#THIS IS A VERY SERIOUS TWO HOUR DEBATE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrsfancyferrari · 8 months ago

Text

Need Saving

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay.

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 Author’s note: CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. THIS WILL BE A SERIES AND THANK YOU FOR THE 500 FOLLOWERS! Please like, reblog and share this! <3 ALSO IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Word count: 10.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

You are making history as the first woman to compete in Formula 1 with the Red Bull team, stepping in for Sergio Perez.

This groundbreaking achievement not only highlights your talent but also paves the way for future generations of female racers in a sport traditionally dominated by men.

Your personality shines through with a warm and friendly demeanor that makes you incredibly approachable. Colleagues and fans alike find you likable, creating an inviting atmosphere wherever you go.

This charm not only endears you to those around you but also helps foster a supportive environment within the competitive world of racing

Some have affectionately dubbed you the "Mini Honey Badger," a nod to the legendary Daniel Ricciardo. This playful comparison reflects your fierce determination and tenacity on the track, qualities that resonate with fans and fellow racers.

Your unique blend of charisma and competitive spirit is sure to leave a lasting impression in the world of Formula 1.

Luckily, you found yourself paired with one of the most talented drivers in the sport, Max Verstappen.

From the very beginning, you and Max clicked effortlessly, perhaps due to your shared sense of humor or the lighthearted way you both approached life outside of racing.

Max, known for his fierce competitiveness on the track, also had a playful side that drew you in. Whether it was sharing funny anecdotes from your childhood or engaging in friendly banter about each other's driving styles, the connection felt natural and invigorating.

You both understood the pressures of the sport, yet you managed to find joy in the little moments, whether it was a shared laugh over a silly meme or a light-hearted debate about the best racing video games.

This bond not only made your time together enjoyable but also fostered a sense of trust and teamwork that would prove invaluable as the season progressed.

During your initial week in Formula 1, the team was treated to a mix of corny jokes and uproarious laughter, creating an atmosphere that was both fun and relaxed.

It was clear that the camaraderie between you two was something special, and it didn’t take long for everyone to notice. The garage, usually filled with the tension of competition, transformed into a space of joy and lightheartedness.

You and Max would often engage in playful challenges, like who could come up with the worst dad joke or who could impersonate the team’s engineers the best.

These moments not only broke the ice but also helped to build a strong team spirit.

The mechanics and engineers, who often worked long hours under pressure, found themselves smiling more often, and the overall morale of the team improved.

It was as if your infectious energy had a ripple effect, reminding everyone that while racing was serious business, it was also about passion, fun, and the love of the sport.

Christian Horner, the team principal, seemed to recognize this chemistry right away.

He confidently remarked to the media about the dynamic of having a girl and a boy on the same team, suggesting that he had a good feeling about the partnership.

His words resonated with the fans and the media alike, sparking conversations about the evolving landscape of motorsport and the importance of diversity within the sport. It was evident that the two of you were destined to make waves together on and off the track.

Christian’s faith in your partnership only fueled your determination to succeed.

You both knew that the expectations were high, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, you embraced the challenge.

"Joseph, can you give me an update on the gap behind?" you inquired, your voice steady as it crackled through the radio to your race engineer.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, a reminder of the high stakes at play.

"You're looking at a 5-second lead over Norris, Y/N," Joseph Duke responded, his tone calm and focused.

As you navigated the track, the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening your senses.

The smell of burning rubber and the roar of engines filled the air, but your focus remained solely on the asphalt ahead.

Max was currently leading the race, and you were right on his tail, just a heartbeat away from making a decisive move.

With the world championship points on the line, every second counted, and the team’s strategy was crucial.

"Copy that, Joseph. I’m feeling good about this pace. Should I push to overtake Max?" you asked, weighing your options.

The tension in the air was palpable, and you could almost hear the roar of the crowd in your mind, their cheers and gasps fueling your determination.

You could picture the fans waving flags, the excitement building as the race unfolded.

"Remember, he’s leading the championship, so those points are vital for him," Joseph reminded you, his voice steady and measured.

You took a deep breath, considering the risks and rewards of your next move. The thought of overtaking Max was tantalizing, but the consequences of a miscalculation loomed large.

"Understood. But if I don’t make a move soon, he might pull away," you replied, your mind racing through the possibilities.

You could see the track ahead, the curves and straightaways that could either make or break your race.

"Just keep your head in the game, Y/N. Focus on your lines and stay patient. The opportunity will come," Joseph advised, his experience guiding you through the chaos.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, reminding yourself that patience was key.

As you approached the next turn, you felt the car respond to your every command, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision.

You could see Max’s car just ahead, a flash of blue and white, and the urge to push harder surged within you.

"Alright, I’ll hold back for now, but I’m ready when the moment strikes," you said, determination lacing your words.

The opportunity to seize the grand prix had slipped through your fingers, leaving you with a bittersweet taste of second place as Max celebrated his victory.

It wasn’t that you felt anger towards him; after all, the stakes were high, and the competition was fierce.

You had performed admirably, even outshining Checo this season, and Red Bull was finally back to their P1-P2 glory.

As you stepped out of your car, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you spotted Max waiting for you, his helmet off and a look of concern etched on his face.

He rushed over, his expression serious as he enveloped you in a quick hug. “You don’t hate me, do you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the unexpected question. Removing your helmet, you met his gaze with a warm smile. “Of course not! But don’t think I’ll go easy on you next week,” you replied playfully, your competitive spirit igniting once more.

Max’s face lit up with a genuine smile, the tension dissipating. “Mate, I won’t go down that easy!” he shot back, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of rivalry.

As you made your way to celebrate with the team, you noticed the difference in how they treated you compared to Max. While he was hoisted into the air, receiving enthusiastic cheers and bone-crushing hugs, you felt a more cautious approach directed your way.

It was a subtle reminder of the gender dynamics at play in the sport. You brushed it off, focusing instead on the camaraderie and the shared passion that brought you all together.

The post-race atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout of joy.

You joined in the celebrations, clapping your hands and cheering for your teammates, but a part of you remained introspective.

You replayed the race in your mind, analyzing every corner, every overtaking maneuver, and every missed opportunity.

The thrill of competition was intoxicating, but so was the desire to prove yourself, not just to the team but to the world.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself lingering at the periphery of the lively celebration, your gaze fixed on Max as he reveled in the spotlight of his victory.

He was the star of the night, the one everyone clamored to congratulate, while you stood in the shadows, merely the second driver.

Christian approached, giving your shoulder a friendly pat, a gesture of appreciation for your support. Yet, it felt insufficient.

You masked your feelings with a bright smile as you watched Max raise his glass, laughter spilling from his lips as the clock inched toward midnight.

“Goodnight, Max,” you called out, aware that your boyfriend, Jake would be less than pleased if you lingered too long.

“Goodnight, best friend! Did I mention you look lovely tonight?” Max replied, his words slightly slurred as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you didn’t! Thank you, Max. You look great too!” you managed to say, your heart fluttering at the compliment.

As the night wore on, you exchanged goodbyes with the others, the atmosphere buzzing with joy and celebration.

You decided it was time to head home, opting for a taxi since you had indulged in a few drinks earlier.

Once inside the cab, you leaned back against the seat, reflecting on the evening. The laughter, the cheers, and the way Max had shone like a beacon of success.

It was hard not to feel a twinge of envy, but you pushed it aside, reminding yourself of the bond you shared.

The driver navigated through the city streets, and you pulled out your phone, scrolling through the photos from the night.

There was Max, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by friends, and there you were, a supportive figure in the background.

Just as the car turned, your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you glanced down to see a message from Jake.

“Where are you?” he texted, the words appearing on your screen like a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting for you at home.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection as you typed back, “Just left the party! On my way home now. Can’t wait to see you!”

The taxi weaved through the city streets, and you could almost picture him waiting for you, perhaps pacing a little, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was worried.

You could hear his voice in your head, teasing you about how you always took too long to say goodbye, but you knew he loved it just as much as you did.

As the taxi pulled up to your building, you felt a flutter of excitement. You paid the driver and hurried inside, your heart racing with anticipation.

As you stepped into the apartment, a heavy scent of alcohol hit you like a wave, and your heart sank.

The cheerful anticipation you had felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You knew Jake had been struggling lately, and the telltale signs of his mood were all around you.

Empty bottles cluttered the coffee table, their labels peeling and faded, remnants of nights spent drowning sorrows that seemed to multiply with each passing day.

Taking a deep breath, you cautiously made your way further inside, hoping to find a glimmer of the warmth you once cherished, a flicker of the love that had once filled this space.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” you called out, trying to inject some cheer into the atmosphere, but your voice felt small and fragile against the oppressive silence that enveloped the room.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

Just then, he emerged from the shadows of the living room, his eyes glassy and unfocused, as if he were peering through a fog that had settled deep within him.

“Oh, look who decided to show up,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, each word laced with bitterness. “Did you have fun pretending to be normal out there?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he continued, hurling insults that cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

It was as if he was trying to push you away, to create a chasm between you that felt insurmountable.

And yet, amidst the hurt, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man you loved, the one who was lost beneath layers of pain and anger.

“Why do you always have to do this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, the vulnerability in your tone betraying the strength you wished to project. “I just want to help you.”

He scoffed, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand, the gesture almost theatrical in its disdain. “Help? You mean control. You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything? You’re just like everyone else, trying to tell me what to do.”

The words stung, and you felt the weight of his accusations pressing down on you, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

“I’m not trying to control you,” you replied softly, “I just want to be there for you. Can’t we talk about this?”

But as you looked into his eyes, you realized that the man you once knew was slipping further away, lost in a haze of his own making.

His gaze, once so full of life and passion, now seemed clouded, distant. It was as if he was peering through a murky window, unable or unwilling to see the vibrant world outside.

You could see the shadows of his struggles etched on his face, the lines of worry and anger deepening with each passing day. It pained you to witness this transformation, to see the light in him dimmed by his own fears and insecurities.

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help?” you pressed, your heart racing as desperation crept into your voice. “I’m not your enemy. I want to understand what you’re going through.”

You took a tentative step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that felt insurmountable.

But he recoiled slightly, as if your words were a physical blow, and the distance between you felt more pronounced than ever.

“Understand?” he scoffed, his tone laced with bitterness. “You think you can just waltz in and understand? You have no idea what it’s like to feel trapped, to have every choice taken from you. You don’t know the weight of this burden.”

His voice cracked, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath the bravado.

As soon as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake brushed by you, grabbing his coat and shoes in one swift motion.

"I'm heading out for a walk. Don't even think about following me," he snapped, his words laced with the sting of alcohol.

You simply nodded, feeling a mix of concern and frustration, but you stayed rooted in place until you heard the door slam shut behind him.

With the sound echoing in the silence, you finally exhaled, the tension in your chest easing just a bit. You glanced around the room, the remnants of the night scattered everywhere—empty bottles and crumpled napkins littered the floor.

"Guess it's cleanup time," you muttered to yourself, bending down to gather the bottles. As you worked, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

Just then, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from your best friend, Sarah.

"Hey! How's everything? You okay?"

You sighed, typing back quickly. "Not great. He just stormed out after a fight. I’m cleaning up the mess now."

A moment later, your phone chimed again. "Want me to come over? I can help."

You hesitated, glancing at the door. "No, it’s fine. I just need to sort things out."

"Are you sure? You shouldn’t be alone right now."

You paused, considering her words. "I’ll be okay. I just need to think."

As you continued to tidy up, you replayed the argument in your mind. It had started over something trivial, but the alcohol had turned it into a full-blown fight.

You could hear his voice in your head, the way he had raised his tone, the way he had dismissed your feelings.

"Why does he always do this?" you whispered to yourself, frustration bubbling up again.

You were well aware that he wouldn’t be returning anytime soon.

After tidying up the house, you decided to treat yourself to a long, relaxing bath.

The warm water enveloped you, washing away the day’s worries. Once you felt refreshed, you slipped into your favorite pajamas and crawled into bed, the soft sheets providing a comforting embrace.

He hadn’t always been this way—filled with anger and lost in the depths of alcoholism.

You both had shared a beautiful love story, starting as high school sweethearts. You could still remember the way he used to look at you, his eyes sparkling with affection, mirroring the love you felt for him.

As you lay there, memories flooded your mind. You recalled the laughter, the late-night talks, and the dreams you had built together. But now, those dreams felt like distant echoes, overshadowed by the weight of his struggles.

Maybe it was the pressure of work that was taking a toll on him. You thought back to the last time you had a heart-to-heart.

“Do you remember when we used to talk about our future?” you had asked him one evening, the two of you sitting on the porch, the sun setting in a blaze of colors.

He had sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I remember. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Things can get better, you know. We can work through this together,” you had urged, your heart aching for the man you once knew.

He had looked away, his expression clouded. “I don’t know if I can. Sometimes it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to swim anymore.”

You had reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you, always.”

But as the days turned into weeks, the distance between you grew. The man you loved was slipping away, replaced by someone you barely recognized.

Now, lying in bed, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever find his way back to you. Would he remember the love you once shared? Would he fight against the demons that haunted him?

With a heavy heart, you closed your eyes, hoping that tomorrow would bring a glimmer of hope, a sign that the man you loved was still inside, waiting to break free.

As you settled into bed, the glow of your phone screen illuminated the dark room, revealing a flurry of notifications that had accumulated while you were winding down.

Most of them were filled with excitement, congratulating you on your impressive second-place finish in the race. However, amidst the sea of cheerful messages, one stood out—a private note from Max.

While some comments stung with negativity, suggesting you didn’t belong in the world of Formula 1, Max’s message was a beacon of warmth.

“Thanks for coming to celebrate with me 👍,” it read, and a smile crept across your face, momentarily pushing away the weight of the harsh words.

You felt a mix of emotions swirling within you, and for a moment, tears threatened to spill over. But instead of succumbing to the sadness, you decided to respond to Max.

Your fingers danced over the screen as you typed, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, you deserved it! 😁” The moment you hit send, a sense of relief washed over you.

It was a reminder that amidst the criticism, there were still those who appreciated your presence and celebrated your achievements.

You could almost hear Max’s laughter echoing in your mind, a sound that always seemed to lift your spirits.

Just as you were about to put your phone down, a new message popped up from Max. “You really made the night special! I’m glad you were there. Let’s catch up soon?”

His words filled you with warmth, and you could picture him grinning with alcohol still in his system, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Absolutely! I’d love to,” you replied, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

After setting your phone aside for the night, you drifted off to sleep, the soft hum of the world outside fading into a distant memory.

When you awoke, you were enveloped in a warm embrace, the kind that felt like home. Instantly, you recognized the familiar presence of Jake, his body radiating warmth against yours.

The scent of alcohol lingered in the air, a reminder of his previous night out with friends, a detail that both amused and concerned you.

A smile crept across your face as you turned to see him, his features relaxed and serene, a stark contrast to the tension that had marked his demeanor the night before.

Curiosity sparked within you, igniting a flurry of questions as you pondered where he had spent his time, what stories he might have to share, and whether the night had been as wild as you imagined.

You felt a rush of affection for him, a desire to know every detail of his adventures, to understand the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Despite the warnings from your friends urging you to reconsider your relationship, your feelings for him remained steadfast, unwavering like a lighthouse in a storm.

They claimed he was a source of trouble, a tempest that could jeopardize your career and stir up scandals that would ripple through your life.

Yet, deep down, you understood him better than they did, seeing the layers of his character that they overlooked. You believed in his integrity, in the goodness that lay beneath the surface, and you knew he wouldn’t intentionally cause chaos in your life.

Their concerns echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like the sound of waves crashing against a far-off shore.

You were determined to forge your own path, to trust your instincts, and to embrace the love that had blossomed between you, even if it meant standing alone against the tide of skepticism.

Although your relationship was already in the public eye, with whispers and speculation swirling around you like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind, he had yet to join you in the paddock due to his work commitments.

You felt a mix of anticipation and longing, a bittersweet ache in your chest as you navigated the bustling environment without him by your side.

As you glanced at your phone, the screen illuminated the early morning hour, signaling it was time for your daily jog.

You carefully extricated yourself from Jake's embrace, trying not to disturb his peaceful slumber.

Just as you were about to tiptoe out of the room, you caught a faint mumble escaping his lips, a mix of sleep and concern. “Where are you going?” he murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

You paused for a moment, torn between the urge to reassure him and the need to stick to your routine.

“I’m just going for a quick run, love. I’ll be back before you know it,” you replied softly, hoping to ease any lingering worries. His brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleep, as if he sensed your departure was more than just a morning ritual.

“You always run too early… what if someone sees you?” he muttered, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, even in his dreams.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be fine, I promise. It’s just me and the open road. You know I love my morning jogs.”

You could feel the tension in the air, a familiar weight that often accompanied your outings. “Okay,” he finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in his tone.

