#and I got thrown off the bull a lot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noiriarti · 5 months ago

Text

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 6

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: a lot of jerking off WC: 8.4k AN: thank you all for your patience!! i started grad school so i got a bit busy, but now i will update about once a week! thank you all for the love :) also i am so sorry about all the angst

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, [Ch. 6], Ch. 7, Ch. 8

Chapter 6: Tearing

The afternoon sun filtered through his window shade and cast his room in its warm glow, but Anakin was too busy with his notes on his desk to notice. He needed something to do with his hands, just to keep himself focused, to keep his thoughts from wandering to you. To answer a practice problem, he was trying to find a specific case of heat diffusion the class had discussed--somewhere in October, he thought, but he wasn't quite sure. His desk was already messy before he began studying, but he was making it even worse with a paper thrown here, a staple there.

His eyes scanned the paper this way and that, trying to absorb any iota of information, but the words were slippery, wily things that wriggled out of his grasp. In the end, it turned out he had flipped past the page several times without seeing what he needed, and he finally found it on his fifth pass. Subconsciously, he dug his nails into his palms in frustration. Why couldn't he work? Why were you doing this to him?

His phone chimed, a text from his mom. Hey, how are finals? Doing okay?

For a few days, he'd been ducking questions about whether he was sleeping or eating enough, because he knew she'd be disappointed with his answers. He was running out of ways to change the subject in phone calls, and he knew she was catching on. Anakin decided he should probably respond.

yeah, really stressed about one of them, rest are fine. thesis going ok.

A second later, his phone lit up again.

Good luck. I'm so proud of you, Anakin, no matter what. As soon as he read it, he dropped his head into his hands. His forehead was clammy under his fingers. Of course she was proud of him unconditionally. He knew that. But he knew that he would be even prouder if he won. If he got a 4.0 this semester. Once, after he said something like that to Ahsoka, she looked at him with that knowing expression only she could produce, and asked him if his mom had ever said anything like that. Technically, no, he conceded, but he couldn't let her down.

He just felt so stupid right now, looking at the pages blanketing his desk. He'd been sitting over them for too long, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and stretch or take a break. He couldn't bring himself to do anything, really, let alone focus. So he was trapped. All he could do was just sit there, drink his Red Bull, and kind of review until he could destroy this exam next week.

Anakin decided to try another practice problem. Maybe that would make it click.

The surface tension of liquid argon is given by--

His phone buzzed against the desk. Putting it on loud was a bad idea, and he knew it. Maybe he was just looking for an excuse. It was probably his mom, saying something else. Or, he hoped as his heart jumped, maybe you were coming from the lab early and wanted to meet and study. Or hook up. Or just talk. Whatever, as long as it didn't involve his textbook. His phone buzzed again. And again.

He gave in and opened it. It was you, he found, and he grinned like a lunatic, but caught himself. Then again, he was alone, so it didn't matter, really.

But then he read your texts.

Where are you We need to talk Now

He typed back immediately, his fingers flying faster than he thought they could.

in my room is everything ok?

He looked at the screen, saw the bubbles pop up that meant you were typing, then watched as they disappeared. Anakin was frozen, his phone in his hand. We need to talk could just have been a poor phrasing on your part, right? It didn't mean what he thought it did, right? He could deny it only for about five more seconds, when the little bubbles didn't return.

Fuck. Anakin let loose a string of curses and dropped his phone on his desk. He couldn't think of a single thing that would warrant ending… whatever the two of you had. But maybe you'd realized that he was doing a lot more than what fuckbuddies (fuckenemies?) should do, that he was an absolute wreck for you, and had been for a long time.

The caffeine was getting to him, and his leg was bouncing so quickly that he swore his downstairs neighbor would submit a noise complaint. His mind started racing with all the things he never would have told you, the things that would go unsaid if you ended what the two of you were doing. He'd never tell you that he had two dogs growing up, strays, or that his least favorite flavor of Skittles was orange. He'd never tell you that he was pretty sure that he hadn't felt this way about anyone, ever, and that he had laid awake for the past two nights thinking about how, if at all, he would tell you.

Ahsoka's voice echoed in his ears, wisps of sound urging him to just say something. His mind was racing, a million trains of thought all colliding at once. He should just tell you. He'd never learn your favorite kind of cereal. He hadn't responded to his mom, fuck. He regretted having that Red Bull. He'd never tell you that he called you baby during sex because he wanted to say it other times, too. The answer to that thermo question was probably 36 Joules. He'd never tell you that if you called him a pet name he'd melt and let you win any competition because nothing would matter anymore.

But that was precisely why he hadn't told you how he felt. Because if you felt the same way about him, that would be so much better than any amount of money or award. And that wasn't the kind of person he could be.

He'd spent so long training to control that wild hurricane of emotions that pulled him through everyday life. Anakin channeled it into perfectly neat parallelized circuits and technically exquisite poomsae, but around you it all let loose, angry and passionate and just so much.

It was terrifying. You were terrifying. And there was a selfish part of him that said that he deserved to let all those feelings loose for once. To feel as much as he wanted to feel because, goddammit, he was so tired of control.

But Anakin was a lot. A handful, his teachers always said. It was what ended his previous relationship, what drove Padme away. Would it drive you away, too?

If you walked up to him in two minutes and asked him what the two of you were, if it was just casual or something more, would he have the self-control not to blurt out exactly what he was thinking? His stomach flipped at the idea of you leaving the room, leaving his life, without knowing how he felt.

You walking away from him and disappearing into another part of the country after graduation would kill him. He was pretty sure that seeing you at a reunion in five years with someone on your arm, some beautiful person who you had never hated, would smite him on the spot.

He imagined himself six months from now, when the thesis was over. What would that Anakin want for himself? Would he let himself say something? Fuck it all, he would say. And he was right.

If you were going to end things, he was going to get this off his chest. He had to. He wasn't sure he could live with himself if he didn't.

The sound of knuckles on wood cut through the silent room like a dagger through his heart. One, two, three seconds passed as he sat in his desk chair, mind totally blank. He tried to produce a coherent feeling or, if he was lucky, an entire thought, but he came up empty.

Before, it was all something nebulous, something he could just worry about. Something he could stress about. Now, it was real. You were behind that door, and you needed to talk. And there was no escaping that. With heavy legs, he dragged himself to the door.

Anakin pretended not to notice that his hand was shaking when he wrapped it around the doorknob.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The bus ride back to your dorm had been uneventful, other than the way you were staring daggers into the skull of some poor guy in front of you. He had the good sense to not turn around.

Anakin Skywalker is a thief. You clenched your fists, and you could barely feel the sting of your nails in your palms. Barriss wasn't one to lie, based on the past three years you'd spent with her. She told you the facts right after: she overheard one of the graduate students--probably Obi-Wan, but she didn't know who, just some vaguely hot older guy, she said--telling Anakin his idea for a thesis. And then Anakin ran with it.

If she was right, that changed everything. If Anakin really didn't come up with his own idea, that meant he had rigged the competition. He had a leg up this whole time. He really was exactly what you had thought for years. The golden boy of the department who had everything handed to him. And while you'd labored over choosing the perfect, most viable but impressive idea, he had just skipped right over that step. You'd cried over how hard it was to find a good idea, struggled for weeks on end last year, just trying to make something good, let alone great. And he was already weeks ahead of you in the competition.

All of his sweet gestures--staying with you in bed, holding hands in the library, getting you drinks--were suddenly less sweet. Last year, he was in the thesis lab with you, when he was working on his proposal, watching you go through ideas and get upset when they didn't work, and he knew that. And he never told you about where his idea came from, even when you were getting closer. He probably knew it would piss you off, and he still didn't tell you. He'd hidden it from you.

You didn't know if that hurt more or less than the unfairness of his advantage.

The bus slowed to a stop in front of your dorm, and you hopped off, then dashed to the elevator.

You just wanted him to tell you that Barriss was crazy, or misheard. Or anything. Anything to make it not true.

The elevator ride was agony as it whizzed up to his floor.

At his door, you hesitated. If you entered and fought, that made this real. So, so real. The second you walked through that door, everything between the two of you might change.

But you were too furious not to knock. Silence hung for a few seconds before you could hear the door unlock.

Anakin opened it to you, looking unfairly hot. Rage ripped through you as he looked at you with open affection, gesturing to enter his room, like nothing had changed. Like he wasn't lying to you all this time. You stormed in quickly.

"Anakin, I need you to be honest with me." Your voice came out tighter than you wanted as you searched his face for a reaction. He closed the door, then came to stand in front of you.

"I'm always honest with you," Anakin replied earnestly, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he forced a small smile.

You didn't smile back. "How did you come up with the idea for your project?"

"What?" Anakin blinked, caught off guard. He let out a breathy chuckle. "That--that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Well?" You pressed, crossing your arms. The edge in your voice was obvious, cutting. You could see Anakin go through the stages of realizing what you might mean, and your stomach started to sink even deeper.

Anakin sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. "I--Really? Okay, fine. There aren't currently any microsurgery tools that mimic human hands. They're all pincers. So I wanted to make one." Your gaze narrowed.

"And you're saying Obi-Wan had nothing to do with it?"

"What are you talking about?" It was probably supposed to sound confused, but it came out more scared. You knew him well enough to tell. God, he was infuriating.

"Did you or did you not get your idea from Obi-Wan?" The words came out like tiny daggers, sharpened steel that you spat at him. His face fell, and you could see the moment that he knew you knew.

"Look, it's not like that," Anakin said, his arms falling to his sides. His eyes were suddenly avoiding yours, like his desk suddenly contained some information he desperately needed, or, preferably an escape hatch.

"Then what is it like?" You shot back, your heart racing. You stepped closer, trying to find an answer in his furrowed eyebrows. "Why can't you just say no?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and he was obviously searching for the right words. Words that wouldn't piss you off, probably. "Because Obi-Wan helped, I guess."

"You guess?!" Your voice cracked, incredulous.

"I mean--look." Anakin raised his hands defensively. "Sure, Obi-Wan put me on the path to it. But every second in the lab since then has been me. My design, my coding."

"What do you mean put you on the path? You mean he gave you the idea, don't you?" Your frustration with him was boiling over. Even now, he was defending himself, trying to evade this. Justifying. It drove you crazy.

Anakin hesitated, his words faltering. "I--It's not--"

"Are you seriously about to say that it's not that simple or something?" You interrupted, your voice shaking. You threw your hands up, your fury finally reaching its peak. "Because, from here, it looks simple. Like you stole your whole fucking thesis idea!"

"That's not true!" Anakin snapped, his voice louder now. It wasn't the same kind of anger you were used to seeing from him, it was defensive, almost panicked. "Obi-Wan, he just, he suggested I look at applying an old project of mine to microsurgery. And he was right. So, I guess, technically, if you're looking at it like that--sure. He gave me the idea."

You stared at him, his words sinking in. His admission hung between you like a guillotine, its rope finally snapped. The air felt tight, like you were ten thousand miles above sea level and there wasn't enough oxygen to keep you afloat.

Anakin shifted again, his anger gone, his voice softer, pleading. "It's like… I don't know. I guess I feel guilty about it. But I really needed to submit something that day, or I couldn't enter into the competition at all. It was the rules. If I don't do a thesis… I--I don't know. I just had to. And I figured I'd just use that temporarily, and pivot as soon as it was approved, It was in the end of junior spring, and I just couldn't find a topic that worked. That idea I had about hand prosthetics didn't pan out, and I was telling Obi-Wan about it in the lab, and he told me I should look at microsurgery, 'cause they have a lot of the same issues--calibrating movement to user input, holding up to wear and tear, dealing with friction and joint movement--and that I should do my thesis on it."

His eyes finally met yours again, so deep and blue that it almost made you reconsider. Almost. He was pleading, begging you to understand. "So, yeah, I submitted an early version of the idea Obi-Wan gave me. But every second of design, build, everything was me. It's my work."

You stood frozen, silent. After a few long beats, Anakin started to fidget, his hands wringing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"If I could go back, I'd do something else. Anything else." Anakin's voice wavered, and his shoulders slumped under the weight of his guilt. "I just--I didn't know what else to do. I needed to submit something, anything. I need to win this," he finished, his voice trailing off.

The anguish over being proven right was something you didn't expect. You should have felt vindicated, that you were actually right all along about him. You should have hated him. But instead, you could feel your heart breaking, like a marionette with its strings cut, slumped over and lifeless. If he had just admitted it to you himself, maybe you could get over this. Maybe. But the fact that he hid it from you cut like a knife. Tears welled in your eyes, and your throat was drier than you'd ever felt it. The words fell from your lips softly, like you could barely get them out.

"How could you?" You felt like you'd never known him, like the person in front of you was a stranger. How could he be both this person, and the one who would keep you warm at night?

Anakin noticed the coldness of your gaze, and it gutted him. Anakin's breath caught, and you could see him shatter in real time. His cheek twitched, right under his scar, and you could swear you saw his eyes start to fill with tears. His hands were shaking where they were clasped together, and you were sure he was leaving indents with his nails. His shoulders shook under his panicked breaths.

He didn't speak for several long seconds, his mouth tugging this way and that as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" He asked as he stepped toward you, trying to seek reassurance to keep him from falling apart. But you couldn't give it. You didn't even know him anymore.

"I--" you opened your mouth, hesitating, before you restarted, "I don't know." Your voice cracked, but you hardened it. "I didn't before, but now I'm not so sure."

Anakin took another step closer, reaching out with his shaking hands as if to touch you, but you backed away. His face flushed even more, hurt and frustration jumping across his features. It made you even more angry. "This is so fucking unfair, and you just--you just let it happen."

He said your name, trying to jump in, but your anger surged, and it drowned him out.

"I spent weeks getting my idea just right." Each words was more brutal than the last. "Weeks. And you got everything spoon-fed to you. Everything I worked for--and you just took it from someone."

Anakin flinched like you had struck him, but you were far from done.

"I thought I knew you, I thought I was wrong about you this whole time," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, "But I was right all along. You're just a fucking cheater."

A tear slipped down the side of his cheek as you continued. Your voice shook as you admitted to him, and to yourself, what the worst part really was. "And you didn't even have the decency to tell me. And that makes you a fucking asshole."

He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he started to speak. "No, please, it's not--"

"Stop it!" You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. Anakin stood frozen, his outstretched hand falling limply to his side. Your breath rushed through your nose and your pulse beat in your ears. You couldn't even see him anymore through the tears, but you refused to let them fall. To let him see you cry.

He said your name one more time, begging, pleading. For a moment, you were tempted, but the hurt was too big to ignore.

Your voice was cold, distant. "Get away from me," you ordered. Your back was rigid with anger and hurt. "And leave me the fuck alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, you stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind you.

You stalked down the hall as quickly as you could, ignoring the buzzing in your pocket as the tears you were holding back finally poured down your cheeks. You didn't even have the energy to wipe them away, you just let them fall while you punched the button for the elevator.

Only when the door closed, and you pulled out your phone to call Ahsoka, did you see his messages.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

They were all sent minutes apart. You could hear his voice reading them, desperate and thick with tears. Even though you were angry, angrier than you had ever been at him, the idea of him crying still made your chest ache. And then it made you feel vindicated. But then it made you feel horrible again.

You arrived back to the lobby, then crossed the building to the other elevator bank, trying to avoid the awkward gazes the students passing by gave you. You sniffled wetly, wiping away your tears, as you ran up the two flights of steps that brought you to your room. You unlocked the door as quickly as you could, then hid inside.

Your phone buzzed again.

i understand that you don't want to talk, but the second you're ready, i'll be here. i'll always be here.

The words made you sob loudly, and you were thankful for a moment that Ahsoka wasn't home. Until you saw the text, it hadn't hit you that this was the last time you'd talk for a while. You couldn't even remember the last kiss you two had shared. The library? Was that the kiss you wanted this to end on? You'd never see his half-lidded eyes as he worshipped you, never hear him call you baby again.

Why did he have to go and fuck it all up? You asked yourself, sobs wracking your body as you slid down the door. You couldn't tell if you were more sad or angry, but you were definitely heartbroken. Lately, his casual touches, his affection, the way you slept together every night, it was starting to feel like more. But it was all gone now.

You had been numbed with caffeine and stress, but the past week, you felt like you were soaring every time he touched you. Every time he gave you that intense look he always did.

But the two of you were just hooking up. It wasn't supposed to be anything more, and you never thought you'd feel the pull to be with him when you weren't fucking, but it was like gravity. Even now, you wanted him to comfort you. Not someone, but him.

The realization that you had feelings for him hit you like a truck. All the breath was gone from your lungs, gone to some other dimension.

You liked Anakin Skywalker. Even though he was an asshole. Even though he'd hurt you. But those feelings didn't end just because whatever you were had ended, they didn't leave you alone.

