#plus fast car go vroom

[corntort]

human civilization leaving the moon untouched because that was their satellite for the entire existence of their kind.... lets leave it how it is for old times sake...... can anybody hear m

[preet-01]

In 2023, I wrote We've Never Hooked Up during the Lewis/Merc contract negotiations and a reporter asked if Lewis and Toto had hooked up about the contract. Now, what was originally a one-shot is a story told in three parts. This is part 2 and part 3 will be out in about a week

Word Count: 1555

The plans to spend the summer break together fall through before early July. 

It isn’t because Lewis is annoyed by how bad the car was and how no matter what he did the team barely seemed interested in listening to his feedback. And it wasn’t due to the continued fights they’d been having about his contract – or how Toto refused to advocate for him with the team in Germany. They’d agreed ages ago to not let work interfere with their relationship. 

Not to mention that  Toto has meetings that he should focus on. The German headquarters business didn’t stop just because Formula One was on a summer break. As CEO, Toto needed to work and Lewis didn’t want to spend the few weeks he had off fighting for some time with Toto. 

So Lewis decides to make his own plans. 

Maybe he’ll do some traveling with Miles, Spinz, and all the others. They had talked about a trip to Brazil. Or he could go island hopping with Daniel, chasing the warm sun and sandy shores. He had been meaning to spend more one-on-one time with Daniel after everything that had happened last year – it was bad when both Seb and Fernando were concerned. Maybe he could take up Seb on his offer to visit him in Switzerland and see his animals named after drivers. As great as his current friendship was with Fernando, he did miss seeing Seb every weekend and bitching about all things FIA-related. 

“Will you be attending Google Camp this year?” John asks. The older man had offered him a ride to England on his private jet after the Austrian Grand Prix and with most of the Mercedes team leaving Sunday night, Lewis had taken him up on the offer without hesitation. He hadn’t had time to catch up with John in a long time, so it was as good an opportunity as any. Just the two of them and their respective security on the private jet — Seb would probably chastise him about it. 

“I hadn’t intended on attending,” Lewis replies – he had declined the invitation weeks ago when the plan had been to be on some remote island with just Toto and a skeleton staff as company. “I already declined the invite before my original plans fell through,” he adds. 

‘Hhm,” John nods, “come with me. I have a plus one and those events tend to be dreadful without good company.” 

Lewis can’t help the laugh that escapes him. John had been downright miserable at Google Camp the year they had met. Stuck in some pissing contest conversation between Zuckerberg and Musk, John had jumped at the opportunity to pull him into a separate conversation when their eyes met across the ruins. 

Google Camp hadn’t happened in 2020 for obvious reasons. Lewis didn’t know about 2021, but he’d been busy with other stuff. And in 2022, he’d gotten a few calls from John about the event. Most of them complaining about the lack of good company with a mind for racing beyond just “fast cars go vroom.” 

He doesn’t commit to going but does tell John that he’ll think about it. 

It wouldn’t be the worst way to spend the summer break. Lewis quite liked John’s company and he liked Sicily. They’d had a grand old time during the few days they’d spent at Google Camp together in 2019.

____

He goes to Sicily. 

Of course, he goes to Sicily. 

He goes and he lets John plan their entire trip. He lets the control slip out of his own hands and into John’s — trusting that he wouldn’t be a disaster at planning. 

They have a private villa at the Verdura Resort that is probably much too big for just two people, but it has a pool and is one of the more beautiful places he’s stayed at during his life so far. There’s of course a lineup of Ferraris there just for their use and private chefs well versed in cooking vegan food. 

Google Camp is well not so different from how Lewis remembers it and it quickly turns into an Italian vacation with John taking him to places Lewis had never thought of visiting before. Whisking him away from Sicily in one of the many Ferraris until they reach the harbor where a boat awaits to take them to mainland Italy. 

He doesn’t think of the missed calls between himself and Toto or the short messages exchanged. Neither of them seemed to catch the other at an opportune time. Instead, he focuses on John and attempts to tell the man that there are better ways to have a sweater hanging from one’s shoulders than how John tends to have them. However, he does admit that it is an endearing idiosyncrasy. 

And in the coming months, he does his best to not think about the promises that John had whispered in his ear as they lay under the blazing Italian sun. Or the taste of fermented grapes and ripe strawberries as a million stars shined down on them. Or how he’d laughed more in those few days with John than he had with Toto in the past few years. No, he doesn’t think of that at all…

Lewis ignores it the best that he can, for as long as he can — he’d always been very good at compartmentalizing and pushing forward. 

Just as plans for the summer break spent on some remote island fall through, so do the plans for winter break. They don’t go to Toto’s home in the Austrian countryside or visit the Christmas markets. Well, Lewis doesn’t go, Toto does. 

Lewis instead flies out to Brazil with Miles, Spinz, and all his other friends. None of them mention that the private jet they use isn’t the one that Lewis would usually rent or the one he’d occasionally borrow from Toto, but borrowed from one John Elkann. 

Brazil is everything he’d needed after the season, after fighting with his car time and time again. It’s a necessary break that he had needed to decompress and just think. 

It’s an eye-opening vacation, to say the least. 

Things need to change because as Lewis had told Toto months ago, he didn’t have years and years to keep fighting. 

Just as he’s about to call Toto so they can talk through everything like they normally do, a different billionaire is calling him. 

“Hi,” Lewis answers, unable to help the smile that breaks out when he answers John’s call. 

“Hello, Lewis,” John replies, “how is Brazil?” 

Lewis goes into the details about the vacation. Everything that they have done so far and everything that they plan to do in the coming days. John, ever so attentive, makes his own recommendations and tells Lewis about the places that he loved growing up. “You lived in Brazil?” Lewis questions, he had not been aware of that. How it hadn’t come up in their many conversations, he doesn’t know. Just as he’d thought that he’d learned everything about John, the man reveals something new – some new avenue to take their already hours-long conversations. 

“Briefly when I was young. I attended primary school in England and then Brazil before we moved to Paris when I was in my teenage years,” John answers. “But it has always been somewhat of a home as many of my earliest memories are from there and I have gone back to explore the country many times since,” he explains. 

“Tell me more,” Lewis says, getting comfortable on his bed as all thoughts of Toto and his future fly out the window. 

If Lewis spends the rest of the day on the phone with John, just talking and definitely not flirting, then that’s no one’s business except his own. And he certainly doesn’t invite John to join him in Brazil. He just so happens to have business in Brazil obviously, nothing to do with Lewis. 

As John Elkann makes declarations of unconditional devotion and presses kisses onto the most intimate parts of Lewis Hamilton, Toto Wolff is in the company of his other driver.  

It is a far cry from how Toto had expected to spend his winter months ago when Lewis had joked about the two of them never hooking up during a press conference. Then he’d imagined a shorter man with tattoos on dark skin and a gap-toothed smile in his bed. He’d imagined Lewis curled up around him as they sought relief from the cold Austrian winter. He’d imagined a quiet vacation spent in one another’s company and visiting the Christmas markets that Lewis had fallen in love with. 

Instead, his winter is spent in the company of George who is nothing like Lewis. Instead of a private vacation with visits to Christmas markets, he’s at karting tracks, ski charity events, and public places where people easily recognize them both. Instead, his winter is spent with someone who is still not fully sure of his position with Toto. 

George is still staying at his place in Oxford when Lewis finally calls him about their usual pre-season coffee. Toto doesn’t kick him out, can’t find it in himself to do so. Not when George had looked so lovely and had taken so long to get comfortable. 

No, George has an event to go to that morning anyway. It would be fine. 

[liesmyth]

When did you start watching or liking F1? What is it about it that you like so much? :)

It's THE POWER OF THE NARRATIVE.

Longer answer: as with other sports fixations in my life, it comes and goes! I was very into it as a kid (Italian millennial fascination for the red car schumi dominance era!!!) and then in the early / mid 2010s (BEEFS GALORE!) but this is the first time I'm really following a season since like 2021. F1 in its current iteration has fewer on-track crimes and there's less obvious drama because everyone is way more polished PR-wise — ngl, a big part of why I was into it in the 2010s was all the drama that was constantly going on — but on the other hand, we have social media and team promos to give us (me) more good food.

Some elements that I really like — you might know some of this already if you're into motorsports but bear with me:

There are only 10 F1 teams and 20 drivers. All these drivers grew up racing each other in the junior series (and for the current generation, a lot of it is really documented in a decade-plus of social media and PR ops etc). The competitiveness to make it to F1 is crazy and it remains crazy once you make it there because you're often a bad season away from losing your seat. Socially, most drivers move in similar circles but also they have their own tiny entourage of friends and hangers-on (compelling!).

It takes a lot of money and a lot of work to keep an F1 team going. A LOT of that money comes from sponsors. The sponsorships activities and brand deals the drivers sign up for are... overwhelming. There's a lot of cultivating your image and performing, and so so much media work. Also! The drivers are the face of the team, but a team employs hundreds of people — they're the shinest cog that makes the machine work, but they carry the weight of the expectations and hard work of such a large staff. I'm also weak for the driver / race engineer bond. The bond between drivers and their athletic preparations. The fact that your teammate is THE only person who is in your same car ("equal machinery") and that going head to head with your teammate is really the only situation in which you're judged on performance alone. Beating your teammate means proving yourself!! etc.

Also. The vroom vroom: I don't always watch races but the current season has had 4 different winners in 8 races and some cool moments and look!! there's something about really fucking fast cars duelling each other that is just very cool

[whisperwhajje]

Since ya wanna ramble… ramble away!!! I wanna know some silly head canons for the Celestials!!! :D

Since you ask for silly one! I got a couple. ;3

Since it’s are boi Syncopite got his adult form. That dude listens to a lot of old hip hop, rap, and R&B. Plus with his break dancing, Syncopite is unstoppable.

Vhamp puts wheels on their feet to make them go faster and Galvana likes to ride on them. All you hear in the background “vroom vroom!” and other car noises. Vhamp can go fast too. Watch out!

When Glaishur became an adult, they were not aware of their new strength. So when they went to play on their snowman. It got smashed, he was heartbroken. Rip snowman.

Hornacle not only fought a sea creature. Again. And lost. Again. She kept the creature as a pet now. ( I started to think that the squid on his back was the same creature that toke Hornacle’s leg from the past. )

When Scaratar became an adult finally, she was given mom role, as so as Loodvigg became an adult, he immediately took big brother role and Scaratar was relieved. Because it was a little stressful on her own with 11 babies.

[dumb-teambucciarati-headcanons]

Narancia first learned how to drive a car when he joined the gang. And in the process of learning, he crashed two cars.

-Fugo was tasked with teaching him how to drive. Fugo doesn’t always have the best temper, and Narancia can space out sometimes, especially when he is learning something. He was very excited to learn how to drive, because he really liked how the car went vroom vroom and could go fast. But he didn’t pick it up as quickly as he had always imagined he would, and he didn’t quite have anything down in muscle memory yet. So he didn’t do something Fugo had just instructed him to, and Fugo got super upset, and this diverted his attention away from driving, which was new to him. and he mixed up the brake, gas, and clutch. And well yeah car crash.

-the damage was super bad, and it was Bruno’s car. So they both were super nervous. Bruno wasn’t upset, but made Narancia wait a bit longer before getting back to learning how to drive.

-Bruno decided that it was best for him to teach Narancia, because of Fugos short temper. But Narancia was like 10 times more nervous driving with Bruno than Fugo because well, he is Bruno. Plus he didn’t know him super well yet, and he really looked up to him and thought that he was perfect at everything, and wasn’t at all a weirdo in anyway.

-but yeah, the car ended up in a pond. It wasn’t a deep pond, so they were able to get out just fine. And while they were waiting for the tow truck, cops and whoever else shows up at the scene of an accident to show up Bruno asked him if he wanted any rotisserie chicken, and then proceeded to pull a full rotisserie chicken out of a zipper portal in his leg. That’s when Narancia realized he was kinda weird. But he still looked up to him, and probably even more than before because of the chicken.

-Abbacchio was the one to successfully teach Narancia how to drive and he holds it over Bruno and Fugos heads

[sondepoch]

Tokyo Riding (2/3)

PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Sukuna/Reader + Gojo/Reader

TAGS: dom!Gojo, implied power dynamics, riding, smut, overstimulation, short refractory period, safe sex (condom) but unsafe driving practices

WORD COUNT: 7.6k

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST || prev. part

One night. One banquet. One car. Three shots of vodka, and two hot men who make you feel completely different things. A chance to go joyriding in Tokyo will change everything, and it’s up to you to either join in on the drive or be left in the dust.

In which:

Sukuna is your sugar daddy, and he’s been neglecting you.

Gojo is not neglecting you, and he is very horny.

Sukuna is very horny, very angry, and very much in denial.

Chapter Title: vroom vroom plus bitch gets fucked

Chapter Summary: Gojo is not neglecting you, and he is very horny.

Tokyo feels different when you’re moving one-hundred miles per hour, music blasting in your ears, knees shaking from thrill and fear and adrenaline.

There’s something exhilarating about it: the fact that the speed limit was abandoned thirty miles ago, that the police might catch the two of you at any second, that the person whose car you stole this from might track you down, that this night can end at any second, any time, and the two of you won’t even realize it because you’re moving too fast to look anywhere but straight ahead. 

Sukuna wouldn’t approve of this, you know.

He likes you kept safe and sound within his penthouse apartment with twelve layers of security that not even his assistants are granted access past, likes you resting peacefully in his cushioned bed with soft, fluffy pillows, likes you away from other people and away from the real world—all because you’re too breakable a toy for him to let anyone else touch you.

Gojo doesn’t seem to care about any of that.

“Faster?” he asks, grinning. You love and hate the way he keeps his eyes on you as he asks that, not even bothering to stay focused on the road because he knows the thrill comes from the unexpected, the unknown. 

“Faster,” you say, breathless, and your body is lurched backward as the needle on the speedometer tips towards its upper limit.

You had the fortune of selecting a sports car, Gojo told you. You were lucky enough to select the best possible car for joyriding, one that even Gojo hasn’t had the opportunity to test on the road.

Why not? Don’t you have access to sports cars from your…um… (You remember searching for a better than ‘sugar daddy’ since you were too unsure of Gojo’s relationship with the Nanami Kento he was talking about earlier.) 

Of course I do. But joyriding is pretty dangerous, sweetheart. I’d be in some real trouble if I wrecked a sports car, Gojo said.

At the time, you let it slide.

Now, though, you can’t help but wonder how many cars Gojo has already wrecked.

“Satoru,” you whisper, now comfortable with saying his first name after he’s corrected you so many times. 

“What’s up, sweetheart?”

The man turns to you and grins that toothy smile you’ve already started to fall in love with—and you’re abruptly struck with how similar it is to Sukuna’s own arrogant smile, crooked at the side and bordering into a smirk in the exact same way.

You force the thought from your mind, telling yourself that Sukuna isn’t here, that he’s back in that stupid banquet hall with other girls he likes better than you. 

You had something to say to Gojo, but your brain is empty now.

“Go faster” is all you can think to say, praying that your thoughts of Sukuna will be left in the dust as well.

But it doesn’t work.

The more you try to force Sukuna from your mind, the more you think about him: the way he’d always burrow his head into your neck in the morning because the sunlight was too bright, the softness of his smile whenever he’d come home to the penthouse to see you waiting behind the front door, how he, a man practically double your size with his toned muscles, would cling to you whenever he got a little tipsy because he wanted to see nothing but your body, feel nothing but your touch, think of nothing but you.

Your lip begins to tremble.

You don’t know when things went wrong. It was never really about money for Sukuna, you know—but could he have been turned off by the fact that it was for you? Does he still think that you’re only entertaining him because of how much he pays you? Does he think you only care about his wallet rather than him?

Tears build in your eyes.

You’ve never been clear about actually appreciating him. Does Sukuna view you as the same as all the other golddiggers he’s turned away?

Horror builds in your heart.

You despised Sukuna in the beginning for his arrogant demeanor and assholish tendencies, only agreeing to be with him because he fucked you good and he was wealthy enough to support you better than you could hope to on your own.

Are you a golddigger?

“Oh god,” you whisper, panic crossing your face. This whole time, you were upset that Sukuna was pushing you away…but could you have been putting him off from the very beginning? Were you really nothing more than a cocksleeve for him? A good pussy, and nothing more?

Your fingers tremble.

This was never supposed to be anything other than a mutually beneficial relationship, but you can’t help but feel like you’re starting to like Sukuna for more than just his benefits. But is that allowed? Does he want that? Could he be pushing you away because he’s figured out that you’re starting to like him for more than his cock and cash?

“Hey.”

An uncharacteristically serious voice breaks you from your thoughts.

You blink and suddenly realize that the car has rolled to a total stop near a highway streetlight. The music has been cut. Gojo is looking at you, sunglasses lifted to his forehead, and genuine concern is written in the creases of his eyebrows.

“Hey,” he repeats, gentle. He doesn’t touch you. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I need to call—”

“Sweetheart, you look terrified. You’re…” Gojo reaches a hand out to catch one of your tears before it can fall. His thumb glistens like his diamond studs when he brings it away. “What’s wrong? Am I going too fast? Do you want me to take us back?”

“No—I mean, maybe—I mean…”

Fear washes over your mind. Does Sukuna even care that you’re gone? Has he even noticed?

“I don’t know…”

You sink your head. 

Things were going so well, earlier: this ride was exhilarating and intoxicating wrapped up in one. Your mind finally shut down and all the bad feelings that washed over you when Sukuna left three weeks ago vanished. It was the best you’d felt in a long, long time, and…

“I’m trying to forget something,” you sniff, drawing your knees closer together and looking away. “But I can’t.”

