#ON A SPRINT LAP on a cool down lap

[jungwnies]

TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND | "suspect...."

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : "suspect..." trend

୨ৎ : genre : humor ୨ৎ : tws : teasing ୨ৎ : word count : 2344

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : race weekend !!

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max had just finished dinner, comfortably tangled up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap. you were scrolling through tiktok, barely paying attention, until a trend made you grin. a couple was chasing each other, shouting their most embarrassing secrets. you nudged max, holding up your phone.

"this feels very us," you teased.

he glanced at the screen, smirking. "you just wanna air my dirty laundry, huh?"

"and yours is so juicy," you shot back. "come on, let's do it."

outside under the porch light, you hit record. the night air was crisp, but max was already loosening up, stretching like he was about to hit the track. "i'll go first," you announced, and before you could blink, max bolted.

"suspect has lucky race underwear and acts like it's the end of the world if they're missing!" you yelled, chasing after him.

he whipped around, laughing so hard he nearly tripped. "okay, rude! that's classified intel."

you handed him the phone as you jogged ahead. "your turn."

max didn't hesitate. "suspect raids the pantry at 3 a.m. like a gremlin and blames it on 'sleepwalking.'"

"i do sleepwalk!" you gasped, laughing as he sprinted closer.

you grabbed the phone back, turning the camera on him. "suspect sings way too passionately to abba in the shower and denies it when I catch him."

max froze mid-step, glaring playfully. "low blow." then, with a grin, he snatched the phone and chased you down the driveway.

"suspect still sleeps with a stuffed panda named mr. wuffles—and argues with him like he's real."

you shrieked, lunging for the camera, tackling max to the ground. the two of you collapsed in a heap of laughter, the phone still recording as you tried to catch your breath.

"mr. wuffles doesn't deserve this slander," you mumbled into his shoulder.

max grinned, brushing hair out of your face. "neither do my lucky boxers."

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you and lewis were lounging by the pool under a canopy of string lights, the cool night breeze carrying the soft ripple of water. roscoe was stretched out on a lounge chair, his head resting on a cushion like he owned the place. lewis was reclined next to you, scrolling through his phone, his fingers absently drumming to the beat of the music playing from a nearby speaker.

you were curled up with your phone, scrolling through tiktok when a trend made you snort—a couple chasing each other, shouting out each other’s most embarrassing quirks. you nudged lewis, holding the screen up for him to see.

“this feels like something you’d absolutely crush me at,” you said, laughing.

he glanced over, his lips curving into that playful smile that made your stomach flip. “oh, no doubt. but do you really wanna go there?”

you grinned, hopping off the lounge chair. “game on.”

lewis chuckled, setting his phone down and standing up, stretching like he was warming up for a race. roscoe gave a sleepy glance but didn’t move.

“ladies first,” lewis said, gesturing dramatically.

you hit record, backing away as he smirked. “suspect can’t go two days without FaceTiming roscoe when he’s away, and yes, he gives him motivational speeches.”

lewis burst into laughter, jogging after you. “don’t call me out like that—roscoe’s a star athlete in his own right!” he grabbed the camera and started walking backward. “alright, my turn.”

you crossed your arms, pretending to look unfazed as he started recording. “suspect spends more time perfecting their smoothie recipes than I spend in the gym. and they still taste like fruit soup.”

you gasped, laughing as you chased him across the patio. “they’re healthy! and delicious!”

“sure, chef,” he teased, holding the camera high above your head.

you managed to snatch it back, breathless. “suspect has an alarm on his phone labeled ‘manifest greatness,’ and I caught him chanting along to it last week.”

lewis stopped, doubling over in laughter. “okay, first of all, it works!” he protested, grabbing the camera back. “but suspect won’t admit they cried during a kids movie last weekend.”

“it was Marley & Me! what do you want from me?!” you shrieked, laughing so hard you stumbled.

roscoe finally lifted his head, giving you both a look of mild disapproval before going back to sleep. the two of you collapsed on the pool deck, gasping for air as the camera captured your laughter under the lights.

ʚ・george russell

you and george were out in the garden under the string lights, leaning against the picnic table as the evening settled in. you were scrolling through tiktok when a video of a couple exposing each other’s quirks made you laugh.

“think you could handle this?” you asked, showing george.

he smirked. “you’re playing a dangerous game.”

you hit record and stepped back. “suspect triple-checks his hair in every mirror before leaving the house, even for groceries.”

george laughed, jogging after you. “it’s called standards,” he countered, grabbing the phone. “suspect once demanded a rematch at mini golf because the wind was ‘unfair.’”

“it was!” you protested, chasing him.

snatching the phone back, you grinned. “suspect listens to dramatic orchestra scores like they’re in a movie montage.”

he groaned, laughing. “oh hush! suspect talks in their sleep about ordering pizza and existential philosophy.”

you gasped, collapsing onto the bench in laughter as george sat beside you, flipping the camera toward you both.

“lesson learned?” he teased.

“you’re obsessive,” you said.

“and you’re chaos,” he shot back with a grin.

“and yet, it works,” you replied, leaning into him as he ended the video.

ʚ・carlos sainz

you and carlos had just finished a game of tennis in the backyard, both of you sweating and laughing as you collapsed onto the grass. the sky was fading into a deep blue, the evening still warm. carlos tossed his racket aside, stretching with a satisfied groan, while you grabbed your water bottle.

“you know, i think i’ve got you beat this time,” you said, grinning between sips.

“you wish, mi amor,” carlos laughed, shaking his head. “i let you win on purpose. i’m a gentleman.”

“uh-huh, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” you teased.

you pulled out your phone, noticing a trend on tiktok—a couple running around, calling out each other’s quirks. you nudged him, showing him the video.

“come on, let’s do it. i bet you’ve got some embarrassing stuff to share,” you said.

“oh, i’m sure you’ve got more embarrassing things than me,” he grinned. “alright, let’s do it. i’m ready.”

you hit record, stepping back with a playful smirk. “suspect uses way too many spices when cooking and ends up burning half the meal every time.”

carlos laughed, raising his hands in defense. “hey, a little smoky flavor never hurt anyone!” he grabbed the phone and pointed it at you. “suspect always loses their keys and blames it on me, even when i’m nowhere near them.”

“because you always steal them!” you shot back, chasing him around the yard.

he stopped, turning to face you. “suspect watches motivational videos, then complains about doing chores two minutes later,” he teased, laughing.

you gasped, nearly dropping the phone. “i’m just… i’m saving my energy for the important stuff!”

carlos smirked, taking the phone back. “suspect can’t make it through a single movie without falling asleep halfway through. i’ve seen it!”

“i’m relaxing, okay?” you said, laughing as you tried to catch up with him.

carlos finally collapsed next to you on the grass, both of you laughing, as he turned the camera toward you both.

“well, that was fun, amor,” he said, grinning.

“you’re a menace,” you teased.

“and you love me for it,” he replied with a wink, before ending the video.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you and charles were in the kitchen, the scent of fresh-baked cookies filling the air as you waited for them to finish baking. with the oven timer ticking down, you two decided to kill time. charles was leaning against the doorframe of the hallway, his dog leo sprawled out on the floor at his feet, looking up at you both with a relaxed expression.

“okay, so what should we do while we wait, mon chéri?” charles asked, his gaze playful. “i’m not just gonna stand here, you know.”

you grinned, glancing around the hallway. “well, we could always play that tiktok game i showed you last week. i bet you’ve got some embarrassing habits i can call out.”

charles raised an eyebrow, glancing at leo, who was lazily licking his paws. “you think i’m embarrassed by anything?”

“oh, definitely,” you teased, pulling out your phone. “you’ve got some quirks.”

“alright, fine,” he grinned, crossing his arms. “let’s do it, but no making fun of me too much, mon amour.” he tells you kissing the top of your head before you both make your way to the hallway. 

you hit record, stepping back with a smirk. “suspect has a very specific routine for his coffee, and gets very upset if it’s made wrong.”

charles laughed, shaking his head. “that’s not a secret, amour. i like my coffee just right, nothing wrong with that.” he grabbed the phone and pointed it at you. “suspect spends way too much time scrolling through food videos but never actually cooks anything.”

“hey!” you protested, laughing. “i get inspiration!”

“ah, i know you too well,” he teased. “suspect also insists on getting up in the middle of the night for snacks, but never remembers what they actually wanted.”

“i don’t even want to hear it,” you shot back. “suspect can’t even make it through a day without getting at least five different snacks. i’ve seen it with my own eyes!”

“hey, i’m a growing boy,” charles grinned. “i need my fuel. you, on the other hand… suspect has to try to make food, but ends up burning everything and then calling me to save you.”

“sure, sure,” you teased. “suspect also has to ask for everyones opinion before making a decision about anything.”

“it’s called being thorough,” he grinned.

“right, thorough,” you laughed. “suspect spends way too long staring at himself in the mirror after a race, making sure everything’s perfect for the cameras.”

charles laughed, shaking his head. “okay, that’s fair. but you talk to leo like he’s a person, and i swear, he knows all your secrets.”

“leo’s my best friend!” you protested, laughing.

“and he knows you better than you know yourself,” charles teased.

“oh, don’t even!” you laughed. you lunged for the phone, laughing, but charles held it just out of reach.

“oh no, i’m not done with you yet,” you teased, but charles just grinned, lowering the camera as leo wagged his tail.

“well, that was fun,” charles said, still grinning as he scratched leo behind the ears.

“you’re impossible,” you teased, nudging him.

“and you love me for it, mon chéri,” he replied with a wink, turning off the camera.

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando had just finished messing around on his sim, and now you were sitting on the floor of the hallway, sharing a bowl of popcorn. the soft glow of the hallway light made the moment feel cozy, but lando, being lando, was already up to something.

“have you seen this?” he asked, holding up his phone to show you a tiktok of people calling out their partners' embarrassing habits. his grin was wide, already plotting.

“don’t even think about it,” you warned, narrowing your eyes.

“too late,” he said, opening the app and hitting record. “alright, suspect loves to smack talk during karting, but can’t stop spinning out when things get competitive.”

“you’re so full of it!” you laughed, grabbing the phone. “suspect sets five alarms every morning and still manages to be late.”

lando gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “i’m just not a morning person, alright?”

“and yet, you have no problem staying up all night playing video games,” you shot back, aiming the phone at him again.

“because i’m a gamer,” he grinned, grabbing the phone back. “suspect refuses to admit they’re bad at fifa, even though i’ve beaten you like, ten times in a row.”

“that’s because you cheat! i swear your controller’s rigged!”

“sure, blame the controller,” he teased, flipping the camera to you. “suspect also eats all the snacks during a movie and then pretends they don’t know where they went.”

you gasped. “i get hungry! and you don’t even share your chips properly.”

“because you take the big ones,” lando said, shaking his head. “suspect also hides my hoodies and claims they don’t know where they are.”

you smirked. “they just mysteriously end up in my closet. weird, huh?”

“you’re unbelievable,” he laughed, setting the phone down as you both leaned back against the wall.

“you love it,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

“yeah,” he said, grinning at you. “i do.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were out on the back deck, the sun dipping below the horizon as the brownies you’d baked earlier cooled inside. the soft hum of cicadas filled the air, and oscar was stretched out on a lounge chair, tossing a tennis ball up and catching it lazily.

“so, how long until we can eat them?” he asked, tilting his head toward the kitchen window.

“not long,” you replied, scrolling through your phone. then, a tiktok caught your attention—a couple roasting each other’s quirks. you grinned, holding it up to oscar. “wanna try this?”

he sat up, catching the ball one last time. “you’re really inviting chaos, huh? alright, let’s go.”

you hit record and pointed the phone at him. “suspect leaves half-finished cups of tea everywhere and then wonders why we have no clean mugs.”

“because tea gets cold too quick!” oscar said, snatching the phone. “suspect insists they’re an expert at driving but screams every time i take a corner a bit fast.”

“because you drive like it’s the grand prix!” you laughed, taking the phone back. “suspect uses ‘just one more episode’ as an excuse to stay up until 3 a.m.”

“it’s called commitment,” oscar said, smirking as he grabbed the phone again. “suspect pretends to like my playlist but skips my songs when they think i’m not looking.”

“they’re all acoustic covers of 2000s pop songs, oscar!” you protested.

“and they’re brilliant,” he said, aiming the phone at you. “suspect also googles the plot of movies halfway through because they’re too impatient to wait and see what happens.”

“okay, but at least i don’t fake losing at card games to make you feel better,” you shot back, smirking.

oscar gasped dramatically. “i would never!”

you both burst into laughter, leaning against the counter as the timer beeped in the background.

“guess i win,” oscar said smugly, reaching for the phone.

“in your dreams,” you teased, bumping his shoulder.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[amirasainz]

omg the little Alonso fics are TOO cute!!! Can I please request one where little Alonso has a little crush on a driver and how the others react especially her papa? 😂

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo, babygirl 💕

The Baby-Crush

The sun was high over the paddock, the heat intense enough to send most of the drivers straight to the designated cooling area after their morning practice laps. The “sweating area,” as they’d all jokingly dubbed it, was packed with drivers catching their breath and throwing back water bottles like they’d just crossed a desert.

Suddenly, the calm was broken by a pattering of tiny feet.

“Papá!”

Every driver’s head whipped around to see the sight they’d been waiting for all season — three-year-old Yn Alonso running at full speed through the paddock, her dark hair bouncing as she scanned for her father. Even with the humid weather, she was dressed in a white fluffy dress, with a big green bow, to not only represent her daddy's team, but to also keep her hair from slipping over her eyes.

Fernando's grin grew as she hurtled towards him. He knelt down to catch her, arms wide open, as she nearly toppled him over in a flying hug.

“Mi niña,” he laughed, scooping her up and holding her close. “What are you doing here, pequeña?”

She beamed at him, then, without a word, wiggled to be let down, her big brown eyes already scanning the room. As soon as her feet touched the ground, Yn’s eyes locked onto Charles, who was laughing with Carlos.

Charles noticed her stare and broke out in a huge grin. “Ah, there she is!” He knelt down, stretching his arms out wide. “Come here, Yn!”

Without a second thought, Yn sprinted straight into Charles's open arms, bypassing every other driver without a glance. Fernando's smile froze. Carlos raised his eyebrows, nudging Lando as he stifled a laugh.

Charles lifted Yn effortlessly, spinning her around as she giggled and clung to him, her little arms wrapped around his neck. “You’re getting so big!” he said, poking her nose gently, earning a bright giggle.

“You’re her favorite, Charles,” Pierre teased, crossing his arms with a playful pout. “I remember when I was the favorite.”

Yn looked over at Pierre with a big smile but tightened her grip around Charles’s neck. “Charlie!” she insisted, pointing at him as if to make it clear who her favorite was.

Lando laughed, nudging Max. “Charles has a new fangirl, and she's got the Alonso seal of approval. How does it feel to have Fernando’s blessing?”

But a low, grumbling sound interrupted the teasing. Fernando had crossed his arms, a deep frown etched on his face. “Blessing? What blessing? I did not give any blessing. This… this is betrayal. By my own hija.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender, struggling to contain his laughter. “Hey, hey, don’t look at us, mate. Looks like she’s got a bit of a crush on Charles.”

Fernando’s eyes narrowed as he watched Charles gently bouncing Yn in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder with a content sigh. The other drivers snickered as Fernando muttered to himself, pacing a bit and shaking his head.

“Charles,” he said, his voice half-joking, half-serious, “that is my daughter, not some… Ferrari groupie.”

Charles looked over at Fernando with a grin, carefully placing a tiny kiss on Yn’s cheek. “Don’t worry, Fernando. I am a gentleman.”

Yn’s cheeks turned pink as she let out a giggle and hid her face in Charles’s shoulder, peeking out with a shy smile. Charles, absolutely charmed, looked back at Fernando. “See? She’s happy.”

Carlos leaned in, smirking. “You’re in trouble, Charles. Fernando looks ready to put you in the barriers next race.”

But Charles, clearly enjoying himself, pretended not to notice the jealous glares from both Fernando and the other drivers. He cradled Yn a little closer, leaning his forehead against hers, as her tiny fingers played with the zipper of his racing suit.

“Charlie,” she whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “are you gonna win?”

Charles softened, nodding earnestly. “I’ll do my best, just for you, okay?”

Fernando let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, so now you’re winning races, huh? Where was that last season?”

Everyone burst into laughter as Charles sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “What can I say, Fernando? I have a good-luck charm now.” He tapped Yn’s nose, and she burst into giggles again.

Lando was practically in stitches. “Mate, you’ve got a tiny Alonso fangirl giving you her blessing. You’d better win next weekend!”

Yn, sensing the attention, pointed her little finger at Lando. “No,” she said firmly, still clinging to Charles. “Charlie’s best.”

Carlos wiped away a fake tear. “Ouch! Betrayed by someone so young.”

Fernando finally stepped forward, determined to reclaim his daughter. “Okay, okay, ya es suficiente, little one. Come back to Papá, alright?”

Yn hesitated, looking between her father and Charles, before giving her dad a quick look of mischief.

“No!” she squealed and snuggled closer to Charles, making him laugh as he hugged her back. “With Charlie!”

Fernando’s face was priceless — part horrified, part amused, and all exasperated. The other drivers were practically doubled over with laughter, watching Fernando’s meltdown unfold.

“Yn,” Fernando said in his best “dad” voice, “Charlie drives for Ferrari. Ferrari, Yn. Alonso girls do not cheer for Ferrari.”

She blinked, clearly not understanding a word he’d said, before patting Charles’s cheek lovingly. “Charlie’s nice.”

George Russell chuckled, giving Fernando a pat on the back. “Face it, Fernando. She’s got taste.”

Charles, now thoroughly enjoying himself, made a point to keep her entertained, bouncing her on his hip, whispering silly things that made her giggle uncontrollably. At one point, he looked over at Fernando with a wink. “Look, I’ll take good care of her, Fernando. She’s safe with me.”

Fernando rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile now, despite his reluctant acceptance. “If you so much as put one scratch on her, Charles…”

Charles gave a mock salute. “Understood, sir. Only the best for the Alonso princess.”

For the rest of the day, Yn stayed glued to Charles’s side, happily babbling about who knows what as he patiently listened, asking her questions and looking thoroughly invested. At one point, she tugged on his sleeve.

“Charlie,” she said, looking around before leaning close to his ear, her voice a loud whisper, “don’t tell Papá, but I like red.”

Charles chuckled, glancing over at Fernando, who was watching the two of them suspiciously from across the room. “Our little secret,” he whispered back.

By the end of the day, Yn was dozing off, still in Charles’s arms, her tiny fingers clinging to the front of his suit. Charles carried her back to Fernando, who shook his head, finally resigned.

“Alright, fine,” Fernando said, reaching out to take his daughter. “But just remember, Yn, Papá is still your number one fan, okay?”

Yn blinked sleepily and gave him a nod. “Number one,” she mumbled, and Fernando’s heart melted a bit.

But just as he thought he’d won, she gave Charles one last sleepy grin. “Charlie, you’re number two.”

Fernando groaned, and the whole paddock dissolved into laughter as Charles gave her a final cheeky kiss on the cheek.

[kinascum]

TAG! - M. STURNIOLO

SYNOPSIS: What happens when your brother's best friend pushes your boundaries in a thrilling encounter?

CONTENTS: nls!reader, explicit sexual content, strong language, power dynamics, degradation, chasing? primal? idk, no actual piv, oral (male), semi-public, humiliation.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

pt2 (chris)

You sit around the kitchen table of the cozy cabin, the glow of the moonlight spilling in through the windows, casting shadows across the well-worn Monopoly board. The laughter and banter of the evening's game slowly die down as the last few hotel properties are snatched up, and the bank is declared bankrupt. Your brother Nate, and his best friends, grin at each other, the competitive spirit still lingering in the air. It's late, and the yawns start to take over, signaling the end of the night.

The cabin's wooden floorboards creak as everyone heads to their designated sleeping areas. The fireplace crackles, casting a warm, flickering light across the room. You settle into your bed, but the excitement of the day keeps sleep at bay. The rustling of blankets and muffled snores from your brother's room reminds you that you're not the only one who remains restless.

The whispers of the night beckon you and you find yourself tiptoeing to the bedroom door. You peek into the hallway, noticing a sliver of light seeping out from under Matt's door. Curiosity piqued, you ease the door open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, staring at the floor. "Can't sleep either?" he asks, looking up and catching your gaze.

"Yeah, it's like my brain won't shut up," you admit, stepping into the room. "Wanna go outside for some fresh air?"

Matt nods, a glint in his eye. "How about we play a game to pass the time?"

Intrigued, you follow him out into the cool night, the crunch of gravel underfoot. The moon casts a silver path down to the lake, where the water laps gently against the shore. The air is alive with the scent of pine and the distant sound of an owl's hoot.

"Okay, I'll chase you," he says with a smirk, "and if I catch you, I win."

You laugh, thinking it's just a way to burn off some energy. "What do I get if I win?"

"We'll see," he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ready or not, here I come!"

And with that, he's off, his sneakers pounding the ground as he sprints towards you. You squeal, the thrill of the chase igniting your senses. As you dart away from him, the night air feels alive with electricity, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the kind of thrill you live for, the kind that makes you feel alive.

The game starts innocently enough, the two of you weg through the trees, laughing and panting. But as the minutes tick by, the adrenaline turns into something else. Something you've felt simmering between you for a while now, something you've been too scared to acknowledge. The wind carries the scent of him, a tantalizing mix of aftershave and pure masculine energy. Your skin tingles with anticipation, and you start to feel the heat building deep within you.

Matt's breath is hot on your neck as he catches up, his strong hands grabbing you around the waist. You gasp, feeling his solid body pressed against yours, the game turning into something much more primal. You can feel the heat of his body overcome yours, and it sends a shockwave through your core. This isn't just a game anymore; it's a dance of desire that you're both eager to explore.

