if you were properly fucked and filled; stuffed continuously, repeatedly, until your pussy’s all wet and sensitive. until it takes—

overtaken by his desire, he gives in and he types out his answer, “a real prick would look better in you.”

he didn’t expect you to see it, let alone for you to reply, but you did and simon reads it with a huff.

> ok troll

i’d volunteer myself, really. <

> yeah right. like i can trust you

what? you want proof that i can make you feel good? <

your reply doesn’t come in and he knows that you must want the whole interaction to end there, but simon won’t let you—doll, he’s finally managed to talk to the girl he’s been fantasizing about, did you really think he’d let the opportunity pass? you don’t even know how many times he’s fucked his fist to the videos of you bullying a dildo in your sopping cunt or the ones of you squirting while you ride that saddled vibrator that punches out guttural moans from the base of your throat.

jesus, just thinking about you mewling and creaming, your skin shimmering with your sweat, has simon chubbing up in his sweats.

so he gets bolder, changing his accounts—both this and the one he’s used to subscribe to your site—so that you know it’s him. he uploads pictures, exposing enough of himself that it feels real and authentic, and begins to tack on messages to every tips he gives.

it takes about two months until you finally caved.

> so… youre not a troll :(

why the sad face? did you want me to be? <

> course not!

> hby? what do YOU want

simon licks at his chapped lips, his legs unconsciously spreading already.

how about pics? show you what i was volunteering? <

> uh

> you wanna send a dick pic?

yeah. evens out the relationship, don’t it? after all, i just about know how your pussy looks and how it squirts. <

> youre soooo weird LOL

> but sure yea why not ig

simon snorts because try as you may, you don’t sound unbothered at all. after all, he knows you’ve been looking back at him—you followed him back in his socials, you even respond to all his tips and messages, and one time you even moaned his alias out loud during your stream. really, you’re not subtle with your own interest at all.

he pulls his sweats down and takes a pic of his half-chub. it’s a little blurry, and the angle captures more of the tuft of hair than the way his cock’s all flushed and filling-out, but simon knows what a decent dick picture looks like—they’ve all received numerous from mactavish—and this one looks good enough so he sends it to you and watches as his message goes from delivered to seen.

you don’t reply right away, nor after three minutes—he knows because the commercials ended and his game’s back on—and simon wonders if you’re back to ignoring him when—

> oh

> thats a good dick

he laughs, booming.

oh so you want it now? <

a speech bubble appears, then it disappears, then it appears again. this happens for a while and it’s somewhat entertaining to simon, mirth filling him up. then, you finally send your reply and this time simon couldn’t stop the barked out laughter that rumbles from his throat because you sent him your address.

simon’s out the door in minutes, his bike keys clutched in his fist.

#suns #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #basically: i wanted a camgirl/viewer smau but my other phone is dead 🥲 so have this attempt!#''stranger danger!!"' yea but its simon :^( i'll let him do anything to me

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navybrat817 · 1 month

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Eye of the Beholder

Pairing: Bodyguard!Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve is your beautiful bodyguard and he thinks you're beautiful, too.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Bodyguard trope, fluff, tension, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. Anon requested for Bodyguard!Steve (who still does art) to dig his Toes in the Sand (fluff) with prompt #45 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You shuffled through your closet with an audible sigh. You had to make an appearance at a party tonight and still didn't know what to wear. It was ridiculous since you had a wide range of dresses and outfits to choose from, but your heart wasn't in it. Maybe because you didn't want to attend. You’d rather curl up and watch a movie as you fell asleep, but it was part of your job to socialize and look pretty.

You weren't going to complain when many out there had it worse.

“Why don't you get some rest instead of going through your closet? Again?”

You turned and stared at your bodyguard who sat across the room. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes, Steve Rogers was stunning enough to be a model. With his intimidating stature though, he made the right call by becoming a personal protection specialist. Easy on the eyes and built like a brick house, today he wore a tight blue shirt that showed off his broad shoulders and chest. He looked like the type of man who could toss you around if you asked nicely.