Gojo remains quiet for a moment. Then, he sighs.

“Trying to forget, huh?” He sighs, pulling his sunglasses off entirely. “I…I can help you with that. If you want.”

You tilt your head at the man. 

Is that an offer to fuck you?

Your eyes skim over him, top to bottom. Normally, you’d feel like he’s out of your league with how beautiful he is, but you’re also dressed to impress tonight. While your eyeliner may have been smudged by your tears, you know that you, too, must look impeccable.

“Okay,” you say, thinking that maybe all you need to forget Sukuna is to be dicked down by another man. His possessive rules forbidding you from doing so are forgotten. “Okay, Satoru, I—”

“Good. Switch places with me.”

Satoru smirks that cocky little smirk—and it reminds you of just half an hour ago, where you thought he was about to fuck you when he pulled you out of the banquet, only to take you joyriding.

“Satoru, what are you—”

“You’re gonna go riding, baby.” Gojo grins. “And you’re gonna go so fast you forget whatever it is that’s worrying your pretty little head.”

You sigh.

Gojo Satoru is a man you’ll never understand. Forget sex, his mind functions on a completely different wavelength than yours.

“Satoru, I can’t drive,” you say. “I already told you this. I’ve never—”

“It’s okay, doll,” Gojo says, patting his lap. You start to understand what he wants to happen. “I’ll be right here to correct you if anything goes wrong.”

And you’d doubtlessly complain more about the raw idiocy of this idea, but Gojo’s arms are long and strong, and he pulls you into his lap within seconds, one hand resting on your thigh as the other interlaces with your fingers on the wheel.

“This is stupid,” you say, squirming on his lap. You don’t miss how he sucks in a breath when your ass grinds down. “I can’t even reach the pedal—”

“Of course you can,” Gojo says, and you don’t need to look back to know he’s grinning. His hand slides down your bare legs (and you’re abruptly grateful that you took time to moisturize before coming to this banquet), and then he latches his fingers around the heels you’re wearing, tugging them off. 

Your feet feel free now that the heavy leather is off, but it somehow makes you feel even more exposed.

“Come on, doll. Reach. You can touch the pedal, yeah?”

And sure enough, when you arch your foot down, body squirming gently against Gojo’s groin, you come into contact with what you know to be the acceleration pedal. 

Without a moment of hesitation, you push your toe down.

Hard.

Then, the two of you are back to speeding down the highway, 

Gojo is still doing all the work. Your leg can’t quite reach the brake pedal, and it’s all you can do to press harder and harder on the acceleration. Your grip on the steering wheel, too, is glorified: your two hands do nothing compared to the confident steering of Gojo, who guides the racecar around curves at top speed with a single palm. 

“This is dangerous!” you call, barely audible over the loud roaring of the engine. “What if—what if we see another—”

“Baby,” Gojo growls into your ear, so close that you have to hear it. The deepness of his voice reminds you of Sukuna, reminds you of sex, reminds you of the wetness that’s starting to pool between your thighs. “Look around. It’s just us and the road.”

And truly, Gojo brings the us in that statement to life.

Your bodies start to mold together, Gojo’s free hand massaging your thighs sweetly. He pulls you closer against his waist, filling whatever space might have previously lied between your bodies, and you can feel his slow breathing, steady and sensual, against the thin fabric wrapped around your back.

“Satoru…” you whisper when he squeezes your thigh. Your brain is beginning to slow, mind giving way to body as Gojo gets closer and closer to the spot between your thighs. “What are you...”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks and grins when you don’t answer. A kiss is laid against your shoulder. “Good girl. Just focus on the road.”

But when Gojo finally hands control over to you, releasing his grip on the steering wheel and trusting that you’ll handle it all, it’s impossible to just focus on the road—because when his hand disappears from the wheel, it reappears between your thighs, and you’re obsessed with the way his fingers are stroking your legs.

“This dress is so tight on you,” Gojo hums, teasing his digits beneath the fabric. “Is it the first time you’re wearing it?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter out, legs instinctively spreading as Gojo’s fingers start pulling them apart. Your foot, previously pressed against the acceleration pedal, pulls back, but the car keeps going. 

“Do you like it?” Gojo continues, and you’re confused until he catches the strap of your dress between his teeth to tug at it.

“N-not really,” you confess, mind started to go fuzzy. Gojo’s massaging your thighs now, and you’re starting to get so wet that it’ll seep down onto his trousers. “Just wore it b’cause I had to. Didn’t—oh—”

You gasp as Gojo licks a strip along your neck, his hot tongue brushing by a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Didn’t—didn’t get to—to pick it—out!”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens as you veer the car to the right to prevent yourself from crashing. Your body is unbelievably responsive right now. Perhaps it’s the fact that Sukuna didn’t allow you to cum for the three weeks of his business trip? The fact that he never gave you a proper orgasm upon his return? 

“Hmm…so you won’t mind if I rip your dress?” Gojo hums.

“No, please—” you gasp, hips bucking down. The car jerks forward as Gojo presses harder on the acceleration in return. “Please, do whatever you want, please just touch—”

“Good.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Gojo rips the fabric of your already-short dress in the middle until there’s a slit stretching all the way to your belly button.

You gasp as it happens, a protest already leaving your lips when Gojo’s deft fingers then pick up the two folds of fabric around the slit and lift them to peek inside—

“Wow,” he whispers into your ear, his head tilted down. “No underwear, huh, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flush. Instinctively, you know this is wrong. You came to this banquet without underwear for Sukuna in hopes that it would tempt him into fucking you. This dress, too, was selected by the man himself, and you know he’d be furious to learn that you not only allowed it to get ripped but practically encouraged Gojo to do so—

But then you think of how neglectful Sukuna’s been towards you as of late, and you decide that it’s time you put him out of mind.

“Satoru,” you whisper, turning to him. It never occurs to you that you’re still gripping the wheel, that you should be watching the road. “Satoru, touch me.”

“Ah, right,” he chuckles, meeting your heady gaze. “You’re still trying to forget that something, aren’t you?”

He grins a boyish grin that’s familiar in a way you can’t quite place, and then he brings his cherry pink lips to yours, kissing you long and deep over your shoulder. 

He presses down harder on the acceleration, the car jerking forward, and it forces you to pay attention to the road as his arms snake around your body, squeezing the flesh around your stomach, groping the skin by your thighs, dipping his fingers between your legs and toying with your pussy. “You look good, baby,” Gojo whispers into your ear. The road is forgotten to his mind, the high speed of the car nothing but a byproduct to how hard Gojo is pressing down to distract from the buildup in his groin. “Can’t believe I waited this long. Wanted to fuck you the second I saw you.”

“Yeah?” you say as he starts nibbling at your neck. A gasp spills past your lips as he circles your cunt, dipping a finger inside. “Wanted to fuck you too, Satoru. We didn’t need to do this in a car—oh—we—we—we could’ve just gone upstairs—”

“There’s nothing fun about that,” Gojo whispers, chuckling breathily. The sound makes you even wetter, and he slips a second finger inside. “And it’s a crime for a pretty girl like you to be kept all mopey on a barstool. I knew the second I saw you that I needed to put some fun in your life.”

“Your fun is dangerous,” you gasp.

“Nah it’s,” Gojo presses down on a particularly spongy spot inside you, and your vision flickers. “Exciting.”

Words beyond that point are impossible. It’s all you can do to cling to the wheel, desperately praying that the road continues to remain empty, that the highway remains straight, that you can continue to place minimal attention on the tar pavement to focus on how good Gojo’s fingers feel as they start curling in and out of you. He’s forgotten that that two of you are in a car, now pressing down on the acceleration at maximum speed, and he’s suckling at your neck a baby, obnoxious and loud as he sucks hickeys into you with the blunts of his teeth, mindless and devoted as he grinds against your ass.

“Right there,” you whisper, eyes struggling to remain open when his thumb begins rubbing circles into your clit. “Yes, Satoru, just like that, please—”

He adds a third inside, and now he’s pumping his fingers inside you like they’re a cock, grinning into your neck as you grind down.

“Feels good, yeah?” he whispers, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. He licks the shell of it. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Inside this stolen car like a cheap bitch? While we’re driving?”

“Yes, Satoru, m’gonna—can’t—wait—”

Gojo forces your body to twist as he captures you in a hot and heavy kiss, cherry pink lips overwhelming you with how deeply they suck you in, almost as if his mouth is a void that’s pulling you in, as if his kisses are the gateway to hell and he’s Satan, tempting you deeper inside.

You can’t control the steering wheel like this, and it jerks to the side when Gojo forces you to turn around so abruptly, so he jerks it back into place to stop you from crashing into the metal railings.

That jerk, the motion of the car swerving back into place, is what pushes you over the edge.

For a single second, Gojo’s long fingers are shoved even deeper inside you than they’d been before, his calloused thumb pressing down a tad harder than what you’d normally be comfortable with, and the feeling shoots electricity down your body as Gojo continues to kiss you, continues to grind up against you, continues to fuck you on his fingers the way you’ve wanted for so long.

As you come down from your high, so too does the car.

It feels surreal as the vehicle slows down, and you can’t tell if it’s the aftershocks of the orgasm or the effect of moving so fast that your entire body tingles when he’s rolled to a stop beneath a streetlamp, your whole body twitching and sensitive.

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers, pulling back from you. His lips are plumper now, swollen from a bite you must have given in your high delirium. “I was gonna wait, but I can’t sweetheart. You’re too hot.”

He manhandles you around so that you’re facing him, his blazer slipping off to reveal strong arms that support your body weight effortlessly. He lifts you by your knees until you’re straddling his lap, resting the curve of your back laid against the steering wheel, and you have to admire how Gojo is so tall and lean that even with you sitting on his thighs, his shoulders tower over yours, over the car seat.

“God,” he mumbles, pressing his thumb down on your puffy pussy. It’s still exposed, the flaps of your dress pushed up to your stomach.

“You’re stunning.”

He runs his hand along your cunt, gathering slick on his hand and then bringing it to the light. The two of you stare at it together, mesmerized by how his hand glistens, not just damp but soaked with how wet he’s made you.

“Wow.”

For the first time since you met him, the two of you are frozen.

The car is rolled to a stop.

The Tokyo lights around you are too far off to disturb the stillness.

The music is off, the banquet is forgotten, the world has come to a standstill, and there are no flourishes to paint false exhilaration into your veins as you stare at Gojo and his thumb, wondering what he’ll do. You don’t know when your heart began beating so fast, but it slows down as your eyes flit to Gojo’s thumb, Gojo, Gojo’s thumb, and then again Gojo. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll do with it: will he be like Sukuna and lick your slick all away? Or will he be like your past lovers, stuffing his fingers into your mouth and returning your essence to your own body?

The spell breaks as Gojo leans forward.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers and smearing his glistening thumb along your lips before capturing you in another intoxicating kiss.

It’s mesmerizing. You can taste yourself on his tongue, can taste the way he seems to hunger for more of that same flavor by searching for it in your mouth, and the feeling alone is enough to leave you lightheaded, dizzy.

It’s terrifying. You can feel his palm moving, unbuckling his pants, and you have no idea how you’ll be able to last an entire night of Gojo when just his fingers have you so affected.

It’s amazing. You’re finally forgetting what it was that drove you into Gojo’s arms, what had you sitting teary-eyed at a bartop one hour ago, what had you risking everything for a single reckless experience to take you away from it all.

It’s Gojo, and he’s pulling back with that charming grin on his face, his eyes shamelessly taking in the heavy pant to your chest, the swollen pout to your lips, the slick that’s dripping down your thighs onto his slacks and how you’re only getting wetter with each passing second.

“Fuck me, Satoru,” you whisper as soon as he gets his cock out.

He kisses you again, deep and intoxicating and violent.

Then, he’s focused on himself.

Gojo pumps his cock once, twice, and scrambles for a condom. He opens his wallet, his pocket, his back pocket and—

“Glove compartment,” you say before Gojo can blurt out that he doesn’t have a condom, and he doesn’t question how you know it’s there, simply darting behind your back to pull one out and wrapping the latex around his long pink cock.

“I don’t have lube,” he whispers, a hand dropping to your thighs. “Should—should I finger you more? Or—”

“Please just put it in,” you blurt, lifting your hips automatically. You don’t care how desperate it makes you look; all that matters is that there’s a delicious cock sitting in front of you, tall and flushed and dripping with precum, and you want it inside now. 

“Okay,” Gojo whispers, stealing another short kiss from your lips. “Okay, sweetheart. Tell me if it’s too much.”

And you thought his kisses were intoxicating, but as Gojo slips inside of you, you’re convinced that this is heaven.

The two of you moan in unison: you, at finally being filled by something proper after weeks of abandonment; him, at finally sinking inside a piece of meat he’s been eyeing since he saw you. Your eyes flutter shut and your body gravitates closer to Gojo, your pretty tits pressing up against his chest, and you pull yourself down for the final few inches, taking the lead as you grip his shoulders. 

Then, everything jerks forward.

A yelp spills past your lips the second you realize what’s happening, an involuntary surge of wetness flooding out from your cunt, and the speed of the car jerks you up on Gojo’s lap, practically forcing you to ride the man.

“G-Gojo you’re—you’re—the car—”

“Feels too good,” Gojo groans, jerking his hips up. Fear surges through your heart, and you realize that his head is buried in your neck, nibbling and biting hickeys into your skin, that Gojo isn’t even watching the road as his foot weighs heavily against the accelerator.

“Move your foot,” you babble, fingers lifting to pull his head from your nape. “You’re gonna crash, it’s going too fast, you’re gonna kill us both—”

“The only thing that’ll kill me,” Gojo grumbles, and he bites down harder against your neck, mouthing at a mark that’ll be with you for weeks, “Is you if you don’t let me fuck you.”

And the phrasing of that is too similar for it to be coincidence, too similar for it to be chance—and your mind darts to the first few times you slept with Sukuna, how his hand was always gripped harshly around something to help him control himself as he'd ravage your cunt. It’s the reason why the post of your old bed frame cracked, the reason why bedsheets would always tear during sex, the reason why Sukuna had to drive you to the hospital the first time he held your hand during sex because he gripped it so hard that it was swollen the next day. 

Is Gojo the same?

Is he pressing his foot down on the accelerator to help him control himself? To stop from ruining you beyond repair? To keep you intact as you take a cock long enough to spear you in two?

“Gojo, let’s go to the backseat,” you whisper, starting to feel dizzy as you watch Tokyo pass you by in a blur. “This isn’t safe, it’s—it’s too—”

You’re cut off when the car bumps a little. It drives Gojo’s cock straight into one of those special spots inside you that have you seeing stars, seeing paradise, seeing pink—and the man takes that as his opportunity to take charge, using your horny body’s weakness to his advantage.

“The backseat is boring, doll,” Gojo says. His hands find the bottom of your thighs, coaxing you up—and even like this, you’re still smaller than him, his line of sight clear over your shoulder. “Tell you what,” he says, glancing up into your eyes. “I’ll drive safe and watch the road just for you, princess, but you have to do something for me in exchange.”

“What is it?” you whisper, mesmerized by his eyes. You almost don’t want him to look away.

The car jerks forward as Gojo starts moving even faster, and his lips curl upwards into an arrogant grin as his cock twitches inside of you. 

“Ride me.”

Something in you sings in agreement.

You drop your hips experimentally, so wet that his cock glides in even on the last few inches, and align yourself carefully. It’s not often that you take the lead in sex, and if Sukuna ever has you on top it’s because he’s the one bouncing you on his lip, hands wrapped around your waist to make it so you don’t have to put any effort in.

But Gojo and Sukuna aren't the same.

You hesitantly repeat your little bounce action, hoping that it's good enough, but Gojo is unimpressed:

“Aw, you’re not very experienced in this, are you?” His hips jerk upwards. “Well, that’s okay. I’ll teach you how to properly ride a man.”

And you don’t really understand when he means by teach, but when there’s a sharp slap to the bottom of your ass, your eyes light up with anger. 

“Why did you just—”

“Down,” Gojo says, and the word falls from his lips with such authority that you clench down on him. “You’ve gotta do this faster, sweetheart. It’s not even a challenge to pay attention to the road right now.”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks, but you take his words as a challenge. He thinks you’re a boring fuck? That it’s easy to be balls deep inside you and on the road?

You’ll show him.

You’ll make him crash this stupid little sports car.

A fire now lit under you, you ride Gojo faster. Harder. Better. His breath starts to hitch in your ear and his arms start to twitch. You watch his eyes flutter shut every now and then, and only when a quiet “fuck, princess” spills from his lips do you stop focusing on him to let yourself relax into the pleasure.

And it feels fucking good.

Your eyes flutter shut and you yourself in all the sensations. The hum of the car, roaring loud and clear but still sounding far away compared to Gojo’s quiet pants. The cool of the vent fan, keeping your nipples stiff and perky to contrast the warmth that Gojo brings. The friction of his slacks against your core, your little clit practically grinding up against him every time your hips lift, and the overwhelming pleasure you get whenever you come down.

You moan.

“Having fun there, sweetheart?”

Gojo looks at you and grins. His lips, glistening pink and pretty, have finally lost their sardonic edge, and the man’s cheeks are tinged pink. 

You can’t resist the urge. Atop his lap, propped up by his arms and his cock, you lean down to steal a kiss from him, long and hard, intense and deep.

Gojo kisses back but harder, his neck chasing you as you pull up. 

