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P1 P3
With the train ride now over, the sergeants ran, scouring the market for two familiar faces. Their footsteps in sync, crunching delicate mounds of white snow. Soap broke through the crowd first, then Gaz and Gary were right with him.
âWhere the hell are they?â Gaz pants out, his breaths misting in the cold air.
âYou said the marketplace,â Soap huffs.
âYeah, I said the marketplace, but it's not like I know exactly where they went!â Gaz snaps back.
While the two sergeants bicker, Roach quietly breaks away, scanning the area until he spots the familiar figures theyâd been hunting for. Price and Ghost stand outside a cigar shop, deep in conversation. The satisfied grin on Price's face tells Roach everythingâhe got what he was after.
âTheyâre over there!â Roach exclaims, snapping his partners out of their lovers' quarrel.
Gaz and Soap go silent, their eyes following Roachâs line of sight until they, too, spot their Lieutenant and Captain.
In a heartbeat, the three of them are sprinting toward their unsuspecting targets. Soap grins like a madman, practically buzzing with mischief, while Gaz shakes his head, both amused and slightly wary of what might unfold. Roach, meanwhile, is simply thrilled to be along for the ride.
They skid to a stop right in front of the two men, chests heaving as they catch their breath in the biting winter air.
âThe hell is wrong with you lot?â Priceâs voice cuts through, laced with a mix of annoyance and bemusement as he shifts his attention from Ghost to the winded sergeants.
Ghost, arms crossed, eyes them with quiet scrutiny. His winter coat does little to conceal his bulky frame, a silent reminder of his imposing presence as he stands beside Price.
Price and Ghost waited for an explanation, knowing well everytime those three got together, they were definitely up to no good.
Like how they put semi-permanent green dye in Ghost's shampoo for Halloween.
âWe⊠we saw. A kid with your face,â Gaz manages, still catching his breath, pointing straight at Ghost.
Ghost raises a brow, baffled. A kid with his face? What the hell did that mean? Did they think he looked like a baby?
Soap huffs in mock disappointment, shooting a playful glare at Gaz. âOi, I wanted to say it!â
Predictably, the two dive into another back-and-forth. Gaz isnât one to shout, but Soap has a talent for riling anyone up.
Price lets their little show go on for only a moment before his stern voice cuts in, slicing through their bickering. âOne of you properly explain, or you'll be walking back to base.â
Roach steps up, eager to clarify. âThereâs a kid, probably about two, and she looks exactly like the Lt. Scowl, glare, and all!â
Price and Ghost pause, their expressions twisting as they both tryâand failâto imagine a little girl with Simonâs permanent scowl.
Price shudders, shaking the thought from his head. âThat is not a face a kid should have.â
âThatâs exactly what I said,â Gaz chimes in, nodding emphatically.
Ghost throws him an offended look, his usually hardened eyes showing a glimmer of hurt. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âNothing!â they all exclaim in unison, even Price, who quickly averts his gaze as Ghostâs glare narrows on him.
Ghost huffs, then crosses his arms. âDid you take a picture?â
Soap snorts, leaning against the wall with a smirk. âAye, right, 'cause that wouldnae be creepy at all.â
Ghost stares daggers Into Soap, rolling his eyes and pushing himself off the wall. âOkay, then where is she?â
The three stooges lead the charge once again, this time with their Captain and Lieutenant in tow. They weave through the crowd toward the train park, where Soap eagerly scans for the woman and kid heâd spotted earlier. But the line they were in is empty, the pair nowhere to be found.
âShite. I think theyâre gone,â Soap mutters, his Scottish accent thickening in his frustration, the words rolling out with a clipped bite.Â
âSo the imaginary woman and kid donât actually exist,â Ghost deadpans, unimpressed.
âThey exist!â Gaz insists, voice edging on exasperation.
âSure,â Ghost replies, his tone flat and thoroughly unconvinced.
Roach snickers, then glances over at Priceâonly to see him staring slack-jawed through the window of a nearby cafĂ©, his cigar dangling from his mouth, forgotten.
âCap?â Roach says, touching the older manâs shoulder.
Price doesnât look away, nodding toward the cafĂ©. âFound them.â
Everyone turns toward the café, eyes landing on you and Adira. The little girl is happily weaving between your legs, her tiny hands gripping your coat as she entertains herself, all while you order hot chocolates to fend off the winter chill. A soft smile touches your lips as you watch her play, blissfully unaware of the audience gathering just outside.
The barista, with a warm smile, hands over two cups, one with a little extra marshmallows for Adira, her voice bright as she wishes you both a merry Christmas. You take the cups with a grateful nod, handing one to Adira. She immediately takes her drink, sipping eagerly, her small feet bouncing on her heels from the sugar rush.
âYummy?â You ask, glancing down at her with a soft smile, a wave of motherly pride swelling in your chest as you watch her delight in the simple joy of her drink.
Adira nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up as she pulls away from her straw with a satisfied sigh. âYummy.â
With a soft chuckle, you both leave the warmth of the shop, stepping out into the crisp air. Hand in hand, you walk back toward the park, the world around you feeling peaceful despite the cold. As you reach the crosswalk, you stop, waiting for the light to turn. Adira looks up at you, her little face filled with contentment as she swings your joined hands back and forth, her sugary energy still buzzing.
Across the way, the team stood frozen, unable to look away from the scene unfolding before them. Everyone but Ghost was struck by how much Adira looked like himâher features unmistakably mirroring his, save for the color of her hair and skin. The resemblance was uncanny, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world had stopped around them.
âShe looks nothing like me,â Ghost stated plainly, his voice cutting through the stillness as though it were fact. His expression was unmoving, a wall of stubbornness in his eyes. He was ready to die on that hill.
Then, as fate would have it, a woman walking her dog passed by, and Adiraâs cherub-like face hardened into a cold, calculating stare. It was subtle, but unmistakable.Â
âNevermind,â Ghost muttered, his earlier conviction faltering as he watched her shift before his eyes.
âSo⊠youâve been having fun these past years?â Roach asked, his gaze flicking between Adira and Ghost, curiosity getting the better of him.
âNot that I know of,â Ghost grunted, his eyes still locked on you and Adira, a mix of unease and something else flickering across his face. He couldnât pull himself away.
âLetâs get closer,â Price commanded, already making his move. Soap and Roach exchanged a shrug, falling in line without hesitation.
âExcuse me?â Gaz sputtered, though his body had already begun moving before his brain could catch up, unable to defy the Captainâs order.
Ghost fell silent, teeth gritted. This wasnât a situation he was used to, especially not one where he was forced to go in blind. He stood stiffly at the crosswalk, trying to hide his glances, his focus split between the team and you.
Soap ended up the closest, standing just next to Adira. The little girl paused, her big, doe-like eyes lifting from her drink to catch sight of him. The recognition was instant. Her lips pursed into a small line, and her gaze grew heavy with annoyance.Â
âUgeeâŠâ she whispered, scooting closer to you.
Soap froze, his mind stuttering for a moment. Did she justâ? Did she call me ugly?
Gaz, standing behind him, couldnât contain himself. A muffled laugh broke through as Soap turned to look at the others, wide-eyed and speechless, completely taken aback.
âDo ye lot think I'm ugly?â Soap asked, his voice thick with disbelief, clearly thrown off by the little girl's words.
âNot the time, Mctavish,â Price said, a tiny laugh tugging at the corner of his lips despite the situation.
The streetlight flickered green, signaling it was time to move. You adjusted yourself, ready to cross the street. Each member of the team started mentally preparing, unsure of howâor even ifâthey should approach you. Ghost, however, was the first to make a move, determined to intercept you. But Soap, ever the opportunist, beat him to it.
Ghost wasnât exactly subtle, and having him try anything would probably send you running in the opposite direction.
âExcuse me, arenât you the lady from the train?â Soap called out, his voice light, though his intentions were clear.
You paused at his interruption, recognition flickering in your eyes. You remembered the man who bumped into you earlier. âYes? Is something the matter?â
âDo you happen to know where I could find Leslies?â Soap asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice, though he tried to mask it.
âThe pub?â you asked, raising an eyebrow.
âYes,â Soap confirmed, his face lighting up with a mix of relief and surprise at your easy response.
You look around for a moment, trying to remember and see the street names of your current location. âUhâŠit should be about a couple blocks south from here. They have a big sign, you can't miss it.â
Thank God for Soap, because that one question was all he needed to keep you trapped in a conversation, his charm working its magic as you giggled and chatted away easily, the awkwardness of the situation melting away.
Meanwhile, Ghostâs attention shifted to Adira. He looked down at her, and she, almost instinctively, looked up at him. Their eyes locked in a silent staring contest, each of them studying the other. The intensity in their gaze was undeniable, both sets of eyes reflecting the same quiet, unwavering strength. It was like looking in a mirrorâa mirror that mirrored back his own hardened stare and no-nonsense attitude.
Adira was, quite literally, his mini me. The resemblance was impossible to ignore.
âHow old are you?â Ghost asked bluntly, his voice low as he kneeled down to Adiraâs height, his gaze intense but trying to soften.
Adira paused for a moment, glancing up at you for help, but you were still caught up in conversation with Soap. She turned her focus back to Ghost, her small fingers fidgeting with the hem of her coat as she murmured shyly, âTwoâŠâ
She was two. Two. Ghostâs mind raced, trying to piece together the details, but nothing clicked. Nearly three years ago⊠what had he done three years ago? He kept everything categorized, stored in his mind like a well-organized file system, but this was something that didnât fit.
Then, Soapâs voice broke through his thoughts.Â
âYou donât seem like the type of lass to frequent Leslies.â
You giggled, a soft blush creeping up your cheeks at Soapâs question. He wasnât wrong⊠at least, not entirely. âIâve only been to Leslieâs once, and, well⊠itâs how I ended up with my little blessing.â You glanced down at Adira, the warmth of your smile radiating as you spoke.
Everything shattered in that moment. Ghostâs stomach twisted painfully, his heart skipping a beat as the realization slammed into him like a freight train. Leslie's. Almost three years ago, during that stupid holiday.
His mind began to piece it together, the hazy memories from that night slowly coming into focus. He remembered the bar, the laughter, the way you had caught his attention. You were easy on the eyes, easy to make laugh, and most importantlyâunlike everyone else. You didnât ask questions, didnât pry, you just let him lead, let him slip into the night with no strings attached.
But now, as he looked at Adira, everything fell into place. The way she stared at him, those familiar eyes, the resemblance he couldnât ignore. His breath hitched, and the weight of the truth crushed himâshe was his daughter.
A knot formed in his throat as he tried to process the fact. Adira. His daughter. The little girl standing before him was his flesh and blood, the result of a moment he'd long since buried in the depths of his mind.
---
Taglist: @auradaniela98-blog-blog @cumsluut @unstqblecvrses @moraxnomora @serafina-nyx @sage-burrow @skylarmitchell @xx-wal1flower-xx @n-y-x04 @gluttonybiscuits @imahugenerdlol @wehrgabriel @blackhawkfanatic @tazuduck @soxocs @jingyuansspouse @cutiecusp @sleepyoriana @forgottensomewhere @puppylikethedog @spongelistener @caged-birdies-blog @bubblegirll26 @misscaller06 @fuckbananas03 @watu2ka @yukisdelusional @redroserabbit
#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#Singlemom!Reader#sunshine-sunni
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Listen, I know, you all have been seeing fundraiser posts all day long. I've seen people complain that the tags for Palestine are "unusable" now because⊠genocide victims use it to find aid to survive.
Thing is, those posts will be here until Israel ceases it's aggression. And Palestinians will need your aid as far as they are left with no income and besieged. I've tried reaching out to other platforms, and Tumblr is still the best place for at least Falastin (Gazan who I spotlight for more than 2 months) to get donations; because here you don't need thousands of followers to get interactions. And at least we get one in ten response here; on other platforms both of us don't get any.
So yes, a dying website for fandom is her best bet to save her family right now. We don't speak of evacuation anymore (even though we hope for it), this is a battle for day-to-day survival. The prices in Gaza are increasing every hour, and they have no income and Falastin has gone into multiple debts to help them before starting the campaign in June. And yes, she receives more attention now but her family is still in starvation - she tries to support 26 people now, since her cousin was martyred and his 2 children joined 24 of her family in Al-Mawasy.
Yes, they should get free aid from all those countless non-profits that raise millions. But if they see something labelled as "aid" it is because they have bought it themselves. Yes, you can see (and maybe touch!) aid if you subject yourself to hours-long queues and/or humiliation of being a part of a photoshoot. They also said that the aid they get is stale at best and spoiled at worst; and that's again, if they get it.
Yes, there are grassroots organizations but they cannot reach everyone, because they are in small teams and they don't receive a lot of funds. And you can of course donate to them to try "fix" this; but please do not think that it means individual fundraisers are not worth supporting. I did not see any evidence of individual fundraisers "taking" money from others; on the contrary, when Falastin's fundraiser struggles, I see others struggle too. When we celebrate a good day of donations we celebrate it with others too.
And I could talk about Harris campaign get 1 billion in donations and still receiving them or how AO3 got 200k in a couple of days; but the post is getting too long.
Anyway. Please consider donating to Falastin's campaign; the money would buy food and water first, shelter and clothes for the winter second. There's a raffle for hand-made Palestinian thobe that Falastin's friend makes (LINK); and please follow her here.
Donate via Gofundme (in SEK! check rates below please): LINK
10$ = 108 SEK
25$ = 272 SEK
50$ = 544 SEK
100$ = 1,088 SEK
Donate via PayPal (in USD): LINK
Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]
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Changing the Game
platonic!Fernando Alonso x mentee!Reader
Oscar Piastri x Reader
Summary: motorsport can be cruel, especially for young women aspiring to make it to Formula 1, but when Fernando notices a driver who deserves more than the unjust cards fate handed her, he decides to do something about it ⊠and your life will never be the same
The roar of engines fills the air, blending with the faint scent of gasoline that clings to the paddock like a memory. Fernando walks through the chaos of the Formula 3 circuit, hands in his pockets, sunglasses firmly in place.
His presence is a subtle disruption, not loud, but noticeable. Drivers and engineers glance his way, some nodding in respect, others too focused on their tasks to do more than acknowledge him with a brief flicker of recognition.
Heâs been watching the race, the sun high overhead, a burning reminder that summer has a way of dragging things out. Yet, time has felt elastic today, stretched out by the tension of the track and the surprising twist that caught his attention.
A young driver â no, more than just young â barely seventeen, the only female on the grid, had sliced through the competition with precision and ferocity. Her car, marked by the number on the side, had danced on the edge of control, flirting with danger at every turn but never losing its rhythm. When the chequered flag waved, sheâd crossed the line in a solid third, inches from second, and not far from the top spot.
Heâd seen talent before, of course. Itâs part of his world, spotting it, nurturing it, sometimes crushing it under the weight of competition. But something about you caught his eye. Thereâs a sharpness in your driving, a clarity of purpose thatâs rare. He wonders where youâve been hiding.
As the cars pull into the pit lane, the usual bustle takes over. Engineers swarm around their drivers, debriefs start, and helmets are tugged off with a mix of relief and frustration. Fernando watches from a distance, scanning the crowd until he finds you. Youâre standing by your car, tugging at your gloves with a sharp motion, frustration etched in the tightness of your jaw. Thereâs a fleeting moment where you pull off your helmet, shaking out your hair, and Fernando notices the absence of something.
Sponsors.
Your race suit is practically bare. The car too, minimal branding, the kind that signals a driver struggling to make ends meet rather than one whoâs just claimed a podium finish. He frowns, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. It doesnât make sense. A driver that good should be swimming in offers, drowning in endorsements.
He catches the eye of a paddock official nearby, someone heâs vaguely familiar with â one of those types who always seem to know more than they let on. Fernando strides over, casual but direct. The official straightens up, clearly surprised to have Fernando Alonso approaching.
âWhoâs the girl?â Fernando asks, nodding in your direction, though he doesnât really need to. Youâre the only one who fits the description.
The official glances your way, then back at Fernando. âY/N Y/L/N. Sheâs been turning heads all season.â
âNot enough, apparently.â Fernando gestures vaguely at your race suit, his tone making it clear heâs talking about the lack of sponsorship. âWhatâs going on there?â
The official hesitates, glancing around as if to make sure no oneâs listening. He lowers his voice slightly, a conspiratorial tone creeping in. âSheâs good, real good. But, you know ⊠sheâs a girl.â
Fernandoâs eyebrows shoot up, a sharp flash of irritation sparking in his eyes. âSo?â
âSo,â the official continues, shifting his weight uncomfortably, âsponsors and academies, theyâre ⊠cautious. Not sure if sheâs got the staying power. And you know how it is, theyâre more willing to take a risk on a kid who fits the mold.â
âThe mold,â Fernando repeats, his voice flat, incredulous. He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. Itâs 2019, and this is still happening. It shouldnât surprise him, but somehow, it does.
His gaze returns to you, still standing by your car, now deep in conversation with your race engineer. Thereâs a fierceness in the way you talk, the way you move your hands as if trying to will the universe to bend to your will. Fernando recognizes that fire â itâs the same one heâs carried in himself for years.
But thereâs more than just frustration in your eyes. Thereâs something else â determination, maybe, but tinged with something darker, something thatâs been carved out of too many disappointments. He knows that look too. Itâs the one you get when youâre tired of proving yourself over and over, and yet, you keep doing it because thereâs no other choice.
Fernandoâs decision is made in an instant. He doesnât overthink it; he never has. Thatâs not his style. He approaches you with the same casual confidence thatâs defined his career, weaving through the bustle of the paddock until heâs close enough to catch the tail end of your conversation.
â... couldâve pushed harder into turn four,â youâre saying to your engineer, frustration coloring your voice. âBut the grip just wasnât there.â
Your engineer nods, making a note on his tablet, but before he can respond, Fernando steps into the space between you.
âGripâs one thing,â he says, his voice cutting through the noise around you, âbut timingâs everything.â
You turn, eyes widening just a fraction as you realize whoâs standing there. Fernando catches the flicker of surprise that you quickly mask with a polite, if guarded, smile.
âFernando Alonso,â you say, your voice a careful mix of respect and curiosity.
âIn the flesh,â he replies, a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He glances at your car, then back at you. âNice drive today.â
âThanks.â The word comes out clipped, like youâre not entirely sure what to make of him yet. He can tell youâre used to being judged, sized up and dismissed by those who think they know better. But Fernandoâs not here to judge.
âThird place,â he continues, as if heâs thinking out loud. âBut you had the pace for second.â
Your eyebrows lift slightly, and for the first time, a hint of a real smile breaks through. âYeah, I did. But things donât always go as planned.â
âNo,â he agrees, âthey donât. But youâve got talent. Real talent.â
You study him for a moment, your expression shifting from guarded to something more open, more curious. âThanks,â you say again, but this time itâs softer, more genuine.
Thereâs a pause, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you both stand there, sizing each other up. Fernando knows this is the moment where most people would make some kind of offer â advice, mentorship, maybe even a contract. But heâs never been one to do things by the book.
Instead, he tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. âDo you like ice cream?â
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. âWhat?â
âIce cream,â he repeats, his tone light, almost teasing. âDo you like it?â
âUh ⊠yeah?â You sound more confused than anything, but thereâs a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.
âGreat,â Fernando says, as if that settles everything. He steps back, gesturing for you to follow him. âLetâs go get some. My treat.â
You stare at him for a moment, clearly trying to figure out if heâs serious. But when you see that he is, a slow smile spreads across your face, and you canât help but laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.
âOkay,â you say, still laughing a little as you start to walk beside him. âWhy not?â
And just like that, the tension that had been hanging over the paddock seems to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, something that feels almost like hope.
***
The ice cream shop is a short walk from the circuit, tucked into a corner of the small town thatâs hosting the weekendâs race. Itâs the kind of place Fernando imagines has been around for decades, unchanged except for maybe a new coat of paint every few years. The neon sign in the window buzzes faintly, its pink light reflecting off the glass as he pushes the door open, holding it for you as you follow him inside.
The cool air is a welcome relief from the heat outside, carrying with it the sweet, unmistakable scent of sugar and cream. The shop is quiet, just a couple of kids sitting by the window, licking at cones that seem far too big for them. Behind the counter, a bored-looking teenager perks up as the door chimes, her gaze sharpening as she recognizes Fernando.
âCan I help you?â She asks, her voice brightening as she tries to act casual, though itâs clear sheâs a little starstruck.
Fernando nods toward you, a small smile tugging at his lips. âLadies first.â
You hesitate for a moment, then step up to the counter, glancing at the array of ice cream flavors displayed behind the glass. The choices are written in chalk on a board above, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the rich, golden brown of the dulce de leche. You point to it, giving the girl behind the counter a quick smile.
âTwo scoops of that, please,â you say, and then, after a beat, âwith as many toppings as will fit.â
Fernando raises an eyebrow, amused as he watches you. The girl behind the counter doesnât question it, scooping generous portions of the creamy ice cream into a cup before moving over to the toppings bar. You lean over the counter slightly, studying the options with a critical eye before making your selections â caramel drizzle, chocolate chips, a handful of crushed cookies, a sprinkle of nuts, and a final flourish of whipped cream on top.
When the girl hands you the cup, itâs practically overflowing, a masterpiece of indulgence thatâs almost as impressive as your driving. You turn to Fernando, already reaching for your wallet.
âI can pay for mine,â you say quickly, but Fernando waves you off, already pulling out his own wallet.
âItâs on me,â he insists, his tone making it clear thereâs no room for argument.
You open your mouth to protest, but the look he gives you stops you in your tracks. Thereâs something gentle in his eyes, an unexpected warmth that makes you pause. You let out a small sigh, putting your wallet away as you give in.
âFine,â you mutter, though thereâs no real annoyance in your voice. âBut Iâm getting you back for this.â
Fernando chuckles as he orders a simple vanilla cone for himself. âWeâll see about that.â
Once heâs paid, the two of you find a small table near the back of the shop, away from the kids and the counter. Itâs quiet, almost private, with the hum of the freezers and the distant chatter of the other customers filling the silence. You sit across from him, carefully balancing your cup of ice cream as you take your first bite.
The first taste of dulce de leche is heavenly, the caramel sweetness melting on your tongue as the toppings add layers of texture and flavor. For a moment, itâs easy to forget about everything else â the race, the frustration, the uncertainty of it all. Thereâs just the ice cream, the coolness of it on your tongue, and the rare sensation of simply enjoying something without a care.
Fernando watches you with a faint smile, his own ice cream barely touched as he leans back in his chair. He doesnât rush to fill the silence, letting you savor the moment before he finally speaks.
âSo,â he says, breaking the quiet, âtell me about your situation.â
You glance up at him, the spoon pausing halfway to your mouth. Thereâs something in his tone, something gentle but probing, that tells you this isnât just small talk. You lower the spoon, setting the cup down on the table as you consider how to respond.
âItâs ⊠complicated,â you begin, though that word hardly covers it. You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you lean back in your chair. âI mean, Iâm doing everything I can on the track. My results speak for themselves, right? But itâs like ⊠itâs like none of that matters.â
Fernando nods, encouraging you to continue. Thereâs no judgment in his eyes, just a quiet understanding, and that makes it easier to keep talking.
âEvery race, Iâm out there giving it everything Iâve got,â you say, your voice growing more animated as you go on. âIâm right up there with the best of them â sometimes even better. But then I look around, and I see these other drivers, guys who are barely scraping into the points, and theyâve got major sponsors backing them. Theyâre signed to F1 teamsâ academies, theyâve got a clear path to the top. And me? Iâve got nothing. No sponsors, no academy, no security.â
You pick up your spoon again, stirring your ice cream absentmindedly as your frustration bubbles to the surface. âItâs not like I havenât tried. My teamâs tried too, but no one wants to take the risk on me. They all say the same thing â âYouâre good, but weâre just not sure if youâre what weâre looking for.â Which is just code for âYouâre a girl, and weâre not willing to bet on you.ââ
Fernando doesnât interrupt, letting you vent. Heâs heard stories like this before, but it never gets any easier to listen to. The sport has its issues, and while things have improved over the years, the barriers youâre facing are still all too real.
You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you shake your head. âItâs so frustrating, you know? Iâm out there proving myself every single weekend, but itâs like I have to work twice as hard just to get noticed, and even then, itâs not enough. My parents â they believe in me, but theyâre practically killing themselves to keep me racing. They had to take a second mortgage on the house just to get me into F3 this season. And every time I donât get a sponsor, every time another academy passes on me, itâs like ⊠itâs like Iâm letting them down.â
Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you quickly take another bite of ice cream, as if that can somehow keep your emotions in check. But Fernando sees the way your hand trembles just a little, the way your eyes have lost some of their fire, replaced by a weary resignation.
âIt shouldnât be this hard,â you say softly, almost to yourself. âI know the sport is tough, but it feels like Iâm fighting a battle thatâs rigged from the start.â
Fernando takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. âItâs not fair,â he says, his voice steady, grounding. âYouâre right, it shouldnât be this hard. But sometimes, the fight isnât just about winning on the track. Itâs about changing the game entirely.â
You look at him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to gauge what he means by that. Thereâs something in his tone, something determined and unyielding, that makes you believe he understands more than heâs letting on.
âChanging the game?â You repeat, the words feeling heavy in your mouth.
Fernando nods, leaning forward slightly. âYeah. Look, Iâm not saying itâs going to be easy. But if anyone can do it, itâs you. Youâve got the talent, youâve got the drive, and youâve got something most people donât â resilience. Youâre still here, still fighting, even when the odds are against you. That says a lot.â
You bite your lip, absorbing his words. Thereâs a part of you that wants to believe him, that wants to hold on to that hope, but thereâs also a part thatâs tired â so tired of fighting an uphill battle, of always having to prove yourself over and over again.
âI just donât know how much longer I can keep doing this,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. âWhat if itâs not enough? What if Iâm not enough?â
Fernandoâs gaze softens, and for a moment, he sees a reflection of his younger self in you, back when he was first starting out, hungry and determined but unsure of how far he could really go. The difference is, he had the backing, the opportunities that youâve been denied.
âYou are enough,â he says, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. âThe problem isnât with you. Itâs with the system, with the people who are too scared to see things differently. But that doesnât mean you stop. You keep pushing, keep showing them what theyâre missing. And if they canât see it, then weâll make them see it.â
You blink, surprised by the intensity in his voice. Thereâs a conviction there thatâs hard to ignore, a belief in you that youâve been struggling to find in yourself.
âWe?â You ask, your voice tinged with cautious hope.
Fernando smiles, a small, determined curve of his lips. âWe. Youâre not alone in this. Iâve been where you are, in a different way, but I know what itâs like to have to fight for everything. And I know what itâs like to have someone in your corner who believes in you.â
You stare at him, processing his words, the implications of what heâs offering. Thereâs a warmth in your chest, a spark of something that feels dangerously close to hope.
âSo what now?â You ask, your voice steadier.
Fernando leans back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours as he takes a thoughtful bite of his ice cream. There's a moment of silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you, before he finally speaks, his voice calm but resolute.
"Now?" He sets his cone down on the table, his expression sharpening with purpose. "I make some calls."
***
Itâs been a few weeks since that day at the ice cream shop, and Fernando hasnât been able to shake the conversation from his mind. Heâs been in the sport long enough to know how things work, but hearing it from you, seeing how the system has worn you down despite your undeniable talent, it struck a nerve. Itâs been a whirlwind of phone calls, favors cashed in, and quiet meetings behind closed doors. But now, standing at the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport, Fernando knows itâs all been worth it.
You come into view, wheeling your carry-on behind you, your eyes scanning the crowd until they land on him. A look of surprise crosses your face, quickly replaced by a hesitant smile as you make your way over.
âHey,â you greet him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your voice as you pull your suitcase to a stop beside him. âSo ⊠whatâs this all about?â
Fernando just grins, taking the handle of your suitcase from you with a casualness that leaves no room for argument. âYouâll see,â he says, cryptic as ever. âCome on, the carâs this way.â
You follow him out to the parking garage, throwing him sideways glances, clearly trying to piece together what heâs up to. Fernandoâs only response is an amused smile as he opens the door for you, waiting until youâre settled in the passenger seat before loading your luggage in the trunk.
As he pulls out of the airport and merges onto the highway, the silence between you is comfortable but charged with anticipation. You keep glancing over at him, your curiosity growing with every mile.
âYouâre not going to tell me where weâre going, are you?â You finally ask, your tone hovering between teasing and exasperation.
Fernando chuckles, shaking his head. âNope.â
You sigh, leaning back in your seat, but thereâs a glimmer of excitement in your eyes that wasnât there before. âIâm trusting you, you know,â you say, half-joking, half-serious.
âAnd you wonât regret it,â he promises, the confidence in his voice almost contagious.
The drive is longer than you expected, taking you out of London and into the countryside. The scenery shifts from the urban sprawl to green fields and quaint villages, the roads becoming narrower and winding as they head deeper into the heart of England. Itâs not until Fernando takes a turn down a private road, leading to a sleek, modern complex surrounded by high fences, that you begin to piece it together.
âThis canât be âŠâ you start, your voice trailing off as the full realization hits you. âIs this-â
âMercedes HQ,â Fernando confirms with a grin as he pulls up to the security gate. He rolls down the window, exchanging a few words with the guard, who quickly waves them through.
Youâre silent as he drives into the parking lot, your eyes wide as you take in the sight of the Mercedes-AMG F1 Factory. Itâs one thing to see it on TV or in photos, but to be here, in person, is something else entirely. Fernando parks the car and turns to you, catching the look on your face.
âNervous?â He asks, though he already knows the answer.