You could have been his girlfriend if he hadn't hidden this from you. And that was the last nail in the coffin that made you break down fully.

You sat there, crying, sobbing, wailing, for at least another half hour before you dragged yourself to the shower. It made you feel the tiniest bit better to have your hair clean, your tears scrubbed off your face until the skin went sensitive and ruddy. When the water turned off, it was cold, and you relished the shock to your system.

And then, you started the process of getting over him. You knew you had to do it eventually, and you only had to get through finals before you could go home and forget all about him. Come January, when you next saw him in the lab, it'd be like seeing any other classmate.

That thought was enough to make you start crying again while you stood in the towel you stole from your house. Your tears mingled with the water from the shower, and it was enough to let you pretend that you weren't crying, that becoming strangers with Anakin didn't kill you inside.

You promised yourself that this would be the last time you cried this semester. That night, if you felt the threat of tears, you just threw yourself harder into whatever you were studying. There was nothing else you could do.

At the thermo exam two days later, you walked in later than you usually would for a final that was this important. When you slipped into the class, two minutes before they started passing out test papers, you spotted Anakin in the corner. Because of course you did. Your eyes hadn't stopped finding him in every photo, in every room. He had always been magnetic, and, just because you weren't together anymore didn't mean that stopped. And he was looking right at you.

His gaze ripped through you with some mix of desperation, affection, and sorrow. Anakin looked, in one word, horrible. His eyes were sunken in, red and swollen from crying. Most people would not have noticed, but you knew him too well. His dark circles had come back with a vengeance, like fresh bruises on his otherwise smooth and clear skin. His mouth twitched when he looked at you, like he was going to say something, but he stayed silent as his eyes followed your path.

Throughout the exam, you could feel his eyes on you a couple of times, but you didn't allow yourself to turn around and look. You let the calm of equations and math wash over you, and soon there was nothing but the test. The questions and the precise way you wrote Greek letters in the blue book lulled you into a state of calm you desperately needed.

When you handed in your exam, you allowed yourself another look at Anakin, and then you left the building. You didn't see him before you went on break two days later.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Two days before break, he saw you again. He hadn't changed his habits, still studied in the dining hall and had meals there, sometimes went to the library, and he secretly hoped, thrummed with anticipation, that maybe, just maybe, you'd be there too. That maybe you'd see him and realize you wanted to talk it out. That, obviously, did not happen. He spent an embarrassing amount of time awake, because you haunted his dreams whenever they came. The disgusted look on your face and the words I was right all along, you're a fucking asshole echoed in the back of his eyelids and his mind's eye whenever he laid down. So, he stayed up. More time to study, right?

He spent most of those 48 hours trying not to cry and failing miserably. Even when he broke up with Padme, it wasn't like this. He was angry, indignant, and, of course, sad, but it was the kind of sadness that settled deep on his shoulders and dulled the world around him. It wasn't the kind of sadness that wrenched sobs from his chest whenever he wasn't careful. It wasn't the kind of sadness that made him regret ever going to this college, ever meeting you.

Ahsoka cast him a funny look at him one night, when he fell asleep in a common room. She gently shook him awake, and noticed the redness rimming his eyes, and the way his hands shook from too much caffeine. She gave him a hug and made him promise to sleep tonight.

He did, and that was the night before the test. Every muscle and joint screamed in protest as he dragged himself from his bed. He arrived fifteen minutes early, just to make sure he got a good seat, and then his head kept swiveling like an owl. Every time the click of the doors opening echoed through the nearly empty lecture hall, he locked onto the person entering. He was pretty sure he'd accidentally given glares to at least four poor souls before you finally entered.

He resigned himself to the fact that he'd probably failed the exam right then.

You were even prettier than he remembered, and the depth of your eyes when you stared at him was enough to make him shudder. Even now, he'd give anything to be with you again. When you sat down and didn't look at him again for the next three hours, he felt bits of his heart break off and get trampled under equations about heat diffusion and air pressure. You turned in your test, and then left, and he looked after you longingly. His eyes snapped back to his paper when he got a weird look from the TA.

He turned in his exam paper, rushed home, and promptly passed out on his bed. You came to him in his dreams, of course. Naked in his arms, lips pliant and wanting under him. The way your tongue peeked out when you were too hard at work, or the shimmer of your eyes when he made you laugh. The betrayal on your face. Get away from me.

He spent the rest of finals in a fugue state, doing tasks and exams because he was supposed to. Then, finally, the last one passed, and he was finally released to go home. He hadn't seen you since the exam, and that was probably better for him, he reasoned.

On day 1 of break, Anakin drove the whole day and listened to absolutely depressing music the whole time. He pulled over once and, in a fit of rage, smacked the steering wheel a few times. How could he be so stupid? How was he this much of an idiot? He sat at the rest stop for another fifteen minutes, his sweaty forehead on the steering wheel. Five hours later, when he arrived home late in the evening, he hugged his mom. Everything felt a little bit better after that. He had dinner with Shmi and Cliegg, even though all he wanted to do was lay in bed and sulk. He fell asleep quickly--he was too exhausted to stay up torturing himself with what could have been.

On day 2 of break, he lay in bed and just generally moped around. He could never be still for long, so that meant getting up to eat snacks, flicking through TV shows listlessly, and trying not to look at the texts you two had exchanged. He only cried twice, once at the thought that you'd never meet his mom, and the other at the memory of your body in his arms as he fell asleep. Both reduced him to hot, silent tears.

On day 3 of break, he did yard work and drove by his old dojang to say hi to his high school coach. He ended up agreeing to teach some lessons over break to avoid having to sit at home alone with his thoughts for three entire weeks. Plus, the money was good. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be getting that thesis prize at all, at this rate. He only cried once, at night, when he thought about having to watch you work in the thesis lab without speaking to you. He wouldn't cross that boundary. You already knew he wanted to talk, and you hadn't texted him back.

On days 4-9, he taught three hours of lessons a day. It was calming, familiar. He only had to splash cold water in his face to avoid getting too upset two or three times per day, but the undercurrent of wondering what you were doing never stopped torturing him. He hadn't touched himself in at least two weeks, and he regularly had to stop his thoughts from drifting away to the last time he was inside you. Every time it happened at home, in bed, he got up and took a cold shower. It served him right. At the end of the week, he went to the mall and bought his mom a Christmas present with the money he earned. Just because he knew his mom wanted to blend their family better, he picked out something small he could afford for Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, too.

On day 10, it was Christmas Eve, so everything was closed. There was nothing to do, so he answered a few emails from Professor Jinn, cleaned the oven, and helped his mom prepare for Christmas dinner. There were files on his device he had prepared specifically to work on his thesis over break, but his project made him nauseous. He'd give it all back for a chance to start over. He'd get a B on his thesis if it would make this pain stop. He didn't touch the files, and, that night, when he finally gave in to the temptation to see if you'd posted anything on social media, he didn't touch his cock, either, even though just an image of you was enough to drive him wild at that point.

On day 11, it was Christmas, and he woke up at 4am in his bed, as hard as a rock. Anakin spent an hour tossing and turning and begging his body to just let him sleep, but, eventually he gave in. It was Christmas, right? He deserved a present. When he closed his eyes, he didn't even try to think of someone else. It was you. It had been for a while. Your little noises as he kissed up your neck, the scrunch of your eyebrows right as you came, and the tight grip of your pussy around him when he buried himself to the hilt inside you were enough to make him cum all over his hand within a minute. He found it embarrassing, honestly, that you had this effect on him. Anakin fell asleep quickly and tried not to feel too gross about what he'd done.

On day 11, attempt 2, he woke up around 11, right before lunch, and came down to wish his mother and Cliegg a merry Christmas. Beru and Owen were supposed to come for dinner, but, this morning, it was just the three of them. Anakin had no particular yearning for Cliegg to be a father figure, he just wanted his mom to be happy. If Cliegg did that, then he'd watch endless movies with the two of them, or get Cliegg a present. But if she didn't want to be with him anymore, Anakin wasn't sure he'd miss him. Their second anniversary was in three weeks, and it was a shock that it had been that much time already. When dinner rolled around, and he greeted Owen and Beru awkwardly, not sure what a person is supposed to say to a newly-acquired sibling. He'd seen them a sum total of maybe ten times, almost all of which had to do with the wedding, so they were in how-was-school and how's-the-new-job and gosh-the-winter-has-been-brutal territory. When Anakin gave them their presents, they seemed overjoyed. He'd gotten them matching scarves, each with their first initial embroidered onto it. It was a miracle they had them in stock at the mall, he thought, but the present seemed to hit the right spot. Cliegg got the aforementioned fishing pole, something his mom had told him he was prattling on about, and he got his mom a beautiful new winter coat. She had been mending hers for years, and water and snow would soak right through it, but when he saw the beautiful down puffer coat in the store window, he knew she'd love it. He was right.

Cliegg got him a Laser Distance Measure, which must have cost a pretty penny, and Owen and Beru got him various engineering gadgets (a nice mechanical pencil for technical drawings and a cable carrying case, respectively). His mother's gift, though, was something he'd never be able to forgive. She had bought him a beautiful, fresh Raspberry Pi set, with 8 GB of RAM. It wasn't the most expensive thing in the world, but the $150 or $200 that it did cost her was enough to make him tear up. He'd mentioned months ago that he was thinking of getting one for some personal projects, something for his portfolio, and she bought it. He had the good sense not to say anything like You aren't supposed to get me presents for Christmas and crushed her in a hug, the kind that whispered I know how much this is worth, and I'm so lucky you're my mom. For a second, he was worried he would cry when he saw the crow's feet appear by her eyes, and he felt how thin the skin on her hands had gotten. When had she gotten so much older? For a terrifying moment, he realized he'd have to live without her one day, but then Cliegg made some comment about how he'd made hot cocoa, and they all gathered around the living room to chat. As the last tendrils of sunlight fell beneath the swath of trees in their backyard, he laughed at something Owen had said, and he felt the tiniest bit less alone. Like maybe it didn't matter if he got an A in thermo or had the best thesis in his year. The notion left him quickly.

On days 12-17, the warm feeling had subsided, and all he could think about was what you were doing. Whether you were moving on, or if you still felt the same way he did. If you wanted him again. The fantasy of you seeing him again and realizing that, oh, actually, you wanted to work it out, and also kiss him, inevitably ended with his hand on his cock and cum on his stomach, then regret and shame for about an hour afterward. Once the studio had reopened, he kept teaching there, but with more hours this time. Also, Anakin could finally open the folder on his computer named Thesis without cringing at it, but barely. His heart still skipped about four beats when he thought about how he'd have to see you practically every day. He pushed thoughts like that from his mind as much as he could. No point in torturing himself more than the actual semester would.

Day 18 was New Year's Eve. He went to a party hosted by some of his high school friends, some rager at a frat house. He just wanted to get drunk, honestly, and this seemed like a great excuse. It was sticky and hot even right outside the door, but the sweaty blast of steam that hit him when someone opened it turned his stomach. But the beer was free, so he wouldn't complain too much. A couple of times, he noticed a girl checking him out over the bone-shaking bass. He might have made a move, if he were a different person. If any one of them was you, or had your smile, or your eyes. As soon as he noticed something that was too different from you, he averted his gaze. They were all cute, he supposed, but that didn't matter. They weren't you. When the countdown started, Anakin retreated, not interested in being pulled into some kiss that stunk of beer. Instead, despite knowing he'd regret it, he sent you a text. happy new year, it read. He blamed the tequila, and went back into the fray of cheering people.

From days 19-24, Anakin kept on keeping. Dishes, teaching, occasional progress on his thesis. He submitted over 20 job applications. Sometime in the week, in his daily rehashing of all your messages, he noticed the read receipt had popped up on his text from New Year's Eve, and he cursed himself. He was cursing himself a lot lately. Especially when he promised he wouldn't jerk off over you, but it always ended up happening. The subtle rock of his hips against the mattress when he thought of you, grinding the hard flesh against the soft material, then the sticky warmth of release and the rush of regret that always came with it. The heat of the shower made him hard when he thought about how he'd always wanted to try fucking in the shower, more specifically, fucking you in the shower. He really shouldn't, he reasoned while his hand pumped his dick.

Day 25 was spent driving again, after he gave his mom a big hug and threw his suitcase in the car. Despite himself, he realized that he was no more over you than he had been on his drive to his house. The fact that he would see you tomorrow still made him perk up and wilt at the same time. In a short twenty-four hours, you'd be real, three-dimensional in front of him again. He wasn't sure what would happen--would you kiss him? Slap him? Combust? He could never tell with you. He wondered if you'd cut your hair over break, or if you'd talked to Ahsoka about him. Whatever fantasies he'd been nursing, they were all going to be proven or disproven tomorrow. So he had to use the hour before he arrived on campus to imagine, as hard as he could, that you were in the passenger seat. That you were his girlfriend. That you had just come from meeting his mom, who had shown you a bunch of truly humiliating baby pictures and had whispered to him that she liked you when you had gone to the bathroom. For the rest of the night, that was the reality he lived in.

You had compared schedules last semester, before things got weird, and you shared only two classes, both of which were on Mondays and Wednesdays. At 10:30, you'd both be in Unsupervised Learning, then at 2:30, you'd both take Dynamic Systems and Controls. When he woke up at 8:30, he showered, then tried to wipe the tiredness from his eyes. He put on a shirt he knew you loved (you'd remarked on how well it fit him, and he didn't see it, but you did, and that was all that mattered) and his most comfortable jeans and hoodie. He secretly hoped you were doing the same kind of preening at home, trying to look good for him, but he didn't let the thought take up too much room in his mind.

At 10:25, when he walked into the lecture hall, he saw you instantly. Time stopped as he felt like someone had just gotten a particularly good hit to his solar plexus, and his whole body was responding, out of breath and weak and dizzy all at the same time. You were in the third row, to the left-hand side of the seats, and you looked more gorgeous than he remembered. How didn't he spend the whole break fantasizing about the way your hair shone or the curve of your neck? Seconds started ticking by again when he realized he was blocking the path to the seats, much to the anger of the group of people behind him. He walked down the steps to the second row like everything was normal, then positioned himself on the other side of the lecture hall. He kept his eyes firmly not trained on you for as long as he could, and, when the professor started droning, he turned to look at you, really look at you.

You had put on just a touch of makeup, something he'd noticed years ago that you always did on the first day of class. It suited you, and you looked well-rested and happy. Like you didn't miss him at all. It gutted him like a fish on the chopping block. What was wrong with him? How could he let you get away?

He turned back to the professor, pretending to be interested in the syllabus. When class ended, by the time he packed up his things, you had gone.

The second class was a repeat of the first, only in a smaller lecture hall. He tried to keep his cool, he really did, but he snuck glances. He was only human.

He didn't go into the lab for the week, mainly because he was almost done with build and was spending most of his time on securing materials for testing. They had their first practice that Monday, so he got dressed and headed over to the Athletic Center, where he grounded himself in the ritual, the calming power of it all. It was amazing to see Rex and Ahsoka again. They always made him smile, something he'd been missing over the break.

Later that week, Ahsoka invited him to your room to talk about that semester's competitions. He hesitated the appropriate amount of time before he accepted. The hallway to your room was achingly familiar, just like he'd seen it in his dreams. Only Ahsoka was home, so she wasted no time before interrogating him about what happened with the two of you.

When he told her the general gist, she had the good decency to be honest and tell him that he was kind of being an asshole by not mentioning it, but that it was normal to get advice from professors and other students. It wasn't ideal for it to be as explicitly grabbed, sure, but the point still stood.

By the time the door opened and you came in (his mind raced--from a date? from class? from some other part of your life that he would never come to know?), Anakin and Ahsoka were discussing taekwondo logistics. You looked gorgeous in the cozy cable-knit sweater you had on, and he hoped against all hope that he wasn't staring the way he thought he was.

You looked shocked for a good second before smiling awkwardly with a little "hey." You retreated to your room almost instantly, and Anakin felt a pit open up, wondering if he'd made you uncomfortable. It wasn't his fault, honestly, but he still felt guilty. He left an hour afterward.

Was this his fate? To watch you from a middle distance as you lived your life? He was trapped, pinned down like a bug, reading into everything he saw. If you were in a four-block radius, his eyes would find you. They always would. In class, he had to stop himself from turning toward you, from studying your features and trying to read anything from them. He never could.

Anakin was still fucking haunted by you, especially now that he was on campus. Everything reminded him of you. The boba place, every inch of your dorm, the emptiness in his mattress. He knew he was hallucinating when he thought he spied you at practice one day, just a wisp of hair in the corner of the room, but, by the time he did a double take, there was only empty floor there.

On Thursday, he got a text from Ahsoka.

