#but yeah this is a soft interest check post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 & 𝒊 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

mean neighbor!ellie x sunshine fem!reader, angst / fluff / hurt + comfort, modern!au warnings: language / 18+ content (mdni!), wc: 5k

you have a hot new neighbor…too bad she doesn’t want a thing to do with you!

tagging those who commented / liked my previous interest post!: @loversreligion , @tahni-04 , @parrotpeggy , @acnologiasgf , @maybe-cece (happy birthday gemini queen ! <3)

an — first time writing for ellie ! content warnings include oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving). not my first time writing 18+ content, but my first time posting eeek. i apologize for the person ellie has turned me into lmaooo. feel free to send me more ideas, blurbs, hcs, etc.

neighbor!ellie who moves in on a hot sticky july day.

ac’s busted in the common areas, elevator hasn’t worked in weeks, and she’s moved into a unit on the fifth floor.

neighbor!ellie who’s admittedly too far gone and incredibly irritated because jesse keeps fucking around and they almost drop her flat screen on the third flight of steps.

neighbor!ellie who finally gets most of the boxes and furniture settled and doesn’t even get to collapse on the couch for .2 seconds before someone’s knocking on the door.

yanks the knob so hard, the door rattles on its hinges.

eyes narrow when she sees you, all neat, not sweaty, dressed in an outfit definitely not indicative of a night in. only makes her even more annoyed because she just wants two seconds of peace.

“yes?” her tone is sharp, gaze bored because your lips part thrice before the words are spilling out.

“i know it’s miserable out, and this building can be a piece of shit, so i made some blackberry tea!”

neighbor!ellie who gives the glass, beaded with condensation, a brief glance before crossing her arms over her chest.

“i’m allergic to blackberries,” ellie says flatly.

your round eyes widen impossibly before tucking the glass behind your back.

“oh fuck, i’m so sorry,” you babble. “i have peach! or maybe mint? i—”

“i’ll pass.”

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t beat around the bush and makes a move to close the door because she hadn’t even checked into the conversation.

“if you ever need anything, i’m right next door!” you chirp. “i’m-”

“yup, yeah, got it. good night.”

and the door is shutting in your face.

neighbor!ellie who’s trying to sleep in because she stayed up all night playing tekken 4 with jesse jolting awake when she hears three soft raps against the front door.

has an inkling of who it could be so she’s only mildly surprised when she sees you standing on the welcome mat that says ‘no weenies allowed’ because jesse thought it was the funniest thing (ellie’d been only slightly amused).

“morning,” you smile.

you have a plate covered in foil in your hands and ellie gives you a brief onceover to find that you’re dressed to the nines again (admittedly it’s just a simple sundress, but the red and white ginham cuts at the meatiest part of your thighs and she has to remind herself to keep her eyes up).

“it’s…” ellie trails off, glances at the clock on the oven to find that it’s not even 9am. “…8:52am on a saturday morning.”

“it is,” you agree, extending the plate to her. “i, uh, hope you’re not allergic to pancakes?”

“…i’m not.”

you beam.

“great!”

you’re shoving the food in her hands before she can decline and ellie finds that the ceramic is still warm.

neighbor!ellie who awkwardly holds the plate up to you as a silent thanks and shuts the door in your hopeful face.

“i gotta give it to you williams, didn’t think you’d pull within 24 hours,” jesse mutters groggily from the couch he’d helped her lug up the stairs yesterday afternoon.

“oh fuck off,” she huffs, tearing the foil from the plate to find a five-stack of fluffy pancakes with two cute little strawberry-shaped containers that has butter and syrup respectively.

“who’s it from?” jesse asks, even though he knows the answer.

“girl in 5a.”

first bite in and ellie’s eyebrows raise because wow, that’s damn good.

jesse swipes a bite despite ellie’s protests and they polish off the matching plate that she puffs a laugh at because there’s a strawberry bandit painted in the center and in shoddy lettering says, “this is a strobbery”

neighbor!ellie who surprises you by washing and returning the plate later that evening, muttering out a quick thanks before ducking back into her apartment without another word.

she leaves you blinking, staring at the space she was previously standing in a moment prior before you smile and shut the door because god ellie is so hot.

neighbor!ellie doesn’t expect it to become a routine, but more often than not, you’re knocking on her door at any given hour with snacks and she’s surprised when, a week and a half in, she’s had to do minimal grocery shopping because you’re always feeding her.

little does she know it’s because you’re looking forward to the brief moments that she’s unintentionally banging on your door to return your plates and dinnerware.

neighbor!ellie who’s a mechanic and brings your goodies to work sometimes and gets teased by the other mechanics because they think she has a girlfriend.

neighbor!ellie who after revealing she works in a garage starts opening up her front door to little reusable bags with cute notes and food puns if your schedule’s don’t line up.

neighbor!ellie whose schedule does end up frequently aligning with yours and you end up taking the same elevator down.

“morning, ellie,” you greet, smiling softly at her despite being up at the asscrack of dawn.

neighbor!ellie who yawns, takes the lunch you made for her gratefully and walks with you to the elevator.

“morning, 5a.”

neighbor!ellie who could get used to only seeing you in the fifth floor halls, however, after a few weeks, you stumble upon her in different circumstances.

you’re usually out on your balcony in the early mornings to water your plants and drink your tea or coffee, but today’s been exceptionally rough at work (you’re, surprise, a café owner) so you step out to take a deep breath late in the evening after your shift.

you definitely don’t expect to find ellie perched on a stool flicking the ash from a blunt over the railing.

“‘sup,” she hums, taking a long pull.

“hey,” you sigh.

“long day?” she humors you.

the two of you don’t really have much conversation because ellie’s always finding ways to cut interactions with you short.

and it’s not particularly because she doesn’t like you, but she’s caught the vibe you’re giving off and she doesn’t want to give you any unnecessary hope, especially after such a messy break up with the last girl.

(it’s definitely not because something about you makes her nervous).

so she doesn’t really expect you to spill, but one moment you’re debating whether or not you should divulge and the next you’re talking a mile a minute about how draining the job can be especially when employees end up being unreliable and the customers are impatient.

ellie’s gone through the entire joint and you still haven’t stopped talking and she doesn’t want to be mean, especially because you’ve been so nice to her since she’s moved in, but the high is wearing off because she’s too focused on finding an out of the one-sided conversation.

“you should come by,” you say, once you’re done babbling. “to the café, i mean. bring your friends, i’ll stay open a little later for you guys.”

that catches ellie’s attention after she’d zoned out.

“i— you don’t have to do that,” she says. “and i mean, we’re all pretty busy and—”

“no, no!” you say sweetly. “i insist! i wanna test out a few new seasonal recipes and i’d love some opinions!”

ellie’s wracking her brain, but you’re looking at her so hopefully and you look too cute with a few strands of hair falling from your updo. she really doesn’t want to give in, so she gives a lukewarm response instead.

“i’ll, uh, get back to you, i guess.”

you’re grinning.

“try to clear saturday night!” you tell her. “sometime around 9:30!”

ellie opens her mouth to give one last protest, but you’re standing from where you’d been leaning against the railing.

“it’ll be fun!” you tell her. “night, ellie!”

neighbor!ellie who really doesn’t want to go because she feels like it’ll only add fuel to the fire.

the beginning of the week rolls around and you decide that this’ll be the week you’ll finally ask ellie out.

you figure that ellie’s just really quiet, isn’t the one to really put herself out there, so you wanna take initiative.

you’re thinking of all the different recipes you could try because you really wanna wow her and her friends.

little does ellie know that you’re lowkey agonizing over saturday and it’s all you can think about: what you’ll wear, what pairings you want to present, how you’ll decorate the cafe.

meanwhile, ellie’s trying to find a way out of it and jesse’s not any help because he keeps teasing her about how she must be broken for not wanting her hot neighbor who has a glaringly obvious crush on her.

everyone on the whole floor, possibly even the whole building knows. hell, even the doorman knows (and it’s definitely not because you stop to chat with him frequently when you walk your little beagle, apple, and ellie becomes a frequent topic of conversation).

neighbor!ellie who starts avoiding you because she fears that her being receptive to your kindness is giving you the wrong idea (definitely not because you’re growing on her and you’re becoming a part of her daily routine).

neighbor!ellie who sees you twice the entire week, doesn’t answer the door when you knock, stuffs your cute little post-its about saturday somewhere in the back of her junk drawer, smokes her blunts on the roof to avoid running into on the balcony.

neighbor!ellie who spends most of her time at the garage with jesse and her coworkers in efforts to get home after you do.

you figure that maybe she is really busy and you shouldn’t have been so pushy about the tasting, but you’ve grown to really like her and you can’t give this up without officially giving it a shot.

neighbor!ellie who ducks out of her apartment when she knows you’re out on saturday and leaves her lights off, so you’ll know she isn’t home.

neighbor!ellie who spends the day with jesse and his girl and gets invited to a kickback on the otherside of town.

neighbor!ellie who’s about two joints in and a couple shots out, so she’s crossed by nine and you completely slip her mind.

you’re on the other side of town, about a block from your apartment, waiting in the cafe for ellie.

you made such a pretty spread of lavender matcha cookies and lemon muffins. used your special espresso roast to brew a delicious batch of coffee to make a few lattes.

you’d even bought flowers from next door, decorated the table and light a few candles.

it’s 9:45 and you think that she’s gonna be late, but time’s passing and the pastries are going stale, the coffee going lukewarm.

it’s 10:30 when you start losing hope.

probably 11:30 when you blow out the candles, box up the treats and throw the espresso in the cooler for some iced coffee tomorrow morning.

you should’ve seen it coming, really. she did say that her and her friends were typically busy. and she hadn’t officially confirmed it with you either so you were being rather presumptuous anyways.

you decide that maybe you’ll just drop them by her place tomorrow and ask her to lunch!

it’s about midnight when you walk up the sidewalk and see that her LEDs are on in her room. it vaguely smells like weed so you figure she’d been smoking a little.

you don’t wanna bother her so late at night so you enter your own apartment, set the box on the kitchen island before padding into your room to get ready for bed.

you should’ve seen it coming, ellie standing you up, but what you don’t see coming, or hear, for that matter, are the muffled moans through the paper thin walls.

you’d been used to hearing ellie cuss at her video games, heard her getting better at playing the guitar, bickering with jesse over who got to be who during smash bros, but this was new.

you’d never heard the voice before, pitched and whiny.

your cheeks warm because whatever ellie’s doing must be good. you can’t even find it in yourself to be relieved that ellie was interested in girls. you’d initially been scared that maybe you were reading into it all wrong.

regardless, obviously you’d read everything way way wrong because ellie’s mouth is filthy and there’s no misconstruing the fact that she’s fucking someone six ways to sunday and you can hear every gory detail.

your stomach is churning because it’s been weeks and you couldn’t even get ellie outside the fifth floor’s hallway.

it’s obvious they’re thoroughly enjoying themselves and the hurt and envy that kindles is an ugly sight to see.

you end up sleeping in the living room that night.

neighbor!ellie who chases the girl out the following morning after a nasty hangover and finally coming to terms with the fact that she’d brought someone home last night.

neighbor!ellie whose stomach drops to her ass when someone knocks on the door a few minutes later and she thinks it’s you, but it ends up being jesse.

“jesus, did 5a do that?” he asks, referring to your apartment number in regards to the fresh hickies blooming up the column of ellie’s throat.

“god no,” ellie says. “how many times do i have to tell you, that’s never happening.”

neighbor!ellie who would never tell a soul that she’d been imagining a certain someone the night prior.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t want to think of anything more than being your neighbor because she’s locked in this lease for the next two years and she’d prefer to not shit where she sleeps.

(yeah, that’s totally it).

“dude why not? she’s obviously so down bad for you,” jesse chuckles, pushing past ellie.

she huffs a breath, defensive.

“god, i don’t know how she isn’t embarrassed, it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

oh—

you’d heard jesse’s voice, then ellie’s, and figured you could give her the pastries you worked so hard on last night.

you’d always thought that ellie was just naturally aloof, kept to herself often, but last night was the coffin and this morning was the nail.

in the stillness of your apartment, jesse and ellie’s voice carries through the thin walls.

“i mean, you could just fuck her a couple of times, get it out of your system?”

“god, look at her, there’s not a casual bone in her body.”

“you can’t run away from her forever, yknow?”

neighbor!ellie who thinks to herself that she’ll try anyways.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t have to try, because you become an enigma after that.

it’s the middle of the week and she hasn’t had to even try avoiding you once.

you haven’t knocked on her door since the week prior and it makes her brows furrow.

neighbor!ellie who starts feeling bad for standing you up, but feels infinitely worse when she goes to dump some of her trash and finds the carton of pastries you’d baked.

they have your café’s name emblazoned on the logo and she vaguely remembers you chattering about trying lavender in one of your recipes.

she sees the purple food coloring and her heart sinks because why are they in the trash? :(

realizes that she’s fucked up and that maybe she should just be completely transparent with you.

neighbor!ellie who hesitantly knocks on your door and waits patiently for you to answer.

hears shuffling on the other side, but you don’t open up.

neighbor!ellie who tries to convince herself that you’re just busy! work is stressful right now and you’re keeping to yourself.

but you two end up bumping into each other on the elevator (she’d been lurking), and you give her a curt greeting because you’re polite and you realize that ellie doesn’t owe you anything.

“apple’s got a haircut,” she observes, leaning down to pet the pup.

“yeah,” you hum.

“she looks cute,” ellie compliments.

“thanks.”

neighbor!ellie who’s not used to you icing her out, so she takes the leap.

“hey, i wanted to apologize…” she trails off. “about saturday. i shouldn’t have flaked.”

“s’okay,” you say simply, watching as the numbers painfully descend. “you were busy.”

a blanket of silence.

“i’m sure the pastries were great,” ellie tries again. “we could always—”

the elevator dings and the doors part.