âA little,â you admit, swallowing hard as you unbuckle your seatbelt. âOkay, a lot.â
He chuckles, getting out of the car and coming around to your side to open the door for you. âDonât be. You belong here.â
You hesitate, still processing everything, before nodding and stepping out of the car. Fernando grabs your suitcase from the trunk, but you barely notice, too busy taking in your surroundings as he leads you toward the entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside â modern, sleek, and buzzing with energy. Everywhere you look, there are people in team gear, some hurrying between offices, others deep in conversation. And then, as if the situation couldnât get more surreal, Lewis Hamilton appears in the lobby, flanked by Toto Wolff.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you stop dead in your tracks. Fernando pauses beside you, a knowing smile on his face as he watches your reaction.
âFernando,â Lewis greets, his smile widening when he sees you standing next to him. âAnd you must be the young driver Iâve been hearing so much about.â
You manage a nod, but words seem to have escaped you entirely. Itâs not every day that you come face-to-face with a five-time world champion and the team principal of the most successful F1 team of the modern era.
Lewis chuckles at your speechlessness, his demeanor as relaxed and approachable as ever. âDonât worry, we donât bite,â he says, extending his hand. âItâs good to finally meet you.â
You shake his hand, your own grip slightly shaky. âI ⊠Itâs an honor,â you stammer, your voice finally finding its way back to you.
Toto steps forward next, offering his hand as well. âWelcome to Brackley,â he says, his tone warm but with the same underlying intensity thatâs made him such a formidable figure in the sport. âFernandoâs told us a lot about you.â
You glance over at Fernando, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in your eyes. This is so far beyond anything you could have imagined when you first got his call.
Lewis gestures for you to follow him down a hallway, with Toto and Fernando close behind. âWhen Fernando reached out to me,â Lewis begins, his tone casual but sincere, âand told me about your situation, I knew we had to do something. Talent like yours shouldnât be held back by anything, least of all by something as ridiculous as a lack of sponsorship.â
Youâre still reeling from the fact that Lewis Hamilton knows who you are, let alone that heâs gone out of his way to help you. âI ⊠I donât even know what to say,â you admit, your voice soft with emotion.
âDonât worry about that just yet,â Toto says from behind you, his tone light. âLetâs get you settled in first.â
You follow them through the labyrinth of hallways, trying to absorb everything at once. Fernando stays close, a steady presence as you make your way deeper into the facility. Thereâs a sense of purpose in the air, a kind of quiet determination thatâs palpable even as people move around with the calm efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
Eventually, Lewis stops outside a conference room, holding the door open for you to enter first. You step inside, the space cool and sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the meticulously kept grounds outside. A large table dominates the center of the room, and as you approach, you notice a folder sitting at one end, the Mercedes logo embossed on the cover.
You hover near the table, not daring to sit until someone tells you to. Fernando catches your hesitation, nudging you gently in the direction of a chair. âGo on,â he says softly. âThis is for you.â
You sink into the chair, your heart pounding as you look at the folder in front of you. Lewis and Toto take seats across from you, with Fernando settling in beside you. The atmosphere in the room shifts slightly, becoming more formal but no less supportive.
Toto reaches for the folder, sliding it across the table to you. âThis,â he begins, his voice calm and measured, âis an offer to join the Mercedes Junior Team.â
You blink, sure you must have misheard him. âThe ⊠Mercedes Junior Team?â
Lewis smiles, nodding. âWe believe in your potential,â he says simply. âAnd we want to give you the opportunity to develop that potential to the fullest.â
Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the folder, your mind racing. This is it. This is the chance youâve been fighting for, the one you never thought would come, at least not like this. You open the folder, your eyes scanning the first few lines of the contract inside. Itâs all real â your name, the terms, everything.
âWe know itâs a big decision,â Toto continues, his gaze steady on you. âTake your time to go through everything, ask any questions you have. But know that weâre serious about this. We want you on our team.â
Youâre overwhelmed, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but itâs a good kind of pressure, the kind that comes from knowing youâre on the verge of something life-changing. You look up at Fernando, whoâs been watching you quietly, and thereâs a look of pride in his eyes that makes your chest tighten.
âI donât ⊠I donât even know where to start,â you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.
Lewis leans forward slightly, his expression gentle but serious. âStart by believing that you deserve this,â he says. âBecause you do. And weâre here to help you every step of the way.â
Thereâs a long silence as you let his words sink in, your fingers tracing the edge of the folder. This is everything youâve been working toward, everything youâve sacrificed for, and now that itâs here in front of you, it feels almost too good to be true.
But as you look around the table â at Lewis, Toto, and Fernando â you realize that this isnât just a dream. Itâs real. Theyâre offering you a future, a chance to prove yourself at the highest level, and they believe in you enough to make it happen.
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself before meeting their gazes again. âI ⊠I donât know how to thank you,â you say, your voice thick with emotion.
âThereâs no need for thanks,â Toto says with a small smile. âJust show us what you can do.â
Fernando places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his voice low and encouraging. âYouâve already done the hard part. Now, itâs just time to make it official.â
You nod, the weight of the contract in your hands feeling lighter now. âIâm ready,â you say, your voice steadying with newfound resolve.
Lewis grins. âWelcome to the team.â
***
The months following your signing with Mercedes have been a whirlwind. Every day brings something new â testing, meetings, media obligations, training sessions â but through it all, Fernando remains a constant presence. Heâs there for every debrief, every important conversation, and when heâs not by your side, heâs only a phone call away. The mentorship he offers is invaluable, not just because of his experience but because of his belief in you.
Today, though, feels different. The season is winding down, and youâve been expecting a bit of a lull, maybe even some time to catch your breath. But when Fernando calls you to meet him at a quiet cafĂ© on the outskirts of town, thereâs a certain energy in his voice that you canât quite place.
You arrive at the café to find Fernando already seated at a table near the window, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head and a cup of coffee in front of him. He looks up as you approach, a small, almost secretive smile playing on his lips.
âMorning,â you greet him, sliding into the seat opposite. âYouâre up to something, I can tell.â
Fernando chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the cup down. âMaybe I am,â he says, his tone teasing but warm. âHow are you feeling about next season?â
The question catches you off guard. âNext season? I mean, I havenât really thought that far ahead yet. Thereâs still so much to do now.â
He nods, leaning back in his chair as he studies you, a hint of something more serious in his gaze. âWell, itâs time to start thinking about it,â he says, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket and sliding it across the table to you.
You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued as you reach for the envelope. âWhatâs this?â
âOpen it,â Fernando encourages, his eyes never leaving yours.
You do as he says, your fingers careful as you tear open the envelope. Inside is a single sheet of paper, neatly folded. You unfold it slowly, your eyes scanning the top of the page.
Carlin Motorsport â Formula 2 Contract Offer.
Your breath catches, and you look up at Fernando, disbelief written all over your face. âIs this ⊠real?â
âVery real,â he confirms, his smile widening. âThey want you for next season. Full-time seat, competitive car, the whole package.â
Youâre speechless for a moment, the weight of the offer sinking in. Carlin is one of the top teams in Formula 2, a proven stepping stone to Formula 1, and they want you. Itâs everything youâve been working toward, but the reality of it is almost overwhelming.
âThis is âŠâ you start, your voice trailing off as you try to find the right words. âI donât even know what to say.â
He reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours, his expression softening. âYouâve earned this,â he says, his voice gentle but firm. âYouâve worked hard, proven yourself, and now itâs time to take the next step.â
You nod, still trying to wrap your head around it all. âBut how? I mean, why would they choose me over anyone else? There are so many talented drivers out there âŠâ
Fernando squeezes your hand, drawing your attention back to him. âBecause youâre one of the best,â he says simply. âThey see it, just like I do. And they know youâre going places.â
You take a deep breath, the reality of it finally starting to settle in. âCarlin ⊠Formula 2 ⊠Itâs really happening.â
âIt is,â Fernando confirms with a smile. âAnd youâre ready for it.â
Thereâs a long pause as you sit there, the contract still in your hands. Fernando watches you carefully, his gaze thoughtful. Then, as if sensing that thereâs something more to discuss, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
âThereâs something else I need to tell you,â he says, his tone shifting to something more serious.
You look up, your heart skipping a beat at the sudden change in his demeanor. âWhat is it?â
He hesitates for a moment, choosing his words carefully. âIâm planning to return to Formula 1 in 2021.â
The news hits you like a bolt of lightning, your eyes widening in shock. âYouâre ⊠coming back? To F1?â
Fernando nods, his expression unreadable. âYes. Iâve been in talks with a few teams, and it looks like everything is lining up for a comeback.â
Youâre stunned, your mind racing to catch up with what heâs just said. Fernando Alonso, returning to Formula 1 ⊠itâs huge, and the implications of it start to sink in. âThatâs incredible,â you say, a mix of excitement and apprehension in your voice. âBut what does that mean for ⊠us? For everything weâve been working on?â
Heâs silent for a moment, his gaze intense as he considers your question. âIt means that while Iâll still be around to support you, I wonât be able to be as hands-on as Iâve been. I wonât be able to be your full-time manager anymore.â
The words hit you hard, and you feel a pang of anxiety start to creep in. Fernandoâs been your rock, the one whoâs guided you through every step of this journey, and the thought of losing that constant presence is unsettling.
âBut,â he continues, his tone reassuring, âIâm not leaving you in the lurch. Iâve already started talking to some people, and Iâm going to make sure you get a manager whoâs the best of the best. Someone who knows the sport inside and out, who can give you everything you need to succeed.â
You nod slowly, trying to process everything heâs telling you. Itâs a lot to take inâ the offer from Carlin, Fernandoâs return to F1, the changes that will come with it â but thereâs a part of you that understands. This is the nature of the sport, constantly evolving, constantly moving forward.
âIâm happy for you,â you finally say, your voice sincere. âReally, I am. You deserve to be back in F1, where you belong.â
Fernando smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. âThank you. And you deserve to be in F2, racing at the front, showing everyone what youâre capable of.â
Thereâs a pause, the weight of the moment settling over both of you. Then, Fernandoâs smile turns a bit more mischievous as he leans back in his chair.
âBut donât think this means Iâm going to go easy on you,â he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. âIâll still be watching, making sure youâre giving it your all.â
You laugh, the tension breaking slightly at his words. âI wouldnât expect anything less.â
He nods, satisfied, before finishing off his coffee. âGood. Because the hard work isnât over yet. If anything, itâs just beginning.â
You take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of determination settling over you. Fernandoâs right â this is just the beginning. The road ahead will be challenging, but youâre ready for it. And with his support, even if itâs from a distance, you know you can handle whatever comes your way.
âThank you,â you say again, your voice full of gratitude. âFor everything.â
Fernando just smiles, standing up from the table and offering you his hand. âCome on,â he says. âLetâs get out of here. Weâve got a lot to prepare for.â
You take his hand, rising from your seat, and together you leave the café, the future stretching out before you, full of possibilities.
***
The hum of the F2 paddock is a mix of nerves and excitement, a constant undercurrent of energy that seems to electrify the air. Itâs the first race of the season, and you can feel it. The mechanics are moving with purpose, checking and double-checking every detail of the car. Engineers are glued to their screens, analyzing data with furrowed brows. And you, in the midst of it all, are the picture of focus â calm on the outside but with a fire in your eyes that tells Fernando youâre ready for this.
He stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the garage wall, but his eyes are on you. Always on you. Heâs seen you grow over these past months, watched as youâve taken every challenge head-on, and now, as you prepare for your first F2 race, he canât help but feel a surge of pride.
Yuki Tsunoda, your teammate, walks over, helmet in hand. Heâs grinning, but thereâs a trace of awe in his expression as he glances between you and Fernando. âI still canât believe it,â Yuki says, shaking his head slightly. âFernando Alonso, here in our garage, supporting you. Itâs surreal.â
You chuckle, giving Yuki a playful nudge with your elbow. âBelieve it. Heâs stuck with me now.â
Fernando smirks, pushing off the wall and walking over to the two of you. âYuki, how are you feeling about today?â He asks, his tone friendly but professional.
Yuki straightens up, clearly wanting to impress. âIâm ready. Iâve been looking forward to this all off-season. Just want to get out there and race.â
âGood,â Fernando nods, his eyes sharp as he assesses Yuki. âRemember, the first race sets the tone. Keep your head down, focus on your own performance, and the results will come.â
Yuki nods, absorbing the advice. âAnd you?â He asks, turning back to you. âFirst F2 race ⊠How are you feeling?â
You shrug, but thereâs a determined glint in your eyes. âExcited. Nervous. Ready. All of it.â
Fernando canât help but smile at that. Heâs seen that look in countless drivers â right before they go on to do something special. âYouâve got this,â he says, his voice low but full of conviction. âJust do what you do best.â
You give him a small, appreciative smile before turning back to the car, where the final preparations are being made. Fernando watches you for a moment longer, feeling the weight of the day. This is a big moment, not just for you, but for him too. Heâs invested so much in you, not just as a driver but as a person, and now heâs about to see the fruits of that labor on one of the biggest stages.
Yuki eventually heads back to his side of the garage, leaving you and Fernando in a comfortable silence. He steps closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. âRemember, itâs just another race. Donât let the pressure get to you. Youâve done this a hundred times before.â
You nod, your expression set with determination. âI know. I just need to stay focused.â
âExactly,â Fernando agrees, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. âAnd remember, Iâm here. Youâre not doing this alone.â
Thereâs a brief moment of silence between you, the noise of the paddock fading slightly as you take in his words. Itâs a reassurance, a reminder that no matter what happens out there, you have someone in your corner who believes in you completely.
The minutes tick by, and soon itâs time for the drivers to head to the grid. The mechanics push your car out of the garage, and you follow, helmet in hand, Fernando right by your side. As you walk, he gives you last-minute reminders, his tone calm but firm, designed to keep you centered.
âTrust your instincts,â he says. âYou know the car, you know the track. Let the race come to you.â
You nod, absorbing every word as you approach your car on the grid. The other teams and drivers are milling about, final checks being made before the start. Fernando stands with you by the car, watching as you put on your helmet and climb into the cockpit. Thereâs a buzz of activity all around, but for a moment, it feels like itâs just the two of you.
He leans in close, his voice carrying over the sound of the grid. âRemember why youâre here. Show them what youâre made of.â
You glance up at him, your visor reflecting the intense determination in your eyes. âI will.â
And with that, the crew steps back, and itâs just you in the car, the engine roaring to life around you. Fernando takes a few steps back, watching as you complete the formation lap. His heart pounds in his chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. Heâs been in this position countless times, but itâs different when itâs someone youâve invested so much in.
As the cars line up on the grid, the tension mounts. Fernandoâs eyes never leave your car, his mind running through every possible scenario. He knows how unpredictable these races can be, how one small mistake can change everything. But he also knows that youâre ready. Heâs seen it in your training, in your focus, in the way youâve handled every challenge thrown at you.
The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The race is on, and Fernandoâs eyes are locked on the screen, watching as you navigate the chaos of the first few corners. Itâs a tight pack, cars jostling for position, but you hold your ground, staying calm and composed even as the pressure builds.
Fernando barely breathes as the laps tick by, his focus entirely on you. There are moments where his heart leaps into his throat â close calls, tight overtakes â but you handle them all with the skill and precision of a seasoned driver. Youâre pushing, but not too hard, balancing aggression with caution in a way that impresses even him.
Midway through the race, you find yourself in a battle for position with one of the more experienced drivers. Fernando can see the tension in your driving, the way youâre pushing the car to its limits. But he also sees the intelligence in your approach, the way youâre sizing up your opponent, waiting for the right moment.
âCome on,â he mutters under his breath, his eyes glued to the screen as you make your move. Itâs a daring pass, squeezing through a gap thatâs barely there, but you make it stick. Fernando lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding, a small smile tugging at his lips.
âYouâre doing it,â he whispers to himself, pride swelling in his chest.
The race continues, the intensity never letting up. There are moments of sheer brilliance, and moments where Fernandoâs nerves are stretched to their limits, but through it all, you remain unshaken. Every lap, every corner, youâre proving exactly why you belong here, why Carlin chose you, and why Fernando believes in you so much.
As the race nears its end, you find yourself in a strong position, battling for a spot on the podium. Fernandoâs heart pounds in his chest, his hands clenched into fists as he watches the final laps unfold. Itâs a nail-biter, the cars ahead of you just within reach, and he can see you pushing, giving it everything youâve got.
âCome on, come on,â he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the screen. âYouâve got this.â
The final lap is a blur of speed and adrenaline, but youâre right there, closing in on the car ahead. Fernando can feel the tension in the air, the entire Carlin garage on edge as they watch you make your move. Itâs a daring overtake, one that requires absolute precision, but you nail it, sliding into third place just before the final corner.
Fernandoâs heart leaps as you cross the finish line, securing a podium in your very first F2 race. The garage erupts in cheers, but heâs already moving, heading out to meet you as you bring the car back to the pits.
When you climb out of the car, the smile on your face is all he needs to see. You did it. You proved yourself, and in a big way. Fernando is the first to reach you, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice full of pride.
âYou were incredible out there,â he says, his words muffled slightly by the cheers around you. âAbsolutely incredible.â
You pull back, your eyes shining with excitement. âI couldnât have done it without you.â
He shakes his head, his smile wide. âYou did this. You took everything youâve learned and you made it happen. This is just the beginning.â
Yuki comes over, grinning from ear to ear as he claps you on the back. âThird place in your first race? Youâre making the rest of us look bad!â
You laugh, the tension of the race finally melting away as you share the moment with your teammate and mentor. But even as you celebrate, Fernandoâs mind is already thinking ahead, planning for the future. This is just the first step, and he knows there are many more to come. But for now, heâs content to stand here with you, knowing that youâve just taken a huge leap forward in your career.
As the celebrations continue around you, Fernando steps back, watching you with a mixture of pride and anticipation. Heâs seen something special in you from the start, and today, you proved him right. But he knows this is just the beginning, and he canât wait to see where this journey takes you
***
Fernando sits at the head of a sleek conference table in a high-rise office overlooking a bustling cityscape. The room is all glass and steel, exuding an air of professionalism and success. Itâs the kind of setting where big decisions are made, the kind of setting where lives are changed. He glances at his watch â just a few minutes before youâre supposed to arrive.
To his left is a man in his late forties, dressed in a sharp suit that screams old money and prestige. This is Carlos Mendes, a veteran in the world of motorsport management. Carlos has a reputation for being ruthless when it comes to getting his clients the best deals.
Heâs represented world champions, negotiated multimillion-dollar contracts, and navigated the treacherous waters of sponsorships with the skill of a seasoned general. Fernando had carefully chosen Carlos, knowing that you would need someone who could not only protect your interests but also push for the best opportunities.
On Fernandoâs right is Sophie Duclair, a high-powered talent agent whose client list reads like a whoâs who of global sports and entertainment icons. Sophie, with her sleek bob and impeccably tailored outfit, is known for her ability to secure top-tier endorsement deals that go beyond the traditional boundaries of sports.
Luxury brands, fashion houses, and even Hollywood producers trust her judgment implicitly. Sheâs the one who can take your rising star and catapult it into a whole different stratosphere.
The door to the conference room opens, and you walk in, dressed casually but with an unmistakable air of confidence. Itâs clear youâve grown more comfortable in these kinds of environments, but thereâs still a trace of curiosity in your eyes as you take in the room and the people seated at the table.
âGood to see you,â Fernando says, rising to greet you with a warm smile. He motions to the empty chair next to him. âTake a seat. Weâve got a lot to discuss.â
You sit down, glancing at Carlos and Sophie with polite curiosity. Fernando leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. âLet me introduce you to Carlos Mendes,â he says, gesturing to the man on his left. âCarlos is one of the top managers in the business. Heâs going to help guide your career from here on out, making sure you get the best opportunities on and off the track.â
Carlos nods, his expression serious but welcoming. âItâs a pleasure to meet you,â he says in a deep, authoritative voice. âFernando has told me a lot about you, and Iâve been following your progress. Youâve got a bright future ahead, and Iâm here to make sure you reach your full potential.â
You smile, a mix of gratitude and anticipation in your eyes. âThank you. Iâm looking forward to working with you.â
Fernando continues, turning to Sophie. âAnd this is Sophie Duclair, one of the best talent agents in the industry. Sophie has a knack for securing deals that align perfectly with her clientsâ personal brands. Sheâs here to help you navigate the world of endorsements and partnerships.â
Sophie smiles, her demeanor warm yet professional. âItâs a pleasure to finally meet you,â she says, her voice smooth and confident. âIâve been keeping an eye on your rise in F2, and I have to say, the opportunities are endless. There are brands out there who are going to want to associate themselves with your story, your talent, and your image.â
You nod, clearly intrigued but still processing the magnitude of whatâs happening. Fernando notices the slight furrow in your brow and steps in to guide the conversation.
âHereâs the thing,â Fernando begins, his tone serious but encouraging. âYouâve been fighting against the odds, and thatâs whatâs made your story so compelling. A lot of people might have seen your gender as an obstacle, but weâre turning it into an asset. Youâve already proven you belong in F2, and with the right guidance, weâre going to show the world that youâre not just a great driver â youâre a game-changer.â
Carlos leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on you. âExactly. The motorsport world is evolving, and brands want to be associated with that evolution. They want to be seen as forward-thinking, inclusive, and ahead of the curve. Youâre in a unique position to offer them that opportunity.â
Sophie picks up the thread seamlessly. âBut itâs not just about slapping a logo on your car or your race suit. Itâs about aligning with brands that resonate with who you are and where you want to go. Thatâs where I come in. Iâve been in talks with several companies that are very interested in working with you.â
You look at Fernando, and he gives you an encouraging nod, urging you to speak your mind. âIt sounds ⊠amazing,â you begin, your voice steady but thoughtful. âBut I want to make sure that whatever deals we make, theyâre the right ones. I donât want to just be a face on an ad â I want to represent something real.â
Carlos smiles, clearly impressed by your maturity. âThatâs the right approach. And thatâs exactly why weâre here â to make sure that every move we make is strategic and meaningful. Youâve got the talent and the story, and now itâs about building the brand that reflects that.â
Sophie leans back in her chair, crossing her legs as she regards you with a calculating but friendly gaze. âWeâve already secured two deals that I think youâre going to be very happy with,â she says, a hint of excitement in her voice. âThe first is with Cartier. Theyâre looking to expand their presence in the sports world, and they see you as the perfect ambassador for their brand â strong, elegant, and determined.â
Your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised. âCartier?â You echo, the name alone carrying a weight of prestige and luxury.
Sophie nods, smiling at your reaction. âThatâs right. They want to work with you on a campaign thatâs going to be centered around breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be successful. Itâs not just about jewelry â itâs about the story you tell when you wear it.â
Fernando watches as you process this, seeing the mix of excitement and caution in your expression. He knows how big this is, and he also knows how important it is for you to feel comfortable with every step of this journey.
âAnd the second deal?â You ask, your voice steady but tinged with curiosity.
Sophieâs smile widens. âThat would be with Chanel. Theyâre launching a new line of sportswear, and they want you to be the face of it. Itâs a bold move for them, branching out into a market thatâs traditionally been dominated by other brands. But they believe in you, and they believe that you can help them make a statement.â
You lean back in your chair, clearly taking a moment to absorb the magnitude of whatâs being offered. Fernando can see the wheels turning in your mind, the careful consideration youâre giving to each opportunity.
âI ⊠I didnât expect anything like this,â you admit, looking around the table. âItâs incredible, but itâs also a lot to take in.â
Carlos nods, his expression understanding. âIt is. But youâre not in this alone. Weâre here to guide you, to make sure that every decision you make is the right one for you and your career.â
Fernando leans forward slightly, his voice low and reassuring. âYouâve worked hard to get here. You deserve these opportunities. But like Carlos said, weâre going to make sure that every step you take is the right one. Weâre not rushing into anything. Weâre building something thatâs going to last.â
You look at him, and he can see the trust in your eyes. Itâs a trust heâs earned over the months, through every piece of advice, every word of encouragement, every push to make you better. And now, as you sit here on the brink of something huge, he feels a deep sense of pride.
âThese are just the first steps,â Sophie says, her tone confident and poised. âThereâs so much more we can do. But itâs all going to be on your terms. Youâre in control of your image, your brand. Weâre just here to help you shape it.â
You take a deep breath, your gaze sweeping over the table, taking in the faces of the people who are now part of your team. âI want to do this right,â you say finally, your voice strong. âI want to be someone people can look up to, someone who represents more than just winning races.â
Fernando smiles, feeling a swell of pride at your words. âAnd thatâs exactly what youâre going to do. Weâre just getting started.â
The meeting continues, the conversation shifting to the details of the contracts, the timelines for the campaigns, and the strategies for maximizing your visibility. Throughout it all, Fernando watches you closely, noting the way you handle the discussions with a mix of humility and confidence. Itâs clear youâre taking everything in, asking the right questions, making sure you understand every aspect of whatâs being presented.
By the time the meeting wraps up, thereâs a palpable sense of excitement in the room. The deals with Cartier and Chanel are just the beginning, and everyone knows it. There are more opportunities on the horizon, more doors that are about to open. But for now, itâs about taking the first steps, setting the foundation for whatâs to come.
As you rise to leave, Fernando walks you to the door, Carlos and Sophie following close behind. âWeâll be in touch with the final details,â Sophie says, her tone professional but warm. âIâm excited to see where this journey takes us.â
Carlos nods in agreement. âYouâve got a bright future ahead. Letâs make the most of it.â
You thank them both, turning to Fernando with a smile that holds a mix of gratitude and determination. "I couldnât have done this without you," you say softly.
Fernando shakes his head, his smile reflecting the pride he feels. "Youâve earned every bit of this. Now, let's show the world what youâre capable of."
***
The sun dips low over the suburban skyline, casting a warm golden hue over the backyard where laughter mingles with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. String lights hang from the trees, swaying gently in the evening breeze, and the faint scent of barbecue lingers in the air. Youâre surrounded by familiar faces â family, childhood friends, and the newer ones youâve made in F2. The mix of old and new feels right, like the pieces of your life are finally coming together.
Fernando stands near the edge of the crowd, leaning casually against a tree as he watches you. Heâs been here for hours, blending in with the celebration, though heâs always slightly apart, his presence comforting but never overbearing. Heâs wearing one of those half-smiles, the kind that makes it hard to tell if heâs deep in thought or just quietly enjoying the moment.
You catch his eye, and he raises his glass â a silent toast that you return with a small grin before getting pulled back into a conversation with one of your childhood friends. Theyâre reminiscing about old times, laughing about things that seem so far removed from the high-speed world you now inhabit. Itâs nice, grounding even, to remember that you had a life before all of this â a simpler one where the biggest concern was which video game to play after school.
As the night wears on, the crowd begins to thin. Your parents are still mingling, clearly proud of the party theyâve thrown. Your momâs voice carries across the yard as she gushes to someone about how happy she is that youâve managed to pay off the second mortgage. It was a weight that they never let you see, but you knew it was there, and being able to lift it was one of the proudest moments youâve had since stepping into a race car.
Fernando, ever observant, notices the moment your shoulders relax as you hear your momâs words. He takes a small step forward, knowing that the night is winding down, and heâs been waiting for just the right moment.
Eventually, as the last of your friends hug you goodbye and head out, you find yourself standing near the fire pit, the glow from the dying embers illuminating your face. Fernando approaches, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
âEnjoying your birthday?â He asks, his voice low and warm, like the crackling fire beside you.
You nod, a content smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âYeah, itâs been really great. I didnât expect so many people to show up.â
âPeople care about you,â Fernando says simply. âYouâve made quite an impact.â
You shrug, clearly a little shy about the praise. âIâm just glad to have a night to relax with everyone. Itâs been a whirlwind.â
Fernandoâs smile deepens. He knows how hard youâve worked, how much youâve sacrificed, and how rare these moments of peace are for you. âYou deserve it. Youâve earned it.â
Thereâs a beat of silence, comfortable and familiar, before Fernando clears his throat. âI, uh, have something for you.â
You turn to look at him, your brow furrowing slightly. âFernando, you didnât have to get me anything. Youâve already done so much.â
âI know,â he says, his tone a little softer now, as if heâs stepping into more vulnerable territory. âBut I wanted to.â
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small box, wrapped in simple but elegant paper. You hesitate for a moment, then take it from his hands, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should.
Curiosity piques as you carefully unwrap the paper and open the box. Inside is a delicate necklace, the pendant a tiny, intricate race helmet studded with a single diamond where the visor would be. Itâs not overly flashy, but itâs beautiful and unmistakably meaningful.
You stare at it, speechless, before looking up at Fernando, your eyes wide with surprise and something deeper â something like awe. âFernando ⊠this is âŠâ
He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. âYou donât have to say anything. I just ⊠wanted you to have something that reminds you of where youâre headed. Youâve got a bright future, and I wanted to give you something to keep close as you chase it.â
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away, focusing on the necklace instead. Youâre not sure what to say â how do you thank someone for something that goes beyond just a gift?
Fernando steps closer, his voice lowering as he continues, âIâve come to see you as ⊠well, like a daughter, I suppose. Watching you grow, seeing how far youâve come, itâs been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.â
Your heart swells with emotion, and before you can stop yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. The necklace is still clutched in your hand, but all you can focus on is the steady beat of Fernandoâs heart against your ear.
âThank you,â you whisper, your voice muffled but sincere. âFor everything.â
Fernandoâs arms come around you, holding you close in a way thatâs both protective and comforting. âYou donât have to thank me,â he murmurs. âJust keep doing what youâre doing. Thatâs all the thanks I need.â
You stay like that for a moment longer, taking in the warmth and security of the embrace, before finally pulling back. You look up at Fernando, and thereâs a connection between you now that goes beyond mentor and protĂ©gĂ© â itâs something familial, something lasting.