But seeing the sketchpad in his lap, you wondered if your paths ever would've crossed had he focused on an art career instead.

“You know you don't have to be here until tonight, right?” You asked, ignoring his suggestion as you shut the door. “Or do you like spending your time off watching over me?”

It wasn't your idea to hire a bodyguard, but you understood your agent’s insistence for you to have one. There were overzealous fans and creeps out there who wanted you. Ones who would stop at nothing to have you. All because you were a model. And while you weren't aware of any recent threats or danger, you needed someone like Steve to watch out for you.

Better safe than sorry.

But Steve himself? He was a pleasant surprise. You expected a stoic but polite man since he called you “ma’am” with the most serious expression upon meeting you. The more time spent with him, you realized passion lurked beneath the surface. Beyond that, he was authentic. In a world surrounded by plastic smiles, fake talk, and people ready to knock you from the pedestal you never asked to be set on to begin with, he was a much needed breath of fresh air.

“Technically my next day off is two days from now, ma’am,” he gently corrected you. You could listen to him talk all day. “But day off or not, I don't mind spending any extra time with you.”

“Oh,” you said, your cheeks hot. You spent days around gorgeous people who didn't make you bat an eye or stutter, but any sort of compliment or kind word from this man always got to you. “Hey, haven't I told you not to call me ma’am?”

“You have. On more than one occasion over the last couple of months.” A smile touched his kissable lips. “I guess it slipped my mind.”

You leveled him with a cool gaze. “So, your eidetic memory is limited to visual aspects and not auditory memories?’ You asked.

His face lit up when he smiled. “You remembered that I have an eidetic memory?”

You pointed a finger at him. “Keep calling me ma’am and you’ll be out of a job,” you said, deflecting from his question.

He chuckled, not at all afraid of your threat. “You won't fire me,” he said.

It was true. Steve had lasted longer than you expected because you liked him. More than that, you trusted him. He was the kind of man who would lay down his life for you and also keep your secrets safe. Not that you had many, but you wouldn't hesitate to tell him anything.

Anything except how your thoughts about Steve were sometimes unprofessional.

“I guess I won't, but don't think I won't make you carry my clutch around if you keep that up,” you teased, taking a seat on the edge of your bed. Steve has been in your room countless times and it always felt a bit warmer with him there. “On that note, I’m sorry you have to go to the party tonight.”

At least you didn't have to bring a fake date. Lord, you couldn't stand PR stunts like that. You didn't judge those in the industry who did it since you understood why. It just wasn't for you.

Would Steve have been jealous if you did? Or would he have insisted that you go alone for your safety?

“Don't apologize. Where you go, I go,” he assured you, your heart swelling. You reminded yourself that it was his job to do that and nothing more. “Just give me the signal when you want to leave.”

Steve didn't just keep an eye on you for protection, but looked out for your well-being. He made sure you got rest when you were tired, food when you were hungry, and privacy when the crowd became too much. Your past boyfriends never paid attention or cared that much. Why was a bodyguard so concerned?

“Do you ever get tired of this?” You asked, leaning back on your hands as you regarded him. “Keeping an eye on me? Going where I'm going?”

He stopped sketching to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection that you liked to imagine he reserved for only a select few. “I say with complete sincerity that not only am I not tired of being your bodyguard, but you’re the best client I’ve ever had the privilege of protecting.”

You were certain stars shone in your eyes. “You flatter me, Steve.”

“I only speak the truth.”

You covered your mouth when you yawned. “Flattery. Truth. You’re still good to me and I appreciate it.”

Steve sat up straight and put his pencil down, concern etched in his face. “You’re tired. I think you should take a quick nap while you can.”

The man had a bossy tendency at times, but it was for your own good. You waved him off anyway. You could sleep later tonight. It wasn't that big of a deal. “What are you drawing?” You asked.

“Take a nap,” he said again, his voice low.