You quickly changed into your jogging attire before stepping out of the house. With a sense of urgency, you slipped into your comfortable workout gear, ready to embrace the fresh air outside.

The fabric of your favorite moisture-wicking shirt clung to your skin, and the soft elastic of your running shorts felt familiar and reassuring.

You laced up your well-worn sneakers, the soles still resilient from countless miles, and took a moment to stretch your legs, feeling the anticipation build within you.

Once dressed, you felt the excitement of the run ahead, eager to hit the pavement and enjoy the rhythm of your feet against the ground.

The world outside beckoned, vibrant and alive, as you opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of dew-kissed grass and blooming flowers filled your lungs, invigorating your spirit.

You took a deep breath, letting the coolness wash over you, and with a quick glance at the sky, you noted the sun just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue across the horizon.

As you began to jog, the familiar cadence of your heartbeat matched the steady thump of your feet on the pavement. Each stride felt liberating, a release from the confines of the day-to-day.

You could feel the tension of the week melting away with every step, replaced by a sense of freedom and clarity.

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied you on your journey.

As you were enjoying your morning jog through the park, the rhythmic sound of your feet hitting the pavement was suddenly interrupted by a group of enthusiastic voices.

A cluster of women and girls approached you, their faces lighting up with excitement. "Excuse me! Miss Y/N! Can we get your autograph?" one of them exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with admiration.

You paused, a bit surprised but also flattered, and smiled at the eager crowd. "Of course! I’d be happy to," you replied, pulling out a small notepad from your pocket.

Amid the chatter, a young girl stepped forward, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I want to start go-karting because I want to be just like you!" she declared, her voice filled with determination.

You could see the passion in her eyes, and it warmed your heart. "That’s amazing! Go-karting is such a fun sport," you encouraged her. "What do you love most about it?"

The girl beamed, her confidence growing as she shared her dreams of racing and the thrill of speed. "I love the idea of being in control and going fast! It looks so cool!"

You nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility to inspire her. "You know, every champion starts somewhere. If you really want to do it, just keep practicing and never give up. Surround yourself with people who support you, and you’ll go far," you advised, hoping to instill a sense of belief in her.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. "I will! Thank you so much!"

As the group dispersed, you felt a renewed sense of purpose, realizing that your journey could inspire others to chase their dreams, just as you had. . . .

As the days rolled on, the team decided to spice things up a bit before race week by organizing a fun game called "How Well Do You Know Each Other."

The idea was to not only entertain the fans but also to give everyone a glimpse into the camaraderie between you and Max.

You found yourself standing in front of the camera, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling inside you, while Max lounged comfortably on the sofa behind you, his headphones snugly in place, unable to listen in.

The staff kicked off the game with a playful tone, "Alright, let’s start with you! The first question about Max is… what is Max's favorite food?" You grinned, confident in your knowledge of your teammate.

"Oh, I know this one! Max is a huge fan of both Italian and Dutch cuisine, while I personally lean more towards Spanish dishes," you replied, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

The crew chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter, and you could see Max nodding in agreement, a smirk on his face even though he didn't know what you said.

After a few more questions, it was time for the roles to reverse. You took a seat on the sofa, and Max stood in front of the camera, a playful glint in his eyes.

The staff asked him the same question, and he leaned forward, a teasing smile forming. "Well, I know my teammate pretty well! She loves her Spanish food, but I think she secretly wishes she could cook like an Italian chef," he joked.

"You better be getting this right, I wanna beat Charles and Carlos' record," you said, feeling the competitive in you to beat Ferrari's record of 18 out of 20 right.

Max only turned around and gave an okay sign since you couldn't hear him, adding a little small wink for the tease but it was caught on camera.

In the end, both you and Max aced all the questions, and the excitement bubbled over as you jumped up and down, your energy infectious. Max stood nearby, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your enthusiasm.

"See, everyone! Red Bull is clearly the superior team compared to Ferrari, so make sure to support us this week!" you exclaimed, wrapping up the video with a flourish.

As you turned to Max, you noticed he was still gazing at you, lost in thought. It took you by surprise.

"Max, do you want to add anything to what I just said?" you asked, a playful grin on your face as you nudged his shoulder gently.

Snapping back to reality, Max turned to the camera, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"Oh, umm, yeah… Red Bull domination, I guess?" he replied, his voice a mix of uncertainty and enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his response, and Max's smile widened, clearly pleased that he could make you laugh.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap! We'll catch you all soon. Fingers crossed for another P1-P2 finish, but maybe next time we can switch things up a bit," you said, waving enthusiastically at the camera.

As the camera clicked off, you turned to the crew with a warm smile, expressing your gratitude for their support. You shifted your focus to Max, who was standing nearby, a mix of anticipation and amusement on his face.

"Hey, Max," you began, a playful glint in your eye. "How does it feel to be the most compatible drivers on the grid?"

Max's eyes widened slightly at the phrase "most compatible," and you could see a hint of color rising to his cheeks. But as soon as he processed the word "driver," his expression shifted to one of mild disappointment.

"It feels nice, I guess," he replied, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "Just another thing to brag about to Lando, right?"

You chuckled, knowing how much Max loved to tease his fellow drivers. "Oh, absolutely! I can already picture it—Lando rolling his eyes while you go on about how you and I are the ultimate duo."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "He'll probably come up with some ridiculous comeback, like how he’s the best driver in the world or something."

"Well, he does have a knack for that," you said, leaning against the wall, enjoying the banter. "But let’s be honest, you two are like an old married couple. Always bickering but secretly caring for each other."

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, I’m not ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle my own sleeping schedule!"

Max shrugged, a hint of humility creeping into his demeanor. "But honestly, having you around makes it easier. You bring a different energy to the team."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thanks, Max. That means a lot coming from you. I think we balance each other out pretty well."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, it’s like we have this unspoken understanding. You know when to push me and when to let me breathe. It’s refreshing."

"Exactly! And it’s not just about racing; it’s about the camaraderie we build off the track too. Those late-night strategy sessions and the random moments of laughter—they all add up."

Max chuckled, recalling a particularly ridiculous moment from a previous race weekend. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find the catering tent? We ended up in that random fan zone instead!"

You burst out laughing, the memory flooding back. "Oh my god, yes! And those fans were so excited to see us, they thought we were there for a meet-and-greet! We ended up taking selfies with them for an hour."

"Right? And then we finally found the catering tent, only to discover they were out of your favorite pasta!" Max added, shaking his head in disbelief.

"That was a tragedy," you said, feigning a dramatic sigh. "But it turned into one of the best days. I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything."

Max’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a genuine smile breaking through. "Me neither. It’s those little things that make all the hard work worth it."

You both stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the camaraderie between you palpable. The atmosphere around the paddock buzzed with activity, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

"Alright, enough of the mushy stuff," Max said, breaking the moment with a playful nudge. "Let’s get back to business. We’ve got a race to prepare for, and I can’t let you steal all my glory."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Oh, please! You know I’m just here to make you look good. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of overshadowing the reigning champion."

What you two didn't know was that the cameras didn't stop but recorded your little moment, which went viral in the few minutes that it was posted. . . . .

★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★ ★・・・・・・★

You knew that the public would start shipping you and Max together sooner or later but you weren't bothered with it.

You had a boyfriend who you cared for deeply, someone who had been your rock through the ups and downs of your racing career. Yet, his reaction to the swirling rumors about you and Max took you by surprise.

You never imagined he would be so affected by the gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire through the paddock and beyond.

Here you were, caught in a web of emotions, torn between the thrill of a new chapter and the loyalty you felt towards your current relationship.

As you stepped through the door of your home, the familiar scent of your shared space enveloped you, but it did little to ease the tension that hung in the air.

You found Jake lounging on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone, the glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, and you could sense that something was off.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted him, trying to sound cheerful despite the weight on your shoulders. He barely looked up, his fingers scrolling furiously, as if searching for answers in the digital chaos.

“Did you hear about you and Max?” he finally snapped, his voice laced with irritation, cutting through the silence like a knife. “It’s all over social media. Are you really going to let this get to you?”

You felt your heart sink; you had hoped for a different reaction, one that would reassure you that your relationship was strong enough to withstand the storm of rumors.

“Come on, it’s just rumors,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed your inner turmoil. “You know I’m committed to only you.”

You watched as he shot you a skeptical glance, his jealousy bubbling to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. “Yeah, but how can I trust you when you’re out there with him all the time? It’s not just a coincidence that everyone is talking about it.”

The words stung, and you took a deep breath. "Babe I love only you-"

"Please, don’t even think about it! You know I’m stuck here because if I walked away, your fans would make my life a living nightmare," Jake exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling from the harsh reality of your situation.

It was as if he had taken a knife and twisted it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide.

You could feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but you fought to keep them at bay. "I didn’t ask for any of this," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you could sense the tension between you growing thicker by the second. It was a battle of emotions, and you were losing ground.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know it’s not fair, but you have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s not just about us; it’s about my career, my fans. I can’t let them down."

His eyes softened for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the man you fell in love with.

"But I don’t want to lose you. Can’t we find a way to make this work?" You pleaded.

"I don't know," he muttered, not lifting his eyes from his phone before standing up and walking past you to get his coat and shoes. "i'm gonna take a walk,"

This has been a pattern for weeks now. You would come home, he would start an argument then make up an excuse to leave the house, leaving you to either pick up his mess or go to sleep without your partner. To only wake up with him cuddling you in the morning and apologise for his action last night.

You were getting sick of it but you still love him too much to break up with him. . . .

The days that followed were a blur of introspection and emotional turmoil. Each time you caught a glimpse of Jake’s name on your phone, a knot formed in your stomach.

You had always been the type to see the good in people, to believe that love could conquer all, but the reality of your situation was becoming harder to ignore.

The moments of tenderness were overshadowed by the growing unease that settled in your chest like a heavy stone.

You spent more time with Sarah, who seemed to sense your internal struggle. She filled your days with laughter and distraction, taking you out for coffee, long walks in the park, and movie marathons that kept your mind off the impending decision.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, the thought of Jake lingered like a shadow, reminding you of the grip he had on your heart—and not in a way that felt safe or loving.

One evening, as you and Sarah sat on the balcony watching the sunset, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, she turned to you again.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but you have to prioritize your happiness. You can’t keep living in this limbo," she said, her voice steady and unwavering.

You looked out at the horizon, the beauty of the moment contrasting sharply with the turmoil inside you.

"I know," you replied, your voice thick with emotion. "But what if I’m wrong? What if he really can change?"

The fear of making the wrong choice loomed large, a specter that haunted your thoughts.

"Change is possible, but it has to come from him, not from you hoping for it," Sarah said gently. "You can’t be the one to fix him. You’re not responsible for his happiness or his growth. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You thought back to the last time he had gripped your arm, the way his eyes had darkened, and how you had brushed it off as a moment of frustration.

But now, in the light of day, you could see it for what it was—a warning sign that you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

That night, as you lay in bed, the silence of your room felt deafening. You replayed every moment of your relationship, the good and the bad, and slowly, the scales began to tip.

The holiday seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and soon you found yourself stepping into the paddock alongside Sarah and Jake.

As you walked, you could feel the tension in the air; Jake wore a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, gripping your hand a little too tightly.

“Hey, look at all the fans!” you exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood as you waved enthusiastically at the crowd, signing autographs for those who called out your name.

Sarah, taking a break from her hectic job, had decided to join you, her laughter ringing out like music amidst the bustling atmosphere.

“Isn’t this amazing?” you said, glancing at Sarah, who was snapping pictures with her phone. “I can’t believe how many people came out today!”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s like a mini-celebration! But where’s your boyfriend? He seems a bit off today.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the concern. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just tired. We haven’t really talked much since we got back.”

You stole a glance at him, who was still smiling, but it felt forced, like he was putting on a show for everyone around.

You made the decision to invite Jake into your driver’s room for a heart-to-heart conversation. As you settled into the familiar space, you turned to him with a gentle concern.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” you asked, your voice soft and inviting.

Jake looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and longing, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m alright, really. I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting lately,” he replied, his tone sincere.

In that moment, you felt a rush of warmth; you had missed the comfort of his touch more than you realized.

“Jake, I need to let you know that I have to leave soon,” you murmured, trying to keep the conversation grounded. But he seemed lost in his own thoughts, his gaze intense and filled with desire.

“Why don’t you just quit your job already? I can take care of you, I promise,” he suggested, his voice dripping with temptation.

The idea hung in the air between you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the pull of his offer.

It was tempting, but the passion you had for Formula 1 was a flame that burned too brightly to extinguish for anyone, even someone as captivating as Jake.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “Jake, you know how much this means to me. Formula 1 isn’t just a job; it’s my dream,” you replied, your heart heavy with the conflict.

He stepped back slightly, his expression shifting from desire to disappointment. “I get it, but can’t you see how much I care about you? I want us to be together, and I thought you felt the same way,” he said, frustration creeping into his voice.

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and it pained you to know that your passion for racing was creating a rift between you.

“I do care about you, but I can’t just walk away from everything I’ve worked for,” you insisted, hoping he would understand.

As you stand there, the tension weighs heavily in the air, palpable and thick, as Jake's frustration spills over, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and desperation.

"But what about me?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for an answer that you know is difficult to provide. "Since you started this job, we haven’t done anything together. All you've been doing is hanging out with that Max boy. Don’t you see it?"

His words cut through the silence, piercing the surface of your mind and forcing you to confront the tangled web of your life that feels all too overwhelming at this moment.

As you gather your thoughts, aware that the job has transformed your priorities and the once-familiar relationship with Jake has shifted, you attempt to articulate your feelings, to bridge the widening chasm of misunderstanding.

"Jake—" you start, your voice tremulous, hoping to weave a delicate thread of connection that can pull you both back to a place of understanding, but he interjects, the intensity of his emotions propelling him forward before you can offer your perspective.

"I’ll show you—don't worry," he mutters, the frustration lacing his tone beginning to dissipate as he suddenly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close in a gesture that is both protective and possessive.

The warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the bond you once cherished.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, his lips find yours, a kiss that ignites a flicker of hope amid the turmoil of doubt and fear swirling around you. . . .

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀

After the holiday break, you had started to act differently, almost as if a shadow had fallen over their usual camaraderie.

Whenever he approached to nudge her shoulder playfully, she would flinch, a look of surprise crossing her face as if she were bracing for something unpleasant.

It was a stark contrast to the easygoing banter they once shared, and he couldn't help but notice how she had become more withdrawn, often lost in her thoughts, her laughter replaced by a distant gaze.

He believed you were feeling down because the team was struggling to achieve the results they had hoped for.

Typically, his father would reach out to him after a disappointing race, sometimes even resorting to physical punishment if the outcome was particularly disheartening.

It was a routine he had come to accept, thinking it was a common experience shared by many.

However, everything changed when his therapist pointed out that not everyone endured such treatment, which sparked a rebellion within him against his father's harsh ways.

"Why do you always have to be so hard on me?" he had shouted one evening, frustration boiling over.

His father, taken aback, responded with a stern look, "Because I want you to be the best, Max. You need to learn that life isn’t always fair."

But Max felt differently; he wanted to be supported, not punished.

As he pondered your situation, he couldn't help but wonder if you had faced similar challenges.

"Do you have someone in your life who treats you badly?" he asked cautiously, trying to gauge your response.

Your eyes widened at the sudden question before you shook your head, a small smile breaking through the clouds of doubt.

"No, not like that. Everyone is really supportive of me these days."

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him, grateful that you had not been in that cycle of abuse he had been so familiar with.

In many of the recent races, both you and Max found yourselves finishing in the P2 to P4 range, or sometimes not making it to the podium at all, which left the team feeling quite disheartened.

The once-promising season had turned into a series of missed opportunities, and the weight of expectations began to take its toll on everyone involved.

The atmosphere in the garage was thick with tension, and the engineers were working overtime to analyze data and strategize for the next race, but the results were still falling short of what the team had hoped for.

This situation also prompted Max's father, Jos, to plan a visit during the race weekend. He intended to check in on his son and perhaps give him a much-needed reality check, quite literally.

As the race day approached, Jos observed his son engaging in cheerful conversation with you, rather than focusing on the engineers to gather crucial insights, a routine Max typically adhered to before a race.

This deviation from his usual pre-race preparation did not sit well with Jos.

He had always believed that the hours leading up to a race were critical for mental conditioning and strategy formulation. To see Max laughing and joking instead of poring over telemetry data or discussing race strategies with the engineers was concerning for him.

Jos's frustration grew as he watched the interaction unfold. He believed that your presence was a distraction, pulling Max away from the intense focus required for peak performance.

In his eyes, the bond you shared with his son was undermining Max's potential to excel on the track.