Party tomorrow at Cody's. You should come, she had written. He didn't really, actually feel like partying. But he went anyway. Maybe he could spend enough time with his friends to forget about you.

He threw on a nice shirt, some kind of button-up his mom had gotten him, cuffed the sleeves, and set off.

It was a standard-issue party. He'd been to plenty of them, so he figured was ready and prepared for what he'd see and feel. Bass in his eardrums so loud it shook the blood in his veins. Having to scream basic conversation over music. Cheap beer and a sticky floor. Enough heat that his hair would start curling more.

It felt like home. He entered, found Cody and Ahsoka quickly, promising to return after he grabbed a drink. Anakin made his way to the folding table crammed full of bottles, as well as some kind of vile jungle juice, and took two shots. Just enough to stop thinking about you, he hoped.

By the time he fought his way back to Cody and Ahsoka, he was feeling it. Rex had joined them in the meantime, and Anakin joined the little huddle. They were talking (read: yelling "what did you say?" over the music) about one of Cody's dates that week, and Anakin let himself slip into the familiar rhythm of his friends. It was nice, honestly. He only thought of you five or six times, which was a record low.

Then Ahsoka suggested they go get another drink, and, as the four of them pushed back toward the drinks station, he saw you.

You were fucking radiant, and the breath stalled in his chest. You had always been the only thing he ever wanted to look at in a room, even from sophomore year, when you began to piss him off more than anything, but right now, you were a supernova. And he was a moth. He felt his wings get burned off as he traced the curve of your jaw and acknowledged to himself that, yeah, he probably wasn't going to get over you until you were across state lines.

You were wearing some sinfully short, tight dress, which crept higher and higher up your thighs. He could tell you weren't wearing a bra, and something stirred inside of him.

But then he saw the guy standing next to you, leaning in to tell something to your ear. Anakin hated himself for the thought, but he instantly started comparing himself to the guy. What was Mr. Boat Shoes saying to you that made you tip your head back and laugh like that? He remembered when he used to do that, when he would make you throw your head back to do more than just laugh.

Anakin felt his jaw clench and his body start to shake with the same energy that he always had before competitions, coiled like a snake about to strike.

He knew it was a bad idea, he really did. But he was never one to resist bad ideas. He blamed the alcohol. It wasn't that you were his, or some misguided attempt at owning you, but he just couldn't watch this. He couldn't let this feeling tear him apart anymore. When you swatted the guy's chest playfully, Anakin felt his eye twitch, right under his scar. Oh hell no. But he shouldn't. It was your business.

Fuck it.

Anakin started pushing through the crowd, and then he saw the guy lean in, and he saw red.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker/you #anakin/you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #star wars prequels #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine

207 notes · View notes

yandere-avatar · 2 years ago

Text

I'm Not Jealous... Well, Maybe a Little

Summary: How do they act when jealous? [Damn, 3 posts in one day? Wow. Popped this out in like 20 mins.] Characters: Katara, Sokka, Aang, Suki, Azula and Zuko

Katara

She doesn't take jealousy well

She'll pretend she's not jealous and bury these feelings

But they'll end up bubbling inside her and it'll come up in a fit of rage

When your back is turned, she'll attack the person that was flirting with you

You'll be none the wiser to what she did

She'll smile at you and you'll probably be confused

The person won't even see Katara coming or even know what she did

She watches in fury though, while the person hits on you

It definitely irritates her more that you don't realize they're flirting with you

Sokka

He's like his sister, by burying his feelings deep inside

He'll probably know his feelings are bad, but he loves you and it feels so right

He might challenge them to a fight, just out of nowhere

You'll be confused, but the person won't take Sokka seriously

Sokka would make an absolute fool of himself, as long as it meant he had your attention back

He needs your confirmation that you still love him

He'd take your pity over your distaste any day

Aang

He's the most passive about his jealousy

He's very extroverted and will join the conversation, turning the vibe off [at least hopefully]

If they don't, he will get a little angry

He'll control the conversation and the flirter can't do anything about it, because Aang is so likeable

He makes sure the hint is thrown out there, that they need to leave you alone

If they don't? Well, let's just say their house blew down, so now they don't have time to hit on you

You'll feel bad, but Aang will come up with an excuse on why you and the gang need to leave

Suki

Ugh, she gets so huffy

She is very forward though and will enter the conversation

If the person tries to push her out, she will get aggressive

She's very straightforward and will confront them, even if you're there

You think they're just being friendly and the flirter will use that to their advantage

"You're just being paranoid, I was just telling them about the town"

Suki will glare, knowing it's bull, but she quickly realized she was cornered

She awkwardly smiled and turn towards you, "The gang needs our help, we should go now"

You won't think about it much and wave goodbye to the flirter

As you both walk away, Suki will turn around, smirking while waving bye to the person

Azula

Oh, you screwed up bad

When she gets jealous, she gets violent [Though she gets violent a lot]

But, she doesn't know how to healthily express her emotions, or really just express them at all, so she acts out

She hates this feeling because she's used to be confident and adored

She hates when you even waste a second of your time on someone that isn't her

She deserves all your attention, why are you wasting a second on them?

She's mad at them for talking to you, but she's also mad at you for encouraging them

You'll have to calm her down, or she's killing everyone

Her fits of rage cause a lot of casualties

She then blames you for everyone that got hurt

"Well, if you hadn't been flirting with them, this never would of happened"

Zuko

Him and sister have anger in common

He wants to burn them into the ground

Make them suffer for making him watch

He's very annoyed, but doesn't know how to express his jealousy

He won't act out like a child, but he was glare and fire emits from his fist

Anyone can tell he's angry

He'll walk up to you both and glare at the person, before wrapping an arm around you and forcing a smile

"What are you guys talking about?"

You weren't really into the conversation, so you'll say nothing, but Zuko takes it as you not wanting him to know

Did you hate him? Wait, were you talking about him? Why won't you tell him?

God the anxiety eats him alive

He then begins regretting approaching you both. But you just grab him, before pretending to hear your name and pull Zuko along, saying something like "I think I heard Sokka call us. Let's go"

He'll apologize, but you'll laugh, and lightly punch his shoulder, "I didn't want to talk to them. They were so cocky. I'm so glad you saved me. My hero"

You kiss his cheek and he blushes a dark red and you'll continue to walk as he freezes

2K notes · View notes

fishfooddude · 4 months ago

Text

Baby-Makin' (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Directory

Kinktober MasterList

(Divider credit @strangergraphics)

Watching Rhett try to ride a thousand-pound bull always did something to you. You were in the stands with Cecilia and Amy while Royal was talking to him about something. “He’s up next!” Amy cheered excitedly; you shared her sentiment as the announcer introduced Rhett over the speaker.

When the gates opened and the bull busted through the arena, you watched as it tried to get Rhett off his back. Your gaze moved between Rhett and the clock. You felt nervous as you watched his arm flay about as the bull got angrier and angrier. The clock buzzed when Rhett had finally been thrown off of the bull. You watched as he landed on his shoulder awkwardly. You swallowed, hoping he hadn’t injured himself. “He did it! He won!” Amy cheered, pointing to the scoreboard where ‘Abbott’ appeared next to the number one spot. “Oh my gosh!” you cheered as you looked at the board and then back to Rhett.

As one of the announcers yelled out his victory, Rhett scanned the audience, looking for you. He couldn’t help but smile when he saw you standing in the crowd, cheering with his family. As he accepted his title, his eyes didn’t leave you. You smiled and blew him a kiss before mouthing, ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Rhett’s smile got progressively goofier the longer he stared at you.

The rodeo cleared out, and you found Rhett at the ‘rider’s only’ entrance. “Hey cowboy. You did amazing!” you cooed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Rhett hooked his hands under your thighs and effortlessly lifted you so you could wrap your legs around his hips. You squealed at the suddenness, “Always ride better when you’re watchin’ me, baby.” he grunted.

You giggled at his words and snatched the hat from his head, “I love watchin’ you ride, but maybe… you wanna watch me ride?” you teased, twirling his hair in your fingers. He laughed and moved you to his shoulder, smacking your ass in the process. You giggled and held onto the hat, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Rhett’s truck was one of the last ones in the parking lot that night. He walked up to the passengers door and put you down in it before messing with the bar under the seat to push it back. “You got a condom, baby?” you asked as he climbed on top of you, closing the door behind him. He shook his head and pushed your legs apart, making your skirt pool at your hips. “Then we probably shouldn’t baby.”

Rhett shook his head, “I think tonight is the night I knock you up baby.” he grunted pushing your panties to the side before pushing his middle finger through your fold collecting the moisture that had began to pool in your panties the second you found him after the rodeo. You moaned at the feeling of his rough fingers rubbing your clit in sharp oblong circles.

“You’re gonna knock me up tonight?” you swallowed. Rhett nodded as he leaned down to your ear to whisper, “I got to let everyone know who you belong to, princess.”

#kinktober 2024 #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fan fiction #rhett abbott fan fic #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott one shot #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x reader #outer range fan fiction #outer range imagine #outer range fan fic #outer range x reader #outer range fic #outer range #outer range smut

117 notes · View notes

hornyhornyhimbos · 3 months ago

Text

"Wilder Than Any Eight Second Ride" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: At the annual Honky-Tonk Halloween Party, Reader and Steve find themselves having a little bull-riding competition. When Steve isn't pleased with the results, he demands a rematch… in the bedroom.

Pairing: Bullrider!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,545

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) unprotected piv sex, cowgirl activities, against the wall activities, creampie, bondage, marking a lil bit, nicknames (princess, sweetheart, baby, cowgirl; daddy once i think), explicit language, alcohol mentions since it takes place at a bar, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i missed writing for these two individuals

Originally Written: 10/20/2024 through 10/24/2024

stranger things masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

The air was buzzing, filled with the smell of alcohol and sweat. “Elvira” by The Oak Ridge Boys blared through the speakers, though it was barely heard over the crowd of probably two hundred people chattering amongst themselves. The annual Honky-Tonk Halloween celebration was officially underway.

Steve, as per usual, looked absolutely delectable, even in his cheaply made, party store costume. He used his hot-pink bandana to wipe up a spill on the bar, and something about the sight sent heat straight to your core.

“See something you like, Western Barbie?” he smirked, never taking his eyes off the spilled alcohol.

You met him with a similar smirk. “Just admiring the view, Cowboy Ken.”

Dark brown eyes finally met your own gaze as he finished cleaning up the puddle of beer on the counter. “You sure that's the only thing going on in that pretty head of yours?” You could tell he was already a little buzzed himself; his accent got thicker when he was under the influence.

“Other than how I'm totally gonna kick your ass at the mechanical bull riding competition?” you asked with an eye roll.

Steve met you with a daring expression, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “What makes you so sure you're winnin’? Considering I ride actual bulls for a living, I've got a little bit of a leg-up on ya, princess.”

You walked around to the other side of the bar, standing face to face with him and placing your hands on his chest. A gasp nearly escaped you at how rock-solid his chest felt underneath the jacket he currently sported, but you chose not to comment on it, considering how much you already inflated his ego on the daily. “Mmm, see, I also have a little riding experience of my own under my belt.”

“Is that so?” Steve asked, leaning down a little closer to you.

You simply met him halfway, leaning in for a playful kiss. “Well, what can I say? I've had a really good teacher.”

His hand swatted at your butt as you walked away, and the sound of Steve chuckling could be heard even through the chaos of everything else happening in the bar. He quickly followed after you, his long legs catching up in just a couple strides.

The crowd of half-drunk bull-riding fans cheered Steve on as he approached the mechanical bull. With a smirk, he climbed up, confident that he'd win this little competition between the two of you. “Start her up!” he hollered to the operator.

The machine started up, and immediately his hips began twisting in a way that should've been illegal in public, in your opinion anyway. One hand met his Stetson, while the other held tight to the handle of the bull. His jeans were ridiculously tight, showing off the curves of his ass and bulge as he rocked back and forth. It was dirty, practically erotic, and he soaked up every moment of the ride with his head thrown back. While he looked like an overdone version of a cowboy in a western movie, he looked like a damn good version of the stereotype.

“Think you can keep up with me this time, princess?” he called, practically grinding against the fake saddle.

Your scoff in reply could probably be heard in the parking lot. “You wish you could keep up with me!”

The comment must've been enough to catch him off guard, because as he laughed at your response, he came tumbling down from the machine and onto the safety mat.

He turned to look at the operator, who simply replied with, “Eighteen seconds.”

“Oooof,” you let out, trying to sound regretful. “Sounds like someone's slacking in their preseason. Your trainer's not gonna be too happy, Steven.”

He rolled his eyes, patting your ass again. “Let's see you do any better, cowgirl,” he said, lifting you by the hips onto the mechanical bull.

With a confident smile, you signaled for the operator to start up the machine again. You made a show of grinding your hips against the faux saddle, and in a similar fashion to Steve, your opposite hand that wasn't holding onto the bull flew to your sparkly cowgirl hat.

You whooped and shouted as you held onto the bull, your confidence never ceasing. All eyes were on you, though the only pair you cared about belonged to someone who'd seen these moves from you a million times. And just for him, you twisted your hips a little extra, all for his enjoyment.

Time seemed to slow as you fell off the mechanical bull and onto the mat below. Steve was quick to make his way over, offering a strong hand and helping you up from the floor. “Impressive,” he commented. “Not sure if it was enough to beat the champ, though.”

“We'll just see about that,” you replied confidently, turning to the machine's operator and asking for your results.

When he replied with, “Twenty-two seconds,” a pleased squeal left your lips. Your husband simply rolled his eyes, demanding a rematch.

With a shake of your head, you said, “No can do, Cowboy Ken. Results are final.” And then, “It's all in the hips, you know.”

“You forget who taught you that phrase?” he quipped. Then, as if just registering your first sentence, he said, “And final my ass.”

When you smiled about your accomplishment again, a hand swatted at your butt a third time. And then, a suggestive glint appeared in his eye as he whispered, “I think I know of a way we can have our rematch without interrupting all these people waiting for the bull…”

That was how you found yourselves wandering away from the party and up the stairs to your apartment, hands on each other the whole way. As soon as Steve opened the door, his lips were on yours, his hands meeting your hips and his foot moving to kick the door closed. As often as you and Steve were on each other, you couldn’t recall a time when the door had been closed the proper way.

In a matter of seconds, both your hat and Steve's had been tossed aside, along with his jacket. Your hands met his hair as he kneeled in front of you, making quick work of your cowgirl boots and nipping at your clothed thighs. Perhaps he should've been a magician for Halloween with the way he could manage to make your clothes disappear

He kicked off his own boots, a skill he'd managed to cut down to five seconds flat. While he worked on the fastening of his own pants, you easily slipped yours off, leaving you in nothing but a bandana, vest and a pair of lacy panties that left little to the imagination.

Steve groaned at the sight as his lips met your neck, the vibration sending heat straight through you. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, fingernails digging into your love handles ever-so-slightly.

“Even dressed as a party store Barbie?” you smirked, the sentence being cut off by a sigh as his hand moved to cup your clothed core.

“Especially dressed as a party store Barbie.” His thumb rubbed a soft circle against your covered clit, eliciting a noise of approval from you.

A moment later, his pants and boxers were shoved down and tossed aside, leaving him completely bare for you. He didn't even bother to undo your vest, instead focusing on discarding the white lace to get to where he wanted to feel you most. You couldn't help the moan that left your lips as the air hit your most sensitive spots.

Lips were on lips as Steve lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he forced the two of you backward into your bedroom. A small sound of both pain and pleasure came from you as your back hit the wall, overtaken by another, hungrier sound as the head of his cock teased at your entrance.

“Fuck,” you whined, canting your hips forward. You were desperate, oh so desperate, for him to be inside you at any capacity.

Still, Steve wasn't giving in that easily. “Gotta beg for it, princess. Otherwise, I don't know what you want.” He knew exactly what you craved, but he could be a dominant asshole sometimes, wanting to see just how far he could push you.

“I want to ride you,” you said, the words coming out in a sigh. Your hands pulled his face to yours, your lips meeting in a needy kiss and your tongues moving together hungrily.

With that simple sentence, Steve shifted your hips and used the space to push inside you. Both of you let out a synced groan, your body instinctively squeezing around his length.

Teeth nipped at his shoulder, eliciting a rather loud moan from his mouth as you sucked on his skin. “As sexy as that is, you know I got that Calvin Klein shoot coming up,” Steve reminded you.

You smirked at the thought. Steve “The Hawk” Harrington, had been invited by the Calvin Klein team to do his own campaign. The shoot was in just a few days, the two of you flying out to New York bright and early the next Monday. Every time you thought about him in those signature boxers, posing by a poolside, you nearly started to salivate.