You couldn't help but shiver. That kind of tone almost made you blurt out “yes, sir”, but you refrained. “You're drawing ‘take a nap’?” You asked instead, doing an inner cheer when his lips twitched in a smile. “Show me what it is and I’ll get some sleep. Just for you.”

“Just for me?” He asked.

“I think if anyone could get me to do anything without too much of a fight, it's you, Steve,” you said sincerely

He ran a hand through his hair and shyly ducked his head. “I can't say no to those eyes.” He brought his chair closer so you didn't have to get up. “But no insulting my work, okay? My ego can’t take it today.”

“Since your ego can't take it today, I’ll save the insults for tomorrow,” you giggled, but it stopped the moment he showed you the page.

It was a drawing of you.

You almost touched the page before you stopped yourself, not wanting to smudge it. The details were immaculate, down to your facial features and how you held yourself. You couldn’t say it was like looking in a mirror because you had never seen yourself look so beautiful, but it was still a reflection of you and something deeper.

He captured an essence that no camera ever had. One you didn't know you possessed. It was a tender and sensual story told through his eyes. Was this really how you looked to him?

“Steve, this is…” You lost your breath as you looked in his eyes. Where he had been shy a moment ago, he held his head high. Proudly. He should be proud of his talent. “It’s beautiful.”

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze a combination of soft and heated. A combination that made you lick your lips and set your heart ablaze. “It’s, uh, also not the first drawing I’ve done of you,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again.

You saw color in his cheeks as you smiled at him. “You think I'm beautiful?” Plenty of people told you that, but you liked it more coming from him. It was an earnest sort of declaration without demanding anything from you in return. “And you have more drawings of me?”

Part of you hoped he drew you in intimate positions since you selfishly wanted him to desire you.

“You're the most beautiful person I've ever known.” Steve placed a large hand on your cheek and you didn't hesitate to lean in, your heart racing faster. Could he see your pulse racing in your neck? “And I do have more. Maybe if you're good, I’ll show them to you.”

Please.

You thought he was going to close the gap and kiss you, but a knock at the door made him pull away and reach for the gun in his holster. It was both sexy and disappointing to see him slip into his bodyguard mode. That was why he was there though. To protect you. Your safety came first.

“Steve?” An unfamiliar voice called from the other side of the door.

Steve’s shoulders relaxed, but he shook his head. “New guy. Doesn't know the knock yet. I’ll be right back,” he muttered, surprising you by brushing his lips against your forehead. “Lay down, please. I need you to get some rest for both of us.”

You watched him walk to the door and waited until he grabbed the handle to answer. “Maybe you can join me. Sir.”

The muscles in his back tightened, his gaze dark as he glanced back at you. “Be good,” he growled, leaving the room quickly. It was a sound you hadn't heard before.

Giggling, you flopped back on your bed. Steve drew you. He thought you were beautiful. He desired you. At least, you hoped so. Now the question was, how long would you stay at the party tonight before you picked up where you left off?

And would you behave?

I hope I did this justice. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #bodyguard!steve rogers #bodyguard!steve rogers x reader #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #chris evans #chris evans x reader #x reader #navy's beach fun nonsense

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tpwk-formula1 · 4 days

Note

OK, BIG order here! Lando Norris (frat Lando if you're up for it), gluten-free, red sauce, artichokes, cilantro, sausage, sweet tea, lemonade (reader giving), pink lemonade, and no aftercare. In my mind, this is a college scenario and y/n absolutely can't stand Lando, cuz he's a cocky player who gets all the girls, but he somehow wins her over, and when he gets her, he absolutely dominates and humiliates her. Sorry, I just want to think about Lando completely owning me and being so arrogant about it lol

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

Gluten free Enemies to lovers red sauce rough sex artichokes "Imagine your father saw you now. On your knees like a proper trained slut" cilanto "stop crying and fucking take it" sausage "better not waste a drop" sweet tea dumbification lemonade body worship (reading giving) pink lemonade degrading kink

TW - MEAN Lando, degrading (like a lot), slight mention of dumbification, rough sex, face fucking, multi orgasms, cum swallow, spitting into mouth (once at very end), NOT PROOF READ

WC 2600+

AN - Okay so I am writing this more in USA ideas of fraternity and sorority as that is all I know about.