He felt that friendships weren't important and they should not come at the expense of Max's dedication to his craft.

Jos was determined to address this issue head-on, convinced that a serious conversation was necessary to realign Max's priorities. . . . .

In the midst of a lively discussion filled with laughter and camaraderie, Jos abruptly interjected, "Max, I need to talk to you right now."

His tone cut through the jovial atmosphere, drawing the attention of both you and his son. The laughter faded, replaced by a sudden stillness as everyone turned to witness the unfolding scene.

Max's expression shifted from joy to disappointment as he glanced at you, yet he managed to offer a reassuring smile before reluctantly following his father away from the group.

"Yes, Father?" Max responded in Dutch, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension. The way he spoke suggested a mix of respect and wariness, as if he were bracing himself for a conversation he knew would be anything but easy.

Jos wasted no time in launching into his concerns, his words spilling out with a sense of urgency.

"You must distance yourself from that girl; she is a distraction that will hinder your performance in the race," he asserted, his tone firm and authoritative, as if he were delivering a decree rather than a request.

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the lightheartedness that had just moments ago enveloped the gathering.

Max, however, was quick to defend you, his loyalty evident in the way he stood a little taller, his brow furrowing in determination. "No, she doesn't distract me, Father. She's my teammate," he stated, his voice steady and resolute.

The conviction in his tone reflected a bond that transcended mere friendship; it was a partnership built on shared goals and mutual respect.

Yet, as he spoke, the tension between father and son thickened, a palpable clash of wills that seemed to reverberate through the quiet space around them.

Jos, sensing the resistance in Max's voice, shifted his approach, employing subtle manipulation to sway his son’s perspective.

"Think about your future, Max. You have so much potential, and I only want what is best for you," he continued, his voice softening slightly, as if trying to appeal to Max's aspirations.

The words were carefully chosen, designed to instill doubt about your influence, to paint you as an obstacle rather than an ally.

Max hesitated, caught between his father's expectations and his own feelings.

The internal struggle was evident on his face, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he grappled with the conflicting loyalties that tugged at his heart.

"It is evident in your results over the weeks, you've been falling off the high scores recently, hardly been able to reach third place because of that girl!" Jos stressed out and Max became quiet, letting those words sink in.

"Max, think about it," Jos continued, his tone shifting to one of persuasion. "You need to focus on your game and not let distractions get in the way. She's not worth it."

Max felt a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always admired his father's wisdom, but now he sensed a subtle manipulation at play. Jos was trying to steer him away from his feelings, and deep down, Max knew it.

Yet, the idea of disappointing his father loomed larger than his own desires.

"Okay, Father," Max finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

He felt a pang of regret as he agreed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing a part of himself in the process. As he walked away, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

Was it worth sacrificing his happiness for the sake of competition?

As he walked away, the sound of his father's footsteps fading behind him, he contemplated the choices ahead of him.

The internal struggle was just beginning, and Max knew he had to find a way to balance his passion for the game with the complexities of his heart.

He thought of you—the woman who had sparked something within him, a light that had ignited a warmth he hadn't been able to feel like Daniel left.

After he began to distance himself from you, he noticed a change in your demeanor.

You seemed more withdrawn, putting on a facade of happiness with a constant smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You were hiding behind long-sleeved coats, even in the warm weather, creating a barrier between yourself and the world around you.

The vibrant laughter that once filled the air when you were together had been replaced by a silence that hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the occasional forced chuckle or polite nod.

Max could see the way your shoulders slumped slightly, as if the weight of unspoken words and unshared feelings was pressing down on you.

Your eyes, once bright with enthusiasm and mischief, now seemed clouded, reflecting a deep-seated sadness that you tried so hard to conceal.

He remembered the long pointless conversations, the dreams you both had shared, and the plans that now felt like distant memories. It pained him to witness your struggle, yet he felt powerless to bridge the growing chasm between you.

Despite the guilt that gnawed at him, Max couldn’t help but recognize a shift in his own performance on the racetrack.

He found himself consistently finishing on the podium, a stark contrast to your struggles as you remained trapped within the top ten.

Each trophy he lifted felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the friendship that had once fueled his passion for racing.

He could hear the cheers of the crowd, feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but all he could think about was how you used to be there, celebrating alongside him, your face alight with pride and joy.

While he celebrated his achievements, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important was missing.

The camaraderie they once shared seemed to slip further away with each passing race, leaving him to wonder if the price of success was worth the cost of their connection.

He often found himself glancing over at the empty spot in the pit where you used to stand, your eyes sparkling with encouragement, your voice ringing out with advice that had always kept him grounded.

As the races continued, Max felt a growing urgency to reach out, to break through the walls you had built around yourself.

But his father kept him grounded and not letting that thought come to life anytime soon. . . .

As you maneuver through the winding turns of the racetrack, adrenaline surges through your veins, a heady blend of focus and exhilaration.

"Joseph, what's the gap to Max?" you inquire, your voice steady despite the chaos enveloping you as you glance at the rearview mirror, noticing Charles's fierce pursuit as he falls into your peripheral vision, momentarily eclipsed by your recent strategic overtaking maneuver.

"2.3 seconds in front of you, Y/N," Joseph replies, his tone equally crisp yet slightly strained, hinting at the intensity of the moment.

The hum of the engine, the vibrations of the car, and the distant roar of the crowd blend into a symphony of speed, and as you negotiate the track, your mind sharpens with determination.

You consider your next move with meticulous care, knowing that a split-second decision could alter the course of the race.

Holding tightly to the steering wheel, you then ask, “Do I have permission to take over?”

Pause hangs in the air like a fragile breath, and you can almost anticipate Joseph's reply, especially given the longstanding tradition wherein hesitance often blankets these life-altering decisions.

Sure enough, after a fleeting silence, you prepare for the inevitable response that would echo in your ears like an unwelcome refrain, one you were all too familiar with.

But just as you brace yourself for a “no,” the radio crackles to life again—this time with a tidal wave of unexpected urgency.

"Yes! Y/N? Can you hear me? The team has approved the overtake of Max! Go for it!" Joseph’s voice bursts through with a burst of energy, jolting you from your reverie.

Instinctively, your foot plunges onto the accelerator as you channel every ounce of skill, focus, and ambition into propelling yourself forward.

You swiftly navigate the corner, your car gliding through the air like a bird released from captivity, and in that moment of pure adrenaline, you find yourself eclipsing Max, reclaiming the lead with undeniable ferocity.

As you settle into your newfound position at first place, the tension morphs into an exhilarating electrification coursing through your body.

Max, having momentarily lost his grip on the lead, now battles to fend off Charles and Lando from making any hazardous moves that might threaten your dominion at the front.

In the heat of the moment, the radio blaring with strategic updates fades into the background as your vision narrows solely on the track ahead—you are a race car driver, a gladiator in this battle of speed, and nothing else matters.

The world dissolves into monochrome, your focus unwavering as you grip the wheel like it’s a lifeline.

Distant cheers from the crowd seep through your concentration, yet you silence those voices, drowning out distractions as you become acutely aware of the weight of the race, the dreams that hang delicately in the balance—everything is at stake.

You feel sweat trickling down your temple and a syrupy mix of anticipation and fear soaring through your chest, but as you approach the final laps, triumph struggles to emerge from the depths of your hardwork.

Amidst the exhilarating distractions, your attention sharpens when you catch a faint echo of Joseph’s voice cutting through the chatter. "Y/N! You did it! You won!"

The joyous eruption on the other end floods your senses with disbelief, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over you.

In that electrifying moment, as you maintain your grip on the wheel for the last few seconds, reality begins to wash over you like an exhilarating wave, and the tears you could feel brewing now threaten to spill, your triumph intertwining with your vulnerability.

With the checkered flag waving triumphantly in the air, you ease down on the accelerator, the sensation of victory swelling inside you as you let a muffled cry of delight escape your lips.

You slow your car and finally breathe, releasing all the pent-up energy, as the realization of your success resonates in every fiber of your being.

"You did it, Y/N! You won the grand prix!" Joseph's voice dances through the radio, resonating with an infectious glee.

A burst of laughter escapes your lips, and for the first time, the roar of the crowd—a melodic blend of cheers—warms your heart.

As you roll to a stop, the world around you crescendos into a celebration of your harrowing journey—each twist, each turn, each heartbeat racing in sync with the rhythm of victory.

The moment is surreal, and as you step out of the car, you are not just a racer anymore; you are a triumphant force that turned dreams into reality, and no title could encapsulate the pride swelling within you.

You parked the car in front of the first-place stand, your heart racing as the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Stepping out of the vehicle, you took a moment to absorb the victory that had just unfolded; it was surreal, almost like a scene plucked from your wildest dreams.

You stood on the hood of your car, exhilaration bubbling up inside you as you raised your fists in triumph, thrusting them into the air with a euphoric fist bump that echoed your unrestrained joy.

The cheers of the crowd swirled around you, a chorus of celebration, and for a heartbeat, the entire world felt like it paused in honour of your hard-fought achievement.

The weight of every early morning, every late night, every moment spent honing your driving in the shadows now seemed beautifully light, overshadowed by the sheer thrill of the moment.

As you jumped off the car with a renewed sense of vitality, you sprinted toward your team, their faces lit up with genuine happiness.

It marked a pivotal moment, one where they no longer treated you as fragile or merely a woman in a male-dominated sport; instead, they embraced you like a teammate, a winner.

You felt the warmth of their hugs wrapping around you, their joy infectious in a way that washed away any lingering doubts you had ever held about your place in this fierce and demanding environment.

“I can’t believe we did it!” you exclaimed, looking around at their beaming faces, heart swelling.

Some laughing tears glistening in their eyes, as they crowded around you, lifting you momentarily off your feet, celebrating not only your victory but the growth of a team bound together by perseverance and shared dreams.

Max eventually pulled up in front of the second-place station, his car’s engine rumbling to a soft stop just a few feet away from you. He stepped out, the sunlight catching the edges of his helmet as he removed it, revealing a look of pure delight plastered across his face.

It was a sight that brightened your heart; his genuine smile mirrored your own, a silent acknowledgment of the fierce competition that had just transpired on the track.

You could hardly control the emotions that swelled within you. With an impulsive rush, you charged toward him, unable to contain the joy of your victory.

In a flurry of excitement, you leaped into his arms, a spontaneous act born from the adrenaline still dancing through your body. He caught you effortlessly, his hands cradling your back protectively, and in that moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you.

“I won!" you declared, breathless, your voice a mixture of disbelief and sheer happiness, as if saying it out loud might make the victory feel more real.

A grin split Max's face wider, and you could see the pride sparkling in his eyes. “Yeah, you won! Congratulations!" he echoed, his voice turning melodic with the thrill of your accomplishment.

His embrace tightened around you, and you melted into the moment, filled with a sense of camaraderie and respect that had blossomed between you two over the course of your racing journeys.

As he set you back on your feet, laughter bubbled up once again, infectious and wildly free.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard with that leap," you admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your voice as you took a sip from your drink.

"Not at all! I’m just thrilled for you," Max replied, his cheeks flushed with excitement as he gave you a friendly pat on the back.

After the interview with the top three winners, you, Max, and Charles settled into the conference room, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement as the race replay flickered on the screen. The tension was palpable as the footage captured the thrilling moments of the competition.

"Wow! That was such a turn!" Charles exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his brow, clearly still feeling the adrenaline from the race.

He was referring to the intense maneuver where he nearly overtook Lando, a moment that had everyone on the edge of their seats.

As the race continued to unfold on the screen, you found yourself lost in thought, your mind racing with the events that had just transpired.

You focused on your breathing, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. You had actually won.

Max, sitting beside you, noticed your silence and turned his attention toward you, his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked softly, breaking the tension in the room. His voice was steady, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of the race replay.

You nodded slowly, appreciating Max's concern but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Yeah, just processing everything," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

After the conference wrapped up, the divers were given the freedom to either retreat to their driver’s rooms or celebrate with their teams and families.

However, the atmosphere was tinged with concern. The race winner was notably absent, and everyone had been eagerly anticipating a celebration for your first victory.

But after you dashed out of the conference room in a flurry, you seemed to vanish without a trace.

Everyone, especially Max, who had reached out to congratulate you repeatedly, was waiting, eager for you to join them in the festivities.

Max had noticed your absence almost immediately after the conference ended. The smile that had danced on his lips dimmed when you didn't join the team to celebrate; he frequently glanced toward the driver’s room, a sense of unease gnawing at his gut.

The more he thought about it, the more his concern deepened; it wasn't like you to shy away from such moments of triumph.

As teammates and family began to cheer and revel in the evening's wins, Max made the decision to search for you.

His quest took him to the paddock and then to your garage, but each passing minute only heightened his worries. "Where could you be, Y/N?" he murmured to himself, frustration lacing his voice as he traversed the familiar paths of the circuit, searching desperately for a glimpse of you.

His heart raced with anxiety; he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, his gaze landed on the door of your driver's room, slightly ajar, like a whisper beckoning him to enter. Without a second thought, he approached and knocked gently, "Y/N, are you in there?"

Listening intently, he leaned closer to the door and was met with faint whimpers that sent a chill down his spine.

Panic surged through him.

This wasn’t just a moment of celebration for you; it felt like a cry for help, echoing through the cold corridor.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open wider, bracing himself for whatever he might find—though nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes when the door creaked open.

The scene unfolded before him like a nightmare; your so-called boyfriend stood menacingly above you, his hand raised as if poised to strike, while your frail form displayed clear signs of distress—your face bruised, tears streaming down your cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as he took stock of the situation, the cruel contrast of celebration outside and the terrifying reality inside your room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max's voice cut through the air, laced with fury as he stepped into the room, instinctively placing himself between you and the looming threat.

In that instant, your boyfriend's grip on your collar slackened, surprise washing over his features as he turned to face Max.

“Stay out of this, Max! This has nothing to do with you,” your boyfriend snarled, his bravado faltering under the sudden scrutiny.

But Max remained steadfast, stepping closer, his presence commanding as he glared at the man who had dared to raise a hand against you.

“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with me. Y/N is my friend, and I won’t let you hurt her,” he replied, his voice steady yet filled with palpable tension.

Your eyes met Max's, a flicker of hope igniting amidst despair, and despite everything, the warmth of that friendship washed over you.

Max's voice echoed through the room, a mix of frustration and urgency. "You need to leave now!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto your boyfriend, who stood there with clenched fists and a scowl that could cut glass.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice through. Your boyfriend hesitated, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, but something in Max's tone made him reconsider.

"Fine," he finally muttered, his voice low and filled with resentment. "I’ll go, but this isn’t over."

With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving you and Max in a heavy silence.

“Max, please…” you managed to choke out, your voice hoarse as the fear and pain slowly ebbed. “I just…I just wanted to celebrate, but I didn’t know who I could trust. I thought…”

Your voice faltered as the tears resumed their steady flow. Max's gaze softened as he turned back to you, the protective barrier he had formed in front of you embodying more than just physical defense.

“You can trust me, Y/N,” he said firmly, his expression shifting to one of concern.

With Max's unwavering support behind you, the resolve within you began to build.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice trembling, but a hint of strength colored your tone.

1K notes · View notes

saetoru · 2 years ago

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。TANGLED — GETO SUGURU.

contents. just suguru needing his hair brushed for him bc he’s def so me and gets mad over the knots lol—alternative title: princess suguru and his frog <3

suguru huffs in front of your mirror—and it’s quite the frustrated huff, too—before he slams the hair brush down.

you raise a brow, “you okay over there?”

“no. ‘s knotted,” he mutters, referring to his hair. there’s a quiet grumbling of something unintelligible under his breath before he glares at himself in the mirror.

suguru loves his hair—anyone would know that just by looking at him. most guys use two-in-one shampoo (like satoru) but suguru? he practically hogs your shower space with all of the products he owns. his hair is well maintained and perfectly neat every time you see him. but sometimes, like now, it’s also a pain to brush once it’s knotted. and, well, he doesn’t handle it very well.

“you’ve been brushing for—” you pretend to check your bare wrist for the time, “—like ten minutes,” you giggle.

“very funny,” he grunts bitterly. and then, more petulantly this time, “i’m cutting it off for real this time.”

“you said that last time,” you remind him, eyes glinting with amusement.

“this time i mean it.”

“no you don’t, sugu.”

“i do,” he insists, glaring at you through the mirror, “it’s getting too long, and i don’t have the time to brush all these damn knots every two hours. so, it’s getting cut.”

“okay,” you nod casually—anyone can tell you don’t believe him.

his expression sours. suguru gets in very bad moods when his hair doesn’t cooperate, it’s evident in the way he flares his nostrils and scowls.

“you still don’t believe me? i’m being serious.”