“have a good day, ellie,” you say softly, tugging apple by the leash to leave the lift.

neighbor!ellie who swears she hears you sniffling on the other side of the wall later that night, but tries to convince herself that you’ve just got allergies.

neighbor!ellie who thinks of every excuse in the book to try and talk to you, but she ends up freezing because fuck, have you always been this pretty?

neighbor!ellie who buys a succulent and puts it on her balcony. she tries to catch you in the mornings when you’re watering your plants, but it seems like your schedules just don’t align anymore.

neighbor!ellie is frustrated as fuck because she’d been avoiding getting attached, but you don’t knock on her door to deliver snacks or talk her ear off anymore and it drives her absolutely nuts.

neighbor!ellie who gets teased infinitely more at work because her coworkers are now convinced that there’s ‘trouble in paradise’.

“jesus christ, you’re actually pathetic,” jesse rolls his eyes over breakfast one weekend.

“dude, she just…” ellie lets out a frustrated sigh. “i just—”

“you miss her,” he fills in.

ellie turns red.

“fuck you, i don’t—”

“it’s okay to admit it, yknow?” he says. “she’s a lot different from your exes. she’s genuinely sweet, in it because she really likes you.”

ellie swallows, lips pursing.

“you’re soft around her,” jesse observes. “you think that if you give in, she’s gonna uncover parts of you you don’t even let me or joel see.”

“fuck you—”

“for someone who likes bitches you—”

ellie groans.

neighbor!ellie who goes home and rolls a joint because this limbo is stressing her out.

and FINALLY! you’re watering your plants on your balcony when she slides the patio door open and slinks outside.

you don’t say anything to her, just continue watering.

she slumps in her folding lawn chair, kicking her feet up on the railing to feign nonchalance, but you haven’t blinked an eye at her and she’s annoyed.

“been doing alright?” she asks finally.

you freeze for the briefest of moments before glancing at her.

you’ve got bags under your eyes and your lips are pursed and ellie’s heart squeezes.

“yeah,” you answer simply. “fine.”

ellie hums.

“how’s work?”

“same old,” you say, turning your back to her to tend to the plants housed on the other side.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t know what to say. who’s so used to trying to break conversation, not make them.

neighbor!ellie who fidgets because you’re making her nervous. you’re usually so sweet and smiley, but this side of you makes her gut churn.

neighbor!ellie who bites the bullet.

“i’m…i’m off on sunday…” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “if you wanted to— i dunno.”

your back straightens and she thinks you’re gonna bite, but you glance at the sidewalk below and shake your head.

“you don’t have to pretend, you know?” you say softly.

it’s like a punch in the chest and ellie’s scrambling.

“no! it’s—” she realizes she’s shouting. “it’s not like that, i—”

“i’m a big girl, ellie,” you tell her, that stupid little strawberry-shaped spray bottle squeezed tight in your hand. “if i was annoying, you could have just said that.”

and god she feels so fucking awful because this entire time, you’d just been trying to be nice to her. it was a harmless crush and—

“i don’t think you’re annoying,” she argues weakly. “can you…can you look at me, please?”

your head tilts up and ellie realizes that you’re trying to stop yourself from crying.

“god, i really am pathetic,” is your watery whisper.

ellie’s crossing the balcony, fully ready to climb over the railing onto your patio, but you’re quickly dashing away the tears and throwing the sliding door open.

“goodnight,” you tell her, and you’re sealing her out in the humid air.

neighbor!ellie who’s in knots because living next to someone she used to see everyday fucking sucks now that all the two of you are reduced to is straining extra hard to hear your shuffling from the other side of the walls.

neighbor!ellie who stands in front of your door sometimes, wanting to knock, but feeling like she doesn’t deserve closure with you because it’s all her fault.

neighbor!ellie who realizes that the very awkwardness and discomfort she was avoiding to begin with could’ve been avoidable had she just been up front with you.

you were sweet and you were understanding…mature. you would’ve probably taken better to honesty than ellie blowing you off and lowkey being an ass to you.

neighbor!ellie being scolded by jesse after a couple of days pass because he’s beating her ass at smash bros without even trying and it’s hurting his ego.

“are you seriously gonna keep moping over 5a?” he asks after the fourth round won.

“i’m not moping,” ellie grumbles.

“oh c’mon dude,” jesse moans in annoyance. “you and 5a have this dad with four kids who doesn’t want a puppy but ends up loving the shit out of the—”

“i do not love her,” ellie barks.

jesse smirks.

“that’s all you took from that, ellie, seriously?” jesse scoffs.

“i mean, it’s not like there’s much that can be done, anyways,” ellie grunts, tossing the video game controller onto the coffee table’s surface. “she fuckin’ hates me and i don’t blame her.”

“5a does not hate you,” jesse sighs. “her feelings are just hurt, but you can fix it.”

“and how’s that?” ellie crosses her arms over her chest.

“you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” jesse grabs the discarded controller from the coffee table and shoves it into ellie’s chest. “now put your all into this next round, i’m still gonna beat your ass.”

neighbor!ellie who’s never felt more nervous in her life.

who’s standing a block away from the café you own with a little gift bag and a bouquet of flowers.

neighbor!ellie who’s used to effortless relationships and casual situationships.

neighbor!ellie who’s scared shitless that she’s making the wrong decision giving in like this, but maybe jesse’s right and you’re just what she needs.

neighbor!ellie whose hands shake the entire walk up to the café.

she sees you with your back turned towards the door, probably doing closing inventory or something of the like with the way you scribble quickly against a clipboard.

you look so in your element with your apron tied tight around the narrow of your waist and perhaps now’s not the appropriate time, but your work pants look exceptionally great spread over the—

“i’m sorry, but we’re closed for the evening,” your voice sounds when ellie opens the front door and the chime tinkles against the glass.

“i’ll make it quick,” ellie says quietly, paper wrap around the flowers crinkling as she shifts on her feet.

you whirl around with wide eyes, almost dropping the clipboard when you find your neighbor standing in the middle of your café.

she looks so good in a fitted brown button up rolled to the elbow to reveal the whorls of ink decorating her forearms and skinny jeans that are way too good at highlighting the muscles of her thighs.

“ellie, what are you doing here?” you ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“i was, er, in the area?”

one of your eyebrows raise.

“well, is there something i can help you with?” you ask, eyeing the flowers and the giftbag in what ellie can only read as disdain.

it’s like the day you two first met all over again but the roles are reversed. her lips gape once, twice, then three times as she tries to find the words. but ellie’s never been good at talking about how she feels, at being vulnerable.

“i have to close up,” you prod, tone tired. “and whoever you’re visiting after this is probably waiting.”

the words after are a silent insinuation.

god knows i did.

you’re turning on your heel and ellie knows she’s losing you.

“i like you.” she says suddenly.

you freeze, fist tightening mercilessly around your clipboard.

“that’s not funny,” you say stonily. “you don’t have to make an ass out of me for having feelings for you, ellie. i get it, it’s hilarious that your dorky neighbor has a crush on you, but you don’t have to drag it. i’m—”

neighbor!ellie who’s always thought that you talk a tad too much and sets the gifts on the nearest table before crossing the distance between the two of you.

she’s towering over you and you’re looking up at her with furrowed brows as she pries the clipboard from your fingers and kisses you without another word.

“wait, wait,” you whisper, pulling away from her momentarily.

her lips chase yours, one hand splaying over the small of your back as the other cradles your chin.

“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t—”

“i don’t understand,” you admit. “you…you and your friend were—”

ellie shakes her head vehemently.

“i was being stupid,” she says quickly. “it’s—” she sighs. “it’s a long story.”

“but the night of the tasting,” you start. “you brought someone home…i heard you.”

ellie closes her eyes in defeat, rolls her lips as she presses her forehead against yours.

“it was a mistake, you have to believe me,” she pleads softly. “i was drunk out of my mind and high as hell and—”

she stops talking when she sees the expression on your face, notices the way your fingers hover.

“you have every right not to entertain this,” ellie swallows. “and i know i’ve been awful to you, but i…i really like you 5a.”

your head tilts down and ellie’s leaning forward in an effort to keep the eye contact.

“i’m not good at stuff like this,” she confesses. “obviously.”

you breathe out an involuntary laugh.

“but you’re different, really different,” ellie says. “and you make me feel so fuckin’ weird—”

you flinch.

“a good weird!” she assuages. “it’s good. and i really wanna try things with you if you’ll let me.”

you look hesitant, but ellie’s hopeful and you’ve always been a sucker for green eyes.

18+ BONUS

neighbor!ellie really wanted to take things slow with you after officially winning you over, but she can’t really help herself.

she takes you out a week after your heart-to-heart in your café, a nice restaurant you’d chattered about during your elevator rides to the lobby, and she’d been so close to making it through dinner and keeping it appropriate, but the dessert the two of you ordered had strawberries.

needless to say, when you’d taken a bite into the candied fruit and the juice curved down your jaw and slithered between your cleavage, ellie threw a wad of bills onto the table top and dragged you out of the restaurant.

didn’t make it far, ended up at the edge of the parking lot in the back seat of her car with two of her fingers knuckles deep in your heat while she swallowed your moans whole.

neighbor!ellie who takes you to hers after you cum twice and she tastes you for the first time.

“fuck, angel,” she whispers against your clit. “pussy’s too good.”

the sight is a devastating one, your skirt bunched around your waist and your top discarded somewhere on her bedroom floor.

one of your hands bunches her sheets in your fist, the other threaded through her brown hair as she eats you out like she’s absolutely starved.

“that’s it, princess,” she eggs you on, stuffing her fingers and curling against the walls of your spongy cunt. her tongue is sloppy against your little bud and your dulcet moans are buttery soft, absolute music to her ears.

that night seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because she can’t get enough of you.

especially not when you wear that red and white gingham sundress you’d worn the second time the two of you met.

neighbor!ellie who spends so much time in your apartment now, likes to especially when you’re baking because you wear that stupidly tiny dress in your stupidly tiny kitchen and it takes every ounce of self control to keep her kisses on your exposed shoulders appropriate.

you start kneading the dough and she can’t keep her hands to herself, hooking her jaw into the crook of your neck as her fingers dance under the hem of your dress and ghosts the seam of your thighs.

“y’look so pretty,” ellie hums, tongue darting to lave at the juncture of your jaw and your neck.

“wait, ah!” fingertips trace over your mound and a semi-giddy, semi-disbelieving laugh rumbles from ellie’s chest when she finds you aren’t wearing any panties.

“you’re a dirty girl, angel,” she bites, one arm securing around your waist, the other toying with the slick coating your inner thighs. “what happened to getting work done?”

all you manage is a breathy cry when ellie skips the formalities and taps your clit roughly.

“el—ellie!” you whimper, one of your flour dusted hands wrapping around her wrist as your back arches and your ass presses into her hips.

your body stutters when you feel something nestle between the pert cheeks of your ass.

you throw a surprised look over your shoulder and ellie’s already grinning lazily at you as she continues kissing all over you.

“surprise,” she whispers.

neighbor!ellie who’s so gone. who still constantly gets teased by jesse and her coworkers. who wasn’t willing to admit it at first, but wants absolutely everything to do with you.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie tlou

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macfrog · 1 year

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jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

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pucksandpower · 1 year

Text

Borrowed Time

Charles Leclerc x single mother!Reader

Summary: you do everything in your power to make your sick son’s dream come true but what you don’t realize is that meeting his hero will change all of your lives forever

Warnings: terminal illness and death

“You know what would be the coolest, Mama?” The soft voice of your son, Luca, breaks through the silence of the hospital room.

You brush a stray hair from his forehead, trying to coax a smile onto your face despite the weight in your chest. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

“To meet Charles Leclerc. Just once. To tell him he’s my hero.” Luca’s eyes, though tired, gleam with that familiar spark every time he talks about Formula 1.

Your heart aches, knowing how much this means to him. “He is pretty amazing on the track, isn’t he?” You respond, reminiscing about the countless races you’ve both watched together from this very room.

Luca nods, holding his toy race car, a replica of Charles’ Ferrari. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. He never gives up, even when things get tough. Kinda like me.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice, making you marvel at his resilience.

You pull him close, tears threatening to spill. “You’re my hero too,” you whisper, kissing his temple.

He snuggles closer, murmuring, “I just wish I could meet him, Mama. Tell him he gives me strength.”

You take a deep breath, new resolve settling in. “You never know, my love. Miracles happen.”

The determination you feel is like a roaring fire and you silently vow to make Luca’s dream come true. No matter what it takes.

***

As the evening shadows stretch across the hospital room, you find yourself deep in thought, racking your brain for any means to make Luca’s wish a reality. You think about reaching out on social media, starting a campaign, anything to catch Charles Leclerc’s attention.

You start by posting on your personal pages: a heartfelt message accompanied by a picture of Luca holding his toy race car, the walls of his room adorned with posters of Charles racing. #LucaMeetsLeclerc, you caption it, hoping against hope that the message reaches the right eyes and ears.

The following days are a whirlwind. Friends, family, and even strangers share the post, and the hashtag starts trending in your community. Messages of support flood in and local news channels express interest in Luca’s battle.

One evening, after reading Luca a bedtime story, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s an email from a name you don’t recognize but the subject line sends your heart racing: A Special Meeting.

Opening it hastily, your eyes skim over the words:

Dear Y/N,

I represent Charles Leclerc. We were deeply moved by Luca’s story and would like to arrange a meeting ...

Tears blur your vision and you can’t help but let out a soft sob of relief and joy. Luca, hearing your cry, looks up at you with curious eyes. “Mama? What’s wrong?”

You pull him into a tight embrace, trying to convey all the love and happiness you feel. “Sweetie,” you whisper, pulling back to meet his gaze, “I think your dream might just come true.”

Luca’s eyes widen and his smile lights up the room brighter than any lamp ever could. The journey to fulfill a lifelong dream has just begun.

***

The hospital room feels heavier than usual. The rhythmic beeping of monitors fills the silence as Luca plays absent-mindedly with his race car on the bed. Just as you are about to suggest a card game, a knock interrupts the monotony.

“Come in,” you call softly.