Y/N POV

"Literally go away Lando," I rolled my eyes at the boy in front of me. Lando and I had met on our first day of freshman year where he proudly told me he had never been told no by a girl before. From that moment on I hated him. I always seemed to find him on campus with his tongue down another girl's throat. It has never been the same girl more than once or twice really playing into his Playboy persona. Now in our senior year of university, he was still trying to get with me.

"Y/N just give me a chance. I'll have you cumming on my cock within minutes," Lando replied back still following me through the sorority house that he happily invited himself into. No one bat an eye as he was the president of our "brother" fraternity and being the president of the sorority it wasn't all that weird to see us talking.

"Lando, I have no issues cumming with literally anyone else," I reply back before walking into my room hoping to close the door in his face. I could hear Lando scuff softly at the lie I had just told. Lando had other plans because instead of staying on the other side of the door like I had hoped, he was pushing his way into my room before closing the door and locking it with a soft click.

"Get out," I tell him trying to make my way to the door to unlock it and open it but he quickly moves in front of me blocking the door before he roughly grabs my hips and turns me around so my back is pressed against the door and we where now facing each other face to face.

"Lando, please stop," I whisper not trusting my voice to stay stable if I talk any louder.

"Y/N come on. We have been going at each other's throats for years. Just one night. Let me destroy every wall you have built between us for the past four years in one night. Let me fuck you, please," Lando replied back not making any movement just staring into my eyes waiting for an answer.

"Why?" I ask with a raised brow. I had thought after our freshman year Lando would drop the idea of getting into my pants but as the years went on and the rejection kept coming for Lando it only made him more persistent. I won't lie and say I haven't been curious. I had heard the whispers of how big his dick was, how good he fucked, and the biggest rumor of all how deliciously mean he was.

"Y/N be real with me. You're the president of the top soroity on campus, your father is the dean of the school, and you're still the only girl to reject me. You're the girl every single guy on campus wants. You have won every battle between us but today, I need to finish this war. I need you to let me fuck you," Lando replied back essentially begging to let him in. I knew if right here and right now I told Lando no he would walk out and go back to his house but the part of me that has been getting weaker recently wants him to stay and wants to put the rumors to rest.

"One night? That's all this is," I reply back and the second the words leave my mouth Lando is on me like prey.

His hand was instantly tangled into my hair and pulling me in for a heated and rough kiss. Teeth clattering against each other and tongues fighting for dominance. It was rough and messy but god did it make my knees grow weak with need.

I think Lando and I both knew one day it would come to this. I would finally break and let him ravish my body like it had been his for the taking all along, and truthfully I think it has been his all along.

"Get on you fucking knees now," Lando pulled back saying while pushing my head down. I instantly drop to my knees looking up at Lando almost waiting for him to tell me what to do next.

"I hear some of the brothers talk about how good you are with your mouth. It's like you intentionally let them fuck you so they can talk about it letting me know all about the things I've been missing out on for the past four years. So don't be fucking dense with me, out that mouth of your to use," Lando snapped at me when I didn't do anything. I was instantly clawing at the fly of his jeans trying to get it zipped as quick as possible not wanting to piss him off more than I had previously.

When his pants were unbuttoned and zipped down I softly tugged them down his legs where Lando finally helped by kicking them off the rest of the way discarding them somewhere across my room.

"It's big," I whisper while keeping my eyes trained on the hard bulge under his briefs. While I still can't fully see just how big he is I can tell he's fucking massive he is because the tight white briefs leave far too little to the imagination.

"I'm sorry what was that? I need you to speak up a bit more," Lando says with a smirk written all over his face. It was clear he had heard me but enjoyed the praise far too much.

"I said it's smaller than I expected," I replied back with false confidence. Something in Lando snapped in that moment because one second I was on my knees getting ready to suck Lando off and the next I was being dragged by my hair towards my bed where he roughly through me onto it before positioning me so my head was hanging off the side of the bed upside down.