“okay, baby,” you snort, finally deciding to take matters into your own hands as you rise from your bed and walk over. you stand behind him, reaching around him for the hair brush before gently pulling him back to stand closer. “i’ll get it for you, don’t worry. wouldn’t want your princess hair gone.”

“stop calling it that,” he groans, but the tension leaves his shoulders as soon as you gently brush through his strands, starting at the bottom and working your way up. it’s quiet for a bit—nothing but the soft sound of your humming as you work through the tangles in his long (perfect) hair.

“you could’ve just asked if you wanted me to brush it,” you tease after a few moments, “no need to throw a tantrum.”

“glad to see you’re enjoying this,” he rolls his eyes. and then, when you’ve finished and set the brush down, he turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist as his face finds the crook of your neck.

you hum, pecking the side of his head before threading your fingers into his dark locks, stroking through the soft strands and silently marveling at the length.

“you’re so pretty, suguru,” you murmur, “did’ya know that?”

“oh yeah?” he chuckles into your skin, lips curling into a loose smile. his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“yeah,” you nod, “like a princess. my prettiest princess.”

“i thought i told you to quit with that,” he says exasperatedly—you can feel the heat from his cheeks, and you grin to yourself knowing he’s blushing as he hides his face deeper into your shoulder.

“it’s true,” you insist, “i’m no liar. i’m a truther.”

“debatable,” he mumbles. you smack his shoulder playfully, and he squeezes your hips in response. “aren’t you going to tie it for me too?” he finally asks, and you’re sure there’s a pout curled on those lips of his. you ache to kiss them—and you will, just not right now.

right now, you’ll stay like this a bit longer.

“this is real princess treatment,” you sigh dramatically, “yes your highness. i’ll tie it too.”

“thank you,” he says, thoroughly satisfied. and then, quieter, like it’s a secret only you’re supposed to know, “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you happily murmur, “but that might change if you cut your hair.”

“are you only dating me for my hair?”

“yes,” you snicker playfully, “it’s the main appeal. the princess appeal.”

“you know what,” suguru says thoughtfully, “i’ll be your princess.”

“really?” you gasp in excitement, making him nod into your neck as he presses a delicate kiss to your skin.

“sure,” he grins slyly, “and you can be the frog.”

the moment is officially ruined—and for a second, you think you might just have to cut his hair off in his sleep after that one.

come join me in the most self indulgent drabble once again. also the title being tangled even tho the reference is the princess and the frog is a tad bit funny to me jdjsjd i did giggle i can’t lie

#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

7K notes · View notes

sknyuz · 2 months ago

Text

garden fairy | y.j.h.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

synopsis ─ a variety show trip to a tiny village school turns unexpectedly sweet when the kids start calling jeonghan a butterfly prince—and you his fairy.

pairing ─ yoon jeonghan x gn!idol!reader

genre ─ fluff. slice of life. secret relationship. idolverse

wc ─ ~700

note: you and jeonghan have been secretly dating for 6 months. also, i tried a cute new format !! lmk what u guys think <3 this is a request from anon. taglist at end.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

you hadn’t been expecting to see him on today’s call sheet.

especially not next to your name in bold letters under the words:

“episode 5 - healing days: idol village edition

garden team – school visit – jeonghan + y/n”

“you two have good chemistry,” the pd had said brightly, way too brightly.

jeonghan had only tilted his head at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “what a coincidence,” he said, already smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing.

now, two hours later, you’re knee-deep in a school garden that’s somehow both adorable and wildly chaotic, trying to actually do your assigned task—while jeonghan has become the unofficial lettuce whisperer to a group of second graders.

he’s supposed to be weeding. instead, he’s squatting in front of a lettuce patch, holding up leaves like sacred scrolls. “this one looks like a dragon’s wing,” he tells a wide-eyed kid. “see that curve? totally a dragon.”

“what about this one?” another child asks, holding up a rounder one.

jeonghan squints. “hmm… that one’s a turtle shell. or maybe a sleeping cap.” you glance over from the carrot beds, deadpan. “jeonghan.”

“yes, farmer y/n?” he grins, batting his lashes.

“the lettuce won’t harvest itself.”

“neither will my fanbase,” he says, gesturing to the kids now giggling around him. “i’m sowing the seeds of friendship.”

you chuckle despite yourself. it’s impossible not to, even you weren’t safe from his charm. one of the kids suddenly turns to him and blurts, “jeonghan-oppa, you’re so pretty!”

jeonghan gasps like he’s just won an award. “really? thank you!” another girl pipes up. “you look like a butterfly prince!” at this, his hand flies to his chest, gently bowing his head. “i’ll accept this royal title.”

but then the princely man turns to you, mock-offended. “wait—what about our y/n-ssi? don’t you think they’re pretty too?”

the kids peer at you seriously, as if debating a very very serious topic within their little minds.

you smile, brushing dirt off your cheek, but before you can say anything, one girl clasps her hands like she’s made a discovery. “they’re not just pretty—they look like a garden fairy!” the other kids cheer and agree, echoing her words.

jeonghan blinks. “...a fairy?! that’s even better than prince!”

you snort, cheeks warming. “you’re the one comparing lettuce to dragons.”

“fairy magic,” he says solemnly, “is clearly more powerful.”

off to the side, one of the staff members walks by and mutters—just loud enough—“butterfly prince and garden fairy… sounds like a solid we got married pitch.” you and jeonghan both freeze.

then, almost in sync, you slowly turn to look at each other.

he raises a brow, dangerously amused. “should we start calling each other yeobo for authenticity?”

“don’t even joke.”

“too late. it’s canon now.”

you groan, turning back to the carrots, only for a little boy to tug at your sleeve.

“excuse me,” he asks seriously, “are you really married to jeonghan-hyung?”

jeonghan doesn’t even hesitate, eyes lighting up as he humored the little. “what do you think?”

the boy tilts his head. “...yes.”

jeonghan beams, absolutely delighted. “see? even the kids know we’re meant to be.”

you bury your face in your gloves.

and yet…

you glance up a few moments later, just in time to catch jeonghan gently squishing a little girl’s cheeks with both hands, his expression soft and playful as he tells her she’d make a perfect space princess one day.

and something about the image sticks—him crouching in the dirt, the light catching in his hair, kids gathered around him like flower petals. your chest aches a little in that quiet, dangerous way.

you imagine a little girl, smaller than these ones, her hands curled around the fabric of his hoodie, her laugh echoing in a cozy kitchen. jeonghan crouched in front of her to tie her shoes, telling her to protect you while he’s out for schedules. brushing her hair behind her ears and calling her his princess even if she’s got jam on her face.

your future.

your family.

your jeonghan.

you blink the thought away, heart skipping like a pebble across water.

jeonghan glances over. “you good?”

“fine,” you mumble. “just wondering how much lettuce we’d get if you actually worked.”

he snickers, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you—longer than before.

like maybe he’s wondering about the same what if.

𐔌 . ⋮ taglist .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ @ateez-atiny380 @alien0n3arth @cuppasunu

join here!

#sknyuz #⋆˚࿔ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢’𝐬 🍮 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#svt #seventeen #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #svt jeonghan #seventeen fanfic #seventeen jeonghan #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff

369 notes · View notes

iamgonnagetyouback · 7 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ⠀────۶ৎ fever check

synopsis: remus keeps failing to hold your hand, and peter’s had enough. with a little scheming (and a fake fever check), you finally end up hand-in-hand with a very flustered remus content warnings: lots of fluff, meddling marauders (classic scheming), excessive pining, peter being the ultimate wingman, slight hand-holding-induced cardiac arrest (from remus, obviously) author's note: and the award for the best wingman goes to.....

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 515

You’re squinting down at your Potions textbook, trying to explain the intricacies of Veritaserum to Peter while Remus sits beside you. Remus’ hand rests close to yours, fingers tapping the edge of the book as if he’s debating something, but he just can’t bring himself to move those final inches.

Peter’s watching with barely concealed frustration. It’s been weeks now, and he’s spent nearly every study session watching Remus try and fail to make a move.

“Y/N,” Peter says suddenly, his tone oddly serious, “you look… really pale.”

You look at him, brows drawn. “What? I don’t feel sick.”

But Peter leans in, reaching for your hand and placing his own against it with a dramatically furrowed brow. “Hmm. Are you feeling hot?”

Your face heats up, and you snatch your hand away with a laugh. “Isn’t it usually done with a hand to the forehead or arm?”

Peter’s eyes narrow with a devilish glint. “My mum checks for fevers like this. Are you saying my mum is wrong? My mum, Y/N?”

You stammer, cheeks warming further. “Of course not, Pete. I— I’m just saying…”

“Hmm,” Peter hums, his grin widening, “Moony, maybe you could check her fever for me. I’d do it myself, but I’m cold, so I might not feel it right.”

Remus, caught off guard, coughs and nods, glancing from you to Peter with a soft “Sure, if you…um, if you don’t mind, Y/N.”

He reaches out, taking your hand in his own, and the second your fingers connect, he freezes. His eyes are wide, his words gone somewhere into the far reaches of his mind. Remus Lupin, the man with a response for every situation, is utterly, hopelessly silent.

“Well? Am I sick?” you ask, trying to suppress a smile, though your own heart’s racing faster than you’d care to admit.

Peter gives you both an exaggerated look of concern. “Blimey, Y/N, you must be very ill. Moony can’t even speak!”

Remus snaps out of his daze, shooting Peter a look that could only be described as a death glare, but Peter’s grinning mischievously. “I think you ought to rest, Y/N. Moony, you should probably take her back to her dorm… just to make sure she gets there safe, of course.”

Remus grits his teeth at Peter, but he hasn’t let go of your hand. “Oh, really, Pete? You sure you don’t need more help with Potions?”

“Nah,” Peter says with a mock salute, winking as he gestures to the door. “You two go ahead. I’m fine.”

The walk to your dorm is filled with an awkward, sweet silence, neither of you quite brave enough to break the spell. Every so often, you glance down at your joined hands, wondering if you should pull away, but you don’t. And neither does he.

Meanwhile, from behind a nearby bookshelf, James and Sirius burst out, clapping their hands and howling with glee. “Agent Peter, job well done!” Sirius exclaims, ruffling Peter’s hair. “But why did it take so long? Do you know how painful it is to sit through hours of Potions talk?”

#⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ivy writes ༄.°#remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #dividers by sxmmerberries #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x you #remus lupin fic

482 notes · View notes

rhaenyraeri · 15 days ago

Text

Forevermore - Remmick

minors dni, 18+!!

Pairing: Remmick x fem!Reader

Summary: During one of his nightly visits, you prompt Remmick to make a hard decision.

Warnings: blood play, oral (fem!receiving), dirty talk, biting, scratching

Word Count: 1.7k

Tonight, like most nights, you let him in. He’d came to your house, leaned up against the wooden post at the top of your steps, using that charm he had to impress you. He didn’t have to most nights. You’d grown particularly found of this vampire, and he’d the same for you, a mere human that he should want to kill. But you were different, and the both of you knew that the dynamic wasn’t good for either of you.

But here you were now, laid face down on the bed as Remmick ran his hands up and down your body. You’d been at it for a few hours now, and you were exhausted. He never got tired, but he understood that someone like you needed a rest every so often. He laid beside you as his hands worshiped the body you let him have every night, the occasional vampiric drool seeping out. Your blood was different to him. It called out of his name like a song, luring him in. intoxicating in a way that others weren’t. Maybe he just convinced himself of that, maybe it was actually different, or maybe he’d been too blinded by his star-crossed love for you. Part of him wanted to turn you, to have you forever, but the other didn’t want to rip you from the life you had. One that had an ending, had trials and tribulations. It would be selfish to change you. At least it’s what he thought. Had he had a choice, he wouldn’t have taken it.

“You’re awfully quiet, Rem. What’s on your mind?” You broke the peaceful silence, knowing that usually he’d had a lot to talk about but tonight he was silent.

“Oh, nothin’, darlin’. Just takin’ in the silence, is all.”

You knew him better, though. For Remmick to not have anything to say, especially now between your nightly sexual sessions. You loved him, and you could swear you felt that he loved you too. You wanted to spend your lifetime with him, as much as he’d probably reject the idea.

“I know you better than that. Come on, tell me what’s going through your mind.”

He sighed, moving to lay beside you on the bed. You matched his movements, turning onto your side to nestle into his body.

“I just.. Well.. I.. Darlin’, I wanna have you forever. I can’t rip you from this life you got, though. It’s too perfect, too taken for granted when you’re cursed to eternity like me.”

You looked up to him, eyes locking onto his face. For the first time, you saw a perturbed look on it, the sense of longing furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, Rem. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, too. But, we don’t have to be like this. Each day I die a little more, years from now I’ll be all old and wrinkled, and you’ll still be you. Maybe, I.. maybe you’d..” you now took your left hand to push some of his short hair behind his ear, “maybe you could change me?”

His eyes shot to yours. He was shocked, a look you didn’t see very often from him. He couldn’t steal that from you. He also couldn’t bear to lose you, either.

“Darlin’, I.. I don’t want you to lose out on life like this. You’d be here forever, you know that, right? I-I’ve spent centuries here, and it was loneliest damn thing I ever experienced. But then I met you, honey. You’re special to me, more than you know.”

“Rem.. I-I.. I love you. I know that’s probably not what you want to hear, a human committed to a creature of the night like you. It’s true, though. And I think, or at least hope, you feel the same way. I’m serious. I want to spend eternity with you.”

You felt your heart start to race at the thought of that. Eternity. Thousands of lifetimes, millions of people living and dying, experiencing things that makes humans.. human. All happening while the two of you were here on this earth to stay. Forever.

He sighed again, this time one dripping with debate. He couldn’t bear the rest of his life without you with him. The hours of daytime he waited in caves and old abandoned houses for the sunset to come, all spent thinking about you. The time between each fuck that you spent resting as he adored you. The times even, that you were most human. The nights you were sick, so you just laid in the bed as he held your sleeping figure. The nights where he got to just spend time with you, appreciating you in more domestic ways. He’d came around your house many times by now, more than you could count. He’d grown immune to the hunger that your blood caused in him. Some nights he wondered just how you would taste, if given the chance. An intrusive thought that refused to leave him.

“I wanna spend it with you too, sweetheart, I do,” he finally spoke, “but are you sure? I want you to be absolutely certain you want it. Everything you know will change. It’s gon’ be hard to get used to.”

“I’m sure, Rem. Sure as I could ever be.”

He gave you a slight smile, he was still unsure about it, having to kill you for you to turn. If he were to do this, he was to do it right. He kissed your forehead, and turned you onto your back. He sat up to hover over you, eyes now red and drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. He kissed you deeply, one filled with love and passion. He moved away from your mouth to kiss your cheek. His teeth grazed down your neck, piercing just enough to feel like a cat scratch but not enough to inflict pain. Almost as if he wanted to take his time teasing you, antagonizing you. He dragged his teeth back up your neck, the thin scratch he just made had become a little more painful as it was being irritated. Slowly, the blood seeped out of your neck and barely touched his tongue. A course and carnal moan erupted from him. The taste of your blood drove him insane. It was sweet, like you. Almost like the sweets he could remember from his childhood, days of many centuries past. He sucked the blood a little more out of your neck, savoring the flavor, then kissing it. One of his hands now had claws, something you’d never seen before. He placed light kisses on your chest down to your stomach, and then your hip bone, right above your core.

“Your blood is so sweet, darlin’. Lemme see how sweet your pussy will taste with your it, too.” One of his hands slid up your leg and up to your stomach. The claws came out as he laid his hand between your breasts. You’d only heard about them in some stories he’d told you. They slightly pierced your skin, dragging little scratches from your chest down to your hip bone. The blood seeped out quick, and he leaned up to lick his way back down your body, taking each droplet in with a moan. He swallowed deeply, drooling a little harder now as he looked up at you.

“You ready for me, sweetheart? I know she is.” You nodded, eagerness churning in your stomach. His mouth met with your pussy, lapping at it like it was his last meal. To be fair, it was his last meal of your humanity. After tonight, you would be a creature of the night alongside him, reigning terror amongst the unexpecting together. He hummed against you, savoring the sweetness of your blood and the intensity of your slick. Before you could grab his hair, he stops his movements and looks up at the scratches on your stomach. He goes up to taste the fresh blood and returns to your pussy, humming in content, then back up to kiss you. Now you’ve tasted what he desired, and it’s all intoxicating for you. He breaks from the kiss to flip you around on your hands and knees, and he puts a clawed hand on your hip, using the other to line himself up with you, before slowly pushing in. His pace is slow at first, taking in the last time you would have this dynamic. You moaned into the pillow, before giving a muffled, “faster.” His speed picks up, his hands on your hips to guide you back to his. Moans filled the room now, reverberating off the walls. It’s all either of you could hear aside from the slapping of your bodies together. You wanted him deeper, so much more deeper than he was now, something you knew couldn’t be acquired but you couldn’t get enough. He fucked you with a different aura tonight, you could feel the love and desire in each thrust. “Fuck, darlin’, you feel so damn good. You like it, huh? You like havin’ me inside you? Fuckin’ you like this?”