The door opens and to your astonishment, Charles Leclerc himself steps inside, a shy smile gracing his features. He seemed different than on the TV — more human, more vulnerable.

“Ciao, Luca,” Charles greets, his voice gentle.

Luca’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “You ... you’re real.”

Charles chuckles, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “Last time I checked, I am. Your mom tells me you’re quite the fan.”

Luca nods vigorously. “You’re my hero. When you race, I feel like I’m flying. Free from this …” He gestures vaguely at the hospital equipment surrounding him.

Charles’ eyes soften. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. But, you know, you’re a hero too. Racing against challenges every day.”

You watch their interaction, touched by Charles’ genuine empathy. “Thank you for coming. It ... it means the world.”

Charles turns to you, a depth of understanding in his eyes. “When I read about Luca, I saw more than just a fan. I saw a fighter. Just like on the track, it’s the fights we don’t see that often matter most.”

There is a brief silence, filled with unsaid emotions.

Luca’s voice, trembling with emotion, breaks the quiet. “I have a question, Charles. How do you stay brave even when you’re scared?”

Charles takes a moment before responding. “I focus on the present. Fear often comes from thinking about what might happen. But in the moment, there’s a job to do, a race to finish.”

Luca looks thoughtful. “So, you mean I should focus on now and not think about ... later?”

Charles nods, placing a comforting hand on Luca’s. “Exactly. Live in the now and remember that every race has its challenges. It’s how we face them that defines us.”

Tears well up in your eyes, gratitude and admiration for Charles swelling within you. Here he was, not just a racing star but a beacon of strength for your son.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice choked with emotion.

Charles smiles, glancing between you and Luca. “No, thank you. Today, I met a true champion.”

***

“You know,” Charles begins, playing with the edges of the signed Ferrari cap he just gifted Luca, “I once met a kid, a bit older than you, at a race. He told me that every time he felt like giving up, he’d watch one of our races. Said it gave him hope."

Luca’s fingers trace the signature on the cap. “Is that why you race? For people like him ... and me?”

Charles leans back, gazing out the window for a moment. “Partly. But also for myself. Racing ... it’s my passion, my escape. It’s where I find my strength.”

You feel compelled to share your own perspective. “We all have our races, don’t we? For Luca, it’s here, fighting every day. For me, it's trying to be strong for him, even when I feel like falling apart.”

Charles looks at you intently. “It’s incredible the strength we find when it’s for someone we love. Your journey, your race, is just as important — is more important — than any I’ve been on.”

Touched by his words, you continue, “I watch you race. The precision, the dedication. It’s art. I want Luca to have something like that, something to pour his heart into.”

Luca chimes in, his voice soft, “I think I already have something. Watching races with Mama, it’s our thing. It helps me forget, even if just for a while.”

Charles leans forward, engaging Luca directly. “Then let’s make a promise. You keep fighting your race here and I'll keep racing out there. Deal?”

Luca’s smile is radiant. “Deal.”

There is a pause, a moment of reflection, before Charles turns to you. “You're an incredible mother. The strength you show, the love ... it’s palpable. And it reminds me so much of my own maman.”

You blink away tears. “We do what we have to for our children.”

He nods, a faraway look in his eyes. “She would always say the same thing after losing my father. And sometimes, despite all the pain and struggle, we find connections, kindred spirits, who remind us we’re not alone.”

You smile, feeling a deep bond forming, not just between Luca and Charles but between two souls who understood the depth of love, sacrifice, and hope.

***

“I have a proposition,” Charles offers, the twinkle in his eyes belying the gravity of his words.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“How would you both feel about attending a race in-person? I can make sure Luca is comfortable and you both get the full VIP experience.”

Luca’s face lights up with hope and disbelief. “Really? I ... I’d get to see you race in real life?”

Charles nods, “Right from the best seat in the paddock.”

You hesitate, considering the logistics, the health implications. “I don’t know. It’s a beyond generous offer but Luca’s health …”

Charles raise a hand, preempting your concerns. “I’ve thought about that. We have top medical facilities at the track and I’ll make sure we have everything necessary for Luca.”

“You’d do that for us?” you whisper, the weight of his offer sinking in.

Charles leans forward, sincerity evident in his gaze. “I’ve won races, stood on podiums. But the race Luca is running, the courage he’s showing ... it’s unmatched. I want him to see a race, not just as a spectator but as a fellow racer.”

Luca looks up, eyes brimming with tears. “You make it sound like I’m a hero. But I’m just trying to get by, just trying to ... to live.”

“And that’s what makes you a hero,” Charles replies gently. “Facing adversity and pushing through, not because of fame or accolades but because of love, hope, and sheer will.”

You feel a lump in your throat, deeply moved by Charles’ words. “It’s not just race wins or trophies that make you a champion, Charles. It’s moments like this. Thank you. This means more than words can say.”

He smiles, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “In the grand scheme of things, life is the most important race. And in that race, I’ve found two champions right here.”

***

In Monza, as you settle into the VIP area with Luca by your side, the excitement in the air is overwhelming in the best way possible. The roar of the engines, the sea of red flags, the bustling energy of the crowd — it is a sensory overload that fills Luca’s eyes with wonder.

“Monza is special, you know,” Charles whispers, kneeling next to Luca’s wheelchair, overlooking the historic Italian track. He slips off a red Ferrari bracelet from his wrist, its well-worn leather showing its age. “This was given to me when I first joined Ferrari. I like to think that it’s brought me luck ever since.”

Luca’s eyes widen, tracing the intricacies of the bracelet. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Charles smiles, “Today, I want you to hold onto my luck. Keep it safe for me, will you?”

Nodding fervently, Luca reverently holds the bracelet. “I promise.”

When Charles leaves to prepare for the race, Luca clutches the Ferrari bracelet to his heart. “Mama, did you see? He gave this to me. His lucky bracelet!”

You smile, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. He wants you to keep it safe. It’s a piece of his heart.”

As the race progresses, you both watch in awe as Charles’ navigates the twists and turns of the circuit. Your heart races with every lap, both as a fan and as someone who had come to know the man behind the helmet.

And then, the moment you’d never forget — a triumphant finish, Charles Leclerc taking the checkered flag. The Tifosi erupts into cheers, and during the celebration, you almost swear that Charles’ eyes find yours among the crowd.

Over the radio, his voice crackles through the airwaves, reaching not just the pits but into your very soul. “This one’s for Luca. Keep fighting, champ.”

Luca’s eyes widen, his hand clutching the bracelet even tighter. “Did you hear, Mama? He said it for me!”

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod. “Yes, sweetheart. He said it for you.”

The post-race interview is a blur of emotions. Charles, sweaty and exhilarated, is asked about the race, about his victory. But then he pauses, his gaze distant yet focused, his voice trembling with emotion.

“This win ... it’s for someone very special. A young friend of mine named Luca. He’s fighting a battle much tougher than any race and his spirit, his courage — it’s what carried me through today. Luca, this is all for you.”

***

The roar of the crowd has faded but the emotional high from the race lingers. You, Luca, and Charles head back to the hotel provided by Ferrari with laughter and memories of the day filling the conversation.

However, as the night passes by, a chilling silence envelopes the room. Luca’s breathing becomes shallow, his skin clammy. Panic bubbles up within you. The medical equipment that was always close by in the hospital is absent here.

You rush to his side, your hands trembling as you try to comfort him. “Luca, honey, stay with me. Breathe.”

Charles, witnessing the scene, feels a deep pang of fear and helplessness. “I’ll call for help,” he says, fumbling for his phone.

As you count the seconds for first responders to arrive, Luca’s weak hand reaches out, clutching Charles’ wrist. His voice, barely a whisper, shares a desperate plea. “Charles, if ... if I don’t make it, promise me you’ll look after Mama. She’s strong but she'll need someone.”

Charles, tears blurring his vision, nods, squeezing Luca’s hand reassuringly. “I promise. But you’re a fighter. You have to keep racing, okay?”

Luca manages a faint smile. “Always racing, Charles. Always.”

Emergency services arrive soon, the room transforms into a flurry of medical professionals and machines. Charles wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as you both watched, praying for a miracle.

Hours feel like lifetimes. When the medical team finally manages to stabilize Luca, the emotional toll is evident in every face in the room.

You approach Luca’s bedside, gently stroking his forehead. “You gave us quite a scare, sweetheart.”

Luca, though exhausted, manages a faint smirk. “Had to keep the race interesting, right?”

Charles, his voice choked with emotion, adds, “Every race has its challenges, remember? You faced this one head-on, just like a true champion.”

Luca’s eyes meet Charles’ own, a depth of understanding passing between them. “Remember your promise,” he whispers.

Charles nods, his gaze drifting to you. “Always.”

***

“You know, I’ve seen some tough races,” Charles begins, his gaze distant, “but nothing compares to what I witnessed last night. The strength, the love, the sheer determination.”

You sigh, exhaustion stamped across your face. “Every day is a race. Some days, the finish line feels close, other days it feels miles away.”

Charles takes a deep breath, his voice wavering slightly, “I ... I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through but I want to be there, for both of you. Luca asked me to look after you and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

You look up, surprised by the depth of his commitment. “You’ve done so much already. You’ve given Luca memories he will cherish forever.”

He moves closer, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not just about Luca. It’s about you too. Through this entire ordeal, the strength you’ve shown, the love … it’s made me see life in a different light.”

A silence envelopes the room, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring Luca.

“I’ve raced all over the world,” Charles whispers, “but I’ve never met someone who’s touched my heart the way you both have. I want to be there for you, for whatever you need.”

You blink back tears, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. “It’s been so long since someone offered to share the load. I’m not sure I know how to let someone in anymore.”

Charles gently takes your hand. “One step at a time. Just like in a race. We face each challenge as it comes, together.”

A tear escapes, trailing down your cheek. “Thank you, Charles.”

He brushes the tear away, his touch lingering. “No, thank you. For letting me be a part of your world and for showing me what real strength looks like.”

***

“Look at that,” Luca murmurs, pointing towards the sunset painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. The three of you sit atop a hill overlooking the city, a picnic blanket spread beneath you.

Charles takes a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs. “You know, moments like this make me appreciate life even more. The simple joys, the beauty all around.”

You nod, taking in the serene view. “It’s easy to get caught up in the chaos and forget these moments exist.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with a mix of mischief and wisdom beyond his years. “You two sound like philosophers. All I know is that this sandwich tastes amazing.”

You chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Always living in the moment, aren’t you?”

He grins. “That's the secret, Mama. We have to savor every bite, every sunset, every laugh.”

Charles, deeply moved, joins in. “You're right, Luca. In the races, I’ve learned that every second counts. It’s the same with life.”

Luca nods earnestly. “Exactly! You can’t rewind time. You can only enjoy it.”

The evening wears on with laughter, stories, and shared dreams. The three of you revel in the simplicity of the moment frozen in time.

As stars begin to sprinkle the night sky, Luca turns to Charles, a serious expression on his face. “Promise me something?”

Charles leans in, listening intently. “Anything.”

“Make more moments like this with Mama, even after ...” Luca's voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.

Charles squeezes Luca’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise, champ. Moments full of love, laughter, and sunsets.”

Luca’s watery laugh has tears pooling in your eyes. “You know, when you look at the sunset, remember me. Remember this moment.”

You turn to him, tears now overflowing. “Luca …”

He smiles, a mixture of melancholy and contentment in his gaze. “I may not be here forever but I'll always be a part of these sunsets. A part of you.”

Charles, his voice a gentle whisper, adds, “And a part of me.”

***

“Mama?” Luca’s voice, frail and delicate like the gossamer wing of a butterfly, quivers with fear.

You lean in closer, grasping his hand between both of yours, heart heavy. “Yes, my love?”

He swallows hard, searching your eyes with his own clouded ones. “I’m scared, Mama. I don’t want to go.”

Tears blur your vision but you muster a brave smile for him. “I know, sweetheart. But remember our sunsets? Sometimes, the sun has to set to make way for a new dawn.”

Luca’s fingers weakly grip yours. “But what if it’s dark, Mama? What if it hurts? What if I’m all alone?”

Charles, unable to remain a silent spectator, interjects, his voice cracking with emotion. “You won’t be. It will be just like falling asleep. You’ll have the sunsets, the memories, and all the love we’ve shared. That light will never fade. We will always be here. I promise.”

Luca’s eyes shimmer with tears but also a glimmer of hope. “Will you sing for me, Mama? The song from when I was small?”

Your heart breaks, remembering the countless nights you’d sung him to sleep. Taking a deep breath, you begin, your voice soft and lulling:

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy

When skies are gray ...”

Luca’s breathing slows, his grip on your hand loosening.

“You’ll never know, dear,

How much I love you,

Please don’t take

My sunshine away.”

As the final note leaves your lips, Luca’s chest rises gently one last time, then stills. The room is silent, save for your heart-wrenching sobs.

Charles steps closer, wrapping his arms around you as you crumple into him, your world shattering. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, tears streaming down both your faces.

***

The somber quiet of the funeral is punctuated by the soft cries of mourners. The backdrop of gentle flowers contrast starkly with the weight of the grief in the air.

Charles stands next to you, holding a polished helmet, the vibrant colors of his Monza race-winning headgear gleaming under the sun. He turns to face you, eyes red-rimmed.

“This,” he starts, voice choked, “is my helmet from Monza. The race we won together. He was my co-driver that day, in spirit.”

You take a shaky breath, reaching out to touch the helmet, feeling its cool surface, the memories of that day flooding back. “He would’ve been so proud to have this.”

Charles nods, tears streaming down his face. “And this,” he says, taking the Ferrari bracelet off his wrist, “he held onto it for me once. I ... I want him to have it. To keep it safe.”

You clutch the bracelet, feeling its familiar weight, the leather still warm from Charles’ wrist. “It meant the world to him. And to me. Thank you.”

The two of you stand side by side, staring at the small casket adorned with flowers and memories. The embodiment of a life cut short but filled with love and unforgettable moments.

Together, you place the helmet and bracelet inside, a final tribute to a young racer whose journey had inspired so many.

