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monzabee · 4 months ago

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run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media.

But this time, it’s different – he's alone.

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own.

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace.

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life.

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment.

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t.

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point.

He clears his throat.

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?”

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word.

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?”

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.”

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.”

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?”

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down.

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?”

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut.

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?”

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?”

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.”

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed.

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth.

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.”

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.”

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–”

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?”

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.”

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–”

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.”

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before.

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–”

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–”

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation.

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—”

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–”

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.”

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.”

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you.

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.”

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him.

And Lewis knows it.

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind.

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender.

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe.

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel.

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended.

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent.

“Act like this changes everything.”

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words.

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.”

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters.

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.”

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.”

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?”

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it.

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist.

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.”

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest.

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you.

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.”

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.”

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.”

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him.

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.”

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.”

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?”

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.”

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory.

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.”

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body.

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?”

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.”

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?”

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.”

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.”

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation.

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.”

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing.

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs.

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-”

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.”

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.”

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now.

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.”

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe.

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly.

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core.

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead.

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.”

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling.

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless.

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender.

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you.

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat.

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness.

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.”

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading.

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment.

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you.

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride.

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest.

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?”

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.”

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.”

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fluff

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muxshwriting · 6 months ago

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never too late

Jake Seresin x reader

summary: jake gets a phone call that changed everything || warnings: hospitals, best friend Jake, pregnancy, childbirth, pushing my girldad jake agenda, but the baby's not actually his || word count: 997 || masterlist

You'd known Jake since you were kids, growing up a few doors down from each other in Texas and spending most of your time with each other. There was nothing more that had happened, despite your wishes. When Jake joined the Navy, you naturally drifted apart but always found the tie to be there for him.

You had made it to his graduation, he had made it to your graduation from college. By sheer coincidence, you had managed to land a job near Jake's stationed post and it felt like nothing could come between you two. Then he got the phone call he had never expected.

"Jake? Can you come and pick me up? I'm at the hospital."

One phone call turned his whole life around. Jake came tearing into your room, his eyes searching erratically.

"You're alright?"

You nod, not saying anything because if you did, you would start crying.

"What's wrong?"

You always forgot how easily he could read you, your emotions, your mannerisms. There was no hiding anything from him. "I'm pregnant."

"Are we happy about that?" Jake asked carefully.

"I don't know." The tears are forming in the corners of your eyes and you can't hold them back.

"Okay." Jake perched on the bed next to you. "Okay. We'll figure it out. Do you know the Dad?"

"I already called him. He doesn't want it, says he'll sign his rights away if I have it. But I don't know."

He pulls you into him, letting your tears stain his shirt. He's whispering anything into your hair to calm you, to reassure you that it would be alright. You'd figure it out, it wouldn't be like this forever. If you needed him, he's there. You only have to ask and he's on your side.

And Jake kept to his word. When you decided to keep the baby and raise it yourself, he was there by your side, promising to teach your child everything he could. He accompanied you to every appointment, cradling your bump as it grew and setting up the nursery for you.

He gripped you hand tightly as the nurse moved the ultrasound wand over your stomach. "Everything's looking good, do you want to know the gender?"

On instinct, you look to Jake but he's already grinning at you. He motioned his head towards the screen.

"Yes please."

The tech turned the screen around so you could see your baby and Jake's grip tightened even more. "Congratulations mom and dad, you're having a baby girl."

The elation you feel doesn't give you a pause to correct the tech and Jake doesn't correct her either as he's pressing a kiss to you forehead and beaming even brighter. "A girl! We're having a girl." In your happiness, you don't have the heart to correct Jake either. And part of you doesn't want to.

As time passed, you regretted not acting on your feelings when you were younger so that Jake could be the father of your child, so he would be part of your new family. But that was delusion, he was your best friend. He didn't love you like that, he couldn't.

You put the thought aside as a pain rippled down your side and a liquid rushed down your legs and the panic set in. You knew this was coming but nothing prepared you for the startling realisation that you would met your daughter today. There's only one person you can call.

For the second time in his life, Jake receives a phone call turned his whole life around.

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure!"

"You're home?"

"Yes."

"I'm coming to get you."

He's there in record time, fussing over your bag as he practically carries you to his truck, too concerned to let you walk. The concern didn't stop as he rushed you into the hospital and over to the desk.

"Mom, Dad are we ready?"

"I'm ready to get this baby out of me!"

"Let's get started."

Your contractions rip through you, your progress slow ad steady. And when you were finally ready, the uncertainty bled into your bones. "I can't do this."

Jake, who had been diligently guarding your bed side, squeezed your hand. "You have walked through hell to be here, to birth this baby. This will not defeat you." Jake's words sent a shiver down your spine. "You're undefeatable. Say it for me."

"I- I'm undefeatable?"

"You're undefeatable." He agrees. "You're gonna have this baby."

It's as you're staring into his eyes, unaware of the situation around you that you find the strength to confess. "I love you."

Jake smiles but it's not a smile of pure happiness. It holds a subtle sadness like he thinks you don't mean your words. "I love you too, but let's have a baby, yeah?" Without another word, he clambers up onto the bed behind you and settles so your leaning against him.

A contraction ripples through as you focus on the feeling on Jake behind you, his hands cradling yours as he presses constant kisses into your hair. You're sobbing by the end of it, catching your breath as the doctor looks up at you.

"We'll push on the next one, okay?"

You nod but turn to face Jake. "I love you, I'm sorry but I mean it."

A light bursts in his eyes but the pain returns before he can answer. You're pushing with all your might, unsure if you can actually do this. Then his voice is in your head, echoing through your mind.

"I love you, I've always loved you. You can do this, I love you, you can do this. Please, we're gonna have a baby. I believe in you."

With a final breath, your daughter's scream fill the room and you slump back onto Jake. She's brought to you and placed on your chest, the picture of perfection as you can't take your eyes off her.

"She's perfect." You whisper.

"She's you, of course she'd be perfect."

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #glen powell #topgun #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #muxsh #muxshwrites #hangman #hangman x reader

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tojisbbygworl · 2 years ago

Text

He’s Not Actually That Cool - Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Based off of this post

Part 2 bonus bonus ii

Masterlist

Imagine Hobie, the undeniably coolest person in the Spider Society, is a virgin nerd with a big dick

Tags: Hobie is a pathetic virgin loser, 18+, a lil smut, Oral (m receiving)

"How are you even cooler under your mask?"

"I was this cool the whole time."

A scoff behind the both of them. It's you shaking your head in your mask.

Hobie smirks at you. "Something funny there, love?" You don't say anything, just pretending you don't hear him and looking away innocently.

Hobie was the reason you were a part of the Spider Society. He and Miguel had captured the anomaly in your own universe with your help, of course. You knew Hobie had immediately took a liking to you what with the way he stared at you through his mask when he first laid eyes on you, frozen in place, color palette pink.

You liked him the moment he ripped his mask off when it was all said and done. He looked real good with his wicks, his sharp facial structure, wide-set nose and even larger lips. You actually believed him when he said he was briefly a runway model, emphasis on the briefly.

He invited you to join them and pulled you into the portal before Miguel could even say anything. You two have been inseparable ever since.

As you met more people, they all told you of their opinion of the man who seemed to be your best friend. Everyone says the same thing, that he's effortlessly cool and it makes him a little obnoxious. It always made you tilt your head.

You've seen the anime action figures in his room ranging anywhere from Naruto to Tokyo Ghoul.

"Oi, don't touch my things. You're the only person I trust to let in here, don't ruin it."

He's talked your ear off about the intricate lore of FNAF (he HATES MatPat btw)

You've groaned at how many times you've heard the name 'Afton' leave his mouth.

"So the place shut down again after the victim lost their entire frontal lobe"

"And that's the bite of '83, right?"

"No, that's the bite of '87. Thought I told you about '83?"

He probably did but he talked about it so damn much that you forgot. "It's cool, I'll tell you. So the bite of '83..."

This man is a fucking nerd but the BIGGEST misconception everyone has is that he's probably great at sex.

He has a reputation of "running through" everyone who wants him at the society...and yet no one has actually done anything with him. Everyone whispers about it, but no one has ever come out and admitted to having sex with him.

He's without a doubt your closest friend, so you asked him about it while you were chilling at his, watching him strum his guitar.

"So I heard you been running through the Spider Society like a tomb raider."

He cackled, "Yeah, that's what they all believe, innit?"

"It's not true?"

He shook his head. "I haven't got bottle, luv. Don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing."

"Oh really?"

He stopped strumming to look up at you, his smirk falling upon seeing your sultry and mischievous face. He grew a bit nervous, but was more excited if anything.

"What's that look about?"

"Would you like someone to teach you?"

He dropped his pick from how badly he was shaking. Hobie gulped and slowly nodded his head. You walked over to him and slowly lifted his guitar off his body, then pushing him back into the couch and sitting on top of him.

That's how this current make-out session started with you doing most of the work, taking off yours and his clothes feverously.

Hobie just sat back and let you do whatever you wanted. He especially loved watching you strip down to your underwear, blood shooting to his dick as soon as he watched your breasts bounce out of your shirt. He watched you pull your panties off of you leaving you completely naked and him only in his boxers.

He shifted in the couch to relieve some tension. You giggled at his starstruck face.

"You good?" You asked him. He nodded. "Do you need me to pull it out for you?" He nodded again.

You laughed, but was quickly shut up by his long, curved shaft slapping back onto his stomach. His underwear did him no justice, nothing could have prepared you for this.

He shyly looked away and bit his lip, not wanting to admit that he liked the way you gazed at it. It fueled his ego, but he didn't know how to tell you without stuttering.

He was actually shaking pretty bad, and it worried you. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah...I just..." he gulped and looked back down, his dick jumping upon looking into your eyes. Just like his, yours were a deep brown. Your eyes were furrowed in concern, and your full lips were parted. His breathing got deeper.

"You really want to have sex? With me?"

You deadpanned him, then leaned your head down to his base. Hobie gasped when you stuck your tongue out and licked all the way to his tips. Your played with it for a couple seconds, leaving him a shuddering mess. His precum leaked from it and you licked it all up reveling in the salty taste.

"O-oh..." he moaned when you grasped it gently and began to pump. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, so glad that he didn't have to imagine it was your hand beating his dick. He humped into it a little, and he looked so sexy crunching his abs that you couldn't help but to enclose your mouth over him.

"Oh, fuck," he exclaimed. He threw his head back up and gazed upon your form. You were giving him the sloppiest top he had ever seen, (he only watched BJ and missionary porn and you were much better than those girls)

God, he couldn't wait to get you under him and hump into you like's he's thought about for so long. He's used his hand, his pillow, he even looked up how to make his own flesh light because he would never be able to hide a real one from you. It was gross but fuck, how else was he supposed to get his rocks off? If he didn't do any of those things, he would have no control around you.

"Fuck, babe. Please keep going~" Hobie was drooling - actually drooling - out the side of his mouth. He panted and clenched his hands. You had to reach out and move them to your hair.

The poor thing panicked, he had no idea what you wanted him to do. He gently pet your small afro, more concerned that he was close to cumming down your throat.

You stopped and popped him out of your mouth, laughing a little at how cute he was.

You didn't notice how stressed he looked, him sitting up a little more in the chair. "Ngh, wait, no-" he whispered.

His dick bounces with each spray of his cum with him letting out a string of moans and curses as it lands on his stomach and chest. "Ffff...uh...uck..."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say, watching his fucked-out face. His head bounces with each deep breath he took.

"Why...did you...stop?" he asked in between pants.

"Why did you pat my head?" you asked, standing up, begrudgingly putting your clothes back on despite the ache between your legs.

"What was I supposed to do?" Hobie stares at your ass lustfully, feeling the blood rush back into his dick from how it moved.

"You were supposed to grab my hair and choke me with your dick, baby."

He gulps not being able to take his eyes off of you. "Oh."

You turned after putting your panties back on and froze. His dick was standing straight up again, the head glistening with thick white liquid. He stared at you embarrassingly, hoping that you would just come back over and kiss it.

"You could have said something before I started putting my shit back on."

"Sorry," he said, not being able to contain his excitement when you walked back over to him. His smile went away when you instead hovered yourself over his lap. His cum was still on his stomach and his dick. "W-Wait-"

"Yeah?" You whispered sensually, grabbing him again and pulling your panties to the side to line him up with you.

"I'm still-, I still have-, Is this okay?"

"I'm on the pill."

He starts getting nervous again, but he doesn't know why.

"You scared?" She asks.

He looks at her and rests his hand on her hip. "I don't want to hurt you. Or make you uncomfortable."

You giggled again. "I promise you I'll be fine."

"But, I still got my cum on me, babe."

"I know." You leans over to his ear and lick it. He shivers. "Isn't that so nasty?"

Hobie moaned as you begin to sink yourself onto him. You moan too, Hobie splitting you like you never imagined.

"You really want to shag a virgin?" He finally asked her, his voice wavering.

She rolled her eyes and sighed in frustration. "Virginity is a social construct. Don't be ashamed. Now shut the fuck up."

Definitely making a part 2 and a lil bonus and another bonus (ii)

Taglist is closed!

Masterlist

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spider punk smut #hobie brown x black!reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x black reader #spider punk x reader smut #black reader

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ijustwannabecool · 16 days ago

Text

The Wrong Letter

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary... A letter never meant to be read by Lewis Hamilton finds its way into his hands. What starts as a simple reply turns into an unlikely bond—one filled with letters, honesty, heartbreak, and healing. In a world where the wrong address led to the right person, what happens when pen meets paper, and two broken hearts begin to write a new ending?

Trigger Warnings: emotional manipulation, mental/emotional abuse (past), themes of abandonment and healing, language, grief, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, miscommunication A/N: I hope you enjoy it! I wrote it with lots of love for you guys. Enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome! Comment, repost, and like. Have a beautiful day!

THE WRONG LETTER

The Letter That Wasn’t Supposed to Be Sent

⸻

The flat is still.

There’s no dramatic thunderstorm, no flickering lights. Just the hush of twilight seeping through the windows and the low hum of your record player crackling out some melancholy tune you can’t remember the name of. You’re not sad, not really. Just tired.

Exhaustion lives in your bones now.

Not the kind sleep fixes, but the kind that hangs around long after someone has convinced you you’re too much and somehow not enough all at once.

You’re in your favorite hoodie—the soft, oversized one that smells faintly of lavender and school paint—and you’re sitting on the floor with a pen in your hand and a letter you’re not supposed to be writing.

It started as a thought. Then a sentence. Now it’s three pages in and your hand won’t stop moving.