All you could do was moan in agreement, the sensualness of it all stealing your words from you. His sounds now turned filthier and rough, each one getting louder and louder the closer he got. “Fuck, Rem, I’m gonna.. fuck, I’m almost..” “I know, honey, let it out sweetheart, come on.” He twirled your hair around his hand and pulled you up so that your neck was level with his mouth. His tongue danced along the old scratches from earlier, tasting the dried blood. As soon as your orgasm hit, his vampiric teeth bit hard onto your neck, sucking on the delicious blood you offered up to him. Your right hand reach up to his face, pressing his teeth harder into you. He came right after, his orgasmic moans rumbled through his teeth and into the puncture wounds. You emitted sounds so ethereal to him, the pain and pleasure of him turning you was unlike anything he’d ever heard before.. almost heavenly. He sucked just a little more of your blood out of you, before slowly pulling out of you and lowering you back down onto the pillow. He laid down beside you once more, pushing hair out of your face as you looked at him. You weren’t in discomfort, no, but you were more at peace? He wasn’t sure how you didn’t react with pain, but the smile you showed him as your eyes fluttered shut gave him all the reassurance he needed. This was the correct choice.

You were his, and he was yours. For now and forever.

#remmick x reader #remmick x y/n #remmick imagine #remmick x you #remmick fic #remmick #sinners #sinners x you #sinners x reader #sinners imagine #sinners fic

389 notes · View notes

goldenhazelnut · 5 months ago

Text

Caught in the Spotlight || Lewis Hamilton

The rhythmic hum of Lewis Hamilton's car engine echoed through the underground parking lot as he pulled into a discreet corner. It was well past midnight, and the shadows concealed more than just the sleek lines of his custom Mercedes-AMG. Despite the hour, the Formula 1 legend stepped out, wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. His movements were cautious but confident as he sent a quick text:

"I'm here."

A minute later, the side door of the parking lot creaked open. She stepped through, clutching her bag nervously. A psychology student in her final year, she had never imagined that a chance meeting at an exclusive event six months ago would lead to a clandestine rendezvous with one of the most recognizable faces on the planet.

"You're late," Lewis teased, his voice low but warm.

"You’re impossible to sneak around for," she shot back, rolling her eyes. But the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.

He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Worth it, though."

"Debatable," she said, though her tone was playful.

"Oh, come on," Lewis said, smirking. "You’re not saying this isn’t the highlight of your day."

"My day? Sure. My week? The jury’s still out." she quipped, leaning into him. "What if someone recognizes us?"

"That’s why we’re here," he said. "Relax. Nobody’s lurking in the shadows with a camera."

"Famous last words," muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

The two climbed into the car, where Lewis started recounting his latest race while she listened intently, occasionally throwing in sarcastic comments that made him laugh. Their ease with each other was evident—until a sudden flash lit up the interior of the car.

"What the hell?" she gasped, ducking instinctively.

Lewis turned sharply, spotting a man outside the driver’s side window with a camera pressed to his face. Another flash went off, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lens clicking.

"Stay down," Lewis commanded, his voice low and steady as he rolled down the window slightly. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"Just getting a scoop, mate," the paparazzo said smugly, still snapping pictures. "Who’s your friend? She doesn’t look like she’s part of the racing world."

"Get the hell out of here," Lewis snapped, his usual calm veneer slipping. "Now."

The man laughed. "Relax, Hamilton. The world’s gonna love this. A little late-night rendezvous? Very on-brand."

Her heart was pounding as she sat frozen in her seat. "Lewis, let’s just go," she whispered.

But before Lewis could move, the photographer darted in front of the car, blocking their exit. More flashes erupted, blinding in the darkness.

"Are you serious?" Lewis muttered, throwing the car into reverse and backing up quickly. He tried to swerve around the man, but the photographer sidestepped, keeping his lens trained on them.

"Lewis, stop! You’ll hit him!" she cried, grabbing his arm.

"He’s not going to move unless I make him," Lewis growled, but he reluctantly braked.

"Call security or something," she said, fumbling for her phone. Her hands were shaking as she pulled it out and began dialing.

"Oh, don’t bother," the paparazzo said, smirking as he lowered the camera. "I’ve got what I need."

And with that, he turned and jogged off, disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot. They sat in stunned silence for a moment, the tension in the air almost tangible.

"You okay?" Lewis finally asked, glancing at her.

"No," she admitted, her voice trembling. "What just happened?"

"We got caught," he said bluntly, running a hand over his face. "I’m sorry. I should have been more careful."

"It’s not your fault," she said, though her voice was shaky. "But... what do we do now?"

Lewis sighed, starting the car again. "We deal with it. Together. Whatever happens next, we’ll handle it."

She nodded, though her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t help but wonder if their world—their fragile, private world—had just shattered beyond repair.

165 notes · View notes

thriftedtchotchkes · 2 years ago

Text

switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away.

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?”

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it.

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?”

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right��I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.”

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays.

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets.

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief.

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again.

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.”

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately.

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect.

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most.

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth.

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless.

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too.

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her.

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself.

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand.

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack.

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder.

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!”

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best.

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship.

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good.

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise.

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit.

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen.

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this.

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun.

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it.

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative.

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him.

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats.

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you.

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are.

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all.

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far.

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core.

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it.

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars.

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful.

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine."

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him.

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him.

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively.

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you.

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need.

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs.

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself.

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense.

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!"

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option.

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well.

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought.

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this.

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point.

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before?

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight.

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar.

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable.

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken.

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken.

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you.

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you.

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering.

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm.

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells.

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone.

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk.

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.”

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer.

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that.

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up.

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes.

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur.

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time.

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand.

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer.

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck.

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips.

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans.

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere.

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction.

Now, you want something else.

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either.

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all.

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken.

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration.

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie.

"Should ya be doin' that right now?"

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening.

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart.

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open.

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit.

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast.

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap.

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically.

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now.

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric.

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something.

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his.

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation.

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now."

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back.

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead.

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough.

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you.

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?"

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?”

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content.

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs.

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once.

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you.

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens.

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers.

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly.

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh.

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath.

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement.

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you.

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves.

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip.

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him.

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat.

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite.

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment.

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking.

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again.

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation.

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach.

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away.

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives.

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.”

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful.

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free.

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately.

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache.

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that.

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does.

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would.

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could.

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

myjealouseyes · 1 year ago

Text

Drabble request from 🦄 anon: Regulus teaches Wolfstar!daughter how to ballroom dance.

A/n — French translations from DeepL app so if anyone realizes something is off tell me and I’ll change it!

Send me a request here.

“C'est bon, essayons encore une fois, chère nièce.“

Regulus is endlessly patient with you, even as you step on his feet every two seconds. At seven years old, ballroom dancing is much harder than you thought it would be. You’d never had to practice so much coordination before! And it was hard to remember when you were supposed to turn. But you’re not so worried. Your uncle Regulus says that it’ll get easier as you learn more and you were very eager to do so.

“One two three, one two three, one two three, switch. one two three, one two three, one two three, switch. one two three, one two three, one two three, turn! Bon travail!” You smile happily as you remember to switch directions almost seamlessly. You don’t notice how you were late on the turn or how you stumbled a little on your second switch. Regulus doesn’t point it out either as you bounce on your toes happily. Just as he’s about to suggest a break and a victory snack a soft knock sounds on the wall of the ballroom.

You turn quickly to see your dad standing there. From the way Sirius is smiling, Regulus knows he saw everything. However surprisingly; it doesn’t embarrass him. If there had to be two people he let his cold facade slip in front of he’d rather it be his brother and niece. You squeal and run up to him quickly. He catches you just in time. “Papa! Did you see me?! I danced like a real princess!” Sirius’s grin holds nothing but fondness as he answers. “I did! You were like a princess! A very graceful one!” He ruffles your hair to get a laugh out of you and of course, it works. He looks back up at his younger brother, his smile still present; only softer. He gives him an appreciative nod. Both of them know it means more than that though. They aren’t ready to say it out loud, so Regulus just nods back.

“Papa, Uncle Reggie has chocolate croissants,” you say in a voice very serious for a seven-year-old. “Can we have some?” Sirius debates; knowing he probably shouldn’t allow you to spoil the dinner you’ll have in a few hours. “One,” He settles. And you’ll have extra veggies at dinner time.” You furrow your eyebrows, seemingly thinking about his proposition. “Okay, deal. Come on uncle Reggie! Snack time!” Sirius puts you down and you run ahead to the kitchen. The two men follow behind you, affection and amusement clear on there faces.

#writing child wolfstar!daughter heals me tbh.#wolfstar!daughter literally helps mend Sirius and Regulus’s relationship without knowing it.#wolfstar!daughter!reader #sirius black x daughter!reader #wolfstar!daughter #sirius x daughter!reader #wolfstar x wolfstar!daughter #wolfstar x child!reader #Sirius Black x child!reader #wolfstar x daughter reader #wolfstar x daughter!reader #Sirius black x platonic!reader #regulus black x niece!reader #regulus black x child!reader #Regulus Black x platonic!reader #hp x reader

412 notes · View notes

amcdanbury · 1 year ago

Text

Peter Lanza Interview

Peter got sent candy after the shooting he said “ I was wary of eating anything” incase the candy was poisoned

Adam Lanza showed hypersensitivity to physical touch and had to have clothing tags removed

Adam went to speech therapy and occupational therapy in kindergarten and 1st grade his teachers were told to look out for seizures

One time Adam had to show facial expressions for a school play he was very serious about perfecting the facial expressions and practiced in the mirror

Adam said in 5th grade that he didn’t think highly of himself and he believed everyone deserved better than he did

Peter said that when Adam was in middle school Adam would never stop talking and said “ that kid, you couldn’t shut him up!”

Adam liked Ron Paul and liked talking about politics and debate about economic theory

One time Peter took Adam to see Bill Cosby live and said Adam laughed for an hour straight

Adam loved reruns of “ The Bob Newhart show” and “ Get Smart”

Adam used his savings to buy Christmas presents for needy kids

In middle school Adam had to move room to room instead of staying in one classroom and he said it was punishing

Nancy made all of Adam’s textbooks in black and white because Adam said that he found Color graphics unbearable

Adam hated birthdays and holidays

Adam had panic attacks that necessitated Nancy coming to school

Peter said that Adam seemed to fit into the Tech Club and even had a party at his house once for the Tech Club

Nancy wrote to Peter saying how happy she was that Adam was talking to other kids but Adam didn’t understand popularity and asked his dad why do you need friends

A psychiatrist who assessed Adam said he was awkward and gaunt and refused to shake hands or maintain eye contact

Peter was about to get lunch when he saw the news about Adam

The news report said that there was two shooters aged 20 and 24 the ages of Adam and Ryan

The interviewer asks Peter if they had a funeral for Adam and he said no one knows and no one ever will

#smiggles #school shooters #tcc columbine #tccblr #tcc tumblr

390 notes · View notes

nameless-jamie · 4 months ago

Note

Hii, I know you're swamped with the requests but could you write about Jamie and PA babysitting together? Maybe Roy has something and cant watch Phoebe so they offer to take care of her? And they're both good with kids ams admire each other for it. And maybe Phoebe can totally tell and calls them out on their bullshit and their just stunned.

Thanks 🥺🥺

Babysittin' Legend

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, flirting, Roy Kent

A/N: Hii thanks for the request I love it!

When Roy Kent asks you for a favor, you don’t say no. Not because he’s particularly threatening (okay, maybe a little), but because if he trusts you enough to ask, it means something.

Which is why, when he showed up at Y/N’s apartment that evening, standing in the doorway with his ever-serious expression and a very bored-looking Phoebe by his side, she didn’t immediately slam the door in his face.

Jamie Tartt, however, nearly spilled his tea at the sight of him.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate,” Jamie said, gripping his mug like he was preparing for battle. “Ever heard of a text first?”

Roy grunted. “Didn’t feel like textin’.” Then he turned back to Y/N. “I need you to watch Phoebe.”

Y/N blinked, glancing between him and his niece. “Uh, right now?”

“No, next fuckin’ Tuesday—yes, right now.”

Y/N hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she had Jamie in her living room, legs propped up on her coffee table, looking far too comfortable. She had invited him over to go over his schedule for the week, and somehow, like usual and he had managed to stretch a thirty-minute conversation into an hour-long debate about whether or not he could justify skipping a training session for a “wellness day.”

Spoiler: he couldn’t.

She sighed. “Roy, I’d love to help, but—”

“Great,” Roy cut in, already shoving Phoebe forward like it was a done deal. “Be back in a few hours.”

Y/N barely had time to protest before he patted Phoebe on the head, muttered something about “Don’t let Jamie corrupt you”, and promptly left.

The door shut. Silence filled the apartment.

Jamie and Y/N turned slowly to Phoebe, who had already made herself comfortable on the couch, sipping from a juice box like she owned the place.

Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Well. That was abrupt. Freakin' grandpa just gave us a child.”

Y/N exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Yeah, welcome to my life.”

Jamie smirked. “What, babysittin’ little legends?”

Y/N threw him a look. “Babysitting you, mostly. No legends in sight.”

Phoebe snorted. “That tracks.”

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Phoebe shrugged, unbothered. “My uncle Roy says that you play like Ronaldo... If he had the stomach flu and both his legs tied together..”

"Ok, first of all your uncle Roy is a fuc—"

"Wow, wow, wow, let's not get ahead of ourselves, we're talking to a 12-year-old, Jamie." Y/N grinned.

Jamie shot her a look of pure betrayal. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” she said sweetly. “I’m just also on Phoebe’s.”

Jamie groaned, flopping back against the couch. “Great. There’s two of you now.”

Phoebe smirked like she had already won something.

Jamie sighed dramatically and flopped onto the couch next to her. “Fine, what we doin’ tonight, then?”

Phoebe hummed, considering. “Movies. Snacks. No bedtime.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow. “Roy would murder us.”

Phoebe shrugged. “Not if he doesn’t find out.”

Jamie gasped, eyes wide with admiration. “I love the way you think.”

Y/N groaned. “Oh my god, there’s two of you.”

And so the evening went on and funny enough, as it turned out, Jamie was actually good with kids.

Like, weirdly good.

Y/N found herself watching him more than she cared to admit, taking note of the way he let Phoebe braid his hair while they watched a movie, never once complaining—even when she yanked a little too hard. When she asked for popcorn, Jamie got up without hesitation, returning with three different flavors because “Dunno what you like best, so I got all of ‘em.”

Phoebe beamed. “I like caramel the best.”

Jamie grinned. “Good choice. That’s my favorite, too.”

Y/N sat back, arms crossed, trying not to find it adorable.

Jamie caught her staring and smirked. “What? Starin’ at me ‘cause I’m good with kids?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “A little.”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Knew it. You totally would have me baby's right now.”

"Idiot..." Y/N just shook her head, turning back to the movie.

But she was impressed. Jamie had a way of making people feel special, like they were the most important person in the room. It was dangerous when directed at her, but with Phoebe? It was downright sweet.

And, annoyingly, it made her like him even more.

Halfway through the second movie, they were just watching the Spaghetti Kiss scene of Lady and the Tramp, Phoebe suddenly turned to them, frowning slightly, like she was deeply considering something.

Then, out of nowhere:

“So when are you two gonna kiss?”

Y/N choked on her drink.

Jamie actually paused the movie and turned to stare at Phoebe like she had just asked him to do calculus. “What?”

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Come on. I might be a kid, but I’m not stupid.”

Jamie cleared his throat, trying desperately to recover. “We—we’re just friends.”

At the same time Y/N said, "He's my boss!

Phoebe snorted. “No, you’re not.”

Jamie was still looking at her, slightly dazed. “You think—what?”

Phoebe gestured between them. “You like each other.”

Jamie blinked. Y/N froze.

“No, we—”

“Yes, you do,” Phoebe said, exasperated. “You look at each other all dreamy. Like Flynn Rider looks at Rapunzel.”

Jamie made a choking noise. “I do not.”

Phoebe gave him a flat look. “You let me braid your hair. You helped Y/N babysit me. I think you like her,.”

Jamie opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Looked at Y/N, then back at Phoebe. “That—that’s just ‘cause I’m nice.”

Phoebe smirked. “You’re not that nice.”

Jamie looked personally offended.

Y/N, on the other hand, was just trying not to combust.

“Okay, how about bedtime,” she blurted out.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “It’s 8:30.”

“Exactly.” Y/N stood up, grabbing the remote. “Early bedtime for kids who stir up drama.”