“He’s free now,” Charles whispers, his voice barely audible. “Racing in the skies, no pain, no limits.”

You nod, tears flowing freely. “Our little champion, forever.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, both of you finding solace in each other’s warmth. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, carrying with it the memories of a brave soul, forever remembered, forever missed.

***

The familiar crest of the hill looms ahead, the very spot where laughter and dreams once danced in the wind. You and Charles reach the top, the vast expanse of the horizon stretching out before you. The setting sun casts a golden hue, much like that unforgettable evening a year ago.

Charles lays down a blanket, reminiscent of that day, and the two of you sit, lost in memories. The silence isn’t empty — it’s filled with remembrance of a young boy’s laughter, his dreams, his courage. The hole he left behind in your hearts.

“Do you ever feel,” Charles hesitantly cuts through the quiet, “that Luca is still here with us, watching these sunsets?”

A tear slips down your cheek. “All the time. Every time I close my eyes under the setting sun or look up at the sky, I feel his presence.”

Charles takes a deep breath, struggling with his emotions. “I’ve been thinking about a way to honor Luca. To keep his spirit alive.”

You turn to him, eyes questioning.

“A foundation,” Charles begins, “In Luca’s name. To help children with terminal illnesses and their families. To give them hope, love, memories.”

You feel a rush of emotion, a tidal wave of love and loss. “He would have loved that. To know he’s making a difference even now.”

Charles nods, tears rolling down his cheeks. ‘It’s not just about the financial help. It’s about the moments, the memories. The sunsets and the picnics. The dreams and the hopes.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, drawing strength from the bond you’ve forged. “We’ll do it together. For Luca.”

The sun slowly dips below the horizon. As the first star appears, a sense of peace envelops the two of you. In the heart of sorrow, a new purpose is born, ensuring that Luca’s light continues to shine, guiding countless souls out of the darkness.

***

The sun sets in a blaze of colors, casting a warm glow over the hill that has become a symbolic memorial. Charles and you sit side-by-side, hand-in-hand, watching the bittersweet horizon.

A small voice breaks through the silence. “Mama, Papa, why do we come here?”

You turn to your daughter, a smile tugging at your lips. Lucia, with her curious eyes and radiant smile, is a constant reminder of love and life renewed.

“We come here to remember someone very special,” Charles explains gently, his eyes, so similar to your daughter’s, filled with tenderness.

Lucia looks at you both, a hint of understanding in her innocent gaze. “Luca?”

You nod, voice soft. “Yes, sweetheart. Your big brother. We come here to celebrate him, to tell stories about him, and to show him how much we love him.”

Lucia frowns slightly. “But I never got to meet him.”

You stroke her hair, your heart aching and swelling simultaneously. “He’s always with us, in our hearts. Just like you are.”

Charles leans down, wiping away a tear that escapes your eye. “And you’re named Lucia after him, to carry his memory forward.”

Lucia’s eyes light up, smile shining bright. “I’m like a part of him?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice filled with emotion. “A part of him lives on in you. In all of us.”

As the sun dips below the horizon, bathing the world in twilight, you hold each other tightly, a family united by love, loss, and the enduring spirit of a young boy whose legacy lives on in every sunset, every star, and every beat of your hearts.

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droopywrites · 11 months

Note

did you ever did a part 2 to jjk dudes meeting their child who’s from the future?

⋆｡Part || of JJK MEN meeting their future kids｡⋆

Author's notes: I don't think I've posted it! Considering it kind of left my mind and the old draft is gone, but I did write everything I remember here. Also, it's like 3am and I wrote this crying, not proofread.

CW: Swearing, killing, cannibalism(?) like mention of eating people, children.

Pronouns used for the kids: She/her for Geto and It/its for Sukuna.

Part | (Warning, it's from 2021)

Geto

Starting off strong with Geto.

Definitely another girl. He's such a girl dad.

On a regularly scheduled day like always; it was wake up, talk with his connections, mingle with his family, check on Mimi and Nana, see whatever the hell the non-sorcerers wanted, get greeted by a little girl that wasn't supposed to be on the estate...

What the fuck.

How did she even get here? Why is she here?

Geto would stare at this child in confusion and look around, waiting for someone to claim her.

He has a soft spot for children. Sorcerers, of course. Non-sorcerers, debatable.

So, low and behold this little girl running up to him to clutch at his robes. Him trying to pry her off of him with her relieved cries of "Papa! Papa!" escaping her lips.

Papa?

Holds her by the shirt's scruff like a cat and squints, ready to scold her but pauses when he sees her face.

Because, holy shit, that's literally his twin. And suddenly every rare hookup played in his mind.

But no, she looked no older than 3. He hadn't been with anyone at that time, or ever yet. Not that far.

Drops everything for the next couple of days just to make sense of the situation, only telling his beloved family.

Mimi and Nana fawn over the idea of a little sister but are a bit restrictive if it's not a permanent thing.

The girl didn't speak much except for addressing Geto, the twins, oh and you.

You...?

You.

You, who had just returned from your trip overseas to oversee some tasks involving curses.

You, who the little girl immediately ran to and called "Mama! Mama!"

You, who Geto stared wide-eyed at and surprised as you two tried to settle the fact nothing even happened between you.

Yet.

When that little girl eventually left to her own time, with everything still fresh and confusing, Geto eventually approached you.

Because, well, he wanted to see that little girl again.

After few dates, then a relationship, then marriage. Maybe.

Sukuna

Listen, he is NOT spreading those cursed genes of his pre-human/post-cursed-spirit.

Man hates love.

But, during the Heian period. When some stupid kid wandered into his life as if it always belonged there, maybe, maybe, there was something else in that space in his chest but hunger and his definition of love.

So, there it was. Whatever it was. Standing there with large eyes focused on him with a semblance of admiration and malice.

"What are you looking at, brat?"

"You."

The audacity of this thing. He killed it immediately.

And then it came back. So, he killed it again. And again. And... what the fuck.

This little shit was persistent.

His kid. He doesn't know how. But definitely his kid.

A worthy successor? Fuck no, he's not dying or leaving it as some birthright to a hindrance.

Learning of its origins was pretty interesting, to say the least.

"Not a human? I figured. A curse made from me, huh? Someone weak must hate me so much."

That meant a human parent. Or multiple human parents. Gross.

He wasn't getting into that.

The kid was though.

It often visited this village to... eat? Kill? Fight? Whatever makes it happy.

...

The hell do you mean it was visiting its human mother?

It had a mother? It had a mother that cursed him so much it resulted in a personalized cursed child?

He could see it stare longingly at that woman's village and before he could even kill her, his offspring said goodbye.

"I'll see you in the future, yeah?"

And then Sukuna was sealed.

He probably searched for his offspring in the Modern era.

Author's notes 2: Stopping with these two because it's been a while since I've posted seriously on this account, 2 years? Maybe I've gotten better, maybe not. This was the idea but with updated better minds. Maybe I'll do the others separately again, Yuji, Yuta, Megumi, Toge. Just did the adults first. Doing Choso and Higuruma definitely.

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disneyprincemuke · 9 months

Text

the best of (instagram) * bother figures

they always somehow manage the ruin the pictures she looks good in

pairings: max verstappen x fem!driver, lando norris x reader, alex albon x fem!driver

notes: LMFAO guySSSS I TOOK SOOOO LONG TO GET PICS FOR THIS IF U DONT LIKE THIS IM GOING TO RETIRE AND U WONT GET ANY LOGAN AND MICK STUFF

(series masterlist) | (📂 smau specials)

rockysroads

👤 tagged lily zneimer

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and 67,929 others

kidy/n you might look at me and think you’re going crazy or something like that

view all 2,797 comments…

user1 rocky being a fnaf fan was NOT on my bingo card

rockysroads yeah i just love josh hutcherson a lot too :/

user2 no cause WHO are you leaning on in that picture

oscarpiastri interesting choice of pictures

user3 so ur telling me u know something

user4 is that u?? or…

user5 is that logan

user6 if i speak.

user7 secret boyfriend??

maxverstappen1 who did u crop out wtf

rockysroads none of ur business

maxverstappen1 excuuuuuse me for being curious

user8 wow even being wdc doesnt exempt u from y/n’s disrespect

rockysroads so true like he’s not special just bc he’s a 2 time wdc

logansargeant did u crop me out

user9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH LOGAN

user10 STAND UR GROUND LFG

user11 am i crazy or is y/n soft launching u

user12 i might have to check myself into the mental hospital after this one i fear

rockysroads yo shut up

rockysroads posted on their story!

user13 who is this man

user14 r u softlaunching 💀

rockysroads what does that mean

user15 is that loGAN’S WATCH

user16 whats this softlaunch

rockysroads

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 67,898 others

rockysroads ive looked SO good lately ugh

view all 5,987 comments…

user17 WHY IS SHE ALWAYS CUTTING SOMEONE OUT OF THE PICTURE DO U HAVE A BF

user18 blink twice if youve got a bf…?

user19 why he hold u like that

user20 my working theory is that she’s out and about on dates and these are all different guys

landonorris

liked by rockysroads, oscarpiastri and 68,376 others

landonorris guys it wasnt a soft launch it was just me :/

view all 10,478 comments…

user21 oh. i see.

user22 not on my bingo card but ok

rockysroads why would u do this

landonorris to ruin ur life idk

user23 HELP WHY DID SHE CUT U GUYS OUT FROM THE PICTURE??

rockysroads they were ruining the picture :/

user24 IMF UVKINNNNN HOWLINGGGG

user25 if this one is u, who r the other guys in the photos???

rockysroads sighpie okay i'll expose myself then

rockysroads

👤 tagged alex_albon

liked by oscarpiastri, sebastianvettel and 45,693 others

rockysroads please stop speculating it's literally just alex :/ they just keep ruining my pictures with their boyness

view all 4,123 comments...

user26 why do you keep messing with us is this funny to you

rockysroads little bit actually

user27 honesty is the best policy ig?

rockysroads u get it fr user27

alex_albon i'll try not to be offended

rockysroads i appreciate that

maxverstappen1

👤 tagged rockysroads

liked by kellypiquet, rockysroads and 104,303 others

maxverstappen1 here's to the best addition the grid's ever seen

view all 50,498 others...

user28 no wtf she's the worst

kidy/n boy if u dont shut up

user29 wow guys its time to go to clown school i think

user30 real. i just know she's tired of us being delusional

rockysroads it's ok same haha

user31 i'm so tired of hER GAMES

user32 like i cant do this anymore

rockysroads u ALWAYS ruin my pictures

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

#alex albon x reader #max verstappen x reader #lando norris x reader #fem!driver #female driver #f1 fem!driver #f1 female driver #vettel reincarnate #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke vr #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader

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peargreen-jellybean · 11 days

Text

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

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pookietv · 5 months

Text

checkmate | arthurtv

first non social media post!! hope u guys like and thank u for all the love straight away, very cool :)

a lil arthur tv x reader

being round whilst the boys were watching the football was.. a strange experience to say the least. the moment you walk through the door you're practically having a can of beer shoved in your hand and ushered to come into the front room quietly so they don't miss any commentary.

though you didn't follow football too much, you did sit quiet and watch also, mainly just following what you're told, from chris telling you the ref is 'off his head' to george trying to convince you that the guy in goal is the best person on earth, it was quite interesting, besides the often shouting at the tv as if those in the commentary box could hear them.

as soon as you sat next to arthur he'd give you a small smile and nod, a quick hello before a comforting and quiet normal from arthur, his eyes trailing back to the tv as you crossed your legs, opened the can of beer and observed, slightly leaning your bodyweight on arthur, moving your head back to check he was okay with it, as you usually did, and he gave you a small grin, signalling it was fine.

when the game finished with an arsenal win (much to chris' enjoyment) the boys began chatting amongst themselves, and arthur pulled out his phone, beginning a chess game as they talked, and instantly got a bit of mocking for it.

"chess already, you sad, sad man," arthur hill laughed at his own remark a little, and arthur just shrugged, "it's fun and the games over so," he murmured, his cheeks slightly red but laughing himself also.

"to be fair, i always wanted to learn how to play chess, i mean i played a tiny bit in middle school but 'm not very good," you stated, and chris rolled his eyes, "not another nerd," but arthur looked up at you with his widely interested eyes.

"you wanna learn chess? i, i can try teach you, if you liked... i mean, i don't know how good of a coach i am but i can try," he offered, looking at you with a goofy and excited grin.

you nodded a little, smiling back, "yeah, sounds fun, i mean if you have the patience to teach me, i might not be very good," you added, as arthur shook his head a little "i'm sure you'll be fine, you're smart," adding "lemme go get my board," and leaving the room quite quickly, earning a snort from george.

"he's just happy that for once in his life he's not having to convince someone to play with him, and they actually want to play," he teased, and your eyes rolled a little, a small grin on your face.

"and especially because it's you," chris said, earning himself a soft shove from you and a little laugh.

"hey, leave the guy alone," you giggled a little.

"he's just dying for you to be mrs television," george charmed in with their not-so-subtle jokes about you and arthur.

it had been a running joke in the friend group for a while, that arthur had grown a bit of a crush on you, but you had shoved that in the back of your mind (or at least attempted to) because you were almost certain they were wrong and he was just a sweet guy.

it had also been a running teasing point that they all were also convinced that you had a crush on arthur too.

and whilst they weren't exactly wrong, you weren't going to give them the benefit of confirming it, or the leverage of admitting to them that they were right

"hm?" arthur said, his head cocked a little as he walked back into the living room, a box in his hands, clearly just curious about what the subject of conversation had turned to whilst he was gone.

"we were just talking about the fact that it's interesting that she wants to learn chess of all things," arthur hill teased, leading to everyone else giggling like school children.

arthur rolled his eyes, also used to the joking, "doesn't really surprise me, i mean you guys are too dense to play so hopefully if she gets a grip of it i might have a decent chess partner for once," he quipped back with a slight grin on his face, before opening the box on the coffee table and beginning to set out the pieces, as you sat on the other side of the coffee table, assuming the position to play.