He whispers in your ear, his voice thick with lust, "I win."

With a firm grip, he spins you around and pushes you to your knees. You look up at him, a mix of fear and excitement swirling in your eyes. He's serious. The gravity of the moment hits you like a ton of bricks, but you don't resist. You want this. You've wanted this for a long time.

He unbuckles his belt, the metal clinking in the stillness of the night, and unzips his pants, pulling out his hard cock. "You know how this goes," he murmurs, stroking himself, watching you with a hungry gaze. "You're gonna let me use that pretty little throat?"

Your heart races as you lean in, your mouth watering despite the fear. You wrap your lips around him, and he groans, his hand tangling in your hair. He's not gentle, pushing deeper into your mouth, his grip tightening with every moan. The taste of him fills your senses, a mix of salt and earth, and you can't help but feel a twinge of excitement. This isn't how you thought this night would go, but the way he's looking at you, the way he's holding you, it's like he's claiming you, and it turns you on more than you ever thought possible.

You try to keep up, but he's too much for you. You gag, and he laughs, a dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Look at you," he says, "such a good little slut, take it." Spit trails down your chin, and your eyes water, but you don't stop. You can't. The thrill of it all is too intense.

"I bet Nate never knew what a whore you are," he murmurs, his voice low aging. "Letting me fuck your mouth out here like some cheap hooker." His words are like a slap in the face, but they only serve to make you wetter. Your eyes narrow as your brows chisel in, but you're his, and you're letting him do this to you. It's a power play, and you're both acutely aware of it.

"Oh, you're mad?" He laughs. The sound of branches underfoot in the distance makes your heart leap. "Better hurry up," he says, his eyes glinting with excitement, "or Chris might find you like this and want a taste" The thought sends a jolt of fear and arousal through you. "Oh, but you'd love that, being used by both your brother's best friends?" Your mind races. What would Nate think if he found you like this? What would Nick do? The possibility of getting caught only adds to the thrill.

Matt's hand moves to your chin, holding it in a firm grip as he fucks your mouth harder, faster. "Take it, baby," he growls, his hips bucking against your face. "You like it, huh?" You nod, unable to speak with his cock lodged in your throat, you mumble around his shaft. You do love it. The degradation, the power he has over you in this moment, it's intoxicating.

Finally, with a grunt, he pulls out, coming all over your face and chest. You collapse back onto the ground, gasping for air, your heart racing and your eyes like storms behind shed tears. He wipes his dick off your shirt, smiling down at you like he's just conquered the world. "You've always been mine, don’t get mad now," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. He leans down, his hand on your jaw suddenly pulls away and the sing on your face is accompanied by the hot spit thrown at you. "Mine to use whenever I want."

The night air is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, and you can't help but feel a little bit used. But you don't care. You're his, and that's all that matters. The tension between you is palpable, the line between friendship and something darker is now irrevocably blurred. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, tasting him on your lips, and wonder if this is the start of something new.

As you both catch your breath, the sound of footsteps grows louder. Panic flares in your chest. "we have to get back." You stumble to your feet, your legs wobbly from the intense experience. Matt chuckles, tucking himself back into his pants.

Together, you sneak back towards the cabin, your heart pounding in your ears. As you enter the cabin, you see the light from Nate's room is now off. Did he hear you? Did he know what was happening outside?

You slip into your bed, your body still humming with desire, your mind racing with thoughts of what's to come. The lines between friendship and lust have been crossed, and there's no going back.

tags! @sturnstvs @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @baileysturns

love, paz<3

[nvuy]

nuvy. nuvy have you heard of the boothill leaks.

YES i did *salutes*

boothill story leaks under cut;

girl dad girl dad

soooo what about boothill falling in love with a single parent with a daughter hmm hmm

like god if he doesn’t just accidently run into the kid and she squeals over him because “hey!! cool robot man!!” and you chase her down and apologise.

he freezes, because your daughter looks so much like his did.

same hair colour, same eye colour, same energy that he could barely keep up with, just learning to walk on two feet properly and string together words to form simple sentences.

it absolutely destroys him. in the worst and best way possible. especially since your daughter practically develops an admiration for him on the spot, begs to be carried, and you’re confused because “sweetie, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

like like.,,,, example……..

Something small and warm wraps around his hand and Boothill glances up quickly from his lap.

There was a little girl searching for his fingers, barely three years old by the looks of it. Pretty tresses of black hair flowing in the wind near the shoreline, sniffling and barely standing on short wobbly legs.

“I need help,” she hiccups, and Boothill melts on the spot. So small and helpless, like a baby bird away from its mother’s nest. “I can’t find my–”

And of course, he stands up, dusts off his pants, and offers her his hand. He guides her away from the beach back towards the market where crowds of people swarm the stalls.

It’s nighttime, cold, and definitely no place for a little girl to be by herself.

“What’s your parents look like, princess?”

He busies himself searching for any targets that would make sense given the girl’s prattling of your appearance down to the colour of your shoes—“White. Like mine.” Hers light up purple with each step she takes—too many faces, too many people.

He stands to give up when he hears somebody frantically running around like a lunatic to every single store, asking if they’ve seen a little girl with light up sneakers wandering about.

“Calm down. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” he heard one of the assistants try.

Another shopkeeper offers a pitiful frown and shakes their head.

Boothill nudges the girl, squeezing her small hand in his, careful of his strength around fragile bones. “Is that them?”

She quickly wipes the tears from her face. She then nods and takes off into a sprint to lunge at you, still sobbing when she wraps her arms around your leg.

You sigh in relief and scoop her up into your arms.

Boothill then has an entire conundrum in the middle of the market square. For one, your daughter is waving him over with a smile on her face. Two, you looked like you were about two seconds away from passing out in shock. Your clothes are askew, hair a mess, face flushed and yet simultaneously drained of blood.

He steps closer anyway, though hesitantly. He can’t say no to the little thing whose grin has now grown double the size of her face.

“This is the man that helped me,” she explained softly to you, pointing at him with a small finger.

You scanned him over.

For a moment, he thought you were going to turn around and book it in the other direction. A random ‘robot man’ in the centre of the town square was probably the least most inviting thing he could’ve been. Not to mention he had been sitting at the docks for so long staring out into the water he knew his hair had been tossed wildly from the wind.

Not that you appeared anymore put together.

Instead, you grab his face with a free hand and kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.

He almost damn near blue screens. The words ‘anything for you’ fight to come forth out of his throat.

Instead, he lets out a garbled noise before he clears his throat. “Of course. Couldn’t let the little princess run too far.” He teased your daughter with a tap to her nose.

She grabs his finger and presses the pads of her own across the metal rivets and joints like she’s studying them curiously.

Your daughter stared up at you with giant puppy eyes, still holding his hand. “Can we keep him?”

It was your turn to make a weird noise, spluttering with your face heating up. “You can’t keep people.”

All the while, Boothill was staring at you as you chastised her with hot cheeks.

No spouse by the looks of it—nor had the little princess mentioned somebody else. He knew kids liked to ramble on about their parents.

Well, his daughter did. Something cold and metallic turned in his stomach. She used to think her dad was a hero.

He wondered if she still would.

No ring on your finger. Adoration was such a gentle expression on your face, and the way you held her so firmly, yet so delicately, said it all.

Oh, if he wasn’t completely head over heels from the very beginning.

the angst potential. The angst potential. Theeee angst potential. i’m gritting my teeth.

i’m going insan e

[userm4x]

laundry list of lusail track's sins:

the FIA changes track limits on turns 12/13 by around 80 cm to try limit damage to tyres (this leads to the addition of an extra 10 minute practice session directly before qualifying for the sprint race. on a weekend with only 1 hour of free practice anyway)

the FIA implements limit of a maximum of 18 laps on any 1 set of tyres due to the curbs & track surface literally shaking the tyres to the point of structural damage (this leads to a minimum of 3 pitstops for all drivers during the race)

nico rosberg reports that pirelli informed the FIA of possible tyre issues in Qatar and the warning was reportedly ignored (he revealed this live on Sky F1)

george russel opens his visor during pitstops to try get some air onto his face

both george russel and lando norris are recorded fanning themselves and steering with their wrists at 300 km/hr down the main straight due to heat

george russel reports after the race that he felt as though he was going to pass out multiple times. he felt as though he was in a sauna from around lap 20, except he had no way to escape the heat as someone in a sauna can

logan sargeant retired due to feeling ill, likely exacerbated due to the heat. he was carried out of the garage by his mechanics

max verstappen and oscar piastri are both unable to remain standing in the cool down room after finishing ("does anyone have a wheelchair?")

alex albon has to be helped out of his car after finishing the race

alex albon was then taken to the medical centre and treated for acute heat exposure

fernando alonso asks for water to be poured on him during a pit stop as his 'seat is burning' him

fernando alonso then reports after the race that he has a legitimate burn on the left side of his ass due to the heat

esteban ocon reports beginning throwing up in his helmet on lap 15, and this then continuing for two laps (and does so only at the end of the race)

lance stroll is taken in an ambulance for medical attention after finishing the race

lance stroll then says that he ended up with so many track limits infringements within the last five laps because of the fact that he could no longer see the white line due to how often he was passing out in high speed corners

valtteri bottas described the race as "torture" after finishing

yuki tsunoda reports that he opened his visor to try to cool down his face and instead of air, sand flew in

charles leclerc says he saw many drivers appearing seriously unwell in parc ferme after the race

charles leclerc also describes the race as being "twice as bad as singapore"

nico hulkenberg left the media pen after only two questions as he desperately needed to cool down

lando norris reports that 2 or 3 drivers took themselves to the medical centre because of dehydration concerns. several fainted once inside

jack doohan says that the lack of action and radio messages during the race is likely due to the lapses in cognition from severe dehydration due to heat

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 6)

part 1 TW: Stockholm Syndrome, predator/prey dynamics, obsession, Simon is a walking red flag. MDNI

Overwhelmed. That’s the only word that fit. With everything that happened in the past few weeks, she couldn’t take it anymore.

On the other side of the door, Simon’s heavy breathing broke the silence. She froze when his voice followed.

“Baby. Open the door.” His tone was soft, coaxing, and that somehow made her even more uneasy.

Why her? Why did he choose her, of all people? She was ordinary—just a regular person trying to get by—but Simon looked at her like she was something sacred, a goddess in his eyes. And the most unsettling part? A small part of her was starting to like it.

It all started after that night. The night she woke from a nightmare, trembling, and Simon had been there to hold her, his soothing voice wrapping around her like a warm blanket. He made her feel safe. After that, the nightmares came less often, their sharp edges dulled.

But the dreams that replaced them were... strange. In them, a monster loomed—huge and terrifying—but it didn’t try to hurt her. Instead, it scooped her up, cradled her on its lap, and shielded her from anyone who dared come near. She knew what those dreams meant. She just didn’t want to admit it.

Even without the dreams, Simon’s behavior was enough to confuse her. Yes, he had stalked her. Yes, he had kidnapped her. She had every reason to hate him.

And yet, he was kind to her in ways no one else had ever been. He bought her this house—an entire house just for her. He cooked her meals, brought her gifts he thought she’d like, and treated her with a tenderness she hadn’t experienced before.

She remembered mentioning to a colleague, in passing, how much she loved to read. Simon must have overheard, because now, her shelves started filling up with books—every romance novel he could find, even the ridiculous ones he teasingly called “alien porn.” They sat neatly arranged on her bookshelf now, a reminder of how carefully he paid attention.

It didn’t make sense. Everything he did was twisted yet undeniably thoughtful, and the contradiction was tearing her apart.

Now, standing frozen behind the door, she felt like she might shatter. She knew if she opened it, Simon would find a way to break down the walls she’d built around herself. He always did.

“Love, please.” His voice cracked, raw with desperation.

But she didn’t move. Instead, she turned and did what she should have done long ago. She crossed the room to the window, easing it open as quietly as she could. The cool night air rushed in, and she looked down. The drop wasn’t far. Thanks to her military training, she could handle it with ease.

For too long, she had stayed, trapped under Simon’s watchful eye. Every exit had been monitored; every step shadowed. But now? Now she didn’t care.

She swung her leg over the windowsill, heart pounding. This was her chance. She was done waiting, done letting fear or doubt hold her back.

She would run. And if those people try to kill her—they’d have to work hard for it. Because she wasn’t going down without a fight.

As she climbed over the window, Simon’s knocking grew louder and more urgent. Her breath quickened. Time was running out.

Carefully, she lowered herself down, her fingers trembling against the cold surface of the house. The distance to the ground wasn’t far, but the darkness made every step feel precarious. Finally, she jumped, her landing muffled by the soft grass—except for the metallic clang that followed.

She froze, heart hammering in her chest. Her foot had struck a metal box hidden in the shadows, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet night.

She knew Simon had heard it. Of course he did. The house was isolated, far from any other homes, and the nighttime silence made every noise echo.

Panic surged through her veins, and she took off, sprinting toward the forest at the edge of the property. If she could just make it deep enough into the woods, it would be harder for him to follow.

But she wasn’t naive. Simon was a Lieutenant—highly trained and annoyingly skilled. He wouldn’t just give up.

Still, she ran.

The forest swallowed her whole, the darkness growing thicker with every step. Branches scraped against her arms, leaves crunched beneath her feet, and the cool night air burned her lungs. She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Behind her, the slam of the front door reverberated through the night. She flinched but didn’t dare look back. She didn’t need to. The heavy thud of Simon’s boots on the ground told her everything she needed to know. He was coming.

She pushed herself harder, weaving through the trees, her breaths ragged and uneven. The forest was a maze of shadows, and she stumbled more than once, her adrenaline-fueled legs barely keeping her upright.

Somewhere behind her, Simon’s voice rang out, deep and commanding. “Stop running, love. You’re only making it worse.”

His tone was calm, but it still sent a chill down her spine. She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. All she could do was focus on moving forward.

Her military training kicked in as she tried to think strategically. She zigzagged between trees, hoping to throw him off, her mind racing for ways to gain the upper hand. She needed to create distance, to find a hiding spot, something—anything.

But Simon was relentless. His footsteps grew louder, more deliberate. She could feel him closing in, his presence like a predator’s shadow creeping closer.

Desperation clawed at her chest as she darted through a cluster of bushes, the branches tearing at her clothes and skin. Her ankle twisted slightly as she hit uneven ground, but she forced herself to keep going, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain.

She wasn’t fast enough.

A sudden weight tackled her from behind, sending them both crashing to the ground. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and before she could scramble away, his arms wrapped around her.

“Got you,” Simon whispered next to her ear, his voice low and breathless.

She thrashed against him, clawing at his grip, but he held her steady, pinning her to the ground with ease. His strength was overwhelming, and she realized with a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Unhand me, you stupid—let me go!” she spat, struggling fiercely against his grip, her voice laced with fury and desperation.

Simon? He just chuckled—a low, almost amused sound—as he scooped her up effortlessly from the ground. Wrapping her legs around his waist, he pinned her firmly against a nearby tree. Leaning in close, his breath warm against her ear, he whispered a single word, dripping with finality: “Never.”

She beat her fists against his chest, each strike fueled by frustration she felt. “Let me go, Simon! You can’t just—” Her voice cracked with the force of her screams, raw and trembling with anger.

Her legs kicked in protest, her body writhing against his unyielding hold. She threw every ounce of her strength into the struggle, but it was like hitting a brick wall—solid, immovable.

“Simon, I swear—” she started again, but her words were cut off abruptly as his lips crashed down on hers.

The kiss was firm, commanding, silencing her protests in an instant. Her body froze, caught between fury and shock, as his grip held her steady. The sheer audacity of it left her breathless, her screams muffled against his mouth.

For a moment, she was too stunned to move, her mind reeling at what was happening.

Her fists, still pressed against his chest, faltered. The fight seeped out of her, leaving her hands trembling where they rested. His kiss was firm, deliberate, but not cruel, and despite everything—despite him—a flicker of warmth spread through her chest.

Before she could stop herself, she found her lips responding, moving instinctively against his. It was slow at first, hesitant, as if her mind was still catching up to what her body was doing.

Her heart thundered in her chest, a chaotic mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle. She hated him. She was sure she hated him. But in that moment, the fire behind her defiance wavered, replaced by a confusing pull she couldn’t deny.

Simon felt the shift, the way her resistance melted ever so slightly, and his grip softened just a fraction. One hand slid from her waist to cradle the back of her head, deepening the kiss with a careful intensity, as if coaxing her to let go of her walls completely.

Her mind screamed at her to push him away, to remember what he had done, who he was. But her body betrayed her, drawn into the heat of the moment, into the way his touch made her feel both trapped and safe all at once.

Simon pulled back just enough to let her breathe, his lips barely an inch from hers, his warm breath mingling with her own. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, and a slow, smug grin spread across his face.

“Cute,” he murmured, brushing a soft kiss against the tip of her nose.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“This little escape of yours,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. Her glare only seemed to amuse him further as a chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “I don’t know what you were planning, but all you’ve managed to do…” His grin widened, a dark edge creeping into his tone, “…is turn me on.”

To prove his point, he rolled his hips against hers—slow and deliberate, the movement leaving no room for misunderstanding. Her breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as heat flushed her face. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came, her throat betraying her completely.

Simon’s smile turned into something more wicked, his voice dropping to a low, velvety purr. “I love the chase, sweetheart. Nothing gets my blood pumping quite like hunting my prey.” His lips brushed her ear, the words dripping with dark satisfaction. “So thank you… for these delicious little moments.”

She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as his words lingered in the air. For a moment, she said nothing, her mind scrambling for a response. Then, with a surge of defiance, she lifted her chin and glared at him.

“You’re sick,” she spat, her hands pressing against his chest, though his grip didn’t falter. “Do you think this is some kind of game? Do you think I’m just going to—”

Her words faltered when he smirked, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken. Anger flared brighter in her chest, and she forced herself to finish. “I’m not your prey, Simon. And I’ll never be yours.”

The fire in her voice was real, but deep down, she hated how her body betrayed her, every nerve alight with the intensity of the moment. She prayed he wouldn’t notice, wouldn’t see through her defiance to the chaos simmering just beneath the surface.

Simon’s smirk widened at her words, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her stomach twist. He leaned in closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, his voice dropping to a whisper as he spoke.

“You say that now,” he murmured, brushing his lips lightly against her own, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “But your body’s already telling me a different story, sweetheart.”

She clenched her jaw, determined not to let him get under her skin any more than he already had. “Get off me,” she hissed, shoving harder against his chest.

Simon chuckled softly, his hold tightening around her waist. “No, sweetheart,” he said with a hint of amusement, his voice smooth and almost affectionate. “We’re going back home.”

Her eyes narrowed in frustration. “I don’t want to go back with you,” she snapped, trying to wiggle out of his arms, but his grip was too strong.

“Oh, I think you do,” he replied, his tone playful as he began walking toward the house. “It’s getting late, and you look exhausted.”

Her face flushed with indignation. “I’m not exhausted. You’re insane if you think—”

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, cutting her off, his steps steady as he carried her effortlessly through the darkened woods. “I’m sure. But I’m the one carrying you, so I think you’ll be just fine.”

She grumbled, the irritation bubbling in her chest, but a part of her couldn’t deny how safe and warm his arms felt around her. She hated that he knew how to calm her nerves without even trying, how his steady rhythm and the feel of his body against hers made it harder to keep up the act.

“I swear, Simon…” she muttered, her voice half-hearted, her arms crossed tightly around his neck, trying to keep her grumpy facade.

Simon just chuckled, his lips brushing her temple as he held her closer. “I know, sweetheart. You’ll get over it,” he said softly, but there was a tenderness in his voice that she couldn’t ignore. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes, but secretly, it was hard to ignore the way her heart fluttered at his gentle words. Despite everything, despite the anger and confusion swirling in her chest, there was a strange comfort in being in his arms. And she hated it.

“Let me down,” she muttered, but her tone was far less convincing than before.

He didn’t respond at first, just kept walking toward the house with that infuriating calmness, the moonlight casting soft shadows over his features. When they reached the porch, he finally slowed down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before pushing open the door.

“You’ll get your chance to fight me another day,” His voice gentle but still teasing. “But for now, I think we both deserve a little rest.”

She sighed, crossing her arms, but deep down, she couldn’t help but feel a small, secret smile tug at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but a part of her kind of liked this—liked how he held her, how he made her feel like maybe she wasn’t alone in all of this, even if it was twisted and messed up.

For now, though, she stayed silent, letting him carry her inside, secretly wishing this game of theirs didn’t have to end.

PART 7

------------------------------------------

surprise mf! technically, it is past midnight where i live, so here is the new part like i promised. i had so much time to write for the past few days, but i don't know when I'll be able to update again.

alsooo, they kissed ???? why are we not talking about thisss ???

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn

[runa-falls]

*raise hand violently* PLEASE CAN I ASK ABOUT sub!miguel headcanons?!?!?!?!?!

What makes him whine, how pretty does his whimpers sound like?!?!?!

How gorgeous does he look when his eyes get all shiny and wet with tears because you won't let him come yet.

sub!miguel headcanons

basic summary: miguel is the whiniest, most pushy malewife and you are his protector, comforter, and safe space :3

a/n: OK BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT? (im so sorry lmfaooo) also does it count as headcanons if i have random scenes in between them?? wtvr *shoves fic in ur arms and sprints away*

content: suggestive + fluffy

masterlist

---

bed habits (I'M TALKING AB SLEEPING YOU DIRTY BASTARD!) -- miguel is a sleepy, cuddly boy

he never has trouble falling asleep when you're around (except for when he - adorably - forces himself to stay awake so he can spend time with you)

this man is 6'7" but he still tries to curl up on your lap when you're lounging on the couch just so you can play with his hair as he dozes off

miguel owns a king sized bed, big enough to fit five people comfortably, yet he's adamant to take up all your space

it gets hot (i mean, he's hot -- literally, like his internal temp is higher than the average human) but even when you try to shove him away, he only pulls you closer to him

if you do, somehow, get away from him, he wakes up immediately with a sleepy groan, blindly reaching across the mattress for you:

you try to dodge his hands, laying precariously at the edge of the bed, hoping he would give up and go back to sleep. unfortunately, it only makes him whine like a spoiled child, "baby, closer. need you...come here" god -- he has such a cute sleepy voice...

but you don't let it sway you. you're already laying on top of the comforter, desperately trying to cool off and get back to sleep.