I was dizzy from how quickly the mood had shifted from two rivals arguing and bickering to me being upside down waiting to get my face fucked by said rival.

Lando made quick work of pulling his briefs down before he roughly shoved his massive cock into my mouth. Lando gave me hardly any time to adjust to his length that was filling my throat leaving me a gagging mess under him.

When Lando starts thrusting into my mouth I can feel his balls starting to slap my nose making this moment all that more embasrrassing. How I had ended up with Lando fucking Norris's cock shoved down my throat and his balls hitting my face will always amaze me.

Suddenly I feel Lando lean down slightly making the angle all the more rough before he was tugging at my tight tank top pulling it up to expose my lacey bra too him. I could feel his big hands gripping and pulling at my tits all the while still fucking my face in such a brutal pace I could barely breath.

While one final rough thrust down my throat he holds himself there for a few seconds cutting off my airflow completely before he roughly pulls out and steps back to see me slightly rolling to my side gasping for air and coughing from the brutal attack.

"God, you're such a fucking whore. Took that so well," Lando says with a smirk before shoving two fingers down my throat to watch me gag again. I can feel Lando whiggle his fingers around slightly making me gag more before he rough pulls them out to watch me struggle for fresh air again.

"You know, I'm happy to know that your mouth isn't just good for talking," Lando says before roughly taking a handful of my hair and turning me around slightly so my head was no longer dangling off the bed but rather my legs where dangling.

I was still fully dressed but that didn't last long as Lando completely pulled my shorts and thong down in one go before pulling off my tank top so roughly he ripped it slightly. I feel Lando reach under me before unclipping my bra and roughly pulling it off my body. I had gone from completely clothed to naked as the day I was born within 30 seconds or so.

I watched as Lando fulled his shirt off leaving me to gawk as the tanned 6 pack he was sporting. While I had spent my years trying to avoid him I still had eyes and could see how hot he was.

"See something you like," Lando asks with a smirk making me wanna roll my eyes but I reframe not wanting to piss him off.

"Ya," I just whisper back too embarrassed to admit the thoughts I was thinking. Cursing myself for making him wait all these years when I could've had him all along.

"God, you're a fucking whore. I haven't even touched you are you're already starting to soak your sheets," Lando announced making me trail my trail my eyes down where I can't see much but I could tell how soaked I was just by the way my pussy lips where coated.

"Lando fucking do something," I snap not having the patience to be stared at like I was some kind of artifact on display.

"Hm, I wanna hear why you want it so bad all the sudden. For years you were adiment I would never bed you but here you are begging for it," Lando replied while slowly running his fingers up my thighs and stomach where he landed on my left nipple which he took between his fingers and gave it a tug making me moan at the pleasurable pain.

"Lando, please I just need you to fuck me," I reply with a face still covered in tears and spit and I hadn't had a chance to wipe it off.

"You beg like a proper slut you know, but I still wanna know why," Lando replies still teasing my nipples having moved his attention to my right one now.

"Fuck you, you're fucking hot. You're one of the hottest guys here, I want you to fuck me and ruin me for anyone else," I finally submit to Lando being too weak to continue to try and fight.

"Oh, so all along you've been wanting it. God, you really are a slut," Lando mutters before finally slipping into my tight pussy with so much for I'm left gasping for air.

"God you're so fucking tight. Tighter than I would've thought given everything I've hear," Lando groans once he had filled me completely. He gives me just a few seconds to gather myself before he start thrusting his hips.

"Oh fuck, Lando," I whine and moan out not really sure how to act. I had been fucked before but I have never quite been fucked like this.

I can feel Lando's pace picking up in speed and roughness leaving me gasping for air. He was getting to a point where he was being so rough it was making tears well up in my eyes.

"Stop crying and fucking take it" Lando groans when he sees the tears starting too form.

"Too much," I gasp before digging my nails into Lando's chest making him hiss in slight pain.