"i'll let you play the white pieces, cause it means you get to go first," he says first, and you nod, looking down at the board, before he starts again, "you know the names of the pieces and how they move?"

"a little," you said, before pointing at some of the pieces, "a pawn, right? an' it just moves forward a space?" you stated, earning a nod from arthur.

"except on the first time you move them, then they can move two, if you like," he confirmed.

as you continued to play, the boys began rolling their eyes and proclaiming that you guys were 'officially nerds' and teasing before going into their rooms.

after a while, you had began to learn all the moves of pieces quite well, with small encouraging nods from arthur and little pieces of help so you weren't left completely stranded playing against someone much better than you.

"see, i've got you in check now, can you see it?" he asked a little softly as your eyes scanned across the board that was at least making a little more sense to you.

"mhm... it's your rook, right?" you said, though slightly unconvincingly as you bit on your nail a little, before arthur grinned.

"yeah, it is, so you obviously wanna move your king," he nodded, looking at you with almost a proud smile, "see, not long now and i'll have my own chess protégé," he joked a little, and you rolled your eyes.

"yeah, that may take a while arthur, but keep dreaming," you laughed back a little, looking up at him for a moment before back at the board. "by the way, why the hell is your guys' flat so cold? you guys can't afford the heating or something?" you teased a little more, before arthur shook his head.

"oh, i'm sorry, i didn't even realise it's cold, i thought it was warm, look, here," he practically babbled out before pulling his jumper from over his head, a baby blue one, and leaving him in a white shirt, well fitted on him.

"no, don't worry about it, you don't have to give me your-"

"no, seriously, take it, don't want you to be freezing," he murmured out, offering it to you, "like i said, i was warm anyways so,"

you nodded a little, looking at him with slightly flushed cheeks before taking it from him, thanking him quietly as you slipped it over your head.

"see? suits you more then me, anyways," he joked slightly but you shook your head.

"nah, i doubt it, probably look like shit right now, practically rolled out of bed when chris told me to come round," you joked a little, but arthur rolled his eyes a little, almost in disbelief.

"shut up, you. you know you always look good," he said, his own face flushed also.

"oh, um.. i mean, i doubt it, but thanks," you practically murmured out in response, cheeks burning red as you laughed a little at your own stupidly flustered state, eyes practically burning into the board in hopes that arthur could not see your flushed face as you moved a piece.

"i watched that shark documentary you recommended the other day," arthur stated, breaking the slight silence, and you looked back up at him, "oh yeah? what did you think?" you asked with a slight grin.

"the little section about shark bones was so cool!" he practically beamed, and you nodded, as he moved a piece in return.

"the part about when shark fossils are found they just look like bone because of calcium exposure! i thought that was so fucking cool," you giggled, and he nodded before pausing.

"i... i think it's really cool that i can always talk to you about my dumb interests like chess and animals and you're always interested and half of the time you know more then me, which i just find so cool," he said, and you smiled up at him slightly.

"well, i mean, its just... it is interesting, you know? i mean, you're very interesting, i like when you go on little rants about things and i get to listen," you nodded.

"i, um, i'm trying to say that, you know, i think it would be cool if we could go out and talk about weird things sometime," he said, and you felt your eyebrows furrow slightly, looking up at him with a slight twinge of confusion, his widened brown eyes looking down at you with a dopey grin.

"like, um... like a date, i mean," he clarified, before looking back at the board, "i have you in checkmate, by the way." he grinned slightly goofily.

"only you, arthur tv, could ask a girl out and checkmate her at the same time," you giggled a little, shaking your head in disbelief.

"i mean, i can take back the checkmate if that'll make you say yes?" he joked back.

"sure. i'll say i beat you in chess and you can take me on a date." you quipped back, and his grin only grew.

"best defeat of my life, easily."

#arthur frederick #arthurtv #arthurtv x reader #arthur frederick x reader #chaos crew

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awniie · 9 months

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Your husband Namani ୨ৎ ⠂°⠄🕯

little piece about namani kento as your smitten hubby (was supposed to be drabble + headcannons but i got a lil carried away)

(i gave up after a while but i wanted to post something)

———

content: female!reader , light smut , p in v , housewife reader , lowercase + ass writing skills lmao , virgin!reader , not proof read , pathetic attempt at fluff

nanami kento who’d you married a couple months ago, and you couldn’t be happier with. He was your dream man, caring, loving thoughtful, and just perfect. The time you guys first interacted was something straight out of a christmas hallmark movie. You two met at a fancy restaurant that you worked at. He had been attending a business meeting that had been horribly dull until he laid his eyes on you. The way the work so dutifully for the large party, you seemed so outgoing and friendly. Never complaining nor making a single grimace. (because you knew they had money and you needed that extra tip ) Regardless, he had a respect for women who worked hard. Of course, the way your uniform skirt hugged at the swell of your thighs was attention-stealing enough. He’d had caught your eye as well. His honey-blonde hair, the size of his biceps, and his stoicism is what initially drew you in. “And what would you like to drink sir?” You asked him, voice sugared and smile perfected just for men like him. “W-water.” Kento stuttered, sharp eyes suddenly clouded, drifting over your smaller frame. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “Water, please.” He reiterated himself with a monosyllabic tone. Yeah, he was the one.

nanami kento worked up the nerves to write his number below the check signature. He handed the tray back to you, and cleared his throat as you noticed his number along with “come with me to dinner?” written in a neat cursive. You gave him a coy smile and tucked the note into the thin pocket of your apron. “I’d love too.” You told him, waving goodbye to the table. The blond found himself staring after you, warm blush dusted across his pale cheeks. The rest was history as they might say. You guys dating for a couple years, getting to know each other, discovering new things together, and building the blueprint of your upcoming future.

nanami kento who after marrying you, started to care less and less about his job. It was the sole thing he lived for before, taking up his time, energy and thoughts . But now his focus was elsewhere. It was on a woman who he’d met at a restaurant, a woman with her own identity with uniqueness interests and a personality that belonged solely to her. A woman he somehow manage to catch. You were the woman he would treat as his most prized possession, keeping his loving hold steady over you for as long as he could.

nanami kento who before you, woke up at 5; got dressed by 6 and was at work by 7 had tweaked his morning schedule to fit his now married life. He’d set his phone alarm to go off at 6, but would you blame him? He’d need the extra time to rot the morning away with his new wife :( You’d be pressed against his back, arms enclosed around his chest with your sleepy head neatly tucked into the warmth of his neck. He didn’t mind you being the bigger spoon, it just made getting up in the mornings so, so much harder. As he reluctantly tried to pry himself from your relentless grip, nanamni could feel your long, soft lashes flutter against his neck. “Namani…t’s too earlyyy…” you’d drawl, jaw heavy and mouth dry from your sleep. He’d pull himself away even harder, but you were strong and kept his large body flush against your smaller one. “i have to go work today…” he’d whisper to you, which he knew you were aware of this, it was just the routine you’d guys go through every morning. You didn’t respond to his comment, hoping it would mean he’d stay longer. Namani smiled and let you snuggle against him more. He knew how you were though, you’d be greedy for maybe another 10 minutes more before you felt guilty and release your relentless grip on him. “Fine, jus’ go to work.” You’d mutter, sleepy face creased into a bothered expression. Nanami got up from the bed, but not before wrapping the blanket around you and giving your temple a kiss.

nanami kento who would deal with all your troubles and tribulations. Whenever you were on your period, he was like your knight in shining armor (or in a blue collar button-up) the entire week, he’d make your favorite meals when he arrived home by 3:30. Namani would wrap you in as many blankets as you wanted, picking you up and gently placing you on the couch. If you wanted him to stay, he’d stay right by your side, rubbing your back and peppering your face with kisses until you fell asleep. other times you wanted to be left alone and if you did, he would move to a separate room in the cozy house you guys shared, doing laundry, cleaning or whatever domestic chores that would fill your day. After about an hour, you’d always feel lonely and cried from him to come hold you, which he would come running quickly to your aid. (Also to avoid finishing washing the dishes)

nanami kento who made it his life goal to be able to please and provide for you his wife. He convinced you to quit your job. “I rather have you making dinner for just me then a bunch of wealthy assholes.” Kento would comment. You liked being his little housewife who didn’t have much to do. You were both relatively neat people, so they’re wasn’t much cleaning to do. Which you did love to do was cook. Experimenting with recipes you found on Pinterest and surprising your husband when he got home. “Look what i made for dinner, creamy garlic pasta! I found the recipe on Pinterest and it thought you’d like it” You took him by his large forearm and lead him to the kitchen where you had two plates full of the pasta as well as a lit candle and twin drinks. To you, this was just a cozy dinner. For him it was the best way to be welcomed home after a stressful day of work. The amount of thought and time put into the meal was overwhelming to him and he almost shed a tear. When he didn’t say anything, you frowned and thought he didn’t like it. “Ken, is something wrong?” Your voice was shaky and your eyes glassy. Nanami snapped out of his head and took you into an embrace. “No, no. Nothings wrong love, just a little emotional.” You laughed, thinking it was funny how he got emotional over food, but you found it cute. “Let’s eat then now, okay dear?” He’d suggest, blushing at your giggles while pulling out the chair for you to sit in. Of course, in return for any errands or houseworks, Nanami would reward you in anything else. It was only fair, he thought. New clothes? He’d take you to the expensive outlet malls he knew you loved. A new hobby that you wanted to start? He’d pay for anything you’d need plus support you through it (even if you gave up after a month) he’d never bring up your failed ventures either, knowing that it brought you joy in the few moments and he lived for that. Whenever the daily life bored you, Nanami would take you out an adventures. Sometimes it was something as simple as visiting the local farmers market. Others were first class trips around the world. (Malaysia being his personal favorite.) Sometimes, people would make comments on how “he’s spoiling you too much” or “she’ll get bored of you eventually and move to the richer guy,” but Nanami brushed those words carelessly. “I’m not spoiling her,” he’d reply coolly . “I’m reimbursing her for all the work and time she puts into me. My wife does nice things for me, and I do nice things for her.”

namani kento who could please his wife in other ways as well. If there was one thing namani did efficiently was fcking you. You’d both waited until marriage and boy, was it worth it. Namami had the gift of duality when it came to pleasing you. From his mouth, he murmured praises and loving words into your ears. From his body, unrelenting and hungry thrusts assaults on your virgin pussy. Both such drastic differences from his stoicism.“Doing so good for me love, taking me so well.” He’d compliment you causally, as if he wasn’t pumping 8 inches into you. “N-nanami, t’s too much, slow down p-please..” you’d beg, salty tears streaming down your face unto your neck, where’d he’d kiss them away. Namanin never knew how much prettier you could be, especially all sweaty and teary-eyed, but that’s just more of an excuse to do this more often. He caressed your cheek, smiling faintly at your fcked-out expression. You were doing so good for him, especially for your first time, you were just having a little hiccups. “You can take it, cmon just hold out a little longer for me, please? I promise you’ll feel so, so good.” And he kept his promise. Not long after you felt a string being cut in your stomach, causing your voice to go up in octaves and your eyes to screw themselves shut. Your pussy was glistening, covering in your juices and his as well. He didn’t pull out of you yet, and you didn’t want him too. You wanted to savor the feeling of being completely full, of being connected in the deepest way possible with your other half. After what seemed like hours of and bodies melding together. Namani wiped away a single remaining tear and kiss you on your flushed lips.“See, told you it’d be worth it, you did so well. I love you so much y/n.”

“I l-love you too kento.”

END

#that was kinda bad #i swear i write better jsjsjs #namani kento #kento x reader #jjk nanami #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #idk what else to tag #thanks for reading #jujutsu sorcerer #mordern au #jujutsu nanami #jjk x you #jjk #kento smut #nanami smut #jjk choso

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roseykat · 11 months

Text

TITLE: Table Manners and Bible Studies

PAIRING: Jeongin x reader

SUMMARY: Jeongin, a churchgoer who is also a very sexual person, likes to immerse both you and himself in the realm of sensory play, among other things as well.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: themes of BDSM centred around sensory play, soft dom Jeongin, explicit language, use of ice cubes, body-safe hot candle wax, a feather, blindfold, safe and consensual play, nipple stimulated orgasm, mentions of religion (no specific religion is being mentioned here but the concept is that Jeongin is religious for the purposes of this work).

MASTERLIST

He goes to church. That’s all you know about one of the guys in your class who always dresses well, dons cute glasses and seems well put together. He’s an intriguing one among the masses of students that attend and even with the volume of people, he still stood out to you even if he was quiet.

However, it was never in your interest to approach a guy like him. He and his four friends, all from the same church, seemed relatively lovely and all kept to themselves. From your perspective, it appeared as if two of the girls really liked him. If they did, you don’t blame them. Whoever he was seemed to be sweet.

“Still eyeing him up?” Your friend Minho pokes you in the ribs with his finger, lulling you out of your thoughts.

“I’m not eyeing him up,” you snap defensively, averting your stare away from his group to refocus on your lunch with him.

“Just say he’s hot,” he encourages. “If I’m willing to admit it, then you should.”

“You think he’s hot?”

“And you don’t?” He questions back, almost offended that you didn’t assume otherwise.

“I suppose that means something coming from a whore such as yourself,” you remember with a sigh.

Minho nods in agreement with your statement, “and as a whore, I’m telling you he’s hot. So why not go for him?”

“That’s not who I want though,” you say to him.

A cackle nearly breaks out from his mouth, “that’s right. So how is the hunt for one of those dom boyfriends going anyway? Isn’t that the type you’re looking for?”

“He doesn’t have to be, but it would help significantly,” you answer truthfully. “I just think that would be the best way to get my foot in the door for getting into BDSM.”

“I seriously don’t know where you got that idea from, but you don’t need to go searching for a boyfriend who’s into BDSM to get into it,” Minho truthfully informs you. “There are sites and apps where you can connect to doms and go from there. But if you do, don’t just jump at the first dom that you see. Always do background checks.”