He gestures to the necklace, a small smile playing on his lips. âDo you want some help putting that on?â
You nod, unable to find the words, and hand it to him. He carefully fastens it around your neck, his fingers steady and sure, and when heâs done, you reach up to touch the pendant, feeling its cool metal against your skin.
âPerfect,â Fernando says, stepping back to admire it. âJust like you.â
You laugh softly, shaking your head. âYouâre too kind.â
âNo,â he replies, his voice firm but gentle. âJust honest.â
As the fire continues to crackle beside you, the night wrapping around you both like a blanket, you realize that this birthday, this moment, will be one you remember for the rest of your life. Not because of the party or the people, but because of the man standing beside you â the one who believed in you when no one else did, who gave you the push you needed to keep going.
And as you walk back towards the house, the pendant resting against your chest, you know that no matter what happens in the future, youâll always have this â this connection, this bond, this family youâve found in the most unexpected place.
***
The noise is deafening as you cross the finish line, but itâs the silence that follows in your mind that makes it real. The world blurs around you; the roar of the engine fades, the cheers from the grandstands become a distant echo. Itâs just you and the knowledge that youâve done it. The chequered flag waves in the distance, a confirmation that youâve won the F2 championship.
In your rookie season.
The last lap plays on a loop in your mind: the battle with your teammate, the wheel-to-wheel tension that stretched until the final corner, the moment you finally saw a gap and took it. The entire year has been leading up to this, every race, every struggle, every doubt. And now, youâre here. A champion.
The car slows as you pull into the pit lane, your hands shaking on the steering wheel. The radio crackles with voices â your engineer shouting congratulations, the team cheering, but thereâs only one voice you really want to hear.
âYou did it,â Fernando comes through, calm but with a hint of emotion that he rarely shows. âI knew you could do it.â
A smile breaks across your face, one that you couldnât suppress even if you tried. âWe did it,â you correct him, because itâs true. Youâve always been a team, even when he wasnât on the track with you.
As you roll into the Carlin garage, the world around you explodes into celebration. Mechanics, engineers, and team members swarm the car, cheering and clapping as they pull you out of the cockpit. Youâre immediately wrapped in a dozen hugs, people shouting your name, lifting you off the ground in their excitement.
But even in the chaos, youâre searching for him. And when you finally spot Fernando standing just outside the crowd, his expression is one of pure pride. He doesnât rush in to join the others, instead, he stays back, letting you have your moment. Thatâs Fernando, always understanding, always knowing exactly what you need.
You finally push through the throng of well-wishers and make your way over to him. For a moment, the two of you just look at each other, and in that look, thereâs a thousand words unspoken.
âNot bad for a rookie,â he finally says, his smile widening.
You laugh, still breathless from the race. âNot bad at all.â
He pulls you into a hug, and this time, you donât hold back. You cling to him, letting the emotion of the moment wash over you. âThank you,â you whisper, and you know he understands. This victory is as much his as it is yours.
When you pull back, you see someone else approaching from the corner of your eye. Itâs Toto Wolff, towering and imposing as always, but thereâs a warmth in his expression thatâs almost fatherly. Next to him, Williams Racing team principal Jost Capito, stands with a smile thatâs equally as proud.
âToto?â You ask, surprised. Itâs not every day he shows up in the F2 paddock, let alone after a race.
He steps forward, offering his hand. âCongratulations,â he says, his voice steady. âThat was an incredible race.â
You shake his hand, still trying to process the fact that heâs here. âThank you,â you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.
Jost steps forward, nodding in agreement. âYouâve had an outstanding season. Youâve shown everyone what youâre capable of.â
Thereâs something in their tone, something that makes your heart race with more than just post-race adrenaline. Fernando catches your eye, giving you a slight nod, as if to say, this is it.
Toto exchanges a look with Jost before continuing, âWeâve been following your progress closely, and we believe youâre ready for the next step.â
Your breath catches in your throat. The next step. Itâs what every F2 driver dreams of, but itâs never guaranteed, not even with a championship under your belt. âThe next step?â You echo, almost afraid to hope.
Jost steps in, his smile widening. âWe want you to race for Williams in Formula 1 next season.â
For a moment, the world stops. You blink, trying to process the words, to make sure you heard him right. Formula 1. They want you to race in F1.
âNext season?â You manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Toto nods, his expression serious but encouraging. âYes. Weâve been in discussions with Williams, and we believe youâre the perfect fit for their team. Youâve proven that you can handle the pressure, and now itâs time to see what you can do on the biggest stage.â
You feel like youâre floating, like this is a dream that you might wake up from at any moment. You turn to Fernando, searching his face for confirmation that this is real. Heâs smiling, but thereâs a look in his eyes that tells you heâs known about this for a while. Heâs always known.
âYouâll be racing in F1,â Fernando says, his voice steady. âYou deserve it.â
Itâs then that the full weight of whatâs happening hits you. F1. The pinnacle of motorsport. And not just racing in F1, but racing alongside the very best in the world. Youâll be on the grid with drivers youâve looked up to your entire life. Drivers like Lewis Hamilton. And âŠ
Your eyes widen as the realization dawns. Fernando is making his comeback next year. Heâs going to be on that grid, too.
âIâll be racing ⊠with you,â you say, the words barely escaping your lips.
Fernandoâs smile is knowing, almost amused. âYes, you will.â
The thought is almost overwhelming. Not only will you be in F1, but youâll be competing alongside Fernando, the man who has been your mentor, your guide, your biggest supporter. The man who helped you get to this very moment.
You shake your head, still trying to process it all. âI donât know what to say.â
Toto places a hand on your shoulder, his grip reassuring. âYou donât need to say anything. Just be ready to show the world what youâre capable of. Weâll handle the rest.â
Jost nods in agreement. âWe believe in you. Youâve already proven that you can handle anything that comes your way.â
You glance back at Fernando, and the pride in his eyes is unmistakable. This has been his goal all along â to get you to the top, to see you succeed where so many doubted you could. And now, here you are, about to step into the world of F1.
âIâll be ready,â you say, your voice stronger now, filled with the determination thatâs carried you this far.
Fernando nods, satisfied. âI know you will.â
As Toto and Jost step away to discuss the finer details with the Carlin team, you stand there with Fernando, the enormity of what just happened settling in.
âYou knew this was coming, didnât you?â You ask, giving him a sideways glance.
Fernando shrugs, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. âI had a feeling. But it was always up to you to make it happen.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âYouâre unbelievable.â
He grins. âAnd youâre an F1 driver now. Better get used to it.â
The two of you stand there for a moment longer, taking in the victory, the announcement, the future thatâs unfolding right before your eyes. Itâs been a long road, full of challenges and doubts, but youâve made it. And now, youâre about to step onto the biggest stage in motorsport, with Fernando right there alongside you.
As you look out at the garage, the Carlin team still buzzing with excitement, you canât help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. For the team, for the journey, and most of all, for Fernando â the man who believed in you when no one else did, and who continues to believe in you now.
âThank you, Fernando,â you say quietly, but with all the sincerity you can muster. âFor everything.â
He simply nods, his expression softening. âYouâve earned it.â
And as you stand there, the future stretching out before you, one thing is certain: this is just the beginning.
***
The winter sun hangs low in the sky as you walk along the rocky path that leads to Fernandoâs private track in northern Spain. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine trees and the distant murmur of the sea. Itâs a world away from the chaos of the paddock, a place where the outside noise fades, leaving only the hum of your thoughts and the weight of whatâs to come. The off-season is supposed to be a time to rest, to recharge, but this year, itâs different. Thereâs no time to lose â not with your first Formula 1 season looming on the horizon.
Fernando walks beside you, his stride as confident and unhurried as ever. His presence is steadying, a reminder that youâre not alone on this journey. Heâs been here before, countless times, and now heâs passing on everything he knows to you. This winter isnât just about physical training; itâs about mastering the mental side of the sport â the side that can make or break a career in F1.
He stops at the edge of the track, the silence between you stretching out as you both take in the view. The asphalt is cold and unyielding, winding through the landscape like a dark ribbon, a challenge waiting to be conquered.
âYou know the driving part,â Fernando says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, measured, but thereâs an intensity to it that commands attention. ïżœïżœïżœYouâve proven that you can handle the car, the speed, the competition. But F1 is more than just driving. Itâs a mental game. Itâs about being the predator, not the prey.â
You nod, knowing heâs right. The physical demands of F1 are immense, but the mental demands are even greater. The pressure, the mind games, the need to be perfect in a sport where perfection is almost impossible â itâs all part of what makes F1 the pinnacle of motorsport.
âToday, we start with the basics,â Fernando continues, his gaze fixed on the track. âHow to be a track terror.â
A track terror. The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. To be feared on the track, to have your competitors second-guessing themselves before they even line up on the grid â thatâs what Fernando is talking about. Itâs not just about being fast; itâs about being relentless, unyielding, the kind of driver who forces others into mistakes.
âYou donât have to be the fastest in every session,â Fernando explains, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. âYou just have to make them think you are. Get in their heads. Make them question their own pace, their own decisions.â
He starts to walk along the edge of the track, and you follow, listening closely. âEvery driver has a breaking point,â he says. âYou need to learn how to find it. Sometimes itâs in their driving â how they react under pressure, how they handle wheel-to-wheel combat. Sometimes itâs off the track â in how they deal with the media, how they cope with setbacks. Your job is to figure out what that breaking point is and use it.â
You absorb his words, understanding that this is the difference between good drivers and great ones. Itâs not just about talent; itâs about psychology, about knowing how to manipulate a situation to your advantage.
âAnd once you find that breaking point?â You ask, wanting to hear it from him.
Fernando stops and turns to face you, his eyes sharp, calculating. âYou exploit it,â he says simply. âYou push them until they crack. But you have to be smart about it. Thereâs a fine line between pushing them to the edge and pushing yourself over it.â
His words are blunt, but you know thereâs truth in them. F1 isnât just a sport, itâs a battle, a war of wills as much as it is a test of speed.
âTake the first corner,â Fernando says, pointing to the sharp turn at the end of the straight. âItâs where a lot of races are won or lost. You need to establish yourself early. Show them that youâre not afraid to fight for position, but also that youâre in control. Thatâs key â being aggressive, but controlled.â
You nod, envisioning the scenarios heâs describing. Youâve raced at high levels before, but F1 is different. The stakes are higher, the margins narrower. Thereâs no room for error, but thereâs also no room for hesitation.
âHow do you know when to cross the line?â You ask, thinking back to the times when Fernando has pushed the limits, often to the point where others questioned his tactics.
He gives a small smile, one that doesnât quite reach his eyes. âYou learn,â he says. âSometimes by making mistakes. But the key is to learn from them quickly. You have to know when to back off and when to push harder. Itâs about balance, about knowing your own limits as much as theirs.â
He pauses, his gaze locking with yours. âAnd sometimes, you have to cross the line. But when you do, you do it with intent, and you donât get caught. You make sure it looks like a mistake, something that just happened in the heat of the moment. And you never apologize for it.â
Thereâs a chill in the air, but you barely notice it, your mind focused on every word. This is what youâve needed, what youâve been missing. The edge that will set you apart in a field of the best drivers in the world.
âWhat about mind games?â You ask, curious to know more about how to handle the psychological warfare that comes with F1.
Fernando chuckles, a sound thatâs both amused and knowing. âMind games are everything,â he says. âThey start long before you even get in the car. Itâs about how you carry yourself, how you interact with the other drivers, with the media. You have to control the narrative, make them think what you want them to think.â
He starts walking again, this time towards the small building at the edge of the track where the team usually sets up. âThe media is a powerful tool,â he continues. âYou can use them to your advantage, but you have to be careful. Give them just enough to create doubt in your competitorsâ minds, but not enough to give anything away.â
You think back to the countless press conferences youâve watched, where drivers like Fernando have used their words as weapons, creating stories that unsettle their rivals. Itâs a game within a game, and youâre starting to see how deep it goes.
âNever let them see you sweat,â Fernando adds, his tone more serious now. âEven when things arenât going your way, you have to project confidence. Make them think you have everything under control, even when you donât. And when they stumble, when they show weakness, you pounce.â
The building looms ahead, the door slightly ajar. Fernando pushes it open, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room with a table, a few chairs, and a whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. Itâs a war room, a place where strategies are formed, where victories are planned.
Fernando gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling the weight of whatâs to come. He takes a seat across from you, his expression now all business.
âLetâs talk about racecraft,â he says, leaning forward. âYou need to understand that F1 isnât just about speed. Itâs about strategy, about thinking two, three steps ahead of everyone else. You need to know when to attack and when to hold back, when to take risks and when to play it safe.â
He starts sketching out scenarios on the whiteboard, explaining different race strategies, how to read your competitors, how to manage your tires, your fuel, your energy. Itâs a crash course in F1 tactics, and you absorb every detail, knowing that this knowledge could be the difference between winning and losing.
âYouâll have a team behind you,â Fernando says, his eyes never leaving the board as he continues to write. âBut youâre the one in the car. Youâre the one who has to make the decisions in real-time. Trust your instincts, but also trust your preparation. The more you know, the better equipped youâll be to handle whatever comes your way.â
He turns back to you, his expression serious. âAnd remember, F1 is a long game. Itâs not just about one race, or even one season. Itâs about building a career, about consistently performing at a high level. You have to pace yourself, know when to push and when to hold back. Itâs a marathon, not a sprint.â
You nod, the enormity of what heâs saying sinking in. This isnât just about your rookie season; itâs about laying the foundation for a long and successful career. And with Fernando guiding you, you know youâre in the best possible hands.
The session goes on, the hours slipping away as you discuss everything from race strategies to media tactics, from how to handle pressure to how to deal with setbacks. Fernando doesnât sugarcoat anything; he tells you the harsh realities of the sport, the challenges youâll face, the sacrifices youâll have to make. But he also gives you the tools to overcome them, to not just survive in F1, but to thrive.
By the time the sun starts to set, casting long shadows across the track, you feel a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. Itâs been an intense day, but you know itâs exactly what you needed. Fernando has pushed you, challenged you, but heâs also given you the confidence to believe that you belong in this world, that you can succeed.
As you walk back towards the main house, the sky now a deep orange, Fernando falls into step beside you. Thereâs a comfortable silence between you, the kind that comes from a shared understanding, a mutual respect that has grown over time.
After a while, Fernando breaks the silence with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âYou know,â he begins, his tone light but with a glint of mischief in his eyes, âIâve been called many things in my career. Champion, legend ⊠war criminal.â
You look at him, caught between a laugh and a raised eyebrow. âWar criminal?â
He chuckles, shrugging casually. âNot literally, of course. But some of my tactics, letâs say, werenât always appreciated by everyone. I was willing to do whatever it took to win â sometimes crossing lines that others wouldnât dare touch.â
You smile, catching on to his meaning. âAnd you think Iâm ready to follow in your footsteps?â
Fernandoâs smirk widens. âIâd be disappointed if you didnât. F1 isnât a game for the faint-hearted. Itâs for those who arenât afraid to get their hands dirty when it counts. Just remember ⊠thereâs no shame in doing what it takes to survive. And thrive.â
His words hang in the cool evening air, and as you both continue walking, you feel a sense of resolve settle within you. Fernando must notice it too because he gives you a sideways glance, the glint still in his eyes. âJust donât forget who taught you all this when they start throwing accusations your way.â
***
The Bahrain night sky looms overhead, blanketing the circuit in a velvety darkness punctuated by the glaring lights of the paddock. The roar of engines rumbles through the air as teams buzz with last-minute preparations. Mechanics scramble, engineers analyze data, and drivers slip into their zones. The first race of the season carries a unique kind of tension, a palpable energy thatâs almost electric. But amidst all the chaos, Fernando moves with calm confidence as he weaves through the pit lane, eyes scanning for one person.
He finds you standing by the Williams garage, helmet in hand, gaze fixed on the distant horizon as if trying to absorb the magnitude of the moment. Itâs your first F1 race, and the weight of it all is evident in the slight furrow of your brow, the focused set of your jaw.
Fernando walks up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. âHey,â he says, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade. âNervous?â
You turn to face him, a mix of emotions swirling in your eyes â excitement, determination, and yes, a hint of nerves. âA little,â you admit. âItâs different from F2. Bigger.â
Fernando nods, understanding all too well. âIt is bigger. The stakes are higher, the pressureâs heavier. But youâve got this.â
You nod, though your grip on the helmet tightens. âI know. I just need to keep my head in the right place.â
Fernandoâs eyes narrow, the glint of the nightâs floodlights reflecting in them as he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. âRemember what we talked about in Spain. Youâre not here to play nice. Youâre here to win. Youâre here to make them regret ever doubting you.â
A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as his words sink in. This is the Fernando youâve come to know so well â the ruthless competitor who sees racing as a battlefield, where only the most cunning and unrelenting survive. Heâs drilled that mentality into you, reminding you time and time again that the track is no place for mercy.
âYouâre not just a driver,â he continues, his tone growing more intense. âYouâre a track terror. Make them fear you. Take every opportunity, even if it means forcing them into a mistake. Be aggressive. Be relentless. And if they try to intimidate you-â
âI intimidate them back,â you finish for him, the determination in your voice now matching his.
Fernandoâs lips curl into a smirk, clearly pleased. âExactly. Make them question if they even belong out there with you.â
As he speaks, Nicholas Latifi, your teammate, walks by on his way to his side of the garage. His steps falter when he overhears the tail end of Fernandoâs words.
â⊠If you see an opening, take it. Donât give them a second to breathe. Push them out of their comfort zone, and when theyâre scrambling, thatâs when you strike. Hard.â
Latifiâs eyes widen in alarm as he processes what Fernando is saying. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should approach or back away slowly. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, retreating with a hurried, nervous glance over his shoulder.
You notice Latifiâs reaction and canât help but laugh. âI think you mightâve scared him off.â
Fernando chuckles, a low, almost devious sound. âGood. Less competition for you.â Then, with a more serious edge, he adds, âHeâs not your concern. Youâre here for the big players. And donât forget, every race is an opportunity to show them what youâre made of. Especially the ones who think you donât deserve to be here.â
You nod, the nerves from earlier replaced by a rising sense of purpose. Fernandoâs words have a way of lighting a fire inside you, a fire that burns hotter with every passing second. The crowd noise, the hum of engines, the flashing lights â all of it fades away until thereâs only the track and the promise of what lies ahead.
Fernando steps back, giving you space but keeping his gaze locked on yours. âTonight, youâre going to prove that youâre not just another rookie. Youâre a force to be reckoned with. And youâre going to do it with style.â
You smirk, the corners of your mouth curving upward as confidence surges through you. âWith style?â
âAbsolutely,â Fernando replies, his own smirk widening. âRemember, thereâs a fine line between genius and insanity on the track. And youâre going to walk it like itâs a tightrope.â
You slip your helmet on, the visor clicking into place as Fernandoâs words echo in your mind. The world outside may be chaotic, but inside your helmet, itâs a sanctuary â a place where you can focus, where every piece of advice, every lesson Fernando has drilled into you, comes together.
He watches you for a moment, pride evident in his eyes. Heâs seen your growth, your transformation from a talented driver into something much more formidable. He knows youâre ready for this.
âNow go out there,â he says, voice clear and commanding, âand make them remember your name.â
With a final nod, you turn towards your car, the sleek Williams machine waiting for you. The pit crew is already in position, and the clock is ticking down. But before you step in, Fernando adds one last thing.
âOh, and one more thing,â he says, catching your attention. You look back at him, and thereâs a mischievous twinkle in his eye. âTerrorize everyone out there ⊠except me.â
You laugh, the sound muffled by your helmet, but the sentiment is clear. âNo promises.â
Fernando grins, crossing his arms as he watches you settle into the cockpit. The familiar sounds of the car coming to life fill the air, and the anticipation builds. The lights above the pit lane begin their countdown, and you take a deep breath, centering yourself for whatâs to come.
As you drive out onto the track for the formation lap, Fernando steps back, his eyes following your car as it weaves between the other machines, each one a potential target, each one a stepping stone towards the top. He knows youâre ready, knows that tonight is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible journey.
Heâs proud of you, not just as a driver, but as the competitor youâve become under his guidance. And as you line up on the grid, the lights glowing red above, Fernandoâs final words echo in your mind.
Make them remember your name.
The lights go out, and the race begins.
***
The Bahrain circuit is still buzzing with energy even after the race has ended. The floodlights cast a bright, artificial glow over the paddock as drivers, engineers, and media personnel move about, some celebrating, others reflecting on the nightâs events. The humid night air is thick with the scent of burning rubber and engine exhaust, a familiar and oddly comforting smell to those who live and breathe motorsport.
Fernando stands in the media pen, his eyes fixed on you as you field questions from a group of eager reporters. Heâs barely listening to the reporter in front of him, whoâs rattling off questions about his own race. He finished just outside the points, but it doesnât bother him much. Tonight, his focus isnât on his own performance but on yours.
Youâre animated, your eyes bright, still riding the adrenaline high from the race. You finished ninth â an impressive debut for any rookie, especially in a Williams. Fernando watches as you handle the questions with ease, a slight smile playing on his lips. The way you stand, the way you speak, thereâs a confidence there that wasnât present when he first met you. He sees in you a reflection of his younger self, and it fills him with a quiet pride.
âFernando,â the reporter in front of him says, trying to regain his attention. âCan you tell us about your strategy today?â
Fernando barely hears the question, his attention still on you. Youâre laughing at something a reporter just asked, and he catches a glimpse of that mischievous glint in your eyes â the same one heâs seen countless times in his own reflection. He can tell youâre about to say something memorable, and he doesnât want to miss it.
âFernando?â the reporter prompts again, sounding slightly annoyed now.
âHmm?â Fernando finally acknowledges the reporter, but his gaze doesnât leave you. âWhat was that?â
âYour strategy today â what was the thinking behind it?â
âStrategy? Oh, yes, the strategy,â Fernando replies absentmindedly, waving his hand dismissively. âYou know, just the usual. Push when you can, hold back when you must.â His answers are automatic, but his mind is elsewhere.
The reporter blinks, clearly unimpressed with the vague response, but before he can ask a follow-up question, Fernandoâs attention is fully captured by what youâre saying.
A journalist standing in front of you, wearing a press lanyard and holding a recorder close to your face, asks, âCan you walk us through that incredible overtake on Sebastian Vettel? It looked like you had no fear going up against a four-time world champion.â
You smile, a knowing look in your eyes, and then you glance over at Fernando.
âI knew he would hit the brakes,â you say, loud enough for him to hear. You pause for dramatic effect, and then with a wink in Fernandoâs direction, you continue, âBecause he has a wife and three kids waiting for him at home.â
The words hang in the air for a moment before the reporters around you burst into laughter. The reference to Fernandoâs famous quip about Michael Schumacher years ago is unmistakable, and itâs clear that the media eats it up. But more importantly, Fernando hears it, and his chest swells with pride.
The reporter in front of Fernando raises an eyebrow, curious now about whatâs just been said. âLooks like sheâs learned a thing or two from you,â he comments.
Fernando finally turns to the reporter, a wide grin spreading across his face. âYes, she has. More than she knows.â
He watches as you continue the interview, your demeanor composed, yet playful. The way you handle the press is impressive â calm, confident, but with just the right amount of charm to keep them on your side. Youâre not just a racer; youâre a showman, someone who understands that Formula 1 is as much about performance off the track as it is on it.
Fernando catches snippets of your conversation, listening as you describe the overtake in more detail. âSebâs a great driver, no doubt about it. But in that moment, I knew I had him. I could see it in his body language. He was playing it safe, so I took my chance.â
âAnd what was going through your mind when you made the move?â Another journalist asks.
You pause for a moment, considering the question. Then, with a smirk, you say, âI was thinking, âWhat would Fernando do?â And then I went for it.â
Fernando chuckles to himself, shaking his head slightly. He canât help but feel a surge of pride. Not because youâve imitated him, but because youâve made the decision to be bold, to take risks, and to trust your instincts. Thatâs what separates the good drivers from the great ones â the willingness to seize the moment, to act decisively.
You finish up your interview, the reporters gradually dispersing to chase down other drivers. Fernando finally gives his full attention to the reporter in front of him, whoâs still trying to get something meaningful out of him.
âFernando, about your race âŠâ the reporter begins again.
But Fernando is already moving, stepping around the man with a polite but firm nod. âExcuse me,â he says, cutting the interview short. Thereâs someone far more important he needs to talk to right now.
He strides over to you, your helmet now tucked under your arm as you chat casually with one of the team engineers. You spot him approaching and flash him a smile.
âHey,â you say as he reaches you. âDid you hear what I said?â
âI did,â Fernando replies, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. âYouâve got quite the sense of humor.â
âLearned from the best,â you quip, giving him a playful nudge.
Fernando laughs, shaking his head. âI wasnât sure youâd actually use that line, but Iâm glad you did. The media loves a good story, and you just gave them one.â
You shrug, your smile widening. âFigured Iâd give them something to talk about. Plus, itâs not every day you get to pass a guy like Seb.â
âAnd you did it with style,â Fernando adds, his voice filled with admiration. âYou handled yourself perfectly out there, both on track and with the press. Youâre making your mark.â
The engineer standing next to you clears his throat, clearly not wanting to interrupt but feeling the need to acknowledge Fernandoâs presence. âGreat job out there today,â he says, offering a handshake.
âThanks,â Fernando replies, shaking the manâs hand. âBut todayâs all about her,â he adds, nodding in your direction.
The engineer nods in agreement before excusing himself, leaving you and Fernando alone in the now quieter part of the paddock. The sounds of celebration and interviews still echo in the background, but here, in this moment, it feels like itâs just the two of you.
âYou know,â Fernando says after a beat, âIâve never been prouder.â
You look at him, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. âReally?â
âReally,â he confirms. âSeeing you out there today ⊠it reminded me why I fell in love with racing in the first place. The passion, the drive, the thrill of the fight. You have all of that, and more.â
Your smile softens, touched by his words. âI couldnât have done it without you.â
âYou did it because youâre a damn good driver,â Fernando corrects, though thereâs a warmth in his tone. âBut Iâm glad I could be a part of your journey.â
You both stand there for a moment, the enormity of what youâve achieved settling in. Ninth place in your first race is no small feat, especially in a car that everyone had written off as uncompetitive. But youâve proven them wrong, and youâve done it in a way thatâs uniquely your own.
âNext time, though,â Fernando says, a teasing lilt in his voice, âletâs aim for top five.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âNo pressure, right?â
âNever,â he replies with a grin. âJust a challenge.â
***
Fernando leans casually against the side of the Alpine motorhome, arms crossed, eyes scanning the paddock. The next seasonâs first race is in a few days, and the energy around the circuit is electric, buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings. Heâs just finished an interview, the usual media rounds, when he spots you approaching, your new Mercedes gear a stark contrast to the sea of blues and pinks around you.
âAh, there you are,â Fernando greets with a grin as you draw closer. âIâve got someone I want you to meet.â
You tilt your head slightly, curious. âWho?â
Fernando pushes off the motorhome, beckoning you to follow as he leads you around to the back, where a young reserve driver is checking his phone, leaning casually against the wall. The kid looks up as you approach, his expression polite, maybe a touch reserved, but thereâs an unmistakable spark of intelligence in his eyes.
âOscar,â Fernando calls out, âthis is her.â
Oscar Piastri straightens up, tucking his phone into his pocket. âNice to meet you,â he says, extending a hand with a shy but confident smile. Heâs calm, almost too calm for someone his age, but thereâs a warmth there, something genuine. You canât help but notice how composed he is, how his eyes seem to study you without making you feel scrutinized.
You shake his hand, offering a cool smile in return. âLikewise. Iâve heard good things.â
Oscar chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head. âHopefully, I can live up to them.â
The three of you chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the upcoming season, racing, the usual stuff. Oscar is polite, measured in his responses, but thereâs a softness to him that you hadnât expected. Itâs like heâs quietly confident, but without the brashness that usually comes with it. Fernando watches the interaction closely, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he notes the way your demeanor shifts ever so slightly around Oscar â more guarded, maybe, but intrigued.
Eventually, Oscar glances at his watch and excuses himself, mentioning something about a debrief he needs to attend. You nod, maintaining your composed exterior, and watch him walk back towards the Alpine motorhome before turning to Fernando.
âPolite cat vibes,â you murmur almost to yourself, a hint of amusement in your voice. Fernando raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
âWhat was that?â He asks, although thereâs a knowing look in his eyes. Heâs been around long enough to pick up on these things.
You roll your eyes playfully, but thereâs a lightness in your expression that wasnât there before. âI said, polite cat vibes. You know, like when a cat is super well-behaved, but you just know thereâs something more going on behind those eyes?â
Fernando laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that makes a few heads turn in your direction. âSo, you think Oscar is a cat?â
âWell, not literally,â you reply, grinning. âItâs just ⊠heâs got this thing, you know? Like heâs really nice, but you can tell heâs got claws if he needs them. And heâs so ⊠calm. I just want to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him.â
Fernandoâs laugh turns into a full-blown chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. âYouâre smitten, arenât you?â
âMaybe,â you say, feigning nonchalance as you fold your arms across your chest. âBut itâs just ⊠heâs different. Not in a bad way, just-â
âDifferent,â Fernando finishes for you, nodding thoughtfully. âYeah, I get it. But donât let that cloud your judgment on track.â
You shoot him a look. âPlease. Iâm not a rookie, and besides, Iâm at Mercedes now. Iâve got bigger things to focus on than cute cats.â
Fernando smiles, but thereâs a serious undertone to his next words. âJust remember, this is Formula 1. Thereâs no room for distractions, no matter how polite or cute they might be.â
You nod, understanding the weight behind his words, but thereâs still a twinkle in your eye as you glance back in the direction Oscar disappeared. âDonât worry, Iâve got this.â
âGood,â Fernando replies, clapping you on the back. âBecause Iâm not going to let you slack off, not even for a second.â
âWouldnât expect anything less from you,â you retort, smirking. Thereâs a comfortable silence that falls between the two of you, the kind that only comes from mutual respect and understanding.