"it's too hot, miguel"

"but...i can't sleep without you" you can hear the pout in his voice

"just hold a pillow and pretend its me"

he sighs -- actually sighs like the dramatic man he is, "but it's not the same!"

you don't respond, refusing to continue this 3 am argument that you'll never win, and pretend to fall back asleep. maybe he will practice self-soothing or something and sleep by himself? maybe he'll be an adult about this?

silence settles in the air for a few minutes and you're nearly lulled back to unconsciousness. and then you hear the sheets rustle as he sits up next to you, suddenly fully awake and stubbornly staring down at you.

"please?"

"mig, no amount of 'pleases' will convince me to sleep against your volcanic body"

"...how about just until I fall asleep?"

"but when I move away you'll wake up again."

you hear a quiet 'hmph' before you're promptly tugged back against his body. his face presses against your hair as he situates himself to engulf you in his warmth. "exactly, so don't leave me."

it's a common misconception that sub!mig likes to be the little spoon but actually he likes to cling onto you like you're a living teddy bear -- face nuzzled against your neck, legs intertwined with yours, and one large hand on your tit

you often wake up in a tangled mess, your neck stiff from the contorted positions he maneuvers your body into during the night

but you don't mind it anymore, especially on those rare morning swhen you wake up before him and you get to see those worry lines on his forehead soften as he sleeps soundly next to you

miguel is a soft and eager man:

it's his life mission to provide for you, to hear soft words of praise whisper from your lips

as soon as you're alone in a room, he drops the tough guy act and immediately searches for your warmth

miguel sticks to you like velcro when he isn't fighting crime in the city

and when he isn't with you, he's absolutely thinking about you

(of course he makes sure that you're thinking about him too with all the texts he sends you throughout the day -- adorned with cheesy emojis...)

this dude is so needy and desperate for your love, praise and approval that he's the one asking "would you still love me if i were a spider-mutant worm and i looked at you like this: 🐛 to say 'i love you'?"

would he call you 'mami'? debatable.

but he loves it when you call him honey, sweetheart, baby, bubby/bubs, hubby (he wants to marry you so bad), and puppy (WHEN HE'S KINKY BC HE'S A HORNY SOB)

you swear he whimpers a little when you tell him what a good man he is -- when you confess that he's your hero, even when he's not swinging around the city and lifting up buildings with his bare hands

his warm brown eyes search your face, a desperate quest for truth in every gentle word you speak. he's never been spoken to so softly in his life -- this tenderness, it's new...too good to be true

as time passes and your love deepens, he begins to realize that it's all true, that everthing about you is genuine, that he is loveable after all

miguel worships you:

he is definitely a worshipper when you let him be

on slower, more sensual nights, he makes sure to paint your body in kisses, from your ankles to your forehead it's almost tortuous

(maybe even bites if it's been a while since he's seen you)

he likes to kneel for you, make himself smaller so he can look up at you and appreciate everything you've provided for him

he's really whiny and pathetic though...

he wants to be told what to do, when to do it, and how. it helps him let go of this thoughts, anything that's weighing on him

it could be his heightened senses or just his desperation, but he needs to touch you all the time -- even just the light feeling of his hand against your thigh gives him a euphoric feeling.

so you deny him because you know how much he loves the delayed gratification and humiliation when you tease him for it.

"baby, you're acting so needy right now~" you decided to withdraw from the heated interaction to keep him at the edge. his eyes are dark, blazing with heat, as you speak to him with a syrupy sweet voice.

he pouts from the spot where he's kneeling for you, already achingly hard from the thorough petting session you just gave him.

"i'm not trying to be...just really need it." he's whining with a mixture of shame, frustration, and exasperation in his voice.

"It?" you tilt your head, a small smile gracing your lips.

"..." he doesn't elaborate. you can see a hint of pinkness creep up his neck as his eyes avoid yours.

he can get so shy sometimes. it's endearing. it makes you want to destroy him then put him back together again.

"honey, i can't give you what you need unless you tell me." you know what he wants, but you want to hear him say it.

"please"

[ithebookhoarder]

Hiiiiiii, Could i request an Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader fic where Anthony married reader who is from a lower class (basically like Theo) and they end up having a fight because reader did something that would be considered out of class or simply wrong while she’s trying to learn to be a viscountess. Sorry if it didn’t make any sense English isn’t my first language 😭😭😭

All's Fair in Love and Cricket (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Synopsis: After getting into a fight with your new husband you decide to settle your differences in a 'sporting' fashion, whilst reminding Anthony once and for all just who he married.

A/N: Ohhhhh boy did I enjoy this one. I'm sorry if it feels a little rushed or clunky in places, I may make some more edits at some point. I struggled with the flow of writing so much action but I loved it too much not to post it. So yeah, anxiety be damned else this would join the rest of the unposted drafts I have stashed away. I hope you enjoy it. 💕

Warnings: Anthony being a stupid idiot, class references (discrimination), reference to illness 

Masterlist

It was late summer and as the sun beat down on the green lawns of St James’ Palace the lords and ladies below began to wilt. Many a woman held her parasol above her head in a desperate attempt to remain cool, which was hard when you wore petticoats and had nothing to do but sit and watch the men play cricket for hours on end.

Even Her Majesty looked like she was struggling to make it through the afternoon's entertainment, her attendants desperately fanning her where she sat under her canopy. They looked close to melting in their ornate gowns, however they were clearly willing to endure if it allowed them to continue admiring the game - and more importantly, those playing it. It was like waving a bone in a dog’s face as they watched all the eligible young men of the court sprinting about the green, their physique and athletic talents on clear display.

No wonder the Queen had her opera glasses with her, despite her proximity to the field. 

You almost felt bad for them, watching as the men were subjected to the same treatment as the young ladies were night after night at social functions… hence the 'almost'. After all, there was a sense of satisfaction watching them preen and dance about like show ponies on display. That, and the view wasn’t exactly a terrible one when your husband was one of those playing. 

You’d have endured sitting on that blasted green a thousand times over, baking in the afternoon sun and surrounded by swooning women, just to watch Anthony Bridgerton as he captained his team. 

Being one of Anthony’s oldest and dearest friends, his competitive nature was well known to you (for which you had one too many games of Pall Mall at Aubrey Hall to thank), but it seemed to be out in full force today. You’d simply lost track of how many times he had dashed back and forth, working up somewhat of a sweat as he barked orders at his teammates in a desperate bid to ensure victory. It was no surprise to you that he had subsequently been forced to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves, exposing his rather sculpted arms to those watching.  

As you said, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon - and normally, you’d have been smugly lapping it up, however, today you were unable to truly enjoy yourself. Not when all you wanted to do was march over to him, take that cricket bat and give him a good whack or two. Maybe that would knock some sense back into idiot… 

That was the issue with being in love with your dearest friend: those who knew you best also knew the best ways to hurt you, and Anthony’s behaviour at dinner the following evening had proven just how true a statement that was. 

It had all started after the entire family had been summoned to the townhouse for a dinner, to toast you and what had so far been a successful first Season as Viscountess Bridgerton. At first, everything had appeared normal, with the usual laughter, merriment, and ease that one would typically experience at a Bridgerton gathering. It was what had first endeared the family to you, back when you had been but a small child, living at Aubrey Hall as the only daughter of their Stable Master. 

They had never been anything other than kind to you, inviting you to play with their children, and join them in their daily lessons. They had also bought you gifts on your birthdays, invited you to join them at events, and even paid for the finest doctors when your father had fallen unwell several years ago. It was as if, to the Bridgertons, your family was their family - an attitude that they extended to the all members of the staff that kept their ancestral seat running. It didn’t matter if you were Head House Keeper, or the greenest of scullery maids. Everyone was counted and cherished, and the Bridgertons had earned utmost loyalty in return. 

The rigid rules and divisions of high society didn’t appear to exist within the wisteria covered walls, and it had been that way well into your young adult life. In fact, it had been you that had initially rejected Anthony when he first declared his love for you one day, after taking you along with him on one of your many afternoon rides. 

You’d been the one to remind him who he was and that society expected him to marry someone they deemed worthy of him and his title - and that wasn’t you. You didn’t have a penny to your name beyond the small sum you’d saved from helping with the younger Bridgerton children as a governess. You didn’t have a title or an estate or anything to bring to a marriage. 

“Except the most important thing!” Anthony had pleaded. “Love… I love you, and there is no one else for me in this life except you. Life is short, terrifyingly short. Look at my mother and father… to be without the person you love most in the world is an agony and I cannot bear it. Please. I can’t lose you. I will not spend my life without you, knowing love is within both of our reach but that we were too afraid to grasp it? If I cannot spend my life, no matter how long it may be, with you then I will have no-one. No-one. My brothers can have the title. I don’t want it. I only want you.”

He’d continued to insist that for the following 6 months, even after his family had moved to their London house for the Season. It didn’t matter how many beautiful, eligible, wealthy heiresses he was introduced to. He would entertain none of them. He would have none of them. Only you. 

It’s what he’d continued to insist until you’d eventually accepted, realising that he was right; Love was the most important thing and you both deserved to have it in your lives, come what may. 

So, you’d said yes. 

You’d become engaged and gradually made your way out into society as the new Viscountess Bridgerton, armed with the support and guidance of the Bridgertons. 

Which brought you to last night and the dinner that had been organised to mark the end of the most challenging, but rewarding, Season of your life - and the dinner had started so wonderfully. Yet, somehow it had all gone to hell in a hand basket in the mere blink of an eye thanks the well meaning, but ill timed, teasing of Colin and Benedict.

Your brothers-in-law had both decided to raise a toast to your first Season as an ‘official’ member of the family and they'd got off to a rather complimentary start, if you were being honest. However, they had somehow moved from their praise on to reminiscing about the many years and many adventures you had had since joining their family.

Whereas every anecdote had caused the rest of the family to spiral into more laughter, your husband had looked more and more infuriated. In fact, Anthony had warned them not too kindly to ‘sit down’ and ‘shut up’ about your childish behaviours, which of course had only encouraged them further. 

“Oh, hush, brother,” Benedict had quipped, raising a glass to your successful debut. “She knows we mean it all in good fun. After all, she once had a phase where she refused to wear shoes and would walk barefoot around the estate, traipsing mud everywhere! I think we’re allowed to be surprised by how far our dear darling Y/N has come.”

“It’s true - It’s a miracle,” Colin added, wiping the tears of laughter from his cheeks. “The transformation is remarkable. Who knew she would go from feral ragamuffin to lofty Lady Bridgerton.” 

Anthony’s only response had been to tighten his grip on his glass to the point it looked like it would shatter. 

Whether it was the residual stress of your busy social calendar, or something else entirely you had no idea. All you did know was that Anthony was angry, and even your gentle touch would not soothe him. 

In a desperate attempt to calm him, you’d pulled Anthony out onto the terrace shortly after dessert had been cleared and asked what was happening. Much to your surprise, he had turned on you, venting about how childish his brothers were and how embarrassing it was that they were discussing things unbefitting someone who was a Viscountess. 

“They’re just joking, my love. They were doing it to get a rise out of you.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” he’d growled, causing you to bristle. “They’re so immature. They need to grow up and realise we’re not children any more. That… that you’re my wife and joint head of this family.”

“So? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Anthony,” you snapped, the warning clear in your tone. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, I just - it - they’re… it’s embarrassing.” 

“So, you’re embarrassed? By what? Your family? Or me? Because everything they said tonight is true. I did do those things, as did you. I may not have been born a noble lady but you knew that when you asked me to marry you. So don’t suddenly act like you're ashamed, that you are somehow better than your family - than me.”

Somehow the argument had only spiralled from there, with both of you saying things you didn’t mean, and with both of you storming off and slamming the doors behind you. 

Even now, sat on the edge of the cricket pitch, the thought made your blood boil. How dare he? How dare he act ashamed of you and the wondrous memories of your youth together? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t grown and matured since then. You had done everything within your power to be worthy of him and his family, and yet all it took was one mention of the girl you had once been to make him upset?

As if sensing your silent fury, Eloise had been glued to your side since the moment you'd left the house. Her company had been a blessing, with her numerous whispered remarks and jokes, making the day almost bearable. One remark in particular from Eloise had caused you to burst out laughing in a most undignified fashion after watching Anthony trip over one of the opposite team - the Duke of Hastings of all people. 

You still weren’t quite sure how they had been positioned on opposite teams, but you were sure there was some kind of wicked divine intervention responsible. Who else would think it a good idea to put two competitive men against one another? Your hosts, perhaps? After all, Lady Danbury and Her Majesty had organised the game and you had learned long ago not to underestimate the women - especially when they decided to conspire together. 

“How long is this delightful game again?” Eloise’s polite remark oozed with sarcasm as she leant back against the tree behind her. 

It was obvious she was bored senseless. In fact, you half suspected she would have already left had her mother not been sat on the opposite side of the green, watching her like a hawk. 

“I’m not sure,” you groaned in reply. “I lost count of who was winning about an hour ago.”

“So, we’re to be trapped here for eternity?”

“Pretty much, considering this part will not end until either Simon or Anthony lose, and we both know that neither one of them will concede defeat easily.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “And I thought they were bad at Pall Mall-”

“-LOOK OUT!”

The cry interrupted both of you as you turned in surprise. Given the so-far sedimentary tone of the day, neither of you had expected such excitement as numerous Lords and Ladies began to hurl themselves out of the way as a stray cricket ball rocketed through the air, towards the crowd. 

“Good god!”

The exclamation seemed apt as both you and Eloise ducked, watching as the ball sailed past, causing several yelps and groans from the people around you. You were pretty sure you also spied a glass of lemonade flying through the air in all the chaos. However, your attention was drawn to the figure charging towards you to retrieve the offending item as it rolled to a stop. 

Anthony.

“Pardon me, Y/N,” he murmured, reaching down to collect the ball that now lay a small distance from your feet. You nodded in greeting, aware of the many eyes watching but you elected not to say anything, not trusting yourself not to make some snide remark.

As it was, you both had barely said more than a handful of words to each other since your argument last night.

Clearly sensing the lingering tension between you, Anthony quickly turned to address his sister instead. “Eloise.”

“Ah, brother," Eloise cheered. "Splendid play so far. Tell me, when did the object of the game become the decapitation of the ton? I would have attended far more cricket matches had I known that was the aim of the game.” 

“You can blame Simon for that one,” he replied, his taunt hidden beneath his neutral smile. “Still, good dodging back there. I thought he might have nearly caught you both.”

“Almost.”

“But alas he missed, like most of your players today,” you quipped, enjoying the way Anthony seemed to redden at the reminder of his team’s less than stellar performance. “Still, good effort. You’ve almost caught up with Her Majesty’s team. I believe that’s better than last year.”

“Well, that might have had something to do with the fact that she does have Simon,” Anthony grumbled. 

It was true, no one could out-run Simon - even if Anthony always gave it a damn good try: hence why the Queen often had him captain her team when he was in London for the season. Besides, the head of the other team was usually Lord Duval, due to his position as the Queen’s chief administrator. However, it seemed his brains and financial strength were all he had, due to the fact his social skills, and athleticism were sorely lacking. 

“Touché, and who is up next?” Eloise asked. 

“I don't actually know. The other team seem to be taking remarkably long to sort themselves out.”

Just then, almost as if on cue, three men began to hurry towards them.

A quick glance revealed that one of the gentlemen who was approaching was Colin Bridgeton, and the other the Duke of Hastings; that much you knew. The third was rather unfamiliar to you, however, you were pretty certain he’d been playing on Simon’s team. Regardless of his identity, neither he nor any of the other gentlemen now stood in front of you looked very pleased. Rather, they looked as if they had all sucked on a lemon, their frowns were so deep.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies, but I must reclaim Lord Bridgerton here for a moment. It appears Anthony will be needed to bowl again,” Simon sighed by way of explanation.

“What on earth for?”

Colin was the first to answer. “Lord Dingby is unable to bowl on account of the heat, and the Baron will not play.” His skepticism was clear as he shot the so called Baron a disapproving look. “He ’twisted his ankle’ or so he claims, thus we are down a bowler and the other team is down a player.”

You all rolled your eyes.

“So then, who will bat?” questioned Eloise curiously. “If Anthony is bowling you still require one more man to take their place on the other team?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour. However, no one appeared to have an answer, and by the disapproving glare steadily growing on the Queen’s face, they didn’t have long to come up with one. 

“Maybe Lord Stevens?” suggested the third man hastily, staring around at the crowd. 

“No. He injured himself riding the other week,” Simon replied. “And unfortunately our hosts only saw fit to invite enough male guests as were playing. We aren’t exactly spoilt for choice regarding possible options.”

It was true. There didn’t seem to be any visible answer in sight given that those most suited to the game were already positioned on the field. 

“What about female guests though?” 

Your question hung in the air for a moment, causing everyone around you to turn in surprise. 

“Excuse me?” Anthony looked at you suspiciously as you began to rise from your seat. He was well versed enough to know when mischief was afoot. A fact that was proven right a moment later as you held your hand out towards a shocked - and excited - Colin.

He was only too happy to oblige your silent request as he placed the bat in your grip. It was rapidly becoming the most exciting event of the season and lord knows he wasn’t about to spoil the fun - especially if he got to rub salt into Anthony’s wounds at the same time. 

After all, given his display the previous evening, it was time you truly gave him something to feel embarrassed about. Losing.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Perfectly,” you smiled. “You’ve seen me when we’ve played Pall Mall. I have a decent enough swing. Besides, you said yourselves you need an extra player and there isn’t exactly anyone suited left - not anyone male, anyway.” 

“Anthony?” 

To his credit, your husband was also smiling, even if you could see the sudden tension forming behind his perfect smile. “I see no problem with it. I’m sure our hosts would prefer the game finished rather than called off because we ran out of players.” 

“Agreed. Well, it’s settled then.” Simon cheered, clapping a hand on Anthony’s shoulder as they looked back towards the field. “It seems she will be taking his go.” 

Then they noticed the rain cloud of a man next to them.

"She can’t play!” protested the third man. Everyone looked at him in silent disbelief. “This is a gentleman’s game. A Lady can not play."

“Her Majesty seems to have no objections,” Eloise commented smugly, glancing across the field. Indeed, it was true Her Majesty seemed to have no objections to the turn of events, choosing instead to exchange a wad of pound notes with the man beside her. If anything she looked exhilarated by the prospect. "Besides, I doubt a feeble female such as ourselves will pose any threat to your team, your Lordship.” 

“Well… I… Bridgerton, I still don’t think-” 

Thankfully, Anthony was all too busy gazing at you to take any notice of the pompous oaf’s objections. 

It was a look you were more than familiar with, the unspoken desire and encouragement obvious in the way his gaze softened. It was the same look he always gave you when you’d done something amazing (and most things were amazing in his eyes). It didn't matter if it was taming a particularly unruly horse, solving a maths problem that left the rest of them scratching their heads, or daring to step onto the dance floor at your first ball, knowing not another soul in that room other than him.  

It was a look that made you feel invincible. That you could do anything and everything you put your mind to as long as you had Anthony cheering you on from the sidelines... you were a team. Always.

"Anthony?" you asked, the challenge obvious - but also your sincerity. If he truly did not want you to play then you'd have marched back to your chair and sat right back down.

You'd meant it before. You loved your husband and wanted nothing more than to be the best partner you could be. Your hurt from last night had stemmed from the fear that, for a moment, that wasn't enough for him anymore.

Fortunately, it appeared you were wrong. Your husband wasn't embarrassed by you. If anything, he looked ready to kiss the ground you walked on as he leaned over and whispered in your ear, "If you can get four runs, I will personally pay you 5 pounds."

"You have a deal," you laughed. "As it is, women and ladies alike play cricket up and down the country. It’s high time we had a chance to show you boys up."

The other man began to protest again. "My Lady, my La-" 

He never got very far. You simply stopped, turning and handing him your parasol and shawl.

"Thank you," you cheered marching away.

He paused, taken aback. It didn’t help that Eloise was only too eager to firmly pull him back into your now vacant seat with a glare that could have melted ice. 

All around applause broke out as the players resumed their positions on the field. It took a moment or two for them to prepare for play but now everyone seemed to be watching intently. 

Oh well, if you were to dare to play at all then you may as well dare to achieve something from it, you mused, gripping the bat handle and aligning yourself with the wicket. Victory seemed a rather good start, especially given the fact you had no idea what Lady Whistledown would make of this turn of affairs. You’d already had a shocking enough entrance into the world of the Ton, what was one more daring display?

"Go easy, Lord Bridgerton," the referee cautioned from the side of the green. 

Anthony nodded obediently at the crowd’s titters. You could see the restraint he was demonstrating, choosing not to hurl the ball at you the way he would had you both been in the privacy of your home. Instead, it took all his will power to grip the cricket ball and resume his position on the field. 

Unfortunately, you never knew when best to desist from poking proverbial bears. That, and Anthony was too easy a target. 

"Yes, do go easy on me," you jibed. Everyone who knew you could hear the sarcasm buried in your voice as you took the bat and fluttered your eyelashes at him. "I’m only a delicate woman, but I must endeavour to ensure her Majesty’s team at least has an opportunity to best you, Lord Bridgerton. You’re only losing by what? A few wickets?" 

Oh. You were in for it now. 