"It's not too much, you can fucking handle it. I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock wanting more," Lando says while delivering slow yet painfully pleasurable thursts hitting my G-spot each time.

"Lando I'm close," I whisper knowing if I talked any loud I would stutter given how much pleasure was coursing through my body.

"Do what all good sluts are for and cum," Lando says while picking up his pace sending me into a blissful land where all I can think about in the orgasm that is leaving me shaking on Lando's cock,.

"Oh, fuck," I whine starting to come down from my orgasm but not fully being able to as Lando is still sending brutal thrusts keeping me overstimulated yet still edging towards another orgasm.

"God, you just fucking came and you're already clenching for another," Lando teases out clearly being able to read my body far better than he should be able to.

"Fu-ck n-o Lan," I'm whining and trying to get away but not being able to form full sentences as the pleasure is mounting far too quick.

"Awe did I turn you into a dumb whore norm," Lando says with a smirk before sending down a rough slap right on my clit throwing me straight into another orgasm. I just scream, thankful that none of the other girls were home.

"No," I whisper coming down from my orgasm while Lando is slowing his thrust slightly.

"can't" I whine.

"Speak up and use your fucking words," Lando says clearly getting fed up with the dumb slut under him.

"I can't cum again," I finally force out a sentence once I've come down from the orgasm mostly.

Lando pulls his cock out without saying anything. He leans over placing a soft kiss on my lips throwing me off slightly before he's roughly gripping onto my hair and hauling me off the bed and back onto my knees.

"You know what to do," Is all Lando tells me while he watches me slowly grip onto his dick which is absolutely soaked in my pussy juices before bringing my mouth to his cock.

"Imagine your father saw you now. On your knees like a proper trained slut," Lando says while I start bobbing my head on his dick making sure to take him as deep as I can without gagging too much.

Lando grips the back of my head before he starts to face fuck me. I can feel the tears streaking my face, my spit rolling down my chin and all I can hear is the sound of my gagging and Lando's groaning ringing out through the room and if I'm being honest, I have never been more turned on in my life.

Lando finally releases the grip he has on the back of my head letting me do all the work now. I was thankful as it was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe.

I pull my mouth off of Lando's cock making sure to keep jerking him off, while looking up at him. He was already staring down at me watching me like a hawk.

"Thank you, Lando," I whisper softly.

"For what," Lando groans clearly getting close to blowing his load so I slow it down slightly wanting him to cum in my mouth.

"Fucking me so good," I whisper while trailing kisses around the lower part of his toned abs and into his trimmed pubes before taking Lando back into my mouth and bobbing my head so rough that I am consistently hitting my gag reflex.

I feel Lando starting to tense letting me know he was close before he gave one final rough thrust into my mouth and held my head there before unleashing his massive load into my mouth and right down my throat.

"Better not waste a drop" Lando groans when he pulls out of my mouth watching me as I swallow his cum. When I'm done swallowing I open my mouth and stick out my tongue showing him I had swallowed it all. Lando just leans down slightly before spitting right into my mouth and walking away to find his clothes.

Once Lando was fully dressed I was already comfortably in bed too exhausted to do anything but melt into my pillow.

"We will do this again," Lando says matter a factly before placing a kiss on my forehead and then lips and walking out of my room presumably to go back to his house.

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cutielando · 14 days

Text

i worry | lando norris

synopsis: in which you’re both worried about him

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

Ever since he could remember, Lando has always been a vocal advocate of how important mental health was to him, always encouraging people to get the help they need and not feel at all embarrassed about needing it and asking in the first place.

It was one of the many things that you loved about him, how passionate he was about making sure his words would encourage people all around to get better.

But that also meant that he sometimes forgot to take care of himself. The last couple of races before the 2024 summer break were very tough on Lando, both physically and mentally, but they especially took a toll on his mental health.

You had seen it ever since Silverstone, after McLaren had clearly fucked his strategy and jeopardized yet another chance at a win, he was heartbroken. Hungary was especially hard for you to watch, especially because you were in the garage when everything went down.