“S-Satoru,” you gasp as he starts nibbling at your bottom lip, practically devouring you as he leans forward. The gesture pushes you further and further back until your neck is pressed against the steering wheel, your pussy twitches around Gojo’s cock, whining over its inability to ride him like this.

You pout.

“What are you—”

“I let you have your fun,” Gojo says, placing a slender finger to your lips. “But you're still not very good at this. So let me take the lead, yeah?”

You blink.

The car slows.

As Gojo’s hands find the bottoms of your knees, you start to understand what’s happening.

“S-Satoru, you can’t—”

“I can and I will, princess,” Gojo growls, jerking your legs up in a single fluid motion until they’re hooked around his shoulder. The motion forces your body flush against his hips, drilling his cock deeper inside of you. It touches places even Sukuna has yet to touch, makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. Your body, previously pressed against his own torso, is gently pushed backward until your head is against the wheel—and this new position has you practically split in half, legs lifted over your head as Gojo’s cock presses against you in an entirely new angle.

“Yeah, this is better,” he says, grinning. Two hands find their way next to your head, and you almost forget that they’re there to grip the steering wheel, instead feeling like he’s merely pinned you to a bed with his palms on either side of your face. 

Gojo leans forward, catching the low V of your dress between his teeth. Then, he pulls downwards until your tits have burst free.

“Perfection.”

The car picks up speed.

You aren’t surprised this time when the vehicle jerks forward. If anything, you relish in it. Gojo can see everything from this angle: you, the road, and his cock, drilling in and out of you as he bounces you in his lap.

It makes you feel safe, you realize, as he peppers your skin with kisses.

It makes you feel peaceful, you realize, as he presses down harder on the acceleration.

It makes you feel orgasmic, you realize, mind growing closer to a headspace you’ve been chasing for three weeks.

“Harder, Satoru,” you whisper, reaching up and tugging at his collar. 

Gojo blinks. 

“You…” he trails off, keeping his grip tight on the steering wheel as he brushes your jaw with his thumb. “You’re an insatiable little thing, aren’t you?”

Gojo smiles. It’s a crooked smile, containing inside it all the calm in the world for a storm of terrifying magnitude, but you don’t care. The wind is whipping past your car at over one-fifty miles per hour now, and Gojo is the storm, one you’ve willingly let into this vehicle, into your arms, into you. 

“Now I get why he chose you,” Gojo says, and before you can question who that he is, Gojo’s railing into you, emptying your brain as the last of your sense melts out of your wet, wet pussy.

Oh, you think the second his body starts moving. Oh, this is why he’s so cocky.

Gojo’s fucking you like Sukuna—something you didn’t think could ever be possible. His cock, thinner than you’re used to but also longer, prods along all your sensitive spots without pattern; your toes are constantly curling from how different bouts of pleasure come bursting between your legs, how there’s no predictability to his thrusts, how every time you relax into Gojo’s pleasure, he startles you with something different, something unique, something wet.

“S-Satoru,” you whine as he starts sucking at your nipples. 

“The road is straight,” he says quickly, teeth fastening to one bud. “No cars, either. We’re not gonna crash.”

“Not that,” you moan, almost embarrassed now at how you’re barely even thinking about the road anymore, about your safety. “It’s…I…um…”

Words stick like honey in the back of your throat as Gojo continues suckling at your tits, groping them like an overzealous kid, but your need to warn him increases.

“I—I’m—”

Embarrassment washes over your features as Gojo understands what you’re trying to say.

He laughs, short and condescending.

“Already? Sweetheart, it’s been seconds—”

But it doesn’t matter that he’s been fucking you for less than a minute, that he’s probably never had a girl cum so embarrassingly quick on him: you’ve been teetering over the edge for a long time, and Gojo just manhandled you over it. 

And now, you’re about to fall.

Instinctively, your hands move.

It’s a habit cultivated by months of fucking Sukuna: to reach for your partner’s hand, to intertwine your fingers together, to kiss palms before cumming—but Gojo isn’t Sukuna, and he doesn’t know what you’re doing, so as he drills his cock deeper and deeper into you, you end up grabbing his wrists and burrowing your face into them, hiding, whimpering and—

You hit your high, ecstasy overwhelming you all at once. It's the moment you've been waiting for from the moment you bade Sukuna farewell for his business trip, the moment you were hoping to share with the pink-haired man, the moment your body has been seeking out on its own since you stuffed that sorry dildo inside you earlier this afternoon when Sukuna refused to help. It's all-encompassing, soul-crushing, mind-numbing, and every thought goes out of your mind as you quiver in Gojo's arms, losing yourself in the raw feeling of finally receiving a pleasure that's been deprived to you for weeks.

“Are you crying?”

Above you, Gojo laughs, and you swear the car inches faster as he gets more excited.

“Feels too good,” you whimper, all sense starting to fade out of you as your mind gives way to your pussy, and you clamp down harder around Gojo’s cock as he continues fucking you through your orgasm. 

“Hell. Hell! Sukuna found himself such a fun little toy!” Gojo cackles.

“W-wait,” you whisper, tugging at Gojo’s sleeve. Your head lolls to the side, and there’s a heaviness in your brain. Lustful fog obscures all though, and all you can do is speak your mind: honestly, earnestly, and oh so sweetly. “Satoru, need a break. ‘s too s-sensitive.”

“Too sensitive?” Gojo coos, grinning. You can’t put your finger on it, but there’s something taunting in his voice. “And you want me to stop making myself feel good so you can relax a bit?”

“Mhm,” you slur, and you lean your head against Gojo’s arm. 

Relief washes over you as his cock grows still inside you.

“Oh, thank you, Satoru. Felt so good—so good—but need a break. Your cock is so good. Wanna stay here forever, Satoru, wanna get fucked forever. After a break. But it’s so good, wanna—”

“You’re the cutest thing,” Gojo says, and he strokes your cheek. Something gets quieter, and the dizziness of your head lightens a tad. “Who would’ve thought a smart girl like you gets all dumb over cock? Did Sukuna train that into you? Or am I just that good?”

“It’s—”

“You’re a bit lazy, though. Letting me do all the work, driving and fucking. Didn’t even offer to suck me off after I worked so hard prepping you.”

“I’m sor—”

“So sweet, though. Your eyes look pretty when you’re not thinking. You know that, sweetheart? Your eyes are all nice and empty. Stupid and slutty. It’s the look other bitches get while they’re cumming, not after. But you’re special, aren’t you?”

“Thank—”

“I wish you could see yourself, doll. Cock hungry, dress torn, crying and drooling. I wanna take a picture, babe, because I could die happy after seeing this. Wanna know why, sweetheart?”

“Wh—”

“‘Cause you’re Sukuna Ryoumen’s girl.”

Gojo presses his lips to yours, and you whimper when the force of the movement pushes his cock deeper inside your sensitive, sensitive hole. 

“And I’m the one you’re choosing to fuck.”

Then, the mercy ends.

All at once, the overwhelming sensations return. The dizziness. The sound. Gojo’s dick, railing in and out of you with no care for the fact that you need more time to relax into this, no care for the fact that your pleasure is clouded.

But your mind focuses on something else.

“S-Satoru,” you whimper, writhing away from him. “Satoru, I never told you Sukuna’s name, I never—”

“Are you that stupid?” Gojo asks, expression wild, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or offended because the question “He’s a business partner, princess. I’ve been working with him longer than you’ve known his last name.”

“Wait,” you mumble, “You told me you were a sugar baby like me, you told me—”

Gojo laughs again, and you hate how another thrust from him pries a moan from your lips. 

“Dumb slut. I let you think I was whatever you wanted because it was easier for me that way. “

“Easier?” Betrayal floods your heart. You found a sense of companionship with Gojo, a sense of kinship. There was a rare trust in your heart for the man after (falsely) discovering he was a sugar baby like you, and the only reason you left with him so readily was that you thought he was the antithesis of Sukuna, a polar opposite to the man you were with, someone who would never do anything half as cruel.

“Easier to do what?” you sob, and now the tears in your eyes are from hurt, from frustration, from pain. 

“This, princess.”

And Gojo starts fucking even harder.

You’re feeling so many emotions when he starts doing it—whatever it is that makes your mind go completely hazy—and it’s cathartic for you because when Gojo fucks you in earnest, everything disappears. The car. The sound of the car. Sukuna. Your feelings for Sukuna. Gojo. Your anger at Gojo.

All that remains is his cock and your cunt—and the thumb he’s using to grind harshly into your clit.

The treatment is harsh, animalistic. It’s chaotic and intense and mindnumbing, and you don’t realize how your ankles hook over Gojo’s shoulders, how you slip down on the steering wheel to bend your body deeper in half, how your mouth slacks open and you give up to give into it all.

Gojo’s watching. He notices everything: how you go from being so angry to so dumb, forgetting all grievances in favor of his dick.

He’s saying stuff you can’t hear.

“Look at my slutty little girl. Are you still crying? How cute.”

Thrust. Kiss. Thrust.

“You’ve got such a nice body, you know that, princess? So fucking hot.”

Pinch. Kiss. Thrust.

“Wish Sukuna could see this. That asshole talks to me like I’m filth, but I bet he doesn’t fuck you half as good as me.”

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

You don’t hear any of Gojo’s words, too overwhelmed with your own state. Your orgasms are melding together, Gojo’s hold on your hips so tight that you’re unable to pull away as you normally do, and you can’t tell where one feeling ends and another one begins.

“It’s too much,” you start whimpering again, and you search for Gojo’s hand desperately, trying to communicate to him that you’re truly nearing your limit now. 

“I get it, doll,” Gojo mutters, and that relieves you until you hear the next part: “But I’m close, baby. Just give me a little longer. I’m so close.”

Your eyes scrunch shut. Your body no longer feels like your own. You’re sweating and crying and drooling, and the thing which put you into this very position is still drilling into you at top speed, hitting spots inside you that must now be bruised from overuse. Gojo’s “close” means nothing to you, arbitrary and faraway, and what started off as a playful ride starts to feel overwhelming, terrifying.

“Satoru,” you whisper, tugging on his arm. “S-Satoru!”

“Fuck, baby! So close, just keep saying my name like that, keep—”

Even if Gojo hadn’t explicitly requested it, you think you would be babbling his name over and over again anyway because it’s the only thing left in that dumb, empty brain of yours. 

“Satoru,” you whisper, and your legs tense. You try to pull them closer to you, but they’re locked in place, held back by some kind of barrier. “Satoru,” you repeat, and now you’re trying to push away from him, afraid that you’re truly going to hit your limit. “Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Sa—” 

“Sweetheart,” Gojo whispers in a voice lighter than air, and that’s when you know he’s cumming.

The instinctive feeling is relief. It’s over. You didn’t hit your limit. You can rest in his arms, cuddle, relax, calm down from it all.

The next feeling is terror. It isn’t over. Gojo’s cum is filling up the condom inside of you, and the latex is rubbing against your already-sensitive insides, and—

It becomes too much.

“Satoru!” you wail, and your entire body convulses. It's too much, you're at your limit, this is over but your body is still wrapped up in the feeling of it all. Fingers twitch. Tears fall. You’re shaking and terrified and hurting and you just want this overwhelming feeling to fade, want to go home, want Sukuna—and the only way your body can react to those urges is to writhe back and forth, back and forth, desperately hoping that he'll understand.

And Gojo does understand.

There's a softness in his eyes, a quiet "it's over, sweetheart," that he whispers as his hold around you goes weak and his eyes glaze over with pleasure, but it isn't enough.

Gojo's gentle grip around your thighs means he's not holding you down.

And you're still writhing back and forth, back and forth. 

Something behind you moves.

“Babe,” Gojo whispers, in a voice so filled with horror that you know something is wrong, but your brain isn’t here. Your brain is one hundred miles away, abandoned ages ago when Gojo slid his cock inside you and began fucking you against the steering wheel. 

Oh god, you think, realization setting in.

The steering wheel.

You realize it too late: that your back is pressed up against it, that Gojo’s hands are wrapped around your body and can’t steady it, that the two of you are moving at top speed and the steering wheel is tilting.

Gojo reacts instantly.

You can feel the car break because it throws you forward into Gojo’s chest, and his arms wrap protectively around your back and your head to protect you from whatever might happen. Then, the car slows down successfully. There’s no crash. You feel safe, and happy, and adrenaline is powering through your veins—

And then you realize that no, the car is still moving, your perception of speed has just been so altered that this fast pace feels like you’re standing still, and an awful screeching sound fills your ears as the carside opposite to you and Gojo drags against the highway rails, lasting for long enough that you know this vehicle has been completely and utterly ruined.

Only when the sound stops do you open your eyes.

Only after you open your eyes and realize you’re not dead do you lean back.

Only after you lean back do you meet Gojo’s cocky, arrogant expression, and he’s already moved on.

“We’re safe,” Gojo whispers, and his hands are still wrapped protectively around you, your legs are still lifted up over his shoulder, and the position might be the most uncomfortable thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, but a different dread is enveloping you right now.

“We’re safe,” Gojo repeats, overjoyed. He’s in the afterglow of his orgasm, blue eyes bright with happiness, with exhilaration. “We did it. We did it! That was amazing, wasn’t it? I thought we were going to die for a second, but we made it, and—”

“The car,” you whisper, fear washing over you.

“What about it?” Gojo asks, laughing. There are tears in his eyes, and you realize that this very well might be the pinnacle of adrenaline for him. “Sweetheart, it’s just a vehicle. We just won’t return it to the banquet. The person who brought it won’t even notice—”

“They’ll notice,” you say.

Gojo shoots you a curious expression. 

“Who would—”

And then he understands: why you were so instantly drawn to this car when the two of you were in the valet parking lot, how you knew that there were condoms in the glove compartment, why you were constantly worried about the safety of the car for the duration of this trip.

You close your eyes and pray that Sukuna won’t be mad when he realizes what the two of you have done to his most prized sports car.

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers, and he’s right. 

There's a distant light on the highway, and you intuitively know who it is. There's a sizzling sound coming from behind you, and you know it means that this stunning transport has been damaged beyond repair. The faraway lights of Tokyo flicker at you, almost as if trying to cast you in their shadow of sympathy, but it's too late. Cock still inside you, airbag undeployed out of sheer dumb luck, body swollen and used and bruised, you are absolutely and unequivocally fucked. 

JJK MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | ✎ |

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: fun fact this fic was entirely inspired by me crashing my car one week ago...ig crashing is technically an exaggeration since it was just a scratch but im poor and dramatic so i cried about this for 4 days and getting some dick in that time period definitely would have helped. on a totally unrelated note, i am now broke therefore i will be opening commissions after this mini series finishes!

Comment & Like

Next Update: aiming to get pt 3 out on sunday :)

[amchara]

Effortless Ch. 4: Summer, London and Kissing

One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven (completed fic) 

(Completed fic at Ao3, posting to tumblr with a few minor edits)

Summary: After moving to England to live with Tessa and Jem, Kit ends up attending a local sixth form college alongside his Shadowhunter training.

Featuring- a charming but slightly broken Kit, typical teen drama, mundane friendships, pop culture references, Carstairs-Gray family moments, a rotating cast of our favourite Shadowhunters as guest tutors and of course, some unacknowledged pining for one Ty Blackthorn.

Wordcount: 6,593 words for this chapter

Rating: Teen, cw this chapter: underage drinking, Kit/OC

CHAPTER FOUR: SUMMER, LONDON AND KISSING

May-September 2014

The grandfather clock bonged and Kit opened his eyes in irritation.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “It’s the clock’s fault.” And it was a hot July day - there was barely any wind blowing through the wide-open windows. Plus, flies kept buzzing by his face, as apparently the English didn’t believe in screens on their windows. Or maybe that was just period properties like Cirenworth Hall.

Tessa raised her eyebrows, but remained seated in a relaxed cross-legged pose.

Kit sat across from her, mirroring her position. They were going through another of Tessa’s Spiral Labyrinth meditation exercises that were meant to open up latent magical powers and as usual, it was boring and pointless. They were no closer to unlocking the on-switch for Kit’s fae powers.

Kit sneaked a glance at his watch and sighed. It had been less than ten minutes. “Tessa- this isn’t working. We’ve tried so many of these meditation exercises and they’re dead boring. Why don’t we just fast track it and use something else. What did you do to jumpstart your powers?”

“I could beat you and lock you in the house for six weeks,” Tessa said dryly. “And bring you blood-encrusted items for you to shapeshift into the dead people that owned them and threaten to kill your family if you don’t comply.”

Kit winced. “Oh. Nevermind.”

Tessa shook her head. “It was a long time ago-” she said gently. “And the research done by the Spiral Labyrinth has shown that harsh methods of forcing a warlock to manifest their power risks psychic harm.” She looked at him steadily. “And of course, I could never do that to anyone.”

“But that method- and all the ones we’ve been trying - those were for warlock powers,” Kit pointed out. “What about Fae ones?”

Tessa’s grey eyes were troubled and she knew that he had her there. “We are still looking into it. And in the meantime- it is still worth trying every avenue.”

“But how much time do we have?” Kit said, worrying a thread on his shorts. “If there are factions of Faerie looking for me...”

“We are keeping a close eye on it,” Tessa said. “Try not to worry,” she said, repeating a phrase she had often said since Kit had come to her wanting to learn more about his Faerie heritage.

The door to Tessa’s study creaked open and a bundle of toddler chaos came hurdling in, Jem following closely at her heels.

“Kitty!” Mina said, and pounced on Kit. He grabbed around her waist, lifting her up high above his head, vrooming like an airplane. She shrieked with delight.