Phoebe giggled but didn’t argue. “Fine. But I know what I saw.”

Jamie was still staring at the TV, looking utterly stunned.

Y/N nudged him with her elbow. “You alright there?”

Jamie blinked. Looked at her.

Then, finally, in a very quiet voice, he said:

“… Do I look at you all dreamy?”

Y/N grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face.

When Roy knocked on Y/N’s door again that evening, approximately 20 minutes after the Phoebe incident, Y/N opened it to find him standing there with his usual gruff expression, arms crossed. He glanced between her and Jamie, who was still lounging comfortably on her couch, flipping through his phone like he lived there.

“Phoebe behave?” Roy asked, tone neutral, but there was something almost amused in his eyes.

Y/N nodded, smiling. “Of course. She was an angel.”

“Yeah,” Jamie added, stretching. “No trouble at all. Except for when she decided to grill us instead of doin’ watchin' her damn movies.”

Roy’s brows lifted slightly. “Grill you?”

Y/N shot Jamie a quick look, but he was already grinning, clearly enjoying himself. “Yeah, mate. Little detective, your niece. Got some theories about me and Y/N.”

Roy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Right. Figures. She's a smart fucking dweeb.”

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Do I even want to know how much you knew about that in advance?”

Roy shrugged. “Kid’s perceptive. Was only a matter of time.” He jerked his head toward Jamie. “Surprised you lasted this long without crackin’ under pressure.”

Jamie scoffed. “Oi, I’m a professional, Roy.”

Roy gave him an unimpressed look. “Right.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, stepping back to let Roy in. He didn’t stay long—just long enough to get the recap on Phoebe’s night, nodding approvingly at Y/N’s patience and Jamie’s unexpected ability to be good with kids.

“Appreciate it,” Roy said as he headed for the door. “You’re alright with her. Both of you.”

Jamie smirked. “High praise, that.”

Roy ignored him and turned to Y/N. “You ever need anything, you let me know.”

She nodded, touched by the offer. “Same to you.”

As Roy left, Jamie leaned back on the couch, watching her with an unreadable expression. “Look at you, impressin’ Roy Kent. I think that makes you an honorary badass.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. “I’ll get a trophy made.”

Jamie grinned. “Just make sure it says, ‘Babysittin’ Legend.’”

"Ok, well time to go home now, Romeo, before you keep lookin' at me all dreamy again." Y/N said laughing her freaking ass off.

Jamie just rolled hie eyes and headed to the door. "Hate you..."

Yeah, right...

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #afc richmond #jamie tartt imagine #roy kent #sam obisanya

129 notes · View notes

dollyfetti · 2 months ago

Text

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER TWO - a friend of ours

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 3.6k (LMAO I DIDNT MEAN TO)

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

that night buzzed with the kind of energy that sat between anxiety and something giddy. the diner booth was small, the table sticky with years of spilled milkshakes and teenage secrets, but it was perfect. sam and dean were loud, messy, and impossible to look away from, leaving you to spend over an hour with them.

you debated on telling your family about your new friends when you got home. would it even matter? would either of them want to talk to you again? maybe they were just bored. so you kept it to yourself, telling your mom you were late home because of how long the game went.

you didn’t expect to see them again so soon, and at homecoming at that! you didn’t even think they’d want to go, you assumed dean would think it was just a stupid, corny “mating ritual”.

you lean against a wall, red solo cup in hand, trying to blend into the brick, watching couples dance and enjoy their night as disco balls spin shadows across the gym. your eyes flicker all over, scanning for the brothers unconsciously. that’s when you see them.

dean lazily sways to a slow song with some cute girl clinging to his arm, his hands settled low on her waist. sam was nearby, moving with exaggerated flourishes as he danced by himself like no one was watching, which they probably weren’t— well, except for you, of course, grinning widely at his whimsy antics.

then the music shifts, the syrupy slow ballad fading into something faster, something with life.

you can see dean freeze on the floor, dropping his arms from his date’s waist and snapping to sam with surprise in his wide eyes. he slaps his brother’s shoulder, exclaiming, “ohmygod, they’re playing good music.”

sam whips around to face the dj booth, a grin blooming across his lips. “holy shit, they are! they’re playing good music.” he repeats in a lower murmur, able to recognize the voice of david bowie anywhere.

“living room routine, now.” dean orders, snapping his fingers and leaving his date very confused as the two start to push their way to the middle of the gym floor.

“wait, do we have to go right in the middle-” sam awkwardly starts to protest.

“dude, shut up.” dean cuts him off with a bark. “you made me come here, we’re doing this.”

you blink, sipping your punch a little too quickly. suddenly, you find yourself starting to slightly bop to the music (in your own reserved way), your eyes squinting as they follow the boys to the center of the gymnasium. your lips part in surprise as they start to swing their arms back and forth, circling around each other with mock-serious expressions on their faces. you smile toothily, definitely not having expected that.

dean catches your gaze mid-spin, throwing you a silly smirk and winking your way as he dances, ignorant to the looks he’s attracting.

you grin, waving to him meekly, but his eyes are already off you and enraptured in his own wild movements. the stiff crowd ogles the boys as they roll their shoulders back and spin around like idiots, but neither of them mind, and that just makes you grow even fonder of the pair.

you swallow at the thought. maybe it was kinda weird that your homecoming dance was centered around two older students you just met. maybe you should've gotten a date.

you take another awkward sip of your punch, trying to decide if you should go— oh nono, not this again.

you shake off your thoughts to put your solo cup down on the side somewhere, not even taking your eyes off the two boys as you try desperately not to make it seem like you’re dancing towards them, but you are, bobbing your head like a dork as you move.

dean cheers as you get closer, letting out a silly “whooo!” as he snatches your hand into his without warning, twirling you around and grinning while you let out a laugh. and all of a sudden, it’s like the world in your head you’ve been trapped in since you were six years old fades away as sam loosens his tie and loops it around your neck like a medal, inviting you to their special world of chaos.

and for the second time in a little over 24 hours, you ventured out and got what you wanted.

later outside, when the cold is piercing your skin and the night wraps itself tighter, you walk with them through the rich part of town, streetlights buzzing above as you three shuffle up a stone path to some mansion party dean was invited to.

“god, it’s freezing!” he grunts, lips pursed as he shivers, shirtless under his suit jacket that was long gone...

“no one told you to start stripping, casanova.” sam grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the steps. he was warm. you remember when aunt helen used to wrap you up in her arms just the same.

“a-are you sure it’s okay that i come?” you ask meekly, looking up between them as you start to climb a staircase.

“yeah, course.” dean lazily nods, like it's obvious, as he struts up the stairs. “just remember, pete’s not paranoid— he’s sensitive.” he mocks with a small roll of his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“DEAN!” a boy, who you assume to be peter, calls from the top of the steps, looking absolutely stoned as he greets us with a wobbly cup in his hand. “dude, that waitress from olive garden, she was such a tease.” he scoffs with a dazed smile plastered across his face as dean makes a playful boo-hoo face.

peter's eyes dart to your timid stance, and his beam widens. “will you marry me?”

“nono,” dean snorts, waving him off. “you hopeless stoner— who attends the culinary institute.” he adds, shaking his head in exaggeration and clicking his teeth as pete winces in response, his hand on his heart dramatically.

“nice try.” sam nods with a small smile, leading you inside. dean dashes in front of you both, walking down the steps to the basement like he owns the place.

he turns around to you with a wiggle of his brows, holding his arm out wide. “so, this.. is a party.”

you self-consciously step down into the basement and feel completely swallowed.

there’s music blasting as you enter the large room, stale beer and cigarette smoke in the air as you three start to walk through the array of people, the room packed with kids playing quarters, others pouring vodka into a watermelon.

“this is what fun looks like,” dean murmurs to you as he spots two of his friends sitting on a couch. “you ready to meet some desperate women? yeah you are, go have a seat.”

you tuck a strand of hair (that wasn't even loose) behind your ear as you approach two girls around dean’s age, making your way to sit on the very edge of the couch with hunched shoulders.

“hey ladies,” dean purrs, leaning over the sofa cushions. he introduces the girls to you with a curt nod, you smiling as one of them takes your hand into hers to shake.

“mary elizabeth.” she says with a blank expression. “that’s alice.” she hums, nudging her head to the blonde next to her.

“nice to meet you.” you smile lightly, hyper aware of the press of bodies, the sticky couch fabric, and the music pulsing through the floor. sam drops into the spot next to alice, sighing as he leans back into the cushions.

“this is her first party ever.” dean lets out a smug little hum, one brow teasingly quirking. the girls let out a little gasps as he swishes his beer around with playful nods. “so i expect lovely, heartfelt, soul-changing orgasms from both of you.” he grins, gaining a bashful look from you while he keeps swirling his beer like a wine snob.

“dean, you’re such a dick.” mary elizabeth snaps, rolling her eyes, though a tiny grin pulls at the edge of her lips.

dean takes a swig before grunting, “where the hell did you go?”

“the dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

“you’re selfish, you coulda told someone.”

“awe, baby, cry me a river.”

“how is it that you’ve gotten meaner since becoming a buddhist?” dean snorts, his thumb pointing to her, casting you a look that says, you hear this shit? you smile at him with a small shrug, since no, you weren't really listening anyway, kind of zoned out in your own world.

“i dunno, deano. just lucky, i guess.”

“i think you're doing something wrong.”

“mmm, or something very right..”

dean and mary elizabeth continue their somewhat flirty banter until sam catches sight of someone across the room, a beaming glint dancing in his eyes as he looks that way.

dean catches this, spinning around in wonder before smirking knowingly. “ah, look who’s here.”

your head follows, blinking curiously. “is that brad hays?”

“yeah, he comes here sometimes.” alice smiles after sam got up to greet the quarterback.

you scoot a little closer to them on the beat up couch, silently noticing how dean went to go mingle right after sam left, so now it was just you three.

“but he’s a popular kid...!” you utter in surprise.

mary elizabeth’s eyebrows pinch, shooting you a sharp look. “then what are we?”

you start to think of something to reply with, but you can't. the girls turn away, ignoring you. you swallow, fingers unintentionally pulling at the strings of your shirt. then peter unexpectedly approaches the couch with a tray in his hands, like your very own fairy godmother (just... high as a kite).

“hey, you look like you could use a brownie.” he murmurs, definitely high, bending down over the cushions to hold out the tray as you exhale in relief.

“oh, thank you!” you smile warmly with a nod, taking one of the treats, your nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “i was so hungry at the dance. i was gonna go to kings, but i didn't really have any time—” you bashfully cut off your tense rambling, not catching the knowing smirk mary elizabeth throws to peter as you thank him.

you take a large bite, sighing at the tasty chocolate coating your tastebuds, and completely blissful about what you're actually doing.

wowwwieee..!

and well, soon enough, you’re completely baked out of your mind, sunk into a carpet. more of the party surrounds you now, practically pissing themselves with laughter as a random kid no one knows talks and talks and talks.

“have you guys felt this carpet? this carpet feels so damn good.” you murmur, stroking it leisurely.

mary elizabeth’s cackling, clearly very entertained by your antics. “hey, hey,” she interrupts, grinning wide as you look up from the carpet. “what do you think about high school?”

“high school?” you squint at her with a scoff, frowning immediately. “bullshit. the cafeteria's called the nutrition center, people wear their letter jackets even when it's 98 degrees out,” you start babbling again, contently disregarding the amused chuckles around you. “and why do they give out letters for marching band? that's not even a sport, and we all think it! right?”

you feel so many eyes on you, but they don't feel bad. people were laughing— happily! and with you, not at you. probably.

“this kid is crazy..!” mary elizabeth laughs, turning her head to face the other lingering people.

you stare intently at the girl's punk wave haircut, expression flat. “mary elizabeth, i think you might regret that haircut when you look back at pictures..” you say simply, her face contorting into playful offense as everyone else cackles.

“i'm really sorry.” you swallow at the reactions. “that sounded like a compliment in my head.” you murmur sheepishly, eyes flicking between each snickering person.

“well, it’s kinda true.” alice giggles, turning to mary elizabeth, who lets out a gasp in mock horror. “shut up!”

dean walks back into the room out of nowhere, scanning the chaotic scene in confusion, just as mary elizabeth coos, “ugh, i can’t even be mad— look at her!”

dean glances toward you, blinking at your unusually carefree demeanor before smiling at the realization. he shakes his head in disbelief. “pete, did you get her stoned?”

“she likes it, just look at her!” peter replies in his defense, pointing a finger toward you with a playful tee-hee.

“god,” dean scoffs lightheartedly, still shaking his head from side to side toward you. “well how d'ya feel, space cadet?” dean hums in amusement, raising his brows.

your nonchalant eyes reach his as you pause to think for a moment.

“...i just really want a milkshake.”

the entire room explodes with laughter, bringing a small smile to your lips. you love that people find you so funny, it’s a rare feeling.

“shit, me too.” dean grunts in agreement at the thought. he waves his hand, beckoning you to get up and follow him as he starts to turn away from the party.

you oblige, joining him as he heads into pete’s minimalistic kitchen. “alright, sit down, stoner.” he says, nudging his head toward a stool, throwing another teasing glance your way.

he grabs what he needs for your milkshakes while you just stare. you watch in satisfaction as he tosses a scoop of ice cream into a blender with a flourish, humming some metallica song under his breath.

“dean,” you start all of a sudden, voice a little whiny, which brings a smirk onto dean’s gorgeous lips. “you have such pretty green eyes.. the kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself.” you babble tiredly, smushing your cheek against your hand. "ya know what I mean?”

he chuckles, looking down at the opened milk carton as he pours it into the blender. “ya think so?” he hums with a small grin.

“mhm.” you hum before moving on. “what a great word. milkshake.” you murmur dreamily, still watching him with a quiet sense of joy. “it's like when you say your name over and over again in the mirror, and then after awhile, it sounds crazy..!”

dean grins wider, genuinely entertained, which actually makes you a little shy. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’ve never been high before?”

“me? nonono!” you chuckle, pulling your head off your palm. “see, my best friend michael, his dad was a big drinker, so he hated all that kinda stuff. parties too.” you explain blankly, tapping your hands against the island counter as you speak.

“and where’s michael tonight, huh? gettin lucky?” dean jokes per usual, turning with his back facing you to put the milk back in the fridge.

“oh, he shot himself last may.” you answer in a quiet tone. and nonchalantly at that, like it was nothing surprising to mention.

dean spins around from the fridge, with a silent gulp, his mouth in a tight line. and you’re just… stoned.

“i kind of wish he'd left a note.” you smile, but it doesn't really reach your eyes. you're about to continue, but at his awkward nod, you huff with a small sense of worry and snap your head behind you. “where’s the bathroom?”

“uh, it’s up the stairs.” he mumbles, now unsure of how to act around you knowing this information, which you just barely take into consideration in this state. if you were boring regular you again, you'd definitely apologize like nobody's business and probably run away in embarrassment.

but instead you thank him, hopping off the stool and wandering up the carpeted stairs, zoned out. you internally groan. your limbs feel like jello, letting out a tired exhale after climbing the steps. you unsteadily tread down the hallway, where you find a large ornate mirror hanging against a corner wall.

you pause in front of it, leaning in closer to stare at yourself. your reflection stares back, pupils blown wide as you whisper your name curiously. you repeat it again, glaring in your eyes before murmuring, “weird”, under your breath.

you’re definitely a little lost as you turn face to three doors. oh. did dean say where exactly the porcelain throne was or...? whatever! you push open the door closest to you without another thought.

your eyes widen in surprise as you're able to make out sam winchester and brad hays inside, sitting closely on a king sized bed. oh yeah, and they're kissing.

you swallow, eyebrows raising as they rip apart from one another quickly at the sound of the door creaking open. your lips purse, blinking twice before spinning around and walking right out.

sam and brad stare in surprise, one definitely more afraid than the other. “who was that kid?” brad whispers tensely, keeping his eye on you as you walk down the hall, his heart racing.

“don’t worry, she’s a friend of mine.” sam reassures him, grabbing his arm with a small brush of his thumb. “stay here.” he says before getting off the bed and following you out.

you hear the mattress squeak as sam gets up, turning around at the footsteps behind you. “i didn’t see anything.” you say immediately. “i’m really sor-”

“you did, and it’s okay.” sam cuts in gently with a nod. he glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one’s looking, then sighs.

“listen… brad doesn't want anyone to know-” he starts, but pauses as he notices your, um... not a lot of there there eyes staring back at him.

“wait, are you baked?”

“like a cake.” you reply with a giggle, your smile widening as sam huffs out a chuckle despite his anxiousness. “that's what pete said. and how you can't have three on a match because they would find us.” you continue talking with flailing hands as sam pinches his temples with a grin. “and everybody laughed, but truthfully, i don't know what's funny..!”