For days after, you couldn’t get the radios out of your head, the way the team had spoken to Lando, basically emotionally blackmailed him into giving up his position to Oscar. Lando’s broken expression when he finally made his way back from the trophy ceremony; his eyes searching for you in the crowd of personnel he couldn’t bear to see at that moment.

It was a very hard pill to swallow, especially in the days following the race, once everything had really settled down into his mind, once he had time to talk it through with the team as well. He never should have been put in that position, and the team knew they fucked up, but that still didn’t help how your boyfriend was feeling.

Let down by the people in whose hands he puts his life in every race weekend, by the people he trusts with his life and who have helped him make all of his dreams come true. He was let down by the people he considered a second family. And he didn’t know how to feel about that.

With the summer break, you figured that he would finally disconnect from everything, find himself again and recharge his batteries for the remainder of the season.

But then came the videos from Grill the Grid.

You always watched the videos, finding comfort and laughing wholeheartedly at the competitiveness all the drivers displayed in such meaningless little games, it was heartwarming for everybody watching.

However, this time, that wasn’t the case.

From the very beginning of the first video, you had noticed something was off with Lando, in every single segment that he was in. He was quiet, he didn’t have the energy he always showed when doing the challenges. He seemed like it was the last place where he wanted to be, he was doing something he would rather not even hear about. At least, that’s what his demeanor showed.

Seeing the way Lando was through the entire video, it only added to your worries.

You had just touched down in Greece with a couple of your friends, and you were laying on the soft bed of your hotel room while Lando was taking a shower. He hadn’t heard what you were watching, he probably would have stopped you from even clicking on the video. He didn’t want you to see him like that, he didn’t want to make you worry even more than you already were.

Pausing the video and putting your phone on the bed next to you, you sat there, chewing your bottom lip while thinking things over in your head. Should you ask him about it? Should you just ignore it?

No, you had to check up on him. You knew him better than anyone, and you knew he tended to bury his feelings deep down and just shut everyone out whenever he was feeling down. And sadly, you feared that was happening right before your eyes, and you hadn’t noticed until then.

You hadn’t been waiting on the bed for long before the bathroom door opened and Lando walked out, a towel hanging low on his hips and water dripping from his freshly-washed curls.

“Hey” he said, glancing your way briefly before he made his way to your shared walk-in closet to find some underwear and clothes to sleep in.

You smiled at him, your eyes following his every move. You went back to chewing your lip, your mind overwhelmed with dozens of thoughts attacking you at high speeds. You were itching to just blurt it out, make him sit down and talk to you about whatever it was that was bothering him.

But you knew you couldn’t do that. He would never open up if it felt like you were pressuring him into doing so. You were aware of that, but you also knew that he desperately needed to talk to someone, and you preferred that someone be you.

“Hey babe?” you called out, waiting for a hum in reply before you continued. “Do you think we could have a little talk?” you called out, your eyes stuck on your fingers while you waited for a response.

There was silence for a couple of minutes before Lando emerged back into the bedroom, now freshly dressed in a pair of boxers and a white T-shirt. His eyebrows were furrowed, worry settling into the pit of his stomach.

“Is something wrong?” he asked worriedly, taking a seat next to you on the bed and resting his hand on your knee.

You sat up and crossed your legs, shuffling closer to him and taking his hand in yours.

Looking up at him and admiring his beautiful eyes, you noticed the turmoil going around behind his irises, making you smile sadly at the poor boy in front of you.

“You know they posted the first Grill the Grid video today, right?” he nodded, still looking at you eagerly. “Well, I was watching it, because you know I like the little challenges they make you all do. And I couldn’t help but notice a few things about it” you carefully worded your ideas, trying not to seem like you were attacking him in any way.

“What do you mean? What things?” he asked, the worry in his stomach growing stronger and stronger.

You sighed, looking down at your joined hands on your lap.

“Baby, are you okay?” you asked, looking back up at him with worried eyes.