Anthony’s grin was devious as he stepped back a few paces, weighing the ball in his hand till finally he charged at you, swinging his arm over in the perfect bowl. 

It was then you brought up your bat to send the ball back in a high arc. 

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone followed the ball with their eyes. It was as if they couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to hit it. However, the shock quickly wore off as everyone remembered the point of hitting the ball in the first place. 

"GO!" came a yell from the crowd as excitement began to spread. 

So, you did.

Hitching your skirts in one hand, you began to sprint towards the other set of wickets, grinning as your partner passed you along the way. 

Of course, you would have liked to protest that you could have indeed run faster had you not been encumbered by your stays and petticoats. Your slippers were also rather terrible for any movement. What you wouldn’t have given for a pair of trousers right then. 

"Come on!" came another yell - it seemed as if everyone was forgetting their dignity in all the excitement as you tore back and forth across the grass in a mad blur. 

Had it been anyone but you, it would have been a terribly scandalous moment. Yet, your name - and the status of your betrothed - meant this was all merely seen as sport. Besides, from the way Her Majesty was whooping from her perch by the trees, it was clear where her loyalties lay.

"Come on Y/N!"

"Anthony! Run!"

"Over here!"

"Come on!"

The cries blurred into one as you finally turned at what you planned on being your final run, only to spot Anthony as he came sprinting back towards you… and the wicket.

"Oh no, you don’t," you laughed, charging onwards in a final burst of energy. 

You could hardly catch your breath as the world slowed around you. 

All that remained was you, Anthony, and the closing distance between you. 

You could see his desperation laced with delight as he watched you stagger towards the wicket… just as the ball he’d thrown hit it.

"IN!" 

The referee’s declaration initiated an eruption of noise as all around the green, men and women celebrated the spectacle they’d just witnessed, and the victory you had now ensured.  Within seconds you were swarmed, mobbed by well wishers and triumphant team mates. There were so many hugs and snatched ‘well done’s that you were quite at a loss what to do other than stand there and accept it. Thankfully, Anthony seemed to have read your mind and was at your side as soon as he was able to fight through the jubilant throng. 

The moment he reach you he took your hand in his. His expression was a mixture of awe and contrition, clearly unsure what to say to you.

"Good game," he praised. "Simon better watch out - I think Her Majesty will be asking you to captain her team next year."

"What a tremendous idea, Lord Bridgerton. I may just do that."

As if summoned by the very mention of her, a voice rang out clearly from behind you. Without even turning you knew exactly who was standing behind you, as the throng suddenly fell silent around you and parted like the Red Sea. In all the excitement you had failed to notice the Royal party making their way across the field to join in the celebrations. 

With a gulp, you turned and dropped into the most respectful curtsey you could manage without falling flat on your face. "Y - your Majesty."

The Queen chuckled. "I must thank you, Lady Bridgerton, for providing such excitement to our proceedings today. I also must thank you for the twenty pounds I just procured off of Brimbsley - that’ll teach him to bet against me."

You merely dipped your head in gratitude, unsure whether this was actually happening or not. After all, the closest the you’d ever been to monarch was your hasty presentation several months ago and that had barely earned you more than a curious glance, like you had been some exotic animal on parade at the Zoo. And now, the Queen was addressing you? A lowly Stable Master’s daughter? 

It was enough to make you feel as if this was all some kind of surreal dream. 

"Anyone who bets against your Majesty deserves to be relieved of their coin."

"True, True," she preened, gesturing for you and everyone else to rise. "I gather you have played this game before?"

"Growing up around the Bridgertons ensured I had little alternative," you confirmed, relieved when the Queen proceeded to chuckle good-naturedly. 

"I dare say you didn’t, my dear. Well, it certainly makes for a rather entertaining afternoon, as well as a victorious one. Perhaps we aught to have women playing more often." She turned her head and chose to direct her next words directly to your husband. "You’ve chosen quite the bride, Lord Bridgerton - you are to be congratulated on choosing such a spirited partner. I hope you realise how lucky you are."

"Indeed, your Majesty," Anthony replied, the earnestness clear in his eyes. "I’ve realised just how truly unique and remarkable she is… and how lucky I am that she chose to be on my team, even if not on the cricket pitch."

Another round of laughter echoed out at his declaration but you knew it was more than just a jest. In fact, by the all-too-clear pride radiating off of the eldest Bridgerton you knew what he truly meant with his honeyed praise.  

It was all the apology you could need and had you not been in such company you’d have dragged him into the bushes and shown him just how much you forgave him. Besides, your victory on the Cricket pitch was enough pay-back for both of you. 

As if sensing the amorous tension steadily rising around her, the Queen chose that moment to make a well-timed departure, in search of a refreshment. She barely gave you all a final nod before marching off to greet the rest of her guests, leaving you stood there with a rather gobsmacked expression on your face. 

"Well… that really happened," you murmured, struggling to maintain your newfound confidence now that the whole saga had come to an end. "Did I actually just do that? Did the Queen actually just … talk to me?"

"She really did," Anthony confirmed, hands grazing yours nervously, as if unsure whether or not you’d accept his touch. However, your hands accepted his readily, fingers intertwining as you squeezed his palm in an obvious attempt to ground yourself. "You truly were incredible today - I know you don’t need to hear it but, for what it’s worth, I am proud of you." 

"Thank you."

"And I truly am sorry for being such a world class fool, last night," he continued swiftly, clearly keen to make his apology whilst you were willing to receive it. "I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I was embarrassed by you. I never could be. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I was vexed with my brothers and because of several other trivial matters, but I allowed my temper to get the better of me and I handled it poorly. I lashed out at the wrong person - the one person who deserves nothing less than to be told how incredible she is, every single day. I am unworthy of you, Y/N. I know no one else in the entire world so awe inspiring and to let you think otherwise for even a moment was my failing entirely. You are brave and smart and funny and kind and beautiful-"

"Ok, Anthony. I get it."

"-and I am unworthy of someone with such skill on the cricket pitch-"

"Anthony," you squealed, trying to hide your laughter as he pulled you into his arms and smothered your face in kisses. "It’s fine. I forgive you. After all, I also lost my temper and said some things I didn’t mean. Can we just agree we’re both sorry and put this mess behind us?"

"Yes! God yes," he sighed, looking like a weight had visibly lifted from his shoulder. "Because I really do not like fighting with you. Instead, I think we should be enjoying your victory parade. Today is your triumph, after all - the Queen’s champion." 

"Hmmm, I rather like that title," you purred, gazing up at him. "But between us? I prefer being your wife, much much more."

[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson (it has a title y'all!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Nervous excitement has Steve out of his bed 25 minutes before his alarm goes off to wake him. It’s not unusual on game days. He gathers ingredients in the kitchen until he hears Robin’s alarm, and then he starts making both their breakfast smoothies.

She fumbles down the hallway a few moments later with her eyes still closed, takes the cup from him, and sits in the middle of their living room floor.

“Pilates today? Or did you get a workout in at the show last night?” She asks after a few sips, and Steve joins her near their mats.

“It’s a tradition, can’t go changing shit now.” He teases, laughing as she throws her head back with a tired groan. Then she’s hauling herself to her bedroom to grab a hoodie.

They exercise on the balcony, like always, but keep it light. Steve tries to get plenty of stretching in on game days, making sure he’s loose and limber before he hits the ice. After about 30 minutes, Robin’s teeth are chattering in the cool morning air, so he calls it, and they head back inside. He gathers his gear while Robin showers, and then they make their way to United.

Steve heads to the locker room to gear up, manages to finish a whole bottle of water before he hits the rink. He takes a few slow laps around the rink as the rest of the team starts to roll in, runs through a few drills on his own before team practice starts.

They keep things minimal on game days; sprints and passes, shots on goal. Steve does a final lap backwards around the rink, before clearing off to the locker room to finish putting on his uniform while the other team takes the ice for their own practice. 

As he refills his water bottle, he gets whacked in the shin with the body of a hockey stick. He watches it happen, feels an echo of the impact on his shin guard, before turning to raise an eyebrow at Max.

“Hello to you, too.” He says through a little smile. She rolls her eyes, but smiles back at him.

“They’re here.” She says, in an ominous tone, despite her smile. “You guys seemed to hit it off last night, I’m glad you didn’t scare him away with your weirdness.” 

“I’m not weird, you guys are weird.” He mumbles back, kicking the stick from her hand but catching it before it hits the ground. “Last night was fun. I just hope he doesn’t hate the game as much as I think he’s going to.”

“Awfully concerned about him having a good time.” She leans in closer to him to tease, and while he feels his ears get hot, he shoves the hockey stick back into her arms and walks back toward his locker. “Dustin is working in the AV booth tonight, so be prepared for a lot of Eddie on the big screen.”

“You overestimate how much attention I pay to the overhead.” He replies, rolling his eyes and taking a big gulp of water. 

He hadn’t exactly considered the consequences of Eddie actually coming to the game. He was bound to draw a lot of attention, but what would that turn into? Steve had, smartly, elected to stay off the internet after he’d gotten home last night, and he hadn’t bothered to check social media before coming in. He was sure there were pictures and videos of him at the show floating around, insinuating things beyond what they actually meant. He was just as sure that there was at least one person who had taken to their feeds to report that Eddie and Steve had hung out after the show; never mind the fact that everyone else was there. Never mind the fact that they weren’t alone. 

Except they had spent most of the night alone. Other than a few interruptions, their time at Fatpour had mostly consisted of Eddie and Steve sitting at a high-top table close to the bar, munching on snacks and talking about everything and nothing and whatever crossed their minds. Eddie insisted he was going to make a playlist for Steve, and Steve offered to teach Eddie how to ice skate. And it felt… nice. It had been a while since Steve had that with anyone.

Max just moves on, reminding Steve of which stretches he needs to do now that he’s in his gear, and the coach and captain both give speeches in the locker room, before everyone moves out to the rink. They take the ice as the announcer reads off their name, and Steve taps his stick with the right wing who stakes up next to him.

He glances around, chewing on his mouth guard absently. A part of him knows that Robin and Eddie and whoever else from CC made the trip to the game are in one of the boxes around the upper level of the area, but he hadn’t asked which one when he had briefly texted with Eddie this morning, and now it was too late. But, he figures it’s probably for the best. Not knowing where to look keeps him from running the risk of sparking more speculation about nothing.

______

Even having heeded Steve’s warning to wear layers to the game, Eddie is freezing. He’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt under a hoodie under a leather jacket, but he’s still cold. And Robin is bouncing around the box suite in a t-shirt and ripped jeans, looking perfectly comfortable and Eddie doesn’t get it. He zips his leather jacket all the way up and sinks into his seat, bobbing his head along to the music echoing through the arena.

“You’re going to be cold when we’re leaving if you don’t take something off.” Robin chastises, and Eddie just rolls his eyes. Jeff, Freak and Lucas are chatting, sitting in the seats just outside of the box. Inside the box, Gareth looks just as cold as Eddie, chatting with Nancy and Will on a sofa.

Paige returns a few minutes later with a bag of merchandise, courtesy of a voucher from the team, and drops it on Gareth’s lap. “Hoodie for you,” She declares, pulling out a black hoodie with the Blackhawks logo and throwing it into Gareth’s face. “Hoodie for you,” She adds, tossing a red one in Eddie’s direction. She pulls two more thinner zip ups out of the bag and drops them on Jeff and Freak’s heads. When she comes back in, she locks eyes with Eddie, who pauses as he unzips his leather jacket.

“What?” He asks, cautiously, and she grins.

“Got something else for you,” She says, and he’s instantly concerned.

“You’re freaking me out.” Eddie points out as he slips the hoodie he’d worn over his head and replaces it with the fleece-lined red hoodie with “Blackhawks” written across the back shoulders. Robin claps and jumps up and down beside him, concerning him further.

“They put one aside!?” She asks, and Paige nods, before tossing the rest of the bag to Eddie.

When he pulls out the contents, he can’t help but let out a little laugh. “You guys asked them to give me a Harrington jersey?” He raises an eyebrow at Robin, before pulling it over his head. It fits a little loose over the hoodie, but looks similar to how he’d seen other people wear theirs.

“Steve doesn’t know, but I asked. Figured you might like it.” She says, grinning as he turns a light shade of pink he fully intends to blame on the cold.

When the team introductions start, Robin drags Eddie out into the seats just outside the box, so they have a better view. While it’s colder out there, Eddie’s warmer in the new tops, and finds he doesn’t mind it as much. 

Robin and the members of the Party in the box break into cheers when Steve skates out onto the ice, and Eddie can’t help the little smile that crosses his face as he watches Steve interact with his team.

The puck drops and Steve manages to slip it away from the Kraken’s center, gliding down the ice effortlessly before passing it off. It’s a tiny thing, trying to pay attention to the puck, so Eddie finds himself just tracking Steve as he zips and twists around. After a few minutes, Steve skates back to the Blackhawks box and jumps in as another player hits the ice.

“What happened? Is he hurt?” Eddie’s confused as he looks at Robin, who gives him a soft smile.

“He’s fine. They only play for so long, before they switch out to keep them from getting tired.”

He tries to pay attention to what’s happening then, with Steve off the ice, but finds himself watching the other sit along the bench. He bangs his stick against the wall a few times, shouting things Eddie can’t hear. When he gets up to go back into the game, he pats the player he’s replacing on the back before hitting the ice. 

The next chance he gets the puck, he takes a shot toward the goalie, who stops the puck between his legs. Steve keeps skating, zipping around and getting back into the action. He gets the puck back, but is quickly checked by two Krakens who send him into the boards hard. Eddie grimaces, and a penalty is called on both Krakens for charging.

Steve scores a goal in the second period, and Eddie joins the Party in cheering along. He spots himself on the big screen and grabs Robin, pulling her into frame as she jumps up and down. 

The celebrations die down a little, and Robin scooches closer to him. “I can have them knock it off, if you don’t want to be up there. Dustin’s in the booth right now.” She offers, and he shrugs.

“I don’t mind. I kind of expected it, after the TikTok blew up.” He shrugs, tracking Steve back around the ice.

Blackhawks end up winning the game, 5-2, and while Steve doesn’t score again, he assists in each of the following goals. Each time, he has a different celebration with whoever he set up for the goal, and it’s sweet to watch Steve goof off, to hear his friends' excitement as he succeeds.  Walking back out of the booth, Eddie feels like his voice is more raw from screaming at the hockey game than it was from last night’s concert. 

_____________

“You shouldn’t skip the ice bath, Steve, you took a hard hit into that wall.” Max is lecturing as they move through the arena to where she says everyone is waiting. 

“I’m fine, I’ve taken worse hits and I stretched plenty. My shoulder just dug into the pad wrong. I’ll have a bruise, but it’s fine.” He insists, holding the door open for her then following her into the box where chaos immediately erupts.

Mike and Lucas are bouncing around, gushing about how great he played. Steve laughs, squeezing Lucas’ shoulder and ruffling Mike’s hair, before his eyes land on the band. They’re all wearing fresh Blackhawks gear, and Steve can’t help but grin.

“Oh man, I’m so glad you guys were able to come! Did you have a good time?” He asks, moving closer to them.

“Dude, I fucking love hockey. I haven’t been to a game in forever, this was sick. And you were killing it out there. I think I like hockey even more knowing someone who is playing.” Freak says, and Gareth nods along.

“Hockey is the only sport I’d ever really been interested in, so this was fun! Great game.”

“I have never had an interest in hockey before, but it was still cool to learn about.” Jeff admits, and then Steve turns to Eddie. His hands are tucked up inside the sleeves of the jersey, nestled in the front pocket of the hoodie beneath, but he grins.

“I concede, it was a lot more fun than I anticipated. I think it helps that you were awesome out there.”

Steve turns a soft shade of pink, shaking his head before nodding back toward the door out of the box. “Want to grab dinner with us? I’m starving.”

______________

They’re in some bar Steve texted the directions to but Eddie can’t remember the name, when he catches Steve staring at him from his spot between Dustin and Lucas. Eddie raises an eyebrow and waves a little, which seems to snap Steve out of it. He blushes and waves back, before covering his face with his hands. Eddie snorts, before getting up and moving so he’s sitting across from Steve.

“You weren’t mad that I put you up on the big screen, right? I think the team actually put it up on socials at some point, so I hope you didn’t mind.” Dustin rambles at Eddie as soon as he sits, but he’s quick to ease the kid’s concerns.

“It was fun. Don’t worry about it, kid. Really.” He says, watches Dustin visibly relax, but then Robin carts him and Lucas away, giving Steve and Eddie space and tossing a wink in Eddie’s direction. Eddie finds himself growing to appreciate her more and more. “I really did have a good time tonight. Cross my heart.” Eddie says, before drawing an “x” over his heart with his fingers.

Steve laughs, and opens his mouth to say something before he seems to reconsider. He thinks for a moment, before leaning over the table. “Are you wearing my jersey?”

Eddie pauses for a moment, looks down and laughs. He’d forgotten he hadn’t taken it off, and Robin had said that Steve didn’t know about it. “I mean, it’s technically not yours. Just has your name and number on it.”

Steve squints his eyes before he leans back and takes a sip of his beer. Eddie seizes the opportunity to be chaotic, then, decides to take the leap. “I mean, I totally could be wearing your jersey, if you wanted me to. But you’re going to have to take me out of this one first.” 

It’s worth it, if for no other reason than Steve starts choking on his drink, coughing loudly and drawing everyone’s attention. He composes himself quickly, but his face is still bright red, and Eddie grins.

“You’re a menace.” Steve accuses, voice hoarse and thick, and Eddie shrugs.

“What are you going to do about it?” He challenges.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I'm going to try reblogging with a tag list this week because it's LONG and I have no idea how else to try to make it work without hitting a character limit. Thank you to everyone who is still reading! I've got so many ideas for this bouncing around in my head, I can't wait to flesh them out and I hope you continue to enjoy!

[m00neroni]

@wolfstarmicrofic || 2nd Dec || Father Christmas || 626 words

"Da! Come on!" Hurry up! Teddy shouts, tugging his father's hand so they can reach Father Christmas' stand faster. If they don't move quickly, the other children will ask for the best presents before he has the opportunity to do so.

And that simply can't be!

He is a man on a mission!

"Teds! Slow down!" Da protests, but Teddy ignores him, because he can already see Santa's House and there is no queue!

Without listening to the adult's complaints, the child frees himself and sprints as fast as he can, stopping right at the entrance and looking up so he can greet the elf.

"Hi!" Teddy pants as he tries to catch his breath. His cheeks are too warm and he is sweating under his jumper, but he doesn't care. "I'm here to see Father Christmas!"

"Of course you are, sweetheart." The pretty elf chuckles and extends her hand so he can hold it. She has bright red hair under her green hat and looks around his Da's age, even if he knows she is magic and probably way way way older. Her smile is very pretty too. "You're very lucky. Father Christmas was about to take a very long break, but he's gonna make time just to see you!"

"Excellent!"

It's not ideal, because he would've liked to be the first one who spoke with him, but having Santa's undivided attention sounds good too!

Teddy grins excitedly as he approaches him, and wow, who knew Father Christmas was so amazingly cool! Because he has tattoos! Teddy can see them under the big white beard, right on his neck. And he is so tall! More than his da! And that's a lot! Oh, Vic is not gonna believe him when he tells her how cool Father Christmas is!

"Hello, little man!" Santa greets him as Teddy sits on his lap, feeling really excited. The man's voice is low and strong and it would scare Teddy if it wasn't because he is smiling broadly at him. "What's your name?"

"Edward Remus Tonks Delacour Lupin!" He announces, solemnly. "But you can call me Teddy!"

Father Christmas laughs loudly at that, almost like a barking sound, which makes Teddy's smile broaden even more. "That's a very amazing name, Mr Teddy."

"Thank yous!"

"Alright, you're my very special guest today. What can I do for you?" Father Christmas finally asks the most important question. It's his moment!

"This year I just want one present! Because it's very very big and Mami says I can't ask for many big things even if your elves can do it because if I do it other children won't get their presents!"

"Yes, Mami is definitely right." Santa nods, and Teddy notices he likes to smile a lot, like his da, because he also has those lines around his grey eyes. It is so cool! "So, tell me, what do you want?"

"A second dad!" The child announces very loud. "Mami and Mum are already together and Da is very very very lonely. He just reads and reads and reads, and watches films with that red drink Teddy can't have because it's for grown-ups! But Mami and Mum are very happy together, so I think I should get another dad so Da doesn't feel lonely and sad."

"Oh…"

"Look! That's him!" Teddy cuts him, pointing at where Da is waiting for him with that expression he also wears when he is constipated and his tummy hurts. His ears are very red and they can even see it from here. "I think another daddy would make him super super happy, don't you agree?"

"Well," Santa replies, tilting his head to one side as he looks at his Da. "Maybe I can do something about it."

(When I finished writing it, I've realised I had been very inspired and influenced by Teddy in @languagelessonswolfstar's latest fic, so credits where they are due! and please, go and read it!)

[kmi-02]

Pairing: Husband!Phillip Graves x F!reader

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings/tags: mdni. SMUT, porn w/o plot, fingering, riding, unprotected sex (p in v), no use of Y/N

"Love?" You ask softly, voice barely heard above the buzz of the TV. The side of your body rests on the doorframe, watching your husband's lost in thought expression as different colored lights flash on his face.

He's startled out of thought, not expecting you to be up so late. His eyes find your darkened figure and all he can give you is a tired smile.

"Can't sleep" his hand reaches for the remote and lowers the, already low, volume a little more "Didn't mean to wake you"

"No, just-" you start to explain, letting him know it wasn't his doing. Your arms hug your waist in an attempt to warm yourself, Phillip's flimsy shirt didn't serve as enough coverage when out of bed "Woke up and you weren't there"

"Sorry, darlin'" he replies with an apologetic frown. As his eyes adapt to the darkness, he notices your state: barely dressed; with only his shirt and, probably he thought, panties. His eyes traveled down your naked legs, stopping at the sight of your sockless feet changing weight, attempting not to freeze against the cold hardwood. "Come 'ere" he says as his arms raise, ready to welcome you in their embrace.