But Fernando canât resist one last jab. âDonât go soft on him, okay? Iâve got my eye on you.â
You roll your eyes again but with a fond smile. âYouâre impossible, you know that?â
âOf course,â Fernando grins. âItâs part of my charm.â
You laugh, the sound bright and clear in the busy paddock, and Fernando canât help but feel a swell of pride. Youâve come so far, and heâs been there every step of the way, watching you grow not just as a driver but as a person. Thereâs a part of him thatâs protective, sure, but thereâs also a part thatâs thrilled to see you standing on your own two feet, ready to take on whatever comes your waâ even if itâs an Australian polite cat.
âLetâs get out of here,â Fernando says finally, leading the way back to the Mercedes motorhome. âWeâve got a race to win this weekend, and I donât want any distractions.â
You follow him, but thereâs a spring in your step that wasnïżœïżœïżœt there before, and Fernando notices. He doesnât say anything, though, just smiles to himself. Youâre going to be just fine, he thinks, more than fine.
As you walk together, side by side, you canât help but glance back once more, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Maybe, just maybe, this season is going to be full of surprises. And Fernando? Well, heâs ready for whatever comes next, as long as you are too.
***
The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the vineyard where the ceremony is taking place. Rows of chairs are lined up neatly on the manicured lawn, all facing a simple yet elegant archway draped in white fabric and adorned with soft blush roses. The air is filled with the quiet murmur of guests settling in, the occasional laugh breaking through the serene atmosphere.
Fernando adjusts his tie, glancing around with a mixture of pride and disbelief. How did they get here? It seems like only yesterday he was meeting you for the first time, a determined young driver who refused to be underestimated. Now, here you are, standing at the altar, poised to marry the man youâve chosen to spend your life with.
Fernando is seated in the front row, just to the left of the aisle, with Mark Webber by his side. The two exchange knowing smiles as the ceremony begins, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark has watched Oscar grow from a promising young talent into a man of integrity and strength, much like Fernando has done with you. Thereâs a quiet understanding between them, a mutual respect that goes beyond words.
As the officiant begins to speak, Fernando leans over slightly, catching Markâs eye. âI guess this makes us in-laws,â he whispers, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Mark chuckles softly, nodding. âSeems like it. Didnât see this coming back when we were racing, did we?â
âNot at all,â Fernando replies with a smile, glancing back at the altar where you and Oscar stand, hand-in-hand. âBut Iâm glad it did.â
The vows are simple, heartfelt, and deeply personal. Oscar goes first, his voice steady but filled with emotion.
âFrom the moment I met you,â Oscar begins, his eyes locked on yours, âI knew you were different. You challenged me, inspired me, and made me want to be a better person. In a world that often felt overwhelming, you were my calm, my constant. Today, I promise to stand by your side, through every victory and every defeat. I promise to support your dreams as if they were my own, to lift you up when youâre down, and to love you unconditionally, now and forever.â
Thereâs a brief pause, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with the depth of his sincerity. When itâs your turn, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself.
âOscar,â you begin, your voice clear and strong, âYou were the unexpected surprise in my life, the calm in my storm. From the moment we met, I knew you were special. Youâve been my partner on and off the track, my biggest supporter, and my best friend. Today, I promise to cherish every moment we have together, to grow with you, and to always be there for you, no matter what. I promise to love you with all that I am, and all that I will ever be. You are my heart, my soul, and my everything.â
Fernando feels a lump in his throat as you finish. Heâs never been one to get emotional, but today, sitting here, listening to you pour your heart out, he canât help but feel a surge of pride and love. He remembers the teenage girl who had to fight for every opportunity, the young woman who never gave up, and now, the bride standing before him, ready to take on the next chapter of her life.
The officiant speaks again, guiding you and Oscar through the final steps of the ceremony. When itâs time for the rings, Mark reaches into his pocket, retrieving Oscarâs band with a small, proud smile. Fernando does the same for you, his hands steady as he hands over the ring you will soon place on Oscarâs finger.
âWith this ring, I thee wed,â you both say, sliding the rings onto each otherâs fingers. The moment is profound, sealing your commitment not just in words, but in action.
âYou may kiss the bride,â the officiant finally announces, and thereâs a collective sigh of happiness from the gathered crowd as Oscar leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss thatâs both tender and full of promise.
Applause erupts, and as you and Oscar turn to face your family and friends, hands still entwined, Fernando catches your eye. Thereâs something unspoken between you, a bond that goes beyond blood, beyond words. You smile at him, and he nods in return, his chest swelling with emotion.
The ceremony concludes, and guests begin to make their way to the reception area, where a beautifully decorated marquee awaits. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses as everyone mingles, basking in the joy of the occasion.
The second dance is a traditional one with your father. You sway gently in his arms as he whispers words of wisdom, of pride, and of love. The moment is touching, a reminder of the family that has always stood behind you, even when the road was hard.
When the song ends, you hug your father tightly, thanking him for everything. But as the music transitions into something new, you catch Fernandoâs eye across the room. Thereâs a moment of hesitation, but then you make your way towards him, your heart pounding in your chest.
âNando,â you say softly as you reach him, âwould you join me for a dance?â
For a brief moment, Fernando is taken aback. Heâs always seen you as a strong, independent force â someone who has always forged their own path. But in this moment, he realizes just how much youâve come to mean to him, how deeply intertwined your lives have become.
âAre you sure?â He asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
You nod, your eyes shining with emotion. âYouâve been like a father to me. I couldnât imagine today without sharing this moment with you.â
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he takes your hand. The two of you move to the center of the dance floor, the music soft and slow. As you begin to dance, thereâs a sense of calm that settles over you both, a quiet understanding that needs no words.
âIâve watched you grow,â Fernando says after a few moments, his voice low so only you can hear, âinto one of the best drivers Iâve ever known, but more than that ⊠into an incredible person. Iâm so proud of you, more than I can ever say.â
Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, smiling up at him. âThank you. For everything. I wouldnât be here without you.â
âYou wouldâve found your way,â he replies, his tone firm. âYou always had it in you. I just gave you a little push.â
âA little?â You tease, and he laughs, the sound filled with warmth.
As the song comes to an end, Fernando pulls you into a tight hug, his hand resting protectively on the back of your head. âRemember, Iâll always be here for you, no matter what.â
âI know,â you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. âAnd Iâll always be here for you too.â
***
The antiseptic scent of the hospital hits Fernando the moment he steps into the delivery wing, mingling with the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. Itâs a familiar environment, yet so foreign to him. Heâs used to the adrenaline rush of the pit lane, the roar of engines, the calculated chaos of racing â but this, this is something entirely different. Heâs been in countless high-pressure situations, but none have ever felt like this.
As he makes his way down the hallway, his heart beats just a little faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of Oscar, and of the tiny new life thatâs just come into the world. When he reaches the door of your room, he hesitates for the briefest of moments, his hand hovering over the door handle.
Itâs not that heâs nervous â Fernando Alonso doesnât get nervous â but thereâs something about this moment that feels monumental, like the start of a new chapter in a book he didnât even realize he was writing.
He pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the room with a soft smile. The room is bathed in a warm, gentle light, far removed from the harsh brightness of the hallway. Itâs quiet, peaceful, with only the faint hum of machinery and the soft breaths of the newborn breaking the silence.
Youâre lying in the bed, looking tired but radiant, with a tiny bundle cradled in your arms. Oscar is beside you, his hand resting protectively on your shoulder, his eyes filled with awe and love. When you see Fernando, your face lights up, and despite the exhaustion etched into your features, thereâs a warmth in your smile that makes his heart swell.
âFernando,â you say softly, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. âCome meet him.â
He steps closer, his eyes drawn to the small figure in your arms. The baby is tiny, impossibly so, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, with a tuft of dark hair peeking out. Fernandoâs breath catches in his throat as he looks down at the baby, his heart pounding in a way thatâs both unfamiliar and entirely overwhelming.
âHeâs perfect,â Fernando murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. âWe think so too.â
You shift slightly, holding the baby out toward Fernando. âWould you like to hold him?â
For a moment, Fernando hesitates. Heâs held championship trophies, gripped the steering wheel at speeds that would make others blanch, but this? This is different. This is fragile, delicate, something that requires a gentleness heâs not sure he possesses. But when he sees the trust in your eyes, he nods, carefully taking the baby into his arms.
The weight is nothing â featherlight, almost â but itâs enough to make his hands tremble just the slightest bit. He cradles the baby close, his eyes wide as he studies the tiny features: the small nose, the delicate eyelids, the impossibly small fingers curled into little fists. The baby stirs slightly, his mouth opening in a silent yawn before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
âWhatâs his name?â Fernando asks, his voice thick with emotion.
You exchange a glance with Oscar before looking back at Fernando, your smile widening. âHis name is Theodore,â you say softly, âTheodore Fernando Piastri.â
Fernandoâs breath catches, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, heâs speechless, his mind struggling to process what heâs just heard.
âFernando?â He repeats, his voice barely audible.
You nod, your eyes shining with unshed tears. âWe wanted to honor you. Youâve been like a father to me, and now ⊠now youâre going to be a part of his life too. It just felt right.â
Fernando stares at you, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride, love, and something else â something deeper, something heâs never quite felt before. He looks down at Theodore, his namesake, and for the first time in a long while, he feels his eyes prick with tears.
âYou ⊠you didnât have to do that,â he says, his voice choked with emotion.
âBut we wanted to,â Oscar says, his voice firm but kind. âYouâve done so much for us, for Y/N. Itâs our way of saying thank you.â
Fernando swallows hard, nodding as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill over. Heâs always prided himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but this â this is something else entirely. This is a depth of feeling he wasnât prepared for.
âThank you,â he finally says, his voice thick. âIt means ⊠it means more to me than you can ever know.â
He looks back down at Theodore, his heart full to bursting. The baby stirs again, his tiny fingers twitching, and Fernando smiles, the tears finally spilling over as he lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding.
âGrandpa Nando,â you say suddenly, your voice filled with affection. âThatâs what weâre going to call you. How do you feel about that?â
Fernando lets out a laugh, the sound watery and full of joy. âI think I can get used to that,â he says, his voice trembling with emotion. âGrandpa Nando. I like it.â
You smile at him, your eyes soft with affection. âIâm glad. Youâve been a father figure to me, and now ⊠now you get to be a grandfather to him.â
The room falls into a comfortable silence, the weight of the moment settling over all of you. Fernando canât stop staring at Theodore, canât stop marveling at the tiny life in his arms. Heâs held many titles in his life â champion, driver, mentor â but this, this feels different. This feels like the most important role heâs ever played.
As he stands there, cradling the tiny life in his arms, he feels a sense of peace settle over him. This is where heâs meant to be, here with you, with Oscar, with Theodore. Heâs not just a mentor anymore; heâs family. And that, more than anything, is the greatest victory heâs ever achieved.
Finally, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, Fernando carefully hands Theodore back to you, his heart heavy with emotion. You take your son into your arms, holding him close as you smile up at Fernando, your eyes filled with gratitude.
âThank you,â you say softly. âFor everything. For being there for me, for guiding me, for ⊠for being a part of our lives.â
Fernando shakes his head, a small, tearful smile on his lips. âNo, thank you. Youâve given me more than I ever could have imagined. You â you and Oscar, and now Theodore â youâre my family. And thereâs nothing more important to me than that.â
You reach out, taking his hand in yours, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, connected by something deeper than words, deeper than racing, deeper than anything Fernando has ever known.
This is what it means to be family, he realizes. This is what it means to love, to care, to be there for each other, no matter what. And as he stands there, his heart full to bursting, he knows that this, more than any championship, more than any victory on the track, is what truly matters.
This is his greatest achievement.
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what they sound like when they finish first time, early + established relationship headcanons mature content, 18+ only
Wriothesley
First time with him: heâs quite nervous but on top of it heâs also very excited. as your tightness gave him overstimulation, he comes with a partially suppressed groan while holding onto your waist tightly.
Early relationship: because of heâs leading the way and focusing on pleasuring you first and utmost, itâs difficult for him to think of his own pleasure, so he doesnât moan on the early times with you, and when you come he enjoys your voice, not mixing it with his.
Established relationship/marriage: itâs the time when he indulges his needs to, so he no longer has to suppress his voice. he loves a good domestic sex with you and when he finishes, he might as well let out some steamy groans as evidence of his not only physical but emotional orgasm.
Tartaglia
First time with him: as heâs inexperienced, he gives in to the feelings of passion and groans his lungs out.
Early relationship: thereâs lots of pleasing you and only you, and tartaglia doesnât even need to be inside you to blow his release in his pants as he eats you out, his head between your thighs making shivers run down your spine. and just to make sure, heâs not exactly trying to muffle his sounds of bliss.
Established relationship/marriage: loud. just know it, the both of you are quite loud and no longer shy with one another as you share domestic relationship with intimacy included.
NeuvilletteÂ
First time with him: it was very difficult for him to stay quiet, starting from your tightness and ending with your sweet screams as you reach an orgasm brought to you by the hydro sovereign dragon.Â
Early relationship: he only lets out soft moans precisely when he cums, and he especially lets those escape his lips when youâre giving him an oral pleasure (letâs mention that Neuvillette is generally shocked that youâd agree to give him oral in the first place).
Established relationship/marriage: you need to tell him that you love his voice, because Neuvillette can do it differently. one day he allows you to be the only one groaning with passion, and the other day he gives in losing his head so much that he ends up screaming with you.
Pantalone
First time with him: hisses under his breath because of how much release you pulled out from him. he did not expect anything so pleasant, besides it has been a long time since he felt aroused by someone.Â
Early relationship: doesn't make sound at all when cumming. heâs focused on bringing pleasure to you (and listening to your orgasm) so he finds his own vocalisation tacky and improper.
Established relationship/marriage: can barely keep his mouth shut; the desire to moan for you is immense while heâs balls deep inside your gummy heat, ready to squirt his release anytime soon.Â
Ayato
First time with him: listen, but Ayato here is the only man who prefers being completely silent during bed activities and reacting to the bodily sensations with his body. he simply doesnât moan and he may seem cold in sex activities, but the movements of his body tell a different story.
Early relationship: Ayato is quite adamant to your requests of him being louder in bed. he keeps sticking to the tradition of him being the quiet one.
Established relationship/marriage: might finally allow you to see his vulnerable side, but only in established relationship. as he comes, he is more of a moaner than a groaner.
Capitano
First time with him: he did not expect you to be so good for him and he enjoys the first time immensely, groaning in the end of passion when your hands are intertwined tightly.
Early relationship: he usually groans only when cumming and the whole process he is silent as a fish. thatâs how good his self control is.
Established relationship/marriage: he makes a different various set of noises during his release together with you, usually shifting from rough grunting to gentle moaning in the end once he emptied his balls for his darling wife.
Dottore
First time with him: Dottore is really shy at the first time with you so he cages his feelings, even though it is ridiculously hard for him to suppress the moans as he cums with you. he breaks into a million pieces after having cherished you on the first time together in bed.
Early relationship: itâs difficult for Dottore to express his emotions and he is not great at interpreting what he feels in general, but he is good at picking up your mood, so he observes you a good amount of time. when the two of you get the desired release, Dottore doesnât back off and vocalises his orgasm to you.
Established relationship/marriage: he is loud, expressive and nasty, this is it.
Alhaitham
First time with him: everything about you is too much for him, and when your pussy squeezes him tight, your body attempting to milk him dry, Alhaitham loses it with a raspy delicious groan.
Early relationship: lots of gasps, moans, he almost begs you to come together and as the two of you do, Alhaitham is sure to display his emotions to you. not all at once though, but as his eyebrows furrow together and he splatters his seed, heâll most likely end up panting into the shell of your ear.
Established relationship/marriage: this is the time when he becomes completely shameless in your bed activities and he gives in to pleasure completely, showing you lots of satisfaction while whimpering and gasping out loud as his lips quiver with your name.
Dainsleif
First time with him: he is shocked with your willingness to accept him and when he finishes, he does so with a loud, raspy moan, embarrassed, though, he buries his face into your neck to muffle it.
Early relationship: he lets you tease him more and more but ends up letting out noise much more than heâd like to. the pleasure of having you in his arms so intimately and closely drives him nuts and he comes with a moan much more exposed than the previous time.
Established relationship/marriage: not afraid to be shameless anymore, Dainsleif not only releases his pent up load for you, but his pretty moans as well. oh, he is not going to be quiet, not with you.
Baizhu
First time with him: it was insanely difficult for dr. Snek to keep his composure while ruining you with his gracious body. the sounds of your pleasure seemed to have awoken something deep within him and the calm facade of the pharmacist broke at once. what I mean to say is that yes, he moaned during your first time.
Early relationship: he sincerely tries to keep quiet and fails, however. you just feel too good, pulling him closer and taunting him to be rougher, less courteous with you.
Established relationship/marriage: oh, how he loves to devour you whole, and how deep that groan is, coming from his lips as he enjoys you spread out on his working desk.
#genshin x reader#genshin impact smut#genshin smut#capitano x reader#capitano smut#capitano x female reader#capitano x y/n#capitano x you#pantalone x reader#pantalone x female reader#pantalone x you#pantalone x y/n#alhaitham x y/n#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x reader#ayato x y/n#ayato x you#ayato smut#ayato x reader#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x female reader#neuvillette x y/n#neuvillette x you#neuvillette smut#dottore smut#dottore x female reader#dottore x you#wriothesley x you#wriothesley smut#ramennonutnovember
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I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like âno way, that sounds SO fun! Letâs do that RIGHT NOW!â So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.
The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the worldâs most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.
So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.
My cousin hid in my grandpaâs little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didnât know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpaâs face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.
This was NOT the first time in my life Iâd been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being âsuicidally honestâ so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kidsâ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.
My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that Iâd be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.
Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said âOk, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.â
That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpaâs house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.
We get to my grandpaâs house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldnât sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.
The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lessonâąïžthe cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didnât have much room to complain since Iâd still been Put To Work.
I think that was a lesson for both of us, although Iâm not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpaâs way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesnât count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me â€ïž
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baby doll ~ sim jaehyun x reader
ౚৠinspired by this request !! âĄ àŹ âËâč [ ì ìŽíŹ ] â in which jake eats out his virgin girlfriend for the first time and ends up going batshit insane with obsession & possession
word count ; 2.7k
dom! jake x sub! reader . corruption kink , oral , lots of praise , very very slight degrading if u squint , fingering , neck kisses , hickeys , Jake is a little bit of a pervert , not proof read , this kinda sucks oh well
Jake and you have been together for four months , and the two of you have decided to take things slow.
he was so so patient with you- so kind and loving , never has he ever made you feel uncomfortable or forced to do anything. he wanted to go at your own pace, even if that meant he had to rub one out after a heated make out session in private once a while.
he was the sweetest boyfriend ever and he loves you so much..
so much he began to slip into insanity
you two have had conversations before, such as establishing a safe word and what kinds of things the two of you were kind of into
which led him to discover that you were in fact a virgin.
ever since you told him that small fact about yourself, he drove himself further into madness.
how on earth were you a virgin?
he thinks to himself on a regular basis. you're too fucking gorgeous.
the thought of having the perfect little girl who has never experienced having sex was phonenomal. he wanted to show you all the different ways he could make you feel good, which positions he could fold you into, he wanted to force perfect whines and moans out of your mouth as he fucked his cock deep inside you for the first time. he wanted to teach you how to suck him off- imagining your round eyes looking up at him while your mouth was stuffed full of his length was too much for him to contemplate.
Jake knows its wrong, but when he's snooped through your room a couple times while you were in the shower. he imagined what your naked body looked like when it was wet, how the water droplets would travel inbetween your breasts and thighs- the picture made him unbelievably hard-, he then found himself discovering the awful cute panties that are folded neatly in your underwear drawer that have adorable matching bras. he also discovered a measly pink vibrator tucked away in a box of that underwear drawer, completely dead and his mind began to race.
have you came to the thought of him at all? do you imagine him fucking you as you use the pathetic little toy on your clit?
he couldn't seem to stop his dirty thoughts that began to cloud ever part of his being.
the thought of you wearing one of those adorable pieces of underwear underneath your clothes made him feel all sorts of things. and oh god whenever you would walk around your apartment with just a hoodie on made him wonder if you were wearing one of the cute lacy panties with a black bow stitched in the middle.
here you were, reaching up on your tippy toes to grab a glass out of the cabinet.
and that god damn hoodie of his that you're wearing began to ride up to show the curve of your ass, the lacy underwear peaking out from underneath.
Jake felt himself growing in his jeans just at the sight, you truly had no fucking clue what you were doing to him.
"come here baby" jakes voice traveled through the apartment. you pop your head out of the kitchen with the biggest smile on your face.
"coming, I was just getting water" you trot into the living room, setting down the glass of water onto the surface of the coffee table. you stand up and look at him, that cute smile on your face still prominent.
his hoodie falls around your mid thigh, the article of clothing completely swallowing your figure and he begins to wonder how you look underneath.
he would love your body regardless of its shape of course, but that doesn't stop the dirty thoughts that form in his skull. every fiber of his being is telling him to rip it off of you and stuff your face into the couch below him and fuck you raw- but he decides on the latter.
"come here doll, let me look at you" your feet patter on the hardwood floors as you walk over to your boyfriend, standing in between his spread legs. his hands find the outsides of your thighs , his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your exposed skin.
"you're so beautiful" his words make a deep blush coat your cheeks. his hands suddenly grip your legs, shifting your body so that you can sit on his lap facing him.
you gasp at his forwardness, but lean into his touch nontheless. your head leans down and your breath fans his face. Jake looks up at you through his eyelashes, admiring your beautiful face that's beet red at his gentle words.
you both lean in for a kiss, your chapstick smearing onto his lips as your mouths move together. your hands move to wrap around his neck, pushing your body into his front.
the kiss quickly began to escalate, your mind was fuzzy, your hands were frantic, and your pussy began to wetten.
his tongue intruded your lips, sliding against yours while his hands moved from your thighs up to your hips underneath the hoodie you were wearing.
his fingers played with the hem of your underwear, a quite whine leaving your throat- to which Jake happily swallowed. your hands moved up to his head, your fingers lacing in his thick locks in order to tug and pull on them.
now it was jakes turn to moan into your mouth, his fingers tightening on your hips as he began to grind his growing bulge into your core.
everything felt hot and overstimulating , your head began to hurt as you quickly pulled off of your boyfriend.
your lips were kiss swollen and your face was red. Jake looked up at you with concern, his hands instantly slipping out of the hoodie in order to cup your cheeks.
"what's wrong my love, are you okay?" you nodded your head trying to catch your breath. your eyes fly closed and your hands grip into his shoulders.
"we don't have to baby doll, lets put on a movie and cudd-"
"I- I want to.." your voice was small, tone laced with embarrassment. jakes eyes widen in shock and he tilts your head to look at him.
"we don't have to if you dont want to , im okay sweetheart I promise" he reassures you , as hes done for the millionth time since the two of you started dating. your eyes open and lock onto his.
"I want to, Jake... I really really do im just- nervous is all.. what if it hurts?" oh my god.
Jake feels his chest tighten and he bites back a smirk, his hands moving down to cup the slope of your waist. he wished you wouldn't have said that, because all he wants to do now is manipulate your body into any position he wishes while he takes away any and all sense of innocence you have in your body.
"how about this baby, I'll eat you out and finger you until you're ready for me, hmm?" jakes eyes darken slightly , you avert your eyes from his with an embarrassing huff.
"what it... what if i.. I dont know.." you stutter over your words, not wanting to finish the stupid sentence.
"big girl words, doll" you sigh again and cover your face with your hands, muttering into your palms
"what if I taste bad" your words are muffled, but Jake can hear them regardless. he takes his big hands and wraps them in his hold, forcing your hands away from your red face as he speaks to you.
"you will not taste bad , I swear... how on earth would you have a bad taste, you are the sweetest girl to ever walk this damn earth" his compliment makes you giggle.
there is absolutely no way you could taste bad and he knows it.
he's smelt your underwear before out of pure curiosity and has never been more obsessed with the idea of eating you out ever since.
before you could protest, hes picking you up into the air. your legs wrap around his waste and your arms tighten around his neck with a squeal.
"Jakeee" you drag out his name with a giggle as he walks over to your room. he sets you on the foot of the bed and you feel even more embarrassment at all your stuffed animals looking at you.
Jake stands inbetween your legs, his hands on your knees in order to keep them apart.
you lay on your back and reach above your head, turning around your stuffed rabbits that rest in front of your pillows before sitting up and facing him.
Jake has to stifle a laugh that threatens to bubble up passed his chest, but one makes it out anyways.
"dont laugh at me.. I dont want them watching" you are too fucking adorable, his heart swells in his chest at your words.
Jake leans downs, his body towering over yours as he brings you into another kiss, this time it's more heated; demanding as his mouth moves against yours rhythmically. your hands move to his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders. you feel his hands at the base of the hoodie. he breaks the kiss with a wet pop, he looks into your lust-filled eyes- a silent plea.
"can... can we keep it on..?" you ask him, and he instantly responds.
"of course baby, anything you want sweetheart" Jake brings one of his hands to press against the mattress behind you before he gently leans you back, your head falling onto the mattress gently.
you feel yourself growing wetter, your clit pulsating in your panties as he kisses you deeply once more. your hands move to his hair- tugging on it once more.
Jake bites your lower lip and you hiss, your hips grind up into the air in a desperate search for friction. he trails his kisses to your neck before sucking down on your skin, leaving the prettiest purple marks that have you arching your back while breathless whimpers drip off your tongue like honey.
Jake detaches from your neck and sinks down to his knees in front of the bed, his face coming down to your clothed pussy. he pushes the hoodie up around your stomach, baring your underwear to him. your face is hot and you worry about how you taste and look, attempting to control your breathing as you lay down on the mattress.
"shh baby, its okay, I got you" his words reassure your overthinking mind. he brings a cold finger up to your clothed clit and presses down, earning himselfa sharp inhale from the perfect woman above.
he rubs his digit in soft circles, coaxing your body to relax.
"j-jake.." you whine as he chuckles. after a moment of concentrated massaging to your clothed clit- he sees a prominent wet patch form on your underwear and he curses at the sight.
without thinking, he pulls your panties to the side and slips his fingers through your wet folds. your back arches and your eyes close at the feeling.
"so wet for me already?" he teases you. your mind is racing - as is your heart while he pulls his fingers away from your heat in order to pull your pretty panties down passed your ankles.
you sit up on your forearms as he places his hands on your knees in order to pull your legs apart.
and the sight of your dripping pussy makes him fall for you all over again. the unholy thoughts that run ramped in his mind are sick, the way he wants to split you in half and fuck you dumb overtakes his thoughts- but he calms them in an instant.
he brings his face closer to your heat so his breath fans your aching pussy. your arousal drips down your ass and onto the sheets before he brings his tongue out in order to lick a stripe up your pussy- making you shudder in your hold.
he does it again, and again, and again- making your breathing rapid and uneven
"so sweet.." he mumbles before wrapping his arms around your legs in order to pull you down onto his face- his lips automatically wrapping around your clit.
your mouth slacks open in a gasp followed by loud moans. his tongue works its magic against you- flicking and sucking around your sensitive bundle of nerves. your hands fist in the sheets, using them as leverage to keep you grounded.
Jake groans into your pussy as he feels your hole clench around nothing- so he brings his middle finger up to your cunt before sliding it inside your tight pussy.
you quite literally suck his finger inside you before clenching around him. Jake lets out a stream of curses into your wet pussy
"fuck.. so tight. such a perfect baby doll falling apart in my hands" you moan at his words, your hips rocking into his face.
the unfamiliar feeling of Jake eating you out makes body feel weak and your mind feel empty- stars beginning to form in the darkness behind your eyelids.
Jakes finger pumps inside your pussy, curling in desperate search for that sweetspot deep inside you- and when he finds it, your back arches even further off the bed as you squeal. he chuckles against you- sending vibrations through your entire body starting at your core.
"found it" you feel tears well up in your eyes, and Jake decides to scrape his teeth gently against your clit- making you hiss at the odd feeling.
"god you're so fucking beautiful, my perfect little angel" his finger repeatedly kisses your cherry-sweet spot, the pleasure overriding your senses as you grab his hair and grind into his face.
"j-jake please.." you have no idea why your begging, but the sound of you moan his name as you come undone in the palm of his hand makes jakes cock rock hard- straining against his jeans and he swears he could come just by eating you out.
his grip on your thigh tightens, his tongue concentrated on your puffy, swollen clit.
an unfamiliar feeling forms in the pit of your stomach, and you begin to feel hot and uncomfortable.
"j-jake i.. feel weird hmm, pl-plea-se" your moans pick up volume and your legs attempt to close around his head, but the grip he has on your thighs is strong and unmoving.
"doing such a good job for me sweet girl, wanna cum angel?" you shake your head frantically, the wave of your orgasm beginning to crash down on you.
"y-yes please" you answer, making Jake pout his lips into you.