You sometimes forget that Minho himself is in the BDSM scene. He has been for a while and for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve always been interested in what he does. From his stories, they sound exciting and riveting; exactly the kind of thing you want to try out to make your sexual life a little more lively.

“I know that,” you whine. “If not that, then I don’t really know where to begin.”

“Well, we all start somewhere,” he says with a hint of optimism. “Since you’re interested still, there’s a BDSM convention at the end of this week. If you want to get your foot in the door with it, I reckon you should go.”

“A convention?” You ask with intruigue. “What do they host there?”

“They’re there to promote safe BDSM to people and have a variety of pop up stores on site that sell anything related to it,” he answers. “I’m supposed to be going but, I’ve got something else on at the same time. In fact you can have my concession.”

“Are you sure?” You ask.

“Yeah, it’s already printed off,” he says. “I’ll give it to you on Thursday.”

It was a good idea at first, but come the day of the event, your nerves were shot. It was your first time being surrounded by anything like this. Particularly by yourself. It was a bit stereotypical to assume that the convention was run something along the lines of seeing naked people tied up, some in cages, or live scenes taking place in front of crowds.

That wasn’t the case at all. It was almost like a niche grocery store where the locals gather to buy homegrown fruit and veggies. Some part of that concept helped calm a few nerves.

Once you receive your concession band, you start around the front area of the pop-up stores. People were lining up to see demonstrations of shibari methods and most were interested in buying a series of items for the bedroom.

They were all displayed like sea creatures at a fish market, waiting to be bought. From cattail butt plugs, clover nipple clamps, juicy erotica novels - one of which you picked up - lengths of different coloured ropes, wooden floggers, riding crops, and so much more.

Away from all the chaos at the stalls was an area called BDSMC; BDSM and coffee. It was a way to set people up with potential doms and or subs. Each individual looking for a buddy would order a coffee or drink with a green cup that had either letter on it; D for dom or S for sub. Red cups were exclusively 'do not approach' because the person either didn’t want to engage or they may already have a partner and are just there for some good coffee.

It was an awesome set-up and had you thinking about heading over to maybe find someone who would be interested. However, you stored away that thought as you continued to have a look around.

One thing that was painfully obvious to you was the fact that people weren’t there by themselves. They were either there with a group or their partner, making you feel even more out of place and slightly overwhelmed. But you weren’t going to tap out early. Minho gave you his ticket not only because he couldn’t attend, but also because he wants you to experience what you’re looking for, for yourself.

So you scour out the stores under the guise of your own interest, coming across a few which struck that interest. There was one store tailored specifically to pain play, a heavy aspect of BDSM. Another stall had all to do with sexual health, consent and BDSM - not necessarily selling anything, but just there to answer any questions that people may have.

One place had caught you attention, a store all to do with sensory play and deprivation - a term in which you’ve came across within the realm of research into BDSM.

In nicely orgasnised lines were individual packets of silk blindfolds in a variety of different colours. There were boxes of body safe candles, most likely for temperature play, noise cancelling headphones, sleek metal handcuffs, and other items that had you wondering how they work.

“Hello, anything I can help you with or just browsing today?” One of the shop owners approaches you from behind the table.

“Oh, just browsing thank you,” you reply back to her.

“No worries, let me know if you need anything,” she smiles back at you and walks down to the other end of the long table.

“Hello, do you have any of these in black?” A person beside you asks to another store keeper.

Out of sheer interest, you briefly look up at the person just as an unspoken social acknowledgement while the owner tends to their new customer. But to your absolute shock and surprise, the person enquiring happened to be someone very familiar.

The jet black hair, distinct glasses, the trendy casual outfit...

…there was no way.

“We should do. I’ll have a look around in some of our storage containers just behind the back for you,” she says helpfully.

“Thank you,” the customer responds.

It was definitely him, and whilst your eyes had been glued to his presence for such a long time, his gaze catches onto it.

“Hey,” he spoke in a mousey volume.

You stall in your step a bit just as you were about to walk away to remain unknown, but the angelic purity in the tone of his voice lulled you back. You’d feel bad if you didn’t greet him too.

“Hey,” you say to him awkwardly. “How are you?”

“I’m good thank you, yourself?” He asks back.

“Yeah, good thanks. I know you, sort of. Aren’t you in my class?”

It was a useless question to ask considering you’ve spent too many times looking at him to know that it’s definitely him. That distinct soft expression couldn’t pass you by. The only thing different is that he wasn't swarmed by his usual collective of friends.

A small smile spreads on his face, “yeah. I’ve seen you here and there. You usually sit close to the front.”

“That’s right,” you nod, bewildered that he knows who you are and where you sit during class. “So…what brings you…here of all places?”

Jeongin shrugs with a smile, “interest. You?”

You nod, “also interest.”

The lady pops back from behind the screen with some items, “you might be out of luck. We’ve only got grey and white left but there’s a couples' one for you and your partner here.”

Your mind stutters upon hearing those words come out of the lady’s mouth, “oh he’s not - we’re not-“

“What about any more of these? Preferably in black as well?” Jeongin picks up a baby pink coloured blindfold and presents it to the woman. He seemed to have saved that awkward statement yet wasn’t entirely effected by it as you were.

“I’ll have a look around the back again and see if we’ve got anything,” she says, quickly rushing off.

“Sorry about that,” he says apologetically to her.

He was as nice as he looked. Almost like a gentle, placid puppy which makes you wonder, how is someone like him at one of these conventions. Specifically, someone who is quite religious. You didn’t want to judge right away, but that was the preface of your observation.

“I take it you’ve never been to one of these before,” he points out as he waits.

Your shoulders relax defeatedly, someone had finally ripped down your facade, “can you tell?”

“Just a little bit,” he grins. “But props to you for coming here on your own by the looks of it.”

“A friend of mine recommended I go so I thought I should,” you respond, eyeing up some of the other products.

He nods engagingly, “really? Why did they recommend it to you if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just…looking to get into BDSM,” you reply honestly, feeling comfortable enough to talk to him about this. Plus there was no point in hiding your intentions given where you are now. “He said I should go to one of these events, check out the stores, and see how some of this stuff works I suppose.”

The lady returns from the back with exactly what he requested while also picking up a few extra things before paying for the lot. Your attention fixates on those items, wondering who he uses them on; a pyrex glass dildo, one tube of strawberries and cream flavoured lube, and also a ball gag

Whoever his partner is must be lucky.

The shopkeeper bags all of the items he paid for in a discrete bag before he thanks her.

“That's a good step, but if you’re a beginner, it’d be best for you to start out small,” he advises just an idea suddenly strikes him. He wonders for a second about whether or not it’s appropriate to ask, but he considers your circumstances and why you’re even here.

“I figured that. No point in me diving right into the deep end when I can’t swim yet,” you agree.

“You know, because we’re both here, we should get together sometime so we can talk about these kinds of things. I could show you how all of these work too if you want,” he pitches his suggestion to you, holding up the bag of things that he just purchased.

You stare up at him, utterly bewildered, “wait, are you serious?”

“Only if you are, otherwise-“

“No!” You cut him off. “I mean, yes - yes I am serious. It’s just, I was shocked that you even asked me.”

He stifles a chuckle as a reaction to you being so oddly yet unforceably cute, “alright then. I’ll give you my number. I’m Jeongin by the way.”

“Jeongin, okay. I’m Y/N.”

It was nice to finally put a name to a handsome face. Jeongin, who was as unsuspecting as the come, had exchanged numbers with you before you both departed. He left you wondering so much more about his personality and particularly his interests with BDSM. It even made you forget to text Minho to tell him how well the convention went.

Right before you decided that you were going to ring him, a text came through to you from Jeongin.

To you from Jeongin: ‘Hey Y/N, it’s Jeongin. It was nice meeting you the other day. I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee to talk and get to know each other more. If so, when are you free?’

You to Jeongin: ‘Hey Jeongin, it was nice meeting you as well. I’m free in the afternoons throughout the week. We could go for coffee on campus after class if it’s not too far?’

Jeongin to You: ‘Nope, that’s perfect. Shall we say Monday straight after? We can head there together.’

You to Jeongin: ‘Sounds good to me. See you then.’

Jeongin to You: ‘Yup! :)’

With those responses from him in mind, it made looking forward to Monday a little more palatable. Usually, it’s hectic with quizzes, tonnes of readings, and a boring two hour lecture. Meeting up with Jeongin meant you had something to look forward to after class.

Just as the lecture comes to an end, you look back to the middle row of seats in the centre section of the room as you pack up your things and see Jeongin waving out to you. You wave back, acknowledging that you’ve seen him and watch him say bye to his friends before he makes his way down to you. A couple of them seemed rather puzzled that he was leaving them, but nonetheless, they let him be.

“Hey Y/N,” he says to you, walking down the steps. “What did you think of that?”

“Boring as per,” you groan. “It made me want to sleep.”

Jeongin laughed, “shall we go before you fall asleep then?”

The pair of you exited the theatre together and headed to one of the nearby cafes on campus. Normally teeming with hungry students, the venue wasn’t as packed as it usually is from the help of classes that run through into lunch. It meant that you and Jeongin were able to receive your drinks relatively quickly in order to sit down and start talking.

“How was your weekend?” He asks you.

You finish bringing your drink down from your lips, “not as exciting as I wished it had been. Mainly just catching up on some of the online work that we were meant to do.”

Jeongin is shaking his head but silently agreeing with you, “I don’t know why they bother giving us tasks to do online.”

“I suppose to make us suffer even more,” you guess.

“I think you might be right, and since it’s worth credit, we have no choice,” he snickers. “But anyway, on a completely different note, what did you think of your first BDSM event?”

“Not as daunting as I was expecting it to be,” you answer honestly. “It was pretty pleasant, to say the least, and the people I met were really nice.”

“That’s good to know,” Jeongin nods. “Usually I hear of beginners who get too overwhelmed and never come back. It’s a shame really because they only see the tip of the iceberg.”

“Do you normally attend those events?” You ask him, still immensely intrigued that he even went in the first place.

“Only when I can,” he responds. “Most of the time, classes and other stuff get in the way, but I’ve found a balance now. What made you want to get into BDSM anyway?”

“A friend of mine is well into that space and I always hear him talking about it. Since then it’s always interested me, so I started doing some research about it,” you answer. “It was the same person who told me to go to that event.”

“Smart choice for doing your research, not many people do and just head straight into something they don’t know,” Jeongin mentally applauds you. “It can turn out to be a really good or really terrible experience for beginners.”

“Yeah, he warned me about that,” you chuckle, just thinking of Minho and what he’s said to you in the past. “What about you? How did you get into BDSM? Sounds like you’re already in that space.”

“I am. I’ve been in it for four years, since the start of my degree,” Jeongin confirms adjusting his black glasses. “I got into it just by interest as well - similar to you, except, I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing someone who was already part of this space so some things I had to learn the hard way.”

“Then I take it that you’re relatively experienced then,” you respond, inferring an assumption already.

Jeongin smiles shyly, almost like he’s somewhat embarrassed by your comment, “you could say that. Is it right to assume that you’re looking for someone to do scenes with?”

You give a nod, “yes. Just…didn’t know who with.”

“That fits then; given that I have some experience and you haven’t yet, then maybe we do a trial, see if we click, those sorts of aspects. What do you think about that?” He asks you.

An excitement thumps against your chest, “I think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah?” He replies with optimism. “Then if it’s okay with you, do you maybe want to talk about some of your kinks and things that you don’t like and organise a time and place for our first scene?”

“I’d love to.”

Both you and Jeongin brought a lot of ideas to the table, conducting a healthy discussion about what you’re both into and not. Although he openly stated to you that he mainly presents himself as a dom, he was open to switching too. However, for the purpose of getting you into the swing of BDSM, it would be best for him to take the reins.

So with a little more talking, you both came up with a set date and time for the first scene which was to be at Jeongin’s place; not too far from campus. All the information and the logistics leading up to the scene were slightly nerve-wracking but didn’t match your level of excitement.

Considering your inexperience with BDSM, Jeongin had to factor in what would be the best method of easing you into things. Sensory play was the one thing that came to mind. It’s not too extreme, can involve some restraints, and can act as a good stepping stone for a BDSM beginner.

“It’s a good way to start off,” Jeongin said to you back at the cafe. “If it’s just sensory play only, people don’t usually climax from it. But if there’s some sort of sexual penetration that’s involved, then most likely. I don’t do the latter.”

“Still sounds like fun,” you replied.

“It is. I can deprive you of one or more of your senses which will only enhance the other.”

His way of describing the basics of sensory play could’ve easily put you to sleep – not because it was boring, but because his voice was so silky smooth that you could listen to it all day. The fact that he has so much knowledge about a subject was strangely erotic.

With your mind cleared in preparation for the scene, Jeongin flicks you a text an hour beforehand to see if you are still keen. He definitely knows that you are, but it’s also to cover his end as a dom to ensure that you know that you can pull out of the scene before it starts.

To You from Jeongin: Hey Y/N, still on for tonight?

From you to Jeongin: ‘Hey! Absolutely, I’ll text you when I’m at yours?’

To You from Jeongin: ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Even if you didn’t want to go through with it tonight, Jeongin would be okay with that. For whatever reason why you would say no, he’s happy that you would feel safe to refuse. But never in your wildest dreams would you ever think of refusing, because as soon as it was time to leave, there was no doubt in your mind that you would turn back.

You had showered and packed a bag with a towel, extra clothes in case, a water bottle, and some snacks. If anyone were to come up to you and look into your duffle, their only thought would be that you’re heading to a gym nearby, not heading to your first BDSM scene. It was a nice little secret to have.

As you arrive on the street of Jeongin’s apartment, you text him to say that you’re nearly there and knock on the door once you’ve officially made it.

“Hey,” he greets with his smiley usual self. “Come in.”

“Hey,” you respond, looking around as you step in.

It was rather spacious which is usually not generous with student accommodation. Normally it’s one room cramped with a desk, chair, inadequate storage underneath the single bed and a community bathroom down the hall. By the looks of it, Jeongin had all this space to himself including a small bathroom and mini kitchenette area.