You didn’t plan this. You were cleaning out the drawer next to your bed, the one filled with tangled chargers and expired coupons and that old blue stationery you forgot you even owned. Something about the blank page pulled at you. Like a dare.

You told yourself it was just a writing exercise. Closure. Nothing more. But now the ink is dry on your fingers, and the page in front of you reads like a confession.

⸻

Dear You, I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of this. It’s not like you’ll ever read it. Which is probably for the best.

You don’t deserve this version of me—the one that stayed soft, even after you tried to strip her down to splinters. You were always good with words. Always knew how to rearrange a sentence so it sounded like care instead of control. Love instead of leverage.

I used to think your silences were deep. Now I know they were empty.

Still, part of me misses you. Or maybe I miss who I thought you were. The you I built in my head. The one who laughed when I danced barefoot in the kitchen and kissed my shoulder when I fell asleep during movies.

But that version of you never existed, did he?

No, the real you gave compliments like currency. Affection in measured doses. Love as a prize to be earned. And I tried. God, I tried.

I folded myself smaller. Smiled quieter. Disappeared gently. And still—you left.

So I guess this is me saying goodbye to a ghost. I’m letting go of you. Of the echo of you. Of the space you used to take up in my head. You won’t read this. But I need to say it anyway. I’m done writing stories where you’re the hero. — Me

⸻

You fold the letter carefully. You don’t know why. You could rip it up. Burn it. Drop it in the bin. But instead, you slide it into the envelope and write out the name almost instinctively.

M. Hamilton

312 Grafton Way London NW1

You stare at it. You don't even know if he still lives there. Then you frown. No—wait.

You flip the envelope back over. You wrote it wrong.

It says:

L. Hamilton

213 Grafton Lane London NW1

You groan. “Of course,” you mutter. “Because nothing in this chapter can be simple.” You set the letter aside, swearing you won’t send it.

But the next morning, in a fog of Monday autopilot, you grab a handful of outgoing post—bills, a birthday card, and the letter—and drop them all in the red postbox outside your building.

It’s only as the flap closes behind them that your stomach sinks. “Shit.”

⸻

A Week Later — Monaco

He notices the envelope right away.

It’s the only one without a stamp, as if someone hand-delivered it, even though it came through the normal post. It’s pale blue and slightly wrinkled. The handwriting is neat, but unsure—like someone who learned to write letters in a hurry and never stopped.

L. Hamilton

He sighs.

Another fan letter, maybe. Or someone asking for money. Or advice. Or a favor he can’t give.

Still, something about it makes him pause.

He’s been restless lately.

Ferrari is new, and so far, it feels like trying to start over in a language he only half understands. Everyone wants a piece of him. A statement. A smile. A legacy.

And all he wants—quietly, stubbornly—is something real. So he opens the envelope. And reads. Once.

Then twice.

Then again—slower.

By the third read, he’s no longer just reading. He’s feeling.

The words dig beneath his ribs.

It’s not meant for him. Obviously. He’s never said any of these things to anyone. And yet—he recognizes the ache in every line.

The loneliness. The exhaustion. The delicate way she holds her own pain like it might spill if she’s not careful.

He stares at the letter for a long time. Then he folds it neatly and places it on the table.

He makes a cup of tea. Takes a shower. Paces the room. Plays part of a jazz album he’s never finished.

And still—he’s thinking about her. The woman who wrote to the wrong Hamilton. And made him feel more seen than anyone had in months.

⸻

He stares at the letter again the next morning.

He’d left it on the edge of his desk, tucked just under a book he hadn’t had the attention span to read. He told himself he wasn’t going to pick it up again.

But he did.

Twice.

And now—again.

He rereads the opening line: “I don’t know what I’m hoping to get out of this.”

Same.

Lewis exhales sharply and runs a hand down his face. He’s still in his sweats, hair barely tied back, a mug of lukewarm coffee in one hand.

The world outside his window is bright and red and fast. But in here, it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

He doesn’t remember the last time someone told him something real without asking for something in return.

And this stranger—this accidental letter writer��didn’t even mean to.

She gave him honesty on accident. Gave him something that wasn’t for him, but somehow still fit him like a second skin.

She’d sent a goodbye, but it felt like a beginning. He hated how much he wanted to know more.

Was she okay now? Did she still make tea and leave the light on? Did she feel better after writing that letter, or worse?

He folds it again. Then pulls a fresh page from the drawer. Stares at it. Pen hovering. Waits. Then, finally, slowly, begins to write.

Dear Me, I read your letter three times before I let myself breathe.

It wasn’t meant for me—I know that. You probably wanted it to disappear. Or maybe just exist long enough to stop hurting. Either way, it landed here. With me.

And I don’t know what to do with that, except... write back.

I’ve been trying to remember the last time someone told me the truth without dressing it up first. Without asking for anything. Without spinning it for their own satisfaction.

You didn’t do that.

You just wrote.

And in doing that, you made me feel a little less like I’m walking through the world alone.

I won’t pretend I know your story, not really. But I know what it’s like to question yourself so deeply that you start to think your own reflection might be lying.

If you don’t mind—if it’s not too strange—I’d like to keep writing.

Not to fix you. Not to fix me. Just... to talk. I’ll go by L.

If you write back, I’ll know it’s okay. If not—I’ll still be grateful I got to read the first letter.

—L

He folds it carefully, slips it into a fresh white envelope, and handwrites the return address on the back.

Just an initial.

Nothing else.

No fame. No clues.

Just words.

He hesitates before sealing it.

He could throw it away.

He probably should.

But instead, he walks down to the private courier drop he trusts more than the usual post and hands it off without saying a word.

The next day, he checks his mailbox five times. Even though he knows better.

⸻

Back in London – Three Days Later

You find it wedged between an ASOS return and a flyer for a takeaway you swear you’ve blocked a hundred times.

It’s stark white. No stamp. No sender. No clue. Except the handwriting. Your heart skips. You open it slowly. Hands shaking. Breath caught. And when you finish reading, you sit on the floor in your hallway and cry.

Not because you’re sad. But because, for the first time in a long time, someone didn’t try to fix you. They just stayed.

You write back that night. Just one line:

Dear L, I don’t know what this is either, but I think I’d like to find out.

⸻

It becomes a ritual.

You come home from school, kick off your shoes, toss your keys in the bowl by the door—and check the mail.

Every day. Like a teenager with a crush and a fountain pen addiction. Most days there’s nothing. But some days— There’s him.

⸻

Letter #2

Dear L,

I didn’t expect a response. Honestly, I expected the letter to get lost, or burned, or laughed at over brunch. I didn’t think it would matter.

And yet... here we are. I’m not great at this kind of thing. Feelings. Trust. Vulnerability. Capital-L Letters. But there’s something about your reply that didn’t scare me. Maybe it’s because you didn’t try to solve anything.

You just witnessed. And maybe that’s what I’ve needed all along.

Tell me something unimportant. Tell me what you had for breakfast or the last thing that made you laugh. Tell me what your voice sounds like when you’re tired.

I think I’d like to know. — Me P.S. You said you go by L. Can I go by Y/I? Seems fair.

⸻

Letter #3

Dear Y/I, Okay. Something unimportant:

I had granola with almond milk this morning. Mostly because it was the only thing left in the fridge and I was too lazy to do a shop.

I forgot how much I hate almond milk.

As for laughing—yesterday I walked into a glass door while texting. My assistant pretended not to see it but I know he did.

My tired voice? It’s apparently lower than usual. Scratchy. My mum says I sound like a hungover jazz singer.

(...That’s probably too much information.)

This is already more personal than 90% of the interviews I’ve done in the last year.

And I think that says something.

Still writing, —L

P.S. Yes. Y/I fits you.

⸻

It keeps going.

Little things. Honest things. You start opening up without realizing you’re doing it.

You tell him about your favorite mug—the chipped one with a sunflower on the side. About the boy in your class who named his left shoe Kevin and insists it has a twin named Steve. About your best friend who makes you playlists with titles like “Songs to Emotionally Shatter You During Grocery Shopping.”

You don’t tell him about Marcus yet. But it’s there. Between the lines. In the way you talk about softness like it’s borrowed, not owned.

He picks up on it. Of course he does.

⸻

Letter #5

Dear Y/I,

I think we forget how brave softness is.

Everyone wants to be strong. Loud. Unbothered. But you—

You write like someone who’s still learning to trust her own voice, and I think that’s the bravest kind of loud there is.

Today I went for a run at sunrise. Not because I wanted to, but because I couldn’t sleep. Something about the silence felt heavy. Then the sun cracked through the sky like it was begging to be noticed. I thought of your letter. The one where you said mornings make you feel both holy and hollow. I took a picture. It’s nothing special. But I wanted you to see what I saw when I thought of you. —L

(Polaroid attached: A sunrise over a quiet bay, light spilling gold over rooftops. In the corner of the frame, a coffee cup and one bare foot.)

You hold the photo to your chest like it might disappear.

You don’t know what this is.

But you know it’s becoming something you need.

You write back the same night.

⸻

Letter #6

Dear L,

It feels strange, how much I look forward to your letters. Like I’m building a home inside a mailbox.

I’ve started writing you in my head when things happen—like today, when one of the kids sneezed so hard he fell off his chair. Or when I saw a pigeon aggressively fighting a croissant on my lunch break.

I wanted to tell you.

And I don’t even know your face.

But I know your mind. Your voice. Your stillness.

So I’m sending you something too.

It’s small. But it made me think of you.

— Y/I

(Polaroid attached: A blurry photo of her windowsill at night, soft fairy lights glowing, a cup of tea, and a stack of letters—his letters—tied with ribbon.)

⸻

And just like that, the distance between you starts to shrink. Not in miles. But in silence.

You tell him about Marcus in your next letter. Not the full story. Not yet. But enough.

Enough for Lewis to fold the page twice before reading it again, slower. Like her words might bleed if he moved too fast.

⸻

Letter #12

Dear L,

I thought about deleting this letter.

I still might.

But if I don’t tell you this now, I never will.

There was someone.

He made me feel like love was a job interview. Like I had to be the right combination of soft and sexy and small in order to be kept.

He didn’t hit me. He didn’t scream.

But he rewrote the world in a way that only made sense when he was in it. And when he left, I realized I hadn’t heard my own voice in months. I’m still trying to find it again. Sometimes I think I only speak in whispers now.

But you hear me. Thank you for that. — Y/I

He sits with the letter for a long time. Long enough for the sky outside his window to shift from gold to gray.

He traces the edge of the paper. Imagines her, somewhere miles away, hunched over a desk or a kitchen table, writing these words. Brave and trembling.

He wants to say everything. Wants to fix it.

But knows he can’t. So instead—he writes her back.

⸻

Letter #13

Dear Y/I,

I don’t know if this will help, but...

You don’t speak in whispers anymore.

Not to me.

Your letters fill the room when I open them. Your voice has a weight I can feel in my chest. It lingers.

And I know we said this is just letters. Just words.

But when you trust someone with your story—even a part of it— That’s not nothing.

You’re not nothing.

I hope you never forget that

—L

And from that point forward— The letters change. They become a place to land.

Sometimes soft.

Sometimes raw.

Always honest.

⸻

Letter #15

Dear L,

I can’t believe how much I look forward to this. To you.

To the moment I get to peel open an envelope and see your words.

You’ve started to live in the in-between spaces of my day.

Between class sessions. In the quiet moments before sleep. In the sun through my window and the smell of clean sheets.

It scares me, how much I care. I don’t even know what you look like. But I know your mind. And your heart.

And I think... that’s more important.

— Y/I

⸻

Letter #16

Dear Y/I,

There’s this little alleyway near where I’m staying. It’s nothing—just old bricks, chipped paint, the hum of a neon sign in a language I don’t speak.

But it reminded me of your last letter. The part about “between spaces.”

I took a photo. It’s not good. I almost didn’t send it.

But then I thought—maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect.

Maybe it just has to be honest.

Like us.

—L

(Polaroid: A quiet alleyway at dusk, soft yellow light spilling onto cobblestones. A bicycle leans against the wall. There's no one in sight.)

⸻

You hold it for a long time. Wonder what he was thinking when he took it.

And realize— You want to ask him. Not through a letter. Not weeks later. But face to face. And that, more than anything, terrifies you.

⸻

You don’t set an alarm anymore.

Your internal clock is tuned to the sound of birds and buses and the small clatter of the kettle boiling in the flat next door.

You stretch quietly in bed, blink up at the ceiling, and smile at the faint sunlight creeping through the curtains.

It’s a Tuesday. That means circle time, two back-to-back art projects, and a high chance of glitter in your bra by noon.

You slip on a loose sweater and jeans, twist your hair up, and grab the sunflower mug you once mentioned in a letter. It’s chipped, but perfect. Familiar.

You sip your tea as you stare at the little wooden box on your kitchen shelf.

It holds his letters now.

You don’t read one this morning. You want to save it for later—like dessert.

⸻

Your day unfolds the way it always does.

You greet your students with that voice you reserve for them—bright, warm, steady.

You kneel beside Sophie, who’s crying because her banana touched her yogurt.

You high-five Theo for remembering to say “please.”

You tape two shoelaces and one broken crayon back together.

⸻

At lunch, your coworker Ana plops beside you on the bench outside.

“Big weekend plans?” she asks, unwrapping her sandwich.

You shrug. “Not really.”

“Still writing to mystery man?” she grins.

You fight the smile. “Maybe.”

“God, you’re such a romantic.”

“No,” you say softly. “I think I’m just... hopeful.”

She gives you a look but lets it go.

⸻

The school day ends.

You wave goodbye to the last kid and lock your classroom door. The janitor hums as he sweeps the hall.

And when you walk home—your steps are a little quicker.

Because you know. You know. You fumble your keys, heart skipping.

You open the mailbox. And there it is. White envelope. Familiar handwriting. Just your first initial on the front.

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, you’re curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, tea steeping on the table, fingers trembling as you open the letter.

Inside?

A note.

And a photo.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

It’s been a week of motion. Too many cities, too many suitcases.

But I found a little moment of stillness.

I thought you might like it.

You feel like stillness, sometimes.

Like breath.

More soon.

—L

(Polaroid: A single red flower growing out of cracked pavement, light hitting it just right.)

You press the photo to your chest. And smile.

⸻

He wakes up in yet another hotel.

He has to blink twice to remember where he is. Barcelona. This week,

it’s Barcelona.

The light is soft, filtered through gauzy curtains, and the air smells faintly like salt and rubber and espresso from the street below. He can hear the hum of traffic already—low, constant, like a heartbeat.

He groans, presses a palm to his face, and drags himself out of bed. There’s a media briefing in forty-five minutes.