A wicked expression lit up your face as you scratched at his chest this time, another moan coming from his lips. Clearly he was enjoying the feeling, but the rational side of his brain took over as he thrusted into you a little harder.

“Baby, as much as I love- fuck- the way it feels to have you marking me up,” he started to say, hips rolling into yours all the while, “I have to make sure I look my best for the photoshoot.”

“I think you look your best when you're all marked up,” you pouted, feigning innocence. With another nip at Steve's shoulder, you scratched him again, just to see what he'd do. His reaction wasn't quite what you expected, but it was still welcomed and still extremely sexy.

His hand met your neck, undoing the bright pink bandana that had been tied there. In one swift movement, he had you on the bed, pinning both of your arms above your head. With a nearly evil look, he tied your wrists together. “Bet you won't disobey now, huh?” he remarked, emphasizing his win with another deep roll of his hips.

Despite the restriction, you still managed to meet his thrusts like your life depended on it. Steve's name rolled off your tongue like a mantra, your way of showing him how you needed more of him, all of him.

Steve wrapped an arm around your body as he flipped the two of you over, giving you what you'd asked for earlier. His signature phrase, “Giddy up, cowgirl,” tumbled from his mouth, those three words only fueling you on.

His hands gripped your love handles, lifting you up and down his length. The restraint only made the scene that much more filthy, whine after whine falling from your lips.

The smell of sweat and sex wafted through the air, the partying crowd from downstairs being completely forgotten as the scent overtook you. They could be right outside your door, and honestly neither of you would care. As long as you were together, your bodies connected in any capacity, you didn't care who was around.

One of Steve's hands stayed on your hips while the other snaked between your bodies. His thumb rubbed circles over your aching clit, his eyes hooded as he watched you near your release.

“There ya go, cowgirl,” he encouraged, his fingers and dick working in tandem to please you just how you needed. “Take whatever you need from Daddy.”

His praise only made you keen further, your back arching and your mouth falling slack at just how much pleasure he was currently bringing you. To the best of your abilities, you bounced on his length a little harder, mentally cursing him for tying your hands together when you so desperately wanted to be gripping his shoulders or his hair.

“Stevie, please,” you begged. “I'm so close, but I can't-” Your sentence was cut off by a whimper as he thrusted up into you.

He knew exactly what you needed, finishing the statement for you. “If you can promise to not leave any more marks, I'll take it off, okay?”

You nodded, but obviously it wasn't enough, considering he once again told you to use your words. Another plea left your lips, this time telling him exactly what you needed.

With one flick of his finger, he undid the fastening around your wrists. Desperately, your hands met his hair, tugging at the tussled strands.

A chuckle rumbled through Steve's chest, the sound simultaneously hot and annoying. “Not sure Calvin will appreciate it if I show up all covered in marks.”

“I don't know,” you managed to smirk, your climax inching further as you continued to take his cock as deep as you could. “He might not, but I'm sure your female fans will.”

Ever the gentleman, he just leaned forward and kissed your neck with a juxtaposing sweetness to the otherwise lewd scene. “You're the only female fan I care about, sweetheart.”

The words made you clench around him. His thumb caressed your clit, the movement somehow both sweet and dirty. You were so close, and by the sudden twitch of his cock inside you, you could tell he was too.

“You're so beautiful,” he repeated, his lips meeting your wrist with a gentle kiss. Despite the earlier urgency, the air now had a level of soft intimacy to it that you simply couldn't explain. It was like that with Steve; one minute, he was a desperate mess, and the next, he was showing you how much he loved you.

The compliment was just what you needed to push you over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Steve quickly followed suit, his seed filling you up just how you always wanted.

You both collapsed in each other's arms, his now softening cock still buried inside you as he held your body close. His lips peppered what skin he had access to outside of your vest, his hands softly caressing your hips.

“Steve?” you said after a while of just laying there, just being together.

He hummed in question, too tired to form a full sentence.

You leaned up to look at him, a cheeky grin taking over your otherwise blissed-out face. “Not sure if you tying my wrists together was the sexiest thing or the meanest thing you've ever done.”

Steve met you with a smirk. “Can't it be both?”

With a roll of your eyes, your lips landed on his, and in that moment, you decided if you were to die just like that, you'd at least die a happy woman.

“I'll tell you what, though,” Steve said, a tired drawl to his words as he pulled you closer. “You sure are wilder than any eight second ride I've ever done.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” you smiled giddily, meeting him halfway for another kiss.

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

74 notes · View notes

baw-sixteen · 1 year ago

Text

would've could've should've - dr3

pairings: daniel ricciardo x op81 social media manager! reader

they could've been so much more

July 9, 2023

You stared at the picture in the darkness of your hotel room. You should've known. Everyone was talking about it.

Nyck has had a terrible rookie year so far. Knowing Marko, knowing Red Bull they needed more. More points, more perfection.

You couldn't say you weren't happy. You were happy. For him. You were elated.

Daniel loved racing. He had told you that before. You had felt it - every time he got into that Mclaren, every time he had done a better score than before.

He wasn't jobless. No. He could never be. Not till the day Christian Horner was still alive. You knew that.

You see the news yet?

You sat up on the bed. That empty feeling inside you shifted at the text.

The last few weeks were bad. Bad for Oscar. Bad for Mclaren.

Bad for you.

But who cared about that?

Oscar was good. He was very easy to handle. He was less trouble than Daniel.

The few people who cared about the fans' backlash had suddenly dropped to one. You were just a social media manager.

I would've stayed on my knees.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil

But he wasn't Daniel.

He could never be what you two were.

Yeah.

You did.

You had seen the news.

___________________________________________

"I'm sorry"

A very tired Michael stared at you.

"What's there to be sorry about, yn?"

You laughed. You actually laughed.

The fans were incredibly intelligent you'd give them that. The theories that you, Michael, Yuki and Lando had read on the internet were crazy.

All this time, both you and Michael had got a lot of backlash from the fans. All because you loved your job more than him. All because Mike wanted to share a bit about him to the fans.

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

Believable. But crazy.

They said you were draining him off his money. That Michael starved him. Gave him severe training. Just to make him perfect.

There was not a single bone in his body you wanted to change. For the better or for the worse. It's what made you fall in love with him.

How you wished sometimes you could just scream it at the world that he already was perfect.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

His smile. His charm. His stupidity. His laugh.

That scar on his knee. Or that cut on his chin.

You loved all of him.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do when I see him."

You always had.

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

He was tired too.

"I heard he didnt ask Pyry for training?"

"No. Says he doesn't need it. Doesn't need anyone. A lone wolf."

"Lone wolf, my ass."

A small smile graces both of your faces. No matter what he said. You knew him better.

Memories feel like weapons.

The moment you walked into the hotel your eyes caught him. Head thrown back with a laugh louder than the fans outside. Smile brighter than the Hungarian morning.

"Yn!"

All eyes fell on you as Lando waved you over from where he was sitting among the drivers in the lobby.

The world felt like it stopped as honey coloured irises met yours.

The eyes that once spoke forever to you, were cold, dark - they were trying to drown you in them, choke you with your own guilt.

You heart felt like it shattered into a million pieces as he looked away from you and turned back to where Max was sitting.

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

You could hear Lando saying something but you felt dizzy. Tears started to blur your eyes as that pounding in your chest grew louder and louder.

"I'll speak to you later Lando."

You forced your shaky voice to speak as your feet carried yourself to the elevator as fast as they could. But what your retreating figure could notice was the way he shivered.

Your voice still had an effect on him.

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be.

The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind

A sob erupted from your throat the moment the elevator door closed. Hot, steaming tears rolled down your face.

The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign

As long as Daniel Ricciardo was going to be around, you would never be the same.

I regret you all the time

Oh Daniel, we could've been so much more.

Could've, Would've, Should've.

____________________________________________

author's note: hi everyone!! well here it is!! since you wanted a part 2!!

#f1 x reader #dr3 #daniel ricciardo angst #f1 imagine #f1 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #wouldve couldve shouldve

228 notes · View notes

thefrogsennaneverfound · 11 months ago

Note

I ask this question from a curiosity standpoint, and don’t mean to seem rude or anything, but why don’t you like Daniel Ricciardo? Am I missing something?

He’s far less offensive than a lot of the other drivers. He has a tendency to awkwardly laugh rather than say “that’s a shitty joke. Not okay”, which is frustrating, but not even in the same universe as something like Lance Stroll physically assaulting his trainer.

Like all F1 drivers, he wants to be WDC and talks a big talk, but he’s still nowhere near as obnoxious as a lot of the other drivers, who all think and say the same.

Maybe my understanding isn’t correct? As far as I know, his only really shit time as a driver was with McLaren in 2022, and words like “scapegoating” and “sabotage” get thrown around a lot. In 2021, he gave McLaren its only win in over a decade, and it wasn’t team orders based, and he hauled Renault back up into the podium as well, for their first time in almost a decade. I don’t think he should have left Red Bull, and I don’t think he’s necessarily an Alonso or Verstappen level talent, but he also made those Red Bulls and Renaults that he drove look a lot better than they were.

It's not just about what a driver's like on the track; it's his attitudes off the track too and Ricciardo has really bad form. As for dragging the Renault into the points, and the Red Bull when it was underperforming - that's his job and the cars weren't that bad. If he'd swapped with one of the back markers at the time, they'd likely have performed just the same. Plus, if he made the Red Bull look better than it was, why wasn't he the one winning championships in it? Why did Vettel get all that action when all Ricciardo got was a handful of race wins?

Anyway, here's (just some of) why I firmly believe that Daniel Ricciardo is every bit as obnoxious as the most obnoxious drivers on the grid. If you don't read right to the end, and I wouldn't blame you, please at least take in the part I've highlighted in red; it pretty much sums up the type of character he is and why I - along with many others - really do feel that he's most definitely obnoxious.

“I don’t watch the news and feel better about my day so I choose not to watch it.” Just one direct quote regarding his complete and shameless ignorance about the extreme humans rights abuses prevelent in some of the countries F1 travels to. What it amounts to is that the “drama and negativity” (his own words) of news reports on out-dated and abusive attitudes to women and LGBTQ people is a buzz kill so he’d rather not know about it, thanks all the same.

His attitude to the sexist objectification of the (now thankfully defunct) Grid Girls: "It's kind of like part of the attraction of the sport, fast cars and fast girls,". In his opinion, because it’s a male dominated sport it’s “a cool thing” so “let’s keep them”. If that's not obnoxious, I don't know what is.

On “Your Mom’s House” (a lowest common denominator podcast aimed at pathetic little boys who think they’re men) he laughed along with deeply sexist, misogynistic ‘jokes’ about women. There are plenty of drivers who would, at the very least, have kept their reactions neutral, making it clear they didn’t think it funny, but not Ricciardo; he was more than content to chuckle away at their vile comments about women.

Tricking Yuki Tsunoda into trusting him to come closer on a boat so he could throw him overboard, because it’s funny to force someone to face a very real phobia of sharks by throwing them into a body of water that’s widely known to contain them. I don’t care what Tsunoda’s reaction was to it (it's common for the victim of bullying to make light of their ordeal) or that Ricciardo threw himself into the water too; it’s still an appalling way to treat someone when they’ve been brave enough to be in such close proximity to one of their greatest fears. It’s the behaviour of a bully and Ricciardo is the worst kind of that particular species – a charming bully. The reason he gets away with so much of his crappy behaviour is because so many people are taken in by a cheeky smile, a twinkle in the eyes, and the friendly disclaimer that it’s just a bit of fun; they’re just trying to lighten the mood and make people laugh. It’s always at someone else’s expense though.

Given he was in a highly competitive Red Bull for all those years, he won precious few races, and left because he wasn’t getting the attention he thought was his right. I know athletes have to have an enormous amount of self-belief but to have looked at a racer like Verstappen and sincerely felt that he was his equal? That’s delusional. But is that really how he felt? Or did he – like so many who can’t face real competition when they know someone else is going to come out on top – jump ship because being a big fish in a small pond is preferable to being outperformed and therefore second best? I don’t know which it is but if he really, genuinely, sincerely thought he was on the same level as, first, Verstappen and then Norris, surely he’s just not very bright?

Monza 2021 absolutely was a team orders win for Ricciardo. Have you listened to Norris’s radio? He was faster; he wanted to pass; he asked if he could pass; he was told to maintain position. Either the team were concerned that the two might take each other out (although I am absolutely certain that Norris could have made that move with ease so was it more a case of Ricciardo taking Norris out if he tried to overtake?) or Ricciardo’s ego was so fragile by that point (Norris had been wiping the floor with him) that they decided he needed the win to boost his confidence and get a few more much needed points for McLaren. Either way, Norris was robbed of his maiden victory because he’s a team player who obeyed team orders rather than saying “screw this; I can win and I’m damn well gonna win”. I respect him for playing the team game but I hate the fact that Ricciardo got an undeserved win at his considerable expense (that’s not hyperbole; a driver’s first F1 win really is huge).

You're probably sorry you asked now.

#anti-Daniel Ricciardo #Yuki Tsunoda #Max Verstappen #Lando Norris #McLaren Racing #Renault racing #Red Bull Racing #just my opinion #Formula One

133 notes · View notes

npookie0 · 2 months ago

Note

If you haven’t yet, could you write a fic abt a chubby (could be fem if u want) character w/ robin??? I LOVE UR WORK BTW

Body is the true form of art.

A scenerio of the chubby reader being insecure and Ronin helping them in his own way

You are standing in front of your mirror, underwear being the only thing giving you coverage. Your expression was one of strong displeasure, hate even. You despise the image that you see in your reflection. Someone chubby, who can't fit in most of their clothes.

Normally you wouldn't be this bothered, you got used to this. Being the chubby kid growing up, it taught you a lot. But when you didn't fit in your favourite piece of clothing? It felt like your whole world was in pieces, maybe work related stress added up to this to make it this bad.

So now, instead of dressing up for your meeting with Ronin in purgatory, you're standing in front of your mirror, barely holding yourself together from breaking down.

You hugged your arms, taking a deep breath. "Why... why do I have to look like this?" You whispered to yourself, looking at your body with a stare that was anything but loving.

You wanted to take scissors and cut the additional fat from your body, cut yourself in a shape that would look more aesthetically pleasing.

You hated how people looked how you, how they judged you. You saw it in their eyes, you were a pig to them, a pig who stuffs their face every occasion they have.

It didn't matter to them that maybe you were chubbier because of some health issues, or that you could basically live at the gym now and nothing was changing your shape. People just fed into their own judgement and that's all that mattered to them.

Ring, ring, ring.

The noise of an incoming call startled you. You looked down at the phone on your desk and grimaced when you saw who was calling.

Ronin.

Your boyfriend, The Devil's Butcher, a total psycho who somehow swept you off your feet and claimed your aorta as his.

You took a deep breath and picked up the phone to answer his call.

With all power you tried to sound calm, like you were doing perfectly fine. "What is it Ro?" Your voice was a little shakier than you planned, but maybe he wouldn't notice it. At least that's what you were hoping for.

You heard him click his tongue. "Crying huh?" His words made your stomach twist and turn.

How?

How did he always know everything?

You couldn't comprehend it. Ronin made you feel like a completely open book to him, like he didn't need to look at you to know what you were going through.

"I... I'm not crying Ronin." You replied, your answer harsher than anticipated. You didn't want to show to anyone, him or even yourself, that you were going through something.

You were the funny friend, the one people gave backhanded compliments too, you couldn't just show anyone your weaknesses, even with Ronin.

"Yeah, yeah. Lie to someone else darlin'. Maybe Angel would gobble this bull up, but I know you too well now." His voice was hushed to a whisper, like he was quite literally a shoulder devil trying to prove to you that sin was the better choice. "I'll be there soon." With no chance for an answer you were left alone.

Exactly twenty minutes later you and Ronin were sitting on your kitchen's floor, your head leaning on his shoulder as you tried to looked anywhere but at your body reflected in the fridge.

"What is it writer darlin'?" Ronin's hand was rubbing your thigh as his other arm was lazily thrown around your waist.

"I'm fine Ronin." You lied, biting the inside of your cheek. You looked at Ronin who's gaze was unreadable.

In his eyes there was only darkness, and in the middle of that never ending abyss was your reflection. It's weird really, how you liked yourself only in Ronin's eyes. Maybe it was the comfort of him being as imperfect as you? Or maybe it was how he never truly cared about your body, only cared to keep it close in form of small and casual touches.

"Confess the sin, speak of the burden. We both know that you're trying to hide it, from the world and yourself." He spoke with a knowing smirk on his face. Ronin didn't need to ask anything, he didn't need to ask about all the things he could see in your eyes.

He saw the pain, saw the way you almost cried every time your eyes met your reflection, the pure disgust in your gaze was what caught his attention so much.