Pat-pat-pat is heard as your naked feet step on the floor, you quickly make your way to your husband's lap. You giggle at the action, the short sprint and jumping into Phillip's arms, his reclining chair rocking back and forth; and you're not sure if you kneed his thigh or if it was just the chair, but he didn't seem to care. He smiles and chuckles, the constant I love her thought never leaving his head.

You look at him as you settle on his lap, straddling his thighs– you secretly hope he doesn't notice the lack of underwear. His warm hands rest on your lower back.

"Wanna talk about it?" you ask, hoping the reason wasn't nightmares or worse, his own conscious mind.

He shakes his head, "No, not really". And you know he feels bad for denying you his worries, but there's things you simply should never know about, and you respect it.

"Hm" you hum, warm and sleepy but still aware. Your hands move along his arms and linger on his shoulders. Eyes locked on his, you lean and gently place a kiss on his forehead; sweet but not quite what Phillip wants.

One of his brows raise, questioning, you are barely able to notice it in the darkness of the room, TV lights covered by your form, but you pay it no mind. Your tongue swiftly swipes over your lip, a habit. Hands moving again, they creep over his neck until reaching his face, your thumbs caress his cheeks lovingly. You lean again, lips landing on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey..."

"... What?" You ask in a whisper, feigning ignorance. Your lips morph into a smile at his caution.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" He asks half jokingly, a smile of his own appearing on his face, enjoying thoroughly the gentle caress– the attention.

"Perhaps?" Caught in your intentions, you huff a tiny laugh but continue your ministrations, quickly leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose.

"Ah-" If you weren't as familiar as you are with how noisy your husband can be, you would've thought he sighed, almost frustrated; a protest. But you know better. A sweet, tiny moan, filled with expectation. It let's you know you're doing the right thing; arousing him, railing him up.

You watch his reaction carefully, noticing how his hips shift, how his breathing deepens, how his fingers dig a little deeper into your back. "You like that?" You ask breathy, teasingly, but he doesn't respond. The excitement palpable. Your gaze darts between his pretty eyes and his lips, but as tempted as you might be, you stick to your plan.

You swallow and lean in, lips dangerously close to his as you try to keep your cool. You get so close Phillip wonders if he's imagining the sensation of your lips in his, but he doesn't move, doesn't chase. Your mean lips land directly over his cupid's bow and you hear his breath hitches, hands desperately trying to pull you even closer.

If you were to be wearing panties, you are positively sure they'd be soaked.

You almost miss the breathless God that falls from Phillip's mouth, but the sound makes you so needy that you have to fight a protesting whimper against your own actions. Even if this was your idea, sometimes it surprises you just how strong your lust for your husband can be.

Bracing yourself, you strike again, kissing the corner of his mouth. You could feel the pace of his racing heart while your chests were flushed, he knew what you were doing and he was so turned on by it. He shifted on his seat again, this time with purpose– bucking his hips into yours to get any friction he could against your crotch. No panties he concludes, but the thought is quickly replaced by the angelic sound of a mewl; soft, needy, perfect.

You were so, so close.

"Please" he begs in a murmur, whining.

You close your eyes suddenly, his simple word like a thunder coursing through your body and lighting your cunt on fire. "Next one‐" you start between deep, heavy breaths, "This one's gonna be on the lips, hm?" You warn, expectation high.

He nods firmly as his eyes fight not to close. You move your hands to his neck, thumbs gently following the line of his jawbone while the rest of your fingers thread themselves with the hair of his nape, you were doing everything you could to put him more and more on edge. He groans at the feeling of your delicate fingers.

"Stay still for me, yes?" Your words no more than a whisper, reason no other than to drag this moment just a bit longer. But you knew it was a dumb request, in Phillip's mind there was nothing else than pure compliance– he was giving up control. It was far from a rare occurrence; Phillip leaving the situation in your hands to lead you both to play with pleasure in a slightly different way he would. So, he just waits and listens until you take what's rightfully yours.

The muscles on your thighs tense as you lift yourself off his lap, not much, but enough to look at your husband's face from above. You tilt his head upward and inhale deeply, cruelly taking your sweet time until you hear a, barely there, moan. You notice how his lips part in anticipation, his eyes unable to stay focused on one thing.

You dive in. Lips meeting his on a crashing kiss, wet and messy and so desperate. You moan into the kiss almost immediately, basking on the sensation and the taste of the lips you so much craved. Your arms hug around his neck as you sit directly over his growing, aching cock. You let your tongue venture into his mouth and you feel his heavy hands kneed the flesh of your ass, pushing your hips impossibly closer. You can feel how his chest rises and falls and you suddenly notice how you aren't even breathing, too engrossed to prioritize your own oxygen.

After a couple of seconds, you unwillingly start to pull away. Panting, you gently bite his lower lip and open your eyes to the fucked up expression of your husband– pupils blown, reddened lips. There's no words for a moment, no movement aside from the heavy breathing, the both of you silently processing what just happened. But you're not finished yet.

A sharp inhale breaks the trance, "What do you want, love?" You ask with urgency, "Hm?". You keep talking before he can even start to open his mouth "Want me to tire you out? To help you sleep?".

A long groan scapes Phillip's lips as he finds the strength to respond, a pathetic mumble of "I- I want" that you don't entertain. You cut him off, frowning while nodding in understanding; a condescending expression. But you are well aware of his needs– "Oh, I know baby" you reassure, "I'll take care of you, hm? That's what good wives do".

Your words make desire spark in Phillip's body, a proud smirk spread over his face at the mention of wife. Such an easy-to-please partner, the mere remembrance of your relationship status enough to put him in a good mood. You dive in again, peck after peck over his soft lips, working as a distraction while your hands travel down his toned torso, swiftly finding the strings of his sweatpants and untying it– fingers dive past his boxer's waistband freeing his pretty cock. An amused hum leaves your mouth at the sight, one you could never get tired of. Phillip's mouth falls open as you work languid strokes on him, still delivering sweet little kisses; peppering from his lips down to his jaw and neck, showing your reverence to every inch of skin available until you hear your husband moan, long and sweet. As much as you would love to make him cum here and now, you can't let him have fun alone– your hand stops abruptly and you nearly chuckle at the objecting groan that left Phillip's throat. "Sorry baby" you coo at him, but quickly explain your action by sitting back and hastily grabbing the hem of your – his – shirt, undressing and throwing it to the side.

His hands wander all over your body, marveling over the now naked skin; eyes shamelessly glued to your chest. He pulls you closer to him, his lips landing between your tits, aiming to start working your nipples with his experienced tongue, just how you like it. But you don't let him, not now. Your hands gently push him back against his chair and he looks at you like a kicked puppy– How dare you not let him suck your tits?

Your fingers wrap around the flesh of his wrist, ripping his hand off your hip and guiding it sensually up your torso. He looks mesmerized as you take two of his digits into your mouth, wetting them with saliva even though you're sure you don't need extra lubrication– your slick covered cunt more than ready to receive attention. You smirk mischievously as you take them out of your mouth with a lewd pop and he moans, breafly wishing it was his cock instead. His pretty blues follow every movement, every action; they watch how you take his hand down your body tentatively slow, making his fingers graze your skin and shivering at the sensation. They watch how your mouth falls open as his fingertips ghost over your navel, down over your clit. His pretty blues watch, through shuddering lids, how you rotate his hand and desperately push it upon your cunt, uncaring of the lack of technique applied, just craving his touch.

"Ah-" you moan as your clit feels the pressure of his palm's heel, brows furrowed while you squeeze his wrist, urging him to please you himself. Phillip catches on immediately, too used to your behavior. His hand separates mere centimeters from your heat to bend its wetted fingers and circle them around your needy hole before sinking, knuckle deep, into your cunt. Your head falls back, a satisfied hum sounding through your throat as you bite your lip.

"Don't even need prep, darlin'" he says with a chuckle, his fingers entering your heat with little resistance– still, he lingers a little longer to get you used to him. He takes his hand away, swiftly bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. God, he's hot.

You sigh at the new emptiness, dizzy with desire. Suddenly, a firm hand wraps around his length, drawing a surprised gasp out of Phillip. You rise to your knees again, cunt eagerly awaiting as you move his tip around your wetness, nudging your clit and making it circle your hole, just like he did with his fingers. His hands fall to your thighs, massaging the flesh as a last resort to keep sanity, your constant teasing driving him crazy by the second.

You sink, seatting yourself completely on his cock.

Phillip's nails dig into your thighs as a loud moan rips through his lips, finally able to feel what he knew he was getting the moment you started with your provoking kisses. His ears fill with your little moans, full of pleasure as his girthy cock nudges its way deep within your walls, deep enough to kiss your cervix. It's fast and impatient, the way your pussy swallows his length in one go– as if you lacked time, as if being rushed.

You sit still for a couple of seconds, tight pussy getting used to the fullness your husband's cock provides. There's no words, they're not needed. Both set of eyes lock onto each other, they take in the state you both are left in: fucked– you feel how Phillip's fingers dig even more into your thighs, how his needy dick twitches inside of you, you notice how his back is slightly arched off the backrest, how his chest heaves. On the other hand, Phillip feels your muscles tensing, your cunt clamping on him like a vice, he sees your puffy, bitten lips, moonlight coming through the window and illuminating you like the angel that you are; for him, at least. He watches as your face gets closer to his and your mouth takes his own, kiss lasting a mere second.

He tries to chase after your lips but you lean back, hands finding his knees, arms locking behind you and supporting your weight as you wickedly roll your hips into his.

"Hmm so good " you say honey thick, laced with lust.

His eyes snap shut at the feeling, all too good but you know it's not enough. Your hands squeeze as you start to lift yourself, brows furrowing in pleasure before you sink back, heavy– testing the waters. A shaky sigh it's all you get. Still not enough, huh? you think, but you take it as a challenge. In Phillip's mind, he couldn't stop cursing himself; too focused on not cumming early as his sweet wife was trying exactly the opposite. He was fucked, he knew, when he opened his eyes and saw that expression in your face, the one you wear when you're not satisfied with something, with an outcome. Maybe when he steeled himself to last longer, too into his head to express correctly the heavenly pleasure you bestowed upon him, you took his, rather tame, reaction as something else. But, well, not much he can do about it now.

Phillip swallows thickly, readying himself. His hands glide across your thighs up to your asscheeks, partly because he loves your ass, partly because he wants to have a good grip around your hips may things go too crazy. You smirk, devilish, before starting a relentless rhythm; your body bounces up and down on his cock, stoping abruptly and sitting yourself fully on him for a couple of seconds while grinding your hips, only for it to start again. Phillip isn't sure if he's in heaven or hell, but, knowing better, he moans and hums and groans unabashedly as you give your best to work him to completion.

"C'mon baby, c'mon baby, c'mon baby... Fuuck " your husband's plea bleeds into a lusty hum as he hugs your hips close to his when you take one of your little breaks, basking in the pleasure– he's completely sure your thighs are on fucking fire but you don't seem to mind. Such a good wife.

"Touch yourself baby," he commands, tone dominant "Show me"

In a show of amazingly fast shift in dynamics, you comply immediately. One of the hands that was on his knees is between your burning thighs and giving your husband what he asked for. He moves his hands slightly up, supporting your lower back and hips with his hands and forearms, providing extra help so you can keep the ruthless pace. He leans back as much as he can, just to watch you work yourself– your digits massage your clit in tight circles, trying as best as they can to time it with the bouncing. The sudden addition of stimulation drives you stupidly close to orgasm, and Phillip knows it.

"'M close-" you blabber in a blissful daze, mind so focused on the pleasure that you feel your body move on autopilot, mind and body two separate entities, one made to receive and the other to give– your mind eager for pleasure and your body working overtime to give it to you.

In a moment of clarity, you remember your husband. Not that you could forget, bouncing up and down on his cock, but it is true that you promised to take care of him. Feeling slightly guilty about the sudden shift in focus, you open your beady eyes to watch him, to assess his state, hoping he's as close to coming as you are.

"Yeah?" He replies breathlessly to your warning, eyes never straying from your soaking cunt; her clit being played with while his big cock spears her open, such a champ.

"Mhm" you nod, your senses overwhelmed. A long groan from Phillip lets you know what you were so worried about, he's definitely close. You retreat your fingers from your clit, hand returning to his knee and keeping you steady, helping you completely focus on his impending orgasm. You can see how he's not please by your action, but you don't care; you can cum after him. His breathing starts to stutter, eyelids fluttering while his mouth falls open, letting loose shameless moans that he can't, and doesn't care to, control– you take the cue, tightening your walls around him in the rhythm of your bouncing.

He spills inside of you with a throaty groan, his hands and arms holding you tight as his whole body stiffens. His hips jerk up, chasing your own as you lower yourself on his cock. You feel the warm cum start to slide out of you, and you take the opportunity to, again, bring your fingers to your clit and finish the job. It doesn't take much, a couple of fast, tight circles over it have you whimpering as you come undone on his cock, the spasms of your walls making Phillip's eyes to snap shut. You can feel Phillip's breath hit against your chest as he pants, and soon after you fall completely limp over his chest.

"Careful" he says softly as he leans back on the chair, cradling you between his strong arms. He sighs, hands moving up and down your back in a soothing manner, letting the comforting silence engulf you both as you come down from your respective highs.

After some seconds, or minutes, you're not sure, and when both's racing pulses had calmed down, Phillip breaks the silence.

"Don't fall asleep on me now, sweetheart" you can hear the smug smirk in his tone, cocky bastard. You place a hand on his chest to help you push yourself out of his embrace, sitting straight– you feel how your thigh muscles twitch in pure exhaustion and a fleeting it's gonna hurt like a bitch later crosses your mind.

"Can we?" you ask softly. "Go to sleep, I mean"

"Hm" Phillip hums, resting his hands on your dying thighs "'Course"

You smile at his response and look him directly in the eyes, as if waiting for him to notice something. After a couple of seconds, he seems to get it "Should I carry you...?"

"Mhm" you reply plainly before chuckling. Your arms move to hug around his neck as he grabs under your thighs and gets up, heading to the bedroom.

Maybe you should worry about getting clean, or getting your husband's softening cock out of you, but you can't muster the energy to really care.

[sebscore]

part 2 to the Ollie x leclerc!reader where she’s at an f3 race watching her brother and Ollie

HER BAKU BEAU

pairings: charles leclerc x sister!reader / ollie bearman x leclerc!reader / arthur leclerc x sister!reader / lorenzo leclerc x sister!reader 

warnings: swearing. francesco is made up lol.

author’s note: lol yall know I had to write about this weekend, cause charles + ollie absolutely carried!! its not a f3 race, but im sure this is good as well :)

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''I can't believe mum let me go.'' Y/N told Ollie over the phone, sitting almost alone in the airport lounge as she waited for her plane to start boarding. 

She could hear her boyfriend chuckle on the other side. ''I'm grateful for her, though. You're gonna see me race tomorrow.'' His excited tone put a smile on her face, touched that he was so happy to see her. 

''I just can't miss any of it; you got pole, charles got pole- I just have to be there!'' 

It had been a task convincing her mother to let her go to the Grand Prix, usually only going when it was during school breaks or if it was in Monaco, Italy or France. However, Charles' pole position and the fact that she didn't have school on Monday had helped her case immensely, and Pascale agreed to let her attend the GP. 

The youngest Leclerc was instructed by her mother to listen to her brothers no matter what- something Arthur was definitely going to abuse- but aside from that, she had trust in her daughter and knew she wouldn't do anything reckless or dangerous. 

''It was the craziest lap, I swear!'' Ollie exclaimed, recalling the chaos that was his final lap after damaging his car. ''It could have gone so wrong.'' 

''Yeah, but it didn't! It was perfect, you were perfect.'' Y/N smiled. 

''Thank you, darling.'' 

The term of endearment had blood rushing to her cheeks, she glanced around the lounge and hoped no one noticed her flustered state. ''You're welcome.'' 

''I can hear you blushing.'' Ollie laughed. 

Little Leclerc scoffed. ''I am not! I'm not blushing.'' She lied, pressing her palm to her cheek as a way to cool herself down. 

''You are! It's okay, I'm your boyfriend. I'm supposed to make you blush.'' The Brit said, matter-of-factly. 

'Your boyfriend'

They had been together for about 6 months yet she still wasn't used to Ollie referring to himself as her boyfriend. Not in a bad way, in a 'this feels like a dream and I'm going to wake up any minute'-way. 

''This is the pre-boarding call for flight 91B to Baku. We are now inviting any passengers requiring special assistance to begin boarding at this time. Please have your identification and boarding pass ready.'' The monotone female voice announced over the speakers. 

''Hey, Ollie. I have to go board now.'' Y/N was still underage so she fell under the 'special assistance' category. ''I'll see you tomorrow, alright?'' She bid him goodbye. 

''Yeah, let me know when you've landed.'' It wasn't late in Azerbaijan, but she could recognize the fatigue in Ollie's voice. 

''You'll be sleeping, though.'' She chuckled, knowing she would arrive quite late in the evening and that the Prema driver would be getting the much needed sleep for his sprint race tomorrow. 

He shrugged his shoulders. ''So? I know it will like unconsciously make me feel assured that you landed safely.'' He reasoned, his explanation warming her heart. 

''You really are a charmer, huh?'' Y/N got up from her seat and grabbed her suitcase, moving to the right gate. 

She could hear a small laugh on the other side. ''If you say so.'' 

''I'm going to board now- I'll see you tomorrow, bye bye!'' 

''Can't wait! Bye, love!'' And with that the couple ended their call. 

Before pulling her boarding pass and ID out of her bag, she sent a quick text to their sibling group chat. Since she was travelling on her own, Lorenzo wanted her to give as many updates as she could. 

| Little Leclerc: boarding now, will text when we take off x 

| Thur Thur: don't die 🙂

| Enzo TL: Have a safe flight! See you soon, chérie! X 

| Enzo TL: Arthur, be nice! 

| Charlito: safe flight, bébé :) ❤️

| Charlito: tell the staff if you need anything!! 

| Thur Thur: she's 17, not 7 😒

| Enzo TL: you are the only one acting like a 7 year-old! 😙

''He's on pole again!'' The atmosphere in the Ferrari garage was out of this world as Charles took the pole position in the sprint shootout. Everyone clapped and was thrilled the Monégasque was able to retain the top position. 

Andrea urged Y/N to follow him to Parc Fermé with some of the other Scuderia crew to celebrate another pole position for her brother behind the fence. 

''Charlie!'' The voice of his sister grabs his attention and he made his way over to the youngest Leclerc and his trainer. Charles pulled her into a hug, kissing the side of her head. ''Two pole positions!'' She said, holding up two fingers. 

''I didn't think we would be able to pull that off.'' Charles sighed, putting his bracelets on that Andrea handed to him. 

They nodded at him, understanding his doubt. ''But you did it! Now we have to get ready for the sprint and push as much as we can.'' His trainer encouraged him, wanting Charles to be as positive as possible.  

''Cha, I think you have to go do your interview.'' Y/N pointed behind him, seeing the F1TV staff waiting for the Ferrari driver. 

Charles let out a deep breath, not in the mood and just wanting to prepare himself for the sprint race. ''I'll be right back.'' He begrudgingly turned around and walked over to the interviewer and cameraman, still politely greeting them. 

Y/N tried focusing on Charles as he spoke to the woman, but Andrea lightly pushed her shoulder with his. She glanced at him in confusion. ''What?'' 

''For F2- which garage are you going to?'' 

She scoffed at the question, a shy smile forming on her lips. ''You're really asking me that?'' 

The Italian shrugged his shoulders. ''I'm curious.'' The teasing smirk on his face was evidence that it was more than simple curiosity. 

''I'm going to Thur's garage.'' She answered, looking down at her shoes. 

She'd had this exact conversation with Lorenzo the night before in the car. Although, it was a bit more serious than the one she was having with Andrea at the moment. 

Her and Ollie had agreed to keep their relationship private for as long as circumstances allowed it. They were both aware certain fans could get a little crazy and Y/N already received hate comments for simply being Charles' sister, something she couldn't exactly control. 

So, showing up at the Prema Racing garage wouldn't exactly be ''low key'' as Enzo had explained it to her. 

''He won't say it, but Thur really wants you in his garage.'' Her older brother told her while driving back to their hotel. ''He really likes Ollie, but you're his sister, you know? I think if you would stand with the Prema's, he would think that you're not rooting for him.'' 

Y/N understood what he meant, and deep down she knew it was more important to stand on Arthur's side. Her brother might tease and annoy her, but he deeply loves her and her support means everything to him. 

The sudden reappearance from Charles brought her back to the present. 

''Here,'' he put the cap he had been given on her head, ''you can have it.'' It was obvious he wasn't a fan of the beglittered cap that functioned as a prize for winning the sprint shootout. 

''Thanks, I guess.'' Y/N chuckled. 

Charles patted her head. ''Maybe you should start heading to the F2 paddock, you don't want to be late.'' 

''Francesco is taking me later.'' His sister answered. Francesco was part of the Scuderia Ferrari crew, but also worked with the FDA drivers. He had offered to take Y/N with him to the DAMS garage since he had to check up on both Arthur and Ollie. 

Her brother nodded. ''Good, don't want you to get lost again.'' He teased, jokingly rolling his eyes at the reminder of Silverstone last year. 

''Hey! That was Arthur's fault, he shouldn't have left me alone.'' She defended herself, not liking the implication that she had gotten lost by herself while it was Arthur that had decided to leave her all by herself in the Prema hospitality. 

Charles smirked at her. ''You got a boyfriend out of it, didn't you? You should be a little more grateful to Arthur.'' 

Y/N slapped her brother's arm, much to the amusement of the Ferrari crew and nearby lurking reporters, their cameras capturing the moment between the siblings. 