“Saved by the Mina,” he said.

Jem had gone to Tessa’s side, and crouched down to give her a kiss on her forehead. Then rested his own forehead on hers for a moment, while she wrapped her arms around him. Kit gave them a moment for the PDA, which admittedly, they didn’t indulge in very often in front of him.

“Driving lesson this afternoon?” Kit asked, after it had passed. He knew Jem was an unflappable statue in the passenger seat while Tessa unfortunately had a habit of flinching any time he stalled or veered too close to an oncoming car. As soon as he could (which was the day after his birthday), Kit had gotten his provisional driving license and he was ready, so very ready to get the freedom that came from being able to drive a car and not have to rely on the patchy rural public transport or Jem or Tess driving him.

Jem straightened up. “So soon? I thought you were going to the beach with Ellie this afternoon?”

“Yeah- but I’ll get there much faster if I can practice driving with you,” Kit said, giving Jem his best puppy dog eyes. It clearly worked, as Jem agreed, and Kit headed to the kitchen to grab some lunch before they left.

--

The spring had passed in a blur of a crash-course of Faerie court lore and etiquette, the pressure of AS-level exams, and a slightly reduced training schedule to compensate for the first two facts.

Mina had turned one at the end of March and Kit seventeen at the end of April. In May, Jem’s cousin, Ke Yi Tian, from the Shanghai Institute had arrived as Kit’s second guest tutor and Kit had dived into learning all about weapons, both ancient and modern, from China and other East Asian countries. Maybe it was too obvious given his film history love but Kit’s favourite weapon from that time ended up being the shuriken. “Can’t argue with ninja fighting stars,” as he had told Jem. He spent hours practicing throwing them all over the house before being banished to the training room after breaking several vases and putting holes in several old photographs (but only of Lightwoods, he had argued- so it barely counted).

After Altofts broke up for the summer though, he and Jem shifted back to regular training and Jem started taking him out in the evenings and they spent the early night hours climbing up and down the slate roofs of nearby villages and towns of Newton Abbot, Torquay and Paignton. While he was probably never going to love heights and being up high, Kit admitted he felt pretty badass being able to leap across the rooftops like a Bond or Bourne Identity character.

During the days, when he didn’t have proto-Faerie power training or history lessons with Tessa or Shadowhunter tutorials with Jem, Kit spent his days on the wide, sandy Devon beaches, finally learning to surf with Ellie. (Ade was spending the majority of the summer doing work shadowing at his mum’s practice to pad out his upcoming medicine applications in the fall.)

In August, Beatriz Mendoza and Marisol Solcedo arrived at Cirenworth Hall for a short tutoring session slash holiday. A third Shadowhunter joined them, although he was too young for training. Jonathan Cartright-Solcedo was almost the same age as Mina - his dad, Jon Cartright - was the Centurion who had been murdered by Malcolm Fade when he had breached the L.A. Institute’s wards. Jonnie was an all right kid, Kit thought, but given he sometimes stole Mina’s toys and made her cry, he was going to keep an eye on him. But Marisol and Beatriz were cool. They were only a few years older than him, and had gone through the Academy so were able to share some of the newer techniques that Jem didn’t know.

In mid-August, Kit got the results of his AS-level exams: straight Cs across the board in all subjects. He wasn’t Ade so he’d take those results. The rest of the month passed in a haze of sunny days, runs in light summer rain, ice cream walks on the pier and sandcastle-making with Mina.

And then just like that, summer was over, and Kit was about to enter his second year at Altofts College.

--

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Ade sighed.

Kit squinted. “It’s tall,” he said. “I don’t know if it fits the rest of the aesthetic of the South Bank.” The giant skyscraper known as the Shard loomed over them.

Ade shook his head. “You and your aesthetics, Herondale. Why can’t you just appreciate the marvel of modern architecture.”

“I’m with Kit,” Ellie said, poking her head out from the other side of the bench. “It doesn’t suit the rest of the area.”

Kit looked up again. “It looks like Sauron’s eye, out of Lord of the Rings.”

They were sitting outside London Bridge Station on the warm September day, waiting for Ade’s sister to pick them up. It was the open day at several London universities and Kit had managed to convince Tessa and Jem that he, Ade and Ellie would be fine without parents, given they were going to stay with Ade’s oldest sister in Denmark Hill, and were going to be given a tour of Kings College by his other sister.

Ellie had planned her own trip to see some drama schools but she still tagged along with Kit and Ade for the incoming journey.

Kit had felt exposed as they left the underground station. He knew they close- dangerously close- to the location of the London Shadow Market.

As they had walked through the warren of tunnels underneath the station, Kit felt drawn to the exit he knew would lead to the entrance of the Market.

“I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit-” he said. “Need to find a restroom first.” Just a quick peek surely couldn’t hurt....

But it wasn’t to be. As he came out the exit, he could feel eyes on him. Watching him coolly, as she leaned against the brown brick wall of the old railing tunnel, was Hypatia Vex, the co-owner of the Market.

“Kit Herondale,” she said, in a low voice as he approached. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Kit looked around, and moved closer. He thought that she was glamoured and he stood his ground. “I’m not at the market, so I’m not on your turf. You can’t just claim the whole city,” he said, challenging her.

She blinked at him, her starry eyes as mesmerising as they had been during his first visit to London. “I’m offering a warning, not-so-little Shadowhunter,” she said. “I have heard some growing whispers coming from the Unseelie court, looking for a certain lost Herondale.”

Kit felt cold goosebumps raise on his skin, despite the warm day.

“Don’t come to the market, or it will be on your head- and I would hate to explain the situation to a certain former Silent Brother or Magnus Bane,” Hypatia said. She inclined her head as if to dismiss him, and glided away.

Kit stood there a moment, rooted to the spot. He swore internally, and then headed back to his friends.

--

Kit let the heavy fire door slam behind him and headed down the staircase, exiting by a side door that had been propped open.

It wasn’t that the party hadn’t been good but he didn’t know anyone there other than Ade and Ellie and Ade’s sister, Monife. And he could see Ade and Ellie try not to fall into each other’s orbit… But they kept circling back to each other until Ellie had grabbed at Ade’s hand, and pulled him into a corner, and Kit had looked away to give them some privacy.

Once outside, Kit felt like he could take a deep breath, in the cooling night air. He pulled on his hoodie, and started to walk, the bottle of vodka he had lifted from the host’s table heavy in his hand. He picked his way from the university residence across emptying streets and through hulking concrete Brutalist buildings that dominated the south side of the river.

He wasn’t entirely sure where he would go but somehow his feet knew where they were heading, and he found himself back along at the edge of the Thames. Despite the late hour, there were still people walking along the South Bank.

Kit took a moment to sit on a bench, and took a deep slug of the vodka, coughing as it burned its way down his throat. He knew the destination he wished to travel to… his feet itched to head back towards London Bridge and the Shadow Market.

But even he knew that was a bad idea, without back-up. And he remembered Hypatia’s warning. He kicked at some trash on the ground. It wasn’t fair.

But he knew where else he could go. He could see the spires winking in the distance from the other side of the river. He just had to cross Blackfriars Bridge, and he’d be there. He stood up, watching small river boats zip past, and more leisurely booze cruises glide by with laughter and pounding club music trailing along in their path. As the moonlight rippled across the choppy water, Kit made his decision.

--

The London Institute looked the same as it had when he had been spat out in front of its heavy doors two years ago, a dark, dominating Gothic presence, shadows stretching out from its gates inscribed with the latin phrase pulvis et umbra sumus - we are dust and shadows. Kit opened the gates, crossing the wide courtyard dominated by towering trees, and sat on the steps.

There were no lights on in the Institute and Kit remembered the empty, echoing halls, and how despite it being the largest Institute in Western Europe, when he had been there, its habitants had been two elderly ladies and a ghost. He wondered if the headcount had increased since - somehow he doubted it. Although he thought he had heard Jem mention something about Centurions being posted there. Hopefully he wouldn’t run into any of them; he was not a fan after Los Angeles.

Speaking of ghosts, after a few minutes, there was a shimmer beside him on the step and Jessamine materialised. She looked as lovely as she always did, her long Victorian gown swishing as she sat down, and her delicate face sharpening with interest as she took him in. “Christopher Herondale,” she said, “What an unexpected surprise.”

“Don’t mind me-” Kit said. “I’m just here to drink and brood on my future.”

“Oh,” said Jessamine with faint tones of disapproval and disappointment. “You’re drunk.”

“Drinking-” Kit corrected, taking another swig from his bottle, and gave her a charming smile. He had since February’s issues barely touched a drop at home in Devon but when in London- what Tessa and Jem didn’t know…

“Hmmph,” Jessamine said. “Before you carry on with your wallowing, I don’t suppose you might be willing to tell me what has happened with Tessa and Jem… I heard you are living with them, and that they had a baby girl?” she asked hopefully.

Kit looked up. “Oh yeah- Mina! I can tell you about Min-Min.” And he bragged about how she was walking and running now- and talking up a storm. He pulled out his phone to show her photos and the small videos he had taken - including the one of Mina dancing and singing along to ‘Let it Go’ from Frozen. Jessamine brushed long, elegant fingers over the phone, and Kit thought he could see a moment of longing pass over her face.

In return, Jessamine told him some surprising anecdotes and gossip about Shadowhunters who had lived in the Institute over the past century. Kit listened avidly. Jessamine was surprisingly good company for a ghost - and he suspected she was very lonely.

Sometime near dawn, Jessamine disappeared and Kit spent a few peaceful moments listening to the birdsong and the wind rustling through the leaves. He looked down at his Voyance Mark, tracing the dark outline and remembering the night he had first met Jessamine, when he, Ty and Livvy had spent a late night together in one of the drawing rooms; when Ty had given him his first and only permanent rune. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He rested his chin on his knees, hugging them close. Kit idly wondered if it might be possible to continue to do both- be involved in the mundane and Shadowhunter worlds. He imagined being a student at a London university, meeting up with Ade and Ellie after classes but maybe spending his evenings hunting down demons that stalked the city’s streets - returning afterwards to his assigned room at the London Institute. Or maybe that townhouse Jace had mentioned.

He sighed. It would never work, and he knew soon he was going to have to choose. Except it had never really been a choice.

--

The sky was a lighter blue, and Kit checked his watch. Six am. A scritching sound echoed in the courtyard and he was suddenly alert. He saw a shadow race across the edge of the furthest part of the courtyard and his heart started pounding. Was there a demon nearby?

Kit zipped open his backpack to his hidden compartment, easing out the silver knife given to him by Jace. He stood, aware that his reflexes were still fuzzy from the alcohol. Oh well, he thought, nothing he could do about that now but roll the dice.

He crept forward across the flagstones, knife in the loose, defensive position Jem had taught him.

But it wasn’t necessary as he soon realised what had made the sound. A small grey shadow was sprawled on the stones and looked up at him with yellow eyes. “Church?” Kit said, incredulous. The cat hissed at him, and Kit rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you too, buddy.” Church licked a paw, and then gave Kit a superior look before waltzing away, tail held high.

There was a soft, scuffing sound behind him and Kit moved with instinct, grabbing the arm that tentatively touched his shoulder, and propelling its owner back against the cast-iron fence, knife under his throat. 

Grey eyes stared at him in confusion.

“Kit?” Ty’s voice had deepened, but was still so familiar that Kit nearly lost his grip. “What are you doing here?”

He hadn’t taken off his headphones and Kit could see them tangled in his black hair, which he had grown out into a different hairstyle that brushed his shoulders. It made him look… older. Yeah, that was it.

“I uh,” he stammered. “I’m here on my own…and-”

Ty looked past him suddenly, and out of the corner of his eye, Kit could see a flash of white and a flicker of brown hair. Livvy. Of course; she was still tied to Ty. Then suddenly Kit was on the ground, his arm stinging from the very elegant disarmament Ty had performed. Of course he had, he was a Blackthorn and very good at the whole Shadowhunter business. That much hadn’t changed in nearly two years.

“Sorry. I have to go, the timing is very important on this spell,” Ty said seriously, peering down at him. He was taller too, Kit realised.

Ty frowned. “But wait for me, I’ll be back soon.” He held out a hand, and Kit took it, stumbling a bit as Ty hauled him to his feet. He didn’t wait for Kit to reply but took off at a quick jog, his long legs making easy work of the distance between the steps of the Institute and the gate, and disappearing around the corner.

Kit’s drunken, stuttering brain finally rattled into gear, and he dropped his bag and ran towards the gate.

--

Kit made his way back to the Institute to pick up his backpack and knife, fighting back the nauseous feeling rising in his chest. Moments later, the contents of his stomach found their way onto the wide stone flagstones of the courtyard. Lack of sleep and alcohol were not conducive to conducting flat-out runs to catch stupid gazelle-footed Blackthorns, he thought.

Jessamine re-appeared beside him. “Iratzes help,” she said quietly.

“What?” Kit looked up at her, his hands still on his knees and his throat burning.

Jessamine cleared her throat. “I happen to know that while they can’t completely sober you up, an iratze can take the edge off the alcohol.”

Kit thought he couldn’t feel worse. “Worth a try,” he muttered. He knelt down and dug through his backpack until he found his rarely-used second stele. It was an antique and had been a gift from Tessa - he thought it might have been her son James’ stele, more than a lifetime ago.

He pulled his sleeve up and drew a clumsy iratze, high enough up on his arm that he wouldn’t have to deal with any awkward questions from Ade and Ellie on the way back home.

Jessamine was right. The fuzzy edges around his head and the stomach roiling began to ease almost immediately.

“Thanks,” he said, looking over at Jessamine. “Hadn’t learned that use of the rune from Jem yet.” And he suspected he never would.

“Quite all right-” Jessamine said formally, but she was looking at him in sympathy. “I take it you didn’t catch up with him?”

“No,” Kit replied shortly. No use saying that while Ty had asked him to wait until he came back, Kit wasn’t about to do that. Maybe… but no, he couldn’t.

“He’s one of the Blackthorns, isn’t he? I saw him come in last night to use the library. He must have stayed the night but if he’s not coming back, I imagine he’s probably staying at Blackthorn Hall. I overheard from Evelyn that Julian Blackthorn was refurbishing the place.”

“No, I’m going to be leaving him alone- he doesn’t need me. He made that very clear,” said Kit, stuffing the stele back in his bag. 

Jessamine arched one of her eyebrows. “Herondales, always so dramatic - and always so wrong,” she said.

Kit stiffened. “How would you even know about my situation?” He thought back to the night when they had raised Livvy, and the lack of even acknowledgement from Ty, and how he had acted the day of the battle, and he had still been so concentrated on only his feelings, and Livvy. Kit was nothing to him.

“Maybe your Herondales had their reasons too.” He stood up. “Anyway, I have to get back to my friends.”

Jessamine huffed. “My Herondales were also often rude, and didn’t appreciate my insights. I see that trait has been passed down.”

“I have to go,” Kit repeated. He looked down at his watch. “Uh- now.” Their train from Paddington wasn’t until ten but he needed to pick up his other stuff and he could see that there were a couple missed texts from Ellie already.

He slung his bag on his shoulder. “See you around, Jessamine.”

--

On the train back to Devon, Kit slumped tiredly in his seat, as Ade and Ellie tried to pretend to be casual about the fact that they had hooked up. Kit could see it in the way that they both oh so casually avoided touching each other in the small train seats.

“Hey,” Ade had moved across from their table seat to sit next to him. He nudged Kit. “So, what do you think? Me at Barts or maybe even Kings if I get lucky on my exams, Ellie at Royal Holloway or RADA and you at Kings too, or St Marys? Would be lit.”

Kit smiled back at him, despite his tiredness. “Yeah. It would be, except you’re delusional that I’m actually getting in at those places. I barely got a C on AS levels.”

Ade shrugged, unworried. “Don’t sweat it. AS levels don’t always count for that much- or you could always do a resit, plus unlike us poor bastards applying for medicine, you still have a few months until you have to apply anyway.”

“Yeah,” Kit said, feeling torn between not wanting to crush Ade’s hopes and just telling him he wasn’t sure he was going to be applying in the first place. He looked over at Ellie, who had put in headphones and was humming quietly as she flicked through her planner.

Time for a distraction. He nudged Ade back. “So… what’s going on with you and Ellie? I saw you guys were pretty close at the party.” 

Ade grinned at that, crossing his arms. His whole face had lit up and Kit felt a weird tug at his heart. He wasn’t jealous of them… but this whole meeting Ty had had him feeling a bit adrift, a familiar feeling whenever his Shadowhunter world collided too close with his mundane life.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” he told Kit, but then lowered his voice. “But let’s say- I definitely rocked her world. OW!”

Ade looked across the table from where Ellie was looking up at them. She had kicked at him under the table, Kit could tell.

“Right on, you wish,” Ellie said. A hurt look passed over Ade’s face, and Kit felt bad but then he could see that Ellie noticed it too. “It was good, a lot of fun,” she said, hastily.

She changed the subject. “Where did you go last night, Kit? I know you didn’t stay at the residence hall. Or at Ade’s sister’s place.”

“Just felt like doing some wandering, on my own,” Kit replied, having already thought of his alibi on the way back from the London Institute. “You know how I grew up in Los Angeles? I used to walk to clear my head,” he said, smoothly. He had never - as if you’d wander around L.A., the land of a million cars. “It felt familiar to do so in a big city in London.”

Ade and Ellie stared back at him, and while Kit had originally thought they’d buy it, now he wasn’t so sure. “Plus, as much as I like you guys, I wasn’t about to buy tickets to your makeout session, and it was a small room full of people I didn’t know.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “As if. Did you not see people looking? You could’ve at least made out with half of those strangers, Zac Efron clone.”