Your lower lip trembled. Maybe if you vented this frustration out, maybe if you shared this burden with Ronin... Maybe you could feel better.

"I hate this Ronin. I hate how my body looks okay?"You said and looked down at your hands. "There's nothing but fat. I am nothing but a chubby person." You felt so pathetic, so embarrassed of these words.

You would never look at another person this way, then why are you looking at yourself in this image? Why can't you shower yourself with this love?

Your mind was in chaos now, torn between your insecurities and the way you felt evil for hating your body while telling others to love theirs.

Ronin moved his hand from your thigh to hold you by your chin, so he could tilt your head back. "Darlin', baby, why do you hate a true piece of art?" He whispered, his face inches away from yours. "You can't see it now, but this." His hand that held you, squeezed on your side. "This is fuckin' beautiful, the most perfect piece of art."

His eyes were passionate. You were looking for a lie, looking for deception. But you found only fire, fire burning in affection, his own twisted affection.

"I want to paint all over this piece of art, make the base even more breathtaking, even more mesmerising." Ronin didn't show pity, he didn't want to let you drown in this self hate you were desperately trying to hide yourself in.

"Ronin you can drop the poetic comfort." Of course you, blinded by your misery, were unable to see just how genuine he was. Just how much honesty was in his words.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Oh darlin', I'm unable to give comfort, or have you forgotten?" He kissed you on your temple. "You're art, art that is a true eye candy."

Headcanons ♥

Ronin lends you his clothes, he likes how you look in them admiring you or joking about them hanging off of your body. You were somewhat happy when wearing his clothes, they were big enough to hide your upper body and they had Ronin's scent on them.

When you feel especially insecure Ronin is kissing your body, like he's worshipping it. "Who wouldn't worship a body like this baby?" He's say with a smirk glued to his face.

Ronin likes to use your body as a pillow, be it your chest, stomach or thighs, they're all he needs to get a comfortable spot to keep his head on.

If in an intimate situation, Ronin will mar your body, compliments it even more than usual, he will make you feel oh so attractive. His gaze alone should be able to speak volumes.

#killer chat #killer chat ronin #fanfic #gender neutral reader #asks #fluff #character headcanons #chubby reader

26 notes · View notes

erika111111 · 3 months ago

Text

Okay, storytime...

I watched the Fallout TV show back when it came out. And I... had very mixed feelings about a lot of things. I've never played the games, mind you, so I went in basically blind. My main takeaway was one of my new favorite OTPs, Lucy x Maximus (VaultKnight). And I think I'm in the minority here, as most people ship Lucy with Cooper or just straight-up hate VaultKnight, but Lucy and Maximus really did something to my heart.

When Lucy smiles up at the brave knight soaring through the air, thinking he defeated the enemy, when in reality he just got thrown across the sky in defeat, I thought it was so cute and funny and immediately started "shipping" them. I just thought each of the main characters would have their own path and rarely ever interact with each other, so expecting Lucy and Maximus to actually have a romance was just a silly thought in the back of my head. But then it actually happened! (And this is far from the first time me shipping some random seemingly impossible ship actually came true; I guess I'm lucky in at least this regard.)

I do agree with the main criticism of the ship, that's it's totally rushed. It basically starts halfway through an already extremely short season. But something being rushed doesn't necessarily make it bad. The criticism that it's forced and they have no chemistry is total bull to me, though. They're literally so cute together and seem truly in love. And it makes sense, Lucy was quite literally raised to have a relationship right out of the gate.

Also, me being in an interracial relationship myself, I loveeee to see it portrayed in media. And I love that Lucy is a little perverted! Again, she was kind of raised up that way and she doesn't really view it as being "dirty" or anything, but to the viewers, it catches us off guard how casually she is about everything. And I loved that Maximus was more timid and uncomfortable with the topic at first. It's usually the other way around in media, so it's nice to see a shy guy and a flirty gal for a change.

I have mixed feelings about the show in general, but my favorite part was absolutely VaultKnight. I wanna come back for season two solely to see how their relationship progresses. I hope they wind up endgame, but I do have bad luck when it comes to the ships I'm passionate about always falling through in the end. But here's hoping. I love them!

34 notes · View notes

silvervioletvalentine · 2 years ago

Text

❣️! Wildcard!❣️

Pairing : Mick Schumacher X femOC (Cherrie!)

Word count : 5.3k

Summary: Mick has scary dog privileges but instead of a scary dog it’s his girlfriend Cherrie.

Mick couldn't help but smile when the reporter said his girlfriends name, making him sit up straighter in his seat without him even realising it.

Just Cherrie's name already being mentioned made his face light up like it was Christmas , there truly was no one else that he liked to gush more about and he would take any opportunity to do so, not matter how much of a lovesick fool it made him look like.

He just couldn't help it. He was dating the woman of his dreams , who didn't want to brag about something like that?

"There has been a lot of talk online about your relationship with Cherrie Lynn , who is notoriously known as being a 'ice queen' who doesn't seem to be afraid of anything. You could say that the two of you are complete opposites when it comes to personalities , do you agree?" The man questioned him.

Just as confused as the rest of the world as to how the hell a man like mick was with a woman like Cherrie , who was the exact opposite of him in nearly every way.

And mick couldn't help but laugh a little at that question. Because he wasn't exactly wrong.

His girlfriend was known for being a blunt, obnoxious nutcase who came across as though she had no worries in the world and if she did have one, she would simply just eliminate them without batting an eyelash.

She was this cool and untouchable woman , an absolute spitfire , someone that shouldn't have even been in his league , never mind being his girlfriend .

He also knew that most people found his girlfriend to be a little too scary to handle , despite the fact that most of the other drivers had a little crush on her too .

He didn't blame them. She was so fucking beautiful that sometimes he found it hard to catch back his breath whenever she even smiled at him.

She just wasn't afraid to put anyone in their place, and if she had a problem with someone then they would be quick to know about it. Because she didn't mess around, she got shit done and simply got rid of anyone that was standing in her way.

Mick thought she was the most amazing woman in the world , even though sometimes her confidence intimidated the shit out of him too.

It only made him love her more. And everyday thag passed he could feel himself being more outspoken and confident too, as though it was a side effect of being with someone who simply didn't give a shit.

It had started to rub off on him a little , he really wasn't complaining .

So mick simply shrugged his shoulders at the mans question , still smiling at the very thought of her.

"There's no denying that we're very different but I think that's why it works so well.." he mused honestly , while tapping his fingers against the table thoughtfully .

"We balance eachother out. She helps me to be more confident in myself because if she ever see's me putting myself down she would slap me over the head and make me believe in myself till I was crying about it . She won't rest until I do.." he chuckled fondly as he recalled the way that she had looked at him with narrowed eyes when he had called himself stupid for crashing his car again and DNF'ing.

Mick had thought for a fearful moment that she was going to slap him.

She was furious. The most angry she had looked at him in a long time.

That one look had served to shut his mouth up real quick.

She had stood in front of him with her hands pressed to her hips, huffing like an angry bull at him.

And if she hadn't completely scared the shit out of him when she was pissed off, he might have laughed a little at how cute she looked with her cheeks all red and pouty lips being thrown at him. Clearly displeased.

"The only thing that's stupid is the words you're saying!" She had snapped at him.

Tough love being the way she rolled. She didn't lie to him, didn't try to sugarcoat the situation just to make him feel better.

Instead she was blunt but believing as she continued to speak.

"Yes you fucked up. And it's sucks that this has happened but you can't change what has been done." She told him seriously as she reached her hand out to push his sweaty hair away from his flustered face .

"-but what you can do is practice and learn to nail those corners better. You can change what's going to happen Mick . By becoming better and winning. So you can shove it in the stupid faces of those who have doubted you." Her voice was harsh and eyes dark but he felt himself relax at her odd way of encouraging him.

And he knew that she was right , so that's what he did.

Then the following week came by and he won. And so did Cherrie they had sprayed each other with champagne and celebrated on the podium together , Cherrie with a knowing and smug smirk on her face while mick just beamed down at her and kissed her champagne coated lips .

Overflowing with happiness and knowing that he owed his win to his tough love girlfriend who had pushed him into being greater. Who had believed in him without any hesitation even through all of his set backs .

She had his back. She always did.

The reporter smiled "a lot of people like to joke that she's more like your bodyguard than girlfriend. She seems to get herself into a awful lot of trouble over you. She reportedly had a dead pigs head delivered to the door of one of the drivers who had insulted you. Is that right?" He amusedly brought up the insane situation of ... last week.

Mick tried not to laugh, he really did but he just couldn't help it as he recalled how smug Cherrie had been when she returned home to casually inform him of her visits to the local butchers.

Having been beyond fuming when she got word of another driver smack talking her sweet boyfriend who could do no wrong in her eyes.

She knew that she couldn't just go around throwing punches like her first instinct to was, she was already in the shits for getting into a bar fight a couple of weeks ago when some drunk asshole had spilt his drink on Mick and then proceeded to try and pick a fight with him once he realised who he was.

What the asshole hadn't realised was that Cherrie went slightly bat shit crazy when anyone even dared to upset the love of her life.

So with a glare of fury in her eyes, she had simply picked up a barstool and threw it at the asshole's head , knocking him straight out on the sticky floor.

Then she had grabbed ahold of Mick who had been frozen in shock with wide eyes as he gaped at her in amazement , before quickly dragging him out of there before she could get them in to any more trouble.

It was also the night that she learned that her boyfriend found her knocking out guys twice her size incredibly hot.

He hadn't let her leave the bed the whole weekend.

Mick pursed his lips to try and hide his grin at the pigs head reminder .

"That has nothing to do with Cherrie . She wouldn't do that." He blatantly lied .

She would do that.

That was exactly something that she would do. She was beyond petty when somebody pissed her off.

So mick hasn't felt too surprised when she admitted to him that she had bought a pigs head from the butchers and gift wrapped it for the driver who has insulted him so carelessly.

She had been so casual about it too, simply pulling an unimpressed face . Still pissed off as she told him "that if he wanted to act like a stupid pig then she was going to get him one." Then she had smirked like the mean little bitch she was and added.

"Plus it'll be good for him to see what happens to unlucky pigs like him. He won't be saying a bad word about you anymore.." she had wrapped her arms around his neck and grinned up at him like she was an innocent Angel.

Devil in disguise . He had thought amusedly when he gazed down at her Angel like face with a shake of his head .

It always was the prettiest ones that were the most crazy.

"Otherwise I'll turn him into that poor pig." The threat was a casual promise .

Mick had sighed in utter adoration as he picked up his crazy girl and took her back to bed.

She was scary as fuck but holy fuck did she turn him on when she got like this.

Mick then continued to answer the reporter again.

"I think it's funny that they all call her my bodyguard because they're not wrong." He breathed out a slightly shy laugh at the reminder of who wore the pants .

Usually it was the man in the relationship that played the over protective role but Cherrie beat him to that by a long shot.

He was the lover in their relationship while she was definitely the fighter.

He would be the one stood back with his nails between his teeth biting down on them like a nervous squirrel while his girlfriend pushed him back and confidently told him that 'she would handle it.' By that she meant that she was going to go absolute apeshit.

She didn't even let him walk on the outside of the path either .

Instead she would grab ahold of his waist and yank him over to the inside of the path instead , keeping her body closest to the road while he shot her a unimpressed look. Despite the way he would flush red at her protectiveness .

Because at the end of the day all of her actions only

Made him love her more . Because she loved him and she wasn't afraid to show it.. in her own little unique way.

Most couples showed affection by holding hands or saying sweet things to each other.

Not Cherrie.

She showed him her love for him by storming into the hairdressers after they had fucked in his hair so badly that they had left him with a small bald patch at the back of his head.

Mick hadn't complained , too shy and uncomfortable to cause any drama. That just wasn't his thing. He had been ready to just deal with it and spend the next few weeks wearing his hats again till it grew back.

But his girlfriend had took one look at his hair and shook her head in pure disbelief .

Then he had turned around and she had been gone. Poof! Apparently fury made her run like a trackstar.

By the time that he had catched up to her again He had found her in the barbers with a hair clipper in her hands as she threatened to shave off the hair of the man that had done this mess to her sweet boyfriend.

Mick had to actually throw her over his shoulder and haul her away like a naughty child after she refused to stop waving the clippers in their scared face's. Giving a apologetic grimace to them as she continued to call them every curse word under the sun, even after they had left.

Huffing and puffing about how she had it 'all handled' and that 'she wasn't actually going to do it.'

Mick had rose his brows at her in pure amusement , laughing at the blatant lie she gave him before leaning over the car console and giving her a kiss.

So overwhelmed with love for his little psycho that always had his back , no matter what.

"I like that she's so protective of me. It means that I never have to worry about anything because Cherrie will sort it out for me ." He said , grinning happily.

Laughing to himself as he thought about how their date night a couple of weeks ago had gone .

They had been dining at some expensive restaurant that was ridiculously overpriced for the small portion of food that they were given.

The kind of dishes where you would have to order about six of them to actually feel full by the end of it.

Cherrie had ordered a chicken salad while he had went with the pasta without mushrooms , because mushrooms always gave him a rash and made him sick.

So when his plate had finally been put down in front of him after a ridiculously long waiting time , showcasing pasta with plenty of mushrooms throughout it , he had just sighed in defeat.

Not bothering to tell the waiter their mistake before he walked away.

He had started scraping them to the side of the plate with his fork, resigned to just eat the pasta that the mushrooms hadn't touched before Cherrie had finally noticed what he was doing.

Her eyes narrowing in confusion as she looked between his upset frown and then at his mushroom ridden plate.

"What the fuck? You told them no mushrooms!" She had exclaimed . Pulling the plate away from him aa though she was afraid he was just going to get sick from just looking at them.

Mick had hushed at her, telling her to keep her voice down. Not wanting to cause a scene.

Which he should have known was impossible, he had momentarily forgotten who his girlfriend was.

"It's no big deal I'll just-" he tried to calm her down but he should have known better really. Their was no way she would let this slide.

She had merely rolled her eyes at him and called over the waiter again. Ignoring him hissing at her not to do it with panic written all across his face.

"Cherrie- I'll just eat the pasta that the mushrooms haven't touched! It's not a big deal!" He had tried to persuade her quickly .

She had looked at him like he was the insane one. Glancing down at his tiny plate in disbelief.

"What? The last three pieces of pasta that'll be left? You paid a fucking fortune for this shit Mick. It's bad enough that it's only a baby sized portion. I'm not letting you waste your money like this." She had stubbornly shot back at him before plastering a smile onto her face once the waiter had reached their take again.

Mick couldn't meet his eyes. Instead he played with a napkin in his hands, flushing red as he tried to disappear from his seat, slumping his body down and wondering if he could fit under the table till it was over.

"He asked for no mushrooms. He's deathly allergic." She exaggerated to the concerned waiter without any shame . Nodding towards his plate with a deep frown of her own .

Mick had glared at her , more than flustered.

"Cherrie-"

The waiter looked mortified "deathly?" Before quickly picking up the plate from in front of him with a rush of apologies already escaping his mouth .

Mick had grimaced "I wouldn't say deathly-" he had started muttering , hating himself for feeling a little amused at how serious she had made herself look within seconds .

You would think that they had just tried to deliberately poison him from the look on her pretty face. Most of which he knew that she was definitely putting on.

There was nothing that his girlfriend loved more than being an impromptu actor at his expense .

Mick was sure that she just enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

She thought it was funny to see people shit themselves over things she said , because his girlfriend was an absolute menace to society.

"I would. He almost died last time from just touching a mushroom on accident. Never mind being given a plate full of them. " She had cut him off with a dramatic flare of her eyes . Even sniffling for added affect.

Clearly Trying not to laugh As she peered over at him in 'concern' , stroking his arm gently in comfort as though he too was traumatised from an I didn't that never even happened.

Mick could see the way her lips twitched once she saw the annoyed look on his face, shaking his head at the way she had absolutely No shame .

In the end he has been given a new, larger plate of pasta without mushrooms.

Alongside a slice of chocolate cake as the owner came out to apologise and tell them that the whole dinner was on the house.

Cherrie had been more than smug as she ate the free cake with a pleased little hum. Mick just rolling his eyes at her playfully , unable to scold her .

Because at the end of the day she had scored them a free date worth hundreds.

He couldn't even get mad when she started 'proposing' to him in expensive restaurants with a plastic ring she had found on the floor one time while they were out on walk together.

Having learnt that they would give free dessert out whenever someone proposed in their restaurant.

Mick had known that she would pull a stunt like that since the moment he watched his girlfriends eyes light up when her friend had did the same thing . Only their proposal had been real.

Cherrie didn't care though , she just wanted free cake.