Another debrief after that.

Then sim work.

Then setup.

Then dinner with someone he doesn’t really know.

He pulls on a hoodie and sweats, ties his braids back messily, and pads barefoot to the table by the window.

There, tucked neatly under his notebook, is her letter. He’d brought it with him.

Always does now.

Wherever he goes.

Just in case.

He unfolds it like something sacred and reads the last paragraph again.

“You’ve started to live in the in-between spaces of my day.”

He smiles.

And exhales.

⸻

The paddock is chaos.

People. Cameras. Logistics. Language.

He answers questions without really hearing them. Shakes hands. Nods. Smiles.

He does the dance.

But his mind keeps drifting back to the letter.

Back to her.

To the way she described the way the rain sounded on her roof. Or the way her students pronounced “spaghetti” like “buhgetti.”

He tucks a small Polaroid camera into his jacket pocket before heading out to do the track walk.

⸻

He takes photos quietly.

A puddle reflecting the clouds. A half-eaten orange on a bright red barrier. The back of someone’s helmet with a quote in Italian sharpied on the side: “Chi trova un amico, trova un tesoro.” (He who finds a friend, finds treasure.)

He frames the shot. Clicks.

And hears a voice behind him.

“Since when do you take artsy photos, man?”

He jumps slightly, turning.

It’s Charles.

His teammate. Friendly. Sharp. Always watching.

“Oh,” Lewis says quickly, tucking the photo into his pocket. “Just something for a... project.”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “A project?”

“Yeah. Personal one.”

Charles squints at him. Then shrugs. “Alright. You just looked like you were thinking hard about it.”

“I was,” Lewis admits, softer this time.

Then, without thinking, he adds:

“She writes about things like this. Ordinary stuff that feels... alive.”

Charles tilts his head. “She?”

Lewis clears his throat. “Just someone I talk to.”

Charles smirks. “You getting poetic on me?”

“Maybe,” he mutters, walking away. “Mind your business.”

But he’s smiling.

Because that’s what she does to him.

Makes the world feel quiet again.

Even here.

⸻

That night, after hours of meetings and late-night workouts, he finally gets a moment alone.

He sits on the edge of his bed, pulls out his worn journal, and slides one of the new Polaroids inside a letter he started days ago.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

Today was loud.

The kind of loud that follows you even after the noise stops.

But I saw something that made me think of one of your old letters—the one about how beauty is just borrowed stillness.

I think you’re right.

This isn’t much.

But it made me feel quiet.

And when I feel quiet, I think of you.

—L

(Polaroid: A reflection of clouds in a puddle shaped like a heart, partially stepped on, still beautiful.)

He seals the envelope and sets it by the door. It’ll go out in the morning. And when he gets home— Her words will be waiting.

He already knows exactly where he’s going to sit to read them.

⸻

The letters start arriving more often. No longer once a week. Now it’s every few days. Sometimes back-to-back. Sometimes overlapping. And they’re longer. Richer. Almost too much to hold in your hands.

⸻

Letter #28

Dear Y/I,

I don’t know what this is anymore.

And I don’t mean that in a bad way.

It’s just—somewhere along the way, I stopped writing to pass the time and started writing to remember who I am.

I don’t tell most people anything real. I give them smiles. Headlines. “Doing great, thanks.” But you ask me questions I don’t even realize I’ve been dying to answer. Like what my laugh sounds like when I’m tired. Or what I’d do if the world stopped spinning for a day.

(For the record, I’d sit in the sun and read your letters.) Sometimes I wish I could just... show up. Knock on your door. Ask you what kind of tea you’re making and sit in your quiet for a while. But I won’t do that.

Because part of what makes this feel real is that it’s not built on appearances or performance. It’s just us. Words. Trust.

Still yours,

—L

⸻

You read that letter three times.

Then again the next morning.

You walk through your day differently now. More alert.

More tender.

You find yourself watching the sky at red lights. Running your fingers along brick walls. Laughing longer at things that make you feel known.

⸻

Letter #29

Dear L,

You said you don’t know what this is anymore.

I don’t either.

But I know what it’s not.

It’s not nothing.

And sometimes I catch myself saying things like, “My friend said—” and I mean you.

Or when I see something beautiful, I reach for my camera, then stop, because I remember...

You already saw it.

You live in these spaces I didn’t even know I’d left unlocked.

And that scares me.

But it also makes me feel whole.

— Y/I

P.S. If you ever did knock on my door... I’d make chamomile. And I’d let you sit in the silence for as long as you needed.

⸻

Letter #30

Dear Y/I,

This week I was back somewhere familiar. A city I’ve been to a hundred times, for work.

I passed this bakery that smelled like cinnamon and woodsmoke, and I remembered something you once wrote—about how you used to bake on Sundays with your mum, just to fill the flat with warmth.

So I bought a pastry I didn’t even want. Just because it made me feel close to you. There were cameras, like always.

But I kept thinking—what would it feel like to walk here with you, no one watching?

To just be a man next to a woman he respects.

Not a name.

Not a brand.

Just L.

(Almost slipped there. Guess I’m tired.)

— Still just L

⸻

You reread that paragraph.

“There were cameras, like always.” “Almost slipped there.”

Your heart kicks up. You don’t Google him.

You could.

But you don’t.

Because whatever this is—it’s enough.

And you trust him.

⸻

Letter #31

Dear L,

When I was with Marcus, I used to write things and hide them. Little notes to myself. Things I was afraid to say out loud.

“I am not difficult.” “I deserve to be chosen.” “I am allowed to take up space.”

I found them again last week.

And I cried.

Not because I felt that way again. But because I don’t anymore.

You didn’t fix me.

But you reminded me that I wasn’t broken to begin with.

You don’t know my face. My laugh. The shape I take up in a room.

And still—you see me.

More clearly than anyone else has.

— Y/I

⸻

He reads that letter after a long flight. Eyes burning.

The hotel is too cold. The hallway echoing. His muscles sore.

But none of it matters.

Because she just told him the one thing he’s been terrified to believe:

That he matters without being anyone else.

That she wants him, not the idea of him.

That she’s ready.

And just like that—

He knows.

It’s almost time to tell her who he is.

⸻

It was raining the day you wrote the draft.

Not the romantic kind of rain. Not the soft pitter-patter you loved with a mug of tea.

This was the kind of rain that felt mean.

That made the sky feel heavy and mean and too much.

It had been a rough week. The school was understaffed. A parent yelled at you for enforcing a food allergy rule. Your period came early. You felt bloated and stupid and small.

You were already crying before you picked up the pen.

And you shouldn't have written it.

But you did.

Not to him.

Just... to yourself.

A letter that bled frustration. Fear. That creeping anxiety that whispered what if he’s only being kind? What if you’re building a fantasy out of figments and metaphors?

You wrote:

Sometimes I wonder if you’re just good with words. If I’m just a soft place for you to land until you’re ready to walk again. If I’m falling alone, and you’re just watching.

You folded it.

Slid it into your drawer.

You didn’t sign it.

Didn’t intend to send it.

You wrote a new letter the next day. A good one. A hopeful one. You slipped a photo of your favorite bookstore at twilight into the envelope and dropped it in the post.

You didn’t realize... that you’d picked up the wrong page.

⸻

Four days later — Monaco

He gets home late.

The race weekend was long. Brutal. Not his best.

He drops his suitcase, toes off his shoes, and heads straight to the table.

Her letter is there. Waiting.

He smiles before he even opens it.

But the smile fades.

Line by line.

Word by word.

He reads the first sentence.

And stops.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just good with words...”

It feels like a slap.

Like being called a liar by the only person who doesn’t see him as one. He stares at the page, willing it to turn into something else.

A joke.

A mistake.

A test.

But it’s just... her.

Questioning all of it.

All of him.

And he—

He doesn’t know what to do.

⸻

He doesn't reply.

Not right away.

Not at all.

He wants to write something. Anything.

But the words won’t come.

Because the truth is—he was afraid. That he was falling harder. That he was hoping for something real. That she might only be in love with the idea of him, not the messy, exhausted man who sits in hotel rooms and wonders if he's worth any of it.

So he doesn’t write.

He disappears.

⸻

A Week Later

You feel it before you know it.

The silence.

It’s louder than any rejection you’ve ever heard.

You check the mailbox obsessively. Refresh your phone, even though you’ve never texted. Wait for something. Anything.

And then it comes.

One envelope.

No letter inside.

Just a photo.

A paper airplane.

Caught mid-fall, fluttering toward a storm-gray pavement.

And on the back, written in familiar handwriting:

I didn’t know I was disposable.

You sink to the floor.

The kind of cry you can’t make pretty. The kind with hiccups and shaking hands and a voice that sounds foreign when you whisper, “No... no no no...”

Because it wasn’t meant for him.

That letter—

That damn letter—

Was a ghost you were trying to exorcise. Not a truth you meant to send.

You run to your drawer, flipping through everything.

And there it is.

The real one.

The one he was supposed to read. The one that said:

You make me believe in softness again. You make me want to be brave. You feel like coming home.

You crumble it in your hands, then press it flat again.

Too late.

You whisper to the empty room, your heart breaking into pieces:

“Please come back.”

⸻

Days pass.

Then a week.

Then two.

You don’t write.

Not because you don’t want to.

But because you don’t know how. What do you even say?

“That letter wasn’t meant for you”?

“I was scared and hormonal and bleeding and sad”?

“You’re the only thing that’s felt real in months, and I ruined it with my doubt”?

You sit by your window, tracing the rim of your mug with a trembling finger.

You haven’t opened the box of his letters since the paper airplane arrived.

But tonight—

You do.

You take them out. One by one. Lay them across your floor like constellations.

And then...

You write.

⸻

Letter #32

Dear L,

I sent you the wrong letter.

That’s the truth.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally.

It wasn’t supposed to be you.

That page... it was something I wrote on a bad day. A page of fear. A draft I buried under better things.

But I sent it.

And I know how it must��ve sounded.

Like I didn’t believe you. Like I doubted all of this.

But I didn’t. I don’t.

I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trust you.

I’ve never felt seen the way I do when I read your words.

You gave me my voice back.

And I used it to hurt you. Even if I didn’t mean to.

I understand if that’s unforgivable.

But if by some miracle you’re still reading—please know this:

You are not disposable.

You never were.

You are everything.

And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.

Come back. — Y/I

⸻

You don’t send it.

Not right away.

You fold it.

Place it inside the box. And wait.

⸻

Meanwhile — Three weeks later, Monaco

He’s still carrying her last photo in his pocket. Even now.

Even though it hurts.

He’s been quiet too long.

Long enough that his friends have stopped asking.

Long enough that he’s almost convinced himself it was just a phase. A beautiful mirage.

But then—

He finds her real letter.

Not on purpose.

It’s tucked inside a notebook. One he’d left on the plane. One his assistant brought back and casually dropped on his desk.

He flips it open.

And there it is.

The handwriting.

His heart stops.

He reads it. He rereads it. His hands start to shake.

And in that moment, he realizes— She didn’t leave him.

She was trying to tell him the truth. He just didn’t listen.

And that—

That’s what finally breaks him.

He doesn’t write back this time. He needs time to think.

⸻

The sun is sharp over the circuit. The sky, clean and cruelly blue. Perfect for photos. Perfect for a podium.

Lewis Hamilton stands with champagne running down his fire suit and a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The crowd is screaming. His team is cheering. His name echoes off the grandstands like something holy.

And yet— He feels like a ghost inside his own body.

He won.

But it feels empty.

⸻

TWO DAYS EARLIER

“Radio check,” Marc says through his headset as Lewis climbs into the car.

“Copy,” Lewis replies, voice flat.“Loud and clear.”

He hears Marc hesitate. “You good?”

Lewis adjusts his gloves. “Yeah.”

He’s not.

He hasn’t been for a while.

It’s been almost two months since her last letter.

Or rather, since his last letter.

The one he didn’t send.

He’s still reading her last one. Still keeping it folded in the inner pocket of his backpack like a bruise.

⸻

Back in the garage, everyone’s buzzing. There’s tension in the air. Good tension. Energy. Hope.

They’ve got a shot at pole.

Maybe more.

Lewis leans against a wall, sipping on an electrolyte pouch, pretending to scroll through data on the iPad in his lap.

His assistant, Natalie, walks up quietly. “You’ve been off today.”

He doesn’t look up. “I’m here.”

“That’s not the same as being present.”

He finally lifts his eyes.

She softens. “Still thinking about her?”

He swallows. Doesn’t answer.

“You know,” she says carefully, “you could always just reach out. Not with a letter. Just... talk to her.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is. It never was. If she wanted to hear from me, she would’ve written back.”

Natalie stares at him for a second. Then says quietly, “Maybe she’s waiting for you, too.”

He looks away.

⸻

RACE DAY

The car feels good.

Better than it has in weeks.

Lap after lap, he pushes harder. Lighter. Freer.

Maybe it's adrenaline.

Or maybe it’s because for once, he stops trying to outrun the ache and lets it sit in the passenger seat with him.

He takes the win.

First place.

Everyone’s shouting, hugging, throwing their arms around him like he just saved the world.

And maybe he did.

But it’s not the world he wants to save.

⸻

That night, he sits in his hotel room, champagne unopened on the dresser, still in his race suit pants and a hoodie.

And he stares at a blank page. Then he starts to write.

⸻

Dear Y/I,

It’s been 52 days since I heard from you. I’ve counted every single one.

And for the first 20, I told myself I deserved the silence.

Because I was a coward.

Because I didn’t ask if that letter was a mistake. I didn’t trust you the way I should’ve.

But if I’m being honest? I

stopped writing because I was scared.

I didn’t want to fall for someone who didn’t exist outside of pages and polaroids.

I didn’t want to be seen so completely and still be left behind.

But you didn’t leave me.

I left you.

And I’m sorry.

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve asked.

I should’ve told you the truth.

—

I started writing this at 2am. Then rewrote it at 3. I’ve cried twice. Walked away once. But every time I try to give up—your words come back. You told me once I made you believe in softness again. You made me believe in real.

—

You asked once what my favorite part of the day was. It’s not the win. It’s not the champagne. It’s the moment I walk through my door, drop my bag, and see your letter waiting on the table. Even now. I still check. Even when I know it won’t be there.

—

I miss the way you see the world. I miss the way you write about rain like it’s a friend. The way you call yourself a mess but write with so much clarity it could split stars.

I miss you.

Not the idea. Not the version I created in my head.

You.

Whatever name you wear.

Whatever face you have.

You are already mine in every way that matters.

—

I got something.

A tattoo.

I wasn’t going to tell you. But it’s the only thing that’s made me feel brave in weeks.