"such a good girl, you can cum baby, I got you sweetheart im here" you fall into this hands as the coil in your tummy begins to unravel, your hands come to cover your eyes and your legs begin to shake.
your moans turn into high-pitched mewls and cries
"oh my god Jake!" one of your hands comes down to your side in order to reach for your boyfriend, and he just about breaks down.
you're reaching for him.
you want to hold his hand as eats you out, as you come all over him.
he unwraps his arm from your leg and instantly grips your hand in his, and that pushes you over the edge as your fluids squirt out of your pussy and all over his face- dripping down his chin to stain the sheets below.
Jake gawks at you, his mouth slack open and his eyes wide as you become a puddle
the realization of what just happened hits him;
you just fucking squirted for him.
"fuck- you're so perfect oh my god- such a good girl, pretty girl" as you begin to settle down, Jake pulls his fingers out of you and stands up before leaning down to face you.
he tucks a stray hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead.
"you did such a good job for me baby doll, so pretty" he compliments.
"I-i was?" Jake nods his head and takes you into his arms.
"yes baby, the best"
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Sex Doll
Im Yeojin x Male Reader + special guest Son Hyeju
Kinkvember Chapter 3
Main kinks: objectification, electrocution, submission
Word count: 5404.
Your decades-long sexual perversions have resulted in you having a long collection of items. Movies, magazines, toys, dollsâeverything related to sex that you could collect you did, so much that you wanted to open a museum of sex with those items.
But today you were surprised by the new item your assistant had brought: a natural sized sex doll trapped inside a wooden box that looked so tiny you didn't believe she was actually at full scale.
"We've imported her straight from South Korea; her name is Yeojin," your assistant Hyeju told you. You looked at the small, pretty doll and marveled at her. "Wow, that's the best sex doll I've ever got for my collection," you said.
"You'll be surprised by the things she can do; she's actually very responsive to commands and reacts to every stimulation you give herâtruly the cutting-edge technology among sex dolls," Hyeju said to you.
Yeojin looked very enticing inside that wooden box. Her body was already completely exposed; her little legs lifted and stuck out through a pair of holes in the glass sealing the box; her arms were tied up and her eyes covered with a blindfold; while her vagina and anus popped out of the box through a big circular hole at one of the sides.
Hyeju rubbed her hands against Yeojin's pussy, making the little doll squirt. "Look at this, boss, the sex dolls they are fabricating in Asia are so advanced the best ones already come with a squirting function," she said, spanking her pussy a few times. "Wow, her skin looks so natural," you said, impressed at how human-like Yeojin was.
You spanked Yeojin's ass and tickled her toes, leading to an immediate reaction from the little sex doll. "You weren't kidding, Hyeju; she's indeed very responsive to stimulation," you said. "Look at this, boss," Hyeju says, fisting Yeojin's vagina and leading to the sex doll moaning. "Hmmmmmmmmm," you could hear sounds coming out of Yeojin's mouth.Â
"She's got a pretty little cunt, doesn't she?" Hyeju asks you as she spreads Yeojin's pussy lips, giving you a glimpse of her pink fuckhole. You touch it a little bit and get amazed by how wet it is. As a guy with a long sex toy collection, this was better than any fleshlight or sex doll you had on it.
"Check this out, boss," Hyeju says, spanking Yeojin's ass multiple times. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHHH," the sex doll reacts, screaming loud. You start pinching her pussy and notice her body starts to shake as well.
"Let's make her suffer," Hyeju says, bringing an electric baton and giving Yeojin electric shocks right at her toes. "AHHHHHH," the sex doll screams. "What are you here for?" Hyeju asks Yeojin, giving her another electric shock.
"I'm here to, cum," Yeojin answers, shocking you. Damn, what kind of artificial intelligence are they making out there in Asia? Because she was able to answer Hyeju's question perfectly even if she was twisting in pain from all those shocks.
"Wrong, you're here to make a paycheck for our sex museum that's going to open soon," Hyeju replies, slapping Yeojin with the shock batom multiple times. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," is all she can say, screaming every time Hyeju hits her. "So are you going to be a good sex doll for us?" Hyeju asks. "YES," Yeojin answers. "Yes what?" Hyeju says, unsatisfied. "Yes, ms. Hyeju," she then replies.
"So you know my name, little bitch," Hyeju says, hitting Yeojin with the baton right at her pussy. "And what's your name, little princess?" you ask her. "YEOJIN," she answers, screaming. Indeed, she seems really well programmed, truly a very advanced sex doll.
You tickle Yeojin's toes while Hyeju puts a Hitachi vibrator in her pussy while fingering the little doll at the same time. Yeojin screams hard, and her body twists endlessly, making both of you very entertained. "AHAHAHAHAHA," Yeojin starts laughing, but those laughs are quickly turned into more screams as Hyeju shows no mercy for her cunt, increasing the pace of her fingering and the speed of the vibrator, making Yeojin squirt all over her clothes.
"OH GOD, OH GOD, AHHHHHHH, FUCKKKK," Yeojin screams and groans as Hyeju's fingers go very deep in her pussy, showing her no mercy. "Holy fuck, you weren't lying, Hyeju, what an amazing sex doll you have brought for me," you say to your assistant. Hyeju turns Yeojin into a screaming mess while you keep playing with her feet, her alternating laughs and screams turning you on.
"YOU THINK THIS IS FUCKING FUNNY?" you ask Yeojin as she keeps laughing. "Punish her, Hyeju, break her toes," you tell your assistant, who spanks Yeojin's feed very hard, prompting more screams from the sex doll. You get down low and play with the Hitachi. "I think she likes to be hit," Hyeju says, taking the Hitachi from you and placing it right at Yeojin's clit while she fists her whole arm inside her vagina.Â
"HARDER, HARDER," Yeojin begs as she gets fisted hard by Hyeju's long arms. "That's a tight little pussy," your assistant says. Yeojin can't take it anymore, as you see her slamming the walls of the wooden box, begging for mercy, but Hyeju just doesn't seem to stop, fisting her even harder. "AHHHHHHHHHHH," Yeojin keeps screaming. "Well, you said you wanted to cum," you tell her.
"Ask your master if she will let you cum," you tell Yeojin. "MAY A CUM, MS. HYEJU?" Yeojin begs. "Not yet, little bitch," she answers. "Look at this dirty bitch, boss; her squirt is making my white top get completely wet," Hyeju says. Yeojin bypasses any authorization, squirting all over your assistant, who reaches her hand inside the box and runs it over Yeojin's body, making her taste her own cum, before choking her as a punishment. "I didn't tell you to cum, stupid bitch," she says.
"You should thank her for making you cum so hard," you say to Yeojin. "Thank you, Ms. Hyeju," Yeojin answers. "Louder," Hyeju responds. "THANK YOU, MS. HYEJU," Yeojin now screams. "That's what I'm talking about," Hyeju answers, spanking her ass. "That doll is getting smarter each minute," she continues.
"Say thank you, bitch," you say to Yeojin as your fingers enter her pussy at full speed now. "THANK YOU, BITCH," she answers as you spank her cunt and some juices leak out. "She came earlier; I think you should punish her, boss," Hyeju says. "You're damn right," you reply to your assistant.
You unzip your pants, springing out your big cock and slapping it against Yeojin's cunt. "You asked for it, didn't you?" Hyeju says. As you inserted it against Yeojin's fuckhole, you can tell this is the most human-like pussy you have ever found on a sex doll. To make things better, Hyeju gives her some electric shocks on her toes that make Yeojin's walls contract hard against your shaft, giving it an unbelievable tightness sensation.
Yeojin is so small that you just need to get half of your cock in to already make her scream. Hyeju adds to her pain, giving the doll electric shocks right at her clit. "AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, FUCKKKKK," Yeojin can't stop screaming. After taking it slow at first, you just can't resist her tight pussy, pumping it fast and hard under Hyeju's watch, enjoying Yeojin's endless screaming inside the box, which only makes you push harder. Hyeju keeps giving Yeojin more and more shocks, even getting kicked in her face when the little doll reacts hard to them and to your cock, absolutely wrecking her little cunt.
"Be nice to your masters," Hyeju says to Yeojin as you drill her so hard the wooden box shakes like crazy. You quickly get addicted to her warm pussy. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Yeojin screams as Hyeju puts the baton right at her clit, before your fingers replace it. "Did it hurt?" Hyeju asks. "YES, MS. HYEJU," she answers.
"Well, we are just starting," Hyeju says, handling the shocking as she moves to Yeojin's feet while you stay put, pounding her pussy relentlessly. "AHHHHHHH," more screams come out of the box. The speed you pump her makes you quickly get sweaty and drop your clothes on the floor as you fuck Yeojin like a madman. "Say thank you," you tell her. "Thank you," she answers. "Thank you, who?" you reply. "THANK YOU, MASTER," Yeojin replies, making you laugh.
You pull out of Yeojin, a white liquid quickly oozing out of her vagina. "Damn boss, you already came inside her; I don't think the museum's visitors will be able to last long with her, then," Hyeju says. As you jerk your cock off trying to get hard again, you let Hyeju handle Yeojin's cum-filled cunt, massaging and fisting it nonstop, before putting the Hitachi back on it. "Your pussy is so sensive," Hyeju says. "AHHHHH, YEAH," is all Yeojin can answer as her legs keep shaking.
Hyeju's magic hands and magic want make Yeojin cum multiple times. "I didn't tell you to cum, bitch," Hyeju says again, punishing Yeojin with more shocks in her bottom area, torturing the little sex doll much to her sadistic enjoyment. "So you like getting punished, bitch?" you ask Yeojin. "YES, I FUCKING LIKE IT," she replies, screaming.
But Hyeju isn't done yet, bringing a burning cattle prod and sticking it through the hole in the box, marking the logo of the museum right at Yeojin's belly. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," she loudly screams as her skin gets burned. "You're our property now, bitch," Hyeju says. "You love this, don't you?' she then asks. "Yes, I love it," Yeojin answers.
"I love torturing this bitch," Hyeju says. "Wanna cum again for your boss?" she asks Yeojin. "YESSSSSS," the little doll screams. "You're teaching her some good lessons with all those shocks," you say to your assistant. "Well, I think she wants you to teach her some lessons with your big cock, don't you?" Hyeju replies.
You get back inside Yeojin, this time using her tiny little asshole, making her scream from the start as she's already hypersensitive. You spank her cute butt, making her body twist and turn. Hyeju opens the box, allowing you to choke Yeojin as you fuck her hard in the ass while your assistant pinches her nipples and hummiliates her with some slaps in the face.Â
Yeojin looks tired and sweaty as Hyeju asks her. "What lessons did you learn inside that box?" she asks Yeojin, spitting on her face. "TO FOLLOW WHAT MY MASTERS TELL ME," she answers, barely able to think straight at this point. "What else?" Hyeju asks. "TO GET USED AND FUCKED HARD," Yeojin says.
Indeed, that's exactly what you're doing to her now, pounding Yeojin's ass really fast while Hyeju keeps toying with the sex doll's upper body. "It's time to get this bitch out of the box," you say, pushing Yeojin out, making the blindfolded little doll feel relieved for a second. Yeojin can barely walk as Hyeju uncovers her eyes, letting her watch you put her hands in her pussy.
"Get on your knees," Hyeju orders as you stroke your dick and choke Yeojin. "Tell me you're a whore," you say to Yeojin. "I'm a whore," she answers. "Say it louder," you reply. "I'M A WHORE," she screams. "Repeat with your master: I'm a fucking nasty fucking whore," you then say. "I'M A FUCKING NASTY FUCKING WHORE," Yeojin answers.
"Such an obedient sex doll, you truly gave me a great gift, Hyeju," you say. "Thank you, boss," your assistant replies. "What's your favorite toy, nasty whore?" Hyeju asks. "The shocking baton," Yeojin answers. Hyeju then shoves it in her tongue and runs it over her sweaty body all the way down to her pussy with you choking her. "AHHHHH FUCK!" Yeojin screams as Hyeju hits her pussy with lots of shocks before kissing her and spitting on her face.
"Wanna keep going?" Hyeju asks Yeojin. "Yes, Ms. Hyeju," she answers. "Then let's go to the other room," Hyeju says.
"Are you thirsty?" Hyeju starts asking. "Yes, ms. Hyeju," Yeojin says once again as Hyeju drops a cup of water on a dog bowl while you keep choking Yeojin. "Then drink it," Hyeju orders as you push Yeojin's head against the bowl, watching her lick it like a puppy while you spank her ass. "Bark like a dog," you tell her. "Woof, woof," Yeojin says. "Perfect," you say, laughing at her before Hyeju shoves her face against the bowl. "Drink it, bitch," Hyeju says. "Good girl," she continues, looking at Yeojin's wet face as you keep telling her to bark while turning her cheeks red.
"Put your face in the water," Hyeju orders as Yeojin gets pushed down it. You come from behind and insert your cock back in her pussy while Hyeju grabs her head and shoves it against the bow, Yeojin trembling as your hard thrusts make her body shake. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH," she screams. "Arch that ass for him," Hyeju says as you and Yeojin give literal meaning to doggystyle, fucking her like a good submissive puppy.
You grab Yeojin by her shoulders and keep leveling her cunt. She screams like a bitch as you show no signs of slowing down. Her cheeks are completely red after so much spanking, and so are the walls of her pussy after so much drilling from your big cock.
"Open your mouth," Hyeju tells Yeojin as you pull out of her, and she turns her around. You slap your cock all over her doll-esque face as she screams. "Do you like that dick on your face?" you ask her. "I LIKE THAT FUCKING DICK IN MY FACE," she answers, leading you to shove it down her throat, grab her hair, and start fucking her face like crazy.Â
"There you go, bitch, gag on this cock," you say to her. Yeojin giggles. "Do you think this is funny, bitch?' you ask her. "No, no, sorry, master," Yeojin answers. But it's too late. Hyeju comes and ties her arms up as you choke the little sex doll while stuffing your cock all the way down her throat. Yeojin loses her breath, but you just don't care; the more tired she looks, the harder you fuck her face.
"Say it loud for me: I love cock," you say to her, fucking her face hard. Yeojin doesn't answer for a while; when she does, all she gets is more facefucking. "Such a big, nasty whore," you tell her as Hyeju ties a rope around Yeojin's neck. "Tell me again what you are," you say. "I'M A BIG FUCKING SLUT," Yeojin answers screaming, with her mouth quickly getting shut down once again by your massive cock fucking it.
"You make my pussy so wet, master, keep fucking my face," Yeojin begs as you stuff her mouth while Hyeju keeps tying the little sex doll up. "You're such a pretty little whore," you tell her. "Then say it out loud: I want to suck more cock," you continue. "I WANNA SUCK MORE COCK," Yeojin screams as your hands heavily press her neck.
You give Yeojin what she asks for, stuffing her mouth full of cock. Yeojin puts a pair of clamps in Yeojin's nipples and gets the amazing view of your cock bulging under Yeojin's tiny throat with your tip hitting right where the rope she placed on Yeojin's neck is at.
"Knock knock," you say, toying at Yeojin. "WHO'S THERE?" You can hear her screaming just to get by your cock, fully stuffed in her mouth. "It's your master's big cock," you say, laughing at her. Hyeju plays with Yeojin's boobs as you continue to make her choke on your cock before your assistant grabs the little sex doll to her side. "Who told you to get on your feet?" Hyeju asks as Yeojin tries to get up.
Hyeju drags Yeojin to a dinner table. "Bend over," she orders. Yeojin can only scream as you give her butt a little spanking. You spread Yeojin's pussy lips as Hyeju shoves a dildo up them. "There you go," you say as Hyeju starts thrusting the dildo up Yeojin's cunt. And that's just a warm-up.
You come from behind and stuff your cock in Yeojin's ass, giving her multiple spanks while doing so. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH," Yeojin screams, but it gets muffled by an automatic thrusting machine that Hyeju turns on and shoves right at her mouth, making the little sex doll go airtight. To make things even worse for poor Yeojin, Hyeju brings back the Hitachi want and shoves it in her cunt as well.
Yeojin's body twirls as she's getting stuffed from all sides. It feels like she's getting electrocuted multiple times, her body moving like someone who just got struck by lightning. Hyeju has no mercy for her and lets you handle Yeojin all by yourself while she keeps screaming as she spreads Yeojin's legs and then allows you to grab them and take full control.
"Don't take your fucking cunt away," Hyeju says as your cock gets back deep inside Yeojin's pussy. "YES, MS. HYEJU," she screams. "AHHHHHHH," Yeojing screams as you hit her cervix. "AHHHHHHH," she then screams again as Hyeju dumps cold water over her tiny body.
Your cock stabs Yeojin's pussy hard. "AH, AH, AH, AH, AH," she repeatadely screams, Hyeju coming to grab her neck as Yeojin squirts, pushing your cock out. "If you want to cum, then ask for permission," Hyeju says. "I wanna cum, please, Ms.. Hyeju, LET ME CUM," Yeojin begs as you pound her violently. "CAN I PLEASE CUM?" Yeojin asks. "Yes, please cum for me; make me proud, you dirty little slut," she answers. "I'M FUCKING CUMMMING," Yeojin screams as she is utterly wasted and squirts all over the floor.
"I told you not to take your cunt away," Hyeju says, spitting on Yeojin's face. "Now you're going to let him fuck you in the ass instead," she continues. You follow Hyeju's instructions and switch holes, manhandling Yeojin's ass hard from the start and pushing the limits of the little sex doll. "AHHHHH FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" she screams. "Don't you fucking slide way; do everything in your power to stay on his cock," Hyeju commands as Yeojin can't stop screaming, the sex doll just rolling her eyes under Hyeju's watch as her ass gets destroyed.
You briefly pull out of Yeojin's ass and start playing with her pussy, pinching her lips and rubbing her clit hard, making her twist and scream. "You want that dick inside you again?" Hyeju asks. "OH, YES, PLEASE," Yeojin begs as you get back in her pussy. "Turn your head down and watch that monster cock bulge under your belly," Hyeju commands, shoving Yeojin's head for her to watch the destruction you impose in her little cunt.
Your balls clap hard against Yeojin's cheeks while Hyeju pinches her nippes. "AHHHHHHHHHH," she screams. You go back to toying with her little clit, making Yeojin shake like an earthquake just hit her. You close her legs and fuck her sidways hard in the ass again, just switching between her fuckholes at will. But in the end, you have truly found a perfect new toy to play with.
"Her clit is so small yet it throbs so hard," you say as you put your hands in her pussy once again to play with it. Yeojin's face turns red as your hands make her squirt and cum. "You want that cock in your pussy again?" Hyeju asks her. "Yes, Ms. Hyeju," Yeojin answers. "Then tell him what you want," Hyeju replies. "I WANT THAT COCK IN MY PUSSY," Yeojin screams once again.
"You want it?" Hyeju stays asking. "YES, MS. HYEJU," Yeojin answers and gets it as your cock finds its way back into her little cunt. Hyeju chokes Yeojin with the rope, and your fast thrusts catch her unguarded, nearly making her fall off the table. "OHHHHH NOOOOO," she screams as your cock shows no mercy towards her pussy, loud sounds coming from your hips clapping against her cheeks. You hold Yeojin by her tiny waist and deliver her a punishment she won't ever forget. "AHHHHH, FUCKKKK," she stays screaming.
"Make her cum," Hyeju tells you. Yeojin is so numb at this point that tears flow from her eyes. She cries like a baby, but that only makes you push harder. You and Hyeju are delighted to watch this cute sex doll suffer as much as possible. "AHHHHHH, I'M GONNA FUCKING CUM," Yeojin screams.
"Get on your knees again," Hyeju commands as she pushes Yeojin like a knight riding a horse. "What do you do when you get to cum?" she asks Yeojin. "I THANK MY MASTERS," the sex doll answers. "I shouldn't have reminded you again," Hyeju replies, spitting on Yeojin's face. "Then why didn't you thank us? Were you too distracted?" Hyeju asks. "Yes, I'm sorry, Ms. Hyeju," Yeojin answers. "And do you think I give a fuck about you being distracted?" Hyeju then says. "No, sorry," Yeojin answers.
"You're damn right about that; I don't give a fuck about you; you're nothing but a fuckdoll that should be humilitated like the little whore you are. Now get your face on the ground and your ass up,"" Hyeju commands. "What are you for us, little whore?" Hyeju asks. "A SEX DOLL," Yeojin answers.
Hyeju isn't satisfied, bringing the Hitachi back into Yeojin's pussy and fisting her anus. The little doll starts to squirt hard. "AHHHHHH, YOU MAKE ME FUCKING CUM SO HARD, MS. HYEJU," Yeojin screams. "Keep your fucking face on the floor and thank me, you fucking slut," Hyeju says. "Thank you, Ms. Hyeju," Yeojin answers.
"Time to teach her another lesson," you say, putting your shoes against Yeojin's face. "Lick it, little whore," you command, and she obliges while Hyeju still turns her pussy into a squirting machine.
"I CAN'T..." Yeojin tries to scream, but Hyeju interrupts her. "You can't what? What can't you do, little whore?" she asks the tiny girl. "Nothing, nothing, sorry, Ms. Hyeju, I will do whatever my masters want," Yeojin retracts. "You want to give up? Are you a failure, stupid whore?" Hyeju asks her. "NO, I'M NOT AHHHHHHH," Yeojin yells as the stimulation from Hyeju's vibrator is too much for her to overcome.
"Crawl and bark," Hyeju commands as she grabs Yeojin's hair. The sex doll keeps moving across the floor on all fours, you chasing her to spank her ass multiple times and laughing. Hyeju teases Yeojin with the electric shock baton. "AHHHHHHHH," she yells again. "Now find the boss' cock or I will electrocute you again," Hyeju orders.
Yeojin's vision is blurred at this point, and she struggles to find your cock. Hyeju gets mad at her. "Come on, whore, find his cock," she says, following Yeojin across the floor. "Spread your legs," you tell Yeojin, who manages to oblige even though she can barely see you. You then stick the Hitachi back in her pussy and enjoy watching her body shake and twist as you and Hyeju take turns spanking her ass while you fist Yeojin's asshole.
"Such a fun sex doll, isn't she, boss?" Hyeju asks you. "Definitely," you answer, as you and Hyeju toy with her pussy, you with the Hitachi, and her with the shock batom. "Please shock me, ms. Hyeju," Yeojin begs. "AHHHHHHHH," and then screams when Hyeju follows her orders.
You pick up your phone and start filming. Hyeju brings Yeojin to submisssion. "AHHHHHH FUCKKKKKK," the sex doll screams as Hyeju shoves her hands up her cunt and puts the vibrator at maximum intensity. "Bring me your cunt; let me fist it," Hyeju says. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH," Yeojin can't stop screaming. You shut her up, shoving your cock back in her mouth balls deep until she gags. Yeojin prays to God, but all she can get is an unconventional spit roasting of Hyeju's hands fisting her pussy and your cock destroying her tiny throat.
"Heads up, take his cock in your mouth, bitch," Hyeju orders. After fucking her face, you pull out of Yeojin and slap your cock in her face. "What do you say, bitch?" Hyeju asks. "Thank you, master," Yeojin answers as you keep using her throat like a fleshlight. "Look at me, whore," you tell her, spitting on Yeojin's face and doing everything you can with your cock to punish her.
"You like it, bitch?" you say, swinging your cock in her face and then pulling Yeojin's hair as you make her gag on your cock, holding her nose and choking her. "Yes, master, I love it," she says. "Then take it," you tell her, facefucking her hard. "Tell me how much of a slut you are," you say as soon as you pull out. "I'M A BIG FUCKING SLUT, I'M A NASTY WHORE," Yeojin screams.
You put Yeojin on all fours on the floor and spank her ass a bit before getting back inside her tiny butthole. You pull her hair and stomp on her head, manhandling her anus hard. "Let's go, show me you're a dirty slut, the best fucking sex doll ever," you say to her. Yeojin is very out of breath as your toes cover her mouth and block her from moaning while you destroy her butthole like a hungry animal, your balls clapping hard against her cheeks and your hands slapping it hard. Hyeju comes in from behind and chokes her, freeing you to use all your forces to fuck Yeojin's ass as hard as you can. "AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHH," she can't stop screaming as you make sure to stick your cock balls deep in her butthole and pound it relentlessly.
"UHHHHHH, OHHHHH GODDDDD, FUCKKKK," Yeojin screams as she's barely able to take the rough pounding you give her. "Cum all over his cock, bitch," Hyeju commands as Yeojin's anal fuckhole is completely sore, you groping her cheeks and just manhandling her like a bull until she squirts once again. You pull out and massage her sensitve cunt, letting her juices cover your naked body.
You get back on Yeojin's ass and mount on top of her, immobilizing her on the floor as your cock can only think of attacking her asshole as hard as you can. "AHHHHHHHH, AHHHHHHHHH, I'M CUMMING AGAIN, DON'T STOP, AHHHHHHH IT HURTS," she screams, pushing you away just not to get snapped in half. "I say you pushing him away, bitch; you're such a broken whore now; I couldn't take the pain in your ass," Hyeju says, grabbing Yeojin's face and spitting on it once again.
You sit on the floor as Hyeju orients Yeojin to her next challenge. "Time to sit that pussy on his cock, bitch," she says, guiding the little sex doll warm cunt right into your throbbing pole. In spite of being utterly exasperated, Yeojin can't contain her sluttiness and starts bouncing on your cock as soon as it gets inside her, many out-of-breath moans coming out of her mouth.
However, Yeojin's tiredness gets the best of her, and her ride comes to a halt. No problem, though, because as soon as she does, you start thrusting your cock up against her pussy, making her scream as Hyeju enjoys your monster manhood bulging under the sex doll's tiny belly. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, OH GOD!" Yeojin screams. "Does it feel good?" Hyeju asks as Yeojin barks. "Then fucking ride it, you lazy bitch," she continues.
Yeojin uses all her forces just to stay on her feet as your fast thrusts eviscerate her little cunt. She stops for a second, but Hyeju is right there to punish her. "Ride it, bitch," she says, spanking Yeojin with a whip. Yeojin's tiny torso turns red as Hyeju spanks it hard while her pussy throbs with your cock stretching it out just as hard. "Come on, touch your pussy, cum on his cock," Hyeju commands.
You give a little break to Yeojin, letting her bounce on your cock freely. But Hyeju stays as sadistic as ever, still spanking the little sex doll. "Fucking ride it," Hyeju keeps saying as she wraps a piece of clothing around Yeojin's neck and chokes the sex doll, making it even harder for her. Hyeju puts the Hitachi back on Yeojin's cunt, while you take advantage of her weakness and go back to pump her pussy hard from down low. "Don't hop off that cock," Hyeju commands as Yeojin manages to stay on top of you in spite of being utterly wasted.
"AHHHHHH GODDDDDDDD," Yeojin screams as Hyeju shoves the Hiatchi in her cunt and then fingers it, following the pace of your cock pounding her hard. "MAKE ME CUM, PLEASE," Yeojin begs as her pussy gets absolutely wrecked by your cock and Hyeju's fingers. "Take it, take it, take it," you say to her as you keep stretching Yeojin out. "Ride it; I didn't tell you to stop," an angry Hyeju says as soon as Yeojin tries to take a break.
Yeojin bounces on your cock as Hyeju pinches her nipples and puts a clothespin right at her clit. Yeojin shakes as you pound her hard. "AHHHHHHHH," she stays screaming. You slap your cock against her clit while Hyeju plays with the clothespin on it, connecting it to a line and pushing it to make Yeojin suffer even more as your cock pounds her. Hyeju licks and spits on Yeojin's clit, enjoying the screams of the little sex doll.
"Let's put her on her side, shall we?" Hyeju says. You go back inside Yeojin's pussy as her body and yours are on the floor. "Play with your pussy while he fucks it," Hyeju commands as Yeojin masturbates herself while you fuck her from behind. Hyeju chokes the little sex doll as each thrust you give inside Yeojin's asshole now feels like a stabbing to her and leads to screams. "Rub your pussy," Hyeju commands, spanking Yeojin's back. "AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHH, OH GOD," the little girl screams as it keeps getting spanked, you now reaching to grope her little tits.Â
"I'M GONNA CUM, MS HYEJU," Yeojin says as she squirts all over your cock. Hyeju lives you and her all by yourselves as you take your cock balls deep in Yeojin's ass. But not for long, as Hyeju comes out swinging the whip on Yeojin's body so hard that your cock detaches from her pussy.Â
Yeojin has completely collapsed to the floor as Hyeju rubs her pussy hard. "OHHHHH GODDDDD, FUCKKKK, AH, AH, AH, CAN I CUM MS. HYEJU?" Yeojin begs as Hyeju keeps massaging her cunt while your cock pounds it. The little sex doll laughs and giggles, completely overwhelmed and creaming herself until she collapses into a squirting mess.
"Keep your hands behind your back and your ass on your feet," Hyeju tells Yeojin. "Yes, ms. Hyeju," she says. You stroke your cock in anticipation as Hyeju prepares one final challenge for the little sex doll, tying Yeojin with a rope and pouring some cold water on Yeojin's body. The rope tightens on Yeojin's neck, almost hanging her. Hyeju comforts the sex doll with some rubbing in her pussy.
You stroke your cock as you stare at Yeojin all tied up. Watching her completely submissive and hummiliated turns you. "Cum all over my face," Yeojin begs. "Please cum on my face, master," she keeps asking for it until you can no longer hold yourself, giving Yeojin a bullsye cumshot that covers her face completely white. "I'm your owner now, little sex doll," you say to her.
Yeojin receives a cleaning shower and gets put back in her box. For now on, she'll be the top attraction from your sex museum. And what a success she would become, with guys enduring hour-long queues just to fuck that little sex doll and drop their seeds inside her. Every day after the museum closes she gets cleaned off from all the cum they dump on her, and every day in the morning you get her ready for another day of sex-dolling as you turn her engines on with an early sex session.Â
"Damn, this sex doll thing is really good; I need to import another one," you say one day.