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, his heart suddenly beating out of his chest. He was okay, right? He had to be okay, he didn’t have time to be anything but okay.

“I’m fine, why are you asking? Babe, what’s going on?” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m worried about you, Lando. The person I saw in that video is not you, baby. You didn’t smile once during the video and I know how much you love filming Grill the Grid. It looked like you didn’t even want to be there, baby” you explained, shuffling closer to him until your knees were touching.

Lando had since looked away from you, his gaze stuck on the fuzzy carpet at the foot of the bed.

He knew you were bound to notice he wasn't himself. As much as he had tried to hide it and pretend like nothing was wrong, he knew he couldn’t hide from you for much longer.

Truth is, he was tired. Tired of always pretending everything was okay, tired lt making it seem like he was positive and trusting in his team, a team which had let him down in the last weeks more than anybody else in his entire life.

He couldn’t pretend anymore, he didn’t want to pretend that he was okay when everything inside of him was screaming for help.

“Yeah, I’m worried about me too. I was hoping I’d get better before you noticed” he mumbled, chuckling sadly as he took your hand in his and started playing with your bracelets.

Your eyes widened, worry sinking even deeper into the pit of your stomach. You had so desperately wanted him to tell you what he was feeling, that everything you had thought you had seen was in your head, but he did the exact opposite. He had confirmed every painful suspicion you had had, and you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about it.

“Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?” you urged him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He sighed, biting his lip. He really thought he would have had more time to prepare for the conversation, but he might as well just tell you everything now. It would make it easier on him.

Looking up at you, he turned around so he was facing you, making you sit up straight and look at him worriedly.

“Truth to be told, I haven’t been doing all that well these past couple of weeks, and it’s got nothing to do with you or our relationship” he said, putting some of your concerns to rest. “Ever since Miami, everything’s been feeling half-done, or thrown away in a way. Max took me out in Russia, the team fucked up my strategy at Silverstone, they made me give up my win in Hungary, they fucked everything up in Belgium. I just don’t understand why they’re behaving like this” he confessed, making your heart break a little.

It was extremely disappointing for you to see how let down Lando felt by his team, a team that he considered to be his second family. He had dedicated his entire Formula 1 career to make sure McLaren would become great again, and now that it was finally happening, he and Oscar were taking the brunt of it, and he wasn’t okay with that.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry you feel this way. I know how tough things can be, and I wish you'd told me sooner. I hate knowing how much you were hurting and I wasn’t there to comfort you” you said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him into a side hug.

“I didn’t realize how much it was bothering me until the summer break began, you know. I finally had some free time to think about everything, and I don’t like the conclusions I’ve drawn” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric of your shirt.

“And what are those, baby?” you urged him on, knowing he needed to get everything off his chest before he truly felt relieved.

He sighed, changing his position so he was now laying down on the bed with his head in your lap, your fingers almost immediately latching onto his curls.

“I’ve given them my entire career, I’ve stuck with them for such a long time and I signed an extension for even more years, and yet they seem to forget about all of that. Even when everyone was telling me to look elsewhere, when I got offers from Red Bull, I never even thought about leaving the team. I just sometimes wish they would show me the gratitude and respect I think I deserve after sticking with them for so long” he explained, shutting his eyes as he enjoyed the feeling of your hands playing with his hair.

You bit your lower lip, nodding softly as you stared off into the distance.

“I understand how you feel, and I wish there was more that I could do to help you. But I think you just need to disconnect from everything during this break, like not even think about racing at all for the entire month. You need a break, spend some time with me and your family, enjoy just living your life for a little and then you get back with a fresh mind” you suggested, your other hand cupping his cheek.

He hummed, but eventually nodded.

“You’re right. I just want to spend some time alone with you, I haven’t been able to just enjoy having you with me these past couple of weeks and I need to make it up to you” he said, opening his eyes and giving you a little smile.

You smiled back at him, leaning down and pressing your lips against his.

And even though you knew you and Lando still had a long way to go until he would finally feel content, you were determined to get through this.

Together.

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