You wrote once: “I’m not broken. I’m becoming.”

I had those words etched into my skin. Because that’s what this has been.

A becoming.

And I want you to see it.

—

If you never write back, I’ll understand.

But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still wants to meet—

I’m ready.

I want to hear your voice. I want to see your face. I want to know how you laugh and whether you still leave the bathroom light on.

I want all of it.

Not in fragments.

Not in metaphors.

You.

Please let me come home.

—L

(Polaroid enclosed: A close-up of his forearm. In clean, delicate lettering—I’m not broken. I’m becoming. Just below it, faint ink smudges. A fresh tattoo. His skin raw. Real.)

⸻

You wake up with paint on your hands.

Dried glitter on your temple.

Your hair is in a lopsided braid you forgot to take out the night before.

It’s been 51 days since your last letter.

52 since you heard from him.

You stopped checking the mailbox after the fourth week.

You told yourself it was over. That it was a chapter you needed to leave behind.

But still—when you brush your teeth, you glance toward the door. Still—when you pass the postbox, your heart skips.

You still miss him.

And it’s quieter now, the grief. But it never left.

⸻

8:02 AM — Your Classroom

“Miss Y/N! Look! Look what I made!”

You blink back into the moment and crouch down beside Ava, who is proudly holding a collage of cotton balls and sequins.

“It’s stunning,” you say, voice catching.

“It's a cloud!” she beams. “But a magic cloud. It cries glitter.”

You smile, and feel your throat close.

You used to write like that.

⸻

10:14 AM — Playground Duty

You and Ana walk the perimeter of the small playground while the kids scream joyfully into the wind.

Ana nudges you gently. “You good?”

You nod. “Fine.”

“Liar.”

You sigh. “It’s just... I miss someone I never met.”

Ana stays quiet.

Then: “Maybe they’re missing you too.”

⸻

12:45 PM — Staff Room

You’re eating cold pasta out of a Tupperware when the receptionist walks in.

“Delivery for you.”

You frown. “Here?”

She shrugs. “Postmarked from Monaco.”

Your heart stops.

You take the envelope like it’s a live wire.

It’s heavy. Dense.

Your name is written in careful, familiar handwriting.

Just your initial.

Your hands shake.

You excuse yourself. Walk down the hall. Sit on the floor beside the storage closet. And read.

Ten pages.

Ten pages that rip you open and stitch you back together in the same breath.

The moment you unfold the photo—his arm, the tattoo, your words etched into him—you break.

Tears fall silently.

You clutch the pages to your chest.

You whisper, “You didn’t leave.”

And for the first time in 52 days—

You let yourself hope.

⸻

6:04 PM — Your Flat

You sit at your kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, tea cooling beside you. You’ve read the letter five more times.

Your hands are still shaking.

You grab your best pen.

A blank page. And write.

⸻

Dear L, You said you didn’t know what this is anymore.

I think I do.

It’s real.

It’s two people finding each other in the most impossible, tender way.

It’s the ache in my chest when I check the mailbox.

It’s the way my fingers tremble when I write your name.

It’s the way I stopped being afraid of my own voice.

Because you heard it.

And then you answered.

You said you want to hear my voice.

You said you want to see my face.

So let’s.

Let’s stop hiding behind paper.

Let’s meet.

Let’s begin.

You’re not the only one who’s becoming. I am too.

And I think we’re meant to do it together.

— Y/I

P.S. I kept every letter. Even the hard ones. Even the ones I read in the dark. They were never just words. They were you.

(A Polaroid enclosed: Her favorite mug, steaming. His first letter curled at the edges. A blurred tear on the page. And in the background, a tiny sticky note on the wall. It says: “Come back.”)

⸻

Two Weeks After Y/N’s Reply

You don’t expect a response this fast.

But it arrives four days after your letter—postmarked Monaco. The envelope is heavier than usual.

You hold it for a long moment before opening it. You already know it’s him.

⸻

Letter #33

Dear Y/I,

I’ve been staring at this blank page for hours.

I’ve written a hundred versions of this and deleted every one.

But then I remembered something you said in one of your first letters—“Just be honest. We’ve both had enough lies.”

So here’s the truth:

I want to see you.

I want to hear your voice for real. I want to laugh with you without waiting two weeks for your reply. I want to hand you a cup of tea and see what your eyes do when you smile.

I want to meet you too.

And I think we’re ready.

So here’s the plan—if you’re still in London, I know a small bookstore tucked between a florist and a laundromat on Oakwell Street. Quiet. Forgotten. Perfect.

Saturday. 11AM.

There’s a little reading bench near the back window. I’ll sit there.

I’ll be wearing a black hoodie. Jeans. My favorite shoes—white with the red stripes on the sides. You said you liked stories that felt “lived in.” These shoes are just that.

If you’re still sure—wear the sunflower necklace. The one you said you forgot to take off for a week because it felt like protection.

That way... I’ll know it’s you.

And if you don’t come—

I’ll sit there for an hour.

I won’t be angry. Or sad. Just grateful I got to know you at all.

But if you do come—

Then maybe this story isn’t finished yet. —L

P.S. I’m scared too. That’s how I know it matters.

⸻

You press the letter to your chest.

Then you cry. Then you laugh. Then you read it again.

You don’t even hesitate.

⸻

The Night Before

You can’t sleep.

You try. God, you try.

You make tea. Breathe deep. Re-read every letter in the box.

Your mind won’t stop.

What if he’s not what you imagined?

What if you’re not?

What if it’s perfect?

You finally fall asleep around 3AM.

You wake at 6.

Put on your softest jeans. The green sweater that makes you feel like a walking hug. And the necklace.

The one with the tiny sunflower charm, warm from your skin.

⸻

Meanwhile — Monaco

Lewis stares out the window of the private jet.

His hands are shaking.

He’s held the last Polaroid from Y/N so many times it’s starting to curl at the corners. Her favorite mug. The first letter. The sticky note that said, “Come back.”

He’s still wearing his hoodie. Black. Comfortable. Familiar.

The tattoo is healing.

He touches it absently as he looks down at London coming into view. There’s a folded note in his pocket.

It’s not for her.

It’s for him.

Just four words:

"Be who she knows.”

⸻

Back to Present – The Bookstore

You arrive at 10:44 AM. Fifteen minutes early.

You don’t go inside right away—you pace. Breathe. Pace again. Your fingers won’t stop fidgeting with the sunflower charm around your neck.

You check your reflection in the bookshop window.

You look the same.

But you’re not.

Not since him.

Not since the letters.

The bell above the door jingles once as you finally step inside. The smell of old paper and sandalwood hits you like a memory you didn’t know you had. Warm. Safe.

You make your way to the back, to the little reading bench.

You sit.

And wait.

⸻

11:08 AM

He’s standing outside the shop.

His heart is a percussion instrument.

He walks past once.

Then again.

He almost turns back.

But then he sees it—

Through the window.

You.

Your hand resting gently on your knee, thumb brushing the chain around your neck.

And he knows.

⸻

The bell rings.

You look up. And the moment your eyes meet— It’s like

something tectonic shifts.

Your mouth parts just slightly.

He’s real.

More real than you ever imagined.

He stands just inside the doorway. Hood pulled down. Hands in his pockets. The sleeves of his hoodie pushed slightly up—and you see the edge of the tattoo.

His lips lift, soft and unsure.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper, standing.

Neither of you moves.

Then—he laughs once.

Nervously.

“This is weird, right?” he says.

“The weirdest,” you say, breathless.

He glances at your necklace.

“You wore it.”

“You told me to.”

He smiles wider. “You always did follow instructions better than I did.”

You laugh. It’s shaky. Full of disbelief.

You look him over. Slowly. Not because of who he is—but because of who he’s been. To you.

“I don’t know what I expected,” you admit, voice soft.

“Disappointed?” he teases gently.

You shake your head, eyes misty. “You’re... you.”

He steps forward. Hesitates. “Can I... hug you?”

You nod.

And when his arms wrap around you, the whole world exhales.

⸻

You sit across from each other in the corner of the shop, tea cups untouched.

He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

You’re trying to breathe normally.

“Do I look how you imagined?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No.”

Your heart drops slightly.

“You’re... more.” he finishes.

You smile. “That was a save.”

“No. That was the truth.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“You know what’s wild?”

“What?”

“I was terrified. Of this. Of us. I kept thinking... maybe it was only magic on paper.”

“And now?”

He looks at you.

Really looks.

“You’re better than magic.”

Your throat catches.

“I almost didn’t come,” you admit.

He blinks. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin what we had. What if I showed up and you were just—some guy?”

He nods slowly. “And what if I showed up and you weren’t her?”

You both sit in that quiet for a long moment.

“I still write to you,” he says suddenly. “In my notes app. On napkins. The back of boarding passes. It’s like... I can’t not.”

You grin. “Me too. I started a journal. Every entry begins with ‘Dear L.’”

You both laugh. It’s small. Intimate. Familiar.

Then you grow serious again.

“This... is real,” you say quietly.

He nods. “Yeah. It is.”

You look down. “So what now?”

He reaches across the table. Takes your hand.

“Now we start again. Just not with letters this time.”

You glance toward the little wooden box of staff recommendations beside you and say, “Maybe just one more.”

He grins.

“I’ll write the first line.”

⸻

EPILOGUE – THE LETTERS NEVER STOPPED

The flat is quiet.

Golden hour spills across the countertops, and you’re wearing one of his old hoodies. You’re barefoot, sleepy, peaceful. He’s packing for a short trip. A two-day sponsor event, nothing major.

But the house always feels different when he’s gone.

He walks past you, brushes a kiss across your temple, and says, “Check the coffee tin before I leave.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He shrugs. Smiles. “Just trust me.”

You wait until he’s busy shoving socks into his bag, then pad into the kitchen, pop open the tin...

...and there it is.

A folded note.

His handwriting.

You already know what it is.

⸻

Dear You, I don’t write you as often anymore.

Mostly because I get to tell you now.

But this morning I woke up to your hand on my chest and your leg tangled over mine, and all I could think was—

God, I get to love her like this. Still. Always. So this is just a little reminder. Of who we were.

And who we still are.

You’re the beginning. You’re the becoming. You’re the entire story.

And I’ll write you forever.

— Me

⸻

You’re still smiling when he walks back in and sees you holding it.

He grins. “Told you to check the tin.”

You don’t say anything.

You just wrap your arms around his waist and whisper into his chest, “Write me again tomorrow.”

⸻

Later That Week

It’s raining.

You’re clearing out an old drawer, not really looking for anything.

And you find it.

Tucked in a notebook.

No envelope.

No note.

A Polaroid.

Blurry. Dim. A hotel room.

A letter on a table.

Lewis, caught mid-breath, back bent, hand frozen over a blank page.

You flip it over.

Two words.

“I waited.”

And this time—your tears fall without ache. Because now?

He’s here.

THE END.

⸻

THEIR POLAROID SCRAPBOOK

1. His First Polaroid

Sunrise over a bay. A cup of coffee in frame. One bare foot tucked beneath the window. → Back reads: "You said mornings feel holy and hollow. I finally understand."

2. Hers

A blurry photo of fairy lights, a cup of tea, and his letters stacked on her desk. → Back reads: "They keep me warm."

3. His – From Somewhere Quiet

A cobbled alleyway. Yellow neon glow. A bike leaning on the wall. Empty but alive.

→ No words. Just breath.

4. Hers – First Bookstore Mention

A tiny corner of her favorite bookshop. Golden light pooling at her feet. → Back reads: "Someday, I hope you’ll sit here with me."

5. His – The Near Reveal

A pastry on a napkin. A crowd in the background. Sunglasses beside the plate. → Back reads: "Felt close to you today."

6. Hers – Come Back

Her sunflower mug. His first letter. A sticky note on the wall. → Note says: "Come back."

7. His – The Tattoo

Close-up of his arm. Fresh ink. Red around the phrase: “I’m not broken. I’m becoming.”

→ No caption. Just the truth.

8. The Final Polaroid (Never Sent) Lewis in a hotel room. Your letter on the table. His hand paused over a blank page. → Back reads: “I waited.”

#dad!lewis hamilton #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis x reader #lewis x wife!reader #reader x lewis hamilton

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str4wb3rrysw3etheart · 1 month ago

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EPILOG. . Bill x Reader smut headcannons ‼️

Second post that isn't a request??? Woaahh.. (I love requests send more.)

Nsfw! (Mostly because I need one up so people know how I write it..)

Cw: bill whimpers. Headcannons + short drabble. Bill calls you a slut

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋

♡This man definitely cried when he came for the first time in a women. Bsf look at me and tell me he isn't a man who whimpers, he's pathetic

♡Definitely forgot condoms existed because all he watches is porn and they don't use condoms in porn, and was surprised when you asked about them

♡Cums so fast... like under 3 minutes, especially first few times. Can go again in a bit though, so I guess that's a plus

♡Sucks at after care. The most you'll get is him getting you some water.

♡Gets genuinely upset you don't moan like women in pornos, like he isn't doing good enough because your moans aren't theatrical

♡First time you sucked him off, he ripped out a chunk of your hair, and you refused to talk to him for the rest of nice. He complained about "women, take me out of the dog house this is stupid!"

♡Loves your tits, a boob man through and through. He loves groping them so much.

♡Definitely needs you to talk him through it. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs you telling him he doesn't suck me makes you feel good to cum.

♡Cares more about his own pleasure then yours... even if he needs you to cum, he still cares more that he feels good. .

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆

SMUT IMMEDIATELY UNDER THE LINE!!

"Fuck.. fuckkk.." Bill whimpers/groans. Pouding into you softly, one hand on your hips, the other massaging your tits "am I doing good women?" He asks, through grunts

"Fuck.. so good, make me feel so good.. now are you gonna be good and cum?" You ask in a breathy tone, nails digging into the sheets, boob's bouncing as bill softly pumps his cock into you.

"Fuckk... gonna come please.." Bill groans, his nails staring to dig into the soft flesh of your tits. His face somehow a scowl mixed with bliss.

"I.. fuck I wanna feel you cum.. please bill" you would say in a pleading tone, knowing bill would always say yes

"Fuck yes.. oh shit, so fucking warm" Bill grits his teeth before cumming

"So that's the 3rd time tonight in under three minutes?" You tease with a grin, still teasing him while he's in you.

Bill pants, it only takes about a minute before his dick starts to harden again "shut up slut and suck!" He pulls out and moves your head down to the tip harshly, despite any noises of discomfort you made..