Kit felt vaguely insulted. “Ouch, am I not at least Channing Tatum level?”

“No,” both Ade and Ellie replied at the same time. Kit relaxed, as the conversation descended into light teasing, and Ade moved back to the same side as Ellie, and she snuggled into him openly as they made their way back home.

Kit was happy for them. But he still felt unsettled by his encounter with Ty at the London Institute, plus the conversation with Hypatia and he was still thinking about it when they pulled into Totnes station a few hours later.

“How was London?” Jem asked, when he picked him up from the train station’s parking lot.

“It was good,” Kit stifled a yawn. “I know you had Church following me throughout.”

Jem smiled that quiet smile of his. “I figured you’d rather have him than Tessa or I?”

“Yeah,” Kit said, and slumped down in the seat. “Not sure what you expected the cat to do if a demon or faerie attacked me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised…” Jem said, laughing as he pulled out of the station. “That cat can hold his own-” He looked over at Kit and his eyes briefly narrowed. “Did something else happen?”

Damn Jem and his perceptiveness. Kit debated telling Jem about his encounters with Ty and Hypatia. But then he decided against it. There would be more explanations and well- no use bringing up ancient history. Plus he didn’t want to worry Jem and he would be back safe in the wards around Cirenworth soon, and it wasn’t even as if Hypatia’s warning was anything concrete. “I went by the London Institute this morning,” he confessed. As he so often knew, part truths were much better than an out and out lie.

Jem nodded. When Kit didn’t volunteer more information, he asked. “And I guess that was the first time you’d been back since you were there with the Blackthorns?”

“Yeah,” Kit said. “It was weird.”

“I understand,” Jem replied. He nodded to himself and seemed to reach a conclusion, sensing that Kit didn’t want to talk further about it. He turned on the radio and they spent the rest of the journey in a companionable silence listening to Graham Norton on Radio Two.

When they arrived back home, Kit briefly greeted Mina and Tessa and then ran upstairs, begging off because of tiredness. He didn’t want to have to run the same gauntlet with Tessa that he did with Jem, particularly as he was sure she’d worry too much about Hypatia’s warning.

He lay on his bed, too tired to sleep. His mind kept replaying the moment when he had met Ty’s eyes. The same, grey eyes, fringed by darkest black eyelashes that had usually avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. But he had this time, in the courtyard, met Kit’s, and Kit was going mad trying to decipher the look he had seen in them.

The same feeling that had bubbled up this morning returned, a feeling he had thought he had buried and locked away and forgotten about. But he hadn’t.

Fuck. He still loved Ty. Was in love with him.

He pulled out his phone, and scrolled down his contact list. Yes, Kit still had his number. Impulsively, he texted:

Sorry I couldn’t wait this morning

He hit send, and almost immediately heard the soft ding of a reply.

The sender is unknown

Kit groaned and burrowed his face in a pillow. Of course, he was so stupid… Ty had blocked him. He should just let the past stay buried.

--

Maybe that was why when Eamonn approached him at Ellie’s party a couple of weeks later, Kit finally cracked. He accepted the cold can of cider Eamonn passed him and followed him down the darkened hallway. They slipped into a small side room, and as Eamonn closed the door, Kit opened his cider, the tab hissing in the sudden silence. He took a small sip, tapping his foot nervously and looking around the room- there was a small couch behind him and-

“Kit,” Eamon’s voice was soft and close. Kit looked up and saw the other boy was standing in front of him, his cheeks red from the heat of the party and alcohol and his hazel eyes gazing at Kit with anticipation.

Kit’s mouth felt dry, despite the cider. “Hey- look, Eamonn- I,” he stammered. Eamon traced his fingers down Kit’s arms, extracting his cider and set it down on the side table. Eamonn returned and Kit realised he was actually a bit taller than him. Holy shit, was he finally hitting another growth spurt?

Eamonn watched him carefully, as if he were a hurt wild animal. That pricked at Kit’s pride- he wasn’t about to run- and stepped closer so he could see the clear green flecks separate from the dark brown in Eamonn’s eyes.

“Let’s just see how it goes, yeah?” Eamonn said, and he leaned forward to kiss Kit.

Kit’s eyes widened and he was suddenly panicked about where he was supposed to put his arms now, but after a few seconds when Eamonn didn’t immediately pull away or punch him, he relaxed. Eamonn’s kisses were soft and he tasted of cider and sweat. Kit drew his arms around him and surrendered to it, deepening the pressure on his end, closing the distance between them and he could hear Eamonn let out a small moan. Kit could feel his lips curving up in a wicked smile- and a heavy but wonderful feeling flooded through his body, setting his nerves alight. He could do this- kiss another boy.

--

And a lot more besides, Kit thought cockily, later on as he finished pulling down his t-shirt as he slipped out the door.

He looked up and yelped in surprise as he nearly walked into a drunk Ellie, leaning heavily against the wall and giving him a knowing grin.

Behind him, he could hear the door open and close. He watched as Eamonn edged past him and Ellie, winking at Kit as he disappeared.

“Woo, look at that,” Ellie said happily, waving her violently pink can of gin at Kit, her cats-eye make-up smudged.

Kit shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, trying to remain nonchalant. He had a reputation to maintain.

But this was Ellie. “Pffew, don’t be like that,” she pushed at his shoulder. “I’m happy for you,” she said. “It’s been more than a year of you looking like this-” she pinched his cheeks. “But deciding that you’d rather than be tortured and mysterious and not let anyone in.”

“I am not,” Kit said, slightly stung.

Ellie patted his cheek. “It’s okay to miss him…” she said, suddenly serious.

Kit stared. He had never mentioned Ty to Ellie.

“But it’s okay to decide that you want to move on and be happy too,” Ellie said. She hummed a few bars of what Kit thought was an Adele song, and then she bounced off to find Ade.

--

“You are… what’s the term? Away with the faeries,” Mark Blackthorn informed Kit, as he swept him off his feet for the third time with the long staff. He and Cristina Rosales had arrived three days ago, and Kit thought that maybe, maybe this would start to get easier…. But it wasn’t. And combining Shadowhunter training with his increased A-level coursework at college, Kit was exhausted.

A year in, and Kit was beginning to think that Jem had a not-so-hidden sadistic streak. There had to be more to Shadowhunter training than getting his ass handed to him.

Mark chuckled, and Kit suddenly realised he had spoken that last part out loud.

“It’s definitely more than half getting your ass handed to you- probably higher if you’re training with Emma,” Mark informed him. He walked over to Kit, all shadow-grace and coiled muscle.

He had a more wiry frame than Julian or Jace or other Shadowhunter guys that Kit knew, but there was still immense power behind him, Kit thought, as he allowed Mark to give him a hand up. “Yeah, I experienced that firsthand.”

“Emma has installed sound speakers at the training room in LA, thanks to you,” Mark said, in an amused tone. “I have to admit, I don’t always understand it but she and Cristina seem to enjoy training to someone called Taylor Swift, when we’re visiting at the Institute.”

“Nice,” Kit said approvingly. He wondered if Emma had appreciated his basic bitch soundtrack that he had sent her. The five thumbs up she had sent over seemed to indicate she was a fan.

“Should we continue?” Mark cocked an eyebrow. “We still have another hour before Tessa and Cristina said they’d be back from shopping.” He spun the staff around lazily.

Tessa had taken Mina and Cristina out to the local farm shop, and Jem was out on what Kit privately referred to as his covert ops missions that Kit was dying to know about but hadn’t yet had a chance to try and worm it out of him. He knew it had something to do with Magnus and Alec. He and Mark had been training most of the morning.

His mind flashed back to the scene a few weeks ago at London Bridge and Hypatia’s warning. Given Mark and Cristina’s - whatever it was relationship with Kieran, the now king of the Unseelie - he realised this could be a good opportunity to see if there was any knowledge he could gain. Or even just general faerie history- he knew he should be studying it more but most of the old Shadowhunter tomes were just boring and super racist towards the Fair Folk. And he had only gleaned the most basic facts growing up at the Los Angeles Shadow market.

“How about some archery practice? Jem and I set some targets up in the hills outside of Cirenworth.”

Mark’s eyes lit up. “Excellent plan!”

Kit and Mark traipsed up the hills in a companionable silence. They started sighting their bows, and shortly after arrows started flying through the still, late afternoon air, Mark’s finding the bullseye more often than Kit’s but Kit wasn’t missing as much as he would’ve even a month ago.

After a few minutes, Kit glanced over. “Mark- can I ask you some… delicate questions? I didn’t really want to do it in the house but...”

A crease appeared in Mark’s forehead and he appeared to think about it, lining up a shot and letting the arrow fly true before turning to Kit. “Ah, of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Julian asked if I could do the same for Drusilla.” He eyed Kit speculatively. “And I can see how having two parents brought up in the Victorian era might mean that some questions have gone unanswered.”

He laid down his bow, and sat cross legged on the grass, patting the spot beside him. Kit sat down, feeling slightly confused.

“So-” Mark began loftily. “Should we begin with the male or female anatomy- I happen to know that flowers can provide a good visual companion,” he cast his eyes around the field. “Let me see what I can find…”

“No!” Kit suddenly put two and two together. “I don’t need sex advice! Or the sex talk in general.” He desperately hoped his face didn’t reflect the mortification he felt.

“Oh,” Mark was nonplussed. “So is it more matters of the heart? Or, as they say in Los Angeles - your love life?”

“No, I wanted to talk about faeries- and,” Kit said, but he noticed a subtle change to Mark’s face when he said the word faerie.

“Ah, of course- who else to turn to but Mark Blackthorn as the faerie expert,” Mark muttered. He brushed off Kit’s protestations. “No- it’s fine. I do have more… lived experience compared to most Shadowhunters, although I’d say that Cristina is probably better for lore.”

Kit felt bad- he knew what it was like to be pigeonholed, despite the fact that he was incredibly curious to know more about Faerie from someone who had lived there and also had Faerie blood. But he knew he wasn’t supposed to mention the First Heir stuff to anyone, not even the Blackthorns, so it was probably for the best, given Mark might have guessed some of the situation, even from the basic questions Kit wanted to ask. “Nevermind,” he said, scuffing his feet into the dirt in front of him. “You’re right- I probably should ask Cristina.”

Mark was silent for a moment, brushing his fingers over the tops of the tall grass.

Kit drew his knees up beside him. “There is… actually, a matter of the heart.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better, Kit,” Mark said finally. “And I apologise- there’s been… a lot of tension between Downworlders and Shadowhunters, with the Cohort and their commando attacks lately so the Alliance has been incredibly busy. Plus rumblings from some rebellious sections of the unseelie court that Kieran has passed on. I think it has made me- a fraction short-tempered.”

“I actually do…” Kit said, half torn about asking for more information about Kieran’s rebellious factions, and actually wanting to ask Mark for relationship advice. He wasn’t about to tell Mark about his ongoing feelings for Ty- that would be weird… but maybe he could ask about the situation with Eamonn, and what Ellie had said about moving on. He knew from his studies that those in Faerie had non-standard views about different kinds of love and maybe he could draw on Mark’s experience with both faerie and human love.

“I’m trying to… I-” Kit faltered. “I loved someone- maybe even love them still. But they don’t love me and I’m trying to move past that. And I am- I’ve done some stuff... with other people- it’s been fun. But it’s not the same feelings. And I think that’s fine and and…” he trailed off.

Mark gave him a steady look. “Are you feeling guilty about being with others?” he asked. “About being physical with them- perhaps giving them some of your heart?”

“Maybe?” Kit felt exposed. This had been a stupid idea. “It sometimes feels a bit like betrayal but also- I can’t be lonely forever. I don’t want to be.”

Mark absorbed the information. “I wonder why you feel like you have to forget and ‘move on’ from your long-lost love,” he said quietly. “In- from what I’ve seen from my experience, there is no need. They can still be held in your heart, all the good parts of your time together alongside the ending. But it doesn’t - shouldn’t - prevent you from opening up your heart to others,” he said. “It might be hard at first but just because you once loved someone fiercely, it doesn’t mean you have diminished capacity for new loves. Or that you shouldn’t seek pleasure or solace physically with others. Our hearts are not that finite.”

His mismatched blue and gold eyes met Kit’s and Kit thought he saw a flash of sympathy.

“But,” Mark said lightly. “I have been informed by others that I have unorthodox views so-”

“No,” Kit interrupted him. “That was helpful, thank you.” From Mark’s advice he heard echoes of what Jem had told him back when he first asked about training together and they had spoken about his father. About keeping one’s heart open and not letting it become small and closed in, instead reflecting back all the love he had to the world.

“You’re welcome,” Mark said gravely. He sprang to his feet. “Should we return to archery?”

“Yeah,” Kit nodded. They returned practicing, Mark offering small pointers on Kit’s stance, when Kit tentatively asked about the rest of the Blackthorns. Mark filled him in quickly on his siblings and Kit pretended not to be super interested in the update on Ty.

“Ty’s still wearing his heron necklace,” Mark said at the end, and Kit glanced quickly over but Mark was still casually lining up a shot. He suspected if it were Julian, he might have faced more questions but Mark kept his own council.

“That’s good,” Kit said cautiously. He hadn’t noticed that in London. And it didn’t mean much - it meant Ty and Livvy were still protected by Magnus. That’s all. Kit flashed back to the night at the Institute. What spell had Ty been working on? Was it one to free Livvy? Or something else. Not his business anymore, an internal voice reminded him.

Mark flashed a quick smile at Kit but didn’t say anything further, and Kit returned to his own practice, hoping the flush across his face wasn’t too obvious.

You’re an idiot, Herondale.

Notes: As always, not canon-compliant with Secrets of Blackthorn Hall. But also, looking back at it- while the Kit and Ty interaction was also super brief, I clearly didn't anticipate the angst maximising that I could've done (and that's why Cassie is the queen of angst, heh).

[eerythingisshaka]

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?

Jason Momoa x Reader

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings: Bad attitudes/smut

Vroom vrooooom!!

Your eyes squeezed tightly in annoyance before you started to buck your blankets off of your body, punching your bed in aggravation.  Every weekend it’s the same thing: at 7 am your sleep is disrupted by the violent roar of a motorcycle engine.  You just moved in to your new place a month ago and at first you assumed that the disturbance would be temporary.  People work on their vehicles on the weekend, and testing things may require a few loud repetitious sounds. But EVERY weekend?  The two days out of the week you get to be able to sleep without an alarm blaring and you still have to wake like its a work day.

Today was even worse because it sounded like it was right outside your window.  The funk of fumes made you cough while you got up to look out your window.  No one was outside but you put your shoes on anyway.  No way were you taking this lying down.

No shame in your bonnet game, you walked out in your pajama shorts, tank and slippers to survey your surroundings in the parking lot.  You see some guy hunched over a big old looking bike, his back turned to you.

You marched over to him without abandon, building up your month's worth of frustration to fire off at him.

"Hey man!"

The putter of the engine must've drowned out your words so you shouted again.

"Hey! You know what the hell time it is? Some people are tryna sleep!" you said to the back of his messy man bun.

He turned his face to you slowly with a raised eyebrow, looking amused as his eyes settled on your slippers.

You felt self-conscious, taking a step backward and crossing your arms.  "I had to hear you tinkering at this garbage at ungodly hours for a month!"

He reached for the ignition and turns the motorcycle off.  

"It’s not garbage.  It’s vintage."

His voice boomed in the newfound silence, throwing you off your anger rhythm.  He wipes his dirty hands against his well worn jeans as he comes to a standing, towering over you like a giant.  

You felt a wave of vertigo just looking at him but remained on subject.   "Looks old, like it should be thrown away."

He crossed his arms bouncing momentarily on his toes just making him grander.  "Perhaps you have heard of a concept called recycling, refurbishing, or reusing.  Just because something has lost its luster doesnt mean its a pile of junk."

“Well excuse me for liking the finer things in life.  Couldn’t kill you to trade this in for something better and less noisy!  So keep it down in the meantime.”  You walked off in a huff, scraping the soft soles of your slippers across the pavement.

“Nice to meet you too neighbor, the name is Jason!  I could show you how to sew that hole in your shorts too since you like the finer things!”

You stopped suddenly, sticking your butt out to look at the supposed hole.

“Don’t worry.  Looks good.”  His voice dipped into a tone that sounded predatory.  You walked backwards glaring at him  as you made your way back around the corner out of his line of sight.  

You stopped for a second to feel your behind and come across the hole you got roasted on.  You kiss your teeth, feeling yourself get warm with embarrassment.  It didn’t matter to you because sleep clothes aren’t supposed to always be fancy schmancy.  You peeked around the corner and spied on him as he worked.  He had the nerve to talk about anyone with his dusty olive green Henley on with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his large forearms and that geometric tattoo.  You couldn’t care less about his opinion, long as his motor keeps quiet.   The next weekend, you stayed out hella late catching up with friends after work.  Happy hour was popping and you are a sucker for discounted drinks, especially when they are as good as the ones at your favorite bar.  Your Lyft dropped you off in front of your place at 3 AM and you trudged to your front door and catch a glimpse of something in your peripheral as you dug out your keys.  On top of the trash bag there was a note scrawled on a piece of paper that says RECYCLE.

“What the fuck?”  you say out loud and picked up the note, turning it over you see the signature -Neighbor J.   

You balled up the paper.  “Oh you think you run my life now?  Where the hell he get the nerve even coming up to my front door.  He don’t know me, but he will!”  You cursed out the air, practicing what you plan to say to him next time you see him and plotting your next moves.