Hence the tradition was born of her proposing to him at every five star restaurant that there was.

She got them free cake and he got to play pretend with her for a couple hours as he daydreamed about what it would be like when they finally did get engaged and married.

So, he really couldn't complain.

Despite the short flush of embarrassment he would feel when she got down on one knee and loudly started reading out some disgustingly cheesy poem to him in front of everyone while he tried not to cry tears of laughter and give their charade up.

Mick smiled brightly and tilted his head as he continued to gush about his loca girlfriend.

"Plus I know I'm a hundred percent safe when she's with me. She really isn't afraid of anything or anyone. No matter how scary the situation is , she doesn't ever hesitate to sort it out." He mused fondly to the reporter.

Hearts In his eyes as he recalled their visit to her small hometown.

The night that he realised that his girlfriend really was untouchable to anyone but him.

They had been taking a late night walk around her hometown where she had showed him all the spots that she spent her time at as a little kid. Even showing him the spot where she had broken all of her fingers after punching a boy for calling her a freak .

Mick had been having the time of his life , laughing at all the stories she told him of all the trouble that she got into when she was younger . And about how she had to move to three different schools because she kept getting suspended all the time.

Mick wasn't surprised at all. It seemed that his girlfriend had been a troublemaker since the day she was born.

He could only hope that when they had kids of their own together , that they wouldn't be as much of a nutcase as she was.

They had been hovering by his car , just chatting and looking up at the stars in the sky when he had spotted a man with a balaclava slowly edging towards them. Clearly wanting his expensive car.

He had cursed at himself for parking in such a darkened street.

Unfortunately Where Cherrie had grown up was known for its high crime and terrible violence . As well as plenty of car jacks .

It was why she had grown up to be so fucking tough, she had no choice to be.

He had felt his heart race in his chest with panic as he tried to subtly judge Cherrie to warn her of their impending attack , still keeping his eye intently on the man that he now noticed had a small hammer in his hand as well.

Jesus Christ . Fuck!

He almost passed out right there and then . He wasn't equipped for this at all! He had never even punched someone before! What the hell was be going to do?

"There's a man coming to the side of us with a hammer in his hand. What do we do?!" He had hissed at her underneath his breath in pure panic, sweat already beading at his hairline in fear.

He had almost gasped out loud when Cherrie had simply rose her brow at him before turning around so that she was facing the man as well.

Not even flinching at the sight in front of her .

"Cherrie-" he had almost wheezed. "Don't-"

His girlfriend simply let out a annoyed sigh and popped the boot of his car open casually while mick looked between the man that was quickly approaching and his girlfriend in fear.

Not understanding how she looked so fucking calm when they might have been about to get murdered by some maniac in a balaclava.

But what he had stupidly forgotten for a moment in his panic , was that his girlfriend was also fucking crazy. That she had grown up surrounded by situations like this.

She also was the youngest of three older brothers and a father who had a career as a underground fighter when he was younger.

She knew how to defend herself . Knew how to scare even the strongest of man.

So he shouldn't have been as shocked as he was when she let out a loud laugh and grinned at the man brightly .

"Don't even try it bitch! Unless you want to lose all the bones in your pathetic body!" She had almost sang. Hand grabbing something from inside his trunk that he couldn't see.

Mick had thought that he was about to have a heart attack then .

Unable to believe that she was crazy enough to square up to a man with a hammer.

The man clearly thought so too as he scoffed out w laugh at them , holding up his hammer threateningly in their direction .

Mick took a step closer to Cherrie till their sides were pressed together , feeling faint and a little like he was going to be sick.

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it you little bitch? Flick your hair at me?" He had stupidly mocked her , waving his hammer at them tauntingly .

Cherrie had just laughed even harder and then proceeded to casually pull out a sledgehammer from the boot of the car . One that he had definitely not put in there .

Making his eyes widen in disbelief as he wondered when the hell she had put that in his car. It hasn't been there the last time he had checked!

Holding up the biggest hammer he had ever seen in his life , she took a step towards the man with a amused giggle escaping her when he suddenly started to back off.

Looking rapidly between the sledgehammer in her steady hands and the tiny hammer in his shaking ones.

It was obvious who would win that fight.

"Well bitch my hammer is bigger than yours! I was thinking about using it anyways to see if it works good , so really you'll be doing me a lovely favour!" She had lifted his the hammer at the criminal threateningly .

More than Happy to have the opportunity to hit him with it.

The man ran off before mick could even form any words . Not that he felt like he was able to then, utterly speechless by what he had just witnessed.

All he was able to do was sag against the side of his car in pure relief as he placed a shaky hand over his pounding heart , gaping up at his girlfriend in pure disbelief .

She was still shouting and cursing out the man , even though he was long gone now . Not ounce ounce of fear or worry on her pretty face.

She just looked annoyed . Irritated that their stargazing had been interrupted so rudely .

"Fucking coward! Just wait till I find out which asshole you are! I'll break your legs and then tell your mama about what you did!" She yelled out loudly to the now empty streets.

Her childhood town was small enough that she knew nearly everyone that lived there. Mick had no doubt in his mind that she would figure out who did it by the end of the week.

She always did.

In the meantime he cautiously approached her and then carefully took the sledgehammer from her hands , swallowing audibly as he eyed the furious expression on her face.

Taking in deep breaths to try and calm himself down.

Realising then that if he didn't have his fucking fearless girlfriend with him , who was ready to hammer a mans head in with no hesitation , he would have been absolutely screwed.

He had then kissed her till his jaw ached and his fingers went numb from the cold.

Murmuring over and over again about how much he loved her. Sweet nothings against her lips as his heart finally settled back to peace .

His mind only thinking one thing then.

She was the one .

No doubt about it she was his ride or die.

Which was why he had burst into happy tears when he woke up up one morning with his head lying on her bare chest and a new gold engagement ring on his finger that she must have slipped on him during the night sometime .

Peering up through his wet lashes to see that Cherrie was already smiling down at him affectionally with a matching ring on her finger too.

Gently stroking his hair away from his face as she kissed away his tears , the both of them laughing a little breathlessly when he tilted up his chin and kissed her like it was the first time all over again.

With stampedes of butterfly's and the whole damn zoo filing his stomach and chest as he cried, so utterly in love that he didn't know what to do with himself.

So he just kissed her instead .

"We're getting married during the summer." She whispered to him a little time later after he had showed her how much he loved her without words needing to be spoken.

Sweaty and dazed , with his head back on her heaving chest as they both tried to catch their breath back from their sudden workout .

He had just laughed , smiling like a fool in love as he whispered back a truthful,

"I can't wait." Unable to help himself from teasing

"I'm surprised you didn't do it at a restaurant. We missed out on free cake!" He chuckled amusedly .

Cherrie just smirked mischievously , giggling sweet as she held him close , gently drawing patterns on his back as he kissed at every piece of soft skin that his mouth could reach without moving his body from ontop of her, too lazy to move.

"Reservations at six." She then informed him cheekily , meeting his amused gaze square on.

Unashamed as always. Free cake was free cake.

"You ready to be proposed to again?"

Mick sighed as though it was going to be such hard work sitting there looking pretty in his seat while she got down onto one knee and publicly declare her love for him.

Unable to stop laughing as he buried his face Into her neck with a grin, beyond happy.

"Suppose so. At least it'll be half real this time."

Cherrie smirked "it was always real those were just practice . But then I realised that you don't need me making a scene for the real thing.." she admitted to him, unashamed .

"Plus I already knew your answer." She arrogantly added as an after thought .

Making him snort out another laugh, pinching her side till she slapped his hand away with a giggle.

"Am I that obvious?" He whined a little, embarrassed by how unsubtle he was about his feelings for her.

He still blushed like a teenager with his first crush whenever she was near . Unable to look away from her when she was doing the most simple of things.

She took his breath away and Mick was convinced that with every day that passed by , she was getting more and more beautiful by the second .

Meanwhile the love of his life was the coolest and most unbothered woman he had ever met . The two of them couldn't have been more different if they tried , yet it worked .

It worked so fucking well. The way that they balanced each other out the love between them never faded , never dimmed.

It only intensified . He hadn't known it was possible to love somebody so much until he had her in his arms , smiling her dimpled smile at him like she could do no wrong.

Cherrie just smiled fondly down at him , gently stroking his cheekbones with her fingertips .

Smiling to herself when she watched goosebumps spread across his skin from her light touch.

"every time I touch you your face goes red. Even after all this time." She informed him as though he didn't already know of that fact , utterly flattered by his reaction to her .

Mick just chuckled and shyly shrugged his shoulders , blowing a raspberry between her breasts to make her laugh again.

Then he rested his chin on her chest and smiled . His eyes tracing over her perfect face . The face that he was going to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Kissing down The soft slope of her nose and the freckles across her cheeks.

The way her eyes were so warm and inviting when she looked at him , her perfect lips quirked in a soft smile that she only ever gave him.

"Because I'm in love you and you make me happy. You're the most beautiful woman in the world. Of course I'm gonna go red." He murmured against her skin. Snuggling Into her body , craving her embrace .

Cherrie just tilted her chin down and kissed him again.

No words needing to be exchanged as he intertwined his fingers with hers so that their engagement rings were pressed against each other before he rolled her to be back underneath him again.

All the while wondering to himself how he had managed to get this fucking lucky.

And when his birthday rolled around and he found himself gazing into his girlfriends eyes while he blew out the candles .

He made a wish.

I want our love to last forever.

Then he blew out the candles and kissed her to the sound of their friends cheering.

The both of them laughing breathlessly against each other's lips as she whispered that she loved him over and over again.

Mick promised to himself that he would make sure that his wish came true .

She was his life. His soul and his Heart, he was never going to let their love go to waste.

The kind of love they had was rare , one that came around only once in a blue moon.

And he was going to treasure it like he treasured her.

Forever.

#mick Schumacher imagine #mick Schumacher x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one imagine

556 notes · View notes

isacksteban · 5 months ago

Text

Ride, Cowboy — Marcmarc

Pecco's bachelor party was in full swing, and the academy boys were set on making it a night to remember. They had chosen a popular country-themed bar for the occasion, its rustic decor and vibrant atmosphere setting the perfect stage for one final evening of freedom. The bar was adorned with wooden tables, vintage signs, and checkered tablecloths. A live band played upbeat country music, their melodies mixing with the hum of conversations and clinking glasses. The centerpiece of the night was the mechanical bull, positioned prominently in the center of the room, promising both challenge and entertainment.

Pecco, dressed in casual attire that subtly hinted at his upcoming marriage, was surrounded by his closest friends — Vale, Marco, Luca, Franky, Cele, and Mig. The guys were in high spirits, their laughter filling the room as they enjoyed shots and swapped stories. Racing was momentarily forgotten as they indulged in playful banter and reminisced about past adventures. Even Pecco, who usually preferred a more low-key presence in such settings, was swept up in the energy of the night.

As they navigated through the crowd, the music shifted to a heavier beat, drawing their attention to the mechanical bull as the lights dimmed. A group of incredibly attractive girls had taken over the area, each one more stunning than the last. They were taking turns on the bull, their laughter and cheers creating an infectious buzz throughout the bar. The guys couldn’t help but watch, half-impressed, half-entertained by the scene.

“Dio mio,” Luca muttered, his eyes widening in admiration. “They’re amazing!”

Vale, ever the responsible older brother, gave Luca a playful slap on the back of the head. “You’re married, Luca! Keep your eyes where they belong.”

Luca quickly apologized, his face reddening as he assured his brother he was just appreciating the spectacle.

Marco, grinning, elbowed Pecco. “You sure you’re ready to settle down? Because it looks like we’ve got some serious competition here.”

Pecco chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, man. Domi’s the only girl for me. But... I can appreciate the view.”

The group erupted in laughter as one of the girls — a tall blonde with a dazzling smile — took her turn on the bull. She managed to stay on longer than anyone else, her skill and confidence drawing cheers from the crowd. The boys exchanged glances, silently daring each other to give it a try.

“Alright, Pecco,” Franky said, nudging him toward the bull. “Last night of freedom — let’s see what you’ve got!”

“Yeah, show us how a pro rider handles a bull,” Cele added with a smirk.

Pecco raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing as he shook his head. “I’m not getting thrown off that thing tonight. But if you guys want to make fools of yourselves, be my guest!”

And then he took the stage.

Stole the show.

And then this absolutely gorgeous man jumped into the ring and easily swung himself up on the bull. Marco couldn’t see a whole lot of details from this far, but what he could see definitely woke the beast in him.

The man was fit, legs deliciously bowed as if he was made to ride a bull or a horse. The man was a cowboy, and Marco's childhood fantasies of the cowboys in old western movies came flooding back.

The man gripped the handle on the bull with his left hand, muscles bulging enough for even Marco to see. He pressed his heels against the sides of the bull, scooting forward in the saddle, and held up his right hand, arm in the shape of an L. He took a deep breath, sagged down in the saddle as he breathed out, and nodded to the person operating the bull for the group.

And rode for an astonishing 12.72 seconds. It had to be a sign.

His movements were completely fluid, he was one with the bull, there was no doubt about it and Marco found himself completely entranced. He couldn’t honestly say that his jaw didn’t drop because he could focus on nothing but this Adonis of a man riding the shit out of that bull, his movements flawless.

Marco had no idea what the group was speaking about anymore, all he knew was he wanted to be that bull. He needed to be that bull. His whole body flushed hot, his dick taking an abnormal amount of interest in the whole thing, and his brain demanding that he march down there and claim the man.

He rode the whole time with a cocky grin on his lips, eyes trained on the back of the bull’s head, and just as the clock signaled twelve seconds, the man changed his body position and tumbled gracefully off the bull in the next moment, seemingly by his own choice, rather than being flung off like all the others had been.

Marco was on his way over to the man before he had even made a conscious decision about it, his scotch abandoned precariously on the table he'd reserved for the party.

He slowed his steps as he was closing in on the crowd around the mechanical bull, pacing himself as if approaching a business proposal. Hell, he didn’t even know if the man was interested in sleeping with men and Marco recognized how it could be a sensitive topic, so he wanted to approach this in a suitable fashion. But on the other hand, he had never been this aroused from just watching someone before. He could only hope it wasn’t noticeable, on his face or otherwise.

The group of people had grown since Marco first started watching them, and even though they all congratulated the man on his excellent time, it was clear that most of them were strangers. There was a small group that seemed to be the man’s friends, though, and Marco came upon them just as the man was walking over, grinning widely.

How unfair, Marco thought, that the man was so stunning and not his.

“That was great, Marc,” a young man with long, brown hair was saying just as Marco walked up to them, clapping the man on his shoulder.

Marc. What an appropriate name, Spanish from the sound of the groups accents. What a good cowboy name.

“Not my best,” the man — Marc — answered in a tone that suggested he was trying to be modest. “But definitely best so far tonight.”

So he was competitive, this Marc. Marco liked that in a man. Liked it even more when competitive men bent over for him, not because they thought they had to but because they desperately wanted to. Oh, just the thought of having Marc turn into putty in Marco's hands made him hot all over again.

Also, competitiveness was one of the most easily manipulated personality traits, in Marco's experience.

“So good,” he said in a strong, dominant voice, “that you won’t be able to repeat it.”

Marc's whole entourage turned to Marco, collectively giving him a once over, and he straightened, not the least frightened. Just to be certain Marc would rise to the bait, Marco lifted his chin high, looking down his nose at Marc and, as predicted, that made Marc's hackles rise.

“Excuse me?”

Marc had a very pleasant voice. A low, threatening baritone that made Marco vibrate much more pleasantly than that godforsaken bass.

Marco shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just saying, if you’re as good as you seem to think, you should be able to repeat your performance.”

Marc snorted, turning fully to Marco, without a doubt the head of his group, shoulders squared and cocky grin back.

“Twelve seconds is nothing, man. That was just warm-up.”

By the look the older man with the wavy hair threw Marc, Marco suspected that twelve seconds was actually a rather good time and one that might be hard for Marc to beat. And Marco wanted Marc to win. Wanted him cocky and sure of himself as he submitted to Marco's touches.

“It was pure luck,” he challenged in a haughty tone, enjoying the twinkle in Marc's eyes.

“And who are you to say that?” a bigger man behind Marc asked in a gruff voice, the same man that congratulated him earlier. “Some kind of expert, are you?”

Marco spared the man a glance. Twinky, but a decent face. Marc sure knew how to pick handsome friends Marco would give him that. But they all paled in the face of Marc's appearance.

“Oh, I’m certain I would fall on my face if I ever tried,” Marco answered in a calm voice, smiling to himself when him admitting that made the man’s face fall. Marc, however, looked at Marco with sudden interest. “I was merely proposing a bet, since you impressed me and seem so sure of your own abilities,” he directed the last words to Marc, who drew himself up.