And a similar cycle would repeat for another hour

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*

#bill dickey x you #bill dickey x reader #bill dickey #Epilog bill #eltingville club #the eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville epilogue #Older bill dickey #bill dickey smut

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iluvmattsbeard · 1 year ago

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so high school (m.s)

master list

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: nothing but fluff

preview: Matt and his friends were seniors in high school, they decided to play a game of kiss, marry, kill in class. when it was Matt’s turn, his friend adds you in the mix. he never quite noticed you before and when he did, he was intrigued. you were two opposites. he ended up passing notes to you in class. you never expected the outcome from all of this.

a/n: this is a long one but, I loved writing it. I saw someone on here ask to write a fic based off so high school. which, I attempted to do! this is my take of how I pictured it in my head. I forgot who it was who posted about it but if you’re the person, here’s my version!

it was almost the end of the school day, Matt was sat down at a table full of his friends. it was technically a free period since testing was held today. "let's play a game." his close friend Nate suggests. "what kind of game?" Chris asks curiously. "kiss marry kill." Nate responds with a grin. it caught Matt's attention, speaking up, "that's a childish game." the group laughs before Nate speaks up again, "well we have nothing better to do." the group looks at Matt, "what do you say? you in?" Nate adds on. "I guess i'll participate." Matt says fixing his posture. "okay who will start?" Nick joins in.

after a few rounds, the boys were laughing from the answers that had passed. it was finally Matt's turn, Chris ended up giving him the options, "okay let's see..." he says looking around the class, "Chloe, Madison, and..." he continues looking and lands his eyes on a girl resting her head on her palm as she read a book, "her I guess." Chris adds on. Matt looks at the girl and tilts his head a bit, "what's her name?" he asks.

"I think it's Y/n." Nick responds looking at you. you lift your head a bit from the sound of your name being said, "Nick, you're too loud." Chris whispers. you just ignored it and continued to read the book in front of you. Matt starts to play the game as he chose you to kill, "I only put her in that spot because I don't know her." he explains. the bell rings and everyone started to get up, including you. you shut your book and placed it in your back pack. Matt got up taking glances at you. you were wearing a white cardigan with jeans. your hair was half way up and half way down. you zipped up your back pack and put it on one of your shoulders only.

before you walk out, you catch a glimpse of Matt's gaze and you smile a bit at him, which he does back, then you walk out. Matt then picked up his back pack and put it on heading out as well. he walked to his car with his brothers and got in buckling up. "you guys don't know anything else about that Y/n girl?" Matt asks causing Nick to raise an eyebrow, "no, why?" he questions while Chris looks at Matt curious as well. "nothing I was just wondering. I thought I knew everyone in that class." he says starting the car. "she just keeps to herself that's why. no one wants to bother her I guess." Nick says. Matt just nods and drives out from the school parking lot.

the next day, your eyes were focused on your computer as you did the assignment for today. Matt was still curious about you, from yesterday's small smiles at each other, he wanted to take the opportunity to get to know you. he took out his notebook and a pencil as he started to write. after he was done, he ripped it out from the notebook and folded it. "hey." he says tapping the girl in front of him, "can you pass it to her?" Matt says looking at you. the girl he asked was behind you. she nods and takes the note, tapping your shoulder. you turn around and look at the folded paper. "it's from Matt." she whispers using her thumb to point behind her. you take the note and turn back around to open it.

'hey, I know you don't know me but, I also don't know you so, I was wondering if you wanted to get to know each other? I found it odd that I know everyone else in here except for you.' - Matt

you smile a bit from the note and pick up your pencil writing back. you handed it back to the girl and she passed it back to Matt.

'hi i'm Y/n. that's really out of the blue but, sure. i'd like to get to know you. also, yeah I get that a lot.' - Y/n

Matt smiles and writes back explaining how he even found out about you. you guys were passing notes the whole class which, the girl in between you ended up switching seats with Matt so he could pass the notes himself.

'so I was apart of your kiss marry kill?' - Y/n

'yeah but don't worry, my choice for you was not personal.' - Matt

you giggle softly to yourself. the bell ended up ringing and you guys left it off at that. you packed your stuff and turned around to give him the same soft smile from yesterday before walking out. for the rest of the day, Matt could not stop thinking about you. "what's on your mind?" Nick asks him. "oh nothing." Matt responds smiling. Chris and Nick just look at each other in a weird way.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

the weekend was finally over and Matt couldn't already wait to get to his last class. when the time comes, he was about to sit down behind you but the teacher stops him. "Matt." Mrs. Dean speaks up causing the boy to stop in his tracks and turn around, "yes?" he asks. "we need to talk about your grade in this class. I heard you aren't doing so well in other classes as well?" she says pulling up his grades. you couldn't help but have the conversation catch your attention as you unzipped your back pack. "Matt, you have to raise these grades or else you'll be suspended from the lacrosse game in a month." the teacher says making Matt's eyes widen, "what? how could I raise my grades that quickly?" he asks. "I don't know Matt but it's possible. you have to really put in the work." she says. Matt just sighs and nods, going to sit at his desk. as time goes by, you turn around and place a note in front of him which makes him look at you and smile a bit.

'I can help you raise your grades if you'd like.' - Y/n

he smiles even more reading it. he immediately writes back taking you on the offer.

'if it's not too much of a hassle, i'd gladly accept your help.' - Matt

'well I did come up with the idea so, it wont be a hassle.' - Y/n

'can I get your number?' - Matt

you ended up writing down your phone number and he thanks you in his actual voice. he started to realize, he hasn't heard your voice, so when you spoke up to say 'you're welcome', he felt his heart start to race a bit. your voice was soft and comforting in a way. even though you only said two words to him.

the next day, you and Matt meet up at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard. "hey." Matt says with a smile walking up to sit in front of you. you smile back, "hi Matt." you greet him. "I'm going to warn you right now, I have a bunch of missing assignments." he says opening his back pack. you let out a soft laugh, "that's fine. you have a month to get it all done. plus, you have extra hands to help you." you reassure him. he smiles and nods, "thank you again." he says pulling out the pile of papers he had inside his back pack. your eyes widen a bit and laugh a bit, "don't thank me yet. we haven't started." you respond while looking at the stack. you both laugh at the same time.

you two have been tackling his missing work for a few days now until one day, he tells you something, "Y/n?" you look up at him and respond, "yes?" "I still want to get to know you better." he says making you look at him with a smile, "well..." you start off, putting your pencil down, "what do you want to know?" he puts down his pencil as well before he speaks, "just tell me stuff that makes you, well you." you laugh a bit before nodding, "well I barely moved to Massachusetts the beginning of senior year, i'm an only child, I enjoy reading in my free time, and let's see..." you pause for a bit. Matt was just sitting there, very drawn to you as you speak. "I don't really know what else I could say." you say with a soft laugh. Matt joins in laughing before he speaks, "I guess I just have to spend more time with you to get more from you." you smile nervously and look away, "well, let's focus on getting this work done." Matt adds on which you agree to.

since you began to help Matt, his friends have been wondering why he's been distant. he was constantly with you and he never told his friends about you. as you guys sat there, his group of friends walk over and tease him, "what is this?" Nate asks with a foolish smile. Matt rolls his eyes and looks at the group, "what are you guys doing here?" he asks. "the question is, what are you doing here? with..." Nate looks at you, "Y/n right?" Nate asks. you nod in silence feeling awkward, "Y/n is helping me complete my missing assignments so I could raise my grades. if I don't raise them, I won't be able to play the lacrosse game coming up." Matt says. Chris widens his eyes, "what? why didn't you tell us?" he asks. "you guys weren't going to be able to help me so Y/n offered." Matt responds looking at you.

"you still could've told us." Nick says before looking at you, "I'm Nick by the way." you smile and greet him back, "nice to meet you." "are you sure you guys are only studying? I mean Matt talks about y-." Chris was cut off by Matt, "okay guys. me and Y/n still have lots to do." the group of boys nod and say their goodbyes, walking away. Matt shakes his head and focuses his eyes on the text book in front of him. you look at him and laugh, "you talk about me?" you ask. he looks up and takes a tiny gulp, "he was just teasing us." Matt tries to cover up from the truth. you just nod, "okay I believe you." you say looking back down with a smile.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you and Matt were at the usual picnic table at school as you both stood in front of the computer. it's been two weeks since you started to help him. you both stood there waiting for his grades to update. it took a lot of work but, hopefully it was worth it. you and Matt stare at the screen as he clicked refresh one more time. "Y/n!" he says standing up straight. you looked at the screen to see his grades now passing with A's and B's. you turn to look at him and your mouth was open a bit from shock, "you did it Matt!" you exclaim happily. "no, we did it Y/n." he says with a smile hugging you suddenly. your eyes widen a bit but you hugged back slowly, "thank you Y/n." he whispers still embracing you. "you're welcome Matt." you reply as you both pull away. you both stand there now nervously laughing. "let's go show Mrs. Dean." you suggest. the boy nods and you both pack your stuff and walk to her classroom.

the next day, Matt kept bugging you in class with the notes he's been writing.

'Y/n tell me how I can repay you. seriously!' - Matt

'I don't need to be repaid Matt. it was me who offered to help in the first place. i'm just glad I helped you.' - Y/n

'how about I take you to the drive in?' - Matt

your eyes widen a bit from the question. you’ve never been asked to go anywhere especially with a boy. alone. you hover your pencil over the paper as you think about what to say.

‘i’ve never been to the drive in.’ - Y/n

‘well then you’re about to :)’ - Matt

you look back at him and he smiles making you smile as well.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Y/n’s POV

“dad i’ll be back before 9 pm I promise.” I say putting on small hoop earrings. my dad has never been in this situation before, well neither have I, so this was all new for the both of us. “honey, let her finish getting ready.” my mom joins in with a small laugh. “who even is this boy Y/n?” my dad asks curiously. “he’s just a boy from school that I helped out. now, he said he wants to repay me that’s all.” I say putting on chapstick. “do you like this boy?” my mom asks. “yes.” I say bluntly but realize it came off the other way, “as a friend!” I add on. my mom laughs and nods, “okay sweet heart. I’ll get your dad out of your hair.” she says dragging my dad out the room with her.

I look at myself in the mirror and touch up anything that doesn’t look right. my phone suddenly buzzes. I pick it up to see a text from Matt. it was him letting me know he was outside. I get up and put on my shoes, heading out my bedroom and to the front door until I got stopped by my dad. “hold on Y/n.” he says getting up from the couch. “dad please. I have to go.” I say but he walks up to me and opens the door. he takes a look at Matt through his car window. Matt gets out the car and walks up to the door. “hello sir.” Matt says with a smile. “what’s up kid. where are you taking my daughter?” my dad asks. “i’m just taking her to the drive in. it’s to repay her for helping me play this weekend’s game.” Matt says. “you play a sport?” my dad asks now intrigued.

“I play lacrosse.” Matt says with a soft laugh. “that’s awesome. well, you two enjoy the movie. be safe most importantly.” my dad says patting Matt’s shoulder. “thank you dad. bye.” I say walking to Matt’s car. we both get inside and I look at him, “i’m so sorry about him.” I apologize. he laughs softly and starts the car, “why are you saying sorry? it went great.” he reassures me. “I just didn’t think you guys would meet. I mean, he’s never met anyone else before.” I say. he looks at me, “wait, i’m the first guy he’s ever met?” he asks with a slight shocked expression. “yeah…” I say quietly. “is that a problem?” I add on. he smiles and chuckles, “no! i’m just surprised.” he says as he starts to drive off. “what’s so surprising?” I question keeping my eyes on the road.

“I thought a bunch of guys would’ve taken you out by now.” he says. I stay silent for a bit, what is that supposed to mean? “I don’t talk to guys like that.” I utter. “looks like i’m special.” Matt smiles from his words. I just shake my head playfully, “I guess so.” I laugh a bit.

End of Y/n’s POV

later on, you both were sitting there in the car as the movie played on the big screen. Matt wasn’t paying attention that much because all he could focus on was how nervous he was being right next to you. to be completely honest, he hasn’t taken out a girl before. he only cared about his friends and sports so he didn’t think he would have anytime for a relationship but, he just shook off the thoughts. he was just repaying you right? towards the end of the movie, you notice him glancing at you and you caught his eyes. you both sat there as you stared at each other while the movie played through the radio. Matt started to move his eyes to your lips, making you gulp. you two started to lean in slowly but stopped once you guys heard the car next to you start its engine.

you both move away from each other and laugh nervously. the drive home was painfully awkward. when you got home, you laid in bed and buried your face in your pillow. all you could think about now was, what if you guys kissed?

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

a few days pass, you could not get Matt off your mind. you knew he was the sweetest boy you’ve ever met. you just didn’t know what to do with these feelings. besides that near kiss, nothing else happened after. he did invite you to his lacrosse practice later after school.

‘come on. you can watch me practice and try to understand the game.’ - Matt

you stared at the note and thought about what to say. you had the same hesitation from when he asked you to go to the drive in. you gulp and start to write a response.

‘okay fine. i’ll come.’ - Y/n

the bell rings and he stands up grabbing his stuff, shortly after he grabs your hand walking out the classroom. you follow him as you look at the way your fingers entwined. you felt your cheeks turn pink from the gesture. you soon made it out to the grass field. he lets go of your hand and looks at you, “I got to put on my uniform but look out for number four okay?” he says smiling. you nod and smile back as he walks away.

you make your way up onto the bleachers as you sit down away from some people. when all the boys head out on the field, you immediately spot Matt in his number four jersey. you smile and see him point his stick at you which makes you giggle quietly. “hey Y/n.” you turn to see Nick join right next to you. “hi. you don’t play?” you ask. he shakes his head, “absolutely not. I cried and quit the first time I played.” you both laugh at his words.

as the boys started to practice, Nick started to explain the game to you. you were starting to understand the concept and how points work. by the time they finished, Nick claimed you as a pro. “you learn quickly!” he exclaims with a smile. “well, I did help him study. only fair for me to study the game.” you say laughing.

when you arrived home that day, you couldn’t stop thinking about him still. you sat on your bed as you started to think of ways to support him at the game tomorrow. you had the perfect idea.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you look at yourself in the school bathroom mirror as you smile. today was the day Matt has been anticipating. he was still thanking you all day that he gets to play today. which you kept repeatedly telling him to stop.

Matt

wish me luck today! I hope to hear you in the stands.

you smile at the text and reply.

Y/n

good luck Matt. also, I don’t know about that.

you head out the bathroom and make your way out to the bleachers. you wanted to be close to the front so Nick saved you a seat. “thank you for giving me one of his jerseys.” you say to Nick. “of course! he’s going to love seeing you in it.” he responds. you and Nick engage in conversation as he tells you child hood stories about the three of them. you two were laughing and getting along. “i’m so glad Matt started talking to you. I feel like none of us wanted to reach out to you because we thought you didn’t want anybody bothering you.” Nick lets out making you laugh softly.

you hear a person through the speakers introduce the team and you instantly switch your attention towards the field. the team runs out onto the field and everybody starts to cheer, including you.