A few hours later, morning broke and so did your peace.  A loud banging at your door makes your heart race from surprise.  You prayed silently that it’s no police as you bounded toward your door and look through the peephole.  

You jumped back just as fast when you recognize the face, snatching your bonnet off and fingering your curls loose to be more presentable.  You scuttled over to a nearby mirror to check that your shirt had no stains, and shorts no holes.  All looked clear but you didn’t want to open the door in loosely fitted mickey mouse pajama bottoms, changing fast into some boy shorts.

After a quick change, you finally answered the door, to be greeted by his broad back.  He wore a tank top today, mauve pink of all colors, giving a full show to the power he packed in his arms.  Plus his hair was out of its man bun, showing off its waves, looking so touchable.  His jeans and boots looked like the same ones from the last time you saw him.  You chuckle to yourself over his laziness.

He turned to you like a shampoo commercial with his hands on his hips.  “You put your crap on my bike?”

You crossed your arms and leaned on your frame, shrugging.  “No idea what you’re talking about.

He pulls a cardboard box from beside him with empty water bottles and old cereal boxes.  

“You think it’s funny, playing crap Jenga on my property?”

You rolled your eyes.  “It’s not crap, it’s reusable, remember?  Look, I got your note about recycling.  I just wanted to let you know I am way ahead of you.  My contributions are better than that gas you spew in the air from your bike.”

“Single use plastics are one of the biggest contributors to the destruction of earth’s ecosystems.  Why the hell would you waste money on them anyway?  Get a filter and a steel bottle-”

“Please!  Can you stop telling me what to do like I ain’t grown!  I know how sustainability works, that’s why I’m re-cy-cling!  Now if that’s suddenly a bad to do, I’ll Google that, but you ain’t God here.”

His stare read threatening to you, but you weren’t afraid of him trying you.  He seemed to be the type to not be challenged often and you yourself loved a challenge.  Multitasking the stare down, you memorize his facial features from his shaggy facial hair to the break in his eyebrow from an old scar.  

You work your neck for emphasis.  “Are we done here?”

He scoffs, kicking the box toward you before strolling off.  “Stop using single use plastics.”

“Ok, George of the Jungle!”  You taunt, sending him off with a wave.  Closing your door, you laugh out loud, giving a fist pump to the air.  You won this round whether he acknowledges it or not.  Plus you never heard that engine all day afterwards, catching up on your rest.

--

A couple weekends passed and one hungry morning you realize you’re low on food to eat.  You can’t chill on an empty stomach so you get your stuff to head out to your car.  

The sky was cloudy that day, making you yawn involuntarily as you start your engine.  It sputters, trying to turn over, but won’t kick off.  You tried this four or five more times before you sit back, punching your steering wheel.  Of all days for this to happen, today ain’t it.  

Suddenly the roar of a motorbike distracted you in the distance and a horrible thought passes your brain.  Jason knew his way around a motorbike, so a car shouldn’t be too different, right?

You get out the car and stomp towards the other end of the parking lot where you see you neighbor mounting his motorbike.

“Hey!  Hey!”  You yelled out, waving him down.  He saw and you notice his shoulders jump a little as a smile crawls across his face. You weren’t expecting that reaction.

“I’m gonna be outta your hair, I got my girl fixed up and I’m taking her for a spin.  Continue to catch your beauty sleep, doll,” he says sarcastically.

You look at his bike and gave the tire a kick.  "I'm not worried about that.  Glad you got it up and running."

Jason turned off the engine and scratched his beard, coming to a standing.  "What’s going on?"

You shrug, making Jason laugh hard.

"Now I really know something is up.  This is the first time you are speechless AND the last thing you said was nice? What did you do?"

You tried to fight your attitude because you still needed to ask if he could help you.

"I mean, I still think the bike looks rusty and dusty. Can’t tell it from some junkyard scrap but hey, there’s a pulse!"

Jason pointed at you, clicking his tongue. "And a good morning to you as well."  He kicks on his motor again and begins to move.

"Wait wait!" You shouted.

He turns the bike off again. "Sweetheart, I got little patience."

You groan.  "My car won't start.  I was hoping you could give it a look."

“DO I look like a mechanic?”  he asks, leaning forward on his bike.

You stared at him dumbfounded.  “You literally work on this bike all the time!  No one is doing that shit without some experience!”

“A motorcycle is not a car, ma’am,”  he said.  “Apples and oranges.  Hell, their practically fishes and trees!”

“Do you really wanna insult my intelligence?”

Jason held his hands up in the air.  “I don’t have to do anything when it comes to you.  You come with drama and mess in tow, and I’m tired of hearing it, if we’re being honest.”  He got up from his bike, heading in the opposite direction on you.

A raindrop on your face snapped you back to reality and by the time you looked up the clouds opened up their floodgates.

You covered your head.  “Dammit!  Jason!”   

You ran after him as he continued to stomp on to his place.  “There’s a thing called humility and being a good neighbor and something tells me you haven’t learned that before.”  He stops in the middle of his yard whipping around to face you.  His hair soaked in rain yet maintaining its wave intrigued you.  Most people look like a sad dog in the rain, but the wetness amplified his stoic appeal.

“You’re spoiled,” he says, rain falling off his lips as he enunciated.

“I need help!  That’s all I’m asking!”  

“You don’t ask!  You demand!  You demand I be quiet and play childish games when people call you out.”  His voice became more aggressive with demonstrative movement to emphasize his words.

You clasped your hands together.  “Oh!  Well it looks like you’re just used to doing shit YOUR way, and no one had the BALLS to step to you.  Well I am, so what?”  

You step right under his nose, rain from his body drops in your face.  He looked down at you amused.

“You better run along before you do something you can’t take back,” he warns.

“I don’t have regrets, just learned lessons.  So what you got?”

“What I got?”

“Yeah, what-”

His lips crashed into yours with momentum and strength.  His hands gripped your arms a little too tightly, making your hands splay in a shocked manner, unable to move.  His force mixed with the weather conditions made it hard to breathe and your will to do so causes you to push him back with as much strength as you can.

“What the FUCK WAS THAT?!”  You scream, wiping your mouth to no avail.

He stands there frozen, breathing hard.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like hell you don’t!  This the shit I’m saying!”  You gawk at him, seeing his shirt cling to his body as the rain weighs down the fabric.  Jason whipped his hair back unapologetically.  

“I told you.  You’re spoiled.�� I don’t kiss your ass, so you’re mad.”

“I don’t remember asking you to kiss me at all, did I?”

He shrugs.  “I didn’t ask you to get in my face and threaten me, yet here we are.  Go dry off,” he says, taking himself back to his place and leaving you in the rain.

--

Later that night, you’re in the midst of finishing up twisting your hair  for the night when you hear the familiar sound of an engine blaring.

You check the time, 12:35 AM.  You’re instantly fuming, twirling a mad finger around your last twist end and putting on your robe.  

Stomping outside, you see him clear as day, outlined by the parking lot lights.  Jason sits on his bike revving it over and over as you walked closer and closer.  You get about 30 feet away from him when he turns the bike off.

“You fucking get on my damn nerves.  I’m sick of this!”  You shout at him.  

He got off his bike, standing with his hands in his pockets.  Soon as you were within arms length, you raise your hand and bring it to the back of his neck, pulling him into you.  You were ready this time, opening up to take hi essence in with your own.  Your fingers clutch the roots of his hair, pulling yourself up to him as much as possible until he helped you.  Wrapping his arms around your waist, he doesn’t miss a beat in your mouth as he lifts you to his level and you wrap your arms around his neck.  You bit his lips, groaning into his mouth excitedly.  

“I told you, I step up if you try me.”  you say.

He licks his wounded lips, eyes heavy with anguish.  “And I can take a hit, if necessary.”

You both stumble back to your place, fighting to feel each other’s skin quicker than you could get undressed.  You let your robe fall off at the door.

Your scratch at the bottom of Jason’s shirt, pulling it up as he surrenders his arms to your tugs, shaking his hair loose once you’ve freed him.

He pulled your hair back roughly, exposing your neck to his tongue grazing the pulse point of your neck.  Your nails dig into his hips as you fight the ticklish sensation, making him groan.

“Watch those claws, kitty,”  he warns, taking liberties with your body. The palms of his hands feel rough against your stomach when he traces your curves up to your breasts.  You breathe erratically, feeling the warm arousal build as your nipples greet his fingertips, but you pushed him back roughly.  As he stumbles, he looks at you defensively.

“Am I moving too fast?”  He asks as his chest rises and falls heavily.  You take your shirt off, standing in just your underwear.  He starts to unbutton his pants…

“Stop!  Don’t.”  You command.

He freezes in mid zipper pull, looking frustrated.  “Look if this ain’t happening, just-”

“Did I say nothing is happening?  I told you to stop.  And it would be good if you just listened, for once,”  you say, dropping your voice lower and quieter.  You walked up to him, moving his hand aside, pushing him against the wall.

“You find me attractive, right?”  You ask as your fingers find his zipper and pull it the rest of the way down.

He keeps his poker face as you stare him down.  “I do.  You’re very sexy.”

As he admits this, your palm slides down his stomach and under his waistband.  Under your touch you feel him grow, making your heart skip.

“Not sexy enough.  You still got some growing up to do I see,”  you reply as you pull his bottoms down, letting his dick recoil from its boundaries.  

Jason exhales sharply, bracing his back against the wall.  “You don’t have to.”

You settle down to your knees, observing the specimen before you, gripping his shaft as you look up at him.  “You don’t want me to?”

His hair framing his face, he pulls it back taking a deep breath.  “You got my dick in your hands, and you think I’m backing down now?”

“Then tell me what you want me to do…”  You say quietly, biting your lip as you watch him while stroking him, blowing slowly along his length, lips puckered and tempting.

He reached for the top of your head gently massaging your scalp.  “I want that big mouth to show me what it can do.”

You smirk, letting your tongue flutter around his tip, warming him up.  You feel his scalp massage slow as your lips softly kiss his member.  His head falls backward as you open your mouth wider, swallowing his girth deeper.  You look up at him, massaging his balls. 

“Oh God, you’re amazing.  Your mouth so soft,”  he moans, looking down at you, jutting his hips towards your face minutely.  

You allow your throat to open a bit more, taking hold of his thighs as he pushes himself into your mouth deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.  Just look at you.”  He pulls out of you, bending down to take you in for a kiss.  He tastes himself within your mouth, fully devouring your mouth in a kiss.  You hold his hands against your face as he embraces you, feeling overwhelmed with passion.

“Fuck me, now.”  You growl into his face, getting up.  He pushes you against the wall he once stood, pulling your underwear down to your ankles, you steady your hands on his wide shoulders.  

He stands up looking you deep into your eyes as you reach for his dick, coaxing him to move on, but he grabs your wrists, setting them on his shoulders.  

“You’re too impatient,”  He says, running his finger across your cheek, nuzzling his nose against yours.  

You exhale.  “Damn right I am.  The one thing we can get along about, you’re trying to postpone.”

He chuckles, feeling between your thighs.  “You’re this wet for me?  You like me more than I thought.”

You roll your eyes, closing them when his fingers fit so easily inside of you, digging your nails into his shoulders.  “Maybe I just like the sex.  Thought of that?”

He shrugs.  “Let’s see what fits and talk later.  Your pink looks real good.”  

He grips his hands under you, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist in one movement.

As he holds you, you feel for his dick, helping to guide his tip to your entrance.

“Teamwork, right?”  You gasp as he spreads you wider, pushing himself inside of you.  You exclaim, gripping the back of his neck for dear life.

“Did I hurt you?”  He asks.

You shake your head.  “No, keep going.  I want more.”

He obeys, pushing further inside your walls.  

“That’s it baby, deeper.”  You encourage him, you tighten up around him as your body relaxes to the new sensation.

Jason’s hands travel around your back, holding you close as works his length into you, working his hips like it’s his job.

“Ah, your pussy is so good baby.”  Jason moans in your ears.

“This pussy is good to you cuz that dick.  Give it to me, harder.”

Jason rams his length inside you, holding still as you writhe, repeating the action over and over.

“Yes, oh yes,”  you cry out, feeling tears reach the corners of your eyes, feeling a wave of pleasure creep and spread throughout your body.

Jason pounds your deeper, harder as you cry out, digging into his back, he pulls your mouth to his, kissing you passionately.  

“You take me so well.  I knew you were tough.  Keep cumming, I want all of you on me,”  he says.  You cover his mouth.

“Shut up, or I won’t stop,” you feel your body buckle under the pressure.  It became too much.

Jason opens his mouth, sucking two of your fingers as his pace quickens.

“I’m close baby, hang on.”  Jason cautions, gripping your breasts and he rests into the crook of your neck, giving all of himself into you.

His hand moves between your breasts, tracing your sweat with his lips.  He grunts with a guttural tone, “Looks good.”

“Pull…”  you say weakly between breaths, barely able to think straight.  Your body feels like it’s floating away from you as you hit another orgasm before you feel yourself go empty.  You look down to see Jason jacking against your stomach, strips of white paint your belly as he howls in euphoria.

You notice your heartbeat for the first time, pounding in your chest but you felt no stress.  Your mind is hazy as Jason talks but you can’t fully register what he’s saying.  He holds your face, looking concerned as he picks you up to take you to his bedroom lying you down.

You feel a towel on your stomach as you lay on your back, completely checked out of your surroundings.

“Sure, you can spend the night, no problem.”  Jason says half-jokingly as he crawls to the other side of the bed, pulling a blanket over the both of you.  You feel his hands in your hair, gentle massaging your curls as your eyes close.

The next morning, you wake with a fright, feeling this arm laid across your waist like a boa constrictor.  A snore behind your head makes you nearly jump out of bed.

“Good morning, beautiful,” a gruff sounding Jason stretches, kissing your shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa.  Don’t do that,” you say, sitting up and covering yourself in your section of the blanket.

Jason tousles his hair, moving closer to you.  “Oh no?  I can’t initiate this time?”

You push his face back.  “You can’t initiate ever!  This isn’t a back to back thing, so don’t think you got rights to me.  Where are my clothes?”

You see your drawers, robe and shirt by the front door.  “Can you close your eyes as I get my stuff?”

Jason lays back with his hands behind his head.  “Take the blanket.  I don’t mind my body being out.”

You make a face.  “Ew, just close your eyes and turn your head.”  Jason covers his face like he’s getting ready to play Tag.

You gather your panties, slipping them on.

“You don’t have to run off so fast, we were just getting to know each other better.”  JAson says behind his hands.

You talk through your shirt.  “Bullshit.  Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

Jason drops his hands.  “So there’s nothing to discuss?” 

You shrug your robe on, running your fingers over your twists that are now sexed over and slept on as best you could.  “I’ve already forgotten what we are talking about.”

He nods.  “Well I am glad you got function back to your legs.”  He smiles widely.

You groan.  “Happens all the time, you aren’t special.  And take your trash out, smells like shit in here.”

“That’s just sex in the air, sweetheart.”  Jason waves you goodbye as you flip him off, walking out the door.  When you reach your place, you take a deep breath, feeling the aftermath of last night coursing through your body still.  You felt positively sore, like after a good workout.  It replays in your head over and over; his hands on your body, his deep kisses,  his taste.  You shake your head, trying to free your mind.  No way is he taking up any space in your memory.  It’s over and done.  You take the morning to shower off, somewhat thoughtfully.

The next day you got ready for work, feeling better than you had in a while.  Dick was not the reason, so you thought.  You felt all around more positive until your peace became disturbed.

“No, no, no, NO!”  You yell out.  “It’s not even the fucking weekend!”

You pick up your purse, looking for your keys.  You curse yourself for keeping car keys and house keys separate until you remember you are without a working vehicle.

“FUCK!”  You didn’t want to see, you wouldn’t.  You’ll text your job and tell them what’s up and call a car.  Problem solved.  

You get out of your place, locking the door and notice the hood of your car up and Jason sitting in the front seat.

He turns off the engine, closing the hood, leaning on the car as he looked at you.  “Turns out I know cars after all.”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?  For stealing my keys?”  you say with a sour disposition.

He tosses the keys in the air, catching them.  “You left them at my place.  I thought it was an invitation.”

“None of it was an invitation.  Give them to me.”  You walk up to him with your hand out like a three year old.  When he drops them in your hand, he doesn’t let go.

“Say….”

You tighten your lips for what felt like an eternity until you say, “Thanks!”

He lets go with a smile and walks away.  “I swear I was gonna do it regardless, but you had to initiate so…”

“You kissed me first!”  you shout a little too loudly for a neighborhood.

He looks back winking at you.  “And don’t throw something away that’s reusable.”

Masterlist

[crue-sixx]

Welcome to the Continental (John Wick Imagine)

This was requested.

Summary: You and John Wick visit the Continental with your children.

Just something short and sweet.

Y/M/N - your maiden name.

You and John made your way up the stairs of the Continental, a place you both knew very well. You’d both frequented the hotel after all. It was where you and John had actually met.

He was an infamous hitman, who found sanctuary at the hotel a lot when he was hurt. You worked there as a doctor, helping all of the injured who came in and requested assistance. You’d worked on John enough to know the man pretty well. Well, more than most knew him. He was pretty reserved so he didn’t offer much about himself, but that changed. Seeing each other as much as you two did was bound to make something happen between you two.