“okay, listen.” sam exhales, shaking off his smile and replacing it with a serious tone. “i need you to promise that you're not going to say anything to anyone about me and brad. okay? this has to be our little secret.”

you blink at the echo of those words that are now poking at something buried in you. our little secret. yeah, you’ve heard that before. you can do that.

“okay, sure.” you nod simply.

“thank you.” sam sighs in gratitude, patting your shoulder. “we’ll, uh, talk later, okay?” he says sweetly before turning to go back into the bedroom.

“looking forward to it!” you blurt out with a nod, immediately cringing at yourself.

you hear his laugh before he walks in and shuts the door. you hum, spinning to drift back down the stairs.

the party has thinned into whispers and scattered laughter. empty cups litter the furniture everywhere, and you feel bad for the parents of the house. you're now sitting on the couch, legs curled up beside alice and mary elizabeth as you nurse your milkshake like it's life support, the straw making a small crackle every time you sip.

across the room, dean’s watching you with a furrowed brow, beer neck loose in his rough hand. his head turns as sam thumps down the stairs, motioning his little brother over to where he leans against a ping pong table.

“hey.” sam hums with a small exhale.

“dude.” dean whispers, taking his eyes off you to look back at sam. dean tells him what you said in the kitchen, his expression firm and a little sympathetic. “i don't think she has any friends.. like at all.” he adds.

sam blinks at him in surprise, his lips parted. he’s about to say something in response when dean interrupts him like he always does, getting up and striding over to where you are.

“okay, sluts, gather round!” he declares loudly, solo cup held up high. “raise your drinks.” he orders once what's left of the party comes over to the couch.

you look up from your seat, where he towers over you, his jawline absolutely divine at this angle. you’re a little paranoid as you start to look around and see everyone staring in your direction, including sam and dean.

“what did i do?” you ask softly, your hand tightening around the milkshake.

“nothin.” dean shrugs plainly, inhaling a breath of air. “we just, uh. you’re a um…” he clicks his fingers together as he trails off, spinning around to face sam.

sam rolls his eyes with a small smile, stepping closer to us. “well, um... you see things and you understand.” he explains gently, his nodding reassuring and kind, just like what you'd expect from him. “you’re a wallflower.”

you swallow, drying your sweaty hands onto your skirt. you look around the room shyly at the nods and friendly faces, your heart crawling up into your throat. “i didn’t think anyone noticed me.” you mumble, voice a little shaky as you look down at the floor.

“well, then!” someone from the back of the room exclaims. he starts to sing, “raise a glass to fre— oh yeah— the four of ussss!”

laughter bursts like fireworks, sparkling and spreading all over the room. “tomorrow there’ll be more of usssss!”

you laugh too, smiling at the familiar reference as you look up again.

dean spins around with a knowing grin. “shut up, nerds!" before turning back to you. he crouches down a bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret. he rolls his eyes sarcastically, booping your nose as you dopily grin back. he sighs, green gaze in your face. “i guess.. welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

erm i didnt mean to make it so long.. esp considering the first chapter was only 2.6k but oh well!! i loved writing this chap c: rah rah tags below :3

@losers-clvb @that-stanford-girlie @lisah-over18 @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @bakugotypecrashout @bitchyfestivalbouquet @anniebannanie0315 @imsiriuslyreal @crushmeeren @xothegiant @misticsilver

68 notes · View notes

jaeedraszaerysz · 2 years ago

Text

JON SNOW ☆ DATING HCS

SFW 💕💕

It would probably take him a while to trust you if you hadn't known him very long.

If you grew up with or close to the Starks he tried to befriend you before Robb did

He would always be scared that he would steal your heart away

You would spend hours mocking the men and women of the courts

When Robert Baratheon came to visit you both sat outside taking the piss out of all the Lords and ladies and any twat who dared speak low of either of you.

Tyrion Lannister defos assumed u were a couple and when you told him otherwise, he just shook his head.

Catelyn would probably despise you for being so close to him.

Ned would love you though, thanking the gods silently that the boy had someone by his side.

He would probably have kissed you before he left for the nights watch and spent his nights wondering whether leaving you was worth it all.

When you eventually found your way back to him it was rather chaotic.

You were probably interrogated by tormund on arrival

Atleast until Jon saw you, never forgetting your face.

You probably punched him square in the face and then proceeded to have a huge, westeros equivalent of Oscar worthy, makeput session infront of everyone.

Ghost, when not growling at random twats, would act like a second protector when Jon wasn't by your side.

Arya either loves you or hates you

Sansa is, just like her father was, happy Jon has someone.

Bran doesn't care. He's too busy wheeling around doing seven eyes Sparrow shit or whatever he called it.

You and Davos defos spend ages tryna talk some sense into him.

He always seems to be holding you in some way

Whether it be your arm, hand, waist. He would probably play with your hands or you hair often.

Is always bloody staring

Like never stops

His eyes are for you and only you

Takes. You. Everywhere.

Like no debates. He goes, you follow. Or vice versa.

He took you with him to meet with ramsay and if he made any comment whatsoever it was straight up a routine by now.

Death stare, holds onto you twelve times tighter, kills the offender within 24 hours.

Loves it when you fall asleep on him because he's happy you feel safe with him.

Head kisses.

Need I say more?

Everywhere anytime.

Head. Fucking. Kisses.

Walking past. Head kiss.

Sat next to him at dinner. Head kiss.

In an extremely serious situation requiring your full attention. Head kiss.

Dying. Head kiss.

It's like his fucking bread and butter.

When you first met daenerys it was bad vibes.

Like very bad.

No clue why she just doesn't sit right with you.

Either grows to love you or ends up hating you with a passion.

No in-between.

He dreams of having a normal life.

He would want three kids, two boys and girl so they could protect their sister.

Maybe another direwolf or four. One for each and one for you.

Can't sleep when you aren't next to him.

Teaches you to sword fight extremely early on in your relationship.

If you were ill or pregnant he would never leave your side.

Never ever ever never.

He's convinced that you could have a hundred children and you would still be the person he loves most in the world.

Would do anything for you.

Minors DNI below this line.

NSFW ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 (implied female reader)

Worships you like no one else

Touching you always.

Passes it off for his hand on your back but in reality he's secretly caressing your ass, or will have his arms under your cloak, passing it off as a hug, and will gently squeeze your boobs.

Neck kisses.

His favourite thing in the world.

Loves to leave marks on you wherever he can.

Has definitely kissed every inch of your body

Gives no fucks about scars or hair or anything of the sort.

Boobs.

Lives laughs loves your boobs.

Will lay with his face buried in them at any time.

Minor inconvenience? Someone was being a twat? He's tired?

Boob pillow.

Will eat you out for hours.

Insatiable.

You have any problems at all? Sit on his face.

If he's had a bad day he will legit just stuff his face between your thighs.

His fave place.

Says that if you suffocated him it would be an amazing way to go.

Probably prefers giving but he will never say no to receiving.

His dick is probs like 6-7 inches.

Takes tormunds advice very seriously.

Loves to see how many fingers you can take before he stuffs you.

Will go for as many rounds as you need.

Always a gentleman, making sure your comfortable and that your satisfied.

Cockwarming he loves.

Cuddles afterwards.

He will slide out of you and pull you onto on him, pulling the blankets up and wrapping his body around yours.

Calls you love but with his gorgeous deep voice.

Has a sexy asf morning voice.

He's so whipped for you he can't function somedays.

#jon snow x reader #jon snow headcanons #jon snow hcs #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #GoT #smut #fluff #hcs #headcannons #jonsnow #aegontargaryen #jonstark

1K notes · View notes

you-call-it-a-dude · 1 year ago

Text

Call It Want You Want Pt.2

Pt.1 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6

Summary: You get to spend some more alone time with Regina the day following the party. Sober this time.

Pairings: Regina George x Gender Neutral/Fem Reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, swearing, feelings, and if I missed some other ones I'm sorry

Notes: Hello! Second part for this story. They're cute, they're fun, they're flirty. Regina is obviously still struggling but we love her anyway lol. I also just wanted to say thank you for the incredible support for the first chapter. Like you are truly so amazing and thank you to everyone who has taken time to read the story, leave a comment, leave an ask, like, reblog. Like all of it. Ily. Debating on continuing this story with more chapters or possibly ending it here. I def have ideas where I can take it, but if folks are satisfied where it's at I'm not gonna like overkill. So if you have thoughts on that, feel free to let me know. But, yeah, kinda a long-ish chapter so I hope you enjoy.

///

Regina, in fact, did not come find you when she was ready to leave. You sat on the front porch with an empty cup and the sleeping cat for almost two hours.

You watched her stumble out of the party eventually, pulling some random guy out with her.

You stood up and followed behind her, Roach following closely behind you. You called out to her and the fourth time you called her she turned around and called you a stalker and told you to leave her the fuck alone.

You didn't really take it personally. The little tidbits of her life that she shared with you tonight were making a bunch of things make sense and you weren't surprised by any of what she was doing.

You couldn't, in good conscience, let her go home with this dude. She was too drunk and he was too handsy and it wasn't right.

This frat fuck took a few jabs at you as well, laughing at his own jokes and Regina told him to shut the fuck up in a way that sounded way more serious and bone chilling that her weak little leave her the fuck alone she sent your way.

"Regina, it's late. Let's just go." You held out her hand for her and she just stared at it before shoving it away and letting go of the frat boy's hand, walking in the direction of your dorm.

You followed closely behind her and the guy shouted after both of you. Calling Regina a tease and calling you a cockblocker.

You walked back to your dorm in silence, only speaking up to say goodbye to Roach when at some point she made a quick right down a side street that she most likely lived down.

You watched her longingly, debating if you would get in more trouble for stealing a cat or for hiding one in your dorm room.

You had intended to walk Regina to her room, make sure she was settled with water and headache medicine. Just overall make sure she was okay in general.

Instead, she sped up ahead of you and didn't even give you the chance to tell her goodnight. She was in her room with the door shut and locked behind her before you were halfway down the hall.

When you went to check on her the next morning, she refused to open the door. You came back multiple times throughout the day. Finally around 2pm you asked to at least acknowledge you so you knew she wasn't fucking dead in her own vomit in there.

"I'm alive, you can stop asking." She said through her closed door.

"You're seriously gonna be like that?" When you got no response you scoffed and shook your head. "Whatever."

You walked back to your dorm where your roommate, Ren, had been setting themselves up for the entire day. You offered help in little ways because to be honest you were desperate to do something that would take your mind off Regina.

You wanted to see her again and spend more time with her, but like sober. It's very apparent though that sober Regina wants nothing to do with you at the moment.

It didn't stop you from trying though.

You made your next attempt around 4:30pm, coming to her door with an offer that you felt was going to be impossible to refuse.

"I'm going off campus to get some Mexican food." You said softly, your face pressed against the door. "Wanna come with me?"

There was about a two second pause before a 'yeah.' came from the other side of the door.

You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face.

"Come on then."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" You could hear her shuffling around in there. She opened the door, wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, her hair thrown up in a top bun, sunglasses on.

You smiled when you saw her and you didn't miss the way she let herself smile just the tiniest bit when she saw you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hungover and hungry."

"Let's get going then. It's only like a six minute bus ride." You stepped out of her way so she could exit the room.

"Bus ride?!" She shook her head with an appalled look on her face. "Ew, no. We can take my car." She dug through her purse and pulled out her clunky keys.

"Twist my fucking arm. Sounds good to me." You shrugged. "Wanna eat by the lake then? Take the food to go?"

Regina perked up at the mentioning of the lake and nodded.

"I think that sounds really nice. I would love that."

"Awesome, you lead the way to wherever your car is cause I don't know where student parking is."

"Oooh, do I know something you don't?" She teased, locking her door.

"Alright, alright. Don't get too ahead of yourself now."

You followed her through campus to the student parking garage. You were keeping an eye out for her obnoxious pink jeep but were very surprised to see her approaching an almost normal looking black midsize SUV.

Then you saw the little Volvo logo and that shock value decreased just slightly.

"Wow, no pink jeep? Damn this is nice." You commented when you opened the door and saw the slick black interior.

"My parents didn't want me driving something too targetable in the city. For my safety, you know?" She hopped in to the drivers side and pulled her visor down to apply some coverup and lipgloss that she had pulled from her purse.

"Cause Volvo just screams 'I'm not rich', right?" You teased and scrunched your nose.

"Exactly!" She agreed, and you couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or if she just fully missed your point.

"Well, since we have a car, I'm gonna alter our plan just slightly. Better Mexican place, and better beach. Can I put directions in?"

"Oh, yeah. Here," she pulled a pink aux cord from the center console and handed it to you. "You can play music too."

"Wow, that feels like so much pressure." You joked, but you had zero idea what typed of music she listened to and were worried you were going to have your music taste judged.

"It's not, I promise."

"You cool with highways or do you prefer side streets? Actually, it's after five we are taking the streets.." You asked, then quickly corrected, putting in the directions to the restaurant. "I'm also gonna put the order in ahead of time."

"Just get me what you're getting."

"Enchiladas?"

"That sounds good. Chicken?"

"I can get you chicken. Drink?"

"Sparkling water, please."

You nodded, adding the entrees, an appetizer to share, and both your drinks. You paid for the meal with Apple Pay and pulled the directions up.

"You'll make a left out of the parking lot."

---

"Do you need a card to pay? You can take mine." She went to pick up her purse from by your feet but you grabbed her arm to stop her.

"I already paid for it, don't worry about it."

"How much do I owe you?"

"My treat. Don't worry about it. I'll be right back. I'm gonna keep my phone here cause I'm just too lazy to unplug it." You tossed your phone onto her lap so it wouldn't fall when you exited the car.

You were in and out within three minutes. They had your food packed up and ready to go. Your stomach growled at how delicious it smelled. You opened the backseat and placed the food on the floor behind Regina's seat so it was snug and secure.

You hopped back in to the passenger side and retrieved your phone from her lap, apologizing quickly when your fingertips brushed over the top of her thigh.

You nodded your head to the music playing, entering the directions to the beach.

"That smells so good. I can tell I'm about to fuck that up. Are you sure I can't pay?"

"No, you're driving us so I've got it. Make a right at the light." You buckled your seatbelt and Regina stepped on the gas to merge onto the street and it was both hot and terrifying the way she did that.

The beach you chose was only about a seven minute drive from the restaurant. When Regina found a parking spot, she commented about how pretty the view was and she was excited to be eating here.

You got out of the car first, unplugging your phone on your way out and shoving it in your pocket. You walked around to the other side of the car and pulled the food out. Regina got herself sorted and locked the car once you were done pulling out the food. She offered to help carry things, but you declined cause it really wasn't heavy.

You walked over some grass to get to the area where there was no sand, but instead different levels of cement platforms overlooking the lake. You found a set of steps instead of making Regina hop down the steep platforms which she seemed grateful about because she muttered 'thank god' when she saw the steps.

You picked a spot on the second to last platform and sat the food down next to you. Regina sat to your left, getting a perfect view of the skyline. You carefully opened the bag, not wanting to rip it so you could throw your trash in it.

You divvied out the styrofoam containers, the drinks, napkins, and plastic silverware between the two of you. You twisted off the metal caps to both your bottled drinks and took a sip of your lime Jarrito while handing Regina her Topo Chico.

You opened up the appetizer of mini taquitos and set them between the two of you.

You waited patiently for Regina to take a bite. You wanted to know if she even liked it.

"You can start first." She said, fiddling with the lid of her container.

You didn't ask questions or hesitate. If it made her more comfortable, you were gonna start first.

You took a big bite of your enchiladas and hummed at the taste, doing a dance in your seat because there was no other way to convey how good it was.

She smiled wide, scrunching her nose at you. You liked when she would smile and show her teeth.

You scrunched your nose back at her while you chewed your food. You pulled a taquito from the plate and shoved just about the whole thing in your mouth in one bite.

You looked at Regina for two more seconds before deciding to give her the space to eat and to not stare at her, even though the only reason you were looking was because she just looked so beautiful.

She took a bite and nodded while she chewed, humming 'mhm mhm' with her hand covering her mouth until she swallowed her bite.

"That is so fucking good."

"I'm so glad you like it cause I was totally worried you wouldn't."

"Is that why you wanted to pay? Worried I was gonna hate it?"

"No." You shook your head, mixing your rice and beans together. "I paid because I wanted to." You looked up at her, squinting slightly because of the sun, but you could still very much see the slight shade of pink creeping up her cheeks.

You both ate in silence and enjoyed listening to the sound of the lake or the conversations of people passing by.

You offered to let her try your drink and your steak enchiladas and she accepted both offers, sticking her fork into your plate to take a small bite of your food and then taking a small swig of your drink. She offered you a bite of her chicken ones and you accepted as well. She put a forkful of food onto her own fork and held it to your lips, her hand hovering underneath to catch any potential spillage.