Charles glimpsed at something behind her, pointing his finger. ''Francesco's there, I'll see you later, okay?'' He pulled his sister in a quick hug again, bidding her goodbye. 

''Bye, Cha!'' 

The walk to the F2 paddock and garages wasn't too long and the good weather made it more enjoyable as well. She knew Francesco from when Charles joined the academy so they were well acquainted with one another. 

While making their way to the DAMS garage, Y/N and Francesco pass the Prema one. The youngest Leclerc slowed down, confusing the older man next to her as he had no idea about the relationship between her and Ollie. 

The feeling of disappointment sneaked up on her when Ollie wasn't in sight. She'd hoped she would be able to get a glimpse of him before the sprint race started, not having seen him for a few weeks now. 

However, his dad and trainer noticed her. David and Jamie nodded their heads, subtly greeting her. Y/N reciprocated the action, happy she at least got to see part of his team. 

Once she arrived at the French team's camp, she was met by Lorenzo warming Arthur up for his race. ''Took you long enough.'' Arthur joked, almost missing the ball that his older brother dropped out of his hand. 

''I wish I had one of those electric steps, they'd really help me out.'' She said, sitting down on one of the empty chairs. 

Francesco shook hands with both brothers. ''I'll take over, Enzo.'' The Monégasque nodded in appreciation and handed over the tennis balls to the older man, and sat down next to his sister. 

''Nice hat.'' He snickered, resulting in Y/N rolling his eyes at him. ''So, uh, you've seen Ollie yet?'' Lorenzo asked, whispering the last part of his question. 

The youngest Leclerc sibling shook her head. ''No, we passed by Prema, but I only saw his dad and Jamie.'' She explained to him. 

Lorenzo nodded along to her words. ''He did really good yesterday, getting pole with a damaged car and a steering wheel that's not hanging right- absolutely crazy!'' 

Y/N beamed at her brother's small summary of Ollie's amazing qualifying from the day before, delighted he had nothing but nice words for her boyfriend. ''I know! I watched it during recess, I was like, trying not to start yelling.'' 

''I can imagine,'' her older brother smiled, ''but you're here for your brother now, okay? So don't start screaming for Prema when you're in the DAMS garage.'' His tone turned more serious, almost sounding like he was scolding the young girl. 

''Of course. I'm happy to be here, Enzo.'' She shrugged his words off, understanding what he was trying to tell her. 

He simply nodded and focused himself back on the other youngster. ''I think it's time to get in the car, Tutur.'' Lorenzo told Arthur who sighed, but gave himself an encouraging nod. 

Before walking over towards his engineer, the youngest brother stopped next to his sister. ''I know I'm starting behind your boyfriend, but root for me, okay?'' Arthur pointed at himself, as if solidifying that she's there for him. 

Y/N gave him a side hug. ''You really think I would come all the way here to not support you?'' Her brother's words surprised her, Arthur wasn't usually the one to explicitly ask for her support. 

''Merci, bébé,'' a soft smile found its way to the Monégasques' face, ''okay, bye now.'' Arthur pinched her side, causing his sister to pull away from him in annoyance. 

''I was worried you two actually got along for a second.'' Lorenzo commented, holding both of his siblings' shoulders and moving them to the garage. 

''LECLERC LOST IT AS WELL!'' The commentary of Alex Brundle sounds as Arthur retired from the race, almost crashing into the wall. Y/N let out a deep breath as he stepped out of his car, relieved her brother seemed visibly not in pain. 

She took a glance at the leaderboard and saw Ollie overtaking Frederic before the safety car was called. A soft smile planted itself on her face, before it was wiped away by the sight of the disappointed mechanics as their two drivers didn't finish the race. 

While they waited for Arthur to get back, Y/N and Lorenzo followed the remainder of the sprint race which finished under the safety car, and Ollie took his first win of the season. 

The young girl was over the moon for her boyfriend, knowing how much the first three races had let him down. However, the way Arthur stormed passed her and Lorenzo didn't give her enough time to enjoy the moment. 

''Arthuro, calm down!'' Lorenzo told his younger brother, not a fan of the defeated Arthur that sat in front of him. 

His hands went through his hair, his behaviour screaming frustration. ''I fucked up! Why did I fucking stay behind Théo?'' He muttered to himself. 

''There was a lot going on, you just got distracted.'' Y/N tried comforting him. The restart had been absolute chaos, a total of 6 cars retiring from the race. 

Arthur's head shot up at her words. ''That's the thing! I shouldn't have gotten distracted!'' 

''Hey! Pipe down, okay? No need to be yelling at your sister.'' Lorenzo argued, not a fan of his agitated tone and loud voice. 

The driver loudly sighed, but mumbled a quiet ''sorry''. He took a few more moments to calm himself down, before glimpsing at his sister. ''Shouldn't you go celebrate your boyfriend?'' 

The usual teasing Arthur momentarily came back, a small smirk hanging on his lips. ''I want to be here with you, Thur.''  

His gaze softened at his sister's sweetness. Arthur didn't say anything further, simply reaching his arms out for her and pulling her into a hug. ''I hate it when you're nice to me.'' 

''Don't lie, you bimbo.'' Y/N chuckled, not letting the hug last long due to his sweating. ''Please, take a shower- you smell.'' She pushed her brother away. 

''Alright, alright.'' 

| ollie 🧸: fred and his team are gone :) 

| ollie 🧸: just me, dad and jamie 

| y/n ❤: 5 minutes x

She wanted to slap the teasing smiles off of her brothers’ faces as she bid them goodbye. ''If you're not at the exit on time, I'm personally knocking that door down and dragging you back home.'' Lorenzo semi-threatened her, a lame attempt at making a stern face. 

''Yeah, yeah. I'll be there.'' Y/N promised her brother, quickly making her way out of the door and to her boyfriend's driver room. 

All of the F2 team rooms were on the same floor so it didn't take her long to arrive at the Prema room. She knocked three times and opened the door. 

The three men inside glanced up from their phone, the youngest one immediately standing up and taking a few big steps towards her. ''Hey!'' Ollie engulfed her in a hug, his head resting on her shoulder. 

''Congratulations, race winner!'' Y/N giggled, rubbing his back. 

''It was fucking crazy-''

''Language, Oliver.'' David interrupted him, reminding his son that he needed to drop the swearing. 

Ollie rolled his eyes. ''Sorry, dad,'' he apologised, his cheeks colouring red, ''it was really really crazy- like suddenly a bunch of cars were out and I was in P2. I knew the safety car was coming out so I quickly overtook Fred and-'' 

''Ollie, breathe.'' His girlfriend interrupted his rambling, watching him getting out of breath as his chest went up and down at a fast pace. 

The Prema driver looked taken aback, but nodded his head and took a deep breath. ''Yeah, anyway- it was amazing. I hope Arthur's okay, though.'' He had seen how his former teammate didn't finish, but wasn't aware of the circumstances. 

''Yeah, he just got distracted by the entire mess and couldn't get out of it.'' Y/N explained to them, pouting at the reminder of her brother's DNF. 

The three of them nodded. ''That happens sometimes, it was indeed a mess.'' Jamie sympathised. 

''Here,'' Ollie grabbed her shoulder and pointed at the chair he was previously sitting on, ''sit down, sit down.'' He gently guided her forward to sit down. 

Y/N swiftly shook her head. ''No, no. You just did a race, I'll stand- it's not a problem.'' 

The gears in the young man's head seemed to stop working as he simply stared at her, not expecting her to refuse the seat and offer it to him. ''Uh, no, I- uh…'' Ollie stuttered. 

''You know what, kids? We have to go do something so behave in here, alright?'' David interrupted his son once again, sensing an awkward moment coming up and wanting to save him from that. 

His dad and Jamie got up from their seats and moved out of the driver's room, his trainer sending him a wink before closing the door. 

The couple slowly found each other's eyes, bursting out in laughter once they were sure the two men were gone. ''He's so embarrassing, I swear.'' Ollie sighs, taking his dad's original seat. 

''At least they left us alone- Enzo would rather die than leave the two of us alone.'' Y/N retorted, sitting down on Ollie's chair. 

The Brit laughed at her words, despite knowing it was 100% the truth. ''Yeah, I guess- anyway, I'm happy you're here.'' A soft smile formed on his face and he grabbed her hand that laid on the armrest. 

The Monégasque mirrored his expression. ''Me too. I really missed you.'' She squeezed his hand, sending a wink his way. 

''I missed you too. These last weeks have been hectic and as much as I love our Facetimes- it's been really hard not seeing you in person.'' He confessed. 

Ollie didn't want to make her feel bad about all the time they've spent apart the last weeks. Their schedules simply never seemed to align. When he had days off, she was busy with school and when she wasn't studying, he had to train or compete. 

Y/N pouted at his words. ''It's been hard for me too. My brothers see you more than I do,'' she teased, ''but I'm here now.'' The young girl smiled at her boyfriend. 

''Yeah, I'm really happy about that.'' Ollie intertwined their hands, less shy about showing affection now that they were alone. 

''So you're planning on doing a clean sweep or what?'' Y/N chuckled, remembering he had been first in every session during the ongoing weekend. 

The Prema driver shook his head, chuckling as well. ''The team has been doing so great this weekend- it would be nice to take the win tomorrow and it would be even better if you could come watch me on the podium…'' He trailed off, a sneaky look on his face. 

''You know people will talk about it if I show up there and Thur isn't on the podium.'' She told him, carrying a doubtful expression. 

Ollie nodded, understanding her concerns. ''Yeah and for all I know, I might not even end up on the podium so maybe we're worrying over nothing.'' He mumbled the last bit under his breath, the possibility of something going wrong clouding his mind. 

Y/N noticed and shuffled her chair closer to him. ''Hey,'' her hand cupped his cheek, ''you're gonna win tomorrow, like- don't tell Arthur this- but you're owning everyone right now.'' 

Her boyfriend chuckled at her words, his loving gaze settling on her. ''This weekend has just been so perfect… I don't know, you've seen my luck so far this season. I'm just scared that something is gonna go wrong.'' Ollie confided in her, voicing the thoughts in his head. 

''Nothing will go wrong tomorrow! You put a damaged car on pole, Ollie!'' She laughed, gently pushing his shoulder. ''You're gonna do amazing and you're gonna make history.'' 

''You seem to have a lot of fate in me.'' Ollie smirked, his girlfriend's words making him feel better about himself and his race tomorrow. 

Y/N teasingly rolled her eyes. ''If you don't like it, I can go and support someone else- what's his name again, Zane?'' She pretended to want to support his rival instead of him, knowing it would annoy him. 

''Hey! Not fair!'' Ollie exclaimed, lightly giving her arm a tap. ''Me and Arthur are the only people you should support. Not the Barbados boy.'' He whined to her, trapping her in a hug. 

The girl laughed into his neck, happy to get such a response out of her boyfriend. The couple stayed like that for a little while, enjoying each other's company and appreciating the time they were spending together. 

''Bear, what time is it?'' Y/N asked him, suddenly remembering her promise to Lorenzo. 

Ollie pulled out his phone from his pocket. ''Uh, 17:08.'' He answered, putting it back. 

''Shit! I have to go.'' Her loud reactions to his words made him flinch as she jumped up from his arms. ''I promised Enzo I would be at the exit in like 2 minutes or he would bust down the door.'' She explained hastily upon seeing Ollie's puzzled face. 

''He's not gonna break the door.'' The Brit snickered before glancing at his girlfriend's serious expression. ''Alright, he might break down the door. I'll see you later.'' He pecked her cheek, swallowing down his disappointment she had to go already. 

''Don't forget we're getting ice cream later!'' She reminded him of their little date later in the evening. 

''No, no! I'll be there!''

''You better, Bearman!'' 

''OLIVER BEARMAN WHO WON THE SPRINT RACE YESTERDAY AND NOW HE LOOKS UP AND SEES THE CHEQUERED FLAG AS THE WINNER OF THE FEATURE! OLIVER BEARMAN DOES THE DOUBLE IN BAKU! WHAT A WEEKEND FOR THE BRITISH DRIVER!'' 

Y/N had a hard time to not freak out and start screaming as she watched her boyfriend do something no one F2 driver had done before, not even her own brother had been able to do it 6 years before. 

Lorenzo took a glance at his sister next to him, noticing the obvious joy on her face. 

He nudged her shoulder. ''He did great, didn't he?'' Her oldest brother whispered, an unfeigned smile present. 

She shyly looked at him, glancing down at her shoes. ''Yeah… I'm very proud of him.'' Her words came out quite slowly as she didn't want the people around them to hear who she was talking about. 

A conflicting thought rushed through Lorenzo's mind, something that might have repercussions that wouldn't be able to be reversed later. 

''How about you go to Charles already? I'm sure he'd love to spent some time with you before his race.'' Her brother didn't look at her while talking, focusing himself on Arthur's car that was making its way back into the DAMS garage. 

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, confused as to why she would leave without them. ''But what about you and Thur?'' She asked him, turning towards him. 

''He still has to debrief with the team and we don't want you to be bored with that,'' he explained, still not sparing her a glance, ''you should go now, honey. The podium ceremony is gonna start and you don't want to be stuck in the crowd, do you?'' 

Her face brightened once she understood what he was actually saying. He wants her to be there for Ollie when he takes the top step of the podium. 

''Yeah, I'll get going then,'' she took off her headset and gave it to her brother, ''tell Thur I'm proud of him.'' She swiftly added, feeling slightly bad about leaving before saying anything to Arthur. 

''I will, now go.'' Lorenzo gave her a little push. 

Y/N scattered out of the DAMS garage, trying hard not to look like a fool as she tried to walk as fast as she could to Parc Fermé. She hoped she would be on time and not miss it, cause otherwise it wasn't worth it speeding past all these people and almost running into them. 

Ollie, Enzo and Théo already stood on the podium when she finally made it there, relief going through knowing that she wasn't too late for his special moment. The youngest Leclerc slowed down her steps, wanting to stay for as long as she could without being photographed or appearing on the large screen. 

The British national anthem started playing, Ollie visibly scanning the crowd in hopes he would spot a certain person. 

Luckily for him, he found her. 

It was like fate had schemed the moment; Y/N looked up at Ollie right as he looked down at her- their eyes finding one another. 

A rush of confidence went through Ollie's body, aware of the incredible feat he just achieved that won't be repeated any time soon. They held eye contact, and the young girl nearly stopped in her tracks as she shared a special moment with the boy she had grown very fond of over the last 9 months. 

Ollie surprised by sending a wink her way, clearly not having done it a lot as he closed both of his eyes while doing it. Her cheeks flushed, flustered by the unexpected action that put a small smile on the Brit's face. 

Despite her unhurried steps, she had reached the end of Parc Fermé. In a moment of bravery, she gave her boyfriend a quick wave before making her way to the Ferrari hospitality. 

Y/N pulled out her phone and opened her Whatsapp, typing a message she knew would make the Prema driver laugh. 

| y/n ❤: very proud of u, oliver winkman x 

Liked by olliebearman, arthur_leclerc and 112.628 others

ynleclerc a nice weekend in baku 🇦🇿 I’m very proud of my brother and the entire ferrari team 🏎️🧸🚦🥉

View all 1.016 comments

| lorenzotl family time 😍

— ynleclerc ❤️

| charles_leclerc merci, bébé!❤️

— ynleclerc ❤️

| piarlesfanforlife NOT THE CAT PIC 😭 Y/N YOURE TOO FUNNY

| ferratifosi1655 the leclerc siblings >>>>

| scuderia_ferrari Grazie, Y/N! ❤️ Cut The Cat will miss you!

— ynleclerc I will miss him too! 🐈‍⬛😢

| gino_rosato FAMILY ❤️

| sharl1lechair6 the hug between Y/N and charles at the podium was the highlight of the race

| softforbearman8 the teddy bear emoji… and ollie liked the post… 👀

— sainzleclercfan pls don’t 😒 that is such a stretch

— softforbearman8 it’s just an observation!

— centraleclercs wasn’t Y/N dating paul aron? I swear that was a thing 🤔

— formulaofaron it was a rumour a while ago, but nothing was ever confirmed

— sainzleclercfan Charles made a Instagram story weeks ago asking for privacy! Haven’t you learned by now to just leave their family alone? 😤

taglist :: @missskid @maxiel-jpg @glitterquadricorn @stillbreathin @obsessed-fan-alert @booknerd2004-blog @kageyamama-hinatatata @reblog-princess-blog @maezenin12 @gly-exe @lighttsoutlewis @topguncultleader @jaydensluv @nora_moon @erinisrightheree @7leb-kakaw @theamazingsimp @lovelyxlily @princessmiaelicia @mehrmonga @champomiel @rowansshit @mbappebby @maemaesthoughts @g4ns3y @im_mi @gracesferrari @67-angelofthelordme-67 @harrysdimple05 @ijustwantavacation @livinglifebeingme @Judgemental-Raven

if you want to be added to the taglist, please fill in the form !

[chrissdollie]

brat tamer matt x yn ?

hi!! to the other anon who req headcanons for brat!tamer matt, those'll come out later !

matt's little brat ♡

summary: matt giving the reader silent treatment to teach her a lesson bc shes being bratty :C warnings/notes: cursing, matt is kinda giving sugar bf vibes, silent treatment from matt, reader is a brat obv she may even get on UR nerves a little, NOT PROOFREAD!! wc: 1k

lets say you're out at the pool. matt's been ready to go, but he's let you have your fun. but he's tired and you guys have been out for hours!

you work hard too! he acts so big and tough as if he does all the work around here. yeah sure, he goes to work all day. but.. you uh.. you do...

you know what, let's just move on :)

when he's finally had enough of your excuses to stay, he snaps. "i said, let's go." his stern voice and impatient face makes you want to stomp your foot on the ground like a child. but you don't, you simply keep the annoyed look on your face. you fold your arms before snatching your stuff and walking to his car. he follows you, a small grin on his face.

you hate being pushed around, liked having freedom. matt always waited for you to say the 'lets go'. but not today. you begin to rant in the car when he's driving home. "i don't understand why i had to go! you could've left and i coulda caught a cab back. or i could've called nate."

the last part of your irritated ramble got to matt a bit. he frowned. nate, his best friend, always had a little bit of a thing for you, though he never gave him any trouble for it. nate's a good guy and he'd never step where he knows he's not welcome. but if you said the magic words, he'd totally try to get with you.

you're usually a good girl, however. you're aware of nate's feelings for you which is why you brought his name up to push your boyfriend's buttons.

this is when he starts to give you the silent treatment. not to punish you, though. he's just waiting for you to cool off. you continue to bitch and whine about how he was barely even interacting with you at the pool. he was on the lounge chair for most of the time and you were in the water by yourself like a loser. little do you know, he was busy on his phone looking at tiffany tennis bracelets to buy you for your one year anniversary

once you arrive at his apartment, you don't wait for him to come around to your side of the car to open the door for you. no, you grab your belongings and swing the door open aggressively. a small agitated pout has formed on your face and you rush into the lobby, leaving him behind (not really because he quickly follows you)

he can't really hold in his smirk anymore. he thinks its adorable when you get like this. all cranky and annoyed. his little brat ♡

you see this and it just makes you even more upset. but what really does it for you is when you two step into the elevator and he doesn't touch you at all. it's just you two and he's not giving you a sloppy kiss to get you all flustered. he doesn't even wrap his arm around your waist.

you practically sprint out of the elevator when you reach his floor. you get to the door and realize you left the key at your house, so you have to wait for him. you turn towards him with your arms crossed and suck your teeth impatiently. he doesn't make any effort to walk quicker though. he just smiles lazily, flinging the keys around on his finger.

"hurry up." you demand

he breaks eye contact, unlocking the door. you push past him to get inside first. you throw your stuff down on his leather couch and run into the en suite, locking the door when you get inside. he scoffs, his tongue swiping over his teeth in amusement.

almost two hours later, this little charade is still going on. you're only half as mad as you were before. to be honest, you were kinda tired of this act. you wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss his pretty face. but you're too petty to give in so easily

"you're so fucking mean!" you whine out, rolling your eyes when he looks up from his laptop with both eyebrows raised. he still doesn't speak, quickly removing his attention from you and back to his screen. "stop ignoring me." you spit. you're used to getting what you want from matt, so this really bothers you.

he chuckles. "mean, hm? aw, baby. you're gonna make me cry." he toys with you, pushing you further. whatever, you don't care. atleast he's talking now. you scoff, "i hope so!" though your words have no malice. he pushes his laptop off him and to the side. he pats his lap, testing to see what you'd do.

you fold your arms again and huff. you shake your head, your mouth closed shut. he sighs and mutters an "okay." he turns off his lamp and goes back on his computer. now you feel terrible. you want to beg for forgiveness and apologize for being such a punk. you're sleepy and there's no way you're gonna be able to without his comfort.

your forced angry face slowly contorts into a sad pout. your eyes get glossy and you get in bed next to him. "matt." you whisper, pulling gently on his arm. he holds in his smile, turning to look at you. you rest your head on his shoulder. "m sorry.. you're not mean at all. you're perfect."

he kisses your head sweetly. "that's okay, my love. you were just a little cranky today, huh?" he coos, and you nod your head tiredly, your vision already beginning to falter. he sees this, turns off his laptop, and puts it down on his nightstand. he pulls you to lay down so you can sleep. you rest your hand on his cheek, his stubble pricking you.

you slowly lean in to kiss his lips. his hand grabs your hip, licking your bottom lip. you pull back shyly and smile. he toothily grins. "such a bratty girl, aren't cha?" he teases, poking your side.