Matt’s POV

when me and my team run out onto the field, I instantly search for Y/n in the stands. when I finally see her, I couldn’t help but notice her shirt. it was my jersey. it looked a little big on her and I laughed to myself. she looked amazing. I pointed my lacrosse stick at her and she just gave thumbs up with a smile. I definitely need to do good for her.

End of Matt’s POV

during the game, you were so focused on Matt that you started to realize how good he was. he was absolutely crushing everyone on the opposite team. it was down to the final countdown. you were at the edge of your seat with Nick as you guys watch Matt with the ball, he starts to run and push past the opponents as he throws the ball straight to the net, making the final goal. everybody stands up and cheer as you and Nick jump up and down. “let’s go Matt!” you yell out. you were so caught up in the moment you didn’t realize you really put yourself out there cheering for him. Matt takes off his helmet and runs towards the stands. you walk down the bleachers as he drops the stick and helmet onto the ground. you embrace him in a hug as he wraps his arms around your waist, picking you up slightly.

“good job Matt!” you exclaim happily. “I couldn’t do it without you.” he says. it made your heart melt but you were also confused, “what do you mean?” you say pulling away smiling. “I was thinking about you the whole time. it was my motivation.” he says smiling. your heart started to beat fast. “Matt… that’s so sweet…” you say. he scratches the back of his neck shyly, “yeah…” he says. it was the same awkward feeling from the car ride home back from the drive in. “let me go change into my actual clothes and i’ll meet up with you in the parking lot okay?” he says. you nod and smile.

later on, you were standing in the parking lot as you waited. he eventually came out from the school building and greets you with a smile. you just stood there still feeling awkward. your feelings for him were growing stronger and you couldn’t take it anymore. “nice jersey by the way.” he says opening his trunk with a smile. “thank you very much.” you smile a bit. you watched him put his equipment in his trunk as he noticed your body language. “is something bothering you?” he asks shutting the trunk.

Y/n’s POV

my heart was racing. how do I tell him how I feel? “Y/n?” he speaks up looking at me with concern. “Matt… I don’t know how to put this into words.” I say quietly. he leans back on the car as he responds, “it’s okay. take your time.” I stand there and look away with a nervous laugh before looking back at him, “well… i’ve been feeling a certain way lately. ever since I met you, I knew there was something different about you. I mean you went out of your way to talk to me when no one else would.” I pause for a moment, I can’t believe i’m doing this, “remember when you said you’re special and I said I guess? well, it’s not I guess. it’s yes, you are special. i’m sorry if this is too much.” I stop myself. “no keep going.” he says with a reassuring smile. I let out a breath, “what i’m trying to say is…” I stop looking at my feet nervously before looking back up at him, “no one’s ever had me… not like you. like today, I didn’t even know I could cheer that loud. when we aren’t together, I constantly think about you and when I lay there, I can’t help but wonder if you feel the same.” I say.

he stands up straight getting off the car. “that’s actually crazy.” he says catching me off guard. “what?” I ask stunned. he laughs nervously before talking, “i’ve been feeling the same way Y/n. like I said earlier, you were my motivation the whole game. when we first started talking, I already felt like my heart was going to beat out my chest. when we went to the drive in, I should’ve just told you then. I was having these thoughts ever since. every day, I look forward to seeing you. that has never happened to me before. I feel the same way Y/n.” he says making me feel much more at ease. “you really mean that?” I ask with a slight smile. “of course I do Y/n.” he says grabbing my hands softly, interlocking them.

End of Y/n’s POV

“so what now Matt?” you ask looking into his eyes. “what do you think?” he asks with a smile. you stayed quiet for a bit before asking him a question, “are you gonna marry kiss or kill me?” he smiles at the familiar question, “for now, I think i’ll go with kiss.” he says pulling you in by your intertwined hands, unlocking them, placing his hands on your face kissing you softly. you place your arms around his neck as you tip toe yourself up to reach him better. he moves his hands down, wrapping his arms around your lower waist as he picks you up slightly, without breaking the kiss. you never would’ve imagined high school being like this. finally finding a boy who you knew you could give yourself to. you both continue to kiss, smiling in between kisses and eventually pulling away. you both had your foreheads touching as you both laughed softly in each other’s arms.

a/n: sorry if this is so long! likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated.

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cherrycolaheartss · 27 days ago

Text

pairing: Greg House x F!reader (doctor)

summary: You confront House about slacking off at work and end up in a position (lol) you didn't picture yourself in.

warnings: smut! 18+ mdni, p in v, banter (they hate each other)

a/n: Because Tumblr finally sees the vision with House, here's more for u (and for me, great minds think alike).

@cinnamongrl2006 wrote this with me, go like her posts!

You walk into the hospital with a cup of coffee in your hand, immediately pausing in front of the full clinic. You walk up to the receptionist and set the cup down on the counter.

"Where is House?" You try your best to keep your composure. You know it's not the receptionist's fault, but if you have to cover clinic duty for him again you're going to lose your mind.

The receptionist looks up at you, shrugs, and shifts her focus back to the computer.

"You should probably take care of that, though." She continues typing, either unaware of or ignoring the fact you're fuming.

"Hey, you forgot your coffee!" She yells after you as you walk away. It's not her fault, but she isn't exactly helpful either.

You finally find House sitting in an empty exam room watching one of his soap operas.

"What are you doing here?" You've known him a long time, but he still manages to leave you baffled. You walk in, locking the door behind you.

"Masturbating." His face stays completely serious and you consider slapping him.

"Get to the clinic right now Greg, I'm not joking." You cross your arms trying not to cry of frustration.

"Or what? You're gonna snitch to Cuddy?"

"Yes actually. And I heard your last conversation, you're going to get fired."

"So obsessed with me you had to resort to spying? Listen. If you care so much about the damn clinic, go and take care of it yourself."

"I'm so sick of covering for you. Can you please, just once, actually do your fucking job?" You're about to start ripping your hair out. If you have to see one more child with a cough you will seriously consider quitting.

"As much as I like hearing you beg, I'm not doing that. You can either join me here, or go take care of the clinic yourself." You know how stubborn he is, so after a moment of consideration you decide to join him on the examination table.

"Move." You deadpan, and he shoves you further towards the edge.

"I was here first. Feel free to leave if I'm bothering you."

"You're always bothering me, House. Can anything be enjoyable with you?"

"Sure it can." He says with innuendo.

"I'd take you up on that offer." You smile at him.

"You lock the door when you came in?"

"Yeah."

It doesn't take long for him to pin you down. Your white coat is off within seconds, and he nearly rips your top apart when he removes it.

You're shocked at his eagerness, but you don't complain, immediately unbuttoning his shirt.

He pulls your skirt down your legs to find you wearing a matching set, your curves accentuated by the pink lace.

"Holy shit." He stares in amazement for a moment before pulling your panties to the side. He mumbles something about them being too pretty to take off, although your bra hardly recieves the same treatment.

"No time for foreplay. I need you. Now." Your voice comes out as a desperate whine, and he laughs at you.

"Been thinking about this for a long time, sweetheart?" His signature cocky tone is almost hot in this context, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting that.

"Ew, no." Your sarcasm is apparent, but he doesn't let you get away with it.

"Alright then." He gets up to pick his clothes up off the floor, and you stand up with him.

"Wait– stop. I was joking. Please, Greg, please." That's the first time you see him smile in the two years you've spent working together, but the sight is quickly replaced by medicine cabinets and drawers when he turns you around and bends you over the table.

You barely process what had happened when you hear the sound of his zipper, and it's not long before his cock is inside you, and he's using the flimsy fabric of your panties to pull you onto it.

You dig your fingernails into the paper covering the table, you weren't expecting him to be so big. You barely have time to adjust to his size when his hands find your hips and he starts to move, reaching a spot that made your legs shake.

"C'mon, you wanted this, and you can't even stay still? Gonna cum already, huh?"

"No." You stutter through a one syllable word and you're very glad he can't see your face.

He mumbles something about you being pathetic, but your eyes are rolling back and you don't have enough brain power to think of a sassy response.

"I can feel you squeezing around me, y'know? No point in lying is there, sweetheart?"

"Shut up." He's completely right, though. You're so close you feel like you're going to explode.

"You never learn, do you?" He reaches around your waist to rub your clit and you nearly scream. He wraps your hair around his fist to pull you up, letting go to cover your mouth.

"Shut up, the clinic is full, remember?" He accentuates his point with a thrust, "And so are you."

You laugh, quickly interrupted by a moan when he adjusts the angle of his hips, allowing him to go even deeper.

Your legs shake harder, your moans get louder, and you find yourself back on the table searching for any last shred of composure. He doesn't stop rubbing your clit, groaning at the way your walls tighten around his cock.

He cums soon after you did, staying buried inside you until you're full of his cum.

He gives you a slap on the ass before pulling your panties back into their original position.

"Told you I could make things enjoyable." He says while you both look for your clothes.

"Uh uh, you sure did." Your knees are still weak when you leave the exam room to go deal with the clinic.

#dr house #house md #dr house x fem reader #dr house smut #dr house x reader #dr house x doctor reader #gregory house #greg house #greg house x reader #greg house smut #greg house x reader smut

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tinycoffeeroom · 1 year ago

Text

thank god for bikes | arthurtv

inspired by @mrstelevision 🤍

face claim: steph bohrer ♡

request: here !

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📍 london

liked by gkbarry, max_balegde, and 98,302 others

y/nsworld about last night ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

view all 3,392 comments

user1 i'm in love with you

gkbarry cant believe i didn't even get photo creds ↳ y/nsworld please forgive my sins oh great gkbarry

user2 y/n!! i think the guys u mentioned on ur twt was george clarke and arthurtv!! arthur posted on twt about george getting hit by a bike on a wall!! ↳ y/nsworld !! let me check his twt <3

liked by y/nsworld, wroetoshaw and 29,492 others

arthurtv first pic taken moments before disaster (at least this one won't leave a scar)

georgeclarkeey don't know what was worse, the bike ptsd or you dribbling down your shirt ↳ arthurtv your mum doesn't mind my dribbling ↳ y/nsworld the dribbling was funnier to watch tbh ↳ georgeclarkeey take that mr television

gkbarry i didn't even notice it was you guys hiding in the corner ↳ georgeclarkeey just wanted some alone time with my boyfriend x ↳ arthurtv stop telling people i'm your boyfriend!!

👤 max_balegde liked by max_balegde, arthurtv and 38,028 others

y/nsworld wine in coffee cups and classic literature in a park, my idea of heaven ꕤ

max_balegde got home off my head and now andrews mad i've ruined dinner plans ↳ y/nsworld andrew baby im so sorry :( ↳ andrew_spanndy could never blame you xx ↳ max_balegde god just date her already wooooow

gkbarry regret introducing the two of you, my poor ears will never recover from this ↳ y/nsworld thats your fault for putting two professional yappers together xx

arthurtv pretty sure that's bride you're reading... wouldn't call werewolf smut classic literature ↳ y/nsworld and how do YOU know what's in the book? 🤨

👤 arthur_tv, max_balegde liked by y/nsworld, arthurnfhill and 30,395 others

georgeclarkeey totally normal photo to promote the newest useless hotline ep x

max_balegde rip my purple crocs... can't believe y/n stole them right off my feet... ↳ user2 !!! y/n at the arthurtv podcast recording?? my y/ntv senses are tingling ↳ user3 i'm pretty sure she was there bc her and max are friends... ♥️ y/nsworld ↳ user2 they've never randomly had their friends at recordings, dw you'll join the y/ntv cult soon

📍 ibiza

👤 georgeclarkeey, chrismd, arthurnfhill liked by arthurnfhill, y/nsworld and 45,028 others

arthurtv thank you spotify for inviting us out! (photo cred: y/nsworld)

user2 i am going to scream from the rooftops, y/ntv'ers unite!!

y/nsworld should receive compensation for having to look at george's bare grippers the entire weekend ↳ arthurtv will bring round some wine this weekend ↳ y/nsworld good boy ↳ user2 ... y'all are fucking with me atp

📍 ibiza

liked by arthurtv, gkbarry and 83,028 others

y/nsworld beach bum 𓇼

gkbarry happiness looks so good on you ↳ y/nsworld i love the bones of you

user2 !! WHO TOOK THE PHOTO I FEEL INSANE ↳ y/nsworld my friend! :)

📍 ibiza

liked by y/nsworld, georgeclarkeey and 49,204 others

arthurtv decided to stay in the sunshine a few more days :)

user3 user2 i fear you may be onto something ↳ user2 i'm gonna eat glass. like i am actually putting shards in my mouth rn ↳ y/nsworld omg pls don't

y/nsworld looking good mr television ↳ arthurtv why thank you miss world

liked by arthurtv, max_balegde and 83,028 others

y/nsworld use code ynsworld for 15% off ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

max_balegde leaving my bf for you rn. ↳ andrew_spanndy not if i leave you first ↳ y/nsworld i can date both of you at the same time xx

arthurtv djsidjief djg ↳ y/nsworld you ok mr television?

y/nsworld didn't even think about what i was wearing when i went to go see mr hill sing about cold coffee, sorry guys you got the wrong arthur xx

POST DELETED

👤 y/nsworld liked by y/nsworld, arthurnfhill and 93,294 others

arthurtv someone forgot to change over to their finsta so i guess it's hard launch time... somehow got the most gorgeous girl on earth to agree to date me, must be my fantastic sense of humour

y/nsworld lbr most of them already knew, we weren't exactly subtle ↳ arthurtv speak for yourself xx

theburntchip it's the big ol' hog you got in them trousers ♥️ y/nsworld ↳ arthurtv ah yes forgot about that

max_balegde take care of her or me and andrew are snatching her real quick ↳ y/nsworld ... i may have to do some rethinking

user2 i can't believe i was right... VINDICATION ♥️ arthurtv, y/nsworld

👤 arthur_tv liked by arthurtv, gkbarry and 104,845 others

y/nsworld told him i forgot to change to finsta but really i just wanted to show that i bagged a hottie ✮⋆˙

georgeclarkeey still can't believe you snatched him from right under my nose ↳ y/nsworld we're still in the honeymoon phase so i may give him back x ↳ arthurtv what the fuck

gkbarry crying into a pint of ice cream thanks xx ↳ y/nsworld you know you're the love of my life xx

y/nsworld also user2 sorry for gaslighting you xx ↳ user2 i have never been so happy to be gaslighted could do a happy lil cry ↳ y/nsworld our fave y/ntv'er we love you ♡

#arthur tv imagine #arthur tv x reader #arthurtv imagine #arthurtv x reader #arthurtv fluff #arthurtv fics #arthur frederick imagines #arthur frederick x reader #arthur frederick fics

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 10 months ago

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BANG-ABLE | Jeon Jungkook One Shot | Teaser

Summary: You've been single for way too long and you're done with causal sex and all the drama that comes along with it...so why not try something new? Pairing: f!reader x Sex Bot Jungkook (idk man 😂) Warnings: Smut and Explicit language (obvi lmao) a/n: I've been working on this for a while and I wanted to put out a teaser to see how well something like this would be received. It probably won't be going up for another two weeks or so since I'm trying to keep to a more manageable posting schedule so I hope you'll look forward to it! Feel free to comment down below if you'd like to be tagged! P.s. Ava is her best friend but it's pretty obvious lmao

Read the full one shot here!