“Bull riding isn’t a joke.”

“So, you’re afraid?” Marco enjoyed seeing Marc flounder. “Well maybe it’s for the best. You must be tired; I doubt you would even last five seconds now.”

“Five seconds?” Marc spluttered, some of his group laughing, though it was unsure whether they were amused by the situation or Marc's suddenly squeaky voice. Marc walked into Marco's personal space and puffed out his chest. He smelled incredible. “I’ll last much more than that on any day.”

His low growl made Marco's whole body tingle. “Is that so?” he murmured, letting his eyes roam Marc's face and body. Marc definitely noticed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Marc grunted and Marco's eyes snapped up to Marc's, captivated by their beauty for a moment.

“I would, actually,” he easily admitted, voice low and inviting. “I would like to know that very much.”

Time seemed to stall for a moment, each caught in the other’s gaze, and Marco felt a thrill go through him. This was interesting, this was worth his time. Much more so than snorting tequila and salt from a random woman’s slick body or dancing poorly on rickety tables. Marco felt more alive in this moment than he had in years.

“Five seconds isn’t even a challenge,” the larger man said, interrupting them.

Marc seemed to shake himself.

“Eight, then,” Marco said with a confident smirk. “I bet you fifty euro you won’t last another eight seconds.”

“Fifty euro,” Marc muttered, eyeing Marco's clothes for the first time and seemingly only now realizing it wasn’t a cheap knock-off. “You better be able to fork that up, mate.”

“Don’t you worry about that, cowboy,” Marco winked and watched with satisfaction how Marc's pupils dilated slightly.

He muttered something that sounded like “whatever” and turned to go back to the bull. It had been busy in the background, flinging people off it left and right, and the crowd around it had grown even more but Marco easily found an empty seat where he could comfortably watch from afar.

Marc was talking to his friends, some of them throwing Marco looks, but Marc seemed determined to do this. Marco hoped they weren’t trying to talk him out of it because they thought he would hurt himself, Marco would be devastated if he inadvertently caused Marc harm. Most likely they were talking about the money, though, on the off-chance that Marc lost the bet. Marco really hoped that wouldn’t happen. No this was a battle he was willing to lose, to win the war, so to speak.

When it was finally Marc's turn to mount the bull again Marco was buzzing with anticipation, although he concealed it well enough. He saw Marc's friends tossing him glances from where they were standing, up by the ring, but he paid them no heed. He was perfectly comfortable back here, where he could pull one leg up and rest the ankle against his other knee, to hide inappropriate body reactions.

Because Marc was of course just as splendid the other time around. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as Marc expertly rode the bull. He was either a natural or he had done this a lot, Marco easily concluded. Maybe he had even ridden real bulls? Now there was a thought.

A thick, muscular, frothing animal bucking as Marc worked every muscle in his glorious body just to stay on.

Marco grabbed his ankle and pulled on his leg a little, his dick swelling to ridiculous proportions just imagining Marc working the animal. Marc's face and body told of experience and Marco watched with hooded eyes as Marc frowned down at the fake bull, concentration wearing on his handsome face.

Would he look as concentrated when he rode Marco? Most likely not, not if Marco had any say in what went on. No, if he — when he was in charge, Marc would be completely relaxed, face slack as pleasure crested inside him.

Marco let out a shaky breath. He needed to calm down or Marc would be more disgusted than intrigued and Marco didn’t want that at all. Suddenly he felt as if he would suffocate if Marc looked at him with hatred and he was momentarily stunned by his own feelings. What did he care, really, what Marc thought of him? Marc was essentially a nobody, a stranger whose station was so below Marco it wasn’t even funny.

Except, when he watched Marc ride that bull, all of that seemed inconsequential. They were just two men in that moment, and Marco desired to stay like that almost as much as he desired Marc, as much as he coveted the man’s pleasure.

The ride ended somewhat more abruptly this time, compared to when last Marc rode. It still looked as if Marc had been in control of when to end it but as if he had been a bit more tired this time around and his tumble off the bull was less graceful and it took him a moment longer to get up off the padded area around the bull.

The long-haired man helped Marc off the stage and Marco stood up just as Marc walked over to him on adorably wobbly legs. A quick glance to the digital clock revealed an astounding 9.57 and Marco made sure to show appropriate surprise and awe, instead of the actual relief and arousal he actually felt.

“There,” Marc said, hands on his hips and voice delectably breathless. “Piece of cake.”

“So I see,” Marco said smugly and walked over to Marc, much too close even for acquaintances. “I’m man enough to own up to my loss,” he said with a smile and pulled out his wallet to fish out a fifty, one among many, though he didn’t show Marc that, not interested in catching the man that way.

“I hope there’s no hard feelings?” Marc said as he accepted the bill, their fingers brushing.

Marc's hand was shaking slightly, no doubt from exertion, and Marco was happy he had lowered the time for the bet so as not to force Marc to match his old time.

“None at all,” Marco said with an intimate smile, leaning in and speaking in a lower tone. “You should know, I’m also man enough to admit that I only wanted to see you ride that bull again.”

That made Marc's eyes flick down to Marco's mouth and up again. Marco enjoyed the fact that Marc actually was a bit shorter than him, if only an inch, and definitely smaller.

There was a beat of silence and then, “Are you sure you’re only interested in seeing me ride bulls?”

A pleasurable wave so forceful it almost choked him washed over Marco and he swallowed once to be sure his voice was under control.

“I can imagine you’re apt at riding all sorts of things.”

Marc shifted from foot to foot. Marco's blood rushed in his ears, drowning out every sound except Marc's.

“You content with imagining it or do you want a demonstration?”

Marco arched an eyebrow, enjoying Marc's challenging tone and squared jaw, but not as much as Marc's reaction to the look Marco gave him. There was clear arousal in Marc's eyes now and Marco reveled in it.

“I have a car outside and an apartment not far from here.”

Marc flashed him that wonderfully cocky grin of his. “Deal.”

Marco took a moment to check his phone when Marc turned to talk to his friends. A quick message ensured that his friends knew he was leaving and not to wait up. Marco smiled to himself as he heard Marc explain that he would “take a hike”.

“Marc, are you sure that’s—”

“Gotta live a little, Alex,” Marc said happily and slapped the man on his back before walking over to Marco. “Good to go?”

“If you are?” Marco said but started walking through the crowd around them without waiting for a reply. Marc easily kept up with his pace, as Marco had suspected he would.

“Don’t mind Alex, he’s just being an overprotective little brother.”

Marco nodded, not having much experience with that but understanding it anyway. “Maybe he’s right to worry a little, considering the things I have in mind for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Marc smirked just as they exited the club, the fresh summer air a blessing compared to the scorching heat of the club. Marco breathed a deep sigh of relief. “What are you planning anyway? You seem pretty vanilla to me.”

Marco smiled at the playful insult. “And yet you came with me.”

“Hey,” Marc said, voice suddenly low and seductive. “You’re like the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, I don’t care what you wanna do, I’m in.”

Not that Marco was really planning anything more outrageous than rimming Marc until the man cried from the need to have Marco's hard dick inside him, but it was good to know Marc felt inclined to trust him.

“You know my name, but I don’t even know yours,” Marc murmured as they settled into the Italians car, eyes on his lips. “I’m kinda stupid for even getting in this thing with you, huh?”

“My name is Marco Bezzecchi,” Marco said, other hand brushing down Marc's front, catching on the edge of the man’s jeans. “And please don’t call yourself stupid.”

Marc shifted so that they were sitting almost facing each other, Marc's hands working on opening Marco's jacket as he drove.

“That's too long for me to scream when I come,” he said, voice making Marco's body vibrate with desire. “I’m gonna call you Bez.”

“Please do,” Marco answered, voice equally hushed, and nosed closer so that Marc turned his head just as their hands found each other’s hard-ons. “My friends do.”

Marc moaned into their first kiss, low and sweet and all for Marco as the car parked. He swallowed it greedily, pressing closer as Marc pressed the heel of his hand against Marco's dick. Their lips slid together, noses bumping, but Marco was too wound up to keep to sweet kisses for long. Marc seemed just as eager in the way he opened up when Marco licked his lips and Marco pushed in deep, owned Marc in that one gesture and felt a chilled heat pool in his groin.

Marc, for all his physical strength, sagged against Marco, moaning into the kisses and pawing at Marco's dick. Marco's plan was simple in this moment: get Marc hot and bothered so that he would be pliant and willing by the time they got inside.

Too bad his own pleasure was spiking almost dangerously already.

“Fuck you’re good at kissing,” Marc groaned when they pulled apart. “I’m so hard already, god damn.”

“I got hard from watching you ride the bull,” Marco was surprised by his own sincerity but Marc seemed only pleased.

“I could feel your eyes on me the second time,” he murmured. “I liked it.”

Fuck it, Marco would just have to come up with a way for them to get hot and hard again when they arrived. He needed Marc too much right in this moment to show any kind of restraint.

With one tug and a push, he had flipped them so that they were in the back with Marc on his back, Marco comfortable between the man’s strong legs. Legs that had hugged that bull like they wanted to crush it were now around him. Marco's dick jumped in his dress pants and Marc no doubt noticed.

“You like me watching you?” he asked, voice a low rumble and Marc parted his lips, nodding and looking up at Marco with big eyes. “Do you want me to see you in your pleasure, Marc?”

“Fuck,” Marc pressed out, one hand grabbing Marco's arm and the other digging between them to start opening his jeans. “I can’t wait, Bez.”

“You don’t think you’ll make it, is that it?” he asked, rising to help Marc get their dicks out. “Do you want to let some out now?”

“I’m riding you tonight,” Marc shot back, eyes glinting and Marco shuddered with pleasure.

“I’ll remember that, little cowboy.”

Marc opened his mouth to no doubt banter back but instead a deep groan forced itself out when Marco pressed their hard dicks together for the first time. Marco's whole body sagged with pleasure and he pressed his knees harder against the seat, sitting up a little and putting one hand on the back of the seat for support as he took their dicks in his other hand, squeezing them.

Marc arched his back, gasping and grabbing the seat under him as his body shuddered. His dick jumped in Marco's grip, pressing against Marco's and there was really no stopping him now. Yes, he wanted to wait, and no, they didn’t even have lube, but the desire was choking him, and Marc was making all the right sounds as Marco started jacking them. Marc was apparently one of those guys who had a lot of precome because Marco's hand got sticky fast enough to replace the need for lube.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” Marco huffed out, breathless now as the pleasure burned white-hot inside him. “Rim you, prep you, fuck you.”

Marc moaned, legs flexing around Marco. “I’m gonna ride you until you cry,” he pressed out through gritted teeth and Marco felt an unexpected surge of arousal at the challenge. “Gonna ruin you for all other asses.”

Oh sweet Lord, Marco was going to come soon. He had never been this attracted to someone, the way Marc challenged him even while submitting was blowing Marco's mind.

“You’ll never want another dick,” he managed to quip, words clipped, and sped up his hand.

They rocked together in the dim light of the car, the world outside forgotten as they came together, hands grabbing each other and dicks aching, yearning to release. Marco's balls had pulled up, so prepared to shoot all over Marc, and Marc's dick was leaking a continuous stream of precome that Marco craved to taste.

His spine burned with his arousal and he panted hotly, leaning down over Marc again, one hand on the seat beside Marc's head as Marc grabbed his body to pull him even closer.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” Marc grunted, pushing away Marco's hand and wrapping his legs around Marco's hips, bucking up. “Kiss me.”

Marco readily indulged Marc, hips working to grind their hard dicks together and though it was rough with their clothes and zippers in the way, it was the most glorious Marco had ever felt. Marc kissed him as if he were a man parched and Marco cradled Marc's head, one hand on Marc's hip, encouraging his movements.

True to his word, Marc came only moments later, body locking up and a shaky moan escaping his parted lips. Wetness spread between them but far from being tacky, it only spurred Marco on and he came too, a handful of thrusts later.

“Well, that was something,” Marc panted after a moment.

Marco blinked and did his best to pull back but his head was swimming a bit. “It wasn’t what I had planned,” he admitted and couldn’t help but grin down at the mess they had made. It was all over their clothes. Marc of course looked ravishing covered in Marco's come. “But then, the night is young.”

“Definitely,” Marc grinned up at him, cocky as ever. “You aren't getting out of that ride.”

Marco felt a renewed wave of arousal just as the overhead light flashed around them. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he smirked, thinking that for all its faults, the night couldn’t have turned out better in the end.

Marco walked them up to an apartment and then knocked on the door, he turned to Marc and smiled.

“Do you live with someone?” Marc asked, suddenly feeling like maybe this wasn’t the ideal plan.

Marco snickered, taking out a large ring of keys and trinkets from his jacket. He put the key in the lock and then turned to Marc before turning the key.

“No, I’m just scared of walking in on someone robbing my apartment so I knock to make sure they’re gone by the time I go in.”

Marc took a step back, “Are you serious?”

“Nope,” Marco said, opening the door and gesturing for Marc to enter. “It’s just a habit.”

The corners of Marc’s mouth turned up a little, amused, he poked Marco in the ribs as he walked past to show his mild annoyance with the bad joke. Marc chuckled, and then walked past Marco, letting the door stay wide open for some reason.

Marc's first impression of Marco's apartment was that it was well lived in, a loved space. Wherever he looked, there were pieces of personality shining through. It felt memorable, interesting. Full of care.

Marco stood still by the door, closing it behind himself. He took in the warm colors and the decorative knick-knacks that he could see all over. Potted plants kept high and low, posters and art in many styles and varying ages.

"Nice place. Have you lived there long?" Marc asked, pushing his hands down in his pockets just to have something to do with them. The space felt perfect, and Marco felt more perfect each second he spent with him.

"A few years," Marco turned to Marc, scratching his neck, and looked over this own space like he hadn't done that in a while. "It's too much, I know, but-"

"No, no. It's perfect." Marc felt the blush come alive again. "I like it."

Marco looked at him with some sort of surprise, nodding. He looked around again and then back at Marc. The looks changed almost immediately.

He moved closer, a few steps to his side as he placed his hand on Marc's side. His fingers kneading down into the muscle there. Marco cornered him, making him back up until he was pinned to the wall. The pressure made Marc's breath catch in his throat. Marco's grip was light, fingers pressed down. And that was all that was holding him in place.

"Hey," Marco said. He looked good like this, Marc thought. Standing over Marc. The light fixture above them made it look like Marco was wearing a halo.

"Hi," Marc answered, breathy and low. He had to lean his head back to the wall to get a good look at Marco when they stood this close. The closeness also made him in perfect view of the movement of the muscles in Marco's neck and jaw. Constantly moving, like Marco had tension built up that just couldn't escape.

Marco moved his hands, placing them at the back of Marc's head. The moment felt like it could last forever.

He pulled Marco's head down toward himself. Their noses touched for a second before their lips finally made contact.

Marc sighed into it. The softness in which Marc stilled at that let Marco take the lead even further. Marco tasted sour, Marc needed more. The sensation of moving muscles under his hand and a grin against his lips filled Marco's mind with sparks. He quickly wanted more of all of it.

With a light bite, he asked Marc for more. The question was answered by Marc opening his mouth and meeting him halfway, tongues brushing carefully together as Marco pulled Marc even closer, pushing both arms over Marc's shoulders to minimize the room between them.

Marco had gone home with people before. The men had all just been distractions. Something to pass the time and release the stress of his day-to-day life.

Kissing Marc, touching him, felt like something was coming into shape. Like the mass under his hands was clay ready to be molded into something. It felt different, and it made him feel desperate.

"Bedroom?" Marc asked,

"Yeah…"

"No, where is your bedroom?"

"Oh, it's right there-"

Marc took Marco by then hand and pulled Marco after himself, turning when he got close to the door and pulling Marc close for another kiss as he fell with his back against the closed door. Marc met the kiss openmouthed and wanting, his hand going to the doorknob to open the door. He held Marco up with a hand on Marco's lower back, keeping his from falling backward as the door flew open and Marc lead him into the room.

Marc was stronger than Marco had anticipated, which gave him many ideas that he needed to explore.

Marco continued to move backward, Marc guiding him. When the back of his knees his something soft, he allowed himself to fall backward and Marc helped him lay down softly.

He pulled at Marc's shirt hem, annoyed by the extra layers. "Take this off," he said, mumbling his words and lazily flicking the fabric between his fingers.

Marc did as he was told, and the clothing was quickly discarded. Marco did the same, unbuttoning his dress shirt and throwing it in the same direction as Marc had started throwing his clothes. He started to unzip his pants, stopping only to motion for Marc to do the same.