“Wow, you got lucky with student housing around here.”

“Can’t stress the word ‘lucky’ enough,” Jeongin emphasises, closing the door behind you as you take your shoes off. “Took me about four months last year just to apply for a viewing. But after living in shared accommodation on campus, I needed my own space.”

“Fair enough,” you say. “Some student spaces are lucky enough to have wallpaper. But anyway.”

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” He offers. “I bought food earlier on.”

“No it’s okay thank you, I made sure to have some water and food before the scene,” you politely refuse.

“Okay, good,” Jeongin nods, impressed even. Those who forget to eat before a scene will often find that their energy depletes faster, rendering them unable to continue or even worse, it could go hand in hand with a sub drop. “Then in that case, shall we get started?”

Your stomach flips excitedly, “sounds good to me.”

Jeongin does the honours of leading you to his bedroom. It’s adorned with a minimalistic aesthetic and beautiful muted tones. There’s a decent queen-sized bed centred back against the wall. Laid on top of its surface is a black cardboard box and a set of black restraints right beside it in contrast with the white fitted duvet. Flickering on the bedside table burned a red candle.

From what you could gather, it was most likely for wax play, but it smelt amazing. Almost a woody with a tinge of floral essence to it that filled his room.

“We can start the scene by taking your clothes off and I’ll get these restraints ready, okay?” Jeongin suggests to you.

“Okay.”

He steps over towards the mattress, picking up the long restraints. Only two – one for each of your wrists that he was going to link to the bedposts. He secures the ends of them in place while you strip yourself down to your bra and underwear. You fold them over your arms as Jeongin returns to carefully take them from you and places them on his chair in the corner of the room.

He comes back once he’s done, eyeing up your body. It’s not that he meant to gawk or observe you per se, but he was in fact silently appreciating your body. He could only just hide the fact that he’s very taken with how you look and the way you pull off a simple black bra and underwear set.

It wasn’t lingerie, but they were intricated pieces. Jeongin seems to be aware of that when you feel him delicately glide his fingertips down the straps of your bra from behind while you stare into his mirror on the wall.

“This is is pretty,” he says.

You swallow quietly, content with his observation, “yeah?”

“Yes, but unfortunately I need it off for this scene. Is that okay with you?” He asks.

“That’s okay,” you reply clearly.

“Okay then, what’s your colour?”

“Green.”

With your given consent in mind, Jeongin works behind your back to unclasp your bra and places it with the rest of your clothes. It’s not an awkward moment for either of you given that it was nothing in comparison to the things he had planned for you.

“Beautiful,” he comments, his eyes lingering for a few seconds too long in the mirror. Your cheeks instantly become hotter, hoping Jeongin can just hurry up and put the blindfold over your eyes so you don’t have to look at him. “Let’s move to the bed. I’ll get you to lie down so I can put the restraints on your wrists.”

On his instruction, you make your way over to his bed after he moves the black box to the nightstand. You sit down on the mattress edge and prop your legs up until you’re able to lie down flat with your head on his pillow.

Jeongin slightly manoeuvres each of your arms before strapping your wrists into the restraints and for a couple of seconds there, you’re in your own mind. It still baffles you that you struck gold with Jeongin by absolute chance. Not to mention he’s the same person who attends church and goes to bible studies and is the same person who’s tying you to his bed.

“Not too tight?” He checks in with you.

“Nope, that’s fine,” you reply.

Jeongin takes the lid off of the box on the side and takes out the silk black blindfold he purchased from the convention the other day, “okay, I’m going to place the blindfold over your eyes now.”

You nod as total darkness shields you from the predictable. Now you can’t see what’s coming next. The excitement and anticipation hinder all nervousness you’ve been feeling while Jeongin takes a moment to appreciate the state that you’re in. It’s not often for him to be so taken with a person to the point where he just about forgets what he’s doing.

Only then does he realise that he’s in a scene and needs to refocus.

Once he’s content with everything, he decides to move on, “now we can start.”

He goes back to the box, careful not to make too much sound so that you can’t grasp a hint of what might be inside. The first item he picks up is a long, spindly black feather. It’s simple yet very effective, responsible for creating that ticklish sensation when he dances it lightly and softly along your skin. On its first contact, your nerves try to anticipate where Jeongin will take the feather next, but their guesses come up short when he uses it somewhere else.

The feather glides from the base of your throat, downwards and in between your tits. Jeongin then uses it to delicately lick over your nipple, making you keen slightly to one side. You can’t help but suppress a moan by biting down on your lip. It shouldn’t feel this good too early, but you can’t help your body’s natural reaction to the feather that leaves tingles in your muscles throughout its wake.

The smile on Jeongin’s face indicates that he’s enjoying watching you squirm and quietly whimper, still teasing you with the black plume. He drags it from the tips of your toes, up your shin, and right over your clothed pussy, making you press your head back into the pillow.

Jeongin makes a mental note of that reaction and smirks. To him, those small effects of what he’s doing to your body with only a feather, make him wonder how sensitive you really are. But it’s not his whole desire to spend too much time with it and proceeds to move on to something else; the hot wax.

After placing the previous item in the box, Jeongin swaps it for the candle. The catcher has collected a substantial amount of wax at the bottom which will allow him to pour the majority of it out before it starts to solidify. But Jeongin stalls for a moment as he tries to make up his mind on where to pour first.

In his opinion, he wants to cover all the sensitive parts that you’ll let him. Your tits, collarbone, throat, tummy, wherever. Eventually, however, he knows he’ll get to those places. So he starts with your tummy, watching the hot wax drip and dribble onto your skin, hardening as it makes contact.

A gasp is forced out of your mouth, “s-shit-“

“Too hot?” Jeongin asks you, pulling back the candle before he goes to pour again.

“N-No,” you shake your head fervently. “J-Just wasn’t expecting-"

Jeongin pours a steady line of wax in between your tits, prying your mouth open for slightly quiet yet strained moans to roll from the base of your throat.

He expects you to have some sort of reaction to the hot wax, but not like this. Usually, people try to escape from the head, some swear like sailors, and others might scream or yelp. You on the other hand…it makes him wonder if you’re a masochist with the way you’re moaning from the slight pain.

Nonetheless, he drips more wax, this time down your abdomen, forcing you to purse your lips to suppress any sound.

Despite the temperature of the thick content, your brain, for whatever reason, deduces it as a good sensation rather than a bad one. It does burn a bit, but not to the point where you feel like you need to call for a break. That feeling when it settles into the skin where it’s magnificent and warm is too good to pass up, allowing you to keep going.

With the session barely in full swing, you’re trying to keep it together for Jeongin so that hopefully he’d invite you back for another. Yet, within the second you even start thinking about that, Jeongin pours some of the wax, just about the line of your underwear, making you tug hard on the restraints.

“Fuck – oh my god,” you groan, feeling the heat emulsify within your lower half. It spreads beautifully, just where you want it. “That feels…”

“Good?” Jeongin asks, making your back arch slightly when he drips more wax from your sternum to just above your belly button. There are some areas that he won’t cover with the wax since he wants enough sensitive space for the next part of the scene.

“Y-Yes.”

Since Jeongin has some verbal confirmation from you that the heat feels good, his indication of pinning you for being a masochist grows stronger. It’s not abnormal, but it’s rare. Not everyone is a fan of pain and some even find it confusing when it’s applied in the bedroom.

That’s not Jeongin though. He appreciates pain and pleasure in a controlled environment. In saying that, he cannot make a full observation of whether or not you’re a full-blown masochist. He’d need to actually ask you first and run other ‘tests’ to achieve a result.

In light of the pain, Jeongin makes use of the little wax he has left, steadily pouring it onto the underside of your tits – close to where you want it. When there’s no content left at the bottom of the catcher, he moves on once more. This time, to a completely opposite temperature.

He sets the candle back down on the nightstand, leaving it to continue burning so that the aroma fills the room rather than smoke if he were to blow it out. You then hear his footsteps shuffling around to the other side of the bed, making you wonder what it is that he’s doing. But despite tuning your ears into his every movement, Jeongin makes sure to be as careful as he can to ensure that you don’t know what’s coming next.

The one thing that you hadn’t noticed in his room the second you walked in was a mini tin bucket of ice cubes on the other side of his bed. He gave away zero hints towards his next move, so when he quietly picked up one of the cubes and immediately placed it just above your tits, you suck in a huge gasp.

“Geez, I wasn’t ready,” you sigh out some of the anticipation that’s building inside of you.

Jeongin smiles, “good.”

The areas of your body that are free from the hardened wax allow him to glide the ice cube gently over your skin. The temperature in comparison to the wax is electrifying, more so than what you ever would have anticipated – had you known it was coming.

Jeongin watches the ice cubes melt from your body heat, seeing the droplets of water pool for a second and run down your sides. When the first cube has melted down completely, Jeongin picks up another. This time, he drags it slowly above the band of your underwear again.

“Mm! Fuck…” you exclaim loudly, trying to conduct the sensation when it only just builds. “S-Sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Jeongin reassures you.

He then brings the ice cube up to one of your nipples, causing you to arch your back and tug on the restraints simultaneously as a sharp gasp leaves your mouth. The corners of Jeongin’s mouth perk up at your reaction. He doesn’t want to be too predictable and switch to your other nipple. Instead, he manages to pick up another ice cube and uses it on your other nipple, dancing it around your sensitive buds that have begun to stiffen and perk up.

Your poor brain is confused by the stimulation. It’s not happening between your legs but you can feel it from your chest. It feels weird not to be contracting around anything, which only makes you wish you were. Nonetheless, it’s still valid stimulation that you feel building and at first, you’re not sure if it’s an orgasm that’s forming or if it just feels good.

Regardless of the matter, you can’t help it. It’s patterning the pleasure for you to experience without you having any say in it whatsoever. Your mind is muddled with what to say – how to express how you feel or what’s happening to your body.

Jeongin has some idea of it now that he’s been listening to you panting and watching you writhe on his bed just from a couple of ice cubes. However, he wants to see how this plays out.

“J-Jeongin,” you mumble, sucking in small breaths of air. “I’m…”

His ears spring up at the sound of his name, but he refrains from saying anything at all. Instead, he picks up another ice cube, allowing the one in his left hand to melt away before applying the fresh one. The chilly sensation replenishes but it doesn’t stop that sensation that you can feel in your tits all the way through to your pussy. Even though it feels similar to an orgasm, it triggers zero verbal response when it decides to hit you out of nowhere.

Jeongin sees your mouth part, your legs bracketing together like they’re trying to find something to clamp around. All the while, he doesn’t stop stimulating your nipples with the cubes until your back is flat on his bed again. He had to see it through to the end.

Breathless and slightly dazed as you were, the first thing that came to mind was that you did in fact cum. Following that came anxiously wondering what Jeongin’s reaction was.

At that, an invisible weight of embarrassment starts tugging you down. You wanted the blindfold to remain over your eyes, terrified of meeting whatever expression was laden on Jeongin’s face. There was no point in trying to gauge how he reacted when you orgasmed, but there was one thing for sure and that was he didn’t stop you from doing it.

A few lingering moments later, Jeongin becomes satisfied with the tail end of the scene. He got through the aspects of sensory play that you both wanted to cover from the conversation you had at the beginning of the week.

He gently removes the silk blindfold from your eyes, fixing some of your hair in the process to get it out of your eyes. Even though your eyes shy away from his face, Jeongin can easily see the deep red burning through your cheeks.

“I’ll get these off for you,” Jeongin murmurs, already freeing one of your wrists from the restraint before moving on to the other.

Once you’re completely unrestricted, you sit up straight away and start blabbing out an explanation to him.

“Just so you know, I didn’t have other intentions going into this,” you speak quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting to…to-“

Slightly taken aback, Jeongin had to step in to reassure you that there’s nothing wrong, “Y/N, it’s okay, seriously. It’s not your fault that your body couldn’t help but do what it needed to. But you’ve just come out of a scene and I want to make sure that you’re ok-“

“Yes but, you said the other day that people don’t usually climax from sensory play only,” you interrupt him.

He softens a bit, a small grin forming on his face, “I said ‘usually’ not ‘never’. I didn’t rule out that possibility.”

You suddenly click onto his words, “so there is a possibility that they still can.”

“Yes, but you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about or sorry for. Some people can orgasm through nipple stimulation. It’s not always easy, but you managed to do it, with ice too, and relatively fast. Plus, I thought it was cute,” he responds.

‘Cute?’ If melting from embarrassment was a thing, you’d be a puddle all over his floor. Your face comes to fall into your hands, almost making him giggle.

Jeongin then continues, “now, if you’ll let me help you, I’ll show you to the shower to get some of the wax off. Then we can have some of that food I was talking about earlier.”

A/N: again, this was meant for Kinktober but my dumb ass didn’t upload it. I’m turning this into a bit of a slow burn series, but not just yet because I’m working on other things atm as listed down below:

1. Noxious Compulsions

Minsung x reader (you can find the snippet here)

2. Foul Play

Part 2 to Don’t bite the hand that feeds you

3. Venom Eater

Part 2 to Venom Biter

4. Some things are better left known

Part 2 to ‘Some things are better left unknown’

These are the main pieces that I’m working on at the moment bc they will be quite dense, and I try to add as much detail in as I can. However, there are 100% other things that I have still sitting in my Doc’s folder that I’ll release too!

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #felix smut #i.n smut #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #i.n x reader

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formulawolff · 4 months

Text

viii. shining bright in suzuka - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.0k

warnings: this chapter is a lot milder, so my apologies. cursing, banter, teasing, references to sex, toto being flustered as fuck, discussion of hickeys, references to oral (f! receiving), yadayadayada

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“jet lagged, are we?”

an elbow nudges shoulder, prodding you awake, “wakey, wakeyyyyy.”

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

peering from under your hood, you make out alex standing over you, a smirk painting his lips, “what time is it?”

“around 9 i think,” pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the time, “well, more like 9:30. what time did you fly in last night?”