"'How to bang your robot' sounds very informative" Ava giggles and I scoff, "That's not what it says dummy" I groan, thumbing through the manual until I find the most important piece of information, how to turn him on...well power him up so to say. The other part I guess I'll figure out later on when we're alone, although I'm sure she would love to watch.

I don't think I'll ever be able to understand how she can talk about things like sex so openly but I guess that's part of her twisted charm.

I brush some of the hay-like packaging off of him so the both of us can finally see what he looks like and my breath hitches once his face comes into view.

"I did a good job huh?" she says while elbowing me in the side, groaning when she hits the new tattoo I got on my ribcage the other day. "Oh shit I'm sorry! I forgot!" she says, apologizing but I brush it off as an accident and go back to inspecting him.

After taking more of the packaging off I finally find where his on switch is, which happens to be on his peck. "Really? I haven't even turned him on and I already have to violate him?" I say, hesitating for a second and then just rip the bandaid off so to say and lift his shirt up.

"Damn those abs are drool worthy" Ava whistles and I wack her in the arm, "You're not helping" I groan and find the plate that is covering the on switch, looking between him and her, contemplating on if I should go for it or not.

She nods her head, urging me to do it and after a second or two I give in and flip the switch quickly and fix his shirt so he's all covered up again. He might be a robot but I still think he deserves to be treated with respect.

Even if his whole purpose is to just fuck me senseless.

We both watch for a second and hear a few of the mechanisms start to move about before he takes his first breath. Well...kinda.

He opens his eyes and blinks a few times and I know for a fact that Ava hit it right on the head in her description. She knows me too well at this point if she was able to create a Mr. Right for me with a few clicks on her keyboard.

That or he's just very attractive to begin with.

He looks around for a second before turning his head towards me, our eyes locking for the first of many times and I can already feel my cheeks start to heat up. 'I'm fucked'

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook #fanfic #fanfiction #kpop #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #bts #kpop fanfic #ask #jungkook bts #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x original character #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook and you #jungkook and reader

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cloversnstrawberries · 3 months ago

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oc intro post ! ! older brother!platonic yandere!80s slasher

masterlist | requests open !

warnings; yandere behavior, possessiveness, overprotective behavior, mentions of murder, violence, serial killings, and past bullying of reader; manipulation, kidnapping, imprisonment, delusions (zachary thinks he's just protecting you), mental instability, and there might be more i forgot :(( if so, please let me know if i should add!!

additional notes; i'm very tired right now, but i just had to get this out of my system,,, here is the next runner up from the poll, Zachary!! i don't know what else to say. uh. go subscribe to dead meat !!! also i hope u enjoy :)

! ! introduction blurb & moodboard below the cut ! !

Sometime around the mid-1980s, in a small town right dab smack in the middle of the American Midwest; resided you and your family, consisting of you, your mom, your dad, your family dog--

And your older brother, Zachary. By all accounts, he was the quintessential all-american teen. It was almost like he was ripping right from the sitcoms and various movies and TV that followed high schoolers.

...Except for one teensy little detail, that if discovered, would shatter his entire persona. All he was would be brought into question-- for good reason, he supposes, but that doesn't make it any less annoying to think about the possibility of his secret being outed.

That being the fact he was the Fools Killer-- I mean, no one would suspect Zachary! You'd have to be crazy to accuse him of being the maniac going around in a jesters costume, killing people with no obvious rhyme or reason.

You'd be right, but you'd still be crazy. Zachary wouldn't do something like that! He was a kind, caring, and popular guy. He was the kind that'd help you pick up books after spilling them in the hallway, or pay for his friends if they couldn't afford food at the moment.

He was your brother, and he was a great one at that. The part where he (noticeably) differed from the depictions of his kind of small-town golden boy, was that he wasn't cruel to you at all.

If anything, he was so nice to you that people questioned it. How could siblings be so close? Sure, you fought-- just like everyone else did. Fought over stupid stuff, like your brother pouring himself a 1/2 gram more of soda than he poured you, or for a spot on the couch;

Normal stuff. But other than that, you didn't really butt heads. No mocking, no mean-spirited teasing, or purposeful humiliation.

He was, however, very protective of you. At first it was manageable, when you were younger-- still was, to an extent. It all hit a head about a year ago, when he yelled at you for not telling him you were getting picked on. That he would've dealt with it, before you got the big blackeye you'd come home with.

That was the one and only time he ever yelled at you.

The boy who gave you that black eye disappeared shortly after-- and is commonly thought of as the first victim of the Fools Killer. You don't make the connection, even as more and more people disappear around you; people who dared to slight you,

Who dared to slight Zachary's precious little sibling.

He thought of it as... pest control, really. These people weren't going to go anywhere in life anyways, with how they treated you.

Really, you were the most precious thing on Earth to Zachary-- he refused to believe that it wasn't simply fact. It slipped his mind that everyone else was so stupid, unable to see how brightly you shined.

he was just protecting you, is all-- and it relieved his stress as well. He felt bad for snapping on you, he really does; but it'd been so cathartic to deal with the little shit himself,

It's for your own good, that he's secretly become Fools Killer. He's just protecting you-- both from others, and from him ever yelling at you again. You didn't deserve it.

It's for your own good that he keeps you in the dark as long as possible-- but when, eventually, his clever little sibling figures out Zachary's little 'hobby', or walks in at a less-than-ideal time;

Well, it's hardly his fault if he has to take you somewhere else, so he can take care of you. You don't need anyone else. He's always been here for you-- more than your parents, in his mind.

besides, he's a pretty damn good actor. He was practically born ready to play the part of a grieving brother, doing all he can to try and find his missing little sibling; afraid that they too had ended up as a victim of the recent killings.

Knowing damn well where you were, kept safe and sound in a little shed/hangout you two's dad had built Zachary when he was younger, as a place to escape from it all.

It was surprisingly easy to make into a living space for you-- and even easier to lock it down, lock you down, and make sure you can't leave.

it's all for your own good, after all! He knows the phrase usually goes mother knows best... but he's sure whoever invented the saying wouldn't be too mad if he altered it to fit his purposes, right?

#oc: zachary #yandere x reader #yandere oc #platonic yandere #platonic yandere oc #platonic yandere x reader #yandere #yandere horror #my writing #reqs open #requests open #my ocs <3 #oc intro !

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runabout-river · 14 days ago

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So, I have an old Fanfiction.net account where I posted my german fanfics ages ago, before I stopped writing fic for years. I picked it up again two years ago, this time in English and on Ao3.

About once a year though, I will get a message from FFN about a comment on an old fic or about a German Beta reading request. (I also got update notifications for the fics I followed for the longest time but those have stopped for 3 years or so.)

The latest beta request I got and accepted is this massive undertaking a German speaker took on translating english fics, and I'm helping out with that. The beta reading happens on googledocs but the communication happens on FFN and that made me feel nostalgic.

And I know FFN's quality had gone down and I know I had my reasons for going over to Ao3 but I thought 'Why Not' and decided to just make a new account on FFN and post my current fic there as well :D

To make this short and readable, the rest of the story is in list form:

exploring FFN's interface again was pretty nostalgic, especially when I uploaded my word document onto the site instead of having to copy/paste my fic onto it

The terms of service were just as I remembered them but only now did I fully realize how restrictive they are, especially the part about the publsihed authors who don't want fanfic of their work. Badly spelt or badly written fics in the grammar sense aren't allowed either and I think that aspect of FFN is following me until today

There was a waiting period for posting fic and other stuff, which is fine, every site has their own way to deal with spam

THEY DO NOT DEAL WITH THEIR SPAM

so I uploaded one of my oneshots just to see what would happen. It's for a newish anime (JJK) and while it is pretty far down their list in terms of works, it still has nearly 2k so I thought 'fine, could be worse'.

The next morning I wake up to 5 reviews and 6 PMs, ALL of it of the "I'll make art for your fic" spam variety except for one that looked like an AI summary of my fic.

I wasn't bothered by it because I deal with spam sometimes on Ao3 and I didn't have high expectations for that fandom on FFN anyway so I go to work deleting the comments and blocking the people who sent them to me

The blocking works even though its cumbersome

But I'll tell you how I nearly ripped my hair out trying to find the delete button for the spam reviews. I found the "mark as abuse/spam" button but I looked everywhere for the delete one. Just. To. Find. Out... they don't have one D:

so maybe I never realized (and/or forgot) that FFN doesn't allow you to delete reviews because I was writing in a niche language years ago, but that's... that's punitive. That goes so hard against my current fanfic sensibilities and climate of a hobby you engage in with fun and a relaxed attitude, but FFN already said at the beginning, they want to make a good writer out of you so you will check your grammar and spelling and you will listen to criticism you'll better hope is constructive.

Illuminating times these last few days

I'm not waiting for FFN staff to delete those spam "reviews", I'm waiting on more spam people to write to me so I can block them before I delete the fic and repost it. I'll put a few more oneshots there later, too, and see how it goes. I might give up on this new account alltogether as well.

And that was my adventure in venturing out to old places again. As a side note: if you get into old media you should visit FFN and look around there for fic, too. You won't find most of their collections anywhere else.

This looks like it would interest @olderthannetfic and @ao3commentoftheday

#ao3 #ffn #fanfic #jjk #my fic #writing

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frekyaka · 1 month ago

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Another (old) oc

I forgot to post these a few days ago but I redrew my first eltingville oc I did like when I first got into the pilot for the first time? (Legit butterflies on billy ballsack..) she was supposedly scrapped because in my opinion I wasn't really feeling her and also because it's quite self indulging to the point I'm cringing on myself so I had to drop her ass, but I like how I did her hair so she's back in business BAAAABYYY

(also boken inglish forgib me 😢)

First design (I was making an introduction thing and gave up halfway)

Lazy redraww (I made her a bad bitch in the wte vers like damn..?? what even is my sexuality anymore 💀)

I guess background info? (I'll make one for Dane, yes I'm looking at you @/indohyusbarf 🫵😋)

warning: very lengthy.. ?? I'm just yapping at this point.. sorry bros.. got too into it.. 😭

Valentine 'Val' Cooper is one of the popular girls in eltingville high or whatever. She's related to Joe (crazy..), and works in Joe's comic book store as a punishment for her rich ahh parents because she was caught in a major scandal and to also learn how the real world operates, be in shes excellent for the job as she casually rips people off 5 times the price, she's a business woman, just like her parents, and uses it in her ability to get more money and shit, (casually steals money from the register). She's perfect for the job but she has a complete intolerance to geeks and nerds (she doesn't know the difference and would not care to even correct herself, as if on purpose), saying that they are the disease and should get rid off in this orb of a planet.

Reasons and her views on geeks or nerds in general??:

She places immense value on social status, popularity, and outward appearances, carrying a deep-seated belief that people should conform to mainstream ideals, often viewing those who stray from the norm (especially geeks and nerds) as socially inept or unworthy of respect, being a 'geek' signifies obsession with niche or unconventional interests that diverge from what they consider acceptable or admirable. Rather than deeply engaging with any subjects outside their comfort zone, she participates only in trends they deem acceptable (within popular culture), she's uncomfortable with the people who get so obsessed (in her opinion to a borderline extent), that this discomfort she feels manifests into having bitchy judgmental attitude toward those who become borderline obsessed with their hobbies, such as video games, comic book fandoms, or technology (typical geeky shittt, like damn girl you hate ppl having fun??)

Working in Joe's shop/having to interact with geeks/nerds:

When confronted with someone who has a deep fascination or obsession, Val's reaction will be overly critical or dismissive, rolling her eyes, interrupt, or change the subject abruptly (are you gonna pay or not? 🙄), believing that engaging in such conversations is a waste of time or even flat out embarrassing. She firmly believes that social interactions should adhere to certain unwritten rules, and those who openly geek out about their interests defy those norms. She finds it very difficult to tolerate long conversations about niche topics that they don't understand or enjoy, perceiving it as self-indulgent and inconsiderate to the person they're talking to. (Neurotypical mindset .. sighs)

Finally, her experience with the gang (the elting shits!!):

Bill - she hates geeks

Josh - she hates fat geeks

Jerry - she hates socially awkward geeks

Pete - she hates .. geeks

I'll make an in-depth of their relationships one day 💀

Dane (oc) - she hates gay people, geeky religious geeks

Her relationship with Dane: (a little snippet of Dane's personality)

They have a sort of rivalry, more on to Dane than Val (She could not care less!! 🤣🤣). Dane hates her guts so much (because in his opinion she's just like the serpent in Adam and Eve),which Val takes it in her advantage to humiliate him if possible.

Back then, Val tried to flirt with Dane when they first met, which Dane pulled the fucking bible and recited bit by bit from the passage

1 Thessalonians 4:3-8..

straight up yapping away, straight up yelling it mostly to himself and Val is just taking it in.. So then the next time they meet, Val is either notoriously bullying him or ignores him, which both infuriates Dane (boy make up your damn mind.)

HYPOCRITE PAST:

In her younger years, she proudly identified as an 'otaku,' immersing herself in the world of Japanese pop culture. She adored reading shoujo manga and watching romance shows. She dives her interest in crossdressing too, typically dressing up as beautiful anime men (ikemen). However, as she transitioned into high school and embraced a more popular persona, her relationship with these interests began to shift.

Her passionate love for anime, manga, and crossdressing that once brought her joy seems to clash with the image she has cultivated as the popular girl (due to her parents influence to her and the school). In her sudden lift in being part of her new social circle, she has distanced herself from anything related to geek culture, adopting a dismissive attitude toward those who continue to embrace it. What was once a source of pride has now transformed into a source of embarrassment, leading her to criticize and even resent those who identify as geeks, nerds, or otakus.