You started out fast and heavy. You skipped the whole dating stage and skipped right into the intimacy stage. You’d seen each other enough to know each other enough so why not? You hadn’t really expected much to come out of it. Just some fun with the handsome hitman that frequented the Continental and that’s how it was at first, but things developed between you two. It blindsided you both. You were falling for him and he was falling for you so you made it official.

As time went on, you both started expressing your desires for some normalcy. You longed for a life that didn’t involve patching up assassins and John longed for one where he no longer had to kill. You both also longed for a family of your very own. You ended up leaving the Continental and John left the business. You found a home together, eventually married, and even welcomed a couple of kids into the world.

“You sure we should be bringing them here?” You asked John as you held your two year old son, Benjamin.

“Yeah, why not?” John asked as he held the hand of your five year old daughter, Sophia. “No one will mess with us. I just thought we should bring them here to meet everyone.”

You shrugged as you looked at the door. John was right. No one would mess with you. You had been highly respected since you helped out a lot of people and everyone pretty much feared the Baba Yaga. Still, you had your apprehensions with taking your children into the Continental Hotel. It was basically a safe haven for elite assassins. You were a part of their group though even if you and John were no longer working amongst them.

John stepped up to the door and opened it, waiting for you to walk inside. You stepped in as you still held Benjamin and John stepped in with Sophia. The place was bustling, which is how it had always been. You could spot some familiar faces and also saw some not so familiar.

“Daddy, what are we doing here?” Sophia asked as she tugged on her father’s hand.

John knelt down in front of Sophia and smiled. “We’re just here for a visit, Soph. This is where me and mommy first met. Remember me telling you about that?”

Sophia thought for a moment then nodded her little head. She was the spitting image of you, but her dark hair came from her father. Benjamin was his father through and through. He was looking around at his surrounding curiously as he clung onto your shirt.

“Mr. Wick and Ms. Y/M/N, what a nice surprise,” someone greeted you. “Or should I say Mrs. Wick now.”

You turned as John stood up straight again and found none other than Charon, the concierge of the Continental. You assumed he would still be working there, but you were still nicely surprised. You really liked Charon. He had always been very kind and accommodating with you and John both.

“Charon, hey,” you greeted him with a smile. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he replied. “I haven’t seen you two since the wedding. How have things been? Busy I assume.” He glanced at each of your children.

“Yeah, you could say that,” John replied with a smile. “We thought we would drop by with the kids. This is Sophia and Benjamin. Sophia and Benjamin, that’s Charon. He’s an old friend of ours.”

“Hi, Charon,” Sophia greeted him and waved at him. “I’m Sophia!”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sophia,” Charon replied and smiled. “Welcome to the Continental. You look just like your mother.” He looked from her and then to Benjamin, who was looking right back at him. “And you look just like your father. Are you going to grow up to be like him?”

“Let’s hope not,” John replied.

Charon raised a brow before Winston came into view, walking your way with a smile.

“Well if it isn’t John and Y/N Wick,” Winston said when he was stood in front of all of you. “Someone told me the Baba Yaga, himself, was out here, but I didn’t believe it.”

John cleared his throat at the nickname. He didn’t like to be called that anymore. Especially around his children. They didn’t know anything about his old profession and he planned to keep it that way for as long as he could. Sure, they were at the Continental Hotel, but the children didn’t know what they were surrounded by.

“Who are these little ones?” Winston went on to ask.

“This is Benjamin and that is Sophia,” you told him. “Kids, this is Winston. He’s another old friend of ours.”

“You and daddy had a lot of friends,” Sophia said.

“You could say that I suppose,” John replied as he held Sophia’s hand.

“What are your daddy and mommy up to these days?” Winston asked Sophia as he looked down at her.

“Mommy is a school teacher and daddy owns a garage!” She told him. “He fixes cool cars. Fast cars!”

“Vroom vroom,” Benjamin said at the sound of cars.

You giggled at that and kissed his cheek. He was a little cutie. He didn’t like to talk too much. He much preferred observing things around him.

“Well, that must be fun,” Winston said with a smile.

“It is!” Sophia exclaimed. “You have cool hair, Mr. Winston.”

Winston smiled even more at that and ran a hand through his hair, proudly. He’d always prided himself in his hair.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, little Sophia,” Winston said. “How about we go and get you and your brother both some ice cream?”

Sophia’s face lit up before she looked at John. “Can we, daddy? Please?!”

He looked over at you and you nodded. He looked back down at Sophia.

“Alright, but we’re coming with you,” John said. He wasn’t about to let his children out of his sight no matter how much he trusted Winston. Plus, he enjoyed ice cream too. “Can’t pass up the offer of some ice cream.”

“Let’s go then,” Winston said and held his hand out for Sophia, who took it and skipped along with him.

“She’s going to love Winston more than me now,” John joked as he took Benjamin and you both followed along.

“No, you’re her father and you spoil her all the time,” you told him as you held his hand in yours.

“Yeah, plus...I’m the Baba Yaga,” John whispered to you and wiggled his eyebrows.

You giggled and hit his arm playfully. Maybe he did still like being known as the boogeyman. He knew it would come in handy when his daughter started dating and he had to scare off her dates.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hi I saw the ask and can you possibly anti-ship me with the beatles and Queen 😂(if it’s not comfortable just ship is ofc awesome!)I have long dark brown hair with bangs and chestnut colored eyes. I like almost anything artistic such as music, movies, drawing, clothes, room decor, figure skate, etc! I like to help people and I hardly say no, which I don’t know if it’s good or not. So, I unti-ship you with John and Freddie bc I feel like they do too much chaotic stuff and bother you 😂😂

OOOOooo, boy, I think John is cute and smart but some of his comments and antics could drive me up a wall. And for Freddie, there’s the awkward part of me being a straight girl so...yup, no way a romantic match could not happen, as Mary and all his other girlfriends found out (though being Freddie’s friend, esp. since I’m a cat lover and opera singer irl, sign me up!!!)

So I anti ship you (from Queen) with...

Roger Taylor!!

Why be artistic when there are vroom vroom cars that go fast?

 And Figure skating/?? ISn’t that too girly? And Roger is a MANS MAN!!!

Plus, you can’t always be selfless, you gotta say no sometimes, according to Roger!!!

And with bangs and dark hair you sound like a precious American girl doll, like Samantha, and that sounds a bit too proper for Roger’s taste.

For Beatles, I anti ship you with...

Paul Mccartney!

Pol will try to sneak a hand or kiss during a movie but you will say “this is my favorite part!” before he could.

Or you will try to draw something and he would be next to you, and then right before he can sneak a hand on your thigh you would go “it’s done!!” and stand up!

Or if you are decorating a room, he would try to tell you that you look lovely or a get a look at your booty as you push something but you would switch and ask him to move the super heavy desk to the other side.

All of your activities would cock block him, essentially!

Plus since you have bangs and dark hair, he feels like he’s dating another Beatle clone!

[nini-amore]

SuperM 1st Mini Album analysis/review

Hey there! I’m Nahir and I wrote an analysis for SuperM’s debut album (song by song!).

I realised that I had SO MUCH to say, lol (I’m just too shy to make a video and post it on YouTube), so I wrote down everything. I hope you guys enjoy it and feel free to add stuff! Here we go… PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP, I WORKED FOR LIKE, TWO HOURS ON THIS POST

Jopping

 Jopping is the title track of this mini album and the 7 members participate on it.

LDN Noise produced this song and if you’re an SM stan you just know that the song is about to be GREAT if you hear their name, for reference, they produced songs like “Monster” by EXO, “Married To The Music” by SHINee, “TOUCH” by NCT 127 and many more!

Intro: I have so much to say about the intro, first let’s talk about Kai using his powers, during the beginning of the MV you can see him teleporting himself from one dimension to another, I think adding his ‘exo super power’ was a very cool and creative idea!

The start of the song itself was very interesting to me since the used the sounds of chanting  (I thought this was only part of the MV because it goes well with the visuals but it’s on the audio version as well!). This reminded me of an old Rome stadium, with desperate chants for the winner of a fight. I immediately associated it to victory and them conquering the music industry with their debut!

Rap: I personally really enjoyed everyone’s rap (Kai, Taeyong, Mark, Ten and Lucas), they delivered the lyrics in a very fierce way that complimented the song.

The only flaw that I could spot was with Ten’s rap, I don’t know if it’s because I’m used to hearing him as a vocal or what but I found myself mixing Mark with Ten on the first couple of listens! Their voice tones sound very similar (rapping wise).

Vocals: urghhh, there´s nothing bad to say about this! Baekhyun and Taemin’s voices blended SO WELL, I was SO impressed by how well they match each other, I saw so many people complementing this which made me so happy! Remember all those times Baekhyun said that he was going to vocal lessons? I think that paid off very well because his voice was very stable and clear throughout the entire song, his falsettos where on point and he held a note for like,,, 15 seconds which is VERY IMPRESSIVE.

I feel like Baekhyun and Taemin carried the vocal part of the song flawlessly and supported one another just perfectly!

Overall song: this song reminded me of “Take Off” by WayV because it had a very dramatic change in the middle of the song, but it this case, the change was repetitive, giving us a contrast between the rap and vocal parts.

MV/visuals/choreography: this video was filmed in Dubai which I think it contributed to the visuals BEAUTIFULLY!

You can see that the video was very huge budgeted and had good editing.

The styling was just 10/10 and very high end, I loved the clothing, hair, makeup, EVERYTHING.

The choreography (from what I could see) is amazing very creative and everyone was in sync which was very satisfying to watch.

Last but not least, Ten’s dance solo! At this point I think we should be used to seeing him have his little thing! It was very well done and delivered, very clear and sharp! Wouldn´t expect nothing less from him!

I Can’t Stand the Rain

Again, another song with the 7 member s, and also, ½ of my favourites!

The overall song gives me adventure vibes but also the feeling of being trapped inside one’s mind, like not being able to escape! This second thought came back to me when I read the translated lyrics!

The lyrics, oh my… they´re amazing! The message was very simple and direct but they were written in such a poetic way + the boy’s delivery was very well done. Top tier song.

What really stood up to me were the rapping verses of Mark and Taeyong in contrast of the vocals; perfect musical production in my opinion.

The percussion and the violins building up the song really captivated me and kept me in some sort of trace, I just can’t get enough of it! All of this plus the high note from Baekhyun made the song really perfect.

Ten, Kai and Lucas had very few lines but I understand that Kai and Lucas may not have voices that suited this type of song but I feel like we definitely could have had more of Ten.

I wish we could get an MV for this song; I can picture them in some kind of cliff or mountain with a gray sky over them while they sing/rap with Kai and Ten doing a ballet performance!

2 Fast

In this song you can hear: Taemin, Baekhuyn, Mark and Lucas.

2 Fast automatically remained me of SHINee or Taemin would sing, it gave me “Good Evening” and “Crazy 4 U” vibes!

What can I say about this song, huh? The use of Lucas deep voice is precise and sharp because it comes in very particular moments and, in my opinion, helps break down the song in a different way, I think a good colloquial term to describe it would be “melting it off” because it gave me that sensation!

The ad libs in this song really catch my attention; they were on point and made me think a lot of an NCT or EXO song since they use them super well in their songs.

Ironically, the song gets faster as it develops, loved that.

Not much to say about this one, it’s a great song.

Super Car

In this song you can hear: Mark, Taeyong, Ten, Baekhyun and Taemin.

This song gave me major NCT vibes, songs that come to my mind are “My Van”, “Simon Says”, “Black On Black”; but also old school Monsta X (more precisely the song “Quiet”) since the pre chorus was delivered quite… aggressively. [I’m talking about these lyrics/part]:

“���직여 vroom, like a black car

어떤 리듬 다 잘 타

더 vroom 레벨이 달라

나도 나를 감당하기 벅차”

A very engineering and robotic sound (though not the typical robot sound, more like the ‘pipipi’ sound the machine robots make on films, lol I hope you get that, I don't know how to describe it).

I really like the ad libs Baekhyun did, to sum it up, a very aggressive and straight to the point song.

No Manners

In this song you can hear Taemin, Kai, Ten and Taeyong.

The intro is kind of scary, stereotypical instrumental for an Italian mafia film; you’d get it if you listen close.

My other favourite song. It’s a very daring and sensual song, very trap based and because of this, I feel like Kai’s voice suited it very well since he has a honey voice that fits trap and r&b.

The song sounds very orbital, as if you were in outer space, giving you the feeling of being disconnected, which go in hand with the lyrics that talk about being in a toxic relationship and how they should break up right away without going around the bushes, in order to send this massage, the guys sang this song in a very ‘cold’ and ‘distant’ hinting that they don’t care about their significant other anymore.

My favourite thing about this song is Taeyong and his rap, I don’t know if he wrote the lyrics for his part but it was a work of art! I especially like how he mentioned ‘Nancy and Sid’ when talking about being addicted to this toxic relationship, it was a very TY touch to the song!

[For context, Sid was part of the band Sex Pistols and was in a relationship with his groupie, Nancy; both were addicted to drugs (more precisely heroine). Nancy was found stabbed to death in their New York apartment and Sid was accused of murder but he said that he couldn’t remember anything; he died a couple of months before being judged].

This song reminds me of EXO’s “Twenty-four” because of the trap base and chill way of singing.

IF YOU MADE IT HERE, THANK YOU SO MUCH I REALLY APPRECIATE IT

[westanfanchanhan]

Highlights of the highlight of Finding SKZ Ep. 1 (cause the whole thing was a highlight)

(If any is inaccurate it’s cause I can’t understand Korean and subs timing was off ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

-TOP PLUS: the cameras running w/ them 😂😂😂

-The mystery box in the car reactions

-Pre work out oh man, Jisung plz, and Hyunjin

-Felix being confused about the vroom vroom game stuff why is he so cute what

-THEIR FACES WHEN THREADING THE NEEDLE CHANGBIN IS DROPPING TO THE FLOOR LIKE ITS HOT NECESSARY (also Felix aw uwu?)

-Changbin casually destroying that stand

-HAHAHHAHA SCAREDY CATS BLINDFOLDED

-HYUNJIN. JUST HWANG HYUNJIN. IM LAUGHING BUT ALSO LIKE SAVE THE POOR BOY

-Minho and Chan being snakes

-IN being cornered

-Minho dipped Jeongin’s nametag off so fast I got whiplash

-Seungmin aching like a puppy and was he growling? Was that growling?

-Woojin acting like the Running Man Grim Reaper w/ that cape

-the teaming up

-Hyunjin and IN back at the homebase for losers

-Felix going that whole extra mile to read every card

-WOOJIN PLOT TWIST WHAT A GOD

-AWW THE TIMY BIT OF ENGLISH BETWEEN AUSSIE LINE AWWW

-Jisung and Chan’s battle

-Woojin has no mercy for Felix

-3 WAY SHOWDOWN

-Chan straight up TACKLED Woojin like dang

-PLOT TWIST TWO BUT DID WE REALLY EXPECT IT OTHERWISE aka Chan was too honorable and Changbin/Victory literally slipped out of Chan’s grasp

Side note: AUSTRAAALIAAAAA AHHHHH

[vanvroom]

*:･ﾟ･✧･ the name’s VANELLOPE VON SCHWEETZ and she is TWENTY THREE years old working as a PROFESSIONAL RACER in town. she’s from CORONA and is often mistaken for CAMILA MENDES, although some say she reminds them of VANELLOPE from WRECK IT RALPH ･✧･ﾟ･:*

tw: death, bullying, loss

*:･ﾟ･✧･ who am i?: vanellope has never known her parents, as they were both gone from her life before she was even a toddler. her mother is an absolute mystery to her, but van does have a small heart shaped locket that was supposedly hers and she wears it everyday. her father, however, was quite affluent and vanellope later in life came to find out that he owned the very successful racetrack in corona that was always intended for vanellope to inherit after his passing. since she was a child, she was put into foster care and mostly lived in group homes in which all she knew was that her parents had passed away and weren’t able to provide a sense of family to the girl. she truly never felt as though she belonged anywhere, not even in the group homes that she was so eager to get out of as soon as she turned sixteen. the mystery of who her parents were always lingered, but she was too scared to find out the answers to her questions until some of them were dumped onto her lap. 

*:･ﾟ･✧･ half of the story: when she had turned eighteen, vanellope opened her mail to find legal documents that essentially detailed the ownership rights to the racetrack, and that was also the day she came to know who her father was. it took nearly three years of legal battle to finally acquire the track, since those who had taken it over after her father disputed her property right claims for years but van had gotten used to fighting for everything she got in life by that point. given how difficult and shady the acquisition seemed to be with the businessmen, vanellope grew suspicious of how her father had died and why she had never known of her inheritance, or him, until well after his death, and it’s something she intends on finding the truth in. she lovingly renamed the racetrack, which had been the one she had been coincidentally racing at for years now, Schweetz Racing and she is just now learning what it means to own something and belong, even if it’s just a little bit. being at the track, she feels a sense of familiarity since it was once her father’s, and for that she is ever grateful. it is one of the things that has restored a part of her faith in corona.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ va va vroom: vanellope’s a professional racecar driver, and has been racing at the track in corona for years. of course, when she first started, she never realized that it would later become something she owned, but it’s always felt like home. as soon as she got her license, it’s been nothing but cars and fast speeds ever since. she’s obsessed with all of the makes and models, the repairs, the upgrades, the new uniform designs and sponsors to be on the lookout for. it’s a huge part of her life and it’s what has kept her so sane. practice makes perfect and vanellope has made racing the biggest part of her life, which means that she works the most at being the best at it.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ outsider looking in: that being said, however, vanellope has never found herself to be accepted by anything or anyone for much of her life. throughout school, she was rather bullied and there were constant rumors circulating the brunette which really ate at her and her self-esteem growing up. still people call her ‘the glitch’, as if there’s something inherently wrong with her for being different. so she’s a bit of a loner in corona, but she’s come to enjoy that about herself. that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a chip on her shoulder about being ostracized, however. there is a part of van that wants to have some genuine connection with others - beyond the relationship with her racing fans. with her talents, which she’s working to hone, some of that void is filled but still she knows something is missing from her life: acceptance

*:･ﾟ･✧･ but weird is cool: she isn’t a typical corona girl; vanellope knows that all too well. she’s a racer, after all, and lives by it. leather gloves and hand painted helmets are kind of her thing, and so is her sweet tooth. van’s got a serious candy addiction and her chocolate stash rivals that of hershey’s, but it’s one of those simple pleasures that she enjoys. considering she’s so often revved, and can seem pretty high energy at times, she also suffers from adrenaline & sugar crashes, when she is at her most grumpy. after being told for so many years that she’s a glitch, and not someone worthy of associating with, vanellope’s grown quite the tough exterior and it’s beyond difficult to crack. she’s got a sharp tongue and is quick-witted, and without much of a filter she doesn’t notice how harsh she can come across for it’s simply who she has become after all of these years. sarcasm is her best language, though, and she has been able to use that to her advantage while forming relationships. truly she means well, and she is incredibly loyal and caring to those who she befriends. 