“too late,” you grumble, rubbing your heavy lids, “way too late.”

“how long was your flight? because you look absolutely miserable,” although alex’s question is innocent, you hold your tongue.

while you didn’t necessarily want to lie, you almost had to.

“about twenty hours.”

“yikes,” alex shakes his head, his focus directed on his phone, “sucks to suck.”

“where did you fly out from? monaco? did lily come with you?”

“maybeeee,” his voice crescendos, his smiling growing, “but yeah, she came with. she’s sleeping right now though. or getting ready. i’m not sure. but she’ll be here shortly.”

“yayyyy!” kicking your feet, you fish your phone out of your hoodie pocket, “she’s my favorite golfer, you know that?”

“she can’t be your favorite,” he shakes his head, thumbs fiddling with the screen, “she’s my favorite golfer so that means you have to pick someone else. i’m her number one fan, actually.”

“okay fine,” you huff, “i’ll be her second number one fan.”

alex’s girlfriend, better known as muni “lily” he, was a professional golfer. she was undeniably gorgeous, with luscious, thick hair, a slim build, and beautiful, bright eyes. they reminded you of a sunlight shining through a forest, a rich,earthy hue. in addition to her stunning features, she was a kind, bubbly individual, quickly bonding with you over your shared status as professional athletes. she was hilarious as well, often getting you to crack a smile in the paddock after a rough lap or after being grilled in a press conference.

her relationship with alex began after she watched a season of drive to survive on netflix. from there, the two connected over instagram, sharing conversations over their shared interests. that aspect always made you giggle, as she was the ultimate fangirl. her support for alex was adorable, and he was so in love with her.

that was something you admired about alex. his fierce love for lily and his ability to be able to share it with the world, the two posting one another often across their social medias.

if only you could tell the world about toto.

fuck, if only you could tell your parents you had met someone.

however, your relationship status with the team principal was complicated.

extremely complicated.

the time you spent with him in brackley was pure and utter bliss. since you had time to waste, you mostly spent it in his bed, cuddling one another, relishing one another’s presence. he was able to explain some more about his divorce with susie some, relieving your lingering anxiety over the matter.

when the two of you weren’t talking, cuddling, or sleeping, you found your bodies intertwined, his name flowing from your lips. notes of purple, blue, and pink painted your shoulders, breasts, collarbone, and thighs. fuck, there was probably even on one of your ass cheeks. you were so sore, your walls stretched, inner thighs aching.

hopefully it wouldn’t affect your ability to race.

you prayed to god it wouldn’t.

there was one thing you couldn’t get over, even if it was a little ridiculous.

how was he able to maintain that pace in bed? it was honestly impressive how high his libido was. and his stamina? oh fuck. you were the one who had to tap out nearly every time. yet, he was so gentle with you afterwards, placing soft kisses on every inch of your skin, assuring you that he would massage any sore muscles, offering to make you food if you were hungry.

one night, he even sang you to sleep. it was a german tune, so you didn’t quite understand the words. but the gesture was enough to have you melting in his arms, falling asleep only minutes after he started. every morning, you’d wake up to his head between your thighs, toto utterly devouring you until he was satisfied.

you couldn’t express how grateful you were to finally have some time alone with him, where you didn’t have to worry about missing flights or meetings. where you could kiss him as many times as you wanted. where you could just lay with him, your head on his chest as he replied to emails. he didn’t answer a single work-related call in that time, all of his attention focused on you.

as you sat with alex, you couldn’t help but wonder.

what was the label you could place on your relationship with the team principal?

meanwhile, toto wolff stood in the mercedes paddock, mingling with george and lewis. a team member approaches toto, tablet in hand.

“mr. wolff, we’ve comprised a report of the necessary adjustments needed for this weekend’s race.”

“beautiful,” lewis hamilton finds himself arching a brow as he notices the grin plastered across his team principal’s face, “here, let’s go over here, and you can discuss it with me further. excuse me, you two. we’ll talk more later.”

as the team principal strolls away, lewis turns to his fellow driver. the other brit appears just as shocked, eyes wide, lips parted.

“what the fuck happened over our break?”

“he’s been so smiley today,” lewis folds his arms across his chest, “do you think he got laid?”

“toto?” george tuts, “surely not. he doesn’t have the time to get laid. he’s always complaining about this meeting, some press conference, a mercedes showcasing. his schedule is packed so tightly, you have to make an appointment to speak with him for more than five minutes.”

“come on, mate,” lewis nods over the team principal, noticing the prominent mark on his neck, just barely peeking out over his collar, “george. he has a hickey. he has a fucking hickey.”

“surely no– oh my god,” george’s arms drop to his sides as he glances over, also taking note of the mark, “holy shit. he did get laid.”

“but who?” lewis presses, “who in their right mind would fuck that man? a recent divorcee? i pray for whoever the poor girl was.”

“the man’s a billionaire,” george waves a hand, “i’m sure there are models practically throwing themselves at him in monaco. perhaps he met a girl at a club or something. i wouldn’t think too much of it. although, it would probably be best if you mentioned the hickey. the press would be all over that.”

“what the fuck am i supposed to say?” lewis hisses, “should it be something like, ‘oh mate, i think you need to take a look at your neck. you have something there.’ or what?”

“wait,” george’s brows furrow, “he was in brackley. he responded to one of my texts saying he was working from the headquarters over break–”

“he fucked someone from mercedes?” lewis’ eyes widen, a hand flying to his mouth, “oh fuck. who could it possibly be?”

“well first things first,” george clears his throat, “you need to mention the hickey. then we need to focus on the practice laps. if we do well and he’s in a good mood, we’ll casually bring it up. we’ll say something like, ‘oh we’ve noticed you’ve been wearing that cheeky grin lately. is there something behind that? are you seeing someone, perhaps?’ we’ll be real smooth with it, so that he doesn’t suspect anything. if we perform poorly, i don’t think he would want to discuss it.”

“well no shit.”

“oh god,” george straightens his posture, “he’s coming back over here. you better say something!”

as the team principal grows near, the british drivers engage in conversation, discussing their performance from the last race. toto clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“i hope i’m not interrupting anything between you two.”

“oh no,” lewis bears a quaint smile, “we were just talking about the fia’s decision regarding that williams driver.”

“the american girl?” toto inquires, maintaining his composure, “she really did a number on you, george.”

“just like someone did a number on your neck,” lewis chips in, teasing lightly, “what were you up to these past couple of days? up to no good?”

“what are you–” toto’s eyes narrow, yet the realization washes over him as he takes in the smug expressions across his drivers’ faces.

the hickey was visible. the one on the left side of his neck.

“i-i don’t know what you’re rambling about.”

“mhmmm,” lewis puckers his lips, “tell me toto, did you get laid recently?”

inhaling a sharp breath, the team principal puts up his hands, in a vain attempt to cease their speculations.

yet, he was well aware there was no stopping those two.

the teasing was going to ensue the entire weekend. and they were going to be relentless, pressing each and every little button until he gave in.

“what happens in my personal life is none of you–”

before he can finish, lewis puts up a hand, “toto we’ve gone on holiday with you. we’ve had weekends in monaco together. we spend nearly every waking minute together. whether it’s at brackley, in the paddock, or addressing the press, we’ve spent a lot of time together. now, we’re being merciful here. who is the lovely lady?”

“that is none of your–”

“fine,” george interjects, “we’ll drop it for now. but when this weekend is over, you better believe we’ll be on your ass about it. we’re going to find out who this woman is. one way or another.”

although, the british drivers did not have to look very far.

you were simply a few paddocks down, filming a tik tok with lily.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

“fuck yes!”

“great job! great fucking job! we’ll see you in the paddock!”

adrenaline courses through your veins as you lay off the gas, practically gliding towards the paddock. stopping the car, you climb out, pumping your fists as the pit crew swarms forward, patting your back, cheers ringing all around.

amidst the crowd, james makes his way through, opening his arms for an embrace.

you collapse into it, his hands rattling along your helmet, “way to redeem yourself, american girl!”

“pole position for tomorrow isn’t too bad, huh?”

“not at all!” james’ eyes are alight with joy, “that will shut everyone up, yeah?”

“i think so,” the words are breathless, “fuck, that was intense.”

“you can sleep a little easier tonight,” james remarks, patting your helmet once more, “although, i would be on guard. those redbull boys are going to be on your ass.”

sliding your helmet off, your lungs take in the fresh air. your knees buckle momentarily, the limbs feeling a little like jell-o. graciously, you accept a water bottle from james, taking a swig. hairs cling to your forehead, the other ends sticking up in every direction.

“fuck, i’m tired.”

“well, i don’t have anything for you,” james’ tone is laced with sympathy, “you’ve had a long few days. when you leave, just keep your head down, hood up. this is one of the only times i’ll let you avoid the press. if they antagonize you, just make some bullshit up. i can handle the rest.”

“are you sure you want me to do that? that may just create more headlines,” unzipping your suit halfway, you slip your arms out, grateful for the coolness of the spring suzuka climate.

“i’m sure,” james rests a hand on your shoulder, “you deserve some rest. alex informed me you had a long flight. the jet lag can persist if you’re not used to it. you look exhausted.”

“i still haven’t adjusted to all of the traveling that comes with this sport,” you exhale, bringing your helmet under your arm, “thank you, james. you’re the best.”

“of course. it’s my job to be the best, you know,” he shoots you a wink, “now go! our little star needs her beauty rest!”

“little star. that’s a new one,” you roll your eyes playfully, “okay, okay. i’ll go.”

spinning on your heel, you turn to leave, strolling out of the paddock. making your way through the team headquarters, you wave to all of the members, grinning as they congratulate you, shouting a variety of inaudible or incoherent words of praise. within minutes, you’re able to locate your belongings, closing the door to the room.

wincing, you tug the legs of the suit off. fuck, were more sore than usual. underneath the fabric, your muscles tingled, buzzing from the adrenaline. if you were hurting this bad now, god only knew how much more intense it was going to be in a few hours.

slipping into a hoodie and some leggings, you pull the hood up, throwing your book bad on your shoulder.

now, it would only be a short walk to your motorhome, where you could shower and sleep.

thank fucking god.

glancing at your phone, you briefly picked through your notifications. there was really nothing too serious. a few texts from your parents, congratulating you on the pole position.

however, there was one message awaiting your response.

congratulations, my golden girl. can i swing by your place in a few? i just have to wrap up with my team and then i’ll be on my way. you should have time to shower, so do not rush.

also, lewis and george will not stop pestering me about the hickey on my neck. they’ve been up my ass all fucking day. i’m only seconds away from reporting them to the fia and have them disqualified. LOL or however the fuck you say it.

p.s. you’re going to get the biggest smooch. ever.

at his poor use of lol, you let out a laugh, your thumbs gliding across the screen, typing a response.

when you’re on your way, let me know so i can leave the door unlocked for you. maybe i can give you some concealer so you can cover it up tomorrow lmfaooo. my bad, my bad. see you soon, hottie. <3

p.s. i can’t wait to get the biggest smooch ever.

before you know it, you’re at the front door of your motorhome, sliding the key into the lock. turning it, you swing the door open, trudging inside.

throwing your belongings on the counter, you groan as the pain seeps into every crevice of your body, desperate for some relief. hopefully a hot shower and toto’s hands would ease some of the ache.

on the other side of the track, a team principal paces, oh so impatient.

“are we all done here?”

“yes sir,” a team member responds coolly, “we’re finished.”

“okay good,” he nods. waving his hands, he dismisses his team and crew, “all right! see you all tomorrow. bright and early!”

as the members disperse, toto bites his lip, tapping his foot lightly against the carpet.

why was everything taking so fucking long?

“why are you in such a rush?” lewis’ voice pulls him from his thoughts. thoughts about you, nonetheless, “have somewhere to be?”

“lewis,” toto’s voice is dangerously low, “quit it. stop that shit right now.”

“i’m just saying,” lewis shrugs, “it’s sort of odd you’re usually the last to leave, but now you’re chomping at the bit, ready to get out of here. is there someone waiting on you?”

actually, there was.

the girl he was beginning to fall head over heels for was waiting for him. perched in her bed, more than likely. more than ready to be swathed in his loving arms.

she had him wrapped around her little finger, there was no denying that.

especially when she had him pulling shit like this.

peering around, the team principal ensures that there were no cameras or mics lingering about. netflix was in their early stages of shooting the 2024 season of drive to survive, so there were cameramen and production crew milling about the paddocks throughout the day.

thank god they didn’t catch the entire hickey debacle on camera.

that alone would have ended his career.

“perhaps i am seeing someone,” toto hisses pointing a finger at the british driver, “but that is none of your concern. i will see you tomorrow, lewis.”

“can you at least tell me who she is?” his bottom lip juts out, forming a pout, “come on, toto. you’ve been so open with me all of these years and this is where you draw the line?”

“all you need to know is that she’s a professional athlete,” that was half the truth, at least. hopefully enough to keep lewis at bay for the time being.

“an athlete?” lewis’ brows raise, “what sport?

“horseback riding.”

close enough.

“hmmph,” lewis purses his lips, “well, if you want to tell me more, i’ll be all ears. i’ll see you tomorrow, toto. hopefully we have a hell of a race.”

“hopefully,” the only thing on toto’s mind was getting to you, before the cleanup crew started their rounds, “i will see you in the morning, lewis.”

the driver bids another farewell before catching up with george, exiting the paddock. however, he glances over his shoulder one more time, mouthing something to george before the two continue, disappearing from his line of sight.

fuck, that was unbearable.

borderline miserable.

lights glitter all around as the team principal makes his way to your motorhome, concealed by the hood of his jacket, thankful for the brisk evening air. if he didn’t have a jacket, he would have been fucked.

however, it was sort of difficult for the team principal to blend in. especially with his stature and size.

as he strolls up to the door of your motorhome, he takes once last cautious look, ensuring that there was no one watching.

yet, what the team principal forgot to account for was the production crew of drive to survive.

and they managed to record the entire encounter as you opened the door, greeting the team principal with open arms.

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