She immerses herself in being part of a clique, classic hookups and drama, she engages her watch of sitcoms,and other mainstream movies and shows within her new social context. Instead of engaging in crossdressing, she now focuses on wearing stylish and sexy bad bitch clothes in typical popular and societal fashion (you go girl YEAAAHHHHHH)

She often looks down on those who continue to immerse themselves in the culture she has left behind, failing to recognize the beauty of the very interests that once brought her happiness.

#eltingville #the eltingville club #eltingville club #welcome to eltingville #eltingville oc #Valentine 'Val' Cooper #David 'Dane' Ashmore #im still drawing your requests guys just got a lil busyy aa

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mingi-s-dimples · 7 months ago

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Lingering Desire - Woosan

KINKTOBER DAY 10; REQ. BY @la-undercover-latina (yes lovie, your other req is scheduled for 26th on your b-day)

~"Birthday sex with Woosan after you put on the viral pheromone perfume from TikTok."

pairing: woosan x reader

genre: 18+, filth

summary: you try a new supposedly pheromone infused perfume which... brings you the best night of your life.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: pleasure strict dom!san, cocky!wooyoung, pheromones mentioned, manhandling, eating out, 69, 3some, multiple orgasms, anal, double penetration, blowjob, making out, marking, biting, unprotected (boo wrap up irl), completely consensual, unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: THIS WAS DELICIOUSSSSSSSSSS I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW I CAME UP WITH THE 3SOME SCENE. I damn loved it... fuck it, woosan are deadly. That's it, mhm. DEADLY. Posting from the grave as we speak... anywyas lovies, hope you like ittt 😋💗💗💗

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

You’re lying on your bed, lazily scrolling through TikTok, the soft glow of your phone lighting up the room. Video after video flies by: dances, funny skits, and then—something catches your eye. A TikToker is talking about a "pheromone perfume" that supposedly drives people crazy with attraction. They’re raving about it, explaining how it’s subtle but incredibly effective, sharing stories of people who used it and had everyone suddenly gravitating toward them.

Your curiosity is piqued. *Could it actually work?* you think, watching as the person sprays the perfume on their wrist, smiling mischievously at the camera. The comments are filled with people swearing by it, claiming it boosted their confidence and made them feel irresistible. You pause, considering. It was also your birthday so... it would've been a nice gift - to be fucked dumb by your boyfriends.

A grin slowly spreads across your face as the thought pops into your head—*Wooyoung and San*. Your heart flutters thinking about your boyfriends. It’s been a while since you tried something new, and the idea of them being even more drawn to you is too tempting to resist. Without hesitation, you swipe over to the website and order the perfume.

The confirmation page flashes across the screen, and you sit up, biting your lip with excitement. You can’t help but imagine how Wooyoung, with his playful grin, might react or how San, with his intense gaze, would notice the subtle change. The thought sends a thrill through you.

When the package finally arrives a few days later, you practically rip it open, holding the small bottle of perfume in your hands. It’s sleek, mysterious, and the promise it holds makes your heart race. You can already feel the excitement building as you imagine spraying it on before your next date with them.

Later that evening, as you stand in front of the mirror, you hold the bottle up with a small smile. “Let’s see if this really works,” you murmur to yourself, thinking about the looks you’ll get when Wooyoung and San walk through the door.

Spraying it on your wrists and neck, you close your eyes, imagining the moment they notice—how their arms might wrap around you tighter, how their teasing smiles might falter for a second, just long enough for you to know the perfume did its job. You can barely contain your excitement, eagerly waiting to see their reactions when they arrive.

---

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, amber glow over the living room, you heard a knock at the door. You smiled to yourself, anticipating their arrival. San and Wooyoung were never late, especially when they knew you had something special planned.

Opening the door, you were greeted by San's bright grin and Wooyoung's playful smirk. "Hey, you, happy birthday," Wooyoung greeted, leaning in to give you a quick hug. San followed, his arms wrapping around you briefly, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. "Happy birthday, love. Weren't we meeting tomorrow? Tho, I won't complain seeing you again..." he said.

“You look beautiful,” San commented, eyes gleaming as he took a step into your home. His gaze lingered just a second too long on you, but you brushed it off, closing the door behind them.

“So, what’s the plan tonight?” Wooyoung asked, sitting casually on your couch, stretching his arms along the back. He looked at you expectantly, his eyes scanning you in a way that felt different—more intense than usual. San stood nearby, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with a strange glint in his eyes.

You tried to keep your composure. The perfume was working faster than you had expected. “Just hanging out for now. I thought we could relax.”

But as you sat down between them, the air seemed to thicken. San shifted uncomfortably beside you, his breathing becoming more shallow. His hand, which had been resting on his thigh, now twitched as if he was fighting some internal urge.

“You smell… different tonight,” Wooyoung muttered, his voice lower than usual. His eyes were half-lidded as he leaned closer, inhaling your scent. His hand brushed against your arm, lingering longer than it should.

San, on the other hand, wasn’t as subtle. He moved closer, almost instinctively, his fingers lightly grazing your thigh. He looked at you with wide eyes, clearly trying to control himself but failing. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he confessed, his voice tight with tension. “But I can’t stop thinking about you… touching you.”

Wooyoung let out a low chuckle, his fingers trailing down your arm. “Same here. It’s like something’s pulling me to you, and I can’t stop.”

You smirked, unable to hide your satisfaction any longer. “It might have something to do with this new perfume I got,” you revealed, watching their expressions shift from confusion to understanding. “It’s infused with pheromones.”

San’s eyes darkened, his breath catching in his throat. “You… did this on purpose? What a nice birthday gift you got yourself, sweetie..."

Wooyoung’s lips curled into a grin as his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer. “You sneaky little thing. You wanted to see how we’d react, huh?"

You didn’t think it would affect them this much.

Wooyoung was the first to approach, his eyes narrowing playfully as he leaned in close. “What is this?” he asked, voice teasing, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head to catch more of your scent. “You’re trying to drive us crazy, aren’t you?” His tone was cocky, but his gaze betrayed just how much the scent had gotten to him. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your neck where the fragrance lingered. “I didn’t know you had this side to you.” His touch lingered, his thumb brushing softly over your skin, almost testing your reaction.

San stood behind him, quieter but no less affected. He stepped forward, his eyes dark with a softness that contrasted with Wooyoung’s playful energy. He didn’t speak at first, but his hands gently cupped your shoulders, fingers slowly tracing the line of your arms. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. “You smell… intoxicating,” he murmured, his voice low and sensual, lips hovering near your ear. His touch was deliberate, slow, as though savoring the moment.

Wooyoung chuckled, watching your reaction. “Look at you,” he said, his grin widening as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, tugging at it slightly. “This perfume might be too dangerous to wear around us,” he teased, though his fingers were already pulling the fabric up, exposing your skin little by little. “Let’s see what else you’re hiding.”

San’s hands followed Wooyoung’s lead, but his movements were gentler, more intimate. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, helping ease the shirt over your head. The way he looked at you made your breath hitch—admiring, as though you were something precious to be unwrapped. “You don’t need the perfume,” he whispered, his voice filled with admiration. “But it’s impossible to resist you like this.”

Once the shirt was gone, Wooyoung took a step back, his gaze raking over you with unabashed appreciation. His fingers trailed lightly over your collarbone, then down to your waist, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “You’re not making this easy,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement, but his touch was soft, almost reverent despite his teasing words.

San, ever the more sensual one, moved closer, his hands sliding around your back as he gently traced the curve of your spine. His touch was calming, grounding, even as the intensity between you all deepened. His fingertips explored slowly, appreciatively, as though savoring every inch of your skin. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice sending warmth through you.

The atmosphere thickened as Wooyoung’s playful teasing combined with San’s sensual care. Every brush of their fingers was deliberate, appreciating, as they undressed you piece by piece. Neither rushed, hands exploring with soft touches, as though taking in every detail of your form. They weren’t just admiring—they were captivated.

By the time you were almost fully undressed, their hands were everywhere—light, appreciative touches tracing your skin. Wooyoung’s grin had softened, replaced with something more admiring, while San’s gaze never left you, his hands slow and intentional. “Perfect,” Wooyoung murmured, almost in awe, his teasing demeanor having given way to something deeper.

San’s hands slid up to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek as he smiled softly. “We’re lucky to be here with you like this,” he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and admiration.

Their touches lingered, neither rushing, taking their time to fully appreciate you, the room filled with nothing but the sound of quiet breathing and the electricity of the moment.

"But I just can't hold back anymore-" Woo rapidly said and leaned in for a kiss. It wasn't the usual one... it was wild, messy and playful, feeling every corner of your mouth, biting your bottom lip and sucking on it. It was damn fun and hot.. to be kissed like this. "I should do this more often" you thought to yourself, but your thoughts were interrupted by San behind you. He slowly took your panties off, cupping your ass with his hands. He hugged you thightly, letting you feel his erection along the curve of your lower back and ass. San then did something totally unexpected. As he slid his hands all over your ass he spread it out, making you flinch at the action.

"W-what are you doing?" you said, voice already trembling from all the kissing and touching from Woo.

"You know.. we're gonna try something djfferent today, my love." he said and kissed your ass, then as he spread you out he pulled you in. He turned around and placed his head between your legs, your knees flexing over his body. He then kissed your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to your now-dripping folds. His hands went to your back and held onto your ass, for dear life, to which he then started soflty liking your folds. You moaned at the sensation. This had never happened and.. oh god, your legs were trembling under all the thingd happening.

"Stay still-" San said and started eating you out properly, his hands roaming around. He squeezed your ass once or twice, and then one of his hands went to your hole and used a finger, inserting it in. You clenched onto it, a moan leaving his rapidly rising chest and revrebrating through you.

"You taste so good-" he pants out, looking up at Wooyoung, which was out of it. He was leaving marks all over your body: breasts, collarbones, shoulders, neck... everywhere.

San unbucked his pants and the next thing you knew was that his right hand went for his aching and throbbing rock hard cock, to pump it, while his other hand was holding you close to his mouth. You felt the knot in your belly starting to get tighter and tighter, legs trembling and both boys overstimulating you. As soon as San hit your g-spot a couple of times with both his finger and his tongue, you came messily, silky white liquid dripping on his face, framing it beautifully. He looked up at you, pleased of your performance and kissed your thigh, softly biting the flesh. "What a good girl.." San said and marked you in a spot closest to your cunt, leaving you breathless. You were barely standing on your legs, half-held by San's strong hands. He got up and went behind your back, messing with your breasts in front, watching Wooyoung contently. The younger one was still making out with you, his hands now roaming on your body, holding onto your ass.

"I think it's time you know what a bad choice you made... teasing us like this." San spoke, barely above a whisper and barely letting you know what he had in plan. Wooyoung did as San commanded, nodding in the bedroom's way. The older one lifted you up with one hand and put you on his biceps and shoulder, holding you like you're just a feather.

Wooyoung opened the door and as soon as they stepped in, San threw you on the bed, creaking under your weight and his powerful throw. "Let's see it now.. what you've got in you that made you think this was a good idea for you." Wooyoung said, smiling cockily while climbing on the bed. "San?"

"Hm?"

"Top or under?" the younger one asked.

"Under, of course. I wanna eat her out-" San said and you didn't even have time to react.

"H-huh" you gasped as soon as you saw both men getting undressed completely right ij front of you, their cocks springing out forcefully and as hard as ever. San's was already leaking with precum.. Woo's too.

The younger one got on the bed and kneeled while San took you in his grip and placed you on all fours, right in front of Wooyoung. He then slid under you, his cock at your mouth and your pussy at his.

"Oh- my god.." you gasped, the idea of having 69 while being fucked dumb by Woooyoung never crossed your mind but... this was more than thrilling.

San's hands rode your back and as soon as they got to your ass, he pressed you down onto his face and started eating you out, to which you followed and started lickikg his cock. Wooyoung also worked his way in, prepped your hole with two of his fingers and lubed you up with his pre cum, to which he then started fucking you rapidly. Your moans revrebrating through San's cock as you engulfed his length. He was.. big. As fuck. Not necessarily lenght wise, which was safe to say too long for you... his girth always drove you insnae. As you were pounded by Woooyoung, you slowly started sucking San's cock. You first started sucking on the tip, circling it with your tongue. Then you licked him down to the base, leaving a soft trail of kissing along. Then without warning, you took a deep breath and took his whole lengh as deep as you could down your throat, San flinching at the sudden action. You stood like that for a moment, rhen when you lifted your hair you gasped for airz choking slightly. Tho, your plan was to get him off so, you got to seriously sucking him off, using your hands to lightly pump him from his base.

He was already squirming in your hand, under you, in search of friction. You were already coming close to your high, the knot in your belly tightening. San's nose hit your spots just right, his tongue was working wonders, and Wooyoung's hands on your lower waist were doing no good. Within a few more thrusts and muffled moans along San's cock you came messily, cum dripping once again on his face. He slurped everything, sucking on your swollen clit. You moaned loudly at his action, tho which your mouth soflty clenched onto his cock, leaving him agape. Strings of silky white liquid filled your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat while you waited for him to finish completely. You sucked everything off and swallowed-

"Such a good girl..." his breath hitched from under you. "I'm not done yet-" he slid to the side and switched the positions. He flipped you over, your back against his chest in a milisecond, not giving a shit about the fact that Wooyoung was still fucking you, catching his high. They basically switched.., safe to say, your holes. Wooyoung, very eagerly started ramming into your cunt. Your hands sprung to his head, holding him close and ruffling his hair. San, on the other way, was taking his time prepping your ass, his cock way girthier than Woo's.

"That damned perfume.." Wooyoung started.

"It's so intoxicating." he said and rammed once into you, bottoming out and leaving you breathless. One of his hands went for your throat, holding you down onto San's chest.

Both men were now fucking you dumb, synchronised and hitting all your spots.

"I'm- close" Woooyung muttered, becoming more noisy. He softly started whining and quietly moaning with every thrust, sign that proved his words. His thrusts started getting sloppier, messier, to which he finally finished, filling you up. He fucked you through his orgasm, San also feeling overwhelmed under you. As soon as he felt you clench... around both cocks, he caught his high and finished.

As soon as both of them were done with filling you up, they pulled out and laid you down on the mattress, spreading your legs out. Their fluids seeped out of your holes, both men looking satisfied, proud of their work.

"What do you think about a 2nd round, huh" Woo asked you.

"-yes, please!" you shouted.

"Look at how needy you are... San, get the cuffs. It doesn’t seem like she yet learned her place." Woo said and topped over you, proof that the night was just about to start.

"Happy birthday, our love." the boys said, grinning at you.

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