"Where do you want me to bring the next sex doll from?" Hyeju asks.
"I think Japan would be a good idea," you say.
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ââ homie hoppinâ ( lhs, pjs, sjy, psh ) ÖŒ đ
â đ
àč Heeseung never wanted to believe the rumors about you around campus, to him you could never do wrong and he sees you as nothing less than an angel. But when his friends begin telling him about their nightly escapades with some âmystery girlâ that sounds awfully familiar, he grows more suspicious of your true intentions youâve been hiding all along.
pair: hyung line ă
f!reader, college au | warnings: pwp, smut, angst (kinda ??), hook-up culture, yn is the biggest fuckgirl omg (but sheâs sooo cuntyy), humour, slut-shaming (not from the boys), daddy kink, oral (m + f. rec), mentions of running a train but it doesnât happen lol, lots of s.x flashbacks, yn is so unbothered by everything đŽ, unprotected s.x (yikes !!!) | teaser wc: 857
thanks to @leeechin & @pshbites for enabling this idea LOL, couldnât have done it without them frfr. also hereâs a silly little preview of whatâs to come (it gets real MESSY in this sfdsfsd)
⊠. ăâș ă . ⊠. ăâș ă . âŠ
heeseung was never really the type to ever engage in gossip or drama going around campus. heâd rather simply mind his business and keep it moving, it was useless to entertain it anywayâ most of the rumors held zero truth or any proof to back them up. what does seem to grab his attention however, is your name being constantly brought up in almost everyoneâs mouths. you were the talk of the whole school and it wasnât anything good that was being said about the girl heâs been sleeping around with on and off for the past few months or so.
âoh you know about y/n? isnât she the one whoâs always bouncing from one friend group to the next ? i wouldnât trust her around my man even for a second..â
âdidnât she let leehan hit it at that party last night ? that girl needs to be stopped, sheâs always messing around with different guys..â
âwasnât she just with eunseok last week ? he was telling me all about how him and sungchan took turns on her.â
he couldnât believe half the stuff that was being said about you. not only was it just plain disrespectful, but it was also disgusting how some people could spew such fabricated nonsense as if you werenât a real human being with feelings. heeseung knew you two werenât exclusive but youâve been seeing each other more frequently, which made him think he might have a chance to make things official. at least he thought so, until he saw you talking with one of his close friends, jaeyun in the library. you both were way too close for comfort and the way you were giving him those same bedroom eyes that youâd always flash at heeseung, made his whole body fill up with an unimaginable amount of rage.
you were quite popular and well known around campus, your charming persona and pretty face was the perfect combo to get anyone to fall head over heels for you. everywhere you went youâd turn heads, all the boys would be breaking their necks just to get a glimpse of you. the tiny skirts youâd always wear had their eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, which only made the other girls seethe in utter jealousy. the way you could command an entire room without even trying was a superpower in itself, you didnât need to put in the extra work to get all the attention on you because everyone gave it to you automatically.
it wasnât until heeseung began hearing more about his friendâs sex lives that heâd grow more suspicious of whatâs really going on. he usually zones out and doesnât really listen much whenever they talked about it, but since the movie they were watching wasnât all that interesting, he began shifting his attention to his friends. jaeyun and jongseong were always bragging about how much pussy theyâd get but they seemed to hyperfocus on one particular girl that seems to get brought up a lot in their conversations. jaeyun would say how she gave him the âmost life changing headâ heâs ever received, meanwhile jongseong was describing how some girl he fucked a few days ago rode his dick like a grade A pornstar.
heeseung wasnât adding much of his input into the conversation, and neither was sunghoon as he tends to keep that part of his life more private. but, what made him suddenly wanna jump up in his seat was when jaeyun was telling them how hot the girl looked when he fucked her from behind, she had a back tattoo and he thought that was the sexiest shit ever. he never specified exactly what the tattoo was, but he remembers that you also had one too. maybe heâs just reading too much into it ? could it really be you they were talking about ? nah.. thereâs no way. heâs sure thereâs plenty other women with back tattoos walking around campus, it simply could be an eerie coincidence. he knows he isnât the only one that youâre sleeping with, but to mess around with his friends would be a new low for him. he wouldnât know what heâd do if he were to find out that happened..
his worries would only worsen when he catches sunghoon smiling and faintly giggling at his phone about something, to which jongseong asks him whatâs so funny. sunghoon simply shrugs it off and says itâs nothing, quickly locking his phone before he lifts up from the couch to announce that heâs going back to his dorm. they all exchange their goodbyes and wish him a safe walk back to his place. but when he left, he was walking in the direction completely opposite of his dorm, he was heading the exact same way it took to get to your building instead. now heâs really starting to overthink at this point. thereâs absolutely no way youâre actually fucking all of his friends and he doesnât have a single clue about it. heeseung may be quite oblivious at times but he isnât that stupid. heâs probably overreacting. again, could just be a very weird coincidence⊠right ?
just leave a comment if you wanna be added to the taglist á(ââžâŒâ¶)á
#enhypen smut#enha smut#enhypen x reader#heeseung smut#heeseung x reader#jay smut#jay x reader#jake smut#sim jaeyun smut#jake x reader#sunghoon smut#sunghoon x reader#enhypen scenarios#enhypen imagines#kpop smut
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sugar (fic)
ex!jj maybank x ex!fem!reader | set in season 4 without the Blackbeard mystery! (non-canon) | inspiration
content warnings: mentions of/references to sex (m and f receiving; MDNI); drug use; unfaithful relationships
word count: 18k.
blurb: JJ comes back into your life - older, richer and different again from before. Can the past stay the past, and the two of you be friends, or is there too much history there to let it all lie?
Cinnamon Buns
âWhere would you like these?â Someone calls out to you. You turn and take in the tray of mouth-wateringly delicious looking cinnamon buns that a volunteer holds. Smiling, you point to a far table on the grassy field.Â
âAnywhere over there is good! Those look amazing, thank you so much!âÂ
You turn back to the task at hand: organising cans of tinned, chopped tomatoes. To your left is a stack of bags of rice and to your right, bags of pasta. Itâs quick work as you separate them by flavour: garlic and herb; chilli; regularâŠIn the background you overhear chatter of fellow volunteers. Where should I put this? Who had the plastic bags? This was your happy place.Â
âThe Stirring Spoonâ is what you had called it. It was your passion project born out of daydreams. A collaborative, community effort, providing food to anybody and everybody, free of charge. It wasnât a traditional food drive. Instead, it was like a potluck dinner that you hosted every Wednesday in the late afternoon, running into the evening. People brought whatever dish they had prepared, or any ingredients that they had going spare which you and a handful of other volunteers whipped up into mains and desserts. Tomato soup and lentil curry and meatball subs and rainbow brownies and chocolate chip cookies. Youâd even managed to rope a few local establishments into it. Any leftover bakes that they had when the workday was over, or things that were just a smidge out of date by a day or two, you took and offered out. Today? Cinnamon buns that were baked yesterday at a humble cafe in the town centre, just shy of Figure Eight. Food health and safety laws were strict but you could stretch them for The Stirring Spoon. After all, you werenât technically selling a product so no harm done. People were clued in about the supposed âriskâ.Â
You lift up a can of tomatoes and study the âbest byâ date on the metal lid. A month in the safe zone. Perfect. As your mind flicks through recipes of what you could cook up, a voice stood out amongst the chatter nearby. It was like a sirenâs call; distinct and damning. You could pick it out even when deaf.Â
âI gotta delivery here for yâall.â
âWhatâs in it?â
âFresh sorta stuff. âTatoes and that kinda thing.â
âOver there, Iâd say.â
As the footsteps approach you can feel your heartbeat quicken. It taps nervously in your ribcage like youâre sixteen all over again. Your focus remains on the task at hand until a slight shadow casts over you, and you know you canât stall any longer. Your hands freeze over a can of tomatoes. Looking up, standing in front of you, clear as daylight and bright as dawn, is JJ Maybank. Heâs dressed in his usual attire of a worn-down t-shirt and shorts; his fingers and wrists decorated with metal rings and beaded bracelets. If you squinted, itâd be like no time had passed at all. He doesnât look all that different from the last time you saw him and yet, heâs entirely changed. In his hands is a large cardboard crate of various fresh produce. You smile.Â
âJJ.â
It comes out in a breath as though youâre seeing something supernatural before you. In a way, you are. How long has it been now? Two years? Nearly three?
His own surprise mirrors yours on his face. But JJ was always better at hiding his emotions, once he had a chance to catch them. It was like a teasing glimpse before he closed the curtains. His recovery is quick as a smile starts to show, and he says your name like heâs practised it everyday.Â
âHey.â
âWhatâre you doing here?â you ask.
âBrought some deliveries,â JJ says, hitching the box. âKiara mentioned something âbout a community kitchen drive yâall do and we thought we could contribute and stuff.â
âWell, thatâs nice of yâall. Thank you,â you reply.Â
You shuffle some stuff out of the way on the pop-up table in front of you to make space for JJâs box. Itâs hard not to watch his arms as he lowers it down, the way the biceps flex and tense beneath the skin. Itâs hard not to think of other times his arms have looked that way, wrapped around your body, tugging you closer. You blink the memories away.Â
JJâs hands slot into his short pockets. He rocks on his feet. âLooks like itâs a pretty popular thing, huh?v This food drive, I mean.â
You glance around at the bustling volunteers. Smiling, you say, âYeah, I guess it caught on pretty quick. Could say the same about yâalls tackle-and-bait shop you got going. Itâs the talk of the town âround here.â
JJ grins with visible pride and it isnât until you see it that you realise how much you missed his smile. You wonder if heâs surveying your face and body the way you are his, as if looking for some inconsistency or change since the last time you saw him.Â
âYeah, itâs coming together pretty nice. Helps having a bunch of us working on it, though.â
âI bet,â you say. Youâd heard the chatter on the island about the Pogueâs latest venture. The sneers of the kooks and the curiosity of the locals. Their bets and wagers on whether the business would sink or float. Youâd wanted to wander down and check it out for yourself but you always chickened out. Truth was, youâd been avoiding JJ Maybank like the flu, and now here he was in front of you, putting all your quarantining to shame. Your eyes flit down at the crate and you gently rifle through the food for a distraction. Tomatoes and potatoes and bunches of fresh berries and fruit.Â
âI, uh, donât know if thereâs much in there that yâall need butââ
âNo, no, this is great,â you assure him, smiling. âItâs really generous of yâall. Every contribution is appreciated.â
âHappy to help. To be honest, itâs Kie and Sarah you should be thanking.â
âYeah, I didnât peg you as the gardening type,â you tease.Â
âWell, only for the stuff that matters,â JJ grins with a wink. You consciously try to fight away the warmth running to your cheeks. Damn it, you werenât sixteen anymore. âSoâŠhow have you been, then? Since we lastâŠyâknowââ
âBaby!â
Itâs a reflex reaction to turn at the sound of Markâs call. He comes bounding over with a wide grin. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and flour is dusted on his khakis. Itâs a reflex to close your eyes when he dips his head to plant a kiss to your lips, too. You rub them together after as you prepare yourself for what might be the most awkward interaction youâll ever go through.Â
âJJ,â you say, turning to the blonde haired boy. âThis is Mark. Mark, this is JJ. We used toâŠuhâŠWell, we used to hang out.â
âJJ - pleasure,â Mark says sincerely. He sticks out his hand and for a painful moment you genuinely worry that JJ might never take it. But he does, shaking it.Â
âLikewise,â he says.Â
You feel Markâs spare arm slide around your back, his palm placing itself respectfully on your side. That was Mark: respectful. Righteous but not in an arrogant way. He was kind and caring without judgement, like the sort of Christian boy your nana would want you to bring home. The sort of guy who would bring your mother flowers and play golf with your father on the weekends. The kind of face youâd see flash on the television during the six oâclock news as the reporter relays a daring and heroic tale of saving orphaned kittens from a burning tree.Â
âThis is the guy thatâs started the tackle-and-bait shop. Yâknow, the one with the surf store and stuff,â you say to Mark. Realisation dawns upon Mark and he wags his finger at JJ.Â
âWait, wait, JJ as in JJ Maybank? One of the gang who found El Dorado?âÂ
You roll your eyes at the pure awe in his voice. JJ chuckles somewhat nervously and nods as he says, âyeah, uh, that JJ, I guess.â
âHoly shit! Baby, why didnât you say!? Oh man, I read all about that. It sounded freaking incredible! I have so much to ask you, I mean-â
You place a hand to his chest and laugh, slightly embarrassed by his fangirling. âBaby, baby! Cool it a second, yeah?â
Laughing, you glance at JJ. And you catch it. That emotion he lets slip just before correcting himself. His eyes dart to yours in a second but they were looking elsewhere before. They were looking at your hand on Markâs stomach.Â
âNah man, itâs cool. You guys should stop by sometime and I can tell you all about it. The other Pogues too, yeah,â JJ cordially replies.Â
âOh sick, man. Thatâd be great,â Mark beams. You smile at JJ and nod.Â
âIâd love to see what you guys have done to the place,â you tell him. JJ smiles but it falters, like a flickering lightbulb thatâs fighting to stay on. An awkward quiet passes and you clear your throat and glance around at the voluntary effort. âWell, I should probably get back to work.â
âNo, yeah, course. I oughtâa get back to the shop,â JJ replies.Â
âThanks for the stuff though. We really appreciate it.â
âYou brought this?â Mark wonders, picking a strawberry out of the crate. He pops it in his mouth and hums happily. âDamn, those are some fresh strawberries.â
âYeah, man. All from our local garden we got going.â
âThis place sounds like the dream,â Mark tells you. You smile up at him. He takes the crate in his broad hands and lifts it easily into the air. Being sandwiched between two toned-up guys had you feeling as brittle as candyfloss. âIâll take this over to Nancy. Nice meeting you, JJ.â
âYeah, you too, man.â
You watch him wander off a moment before turning back to JJ. He offers you another smile. âIâll come check out the shop soon,â you promise.Â
JJ points at you, playfully warning, âyou better!â before walking away. You watch him with every step he takes and the moment heâs out of sight your head drops. You let out a breath that you didnât know youâd been holding. Your entire body feels as though itâs vibrating; your heart running laps in your ribcage. And the funniest part of all is the strange thought that races around your mind, heâs real. It had been so long since youâd seen JJ, let alone heard from him, that it felt like a daydream. The memories were so hazy now that theyâd been painted over in sepia and you wondered if youâd imagined the whole thing. But no, here he was, knowing you and recognising you, and talking to you. The two of you back in Kildare, seemingly for good.Â
âBaby! Can you give us a hand?â
The call drags you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fall onto your boyfriend. He stands a good head taller than most people. Heâs almost lanky in build but not ungainly; broad shouldered and slim nosed. His eyes are those of an otter: nearly black with how brown they are; beady and shining, even from over here. Thereâs a smattering of freckles over his cheeks which is adorably boyish in contrast to his stubble on the jawline. Heâs smiling at you in a way that all girls want to be smiled at. Unashamed in his admiration for you. It grounds you from the dizzying interaction with JJ and you walk over to him, ready to help out in any way you can.Â
The rest of The Stirring Spoon passes without a hitch or unexpected visitor from the past. Itâs as popular as always, with locals and tourists stopping by. The lentil and tomato soup that you whipped up disappears within the first half hour, alongside the nearly stale but still delicious cheese bread. Mark stands by your side the whole time, smiling as he serves. He whispers little jokes in your ear that have you giggling in the quiet periods of the food drive. Then came the evening rush, with people stopping by after work. The culmination of it all meant JJ was pushed out of your thoughts and back into the long-term store, where heâd been haunting before. That is, until youâre tidying up.Â
âThat JJ guy seemed nice,â Mark says from the table to your right. You look up from the plastic snack-bags youâre tidying away. âYou said you guys used to hang?â
âWhen we were sixteen,â you reply.Â
âHow come you stopped hanging out?â he wonders.Â
You look down at the bags and obsess over the colours of the labels as you debate how best to word your reply. What do you divulge to him? Thereâs an index of memories labelled JJ and you know not all need to see the light of day, let alone enter the mind of your boyfriend in scarring reenactments.Â
âWe just grew apart. He was going through some stuff, I think, and then he got really into that whole treasure hunting thing,â you tell him. It was true enough to not be a lie. Mark hums in thought.Â
âThatâs a shame.â
You quirk a brow, amused. âWhy? Cause I could have cashed in on the gold too?â
Mark shrugs and you laugh. âWhat!? Iâm just saying, some people are worth staying friends with!â
But that was the thing. You and JJ werenât just friends. Shaking your head, you close the cardboard box of repacked snack-bags and carry it over to the table where heâs working. You held him wrap individual muffins in napkins before placing them in a large tupperware box.Â
âHey, yâknow whatâd be nice?â Mark says.Â
âWhat?â
âIf we took them over some leftovers. I mean, we made most of this stuff with the ingredients they gave us anyway. And thereâs still some of those cinnamon buns going spare.â
You take pause and look up at him. Heâs obliviously working away, head tucked down to look at the muffins. Thereâs an easy smile thatâs permanently etched into his face, as if he came out the womb cheesing away. That wasnât why you fell for him though. No, it was his kindness. His offhand generosity that came so naturally to him it was almost offensive. Pressing up onto your toes, you cup his jaw and press a kiss to his cheek. He chuckles quietly.Â
âYouâre wonderful,â you hum happily. âI think thatâs a great idea.âÂ
âYou go wrap up some cinnamon buns then. Iâll pack up some of these muffins for them.â
You do as he asks and soon enough, thereâs a box of miscellaneous leftovers from your food drive. Mark drives. The sky is a delicate colour of amber and pink warning of soon nightfall. Colours like that always make you feel relaxed. It helps ease the nervousness of seeing JJ again. You werenât sure why it was making you so antsy. It wasnât as if you and JJ parted ways on bad terms. You suppose itâs just a bitter-sweet memory. All memories of JJ came with that sour coating now, like sherbet lemons on your tongue. You wonder if youâd feel the same way if Mark werenât around.Â
But he is, and youâre glad he is.Â
Looking over to him, you reach out your hand to capture his, resting on his thigh. He glances over at you and smiles. âYou okay?â
âYeah. Just happy, sâall.â
âThatâs good,â he says, looking back to the road. Like something from a music video, he raises your interlocked hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. âMeans Iâm doing something right, if youâre happy.â
Itâs impossible not to do a double-take as you pull up to what was formally the Maybank property. Itâs as if new life has been breathed into it. More than just a lick of paint, thereâs two brand new buildings alongside a pretty sturdy looking pier and dock. Thereâs a handmade charm to everything that makes it all the more enticing and impressive. Mark seems to think so too because he whistles as the two of you pull up the driveway. You look to your left and see the Twinkie. A relic from your past, of memories half-naked, rolling around the back with JJ, sharing a blunt in a post-orgasmic haze. Your thoughts shut off with the engine.Â
Mark takes the lead, his hand in yours, and carries the box of leftovers up to the house. You both wander up the porch and Mark knocks twice on the door. Your eyes look at everything, taking it in, admiring every detail, until someone opens the door. Itâs Kiara.Â
âHey. Can I help you?â she asks your monolith of a boyfriend. You poke your head from around his body.Â
âHey Kie.â
âOh my Gosh! Girl, where have you been?â Kie beams. The two of you embrace, laughing and smiling. âWait - did you get the stuff I sent JJ over with?â
âYeah, we did,â you say. âThank you so much.â
âWe actually brought this as a thanks,â Mark adds, offering out the tub. She eyes him almost with suspicion.Â
âSorry, I forgot to say - Kie, this is Mark. My boyfriend,â you explain. Kieâs eyebrows shoot up with that final word but she recovers quick.Â
âNice to meet you, Mark,â she says. She takes the box and glances through the plastic.Â
âJust some leftovers we thought you might like. Muffins and cinnamon buns and things like that.â
âThanks guys, you didnât have to. Weâre happy to contribute,â Kiara tells you. âIn fact, me and Sarah were talking about maybe making it a regular thing. Like every Wednesday we bring some stuff from the garden, or fish that weâve caught?â
âOh my God, yeah, thatâd be amazing,â you nod enthusiastically. âWe can definitely figure out a system.â
âPerfect. Iâll put these inside. You guys want a drink or anything? I can show you around,â Kiara offers, opening the door wider in invitation.Â
You glance over her shoulder into the room and then around the porch, behind you out to the water. Youâre not sure why you were expecting JJ to just appear out of thin air in front of you.Â
âJJâs out on the dock, if you want to catch up,â Kiara posits, as if hearing your thoughts. You look at her and hold her gaze, and - unable to read what her expression means - nod.Â
âI think Iâll go say hi. We didnât get a chance to properly catch up,â you reply. You glance up at Mark. âYou want to come with?â
âItâs alright. Iâll stay here and get the tour,â he tells you with a wink. You smile, press a kiss to his lips, and wander off with a wave to Kie, towards the dock.Â
Feet thudding on the slabs of wood, the structure creaks as you walk to the shop. An American flag waves in the breeze. You run a hand along the thick rope bannister and glance down into the growth of plants and water weeds underfoot. I canât believe they built all of this, you canât help but think as you walk up to the wooden-slatted tackle-and-bait shop. As you walk into the store under the wooden âWELCOMEâ sign, reggae music blesses your ears alongside the smell of incense. Itâs jam-packed with miscellaneous water accessories: fishing gear, surfing gear, refreshments, you name it. Thereâs nobody behind the counter. You glance around and squint, catching onto a spot red through the window. JJ lies outside atop of a vintage cooler, feet crossed one over the other, arms tucked under his head. You canât help but smile. Walking outside, you lean against the doorframe and fold your arms over your chest.Â
âWell, as far as customer service goes, this is pretty crappy.â
He snaps up to sit like he has the joints of a ken doll. You laugh as he blinks his eyes awake, laying them on you.Â
âOh shit,â he says, clearing his throat, running a hand through his hair. âWhenâd you get here?â
âA few minutes ago. You looked pretty comfy there,â you say, amused.Â
âYeah, yeah, itâs a good nap spot,â JJ chuckles nervously, glancing down at where he just lay his head. He straightens his t-shirt and then looks back at you. His brows furrow. âWait, whatâre you doing here?â
âCame by to see the new place,â you reply, gesturing around you. âYou offered.â
âDidnât think youâd be in such a hurry.â
âNo time like the present and all that.â
Youâre acutely aware of how youâre avoiding mentioning Mark and how heâs currently being led around JJâs former house and yard under Kieâs tow.Â
âThis is a pretty sick set-up,â you praise.Â
âYeah, itâs pretty good, huh?â JJ grins, getting to his feet. âHere, you want a beer? Weâre technically closed for business anyway.â
Laughing, you shrug. âSure. Why not.âÂ
Cracking open the cooler, he reaches in and retrieves two ice-cold cans. One is tossed to you and you catch it, and a feeling of deja vu rings through you. JJ, younger, just as handsome, throwing you a can of beer at a kegger. He leans against the cooler and you against a wooden pillar. Cracking cans and the fizz of beer, and you take a refreshing sip. A comfortable quiet comes and the two of you catch one anothers eyes. You smile.Â
âI donât think I said earlier, but itâs really nice to see you again,â you tell JJ.Â
He smiles, small and reserved. âThanks. Itâs nice seeing you too. Even if it is with Joe America over there.â
âJoe America?â you snort. âCome on, he isnât that bad.â
âNo, no, he seemsâŠuh, he seems nice.â
âHe is nice.â
âI believe it.â
âWellâŠgood.â
That marked the end of that conversation. You take a sip of your beer and sigh, looking out to the view of sunset over the marshland.Â
âI wish you couldâve seen it,â JJ suddenly says. You look over to him with a frown, confused. âEl Dorado, I mean. South America. It was beautiful. Like actually fucking stunning out there.â
âReally?â you say, smiling.Â
âHell yeah,â he grins. âLike there was colours out there that I didnât even think existed without, like, LSD, man.â
You laugh and he does too and youâre glad whatever awkwardness that just came passed quick like a seastorm.Â
âI still havenât gone farther than Charleston, so I guess Iâll have to live vicariously,â you lightheartedly remark.Â
âYeah, well, turns out thereâs a pretty big world out there,â JJ grins.Â
âGlad one of us got to see it,â you hum.Â
âNah, youâll see it too. All of it. Even Paris.â
The cityâs name hangs heavy in the air. It was more than just a throwaway comment. It was a secret message, as if JJ was speaking in code. I remember it. I didnât forget. You wash down the adrenaline with another sip of beer.Â
âBut no place like home, huh?â JJ says, clearing his throat.Â
âProbably helps now that John B ainât a fugitive anymore,â you muse. JJ laughs, nodding.Â
âYeah, yeah, no, for sure.â
âWell, Iâm glad you found your happiness, JJ,â you say, smiling at him. âIâm glad you found yourself out.â
âAinât we all?â
The two of you watch one another for a moment. His resting smile lingers on the edges of his thin lips. His round, soft cheeks that add to a boyishness about him that his jawline doesnât allow. You always liked JJâs hair though. A mop of blonde planted atop of his head with sun-bleached highlights and deep-sea lowlights. But heâs taking you in too. You canât take the weight of his stare after a while. Taking a deep breath, pushing away from the beam, you ditch your half-drunk beer atop of the cooler.Â
âWell, I better get going.â
âYou sure? I mean, we can hang out a bit longer, if you like?â
You smile politely and shake your head. âIâm not the one driving, soâŠâ
JJ looks over your shoulder and spots Mark. âAh. Didnât know Dollar Store Chris Evans was here, my bad.â
âJJ! Donât be mean!â
âI ainât being mean! If anything, thatâs a compliment,â JJ defends. You roll your eyes. âLook, Iâll see you around though. Itâd suck to go back to being strangers again when weâre both in the same place for a change.â
Despite the innocence of the offer, something in your gut tells you that you shouldnât agree. You should set a boundary there, draw a line, and leave it in the past. So, really, you have nobody to blame but yourself for saying âIâd like thatâ with a smile in farewell, before walking back across the dock to your boyfriend.Â
Salted Chips
JJ had always been in your life. However, in the past, he was more of a background character, like an NPC in a videogame that creators constantly add in like an Easter Egg. The kind of character youâre curious about, in terms of their past and their present, their wants and their fears, but the kind you never have the privy to get close to in that way. Heâd be at parties, at the surf break, at the shops or at school, but he wasnât in your life. Until he was.Â
Fate came in the form of a seating plan for history class.Â
You and JJ were classmates. Table buddies. At first, the conversation was nonexistent. Sometimes JJ wouldnât show up to class at all, either bunking off or playing truant in the bathrooms to light up a joint. But sometimes heâd come to class, usually escorted by Pope, and youâd share an uncomfortable silence as you worked through the hour. But then came an assignment that needed to be done out of class, and numbers were exchanged and words were shared outside of âwhat did he sayâ and âwhatâs the homeworkâ and âwhat answer did you get for five?â. At your prompting to start on the project, JJ offered up the Chateau to work at, John Bâs house that was a renovated fishing shack on the marsh.Â
To stimulate inspiration for the poster the two of you had to create - outlining the history of the American Civil War - JJ had offered up beers and a blunt, and you were glad to take him up on the offer. If youâre going to be doing schoolwork at the weekend, you might as well get something out of it other than mind numbing boredness. It seems you saying yes to JJâs âgiftsâ put you in his good books. Itâs as if you could see the moment his opinion of you changed. From there, it was as if the two of you had always known the other. Conversation came easy, banter even more so. Time spent together stretched outside of the classroom and instead into lunch breaks and evenings and weekends. Heâd seek you out at keggers and hang with you at the beach. Somewhere in the roots of you friendship grew an attraction from the fondness. You noticed it in his lingering glances, his drifting gaze from your eyes to your mouth to your body. Later, you heard it in his words, finding innuendos in smalltalk, catching compliments like falling stars. Eventually, both slightly intoxicated, it came to a head, about three months into this natural-forming friendship.Â
âYo!â
You turn around, beer in hand, startled by the interruption. Itâs JJ. Heâs wearing a cap, squishing down his beautiful locks of blonde; the muted green pairs well with his t-shirt. His combat boots sink into the ground, damp from the rainfall earlier in the day. Everything smells piney and fresh. You lift a finger to your lips to coax him to be quiet. His brows quirk up, a bemused smile gracing his gorgeous face. God really does have favourites, it seems.Â
âYou good?â
âSh! Youâll scare them,â you whisper. At his cocking head, confused, you fervently gesture for him to come over. He does. His presence by your side is almost overwhelming. The buzz from the liquor makes it difficult to keep your itching hands to yourself and your inhibitions at bay. âYou see them?â
âSee what?â
âThe birds.â
âWhat?â
âLook, here,â you mumble. You lean close to him so you can point clearly with your finger, just along his line of vision. A whiff of JJâs scent dusts your nose. Heâs warm like he creates heat. Through the canopy of leaves, you can make out a single branch of a tree. In the nook, against the trunk, is a nest, and inside is a bunch of baby birds, cawing out for their mother, hungry, blind. Youâd left them some salted chips on the floor, crumbled and scattered, in case the mother wanted to steal some to take up and gift. She probably wouldnât, but something about their cries made you feel the need to do something, and it wasnât as if you could offer up your beer.Â
âWoah.â
âYou see âem?â
âYeah,â JJ breathes. âThatâs sick, how did you see them?â
âI heard them first,â you tell him, keeping your voice low so as to not frighten them. âNeeded some air.â
âThe smoke from the campfire botherinâ you?â
âI swear to God, it targets me,â you sincerely reply, making JJ laugh. You finally retract your finger (still sticky from the Smores made earlier) and turn, looking up at him. He looks down at you. Some strands of hair stick out from under his cap, pressing against his forehead. His brows are almost permanently slanted, eyes bright in the dusk of the evening. His shark tooth necklace sits against his chest. JJâs lips quirk at your staring. âItâs not fair.â
âWhatâs not fair?â
âYouâre so pretty,â you say, shaking your head, smiling. The alcohol has given you too much confidence, it seems. Loose lips. His eyes widen in momentary surprise but he catches it, covers it well. Then, comes his mask of confidence. He gives you a cocky smile.Â
âYouâre not too bad yourself,â he suavely replies.Â
âNah, I mean it. Youâre really something, Maybank,â you smile, doubling-down. In for a penny and all that. Â
His smugness fades into something more real. He doesnât seem to know how to take compliments like that. Then, strangely, something like panic tugs his brows together. âIâm not very good at this sorta thing.â
Your frown of confusion seems to spur him on.Â
âBeing honest. Real. IâmâŠIâm pretty fucked up, yâknow?â
âThe best people are,â you murmur, meaning every word.Â
âNah, I mean it, though. Iâm notâŠI donât wanna hurt you.â JJ says it so quietly, so sincerely, that you get the sense that heâs never said it before. Maybe only thought it on dark nights, when youâre so alone with your thoughts itâs maddening. Smiling, shaking your head, you lift a hand to his cheek. Your heart hiccups at how he relaxes into your touch.Â
âI donât think you have to worry âbout that,â you whisper.Â
Youâre not sure who moves first, whether itâs him or you, but you end up a hair-width apart at the lips. His breath is hot as it fans onto your lips. Risk comes like a lightning rod and you take it, pushing onto your toes, connecting your lips with his. His hand finds yours and squeezes. That small gesture, as innocent as it is, tells you that youâre crossing this boundary together, from friends into something more.Â
Pistachio PastriesÂ
The smell of coffee rouses you from sleep. You hum sleepily into your pillow, nuzzling in the scent of your boyfriend: peppermint and sage. A heavy palm gently pets your hair.Â
âWake up, sleepy,â Mark murmurs.Â
You grumble in protest and he chuckles. The bed dips and the duvet lifts as he climbs back into the cocoon of warmth. Rolling over, you tuck yourself against him. He always slept in pyjamas. It was adorable. Nothing cheesy: just a simple shirt and flannel bottoms. His arm hooks around your waist and holds you against him. You swear to God, you could hide here forever. Mark was safety and security. Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car.Â
âWednesday again,â he says, stroking the skin of your back. âKiara messaged the Instagram page today. Said one of them will drop off an order around one-ish.â
âSweet.â
An alarm blares from Markâs phone and he cusses, breaking apart from you to retrieve it and turn it off. You take the opportunity to sit up and grab your coffee. The steam tickles your nose as you blow on it. Routine. Mornings spent in the mini home Mark had made in his parents backyard, in their old shed. He brought you coffee in the morning and you brought him tea before bed. Youâd be asleep by ten and awake by eight. Your shifts at the smoothie shop typically followed a Monday through Friday routine, with the exception of midweek, with Wednesdays reserved for The Stirring Spoon. Weekends passed in a blink. Then, you reset to continue with the same thing again.Â
But thatâs okay. Routine is okay. Itâs reliable. Monotonous in a way that assures certainty. Besides, you liked your job, and your coffee, and your Stirring Spoon. But maybe it might be nice to stray from it all, just for a change.Â
You carefully place your coffee back on the side table and look over to Mark. Heâs scrolling on his phone, lips set in a line, brows tugged together in vague concentration. A thrill runs through your body at the thought, as you press several kisses to the skin of his neck. You feel him breath beneath you. Then a kiss comes to your forehead, quick like a grandparent to their least favourite grandchild.Â
âBaby,â you hum, lifting a hand to rub your finger along his jawline.Â
âMhm?â
âDo you have any, likeâŠthings you wanna try.â
He takes a moment to think, looking up from his phone. A smile comes to his face and he looks down at you, and your body burns with anticipation. âSurfing. Was never that good at it but Iâd like to try it again, yâknow?â
It fizzles away like water atop of a dying flame. âOh. Yeah, no, yeahâŠthatâsâŠyou should do that.â
He frowns. âYou okay?â
âWell, I just meant moreâŠin the bedroom. Like anything, I donât knowâŠâ Your face burns like youâre a nun stumbling across a Playboy magazine. âKinky?â
âKinky?â
âNot like oh my God, kinky. JustâŠI donât knowâŠâ
He quirks a brow, smiling at you in a teasing sort of way. âYou got some kink youâre not telling me about?â
âMaybe,â you tell him, hoping it comes out seductive.Â
âI donât know,â Mark sighs, resting his head back against the wall. You watch his Adamâs apple bob as he swallows and you lick over your lips. He grins, like something dawned upon him, and he dips his head suddenly to press his lips to yours. âWanna know what Iâve always wanted to try?â
âMhm,â you say, lifting your hands to cup his face and keep him near. Yes, your body practically cries. Tell me, tell me, tell me.Â
âWell,â he stalls, kissing you again. You chase his lips, shortening in breath. âIâve always wantedââ another kiss â-to try-â another kiss â-doing it in the shower.â
Itâs hard not to deflate completely with disappointment.Â
Wow, yeah Mark. Kinky.Â
But when you open your eyes, you come face to face with a nervous, sweet, caring Mark. A Mark who always makes sure you feel good and safe. A Mark who would never walk past an elderly man struggling to cross the road. A Mark who would donate a twenty dollar bill he found on the roadside. And you can see it in his eyes, this burning passion, this shock at his own words, because for him, that was like confessing to watching gangbang porn in a Church. So, you plaster on a smile, feigning excitement. âNo, yeah. Thatâd be fun. We should totally do that.â
âYeah?â
âYeah,â you grin, kissing him again. He sighs, pushing back against you. Your body sparks up again. The feel of his hands on your sides is like static energy. âWe should try it now.â
âNow?â
âMhm,â you nod eagerly, kissing at his lips desperately. âGood way to start the morning, huh?â
âMaybe,â he says. He pulls away slightly, guilty as he adds, âbut itâs been a while since I cleaned the bathroom. And I promised my mom Iâd help her out today, and I gotta be good to go in like ten minutes soâŠâ
âOh.â
He kisses you fleetingly on the lips and then tosses the bedsheets off his lap. You watch him get up. âBut maybe soon? Like Friday?â
Routine with scheduled sex.Â
âOkay,â you say through a false smile. You sink against your pillow and watch him put on his slippers. The moment his back turns, you drop the expression. Youâre so disappointed there doesnât feel much point in trying to get off by yourself now, either. You donât seem to fix your frown quick enough before he turns back around.Â
âOh, hey, baby, I didnât mean to upset you,â Mark frowns. He lowers down so his eyes are level with yours. You pout like a child as you look at him. He pushes some hair off your face. âI swear, if I werenât about to go help my mom, Iâd be all over you right now.â
âMhm.â Maybe you are being a bit selfish. Heâs helping his mother for Godâs sake! Smiling, properly this time, you jokingly warn, âIâm gonna hold you to that, Mark.â
âYou better,â he winks. He kisses you before leaving the room, into the bathroom. Sighing, you roll on your back and blink up at the ceiling. You practise your mantra - Mark is good. Mark is good for me. Mark is good. Mark is good for me - and you get up to start your day.Â
The Stirring Spoon is a good distraction from your whining libido. Itâs hard to think about fucking when youâre comparing shapes of pasta. And yet, you still find a way. Because as you stack packets of spaghetti, you try and recall the last time you and Mark had really good sex. Not sex where itâs soft and nice and satisfying. Sex when you feel like you might cry or scream, just to cope with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Sex when youâre actually scared that you might have a heart attack from how fast your heartâs beating. Was it ever like that with Mark? Was it ever like that with anybody else?