Marc was quick here too, the jeans falling down to the floor and then a fast two-step out of them. Toes catching the fabric and kicking the jeans to the side.

Marco snorted, pulling his pants down and off, letting them fall to the floor. He motioned for Marc to come closer, a beckoning finger asking him to come here. And once again, Marc did precisely what he was told, in record time.

He crowded Marco, chests pressed against each other as Marc took hold just under the curve of Marco's ass and hoisted him more onto the bed. Then placing himself on top of Marco.

"All good?"

"I'm great," Marco said, feeling his stomach flip as his mind replayed the light manhandling of the movement. So many possibilities, the opportunities were stacking up in neat little piles in his brain.

"Good," Marc said, followed by a kiss. A quick peck, something to sign the deal.

Marco could feel something in his lower belly start to form too early. He bit down, swallowed it, and placed his hands on Marc's shoulders as he hovered over him. He pushed Marc to his side, turning his own body so they were facing each other again. Legs still slightly tangled, feeling each other. The lack of pressure from another body helped, and Marco went in for another kiss.

The kissing got deeper, more rushed. Mouths open, small bursts of breathing against each other's lips to catch their breaths. Marc's hand graced Marco's cheek, moving along the jaw and then down over the side of his neck. Moving from the side and back to his nape, then back to the side in a slow movement.

Marc pulled away, already sounding out of breath. "Hey, so... What do you want?" he asked, his hand still moving over Marco's neck and into his hair. "Tell me what you like."

The touch felt deliberate to the point of almost being too much, too deep of a connection. Marco still leaned into it, acting like he'd been touch starved, and he was ready for a feast.

"Well, you're the bull rider-"

"You want me to ride you?" Marc asked, raising his brow and trying to hide his grin. Marco was still touching him, looking at him like they'd known each other for all their lives, and not like this was something new, not some one-time thing.

"I wouldn't mind that," Marc said, his eyes falling closed for a second as he composed himself. "But after seeing you in the car, I think you'd kill me — that… everything you did was… I don't think I can handle that happening again."

"Want to make another bet?" Marco asked, moving in close.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think that you always cheat when making bets."

"Is that a no?" Marco smirked. "I can show you a good time, I promise."

"Jesus christ, are you always like this?"

"No, you're special," Marco said, smiling. He knew his words sounded insincere, but there was a knot in Marc's throat that scared him. Not of what he said but what he wanted it to mean.

Marc leaned in, closing the short distance between them with another kiss. He positioned his body more on top of Marco, pressing him down into the mattress by his shoulders as he slowly made his way to fully straddling Marco. He could feel Marco half hard against his ass.

He pulled away from Marco's lips, his mouth gracing over Marco's chin and down his neck — making small stops to peck more kisses as he went. He found pleasure in this, feeling Marco's breath catch under him, the heat and taste of Marco's skin against him. It felt nice, felt needed.

His hands squeezed Marco's shoulders before moving down to feel along Marco's sides, feeling and pressing his fingers down into the mass under himself to make it known that he was there.

Marco's breathing was coming out in heavy bursts. Hitching and catching. Marc wanted him to talk, say something. Make a sound, something to tell Marc how he was feeling.

Marc liked the sound of him, reveled in it.

"This ok?" Marc asked. "You're quiet."

Marco shuddered, letting out a gasp. "I'm just — this is good, it's good," Marco said, looking down at Marc. His lashes looked so dark like that. Heavy and thick, eyes studying.

"Yeah?"

"Stop that," Marco laughed, pressing Marc's face down into his chest so that Marc couldn't look at him. "You fucking know it's good."

Marc didn't try to move against Marco's hand laying on his head. It wasn't holding him down, more holding him in place. There was no force, just the weight of Marco's hand. He grinned into Marco's skin, then continued his way down, down, down when he felt that Marco wasn’t going to hold him.

Marco's hand was still placed on his head as he moved, and he didn't do anything until Marc reached Marco's lower stomach. His fingers tangled up in Marc's hair and pulled, stopping him from moving.

"Give me a second," Marco said, so close to begging Marc wanted to tease the rest out immediately. "I just need to collect myself. Just one... One second."

With how Marc's head was placed, he still couldn't see Marco's face. The sound of his voice was thick, heavy and a bit slurred. Marc could feel Marco's pulse through his skin, feel the quickness of his breath.

"That's fine," Marc said, moving his hands below Marco's hipbones and holding on with a firm grip. "I can wait."

"Fuck, Marc," Marco said. "How are you so good at this."

"Practice makes perfect, right?"

"God fucking damn it, ok… ok," Marco pulled his hand back, his grip moving from Marc's hair to the sheets. "Ok, do your worst. I'm ready."

"Worst?" Marc asked, smiling up at Marco again, their eyes meeting. Marco looked flushed, his pupils blown and his bottom lip wet and marked. Marc wondered for a second if he was the one that had left the marks on there or if it was Marco biting down. Either way, Marc really liked the way it looked.

"Best, whatever," Marco huffed and then threw his arm over his eyes.

"I always do my best," Marc said like it was stupid of Marco to assume anything else.

Marc's fingers moved under the elastic of Marco's boxers, pulling them down as he laid another kiss just below Marco's belly button. He then sat up, seated on his knees between Marco's legs. He looked at Marco lying there in front of him — bare, needy. Skin pink and shiny, a blotchy blush over his chest and neck.

Marc's eyes moved further down, placing over chest hair that became a light sprinkling over a softer middle, which then became thicker as it went below his belly button. His eyes glanced lower, admiring his view as his eyes settled on Marco's dick.

"Can I touch you?"

"You've been touching me."

"Ha ha, can I touch your dick, you dick?" Marc pressed his thumbs into the soft skin by Marco's hipbones - making sure that Marco knew he was there. Desperate to leave a trace.

"Please don't be funny right now. I’m already so turned on I’m scared to become a heart attack statistic.”

Marc laughed, "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, for fucks sake, touch me, please."

The room felt like it was filled with sparkling electricity as Marc bent down again, kissing from his last spot under Marco's belly button and continuing lower. He could hear Marco breathing heavily, his breaths falling into a steady, recognizable rhythm. Marc stopped, smiling against Marco's skin.

"Are you Lamaze breathing?" Marc asked between kisses, placing a last one at the base of Marco's dick. Marco let out a light groan.

"Yeah, I'm pacing myself." He sounded out of breath, flustered.

"You're so weird."

"You're such a tease."

"And you're so easy," Marc said, smiling up at Marco. "If you don't enjoy it, you can just tell me to stop."

Marco shook his head, "No, no, fuck no. I enjoy it.”

Marc crawled back up on Marco, placing himself so that they were face to face. Marco starred at him. Marc wasn’t sure what Marco could see, he was so close he was sure it would be blury, especially in the dimly lit bedroom they'd found themselves in.

“Hola,” Marc said, floating over Marco. His hands were placed on each side of Marco's head, keeping him up yet so very close.

“Ciao,” Marco said back, smiling. Marc sat back up, straddling Marco's middle. He reached for the curls covering his face and pulled them back, gently. “Thank you.”

“You need to see this part,” Marc said, leaning back to settle himself better over Marco's hips.

He started to move his hips softly, feeling Marco's dick press against the cleft of his ass. The fabric of his boxers was the only thing between them. Marco hissed, letting out small noises as Marc adjusted.

"What you do is, you follow the motion of the bull with your hips," Marc said, lifting himself up and then moving over Marco's crotch again with an easy flow in his hip. "The trick is to find the motion the bull is giving you, feel it with your hips, and then let it all move through your spine. You don't fight it."

"Inter- ah! -esting," Marco said through gritted teeth, a low moan splitting the word up. Marc smiled.

"I've been told I'm a great teacher." Marc didn't stop moving, grinding down smoothly over Marco and feeling his squirm.

"Cazzo, you're killing me," Marco said, voice pleading.

"Listen," Marc said, giving Marco a light slap on his cheek so he'd focus. "Just look at me, see what I'm doing?"

"Yeah," Marco said, voice breathy and low.

"I want you to do this for me, ok?"

Marco blinked, looking confused. "I thought we'd already established that I'm stiff as hell."

Marco looked down at Marc, "yeah, I can feel your dick against my ass. I know."

"I meant the riding."

Marc chuckled, ”I know, the bet is that I can teach you ride the bull.” Marc pressed down harder, making Marco tilt his head back as a hollow sound left his throat. "and, as I said, I've been told I'm a great teacher."

Marco took a deep breath, grabbing Marc by the hips and rolling them over. Marc felt like the heat was radiating from him when his back hit the sheets. Marco was on his knees between Marc's thighs, he kissed Marc once before leaning back on his heels and clicked his tongue.

"Well, let’s see what you can teach me, teach.”

Marc reached for the bottle of lube and slicked himself up by giving himself a few strokes as Marco positioned himself. Positioned over Marc, he leaned slightly forward — aligning himself with Marc's dick and then slowly pushing down.

Marc gasped, mouth falling open at the feeling. The slow movement up and down as Marco took more and more of him was excruciatingly hot. When Marco bottomed out, he stilled. Looking at Marc with heavy eyes and wetted his lips as he was getting used to the feeling. He looked amazing like that.

Marco adjusted, making Marc catch a moan in his throat.

"You good?" he asked, placing one of his hands on Marc's chest and the other on Marc's hip — finding his balance.

"Si," Marc said. "You can move."

Marco did as he was told, lifting himself up and then slow down again. Marco watched him closely, his hands on Marc's hips to help his movement, not for control.

"Fuck," Marc said under his breath, sounding like a whine.

Marc bit down on his bottom lip, his fingers digging into the meat on Marco's hip as he thrust up at the same time Marco came down. It made Marco let out a surprised moan, his rhythm halting. Marc thrust up again, deep and hard, his hands on Marco's hips helping him find the pace again.

"Is it- fuck… Is it good?” Marco asked, moving again. He was stiff in his movement, not to the point of making any of it less enjoyable, but Marc was trying to make a point.

"It’s good, it’s so - Marco, Bez," Marc said, moving his hands down Marco's thighs and feeling the muscle work. "Remember what I said, just feel it and follow. Just – Fuck!" Marc threw his head back as Marco, again, did just as he was told, finding the flow with Marc's thrust and met him seamlessly in the movement. Moving in a wavelike pattern, his hips loosening straight away.

Marc felt tension pooling in his lower stomach, a coil heating up lower down. His grip on Marco's thighs tightened, begging Marco to go faster. Marco was making all kinds of sounds, low moans that grew to almost a shout. Marc wanted to taste the sounds he was making.

He tried to speed up even more, desperate to hear what else would come out.

"You look so good. You look amazing," Marco groaned, feeling sweat run from his forehead and down his temple. "Fuck Bez, you sound amazing." Marc gripped Marco by the hip again, feeling up his sides. “Just like that, exactly like that. You’re doing so good.”

Marco smiled, not slowing his movement. "You like this?" he asked, more a question than a tease. Marc thrust up harder, hitting Marco deeper, and he fell forward. Gasping and whining.

"Oh god, I'm so fucking close-" Marco said, digging his face deeper into Marc's chest. His fingers on the hand that used to steady him pressed down into Marc's sternum and left marks. Marc didn't stop, the angle was weird, but it seemed to get the job done just fine. Marco's face still buried in his chest, mumbling nonsense and breathing hard.

The coil in Marc's lower belly was tensing up even more, he was close.

In the heat of the moment, he rolled them around. Changing positions so that he was on top and Marc fell on his back. He gasped, sounding like he was choking on air. Looking flushed all over, his eyes were almost entirely black and his curls ended up littered around, framing his face. Marc reached out and fixed them, wanting Marco to see, and then leaning down to kiss him as he started to move at a quick pace again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Marco said, his hands gripping into the sheets for leverage. "Touch me. Please, touch me."

One of Marco's hands grabbed Marc's, moving it over himself between them. Marc followed without question, placing his hand on Marco's dick and giving him slowly paced strokes. Marco's bottom lip quivered, his mouth open and a guttural sound came out. After a few more strokes, Marco started to cum roped between them. His body tensed, contracting on Marc as he tried to keep his pace going.

"You feel so fucking good, Holy-" With what he was seeing, sensing, smelling, Marc came. His eyes slammed shut as the orgasm took over. When he came to, he felt light and boneless, lying chest to chest with Marco. Both still breathing heavily, both sweaty and sticky.

After a moment, Marco cleared his throat, "Thank you for showing me the proper technique for doing that, I…." He laughed. "No, I can't even make up a joke right now. That was amazing. fucking hell."

"Yeah," Marc said, feeling like he was made of cloud. Marc Cumulus. Don't mind the double entendre.

They lied in silence for a few minutes after that, Marc realizing he was still inside Marco much later than was probably acceptable. He slowly pulled out, both of them hissing at the sensation.

"Sorry," Marc said, rolling off Marco and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I think I lost most of my brain cells when I came, that was... Fuck, that was perfect.” He looked over at Marco, eyeing the shape of him. The size and the curve. He never wanted to stop looking, really wished he would be able to never stop.

Marco pulled the sheet up over his chest, followed by Marc quickly pulling it down again. Like they are playing a game. Marco smiled softly and with a twinkle in his eyes. He seemed shy now. Like looking at Marc was too much, but he couldn't make himself stop.

"Alright," Marco pulled the sheets up again, covering his chest up to his collarbones.

"That was good," Marc said, again. "Thank you."

Marco let out a full-body laugh, curving inward on the bed as he rolled over on his side towards Marc. He gave Marco a slow kiss on the cheek, and Marco wanted to follow him when he pulled away.

"Well, you’re welcome."

"Thanks," Marco said again, mortified by the sound of his own voice.

Marco felt hot all over still, not in the same way as earlier but like a teakettle ready to start whistling. The light of the outside streetlight showered Marc's face in a soft yellow. It felt like a sign. Marco had just not realized what for yet.

"All my pleasure, Bez." Marc said, rubbing the sheet over his belly. Really ruining them.

"No, don't say it like that!" Marco laughed, picking up the pillow from under his head and hitting Marc over the side of his face. "Don't be gross."

"I think you like a little gross," Marc said. "I think you're a little freak that's just waiting to get out."

Marco hit him with the pillow again, "Shut up!"

His laugh traveled from the middle of his chest, up and out in the open air of the bedroom. It ended in a smile, easy and genuine. Marc couldn't remember when he laughed like this last.

Marc waved his hands over his head in retreat, laying the pillow down, and then rolled over on his side, face to face with Marco.

"I'm not a freak."

"I know," Marc said. "Just a little bit weird and a lot of bossy."

Marco felt himself blush, "Bossy?"

"Great quality, as I love to be told what to do."

Marco narrowed his eyes on Marc, shaking his head slightly. "You don't seem like someone who does what others tell you."

"Oh, no. I'm not. I just like to be told to do stuff. It's different than actually doing what I'm told."

Marco laughed again, pressing Marc's face away from him with a playfulness he didn’t know he had in himself. The night was dark and quiet. Marco could lie like this forever. But he remembered what it was, a quick hook up after some quick flirting in a bar.

The feeling of bliss didn’t leave him though, and Marc didn’t stop smiling at him.

"So," Marc started, turning his head and staring up onto the ceiling. "Can I call you sometime?"

Marco looked at Marc's side profile. The downturn of his nose, the double curve of his lips. He wanted to thank Marc's parents for their excellent work. They really did a great job with the gene composition. They should get a prize, some kind of award for their work.

"Sure," Marco said. "You could do that."

"Nice, ok," Marc cleared his throat, still saying straight up. "And if I asked you out to dinner tomorrow, would that be ok too?"

Marco felt something flip in him, a flutter. "That would be ok."

"Great."

Marc laughed, followed by Marco laughing too.

"Good cause if this had been a one-time thing, I think I'd have to go celibate," Marc said, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't think anyone else can live up to that. Ever."

"Stop flattering me. I already said yes to dinner." Marco laughed, poking Marc in the ribs.

"Hey, stop," He said, laughing too. "Maybe I'm flattering you for a second round?"

Marco let out a tired sigh, pressing his face into the middle of Marc's chest. Creating a burrow for himself to sleep. "Absolutely, I just need a nap first," He said. "Maybe a glass of water or a snack."

"I can accept all those things,” Marc said, his fingers moving through Marco's curls. “All those things are acceptable to me."

"Good, wake me up in like 45 minutes, ok?"

"Fine, yeah," Marc said, his fingers continuing to move through Marco's hair. "I'll do that."

#idk.#this will probably become a series #kats motogp blurbs!#marcmarc #bezquez #marco bezzecchi #marc marquez #mm93 #mb72 #vr46 #vr46 riders academy #vr46 academy #smut #rpf #fanfic #ao3 #mlm #im not really sure what this is tbh #this is for u sage!!!!

29 notes · View notes