THIS IS KINDA SLOPPY SORRY </3 i have so much thoughts abt brat!reader x matt rn so theyre all kinda jumbled hehe

tags!! <3 @stargirlsturniololover @junnniiieee07 @mattsneezing @freshloveee @freshsturns @emma4eva

[revasserium]

butterfly lovers opla zoro screaming crying throwing up

butterfly lovers

opla!zoro; 7,106 words; fluff, kind of childhood friends to lovers, slowburn af, nsfw, pron with TOO MUCH plot, opla!canon divergence, ships doctor!reader, fem!reader, riding, "good girl", emotional sex

summary: yours and zoro's story, from two different perspectives.

a/n: @halfvalid this is ur fault. take responsibility pls. also the smut is literally just one part of a larger story, but it does actually get explicit so. do with that info what u will u__u.

false start.

most good stories, scholars and storytellers would both agree, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. though, famously, not necessarily in that order. and this particular story — well, it has several places one might call the beginning. and one of them is here — in shimotsuki village, in a patch of rich green forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and earth.

it would be a lie to say that the story begins here, at a doujou where eight year old boys and nine year old girls swing wooden swords hundreds of thousands of times each day. where you’d seen zoro for the very first time.

the story could have started here, but alas, it did not.

because you see, you’d never been great, or even particularly good at swordsmanship. and zoro — zoro was one of the best. even from the beginning, his raw, unfettered talent was a force to be reckoned with. but the reckoning came in the form of the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, and you were no more part of zoro’s story then than a drop of ink in a midnight ocean — lost to the tumultuous waves of childhood tedium, of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

but you’d known him then, watched him as he grew, as he got better and better and better. bigger, stronger, quicker, sharper. and beside him was kuina, steady as the shifting tides, relentless in her efficacy, tireless in her craft. he was good, but she was better.

until one day, when very suddenly, she wasn’t.

the story, as it is, does not start here, because you’d made the solemn walk to kuina’s funeral altar with the rest of the students at the doujou in complete silence, had knelt there in equal silence and watched as sensei had bestowed the wadou ichimonji upon zoro, watched as he had gripped the sword with both hands, his knuckles going white as the sword’s moon-washed sheath, and bowed his head in acceptance.

it does not start here because later, instead of following the same, silent procession of kids back to the doujou’s main compound, you’d slipped away, silent as a shadow, and sprinted through the wide, cedar forest to a secret, open patch of grass where the sun bled from a stretch of endless sky blue enough to sting, and tiny little white-petaled flowers had sprung from the still-damp earth, turning their faces towards the coming spring.

you’d run, screaming through the field till you’d run out of breath to scream with, and collapsed among the tiny white flowers, panting and staring up at the endless blue sky, feeling the helplessness pulse through your veins. because even though kuina hadn’t been your friend — you’d exchanged perhaps a handful of words in all the years you’d spent here — she’d been a constant presence in your life. and now, she was gone. and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

you laid there for longer than you can remember, and then, as the sun finally dipped beyond the far horizon and the darkness grew longer than the sea was wide, you got up and trudged towards the clearing’s edge. only to find a small creature huddled against the trunk of a thin sapling tree — it looked like nothing more than a bundle of white-spotted fur, and it took you a long moment to realize that it was a fawn, curled into a pile of gnarled roots, shivering, eye wet and wide and terrified.

you blinked, staring at it for a few seconds before you’d noticed the gash on it’s hind leg, jutting out at an uncomfortable angle. your heart had stuttered inside your chest, and you’d dropped down to your hands and knees, cooing softly as you slowly approached the creature, trying to look as unmenacing as possible.

“hey there… are you hurt?” you’d said, crawling towards it, trying very hard to make your movements as slow and smooth as possible.

the fawn shivered as it stares at you, apparently caught between sheer terror and curiosity. you tried to smile, before digging into your pockets and pulling out a handful of peanuts, offering them to the fawn on an open palm.

“c’mon, i’m not gonna hurt you… i just wanna take a look… at that leg of yours, can i do that?” you’d asked, inching in closer and closer until the fawn’s warm, wet nose dug into your palm, it’s smooth-edged teeth grazing your skin as it crunched through the peanuts. you took the chance to glance down at it’s injured leg — it wasn’t a deep wound, but judging by the angle, it was a bit dislocated and would need to be set back right if the fawn was ever going to walk again.

slowly, you reached out a free hand to gently stroke at the fawns haunches, feeling it’s muscles tense up beneath you, even as it continues to snuffle against your palm, eager for any remnants of the peanut shells. you ran your hand along it’s leg and quick as a flash, you pressed against the odd jutting of bone, even as it snapped back into place with a satisfying crack.

the fawn made a shrill, screeching noise, jerking to its feet, but a moment later, it seemed to realize that it’s leg was no longer hurting. you held up both your hands in what you hoped was a calming gesture before tugging out a few more peanuts holding it out as an offering.

the fawn blinks it’s dark, watery eyes at you a few times before limping forward to dig its nose once more into your palm. you allowed yourself a smile then, and a soft relieved laugh as the fawn limped forward a few more steps, testing the weight of it’s body on its newly repaired leg. it looked more confident now, seemingly realizing that the wound was somewhat fixed, and it gave you one last, lingering look before it bounded off back into the sunset forest, leaving you with nothing more than a handful of peanut shells and a tightness in your chest you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.

you’d snuck back into the doujou that evening, smelling of mud and moss and cedar, and you’d lain in your futon, staring up at the high slatted ceilings, streaked with moonlight, wondering where on earth you truly belonged.

the next morning, everyone woke to neatly a folded futon and a wooden training katana, the hilt carved with your name, laid across your pillow.

so you see, the story could have started here. but it didn’t. and perhaps we should be thankful for that.

the cost of ambition.

the story, as we know it, starts then at the baratie, on the morning after a meal was eaten and not properly paid for, after an ill-fated duel between a boy with a mouthful of ambitions and a man who’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly surprised. well, he was surprised that morning, watching the boy fall back with a gash the size of the world spurting blood across the docks.

“grow strong,” he’d said, “and come find me.”

and it starts, when a pirate in a straw hat comes crashing into the baratie’s kitchen, shouting about a dying friend.

“help! help! zoro… zoro needs a doctor!”

“whoa, whoa, slow down, chore boy — i can’t understand a word you’re saying,” zeff holds up a hand to stem luffy’s panicked rambling.

“my friend is dying…”

“the nearest doctor’s on the conomi islands —”

“wait, no —” sanji frowns, cutting zeff off, “lemme look at the reservations from last night —” he hurries off to the front desk and returns with a thick leather bound volume, flipping it open to scan through the seating chart for the night before.

“i knew it!” he says, pointing at a name written in deep, ocean blue ink, “there — her! i’ve heard of her — she’s the best ship’s doctor in the east blue, and if i’m not much mistaken, her ride’s not due to leave till this afternoon.”

“great! c’mon — we haven’t got time to lose!” luffy says as he rushes out of the kitchens, leaving sanji and zeff to exchange an exasperated look before following after.

they find you on the loading docks, your nose buried in a notebook, your hand flying across the page, ink smudging your unrolling sleeve.

“please! we need a doctor! my friend — zoro — he’s dying!”

you jerk up from your notes, the name ringing in your ears like an alarm bell, rocking through your body like the base boom of a signal flare. zoro? here?

you look around even as luffy makes his way to you, pressing in too close, a hand on top of his head to keep his hat from flying away, the other curling around your upper arm.

“w-wait — what’s going on? did you say someone was dying?”

“yes! my friend! he got into a fight with this warlord guy and now he’s bleeding from everywhere —”

“show me,” you say, lurching to your feet and shouldering your leather knapsack, pursing your lips as your vision threatens to tunnel ahead of you. zoro. it’s been such a long time since you’d heard that name. sure, you’d heard of his exploits in the east blue. how could you not have?

demon, bounty, pirate hunter. hunter, hunter, hunter —

you take a deep breath as luffy leads you onto the deck of the going merry and ducks below, motioning for you to follow.

when you step into the room, you don’t notice the orange-haired girl or the long-nosed boy, instead, your eyes are drawn to the body on the kitchen table as a magnet would a compass rose. his shirt torn into barely more than ribbons, a large red gash oozing blood, bisecting his torso like some unbridgeable canyon in miniature, his skin paler than you’d ever remembered it being, sweat beading his flickering brow —

oh, zoro…

you resist the urge to press your hand to your mouth. so instead, you swallow back your heart and try to assess the damage. massive blood loss, possible head trauma, and who knows what else?

“you said a warlord with a giant sword did this?” you ask, hurrying to the table and frowning down at the gaping wound.

“y-yeah — he — he had a big hat with a white feather on it —” luffy starts.

“mihawk. his name was dracule mihawk,” the orange-haired girl cuts in, her voice sharp and a bit too forced to be steady, “he told zoro to get stronger, and that… it wasn’t his time to die yet.”

you grimace, chewing on your bottom lip as you dump your supplies unceremoniously onto the countertop next to him, digging out the necessities.

“well, he wasn’t lying — the cut’s clean and judging by the size… he could’ve cut much deeper. but he didn’t,” you sigh, absently rolling up your sleeves as you pull out a hooked suture needle and a length of thread.

they watch you work in silence, first cleaning the wound, and then slowly, painstakingly pinching and stitching him back together. by the end of it, you’re nearly dizzy with exhaustion, and the sky outside has already turned a deep, bruising purple.

you sigh, wiping down your hands.

“can someone go and ask the waiter for a fish? any fish’ll do, but the fresher, the better. oh, and a bottle of scotch.”

“got it!” the boy with the long nose bolts up and is gone in a flash.

you slump down into a nearby chair and let your head loll back. a moment later, you feel someone pressing a glass into your hand and open your eyes to find the orange-haired girl holding a glass of water.

“here… you looked like you could use it.”

“thanks,” you say, taking a grateful gulp.

“i’m nami, by the way… thanks for —” she waves at the shape of zoro still on the kitchen table, “and that one over there is luffy. the guy that just left is usopp and —” her breath catches as her eyes fall back onto zoro’s form.

“i know who he is,” you say, your voice quiet as you look down at the glass clutched in your hands.

“you know zoro?” luffy’s voice is loud, but not unpleasantly so.

you glance up and feel the truth pulsing against the back of your throat like a heartbeat. then, you shake your head with a soft smile.

“i mean, he’s got quite the reputation.”

luffy lets out a laugh, “yeah! he sure does — he’s a great fighter! probably one of the best i’ve ever seen!”

you nod, staring at the sloshing liquid in the bottom of your glass.

a few moments later, usopp returns with sanji in tow, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a dead fish in the other.

“you’d better have a good reason for this,” he says, his expression grim, “zeff’s not gonna be happy when he finds these gone.”

you force a smile, “well, i can promise that at least one of those things’ll be put to good use — can you just skin the fish for me, please?”

sanji frowns, “and the scotch?”

you glance around before shrugging, “i don’t know about you guys but… i think we could all use a drink.”

the cliche of the morning after.

when zoro wakes up the first time, it’s to a world-muffling quiet. he coughs, uncertain of where he is, his head throbbing, his chest feeling too light and too heavy all at once.

“oh! you’re awake — here… have some water. you’ll need it.”

he hears the voice, both familiar and foreign, and then, he feels the cool press of a glass against his lips.

he gulps down the water greedily before pain rockets through him and he lets out a loud groan.

“i… i had a dream…” he says, his head spinning, the words slurring from him, and for a second, he wonders if he’d just been fed alcohol instead of water, but the pain seizes him again and he can’t stop talking.

“yeah? what did you dream about?” the familiar, foreign voice asks, soothing, as a cold palm presses against his forehead.

“shimotsuki village… i — i made a promise. i told her — i’d be the greatest… swordsman…”

his voice is fading, and the world is fading with it.

“yeah… you did, huh? and i’m sure you’ll fulfill it, one day…”

zoro sighs, sinking gratefully into the warm, welcoming arms of darkness once more.

“but not today,” you say, reaching out to wipe the sweat from zoro’s brow, your voice so soft that you’re sure no one else can hear, “today… you just need to keep on living. and that’s the greatest promise you could ever make to me.”

smooth sailing.

when he wakes up proper, you aren’t there to greet him. but he doesn’t miss the shape of you as they all pile onto the merry to go looking for nami. he doesn’t miss sanji’s too-wide grin or the unpleasant, burning itch that shoots through his healing wound as he watches the cook ask you about your favorite foods.

he keeps quiet for the most part, but you find him still, and you ask him how he’s doing with a ship’s doctor’s professionalism and efficiency.

“how’re you healing?”

“fine.”

“any tenderness?” you ask, your brows knitting as he tugs open his shirt and lets you peel the bandages away.

“not really,” he lies, because the the tenderness is not skin deep. he feels it in the labyrinthine galleys of his soul and he can’t quite figure out why you, of all people, might make him feel this way.

you run a surgical hand along the stretch of puckered skin and he sucks in a long breath, feeling his cheeks flood with inexplicable heat.

you smell of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth and for the life of him, he can’t remember why it makes his entire body go soft with memory. it reminds him of… something.

something, something, something.

“i hear you, y’know,” you say, and he jerks back to the present, with you absently rolling up your shirtsleeves before tugging at a fresh piece of gauze to wrap him back up.

“don’t know what you mean.” he looks away, willing himself to stay still as you daub a pungent cream against his chest before applying the layers of bandage. he lifts his arm to give you more room even as you shoot him a disbelieving look.

“sword practice, in the middle of the night. i told you that you need to rest — you’ll only prolong your own healing if you keep on pushing yourself like this. rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro narrows his eyes. because he’d heard that from someone, somewhere before.

“your bodies need time to repair,” his sensei used to say as they all gathered after dinner at the doujou for evening meditation, “and a disciplined mind leads to a disciplined body. don’t forget that rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro had never been good at it, but over the years, he’d managed to endure.

“there. all done.”

you lean back to admire your handiwork, unaware of zoro’s eyes as they scan over the shape of you, taking in the length of your hair, the bright of your eyes, the limber, spider-quick thinness of your hands and fingers.

“thanks,” he says, slipping off the kitchen table, pausing as he notices how still you’ve gone, your eyes wide as you blink at the planes of his chest, inches from your nose. a second later, you stumble back, clearing your throat, a sweet dawning pink dusts the high of your cheeks as he cocks his head to watch you, fascinated by your reaction.

he almost grins, letting his stomach flex as he takes his time in doing up the buttons of his shirt, before grabbing his swords and slipping from the room, leaving you to clean up your medical supplies, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

zoro wonders, just briefly, how it might feel to catch your lips between his own teeth instead.

ink, skin, and bullets.

it’s you who bandages nami’s self-inflicted wounds, you who spends four meticulous hours tattooing over the sawfish curl with a pinwheel spiral that curves into a tangerine’s plumpness. you, who soothes eucalyptus balm over nami’s arm before wrapping it up in a fresh roll of gauze, waving away her hiccupped thanks.

and it’s you, who gets a shotgun pressed into your palms by a stony-faced nojiko as you all prepare to march on arlong park.

“if i can’t go with you… then at least, i can give you the tools,” nojiko says as she wraps your fingers around the butt of the gun.

zoro narrows his eyes as he watches the way your fingers shake as you weigh the shotgun in your palms.

“i don’t like it,” he says.

“yeah, you shouldn’t come with us — we’ll need you to patch us up after,” sanji agrees with a wink, much to zoro’s displeasure.

but you shake your head, a steely light in your eyes as you clutch the shotgun to your chest, “no, i — i want to come. i mean — like luffy said… it’s our fight, after all.”

arlong park.

the flurry of battle is as it always has been. you use the shotgun more as a blunt instrument than as a projectile carrier, but it seems to work just as well. you’re small, and quick, and your knowledge of anatomy (yes, even fishman anatomy) allows you to maneuver the head of the shotgun into the softest, most venerable places on a fishman’s body as you all fight your way through arlong park.

but zoro is never far off, keeping close to you as he fends off the worst of the snarling fishmen, his sword flashing like fish scales in the midday sun.

there comes a moment when he slices an oncoming fishman right through the jugular that you let out a long breath, wincing as the fishman’s body hits the ground with a dull thud, and zoro sighs, turning towards you. but a second later, he freezes as you grab the hilt of his sword and shove it backwards.

he feels it resting against thick, bullet-proof flesh and he hears the loud panting of something next to his ear as he sees in the reflection of your eyes — a fishman standing behind him, frozen against the tip of his blade, the hilt clutched in your shaking, shivering hands.

“d-don’t — i’ll kill you —” you say, your voice a forceful, fractured thing.

zoro searches your eyes before clasping his hands over yours and slowly tugging the sword from your gasp.

“hey…” he says, deliberately drawing your gaze away from the fishman before he jerks his sword back and feels, with a satisfying shink, the weight of the blade sinking into unforgiving flesh. he feels your fingers trembling beneath his as he pulls the sword away, and the fishman behind him sinks to his knees before falling sideways with the dull thunk of a no longer animate body.

you try to tug away, but zoro holds you steady, running his thumb in soothing circles along the backs of your hands.

“s-sorry — i — i couldn’t —”

zoro shakes his head, pulling you up by your elbow.

“it’s okay — don’t apologize.” he whips his swords around and catches another fishman in the stomach, dropping him with a flicker of silver and a splash of red.

“you never have to apologize…” he says, as he reaches for your hands and curls them in the warmth of his own, callused palms.

finding neverland.

you kiss for the first time after a brutal battle. after the deck has been washed of blood and the railings have been hung with the remnants of the tattered sails.

repairs are much needed, but zoro had saved you yet again. you pull him to you in the darkness of the midnight deck, the crow’s nest empty because, well, he’s supposed to be up there, keeping watch. but you’d caught him instead, curling your fingers into the soft linen of his shirt, your mouth seeking out his in the relative dark.

“mnph —”

he grunts as his hands find purchase against your shoulders, pressing you back and back and back, till you’re pushed flush against the thick totem of the main mast, and your panting breaths are all he can taste against his desperate lips.

“s-sorry…” you let out a helpless laugh as he pushes forward, his teeth clacking against yours.

“quit that,” he says, his voice nothing more than a panting breath on the open sea air.

“hm?” you blink, lashes fluttering in the moonless night, your lips kiss-swollen and delectable even as zoro forces himself to pull back, studying you with an accusatory eye.

“you’re always saying sorry,” he says as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek. above you, the main sail whoomps, catching an evening wind.

“i’m not… i don’t…” you look away, embarrassed to be caught. zoro reaches down to grab your chin, forcing your head back towards him.

“yeah, you do,” he says, his voice gentle, even as he cups your cheek.

“you don’t ever, ever, have to apologize for just... being you. got it?” and there’s a burning ember in the spark of his voice as he twists your face up towards him, his lips hot and hungry as he brands you with this promise, and you’re powerless to do else but accept it.

you find your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his breath cascading over your lips even as you press in close, close, closer. a helpless whine twists its way up the back of your throat as zoro hoists you up, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs.

“z-zoro… please,” there’s something broken in the tenor of your voice that breaks him more completely than he has the words to describe, so he settles for holding you tighter over his hips and carrying you to his room. it takes a bit of finagling to get you comfortably situated in his hanging bed, but once he does, he can’t help the soft sigh that escapes him as he looks over the length of your body.

from your pink-flushed cheeks to the loose, crumpled material of your button up shirt, all the way down to the hem of your skirt as it brushes up along the skin of your thighs. he leans own to press an indulgent kiss into the dip of your collarbone.

“'please' though… i like a little bit more,” he says, reaching down to pop the top button of your shirt, to revel in the way you hiccup as he teases a line down your chest, his lips following his fingers as he undoes your buttons one by one.

“i — ah —” your fingers curl into the soft moss of his hair and he groans, long and lush into the creamy expanse of skin above the waist of your miniskirt.

“again…” zoro says, whispering the word against you, tugging on the elastic of your skirt, pulling them down the length of your legs.

“z-zoro, please!”

your head tips back as you feel his tongue flick over the hot button of your clit, his fingers digging into your hips, the pads of his forefingers tracing gentle circles around your hip bones as he holds you to his mouth and moans.

there’s a fumbling of fingers and a clashing of teeth as he wrenches himself up from between your legs to mouth at your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue and shiver at the indecency. still, the coals of desire burn in the pit of your stomach as his fingers press into your spit-slicked folds and you feel your whole body arch up in response.

he has always been quiet, but none more so than when he’s working three digits into your fluttering core, his eyes dark and fixed as they watch his own fingers pull out of you and push back in, slick and shiny with the evidence of your arousal.

“fuck…” he whispers the word like a prayer, slipping passed his lips like some holy thing. you can hear the near reverence in his voice as he slowly removes his hand and presses them to his lips for a taste. the lewdness of it makes the hot coil in the pit of your stomach twist all the tighter. and this time, when he drags himself up the length of your body to kiss you, you whine against his mouth, tasting your own tang on the heat of his tongue.

“ngh — fuck —!” you echo, as he flips onto his back and tugs you over his hips in one, fluid moment, his palms helping you grind your sodden folds over the length of his cock, the friction all-consuming and dizzying. a thin string of arousal connecting the tip of his cock to the seam of your cunt and zoro is helpless to do much else but moan thickly at the sight.

“shit.”

you whimper softly as he teases at your entrance, your palms splayed against his chest for support, your thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he eases you down inch by slow, excruciating inch, ontohis thick, throbbing cock. you toss your head back as he pushes into you, the fit of him fiery-tight and stretching you in ways you’d never thought was possible.

you feel him pulsing against your walls, and you wish briefly that you could’ve tasted him as he’d tasted you, before he sheathed himself inside you. how would he taste, you wondered, and you feel your mouth water at the thought of his heavy, salty weight on your tongue.

“n-ngh!” your voice cracks as he rocks his hips experimentally against yours, the drag of him inside you driving you to near incoherence.

“good girl,” he whispers, the words falling from him like second nature. you keen beneath his praise, bracing yourself as he plants his feet on the bed and jack hammers up into you, his stomach tensing in deep breaths of tight, sinewy muscle, his arms flexing as he helps you rock down above him.