Yes.Â
âHey.â
The very boy who just popped into your mind like a vision stands before you, crate in hand, smile on face, as if you manifested him.Â
âJJ.â
âYou good? You were looking at that spag pretty hard,â he asks, amused.Â
âNo, yeah, Iâm good,â you say. You drop the pasta like itâs incriminating to what you were thinking about. Donât tell JJ about the hot sex I was thinking about with him, pasta, please. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âDelivery from Kildare County Kitchen,â he says, dropping the crate down onto an empty spot on the table. âSome of Cleoâs less deadly version of her gumbo; a few sandwiches that Sarah whipped up; and some fish me and John B caught the other day.â
âDamn, thatâs quite the haul,â you say, glancing into the crate and surveying its contents. âThanks, JayJ.â
As you retrieve the items and lay them out carefully and neatly on the table, JJ shoves his hands in his short pockets and looks around the yard. âSo. Loverboy here?â
âHeâs busy today, helping his mom.â
âAh. You short of a helping hand today, then?â
âWhy? You want to help?â you say, half-joking. But JJ shrugs.Â
âIâm not doing much. Why not?â
âDonât the others need you back at the shop?â
âThereâs five of them, I think theyâll manage,â JJ replies sardonically. He claps and rubs his hands together. âWhere do I start?â
âUmâŠâ You stand upright and scan the area, checking what looks the most chaotic. As if on cue, the local bakery van pulls up. âOh, sweet. Delivery. You can help me unload and log inventory.â
âYes, maâam.â
The two of you walk over to the van, side by side, hands kept politely to yourselves. Small talk sits on your tongue but doesnât make it into the world.Â
âMorning Mr Parker,â you call.Â
âMorning, darlinâ,â he croons in his southern accent. âYou too, Maybank.â
âGood to see you, sir,â JJ nods.Â
âWhat you got for me today?âÂ
âSome good stuff, Iâm not going to lie to yâall,â he grins over his shoulder before opening the doors to the back of the van. Mr Parker pulls out a tray of sealed baked goods. JJ steps in and takes it, and as he holds it you crack open the lid to peer in.Â
âPastries?â
âPistachio pastries,â Mr Parker says proudly. His takes off his cap and brushes a hand through his short grey hair. âMy wife got a bit carried away. People in this town donât have that fancy of taste buds.â
âMaybe not on the Cut,â JJ mumbles, making you smile.Â
âWell, be that as it may, glad I can contribute something to your little venture,â Mr Parker tells you. He squeezes your shoulder sweetly. âYâall doing a good thing, with this here Stirring Spoon.â
âThank you,â you say, overwhelmed by the simple praise. âWell, we appreciate any contribution, especially pistachio flavoured ones.â
With that, the three of you get to work carrying the four trays of baked goods to a spare table. Bidding Mr Parker farewell, you and JJ take pause against the table.Â
âI think Iâve earnt a break.â
âYouâve been here less than an hour.â
âTime flies by when youâre having fun, and all that,â he says passingly as he cracks open one of the bakery tubs. He grabs one of the pastries and tosses it into his mouth. His eyes widen as he chews. âHoly shit. These are so good.â
âJJ, youâre not supposed to eat theââ
â--try one.â A pastry is shoved into your mouth. You glare at him but bite, and holy shit this is really good. It must read on your face cause JJ grins. âYeah, right? So good.â
âOh my God,â you mumble. The two of you smile at one another like youâre stealing cookies from a jar.Â
âYou remember that time we got high and raided Popeâs dadâs fridge?â
You laugh and nearly choke on the flaky pastry. âOh my God, I totally forgot about that.â
âYou were like a fucking racoon,â JJ sniggers.Â
âYou were the one that got me high in the first place.â
âI didnât fucking drug you! You wanted to try it!â
âYeah, I did,â you grumble, unwilling to accept responsibility for completely draining the Heyward fridge.Â
âYouâre cute when youâre high.â
You glance up at him. His smile is coy, like he knows he shouldnât have said that. Because he shouldnât. Rolling your eyes, you play it off as best you can. âCute whilst Iâm stuffing my face with questionable cheese?â
âYeah,â he chuckles, shrugging. âYouâre cute all the time though, so guess itâs not very hard for you to be even cuter high.â
âJJ, stop it.â Your tone is gentle but firm. âI have a boyfriend.â
âOh, Iâm aware,â JJ says. âCaptain Vanilla.â
You hate how he isnât completely wrong. âThatâs not his name.â
âItâs just too easy,â he shrugs, playful as always. âThe guy is a walking textbooked âgood guyâ.â
âWhatâs so wrong with that?â you mumble, picking out another pastry and studying the way itâs rolled.Â
âNothing, I guess. Just find it funny.â
âFunny how?â
âThat youâd go from me to him.â
You glance up from the pastry to meet his gaze. âWe never officially dated, JJ.â
âSame difference,â he shrugs. âBut hey - you know you. You know what you want.â
âExactlyâŠâÂ
You do know you, donât you? It sounds like such a crazy thing to question. But the older you get, the more you think you donât know a thing about yourself. Whatâs your favourite colour? Whatâs your favourite animal? What do you want out of your future? What do you want out of a relationship? Journeying back to the morning, your mind replays the scenes like a horror movie. The worries of when the last time you felt passion in the bedroom feeds into worries of when the last time was that you felt passion, period. Oh no: it feels like an existential crisis might be coming on, about thirty years too early.
âHey.â You snap out of your spiral. JJ forces a smile. âJust wanna know that youâre still living, not just secure. Yâknow. As a friend.âÂ
Funnily enough, that does little to cheer you up.Â
Croissants
JJâs skin is warm against your cheek. Your face rests on his bicep, using it as a makeshift pillow, as you lay skin-to-skin, body-to-body. One of your legs is hooked over his, and his palm rubs large, mindless patterns against the sweat-sticky skin. The room is bathed in moonlight, the curtains drawn closed, and you can hear the sounds of the marsh from outside the Maybank residency. You wonder if JJ might have fallen asleep. His chest is rising and falling rhythmically and you canât see his face from here, to tell if his eyes are open or shut. But then he sighs and you smile against his arm.Â
âTell me about your family,â you request in the quiet of the room.Â
âWhat about them?â
âAnything, really. Like about your mom and dad; if you have any siblings,â you murmur.Â
âNot much to tell,â JJ replies in a hum.Â
âStill. Tell me anyway.â
âTell me about yours,â JJ deflects. You crack a smile.Â
âAlright,â you relent. âI live with my mom and my dad. Sheâs a waitress and heâs a mechanic.â
âYou got any brothers or sisters?â he asks, his thumb massaging your upper leg.Â
âI did,â you say, your voice turning softer. âAn older sister.â
âWhat happened?â
Your lips press together. An image flashes into your mind like a jumpscare, of a coffin dressed in white daisies and lilies. Swallowing thickly, you close your eyes and will the memory away. Itâs then that you decide to confide in JJ.Â
âDo you know who Andy Warhol is?â
âI recognise the name,â he replies after a moment, not questioning why the sudden change in topic.Â
âHe was an artist. Painted a lot of pop-arty things.â
âIs that the freakshow who painted those boring-ass soup cans?â JJ wonders. You laugh quietly.Â
âI wouldnât describe him like that but yeah, thatâs the guy.â
âWhat about him?â JJ asks.Â
âHe was in love with this man, way back when. He kept a diary and this man he was in love with died, and Andy was heartbroken. But he ainât like to say that somebody had died. Instead, he used to write that âthey went awayâ, like on a trip or somethinâ,â you tell him. Your voice trails off towards the end, fearing JJ might laugh at you as you go on to say, âI donât know. I think Iâd like to say that about my sister.â
JJ shifts underneath you until the two of you are lying side by side, now able to see one anotherâs faces through the muggy darkness of the room. His eyes glow in the non-existent light, shining and present, gazing into yours.Â
âWhereâd she go, then? On this trip of hers,â he coaxes. Your lips part in surprise, and for some reason, you want to cry for his small act of kindness. Then, you smile, small and sombre.Â
âTo Paris, in France,â you whisper.Â
âShe go to the Eiffel Tower?â
âEvery day. She eats dinner there at night and watches it twinkle. For breakfast, she buys a croissant and sits by the Seine,â you murmur. Tears wet your eyes as you picture your lost sister, venturing the streets with the wind in her hair, kissing her plump cheeks. Your voice is thick when you continue, âitâs her dream to see all the stuff in the Louvre. She goes every week and keeps a note of where sheâs been and where she wants to go.â
âLike the Catacombs?â
You laugh and sniffle. âNah. Theyâre too creepy for her.â
âDamn straight,â JJ mumbles. âThey scare the crap outta me.â
As a tear lets slip, trickling down your cheek, JJ reaches out his thumb and wipes it away. His hand lingers on your face and you feel yourself lean into his hold. Itâs like heâs holding you up. Heâs holding you together. You open your eyes into his. Thereâs a smile on his face, different to the others. More reserved, less obvious, so different to the JJ youâd known and heard of before. Youâre terrified of losing it entirely or saying something especially stupid, and so instead you mouth two words: âthank youâ.Â
When he kisses you, itâs different too. Thereâs something about it, like a taste that wasnât there before, and it lingers in your mind and mouth. It only grows as JJ deepens the kiss. Your hand traces his jawline and your fingers loop through the locks of his hair, and you tug him closer with a breath. The dance of your lips and tongues and teeth is growing more and more familiar by the day and it terrifies you how easy it has been to become accustomed to it. How easy it has been to become accustomed to JJ. Hands on your hips, JJ lifts you atop of him with a grunt, him rolling onto his back. You shrug the comforter off your back and straddle him. Your hands cradle his face, palms cupping his cheeks. You kiss him like heâs the antidote to all your ailments. Your mouth chases him in the teasing of his lips, breaking apart just to reel you back in. JJâs teeth nip at your lower lip and pull, just so, just enough to have you whining and sighing like some lovesick fool. Maybe you are.Â
âJJ,â you mewl, rocking back against him. He groans as you begin to torture his jawline and neck. Groans louder when you suckle on the tender skin by his ear, painting hickeys like a beautiful landscape. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips deep enough to leave delicious bruises. You feel him growing hard beneath you as you grind against him like some animal in heat.Â
âFuck, youâre soâŠFuckâŠâÂ
Your lips continue their descent down his body. Kisses are peppered along his windpipe, bridging over his Adamâs apple, and you can feel every breath, every stutter, every sigh. Down his chest, bare and broad, and down his stomach. His hands are now free from your hips and instead they tether into your hair, combing through the strands. You look up at him from between his legs - heâs made space for you - and can make out his lazy smile through your hooded gaze. JJâs looking down at you too. His eyes glow.Â
You ghost a kiss over his boxers and he inhales a long, deep breath, his head tilting back into the pillows, eyes undoubtedly slipping shut. Lips upturning with a smile, your fingers tuck into the band of his boxers, and you pull them down his legs tantalisingly slow. Somewhere in the shadows of the room you hear him mumbling, âplease.â Taking him in hand, revelling in his short gasp, you guide him to your mouth. The smell, the feel - it all consumes you as you go down on him. The brush of bristly hair scratching against your nose, flooding your senses. JJâs hand comes to the back of your head quick, as if guiding your pleasure, wordless praising your ways. Until itâs not wordless.Â
âFuck, thatâs itâŠTaking me so fucking good, huh? Look so pretty like thisâŠâ
You hum around his length and he stammers out a moan. Your eyes flick up to take in the sight of his exposed neck, head thrown back, mouth hanging open as he lets noises slip through, shameless and sinful. And you love it, the way you can bring him to the brink, the way you can manipulate his satisfaction like moulding something out of clay. A finger here, a stroke there. The tip hits the back of your throat uncomfortably. You pull away with a damning pop and a trail of saliva connects the two of you. Resting your head against the apex of his thigh, you jack him off with your hand, almost mesmerised by the way he pulses in your hold. Maybe itâs the sounds he makes. JJ Maybank walks like heâs a God; itâs a power trip to have him weak at your hold.Â
âPlease, please, fuckâŠJusâwant your mouth, baby, please,â he begs through gritted teeth. His hand gently yet firmly pushes at your head, trying to guide you back to him, and you feel a giggle bubble up through your throat. It feels unnatural, this version of you. Sexy, seductive, sly.Â
âYou want my mouth?â you tease, pressing a kiss to his throbbing dick.Â
âFuck - yes, yes, please,â he groans. You glance up at him and meet JJâs gaze. His hair, damp with sweat, hangs over his forehead, dangling over his eyes. A sadistic smile is on your face as you pull away, easing your hand off him too. His brows furrow. Itâs like something snaps inside of him - some restraint he was holding breaking like the overstretching of elastic. His hands are on your in a second, gripping and grabbing at your body like you weigh no less than feathers, and you gasp as he tosses you onto your back. Heâs on top of you, ravishing your throat and collarbone so mercilessly, youâre gaping at the ceiling, eyes wide.Â
âThink thatâs funny, huh? Wanna see how much you like it?â
You stammer something out; you donât even know yourself if itâs a yes or no. All you know is you want him - you need him - on you, in you. Anything. JJ doesnât make you wait. His hands pull your panties away swiftly. A finger slips all too easily through your slit and you gasp, eyes rolling shut. His laugh is deep, crooning, cruel in your ear.Â
âSo fucking wet for me, hm? Such a fucking slut. Wanna see how it feels?â
âP-please.â
The stretch of your walls isnât unpleasant as he eases a finger in. You let out a wanton moan. It pumps leisurely inside, the foreign metal of his ring overwhelming, and the brush of the tip of his thumb against your clit has you panting from the pleasure.Â
âYeah, you like that, huh?â
âFuckâŠâ
âYeah,â he chuckles. Then the torture begins, of the instant movement of his finger, in and out, in and out, before easing away so suddenly itâs like he was never there. After that, the faintest of pressure on the exposed skin at his mercy. His damp finger trailing the inside of your thigh. He repeats this cycle until youâre almost in tears. Your hands clutch the bedsheets in fists, feet writhing uselessly at the head of the bed, kicking at the flimsy pillows. You know heâs gloating from the power he holds. Something tells you he doesnât get this much control in most aspects of his life. Something tells you he gets off this just as much as you. âYou wanna come? Do you?â
âFuck! Please, please, JJ, please. Iâll do anything, please, please,â you blubber. You donât care how embarrassing it sounds; how much it pleases him. All you care about is feeling that hot, blinding, pulsing pleasure consuming your every nerve, every bone, every fibre of your being. His breath is hot against your collarbone. JJ kisses the lobe of your ear in such a tender way you wouldnât be able to fathom the magic he works with his hands below the belt. And as you finally break, tumbling over the edge, letting out a fucked-out sob when you do, you can make out JJâs low voice, his Southern accent thick like molasses.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Make a mess on my fingers.â
SmoresÂ
Despite telling Mark where youâre going, it still feels like sneaking around behind his back as you walk up to the Pogueâs house. But this isnât anything nefarious. This is just you breaking routine. This is you catching up with old friends, current friends, and having fun. Sharing some drinks, smoking a joint or two, sitting around a campfire. Good, old fashioned fun just like when you were sixteen.Â
Yep. Thatâs all.Â
âHey yo! There she is!â JJ hollers the moment you come into view.Â
âHey!â you smile, waving. In your other hand is a bag filled with a six pack of beer, a packet of graham crackers, some chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. You ditch it by the cooler to hug everyone hello. JJâs last. His arms wrap around you like tree vines, secure and strong, and itâs familiar in a way that has you lingering. Mark. You break apart and take a seat on the opposite side of the campfire to him.Â
âWhatâs in the bag, mystery girl?â the girl you now know as Cleo asks.Â
âSome refreshments,â you say, lifting up the six pack. That earns a few whoops and hollers of approval from the already tipsy group. âAnd some snacks.â
âSmores?â Sarah gasps. She takes the bag of marshmallows from you.Â
âJust like old times,â you say. Your eyes catch JJâs. Heâs watching you.Â
âLetâs light these bad boys up,â John B announces. The gang is vocal in their approval. Sticks and twigs are gathered for skewers. Marshmallows dangle over the open flames that lick into the dusky air. A marshmallow shoves at yours and you glower at JJ.Â
âLeave my marshmallow alone.â
âHey, this is America. I got rights, yâknow?â
âSays who?â
âThe constitution,â he retorts, grinning. You roll your eyes, trying and failing to bite back your smile.Â
âYâall better stop it,â Cleo says in her thick Jamaican accent. âI ainât wanting any marshmallows going to waste.â
âYou heard her,â you playfully quip at the blonde haired boy. He rolls his eyes at you. Heâs smiling. The amber of the fire paints his face like an oil artwork. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?Â
No, no, stop it. Stop it! God, what is wrong with you? This is just because you and Mark have been a bit distant lately. Yes, thatâs all. Youâre getting stuck on nostalgia. Itâs a mindâs trick. It didnât work before with JJ so whoâs to say it will again. The two of you are friends - heâs been a good friend - and you donât need to go muddying the waters. You punish yourself by staring into the flames and trying to make images of Markâs face in the fire.Â
The night spurs on with drinks that wash down the sickly sweet snacks. You listen to the tales of El Dorado and laugh at the reminiscences of youthful madness when you were all in high school. It isnât until youâre back in the bubble of the Pogues that you realise how much you missed it. Itâs like rediscovering your favourite movie from childhood. It brings a certain comfort that few things can match. They ask about The Stirring Spoon and you recount the tale of how you came about with the idea, of how you got it off the ground. Nobody asks about Mark and youâre ashamed that you donât feel the urge to bring him up, either.Â
You go for another swig of your beer to find it empty. The cooler by John B is empty too, upon investigating. You drop the lid.Â
âYou guys got any more beers?â
âProbably some down at the fish and tackle shop,â Kiara tells you.Â
âThanks,â you say, starting towards the dock. The further you walk, the more the vivacious chatter turns into a humming like the crying cicadas and croaking frogs and cooing owls. The water laps at the wooden pillars and you smile, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment as you walk. Nature is so wonderfully peaceful. The cooler is full of bait and chum, but thereâs a small section for the beers. You retrieve one and drop the lid to find JJ standing in your peripheral.Â
âHoly shit!â
âSorry!â
âWhat the fuck, man?â you laugh.Â
âJust wanted a refill too,â he says, shooting you a squiffy smile. His hair is dishevelled. He seems to wear caps less now, you note. Youâre happy about that. In your tipsy state you can admit your attraction with less shame. You chalk it up to appreciating beauty the way one can appreciate a perfect sunset or timeless painting. To stop your staring, you open the cooler and hand him a can. âThanks.â
âHey, cheers,â you say, holding your drink out. He clinks his against yours. âTo old friends.â
The two of you take a drink. Neither of you go to move back to the other Pogues (who are seemingly in some weird charades battle that is far from quiet). JJ gestures over your shoulder. âYou seen the boat yet?â
âThe H.M.S?âÂ
âNah, the new one,â JJ answers.Â
When he walks past you, you catch a whiff of his smell and it reminds you of home. You turn and follow him. He steps up onto the large boat. Itâs painted bright green and in yellow paint, the name reads The Snapper. JJ offers you a hand and you take it, letting him help you up onto the boat. You feel your phone vibrate in the pocket of your shorts but youâre in no mood to check it.Â
âPretty sweet, huh?â
âSo sweet,â you agree, looking around. JJ wanders over to the main console and flicks on an overhead light. He glows beneath it. When he takes a seat on the bench, you do the same, sitting opposite. Sighing, you lean your head back against the brutal plastic. âThis is the life.â
âYeah? You miss the marsh?â
âI miss it all,â you quietly confess.Â
You can hear the rustle of clothes and the flick-flick of a lighter. The smell of cannabis drifts into the air. âHere.â
Opening your eyes, you lift your head to find a joint extended out to you. Smiling, you take it with thanks and have a hit, then a second, then a third. You havenât smoked in what feels like forever. Mark doesnât like the smell; says it makes him feel sick. You wonder why you stopped indulging in something you enjoyed just because of that, even on your own time.Â
âThanks,â you say, passing the joint back. You ditch your beer can to the side. One poison at a time would be best in these sticky situations, you reckon.Â
âWhatâd you mean, âyou miss it allâ?â
âI donât know,â you sigh. You gaze off into the distance; itâs hard to make out much definition in the dark, save for some lights of houses in the far distances and the silhouette of plants and trees. âI feel like my life is soâŠâsameâ now.â
âSame is good.â
âSometimes,â you say. âBut I keep thinking about what you said to me, the other day. About being secure but still living. What ifâŠWhat if Iâm not living?â
âWellââ
â--I mean, look at you guys! You went to El Dorado! You found El Dorado, and the Royal Merchant, and the Royal Merchantâs treasure, and the Cross of Santo Domingo. What did I find? A mouldy tomato in a box of potatoes.â
JJ cracks up and you roll your eyes. âItâs not funny,â you mutter, smiling nonetheless. You take the joint back and have another drag. Relief fills your system. The muscles in your face loosen along with your mouth. âItâs pathetic. Iâm nearly twenty-one and Iâve been as far as Charleston and have about a handful of exciting memories to my name.â
âWoah, come on now,â JJ chuckles, taking the blunt back. âDonât you think youâre being a bit hard on yourself? You heard what Mr Parker said: that Stirring Spoon thing is awesome, and that was all you. Youâre feeding the community, bringing people together. Thatâs way cooler than some shiny fucking stones.â
âMeh,â you shrug. âGuess Iâm just jealous of you.â
âHa! Yeah, donât be,â JJ sarcastically berates. A shadow comes to his face. Foot in the mouth syndrome curses you.