*:･ﾟ･✧･ wreck’d it: vanellope is clumsy. like, real clumsy. which probably has to do with her ‘go, go, go!’ personality, but she’s also really learned from it. she always has band-aids on her and has learned a thing or two about making repairs, of any kind really. although of course her strong suit is repairing cars. plus, there’s no injury chocolate can’t fix in vanellope’s mind and she always has that on hand.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ all mixed up: she is dyslexic, meaning that she has always struggled in school and never truly understood why until the illness came to her attention from one of her teachers later in life. it takes her a lot longer to read and understand what is written than the average person, and truth be told the only thing she’s ever enjoyed having to read was poetry because it always sounded so pretty to her. however, she isn’t much of a scholar so college was never a consideration to vanellope and she went straight down the professional racing track instead. racing and mechanics, anything more hands on, is much more up van’s alley and she prefers it that way. 

*:･ﾟ･✧･ a learning lesson: vanellope can be prickly, and certainly vengeful, so approaching her might be intimidating or generally off-putting. really, this is simply her defense mechanism after getting as hurt as she has. maybe there’s nothing wrong with her, maybe there is. either way, pushing people away or keeping them at arm’s length is van’s prerogative and that’s what she has learned to do; she’s a ‘glitch’, after all. deep down, though, she’s rather sensitive and all of her walls are only built so she can protect her vulnerabilities and herself. she is starting to realize how lonely that can be, however, and maybe with all of these new additions to corona it is her chance for some new starts. same with her racetrack, it may be an opportunity to extend some olive branches now that she’s got a place that is all her own for people to come and enjoy themselves. letting new people into her life, or rekindling with old ones, it’s terrifying to vanellope ... but it’s something she’s decided to slowly introduce into her life whenever she can.

TLDR: she’s a moody racecar driver who never got to know her parents and spent most of her life in group homes on corona, having been bullied for years as she’s been deemed ‘the glitch’ since she is just so different and seemingly undesirable compared to everyone else. she recently came to own the racetrack, which was once her father’s, and has renamed it Schweetz Racing. van’s hella sarcastic and quick-witted, not really one to make many friends since she’s got her walls built up high to protect herself, but to those she does befriend she’s hella loyal and caring and would do anything for them. i’m crying ajskdflsa

[nebulousneuroticism]

I slept until my alarm today, and then I snoozed it and snoozed it and eventually snoozed it so far that I wouldn’t be able to make it into the office for my meeting.  But that was okay, because it was a video meeting anyway, so I joined it from home.

Then I got up and went to the office.  Our morning meeting ran long (I’ve noticed that my boss tends to make meetings stretch on too long; this is one of her weaknesses).  I did the weird double interview, and that went pretty well. I tried to concentrate on real work for the rest of the day, but there was a lot of chatter in the office, and I couldn’t do it.

I have to do another interview tomorrow, plus follow-ups for the one from today.  I’m afraid the follow-ups will be... contentious.  I hope not.

I got a ride home, and, on arriving, decided to try my car again.  I got it and turned the ignition, and it coughed and coughed and wheezed, and then vroomed to life!  Amazing.  I celebrated by driving through a fast-food place (I was afraid to go anywhere and park, in case it doesn’t start again next time).

I spent the night relaxing.  I tried out the new Overwatch event, which is, quite frankly, a poor excuse for an Overwatch event.  That was somewhat disappointing, but it was nice to go back to the game.  I hadn’t played in... a very long time.

It’s weirdly late now.  I didn’t think it was this late, actually.  I guess I should sleep.

I feel okay at the moment.  Just trying not to think about things that stress me out.  As usual.

[halloweenfor]

Uniform Costumes - Mens Plus Race Car Driver Costume

Theme Halloween Costumes

Race Car Costumes

Drive fast and take chances!Looking for a new way to spice up your daily errands? You could leave your bathtub faucet on before you go, and try to do everything and get back before your house floods, but that sounds like a waste of water (and a house)! Instead, we recommend wearing this speedy-looking Plus Size Race Car Driver costume to put some pep in your daily routine!The best part about this costume is that, with the right vroom-vroom noises, it makes anything you’re driving feel like a high performance stock car. And we do mean anything. Your shopping cart, that scooter gathering dust in your garage, the lawnmower, even the garbage cans you forgot to roll to the end of the driveway last night! You’ll get so addicted to the speed and rush of pretending to take the curves at the track that you’ll start rushing up escalators and the fast lane at the airport (right side for standing, left side for running!). Just pretend to rev that engine and no one will give you a second glance (j/k, they totally will)! But in this Mens Plus Race Car Driver Costume, you won’t even care! It’s designed to look like a real racing uniform, with actual patches sewn on the front. You’ll feel so much like a pro driver, you might just spray champagne all over the house when you get home from the store, which we also don’t recommend doing, but hey, it’s your house, so you do what you want!

See Details & Get More Deals at: Best Halloween Costumes 2019 :: Shop

[jonathanbelloblog]

Becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge Race Driver

CIRCUIT MONT-TREMBLANT, Quebec, Canada — I can see it in the distance, a black and green dragon waiting, hungry, practically drooling for a chance to swallow me whole and spit me out in tattered, racing-red shreds. Turn 8. And I’m blasting toward it so fast it feels like I’ve just exited a bazooka.

Flat out in sixth gear, the mechanized fury of the turbocharged V-8 behind my ears pummeling me like a hailstorm inside the stripped-bare cockpit, the first in a row of LED redline indicators on the wheel alights—then another, then another. A rivulet of sweat plops into my eye, and I fight to blink away the sting. Still I’m flat on the gas. Then, within a single heartbeat, furious drama: I reach my braking marker, the dragon leaps out to devour me, and at the last possible second … now! I hammer my right foot on the pedal harder than I’d kick an IRS collector, and the Ferrari slams into an invisible catcher’s mitt, my helmet straining forward against the HANS restraint straps. I crack off two downshifts with the left shift paddle, begin easing off the brakes, and in a crush of lateral g’s, I turn into the apex.

My helmet crackles as my passenger in the right seat—instructor and pal Anthony Lazzaro—barks through the intercom: “OK! No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!”

Coast? Isn’t the old adage, “In a race car, you’re always either on the gas or the brakes”? Doesn’t coasting mean losing time? Since my very first racing school 30 years ago I’ve followed the cornering mantra: in slow, out fast. I’ve been a practitioner of trail-braking, turning in while gradually trading the tires’ stopping power for cornering grip. I’ve used light throttle to balance the car before acceleration. But never have I simply coasted. Without me saying a word, Lazzaro seems to grasp my bafflement. “It’s one of the biggest myths in racing, the always-pedaling thing,” he says. “People watch an onboard camera from a Formula 1 car, but they aren’t understanding what they’re seeing. I guarantee you Ferrari’s Sebastian Vettel is coasting into the apex before getting back on the power.” Well, if it’s good enough for Seb. I do as Lazzaro says (nobody’s ever explicitly told me this before), and it works! With zero throttle the Ferrari’s nose doesn’t lift a millimeter—maintaining front-end weight so the front tires bite harder—and the 488 Challenge race car turns in as if it’s on a leash. Eureka! It’s a bona fide lightbulb moment, as if I’ve finally been given the password to enter the Racing Secret Circle & Grille. Moreover, with the car now so perfectly set up at the apex, I’m able to get back on the throttle harder and sooner, which equals more speed at corner exit.

No brakes! No throttle! No pedals! Just coast!

Later, with instructor Jeff Segal (the only man with class wins at Le Mans, the 12 Hours of Sebring, and the Daytona 24 in a Ferrari), I review the onboard telemetry from my laps. “See here how you’re giving up a little speed on the way in but gaining more speed on the way out?” Segal asks. “You’re not fighting the car on the exit. You’re blasting out of the turns and gaining time all the way down the straight. On this lap you got blocked by traffic near the end, but you still were more than two seconds quicker than yesterday.”

It’s working. I’m becoming a Ferrari 488 Challenge race driver.

Superman in a Supercar

Ferrari race driver. Can three more evocative, seductive, aspirational words exist for a motorsports enthusiast? Who hasn’t watched Le Mans or the Monaco Grand Prix and thought, “Man, that should be me inside that beautiful machine with the Prancing Horse.” Who hasn’t at least asked themselves, “I wonder if I could even do that?”

Red, white, and Whew! St. Antoine catches his breath after another lapping session in the ferocious 488 Challenge. Below, he reviews telemetry with Corso Pilota instructor Jeff Segal.

Since 1993, Ferrari’s unique Corso Pilota training program has been answering “what ifs” and turning fantasies into realities for hundreds if not thousands of Ferrari owners and aficionados. Now offered in three locations in North America—Circuit Mont-Tremblant in Quebec; Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas; and The Thermal Club track near Palm Springs, California—Corso Pilota is a series of four courses, each a step up in speed and advanced techniques. The program is designed to train even novices to a skill level where they’re fully qualified to race in the ultracompetitive, seriously fast Ferrari 488 Challenge series, which attracts everyone from future pro racers to entrepreneurs to celebrities such as actor Michael Fassbender.

For 2017, that meant six race weekends at tracks across America plus the opportunity to earn a spot in the Ferrari World Finals in October at Italy’s Mugello Circuit. “The best part about Corso Pilota is you can test the waters,” says Ian Campbell, head of a research firm in Boston and a classmate of mine at Mont-Tremblant. “It’s certainly not an incidental expense, so you don’t want to jump in and then find out you don’t like it. Instead, the program gives you a chance to sample the 488 Challenge race car in a controlled environment and work your way into it before you commit to the full race series.”

Ah, the 488 Challenge. Monica Belluci in metal. Ours is the first North American class to pilot the new machine (the previous Challenge cars were based on the 458 Italia). That means about 100 more horsepower (at least 661 hp, but Ferrari won’t say for sure) from its 3.9-liter twin-turbo V-8 paired with a seven-speed dual-clutch shifter, which is essentially the same combo as in the 488 GTB road car (the race transmission gets shorter ratios). But the 488 Challenge is thoroughly reworked for track duty: slick tires, wings, a roll cage, racing brakes, a gutted interior with a new race-optimized panel, deep buckets with six-point belts, vastly reworked bodywork with a more aggressive aero package, and revised electronic driver aids with a new, two-phase traction control system. Using a knob on the wheel, the driver can select when the system intervenes and how aggressively it does so.

To sample life in Corso Pilota, Ferrari jumped me straight into the third level of the program, a two-day class dubbed Evolution. Mind you, life as an aspiring Ferrari race driver doesn’t come cheap; just the Evo quarter of the course costs $20,000. For that sum you get two long days in the $250,000 488 GTB road car and the even-pricier 488 Challenge racer, tutelage from some of the best racing instructors in the world (these guys are busy race drivers who teach, not the other way around), all meals (including adult beverages at the end of the day), and first-class accommodations. In Quebec, that means the superb Hôtel Quintessence on Lake Tremblant. Also included is a custom-tailored Sabelt racing suit (probably worth $2,000) plus Nomex gloves, driving shoes, and a few Ferrari goodies.

There’s no shortage of 488 GTBs at this school.

All 14 of my classmates have already done the required first two levels. I get nods all around as one tells me, “When you put on that red Corso Pilota suit, you feel like Superman.” I must say, it does feel pretty good—at least until I try to climb into the Challenge car’s passenger seat. We’re broken up into groups, and I’m assigned to Challenge No. 1 for a few demo laps with Lazzaro at the wheel. The trouble is, I can barely get inside. The space is tiny (worsened by a big fire-suppression bottle on the floor). I try a few entry techniques and finally fold myself halfway in, but as I do, my HANS device hangs up on the roll cage and pins my chin to my chest. For a moment, I really cannot breathe. Eventually an assistant helps shove me in, and it’s claustrophobic as hell in here. It’s hot and as cramped as a broom closet, and no way am I getting out quickly if I have to. I take a slow, deep breath as the assistant locks in my belts (no room to do it myself). Then I’m plugged into the intercom, and Lazzaro is talking in my helmet earphones: “We’ll do a few quick laps to reacquaint you with the circuit [he trained me here years ago] and show you what the Challenge car can do.” He gives me a thumbs up. “Ready?”

Instructor Anthony Lazzaro shows the author the secrets of the Challenge race car’s cockpit.

Seconds later, I’m being subjected to a ride that feels more like a round with Floyd Mayweather. Holy mother of Enzo! This isn’t a car, it’s a NASA training device gone berserk! I’m already black and blue, and we haven’t even reached Turn 5. The speed is freakish. The grip is literally breathtaking. The braking is … life-changing. Every corner feels like we’re going to fly straight into the Armco, then Lazzaro finally stomps on the binders. It’s a virtuoso performance. Lazzaro is a five-time national karting champion, a Formula Atlantic champ, and since 1988 he’s raced everything from Indy Cars to Trans Am to NASCAR. It’s an education just to watch the guy work.

Naturally, most of my classmates are highly successful individuals with the wherewithal to indulge their racing dreams. Bill Kemp, a home builder from St. Louis, owns a Mercedes SLS AMG and a Ferrari 458 and plans to do the Challenge series in 2018. “The program is really in-depth,” he says, “very demanding. Admittedly, it’s a huge leap going from zero race-driver training to Corso Pilota. But I went to one of the Challenge races and immediately got hooked. And now here I am, in Course 3 and taking my passion for motorsport to the next level.”

Vroom Closet: The 488 GTB and 488 Challenge share powertrains but that’s about all. The race car’s passenger seat is a sardine can.

Three women are also taking the Evo class. Riley Ryen, an event planner from Calgary, Canada, owns a Lamborghini Aventador and a Ferrari 458. “Well, I used to race horses when I was younger,” she says about her plans to compete in the 2018 Challenge series. “Now it’s just more horsepower!” When I ask Sabrina Galanti from Toronto what she does for a living, she laughs and says, “Race car driver! Actually, I have raced a few Porsches before, and I have a Ferrari 812 Superfast on order, which I plan to take to the track. Right now the plan is just to learn more, and eventually maybe I’ll try racing in the Challenge series.”

“You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

Over the two-day program, my classmates and I spend a lot of quality time lapping in the Challenge cars, plus a number of slalom and wet skidpad exercises in the 488 GTB and a few F12tdf road cars. Incredibly, the instructors ride with us when we’re lapping—even in the Challenge cars at full tilt. It requires, as former racer David Hobbs would say, “large attachments,” but it’s also the best way to give us instantaneous feedback and guidance. In fact, lapping the 488 GTB is actually scarier than doing so in the 488 Challenge. The street car is every bit as fast in a straight line but has nowhere near the cornering or stopping power of its racing cousin. And it’s got none of the extra safety protection, just a standard seat belt and some air bags.

Corso Pilota costs big—around $76,000 for all four classes—but that sum includes overnight stays like at the Hôtel Quintessence in Quebec.

By the afternoon of the second day, I’m lapping the 488 Challenge at a pace I wouldn’t have believed the previous morning. I mean, we’re going really freaking fast—around 160 mph at the braking marker on the back straight. At the same time, it all feels totally under control. Logical. Almost mathematical. Do this, do that, follow instructions, and the speed just comes. The guidance I’ve received from Lazzaro and the other instructors (including pro racers Mikel Miller and Jean-François Dumoulin) has been game-changing. Despite the countless schools I’ve attended previously and all the racing I’ve done, from now on I’ll forever be a better, faster driver, thanks to this Evo class.

Ferrari ownership is a course prerequisite, and student Riley Ryen qualifies via her own 458 Italia. Below, St. Antoine chases a 488 Challenge in a 488 GTB.

I have to admit: By the close of the second day, it’s something of a relief to complete my final laps—me, Lazzaro, and the incredible 488 Challenge unscathed. Yet along with the slowly ebbing adrenaline, my brain is awash in a blissful bath of endorphins and satisfaction drawn from two days amid the wail of a Ferrari V-8—the acrid tang of hot rubber ripping across sinuous asphalt, the tension of pushing a high-strung machine to the brink, the sheer violence of the speed, and the hammer braking and relentless g-forces assaulting my every corpuscle. Lazzaro walks over as I’m stowing my helmet and slaps my back. “Hey, nice work out there,” he says with a smile. “You’re ready to do a Challenge series race right now. You should think about it.”

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