“pretty… fucking… girl…” he intersperses his heavy groans of pleasure with soft exclamations, fucking you now to the light, rhythmic rocking of the ship, even though there’s nothing light about the way his cock bullies it’s way into your cunt again and again, forcing you to clamp down around him on each and every thrust.

there’s nothing gentle about the way he digs his nails into the flushed skin of your hips, how he leans up to latch his greedy mouth onto one of your pert nipples, moaning as he savors in the way you arch against him, pushing your chest more fully into his mouth.

“r-right — right there —”

“yeah?” he asks, half-smirking as he looks up at you, his warm gaze betraying the hard, teasing edge behind his voice, “where do you want me?”

you keen, whining as you drag your hands down your own body to press against your stomach, grabbing his hand to push it against you as well, his palm hot and flat as it lays along your tummy.

“r-right here —”

“fuck — that’s right —” he jerks up into you, burying his face in your chest with a clipped moan as he quickens his pace, his one hand pressing against your stomach as you feel him pushing up farther into you than you’d ever imagined possible.

the pleasure is intense, an other-worldly feeling as he finally pushes you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, your arms winding around his torso, to act as both tether and tide as he holds you to him, grounding you to this feeling while simultaneously casting you against the rough edges of this most selfless and selfish pleasure.

“h-holy… fuck me…” you breathe out, clutching at zoro’s back, digging ruddy red grooves into his shoulder blades as he rolls over to fucks down into you, relentless in his chase of his own climax, groaning deep and throaty as he finally spills into you.

you hiss as you feel the heat of him pooling inside. and it’s not till a few minutes later that he picks his head up from where his face had been buried in your neck to shoot you a wide, lopsided grin.

“yeah, pretty sure that’s what i just did,” he says, rolling onto his side and letting out a deep, soul-steadying breath.

you roll your eyes before turning to look at him, only to find him watching you with a gentle, anchoring softness. and like this, it’s hard to see him as the battle-hardened warrior. like this, it’s hard to imagine that he’d ever made such a promise as to become the greatest swordsman in the whole, entire world.

like this, he just looks like a lovestruck boy, forced to grow up much too soon, searching for any remnants of pleasure he might have left to hold on to.

an irony of hands.

it’s never easy, the night after enemy raids, the deck pooling with bodies and blood, the sea the color of a scabbing wound, flotsam and jetsam like bloated body parts floating on the dark, inky waves.

you’re helping usopp push some of the dead bodies overboard, but then you find one man with three deep gashes on his torso and blood bubbling on his lips.

“… gonna… gonna report — never… escape…”

you nearly yell as you see the tiny den den mushi in his hands, his fingers quivering as he tries to dial the emergency line. you smack it from his hand and press your tiny, surgeon’s scalpel to his throat. it’s sweet, polished silver gleams wicked beneath the moonless night.

“don’t you fucking dare,” you say, even though your voice shakes, and there are perhaps a million other ways of taking care of him more easily. but you know that if you throw him overboard now, he’d bob, half-drowning and helpless, for a few hours, or maybe even days before he’d finally succumb to the terrible, patient drag of the ocean (and most likely, dehydration).

“no,” a voice says, steady and firm, as a long, rough-fingered hands enter your vision and carefully tug your hands way from the man’s throat.

you look up to find zoro, his hand still clutched around yours, an unspoken sweetness flickering behind his eyes.

“i — if we toss him over — he'll just —” you swallow thickly, tearing your gaze away from zoro’s face as his expression shifts into something of the unreadable and soft. you hate to let him see you like this, so hesitant, so incompetent.

“let me do it,” zoro says, giving your hands a light shove before, with one swift arc of his blade, he severs the man’s carotid, leaving him slumped and bleeding on the blood-stained deck.

“oh… oh god…” you press your shaking fingers to your lips, the silver scalpel falling with a loud clatter.

“c’mere,” zoro says, tugging you up and leading you down to the hallway below decks. he slows as the pair of you enter the darkest part of the hallway, and he turns to hold you at arms length, his fingers tight on your arms as you feel his eyes scanning you over, and over, and over.

“you’re not hurt?” he asks, voice quiet and clipped.

“no,” you shake your head.

“not even a little?”

you shake your head again, pursing your lips this time to keep the sob from pouring through.

still, he sees it, and he pulls you to him, cradling your head in his large, warm palm, the other arm wrapping around your middle.

“stupid girl,” he murmurs, light, into your cheek even as you let out a bitten off sob against his chest.

you hiccup, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt, "i — i couldn’t do it,” you say, squeezing your eyes as he holds you to him and lets you cry.

“i — i couldn’t kill him.”

zoro sighs, pulling back to smooth a hand over your hair, bringing it down to cup your now tear-stained cheek.

“yeah, i know. but that’s not what your hands are made for,” he says, letting his own hands trail down and down and down, till he’s got both of your palms cupped in his like a wishbone.

“don’t you get it?” he asks, staring down at your palms, upturned against his, “these hands were never made for taking lives…” he looks up, his eyes too bright in this borrowed darkness. and then, he smiles.

“they were made for saving lives instead.”

confessions, part i.

you stare at him for a full ten seconds before letting your body fall laxed into a soft, bubbling fit of champagne-colored laughter.

“i love you,” you say, the words tumbling from you, more truth than any story or poem or legend or myth either of you have ever heard.

“i love you, zoro,” you say again, tasting the words on your tongue like fireworks, like pop-rock candies, like the first, stinging breath of autumn after the hazy veil of summer has finally lifted. and slowly, in the clarity and truth of your declaration, you think you can see his lips as they lift up in an open-heart smile, as he too tastes the words you’ve just so recently mustered the courage to say.

confessions, part ii.

zoro stares back, and or a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. then, for too long. and you think you’d made a mistake, telling him how you feel. but then, he smiles — a true smile, a smile that lights up his face and erases all the grooves and lines that should’ve been worn there by the weathers and weights of hardship.

and still, listening to your words, he smiles — a smile that makes him nothing short of incandescent.

he nods, squeezing your hands in his.

“i love you too.”

false start (redux).

every story as a beginning, a middle, and an end. though not necessarily in that order. and, looking back, roronoa zoro knows that if he had to pick, his story probably begins here — at the ripe age of eight, in a doujou nestled next to a forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth.

it probably starts with an endless parade of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

its true — it could be said that his story starts with kuina, the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, who was better at swordcraft than zoro thought he ever might be. and to some, this is a good enough kind of beginning to latch on to.

but no, zoro knows, because he knows himself now, and he knows that stories, just like swordsmanship, is an art that requires a certain amount of tempering. a certain degree of trimming and tailoring. a certain kind of articulation.

so he’s certain that it starts here, when he’d seen you for the very first time. and it’s true, you’d seemed like nothing special then, just another quiet little girl who’d been forced into the doujou by some faceless set of rigid, expectant parents, and you’d worked just as hard as you could have, given your natural inclination for anything but sword play.

he’d known that you’d never be great shakes at swordsmanship, but still, he’d found himself drawn by and to you, as a magnet would a compass rose, as one might find their destiny, or their soulmate. he had found his eyes tracking you whenever you weren’t looking, found himself watching as you’d patter around after sparring practice to ask everyone how they were feeling, to dig your tiny fingers (strong and dexterous as they already were) into a knot here, an aching muscle there, a pinched nerve that might’ve been really bad if not found here, and left to fester in that vast, horrible elsewhere.

but he’d been a shy, quiet, kind of boy, absorbed by his sport. and kuina’s skill was more than enough for one growing, teenage boy to contend with without worrying about the strange attraction he had towards perhaps the least “swordsy” person in the entire class. and so, he’d never plucked up the courage to talk to you, never questioned when you’d kept away from his side of the classroom after sparring practice, when all the other girls would flutter around him like a flock of unwelcome pigeons, asking if he wanted to be their stretching partner.

then, the morning came when shimotsuki-sensei had informed him in not so many words that kuina was gone. and the funeral had slipped by in a hazy blur of bodies and incense, and the next thing he knew, he was holding the wadou ichimonji, and sensei was saying something about keeping kuina’s dream alive.

he’d seen you flit from the funeral march of black-clad children, shadow-dark and raven-quick, right off into the thicket of trees. and he’d followed you, because he couldn’t think of a place he’d like to be less than back in that suffocating practice room with all his fellow classmates, half of them casting him curious looks, the other half avoiding his gaze like the literal plague.

he’d followed you to the clearing, and watched as you’d sprinted, screaming around the field of tiny, white-petaled flowers until you slumped down, panting with your face upturned to a sea-breeze sky. he caught himself before he could burst out laughing (or crying, he wasn’t quite sure which he wanted to do more at that moment), and he’d forced himself to sit still behind the trunk of a large tree and watch as you pushed yourself up. the light of the dying sun washed your figure in a great, dream-like ream of orange and gold.

then, just as it seemed like you were going to head back, he spotted you spot the injured fawn, curled into the gnarled roots of a sapling cypress tree. and he’d watched still as you slowly approached the creature with a handful of peanuts before distracting it and crack — he’d heard it clear across the clearing — the sound of a bone being set back into place.

the fawn had screeched and bolted to it’s feet.

but you were just as fearless as you always were, holding out your palm with more peanuts, and zoro had watched, with a mounting fascination coiling in the base of his stomach, as the fawn dug its nose into the palm of your hand.

he’d seen the brilliance behind your eyes, heard the bell-toll sound of your soft, everlasting laughter.

and he vowed, then and there, to become the greatest swordsman he could be, the greatest swordsman in the world, if only to protect you from those who might hurt you. from those who might threaten to take away the light — the life — that thrummed, ever present, in the palms of your very own hands.

a/n: i know, i know, there was an authors note before. but i feel like i can explain this better now that you've read the fic -- to me, the story of "butterfly lovers" is and always has been as story of someone pretending to be someone they're not, right? so in that sense, you/reader was just trying to fit into a mold that wasn't quite made for her before discovering her true calling as a doctor. and the fluff and romance was that, unbeknownst to her, zoro's known that this entire fucking time. u__u anyways. i hope you enjoyed. bless up and simp zoro, fam.

opla!zoro requests are open!

[whyareyoulookingatmelikethat]

Hiya A love your writing I was hoping you could write a twisted shelly and twisted vee x reader where the reader is miss them both dearly so they decided to go to the gift shop floor to get a plush of both of them and end up running into them on that floor.

Oms...I had SO much inspiration for this right away! I think this is my quickest story yet! Also, thank you so much for requesting! (And also being polite! ^-^)

[17]: Seams

Not much else to say for this except I think that this is a really cool request.

The elevator descends with a quiet hum, and then it’s immediately drowned out by a loud clang as the doors slowly open, nearly making you jump out of your shoes. That noise will always scare you…

The floor reveals itself as you step onto the wooden floor, purple carpet surrounding the area. Ah yes, the gift shop area. You jolt as a purple question mark symbol appears above your head.

You have to take a double take, as then ads begin clouding your vision.

You nearly cry on the spot. YOU CAME TO GET THEIR PLUSHIES, NOT BE REMINDED OF HOW THEY��RE DEAD!!

You grit your teeth, pushing onwards despite the growing pit in your chest. First you scan the area. No sight of them. That’s not good.

You sprint to the nearest rack of clothes, looking around for the source of two sets of footsteps. One heavy and loud, another more soft and gritty-sounding.

There's a flash of brown, and then Shelly walks out from around the corner. You quickly duck behind the line again as she heads to your right, towards the checkout where you stepped out from. Did she hear you or something…?

You scan the area almost robotically, looking for plushies, though you’re not the robot here. And then you see them.

Your eyes light up in excitement as you see the wide, sweet smile of Shelly’s plush, and the droopy antennae of Vee’s. You rush forward and SQUEEZE the life out of them, or you would have if they were living.

You let out a sigh of content as you gingerly pat Vee on the head and lean forward to give Shelly a kiss. But…you never make contact with any soft fabric. You open your eyes in confusion as you hear a comical squeak, and then let out a squeak of your own as you see yourself hanging above the ground.

You automatically thrash around as you hear a growl from behind you, then freeze as you’re turned to meet a very, very wide grin.

But this time, it wasn't so sweet.

You let out a quiet gasp as your eyes trail up to meet her blood-red ones, her mouth gaping open and tongue hanging out as she stares at you. Her sharp teeth glint in the artificial lighting above you and she tilts her head slightly to the right.

She doesn’t even blink.

You’re forced to cover your ears as she lets out an ear-piercing roar, rumbling through the area. You can feel water drip down your cheeks, slipping into your mouth. It tastes…salty. When had you started crying?

Not long after she finishes, her head swiveling almost 360 in a freakish manner, do you hear the second pair of footsteps on the floor.

Vee.

Couldn’t she have just eaten you yet? You don’t want to see both of your lost lovers…

Alas, the all-too familiar tv screen comes around the corner shortly after, her glare slightly faltering to look neutral. She stares at you, completely still.

There’s a strange buzzer sound, and her antennae lift slightly. You close your eyes as she steps towards you, bending down to your level. You feel a claw poke at your cheek several times, leaving a sticky sensation behind. There’s another buzzing sound, and then a hiss.

You sniff, tears pouring down your cheeks now as you’re set down. You open your eyes half-way to see an ichor-covered hand place the two plushies featuring the twisteds in front of you in your lap.

You can see the fabric soaking in the black, thick substance, staining the pure colors. You don't care if it’s messy, you immediately latch onto them and curl up into a tight ball, sobbing.

It’s silent, before you hear a hum, followed by a groan in…response?

You clutch the plushies tightly to your chest, too scared to move. You can hear clanks growing quiet, something getting farther away?

You hear a thump from beside you. The first thing you see when you open your eyes is…Shelly trying to get herself comfortable. The way her heels are lifted looks like it’s very uncomfortable for her to sit, but she tries anyways.

…You appreciate the effort. Gold star to her.

You lift your head slowly, jumping slightly at the sight of her staring at you. Some things will just…never fail to make you scared.

You feel as if she’s burning holes into your skin with her gaze, eyes laser-focused on your every movement. But she makes no effort to hurt you.

That’s good enough for you, and you break.

You don't care if she’s a monster, she’s still the sweet, lovable dinosaur lover you know. You crawl over to shakily wrap your arms as far as you can around her. There’s a significant size difference between the two of you, with you only being able to reach halfway around her waist, but you try your best.

She lets out a quiet hiss, leaning her head on yours. Her arms stay by her sides stiffly, as if she’s afraid to scratch you.

You hear the clanks grow louder again, and another hum. Then, a much louder clank from behind you, and a heavy weight on your back.

Sniffling, you clutch Shelly tighter as you’re squeezed similarly.

You want to stay like this forever.

[dedeinthewild]

PEPE WON THE SPRINT RACE OMG proud gf right here lmao jk (i’m not) can you do an imagine where they celebrate his win and it’s just so cute and there’s tears and all and he dedicate his win to the reader.

It's always so beautiful to see a first win, and Pepe's one was really something. I totally get you on the proud gf part 'cause I felt it in Quatar with Paul's amazing weekend (jk as well lol)💫

I swear I'll work on the other requests but I couldn't let this one sit :)

pepe martí x reader, established relationship

~ “That’s P1! You’re an F2 race winner!”

A flawless start.

A flawless race.

A flawless end to a season that had been anything but generous to the Spanish driver wearing number twenty-one. A season mired in crashes, gravel traps, and botched strategies.

For so long, he had watched his teammate dominate, triumphing over a grid of twenty drivers, all chasing the same dream. And now, under the fading light of Abu Dhabi—a circuit that looked upon him like a loving mother—he was about to take his first step toward that very dream.

He was defying the expectations of those who didn’t know him.

Defying the machine that had dragged him to yellow flags and the back of the pack.

And defying his own hands, which he had often blamed for his failures, as they gripped the wheel that now guided him through the curves of the circuit.

Because, for the first time from start to finish, no one had anything to say about him. No critiques. At the green flag, he’d pulled off a textbook overtake on the first two cars. Lap after lap, he had continued to hold his ground, even as titans clashed behind him in the battle for the championship.

Because he wanted to stand on that podium step, to hear his anthem play, to hear his name echo through the circuit as the sun set behind the grandstands for the season’s final race.

Joseph Maria Martí.

That enormous smile that lit up the entire paddock, the hands that whispered to the car even when it didn’t seem to understand, and the fun facts he memorized late at night just to keep the briefing rooms alive. That boy, only nineteen years old, was about to claim a victory that didn’t matter for points, rankings, or team standings.

But for him, it meant everything. It was his way of climbing back to the top.

“Last lap, Bortoleto two seconds behind,” his race engineer informed him, eyes fixed on the telemetry, waiting impatiently for Pepe to be declared the winner.

Two seconds.

They could have been two tenths, hundredths, or mere thousandths.

But it wouldn’t have mattered. Pepe would’ve claimed this track as his either way.

Because waiting for him, just beyond the finish line, were three people:

His mother, the most important person in his life, his other half, and the child version of himself—the one he’d promised to bring to the highest step of the podium.

“That’s P1! You’re an F2 race winner!” the team radio crackled, and Pepe felt his chest swell with a joy he had rarely known.

One of those feelings so profound, so overwhelming, that it made him feel like he could fly.

He screamed, letting go of all restraint, throwing his head back inside the helmet as he focused on completing his cool-down lap at Yas Marina.

His Yas Marina.

Behind him, three championship contenders had fought tooth and nail for every last point.

And maybe what made his victory even sweeter was the fact that he hadn’t carried the weight of their pressure on his shoulders.

Only wings—the wings that had allowed him to soar.

On the main straight, team media staff and families had already gathered behind the barriers, waiting for the cars to return.

And there was no better feeling than parking behind the marker labeled with a bold “1.”

“Woah, woohoo!” he shouted again, throwing his arms toward the sky as dusk descended. He closed his eyes for a second, savoring the enormity of the moment.

Him, his passion, his talent—towering over everything.

Jumping out of the car, he saw Gabriel and Paul already embraced by their families and trainers while photographers turned their lenses toward him.

He raised his index finger to display a “1,” a number that, today, belonged solely to him.

Then, his gaze landed on two familiar figures.

One, with long blonde hair and a radiant smile—his mother, her pride shining through as she stood next to Paul, who was chatting with someone nearby.

And the other, with carefully styled hair and soft features—the woman he loved, who probably felt the same exhilaration in her chest that he felt whenever he looked at her.

He ran toward them, wrapping his arms tightly around the women in his life, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath to keep his emotions in check.

“Mi bebé,” whispered the stunning señora Martí, patting the blue helmet of her son before stepping aside to let his girlfriend have her moment.

Her hands trembled slightly, and if it hadn’t been for the cameras, she might’ve shed a tear or two. She was so proud she couldn’t find the words to express it. All she wanted was for Pepe to climb that podium and lift the trophy high above his head.

“It was about time,” he said, lifting his visor to reveal the dark eyes she loved so much.

“That I won in front of you.”

She smiled, pulling him into another embrace, letting herself be enveloped by the tall, lean frame of the Campos driver. He rested his head gently against hers.

Minutes later, as they stood under the podium, she watched him step onto the highest tier and accept the trophy beneath the Spanish flag.

Beside her was Isabella, Gabriel’s other half and reigning Formula 3 champion, equally emotional as she struggled to hold her phone steady for a photo.

“It’s comforting to see someone as emotional as me,” she joked to the Brazilian, while señora Martí recorded a video of her son’s celebration.

“I could never get used to this,” the blonde replied, dabbing a tear from her cheek, her exquisite features glowing with emotion.

They both looked up.

And Pepe was smiling. Smiling so much his cheeks must have hurt. He knew, somewhere in the crowd, there was a familiar blue shirt and the most beautiful pair of reading glasses.

His victory off the track.

He never would’ve imagined that, beyond his family, someone could be so proud of him. Someone who would wait for him at the barrier, their heart full.

But she had been there—even on the days when he came home feeling unworthy of his team, the junior program, and the category that had once believed in him.

“I love you,” she mouthed before he could pop the champagne alongside the other two drivers.

And after the celebration and the traditional photos, he leaned against the podium railing, drunk on happiness, with the trophy in one hand and the champagne bottle in the other.

“I love you too,” he replied, pressing the trophy hand to his heart before dashing down the steps to rejoin his team—the team that had never stopped believing Pepe was the right gamble.

Later, as he walked through the F2 paddock flanked by the two women in his life, his mother exclaimed, “You won!” making him laugh as he imagined her group chats, likely brimming with photos of his triumph.

He ruffled her hair affectionately, then glanced at his girlfriend, who was reading the inscription on the trophy he’d handed her earlier.

“Yas Marina Circuit, FIA F2 World Championship, Sprint Race Winner.”

She raised her proud, joyful eyes to meet his.

“The way you’re smiling says it all,” she said, weighing the trophy in her hands while observing just how happy he was.

“How do you always say it?” Her smile widened into a grin.

“Everybody knows who Pepe is.”

He chuckled, cupping her cheek to stroke the skin lightly flushed from the sun as night began to consume Abu Dhabi.

“But only you know the Pepe who won that race,” he replied in his deep voice.

He was talking about the child standing behind the barrier, the boy who never lost hope, and the young man who had pushed to the very end, unseen but always leading.

“Because the only person who could cry under that podium was you.”

She— The one who had stood by him beyond his family.

The one who, in such a short time, had become his compass, guiding him home no matter how far Barcelona might be.

“You managed to get me here.”

“Your talent did.”

“But what would talent mean if I had no one to win for?”

He ran his driver’s hand through her hair, never breaking eye contact.

“This was our win, yours as much as mine,” he said.

“I finally got to the top step, but you’ve shown me what it means to have someone who loves unconditionally by my side.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before wrapping his arms around her one last time.

No helmet now.

With his face and heart laid bare.

Knowing they would never let each other go.

- not proofread or anything, so there might be a few errors💫

(I really like this one, that makes up for the mediocre last ones lol)