You opened your mouth and leaned in slightly, letting her follow through the rest of the way.

You ate the bite off of her fork and her hand that was hovering underneath came up, her thumb swiping against your bottom lip even though you were almost certain there was nothing there for her to wipe.

You grabbed her by her wrist softly, which was probably alarming to her just by the way her eyes widened when you did it. You could tell by the way she was breathing that she was nervous and maybe even too much in her head right now. You pressed your thumb to the edge of her palm, encouraging her to open her hand that she had closed quickly into a fist when you initially grabbed it.

You massage your thumb into her palm, pushing upward until she got your hint and opened her hand for you.

You pressed your lips to the skin of her wrist. Once, twice, three times softly. Her eyes fluttered, debating between closing or watching you. You're pressed a firmer, more confident kiss to the center of her palm.

You laced your fingers together, mimicking the same action from the night before. This time though, she tugged your arm, pulling your joint hands to rest on her lap instead.

You didn't outwardly show how excited this action made you. You didn't want to make any sudden movements and scare her away. Instead you stared at the view of the lake in front of you, absentmindedly running the pad of your thumb over the tip of one of her manicured nails.

You felt her shift next to you, letting your hand go briefly so she can move the containers between the two of you to the side and out of the way. She laced her fingers with yours again and scooted up close to you, her knee pushing into your thigh.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" You asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I have another party." She loosened her grip on you and flattened your hand palm up on her thigh. She rested her hand on top of yours, pressing lightly on your fingertips with her own as if they were piano keys. "What about you?"

"Ren set up a huge tv so we are probably just gonna watch movies." You were going to ask her if she wanted to join you, but you already kinda knew the answer and you weren't in the mood to get your feelings hurt.

"You can always come to the party with me tonight."

"Mm, I'm not sure. Kinda was not a fan of being ditched for most of the night last night." You nudge her playfully with your shoulder.

"I really want you there with me, though." She wasn't looking at you, still too busy fumbling around with your hand.

Which worked in your favor because you're almost certain you had some sort of physical reaction to her saying she wanted you there was her. Blushing, a change to your facial expression, maybe your breathing even got a little faster too. It was difficult to say no because you didn't want to say no to her.

"Okay, I'll go."

"Wow, I didn't even have to like take my top off or shake my ass to convince you." She joked.

"I guess I just want to spend time with you." You said truthfully, flipping your hands so you could give her some attention now.

You traced the lines on her palm with your fingertip, then traced up her finger, back down to her palm, then up and down her next finger. You repeated that action until you traced the entirety of her hand.

She scoffed out a laugh and shook her head, pulling her hand away.

You suppose that was enough being gay for her for the moment.

You turned to grab your drink and took a long sip, offering it to Regina afterwards.

Surprisingly, she took it and took a sip that was longer than the first before handing it back to you.

"The party tonight is a neon, glow in the dark vibe. Do you have something to wear?"

"Oh, gosh. Maybe? I kinda own a lot of black but I'm sure I could find something."

"I noticed, you fucking emo."

"What are you gonna wear, then?"

"Something hot. Obviously."

"Obviously." You mocked her with an eye roll and she laughed.

"We should probably head back and take a nap or something. Party starts at like 11." She started putting garbage into the plastic bag, cleaning up the area.

"11? I feel like you're trying to kill me." You handed her your empty container to add to the bag.

"Quit being dramatic, you'll be fine."

---

The drive back to the dorm was relatively quiet. Both of you too full and maybe even a little too tired to even keep a conversation going right now.

You walked her to her room and when you made an attempt to figure out the plan for later tonight, she shot you a confused look.

"Are you not going to come in?"

"I thought you wanted to nap?"

"Yeah, with you? Like in my bed?" She looked at you like she was annoyed you couldn't read her mind.

"I didn't know that was an option." You defended.

"Are you gonna sit and argue with me about it or are you gonna get in the fucking bed?"

"Well, obviously I'm gonna get in the fucking bed." You smiled, entering the room and slipping your shoes off. "Where do you want me?"

You stood patiently while Regina situated herself. Taking off her hoodie, washing her hands at her sink, wiping off the little make up she had put on earlier, taking her hair down.

"On the outside." She climbed into bed and situated her pillows and blankets.

You decided to wash your own hands, too. Pointing to the sink and asking if it was okay before you actually did it.

"You don't need to ask me to wash your hands." She laid herself down, facing the wall with her back to you. She scooted forward to give you room and patted the open space behind her.

You climb in once your hands were dried. You let Regina cover you and she turned herself around so she was facing you.

You put your hand on her hip, tracing soft circles on her exposed skin where her shirt rode up slightly.

"This okay?" You whispered, pausing your movements until she gave you a response.

"Mhmm." She nodded, inching closer to you and tangling your legs together. Her hand came up and slid under the sleeve of your shirt, rubbing random patterns on your bicep with her nails. "I had fun today." She said, her eyes bouncing back and forth from your eyes to your lips. "I'm not drunk anymore." She pointed out, leaning in slightly and bumping her nose against yours. "Kiss me." She whispered with her lips ghosting over yours.

You closed the barely there space between the two of you and pressed your lips together, pulling her in closer with the grip you had on her hip.

She deepened the kiss, pulling her hand out of your sleeve and gripping the front of your shirt in an attempt to pull you even closer.

You pulled away, nipping her bottom lip as you did. You gave her one more quick peck before pulling away far enough to actually break the kiss.

"So pretty." You mumbled, your hand sneaking up between the two of you. You ran the pad of your thumb over her lips as softly as you could, her eyes struggling to stay open. You traced her lips, over her eyebrows, down her nose with your fingertips. Her eyes no longer fluttering, but are just fully closed now. "Tired?" You let out a small laugh when she settled deeper into her pillow.

"Mhmm." She mumbled, sounding half asleep already. She pulled the covers up higher over the two of you, all but burying herself in her thick duvet.

You wrapped your arm around her waist again and your fingertips danced over the soft skin of her lower back.

You could feel and see her breathing change and you knew she had fallen asleep.

You closed your eyes, the soothing motion of rubbing patterns against Regina's skin along with the sound of her breathing made falling asleep feel inevitable.

---

When you woke up who knows how many hours later, the room was pitch black. Your mouth was dry and you had to pee so fucking bad.

Regina was still knocked out next to you and she didn't seemed bothered by your stirring so you didn't think she would be waking up anytime soon.

You searched for your phone somewhere on the bed. It was in your pocket when you fell asleep, but slid somewhere underneath you during the nap. You finally found it and clicked it on, trying not to be too loud when the brightness of your phone threatened to blind you.

9pm. Your eyes widened. Long ass fucking nap. You never discussed a wake up time or any of the plans for the night with Regina so you didn't actually know what time she wanted to wake up to start getting dressed.

You placed your hand back on her hip and nudged her.

"Regina." You said softly in her ear. Nothing. "Regina, baby." You said a little louder and she turned her head away from you with an annoyed grunt. "It's nine o'clock. What time do you want to get up?"

"Nine?!" She sat up so fast it knocked you back a little. "Fuck, I thought I set my alarm." She found her phone tucked under her pillow, making the same face you did at the brightness of her phone when she turned it on. She turned her phone to you to show you that she never actually confirmed her 8pm alarm. "Fuck." She tossed her phone and rubbed at her temples. "Can you move please?" She said with some bite to it and you're really just hoping she is cranky from being woken up so suddenly and this isn't gonna be another hot and cold situation like last night.

"Yeah, sorry." You turned on your flashlight and stepped out of bed, finding her standing lamp and turning it on.

You were not about to take the risk and turn on the overhead.

She threw the covers back and stomped out of bed. Muttering around the room about how she has so much she needs to do, that now you guys were going to be arriving too late and miss the peak party time. Who fucking knows.

You were still thirsty, now a little hungry, and you still had to pee.

Regina was searching through her closet now, struggling to find whatever outfit she had already planned for herself. Adding to another layer to her crankiness.

"Hey," you said calmly, walking up behind her and putting your hands on her hips to get her attention. Your thumbs slid under the hem of her shirt and rubbing against her flushed skin.

She paused what she was doing relaxing into you slightly, but you could still tell she was annoyed.

"What."

"I'm going to get ready and do some other stuff before we go."

"Are you gonna come back?" She asked, her voice sounding more vulnerable than you expected.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah." She said after a brief pause, but her tone had a slight hint of 'duh, should've been obvious' to it. She continued rifling through her closet, just less aggressively now. She even pulled out a belt.

"Then I will absolutely be back." You squeezed her hip reassuringly. "It shouldn't take me longer than an hour. Do you want anything from the vending machines?"

"Um, energy drink. I don't care what kind."

"Anything else?" You back away from her to start getting your shoes on and she just shrugged. "I'll bring you options."

Okay, so it was a little longer than an hour when you returned. You ended up taking a shower and going to the little convenience store area in the dining hall because you didn't like the food or drink options the vending machines in your dorm had.

You wanted some decent snacks for when you were drunk, damnit.

It was also more difficult to find an outfit than you had hoped. Ren actually had to let you borrow a cropped, white striped button up cause your were about two seconds from saying fuck it with the theme.

So you dressed it up with some rings and a necklace, put on your favorite pair of boots and hoped it was something that was going to be up to Regina's standards.

You knocked on her door sipping your own energy drink, the bag with her drink and other goodies curled in one of your fingertips.

When she opened the door, music was blasting and it looked like her closet threw up everywhere.

You smiled when you saw her though. Her hair was done, she had a slight wave to it and she had loose strands pinned out of her face so she could do her make up. She changed into comfy shorts and had a thin robe on. Her make up was only half done and she looked flustered and slightly annoyed, but also just really fucking perfect.

"Hi you." You tucked your almost empty drink under your armpit and opened the bag, rifling through it while walking through the door. "I know you said you didn't care what flavor energy drink, but I didn't know if you would prefer peach or cranberry Redbull so I just got you both." You pulled them both out of the bag and held them out for her. "I don't have your number so I couldn't like...ask."

"Oh, no. These are both perfect. I'll take whatever one you don't want."

"They're both for you."

"Oh shit. Thank you." She sounded a little taken aback by the gesture. "I'll do cranberry first then." She grabbed both of the cans from you and put her peach one in her mini fridge.

"Do you want me to open it for you? So you don't mess up your nails?" You offered.

"Ugh, that was so sexy. Yes, please." She held her can out for you. You chuckled as you set your drink on her desk and the bag on the floor.

You took the can, wiping the top of it off with your tank top before opening it and sucking the small amount of the drink off of your thumb as you handed the can back to her.

She thanked you and took a few large sips while she walked back to sit on the floor and finish her make up in front of her large wall mounted mirror.

You pulled out her desk chair and turned it to face her, watching her do her make up in the mirror. You liked seeing all of these vulnerable, human moments of Regina. The way she would get annoyed when her eyeliner wouldn't come out right, how she would have to take breaks and fan herself off because she would get so flustered and start getting hot.

She was just so effortlessly pretty, you don't think you could take your eyes off of her if you wanted to.

It was close to 11pm when she finally finished her make up.

The outfit that she had picked out was a sparkly white cropped top with some splashes of pink and a pair of white flare pants and she complained the whole time she got dressed that this wasn't the outfit she had in mind and it pissed her the fuck off that she couldn't find the shirt she was looking for.

She changed behind her open closet door and you kept your eyes glued to your phone while she changed just to be respectful.

She paired her outfit with a light jacket and some white platform sneakers and when she went to look at herself in the mirror you could tell you was annoyed and unhappy about her outfit.

"Whatever. Let's just fucking go."

---

She was a whole different person when you guys got to the party. As soon as she had a shot in her and was being social, you never would have guessed she damn near had a crisis trying to get dressed.

She was drinking, introducing you to some people she knew, finding glow sticks to put on the both of you.

Things were fine until you ran into Jack, a guy you both went to high school with, unexpectedly about an hour into the party. He was more surprised than anything to find her hanging around with you, which was more of a dig at you than her really.

You also weren't really sure if he meant the hanging around with you in like a 'you were kinda a nerd' way or 'you were fruity' way.

She left fifteen minutes ago to get another drink for you both and you're definitely worried that you've been ditched again.

This house had no front porch, no cat named Roach. Nowhere for you to escape really.

You perched yourself in a nearby corner, hoping Regina would reappear soon.

Instead, some brunette girl that had been eyeing you since you walked in approached you with a drink in hand.

"Where'd your friend go?" She shouted over the music.

"Get more drinks." You showed your empty cup.

"Oh, I was just over there and I didn't see her. Want this one?" She held out the full cup to you and you looked at it, shaking your head.

"I'm okay, thank you!"

"Wanna dance?"

You did a scan of the immediate area, searching for Regina. You found her on the stairs, talking with Jack. You stared hard, hoping she fucking felt your eyes in the back of her head. She put a hand on his bicep and you swallowed thickly.

"No, I'm okay. Thank you." You smiled politely. She leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"Wanna go upstairs?" She put a hand on your chest and played with the collar of your shirt.

You glanced up to see Regina was now very much so paying attention and she did not look happy. Jack was attempting to talk her ear off, but she was paying him no mind now. Her eyes glued to the woman's hand on your chest.

"No, I'm okay." You shook your head so Regina could see you declining her. You placed your hand on her wrist to pull her away, but she wouldn't relent.

Instead she gripped the material of your shirt and pushed herself closer to you, the smell of alcohol coming off her was nauseating and she got neon body paint on Ren's shirt and you really hope that shit is washable.

"Come on, forget about blondie. She left you here all by yourself."

"I said I'm good." You said a bit more aggressively. Not just because this girl was starting to piss you off, but because Regina had disappeared again and that was more upsetting than anything. You grabbed the woman's hand and pulled it off of you, shoving it out of the way when she attempted you touch again.

"Is there a fucking problem?" Regina's voice cut through the thumping music like a hot knife and you were relieved to see she didn't actually ditch you.

The woman turned around and sized Regina up for the briefest moment before deciding you probably were not about to be worth any type of fight Regina was going to start.

She backed away from you both, giving you both the middle finger and calling you bitches. Regina blew her a kiss and waved. For good measure she wrapped an arm around your waist, her other hand sliding under the hem of your tank top just to prove a point to the brunette that she could actually touch you.

You held your breath feeling her fingertips against your bare skin, her nails scraping just above the waistband of your pants.

"Come upstairs with me." She whispered in your ear, pressing a soft kiss against your pulse point. She didn't give you a chance to answer her because she wasn't actually asking you.

She slid her hand from under your shirt and the loss of contact felt more jarring than it probably should have. She hooked her index finger with yours and dragged you through the crowd of people, shoving through them shoulder first.

If she felt like you were falling too far behind or if there was some obnoxious drunk person trying to break you apart, she would give you a sharp tug to jolt you forward. You were apologizing constantly for stepping on toes or slamming into people. Regina on the other hand could not care less.

She was opening and slamming doors left and right, closing them before you even got a chance to see why. Though you weren't dumb and could only assume.

You were pulled into a bathroom at the far end of the house. Too far for the drunk and high people to even think about venturing to. You closed and locked the door behind you.

When you turned around, Regina was sitting on the counter of the bathroom sink and reaching for you. As soon as you were close enough, she gripped you by her shirt like her life depended on it and pulled you between her legs.

Her hand found your chest immediately, staking her own claim over the same spot the brunette had been just minutes prior.

"Fucking bitch." She mumbled, rubbing her thumb over the splotch of neon green paint on your shirt. Her other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer.

You rested your hands on the counter space behind her, leaning in more and letting your hands support your weight. You pressed kisses along her jawline, nipping at her skin gently.

"It was hot the way you scared her away though." You smiled against her when she tilted her head up slightly to expose her neck.

"It was, wasn't it?" She smiled, feeling satisfied with herself.

You kissed down her neck slowly, taking time to appreciate the soft skin under your lips and the feeling of just be this close to her. Smelling the combination of her perfume, her make up, and just her natural scent was more intoxicating to you than alcohol or drug.

You kissed your way back up her neck so you could kiss her lips. She wasted no time wrapping her legs around you and letting her hands find their way to your hair, scratching at your scalp lightly while the two of you kissed.

She pulled away from the kiss unexpectedly, pressing her forehead against yours and rubbing her thumb over the shell of one of your ears.

"I didn't like it."

"What didn't you like, baby?"

"Seeing that girl put her dirty ass hands on you."

"Oh yeah?" You smirked and she gave you a light kick to the butt with her legs.

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling and made no effort to disconnect your foreheads or to even stop fiddling with your ear. "I can go get that bitch for you if you wa-" Your furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head, placing a protective arm around her so you could slide her almost impossibly closer to you.

"No, no. I'm good right here."

#regina george x you #regina george x reader #my fic

671 notes · View notes