âShit. Sorry, I didnât mean it like that.â
âYouâre good. I sometimes forget how bad it was too, with how things are now,â JJ admits. He smiles at you and takes another hit. âBut I guess I didnât fully let you in then, huh?â
âYou think?â you jest. He laughs, thankfully, and you inhale the sweet scent of the herb. âGuess I just get stuck on the good memories from before. Like all the days skipping school to surf. And how the summers felt like they could go on forever. Or that time we broke into City Hall, or pranked Topperâs house.â
âDamn, I guess we did get up to a lot of shit, huh?â
âDamn straight,â you grin. Following the dance, you take the joint back.Â
âWell, I can think of some other memories, too,â JJ says. His grin is telling, tongue poking through his teeth. You bite back your smile.Â
âDonât,â you warn.Â
âWhat?â he chuckles.Â
âDonât! Thatâs dangerous territory,â you tell him. You point your joint at him. âThatâs no manâs land.â
âOh man!â JJ groans, tossing his head back. âWhyâd you have to call it that!? You know thatâs like calling a moth to a fire or whatever!â
âWhat?â you giggle, eyeing him.Â
âTelling a guy not to do something is the exact thing to do to get a guy to want to do something,â JJ argues nonsensically. You laugh, shaking your head at him. He holds your gaze and you feel your smile settle into your skin like footprints into damp sand. âThey were pretty good memories, huh?â
âYeah,â you quietly say. âThey were pretty good.â
âRemember that time we did it on the beach.â
âStop it,â you say, but thereâs little conviction in your words. You canât take his eyes anymore, the blue dragging you under like currents in a riptide. You look down at the joint and fixate on the way the embers burn at the paper.Â
âOr that timeââ
âJJ, I mean it,â you say, your tone losing its humour now. You shoot him a look that you hope will put a pin in it. âWe should talk about something else.â
âAlright, alright,â JJ surrenders, holding his hands up and all. He relaxes back against the plastic seat of the boat and you do the same. Your legs outstretch so you can rest your feet on the spot beside him. The two of you catch each otherâs gaze and look away, chuckling bashfully like preteens. You take another hit of the joint and watch the smoke fizzle away into the night. âHowâd you meet Mark, then?â
You glance at JJ. âA few months back. Heâd just moved to Kildare and came by to The Stirring Spoon to help out, and we sort of hit it off.â
âHe seems like a nice guy.â
âHe is,â you smile. But it fades. The weed tickles at your emotions, pulling the wires as if to wreak havoc. JJ seems to take advantage.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â you lie. You take another hit and shake your head, plastering on a smile. âItâs nothing.â
Sighing, JJ folds his arms comfortably over his chest. âYâknow, just cause I know what you look like naked donât mean we canât be friends now.â
Barking out a laugh, you shake your head. âThere was definitely a better way you could have put that.â
âProbably,â he shrugs, grinning, âbut itâs true, ainât it? We can be friends.â
âOf course we can. We are,â you emphasise.Â
âSoâŠThat means that if you wanna vent about Mr Loverboy to me, you can,â JJ offers.Â
Laughing, you rock your head back and gaze up at the sky. The stars are out. They shimmer white and crystal in the abyss of the night. âThatâd be too weird, I think, but Iâll keep it in mind, thanks.â
âI just got one question. Just one.â
âGo on,â you reluctantly reply.Â
âDoes he say âthank youâ after the two of you fuck?â
You burst into fits of laughter. Itâs so sudden that it has you doubling over. Tears slip from your eyes and you wipe them away, looking at a grinning JJ. God, you missed him and his twisted sense of humour.Â
âHe just looks like the kinda guy who would!â
âOh my God, no!â you laugh, shaking your head. Catching your breath, you manage out, âno, he doesnât say âthank youâ.â
âIs he the sub then? Cause there is no way that guy is laying his hands on you without written permission.â
âJJ stop! Iâm gonna pee myself!â you cackle, kicking your feet. JJ starts laughing too. You open your eyes and make out his face in the lowlight of the pierâs lamp. Wheezing, you catch your breath and calm yourself. âThis is exactly what I was talking about.â
âI can give the guy pointers if he needs them,â JJ jokes. Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets just at the idea though and you point at him in another warning.Â
âDonât you dare!â you say, trying not to crack up again. ââSides, he doesnât need pointers.â
âEverybody needs pointers,â JJ says with a roll of his eyes. âJohn B gave me one of the best pointers.â
âI find that impossible to believe,â you snort.Â
âHe did! It was a tip for kissing. Works like a fucking charm too, Iâm telling ya.â
âMhm, Iâll bet,â you sarcastically return. You glance at the joint to check if it needs tapping off, take another drag, and then look up to find JJ watching you. He hasnât changed enough for you to forget what that expression means.Â
âYou want me to show you?â
âShow me? How?â you say with furrowed brows. Something in the air shifts with your question. An unspoken thing, an unseeable thing, but something nonetheless. A nervous tickle comes to your throat.Â
JJ doesnât reply but he slowly leans over the seat towards you. Your breath catches in your lungs the moment he enters your bubble, breaking some unspoken barrier, and your smile fades away like day into night. You feel as though youâre stuck in place, plastered to the seat, and youâre ashamed to admit that you donât hate that you are. Youâre ashamed that youâre not pushing him away, telling him to buzz off, laughing at his idiocy. Youâre ashamed that youâre curious as to what heâs going to do next.Â
JJâs close enough now that you can smell him. His cologne mixed with something sweet but tangy, like seasalt and citrus. Something masculine underneath, that has a primal instinct inside of you wanting to claw its way out. Your fingers grip the edge of the seat instead. Your eyes stare into his. You study the laps of green and grey in the sea of blue, mesmerised in the way the night sky reflects in the iris. His gaze darts down to your lips and you have no idea how this happened and how you got here, and everything is blurry but so, so clear from the cannabis as he leans forward, and you canât move but you should move and you want to move but you donât, you never want to move again, as his lips brush against yours just so, just enough for you to know that they have, that he has, that heâs real, but that he hasnât, and that you can take it all back, and that it doesnât count and it shouldnât and you shouldnât butâ
Your hand clutches his jaw and you pull him in. His lips crash against yours in a breath. You kiss him like you wonât ever kiss him again. He sighs against you in the hurried mesh of mouths, groaning as your tongue brushes against his, tasting him for the first time in years. Itâs like finding a childhood toy and it smells like nostalgia. Itâs like eating a baked good and it tastes like a specific holiday. Itâs like smoking your first joint and it feels like floating.Â
Until youâre not.Â
Your body falls back down to earth with a thud. You shove JJ away as if heâs flammable and youâre the deadly spark. Your mouth hangs open in shock, your eyes filling with horror, and the worst feeling youâve maybe ever felt overcomes you so suddenly, you worry you might be sick.Â
Guilt.Â
âOh my God,â you whisper. You lift a hand to your lips and your fingers brush against the damp of his spit that lingers, and it confirms that it was all real. âOh my God.â
JJâs lips move to try and formulate words but nothing happens. He looks just as stunned as you do. His eyes are wide, lips swollen, cheeks pink. Those three words bang about your brain as you take in the sight of him. Itâs not at all unfamiliar.Â
Hot ash from your joint drops onto your thigh and you cuss, brushing it off. You toss the joint into the sea behind you as if itâs the culprit, the plotter, behind all of this. Then youâre on your feet and rambling out excuses.Â
âIâm so sorry. I donât know why I did that. I think it was - it was definitely the weed. I really should go, itâs so late. Iâm so sorry. Oh my God, I have no idea-â
Itâs as youâre about to step off the boat and onto the wooden pier that JJâs hand locks around your wrist. It freezes you in place once more and you want to climb out of your body and scream at yourself. Instead, you look down at him.Â
âYou can stay, yâknow,â JJ whispers. Thereâs a pleading in his eyes, a tenderness that you havenât known before in him, and you finally know how Eve must have felt with that damn serpent in Eden. Temptation at its finest, dressed up in blonde, unruly hair and dreamy eyes and sculpted muscles and a graphic tee.Â
Mark.Â
You shake your head and snatch your hand free. âThis was a mistake. I shouldnât have come here.â
And no matter how vehemently you tell yourself that you mean it as you hurry away from the pier and from the house, you know you donât.Â
Cheap White WineÂ
The tart tanginess of the wine is sharp on your tongue as you take another swig. Itâs late, or perhaps early, and the Chateau is illuminated by amber and orange from lamps. Itâs raining outside as hurricane season rattles on, but you and the Pogues could care less. When you have wine, you really have everything you need.Â
âCome on, come on!â Kiara laughs, egging on you to loop your arm in hers. The two of you line dance together to an old noughties CD in the player. You swing one another around in a tipsy haze to the upbeat tempo. Pope and John B heckle and holler from the pull-out sofa, toasting their beer cans up in approval. Youâre happy here, like this, in your bubble. As the song comes to a close on a major chord, you and Kiara giggle and take joking bows to your audience. You frown when you look around the room, not finding JJ anywhere.Â
âHeâs on the porch,â Pope says, seemingly catching on.Â
âThanks,â you smile, a little embarrassed that youâre that easy to read. Taking the wine, you venture out the door, closing it behind you as another song starts up. Kieâs cheer and begging for John B to dance is muted through the shutters and windows.Â
JJ sits on the sofa, a joint lit up, legs outstretched on the coffee table. He glances up at the sound of someone coming out and smiles at the sight of you.Â
âHey. Can I join?â you wonder.Â
âCourse,â he hums, shuffling a cushion in invitation beside him. You sit and lean against him, hitching your feet up onto the table beside his. He knocks one of his shoes against yours teasingly and you smile. Through the netting of the porch, you can make out the lashing of rain in the yard. Itâs pitter-pattering is soothing like a nursery rhyme. You sigh and let your eyes slip shut. âHaving fun?â
âAlways,â you mumble, making him laugh. âYou got any dreams?â
âLike sexy ones?â
âNo,â you giggle, elbowing him, making him let out a few laughs too. âLike actual dreams. Ambitions. A wish.â
JJ takes a pause for thought. You have a swig of your wine as you wait, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and constant. âI donât know. Maybe.â
Your heart sinks with disappointment. This wasnât the first time this has happened. It felt as though every time JJ came close to pulling back the curtain and letting you see a glimpse, he caught eye of something that scared him and he slipped it shut again. He told you what he wanted to tell you and kept the rest close to heart. You werenât going to pry his cards from his body to see them, but it would be nice if he showed you them once in a while. It felt like the more time you spent with him, the less you knew. You could guess things from small clues as if playing a boardgame. He hardly went home, never mentioned his mother, and his father came into conversation with a shadow. He spoke lowly of himself, presumed the worst before others could, and it saddened you how clearly he believed everything he said. JJ couldnât see himself the way you did.Â
âI do,â you whisper, hoping it might entice him to share.Â
âOh yeah? Whatâs your dream?â
âI want to start a kitchen.â
âHuh?â
âLike a community kitchen thing. Not a bakery or a restaurant, just a place for all kinds of food, for all kinds of people, yâknow? A good thing, like that. My sister used to help out at a soup kitchen andâŠI donât know. I always liked that.â
JJ squeezes your thigh in acknowledgment. âSounds fuckinâ amazing.â
âThanks.â
In the Chateau, John B and Kiara laugh and Pope speaks loudly over them, something teasing, and you smile. The smell of weed fills the air before you and blends in with the notes of your wine and the telling scent of JJ. You wonder if the smell of you affects him in the same way; if the flavours of your perfume haunt him when he canât sleep the way his cologne does for you. Suddenly, somewhere in the serenity of the moment comes a calamitous realisation, like a rumble thunder breaking the rain.Â
You were falling in love with JJ Maybank.Â
Biscuits Â
Food poisoning. Thatâs what youâd told Mark. The heavy sickness that had sat in the bottom of your stomach like a boulder since last night lingered still. You hoped it was a hangover, but that passed with an advil. You knew what this was.Â
You only escaped the guilt in your sleep. The moment you returned home, you climbed under the sheets of your bed like a child hiding from the bogeyman. Sleep was the only reprieve, though it didnât come easy, and the second you came to in the morning, the first thought in your head was the look on JJâs face just before his lips touched yours.Â
Fuck.Â
Your phone pings with another message that is no doubt from Mark and you canât bring yourself to look at it. It doesnât help that thereâs a framed picture of the two of you staring at you from the bedside. It was his gift to you for your one month anniversary, because of course Mark cares about one month anniversaries. You hadnât gotten him anything; you had to make up some lie that it was late in the mail, and then run to the shops that night. Just further proof that you donât deserve him.Â
Hello, hell? Iâd like to reserve my spot in advance. Queen sized bed please, for me and my whorish ways. Much love.Â
When the phone begins to ring you groan aloud and send it straight to voicemail. You bury your head beneath the pillow and close your eyes, but the memories haunt you like flashbacks. JJâs eyes. JJâs lips. The way he tasted, the way he bit your lower lip just so, in that way that only he knows, in the way that he always knew drives you crazyâ
âStop it!â
Hello, hell? Quick update: I think I might be going insane, too. Just thought I should preface you.Â
Somewhere in your self-loathing, you manage to drift off into another restless sleep. Itâs broken by a tapping on your door. Groaning, you force yourself out of the safety of your bed and wander to your door, expecting to find your mom. Instead, your head tips back to see the face of your boyfriend.Â
âHey,â he says. His voice is thick with concern, brows knitted with worry. âHow you feeling?â
âLike shit.â Thankfully, you didnât have to lie with that one. âWhatâre you doing here?â
âI needed to check on you,â he replies. He steps into your room and you make space, sitting on your bed. He closes the door behind him. âI tried calling but you didnât answer.â
âYeah, sorry, uhâŠI was just feeling really frail, yâknow?â
âOh, baby,â Mark sighs. He sits beside you on the bed and places his large palm on your forehead. His brown curly hair sits in perfect ringlets atop of his head. One dangles over his forehead, out of formation, and it reminds you of JJ. Just how you went from me to him, JJ had said. Were they that different, after all? âYou got a temperature?â
âI donât think so,â you say. You gently push his hand off your face. âI think I just need to sleep.â
âWell, Iâm here to take care of you.â
âReally?â You hope the dread in your voice isnât obvious.Â
âCourse. Youâd do the same for me,â he smiles. He lifts a bag you didnât even notice he was carrying and shows you each item. âMamaâs homemade biscuits. Sheâs real worried about you, yâknow?â
âIâm fine,â you insist, âjust a bit sick. I think the worst of it has passed.â
âThatâs good, then. Iâll make you a hot drink, yeah? We can watch a movie or something. You get cosy,â Mark tells you. You nod and try your best to smile. Mark leans forward and presses a fleeting kiss on your lips, and the sickness comes back tenfold. You want to cry the second heâs out of your room.Â
Mark is good. Mark is good for you. But what if youâre not good for Mark?Â
Chocolate Chip Cookies
âI donât understand.â
You sigh, rubbing tiredly at your forehead. Bile lingers in the back of your throat but you swallow it down, alongside the feeling of self-reproach. This was it: the conversation youâd been dreading. The conversation that needed to happen. Youâd rehearsed your words in the mirror like practising lines for a play. Journals and diaries filled with debate, as to whether you stay or bolt. But now was as good a time as any, and you knew in your mind what the right thing to do was. You canât risk getting in the car accident if you step out of the vehicle.Â
âDid I do something?â JJ then asks, his voice weak, naked. You meet his gaze and shake your head firmly.Â
âNo,â you breathe, âno, you ainât do nothing, JJ.â
âThen I donât get it,â he repeats, stronger this time. Frustrated. You knew none of this would be easy.Â
âLook,â you cut yourself off with a sigh. You shuffle your crossed legs, sitting on JJâs bed in the Chateau in a way that you never have before, as if youâve never stepped foot inside his life. âMy parents are heading to Charleston for a couple months anyway, to stay with my grandmother and help look after her, andâŠwell, maybe itâs for the better, that we have this distance sooner rather than later.â
âDistance?â
âYouâve been removed, JJ,â you mumble, hoping not to sound accusatory. âAnd thatâs okay, I know youâre busy. I mean, you told me from the start that you donât do the whole relationship-thing. But I donât think I can stay, not right now.â
âOkay, is this some kinda joke?â JJ snaps. He gets to his feet and paces a few steps in the small throughway of his bedroom. Taking off his hat, JJ rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks at you, eyes fiery, expression hard as if to shield from the hurt that you donât mean to cause. âWhat the fuck are you even talking about? I thought we were fine.â
âWe are fine,â you insist. Sighing, you try and find the best way to explain yourself without giving it all away. âLook, I ainât meaning that youâre a bad guy or that youâre damaged or anything like that. I donât think that, not at all. ButâŠHow can I explain this?â
JJ takes a moment or two to calm himself as you hang your head and clench your eyes, searching for the perfect turn of phrase to make your thought process make sense. You find it. Lift your head, soften your gaze at the hurt on his face, and try your best to smile through the sorrow. This wasnât easy for you either.Â
âYou know when you see a tornado?â
He stares at you for a short while before nodding, urging you to continue.Â
âThings that likeâŠTheyâre always so pretty for afar. So mesmerising, how nature can create something like that. Stunning, really. Epic. But then, you get too close, and you get sucked in. And itâs just chaos and thereâs no way out of it without being broken.â
JJ nods again, pursing his lips.Â
âI think thatâs what might happen here,â you whisper. âIf I stick around.â
âI donât get it. Youâre saying Iâm gonna break you?â
âNo, Iâm sayingâŠIâm saying youâre not in a spot right now to give me what I need. That ainât your fault, JJ, but I canât let myself stay knowing that Iâm gonna have my heartbroken. I wish I could - I wish I could just wing-it like that - but I canât.â
Thereâs a pregnant pause that JJ drags out, staring at you as if trying to see into your head, searching for some lie. Sighing, he must come up empty, as he takes the spot beside you on the bed again. You test the waters, leaning against his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through his t-shirt. One of his hands lifts and strokes your hair, smoothing it down.Â
âI really do care âbout you, yâknow? Like, that ainât fake,â JJ admits in a hushed tone.Â
âI know, JJ,â you reply, just as soundless. âI just think you gotta figure yourself out before you canâŠâ
â...love you?â JJ hesitantly whispers, after you lose nerve. Your eyes squeeze shut.Â
âMhm.â
âYou canât love me âtil then, either?â
Laughing sadly, you shake your head against him. He really couldnât tell how much youâd fallen for him already, could he? âI donât think you gotta worry âbout that ever, JJ.â
A soft kiss is planted on your forehead. âSoâŠJust gotta do some soul searchinâ, huh?â
âSomethinâ like that,â you hum. âBut hey, I tell you what.â
You break apart from the comfort of his hold, tilting your head so you can look up, into his eyes. The pain in JJâs gaze tears you like wrapping paper, and itâs worse to know itâs your fault, but you know that itâs the only way to save you both from further pain. It isnât the right time, and thatâs a shame, and it isnât fair, since youâve memorised the outline of him and drawn him into all your plans and daydreams. But you can hear it when you talk and feel it when you sleep together, this detachment, this removal of himself, that canât come until heâs healed in a way that heâs far away from now. Thereâs something pulling him away from you, an adventure of sorts, and you donât want to keep him from it. You want JJ to love you but you want him to choose you, too. And until then, you donât have it in yourself to sit around on the sidelines, waiting for your heart to be broken. Itâs like sitting a toddler in front of a plate of chocolate chip cookies but demanding them not to touch; the temptation might just kill you.Â
âWhat?â JJ gently prompts, bringing you back from your thoughts.Â
Your smile is sick with inner lamentation. âIf you do figure yourself out, after some soul searchinâ and all that, then chances are Iâll still be here. So, I guess, if you ever feel like fallinâ then lemme know. You can catch me on the way down.â
JJâs smile is beautiful, even when his eyes are wet with unshed tears. You lean up and press a fleeting kiss to his lips, but you donât let yourself linger. If you do, youâre afraid youâll never leave. You murmur some sort of goodbye, making an excuse that you should get going, and JJ doesnât argue. He watches you as you stand, waves farewell with two-fingers as you leave, and you walk home with your heart halfway broken but more whole than it mightâve been if you stayed and tried to make this impossible thing work. JJ wasnât ready to fall in love, not yet, but you already had.Â
Ham and Cheese Sandwiches Â
âAre you sure youâre feeling okay?â
âYeah, I promise,â you reply to Mark, smiling reassuringly. You wonder if it looks like a grimace. It feels like one. Even touching him makes you want to cry, as you brush your hand atop of his on the table. Your feigned food poisoning was two days ago now but Mark was still worried for your health, likely because you were still acting so withdrawn and drained. Itâs hard to sleep when youâre consumed by guilt and confusion. âWhy donât you see if Nancy needs a hand in the kitchen, yeah? I can work on the inventory out here.â
âYou sure? I donât mind helping.â
âIâm sure,â you nod. âI can come get you if I need anything.â
âYou better,â he grins. He dips his head and kisses you and it takes everything inside of you not to pull away like a flinch. Itâs not him. Itâs you. You feel like youâre poison. Like JJâs kiss has infected you and you canât get Mark sick too. His brown curls bounce as he walks back to the building. You busy your mind with counting tins of soup. The Stirring Spoon had never had so many posters, so many new recipes, with how much youâd been trying to keep yourself busy. You picked up extra shifts at the Smoothie Shop to avoid Mark during the daytime, and you submerged yourself in your voluntary-planning work and âearly nightsâ to avoid him during the night. It wasnât fair to him but you didn't know what else to do.Â
Well, thatâs a lie. You know exactly what you should do, but denial is so much easier.Â
Ducking down, you grab another box of leftover soup from a local supermarket. Theyâd recently changed providers and all the old stuff had to go. You were thinking of making toasted sandwiches with soup. Grunting, you lift the box onto the table. The sun beats down on you as if the universe is punishing you. Good, itâs the least I deserve.Â
You can spot him anywhere, even blind. Heâs in the far corner carrying a smaller box than usual, compared to his crate. A sudden wave of panic comes over you and you speed walk over to him. He frowns as you approach.Â
âYou good? Hey!âÂ
You grab his arm and drag him out of sight from the field, behind an overgrown bush. âW hat are you doing here?â you hiss.Â
âBringing sandwiches?â he replies, as if it should be obvious. âAre you okay?â
âJJ, you canât be here,â you snap. âMark is literally in the other building!â
âSo?âÂ
âSo? Do youâŠDo you not remember what happened the other night?â you ask, calming down slightly.Â
JJ sighs and puts the box down on the floor. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. âLook, clearly you spun out. I ainât gonna mention it if you donât want me to.â
âWaitâŠReally?â
âJesus Christ, I ainât a homewrecker,â JJ chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. You want to crack a smile but you think your face might be permanently stitched in perpetual concern forever. His laughter dies. âListen, I think you got some stuff to figure out, aâright?â
âExcuse me?â
âDonât get offended! Iâm jusâ sayingâŠâ JJ cuts himself of with a sigh and brushes a hand through his hair. He pinches the bridge of his nose. You missed all his little ticks and quirks. âLook, donât kill me for sayinâ this, Iâm just tryinâ to be honest. I donât think Markâs the right guy for you.â
âI-â
âIâm sorry, aâright? I donât think you want to admit it either butâŠI think you gotta be honest. You donât love him, okay? And thatâs aâright, Iâm not saying heâs a bad guy. I just think you need to make a choice.â
âWhat does that mean? A choice?â you quietly ask, terrified for his answer.Â
His smile is sad as JJ shrugs. âI was an idiot to lose you once, I ainât gonna lose you again - not if I can help it. If Markâs who you want - if Mark makes you feel like youâre living - then Iâll never bring it up again. Hell, Iâll stay away from you forever, if you want. Least, Iâll try to. I donât know if I can be held accountable for when Iâm drunk but- look, now Iâm getting side tracked. The point is:â, JJ speaks with his hands, âif Mark isnât the one for youâŠIâm here to catch you, yâknow?â
You blink at JJ and blink away the tears. Youâre not sure if you can form words right now, not even sure what words they would be, so you try your best to nod. JJ tries another smile.Â
âThereâs some sandwiches from Kie and Sarah for today. I hope it all goes okay. JustâŠlemme know. Or donât, yâknow? Either way,â he trails off with a shrug. You feel cemented into the dirt as JJ backs away. Then heâs gone. Your eyes slip shut. Some weird hybrid of JJ and Markâs faces fill your thoughts.Â
âIf you ever feel like fallinâ then let me know. You can catch me on the way down.âÂ
âIâm here to catch you.âÂ
You need to figure this out and fast. It wasnât fair to anybody, not even yourself. Dragging things out doesnât make it any easier, it only delays the inevitable, like tediously inching a bandaid off the skin. Sometimes you just have to rip. You just have to prepare for the aftermath.
How ironic, how when you were sixteen it was you waiting for JJ to figure himself out, and now itâs your turn. Itâs a shame you were never all that much of a fan of irony.Â
Cinnamon BunsÂ
Baking is therapeutic. The precision of weighing out the ingredients; the cathartic relief from beating together butter and sugar until fluffy like clouds; the tapping and cracking of eggs; the rhythmic folding of flour; the soon-to-arrive reward for your labour. You like baking when life gets stressful. Few things are so systematic, so simple, so quick to resolve, as baking. Life is more complicated than that.Â
Mark and JJ. Two sides of different coins. Neither good, nor bad. Human, just like you.Â
As you prepare the batter for cinnamon buns, you try to make sense of everything. Figure yourself out, as JJ had put it.Â
Mark was designed to be easy to fall in love with. It was as if the universe had a recipe for him, everything the girls crave, the people fawn over in romance novels, the parents pray for in their childâs partner. Responsible; caring; thoughtful; kind; secure; safe. Mark was good. There was no other way to put it. Hell, you met him at a voluntary community kitchen. He gave you stability like a white picket fence. Perfect and practised, like heâd been waiting for that his whole life. But you found yourself restless in the fairytale. Found yourself itching for change, for chaos, for clutter. He was sentimental in a way you werenât. That wasnât to say you were heartless - the two of you just loved differently.Â
JJ Maybank? He wasnât designed for it in the same way, but it was impossible to not fall in love with him. You knew it from the moment your paths crossed, back when you were sixteen and the two of you tumbled through two months together. Thatâs why you left in the first place. To save yourself from the inevitable heartbreak that it would bring, because sixteen-year-old JJ was in no place to commit to anybody. You assumed that with time your feelings would fade away and when you met Mark, you believed they had. You liked Mark - that wasnât false - and you had feelings for Mark. But the love you had for JJ didnât vanish. Like energy, it could only be transferred. It went into the back of your mind as if in hibernation but the moment JJ waltzed back into your world, it was awake. It was impossible to ignore.Â
Mark was the netting beneath a trapeze artist, but JJ was the acrobat. Mark was the emergency brake in a racing car, but JJ was the driver. But JJ was safety too. He made you feel safe, but he also made you feel alive.Â
And you wanted to feel alive.Â
Mark was routine. He was predictable. You could see the next five, ten, twenty years of your life laid out nice and neat with Mark. But did you want that? Did you want to give up the adventure? The chaos? The things you missed so desperately.Â
As you drizzle the topping on top of the cinnamon buns, you summarise your scrambled thoughts into one neat realisation: you wouldnât have kissed JJ if you truly wanted Mark.Â
Your heart feels like itâs in your throat as you walk to Markâs house. The buns sit neat in the tupperware and youâre careful not to shake them. His door looks like a tombstone as you knock on it. Thereâs a noise from inside and the door opens. Mark smiles down at you. Heâs dressed in a baby-blue waffle sweater and itâs so undeniably, so wonderfully him.Â
âHey!â he grins.Â
âCan I come in?â you ask. It sounds ridiculous asking that when you used to sleep in this house almost daily.Â
âCourse,â Mark replies. He opens the door further and you slip inside. It shuts behind you. You place the tupperware on the countertop, taking too much time in letting go. âYou alright?â
âMhm. I justâŠI think we should talk about some stuff,â you say, feeling your voice losing power.Â
âAlright. Come, sit,â he urges. You do as he asks and take the spot on the bed beside him, leaving a gap. âWhatâs up?â
You fumble your fingers together and stare intensely at your hands, racking your mind for the words, for where to start. Youâd practised this so many times in the mirror. Childish.Â
âI did something and I need to tell you, because youâve always been so good to me, and so honest with me, and it isnât fair to hoodwink you.â
âOkay,â Mark faintly replies.Â
You take a steady breath in. Mark is good. He deserves the truth. âI went to see JJ last week, and one thing led to another, and we kissed.â
For a moment, thereâs nothing. Just the sounds of the air conditioning unit humming as white noise. Then,Â
âOh.â
You clench your eyes shut before looking up at him. Heâs detached in his expression. Your eyes fill with tears. âIâm so sorry, Mark,â you whisper, scared your voice will break if you talk any louder. He meets your gaze. âYou donât deserve that. You donât deserve to be treated that way. Youâre such a good, genuine person. I justâŠI donât know why, but I justâŠI canât love you.â
Mark swallows thickly. The tears are warm and sticky on your cheeks. Itâs so selfish to cry when youâre the one who threw the punches. You hang your head with shame and watch the teardrops land on your restless hands.
âI swear I didnât plan it. I didnât even know I still had feelings for JJ untilâŠWell, until then.â
âI did.â
Your head snaps up. Heâs staring at you, but he doesnât look angry. No. Thereâs a shadow of a smile on his lips. A sad smile, no doubt, but a smile nonetheless.Â
âYou did?â
âThe minute you saw him, that Wednesday at the start of the month. I saw it on your face, clear as day. You never used to look at me like that.â
âMarkââ
â--Thatâs okay,â he nods. Heâs crying too, now, and youâre not sure what to think, what to do. But Mark does. Of course, he does. His hands reach out to hold yours, warm in his clutch, and you blubber like a petulant child. âYouâre not a bad person, Y/N. I could tell something was bothering you this past week.â
âI just didnât know how to tell you, and I didnât even know what it meant. But I have to be honest for the both of us, and I donâtâŠI donât think Iâm the girl youâre looking for, Mark,â you say through your tears.Â
Mark smiles solemnly and nods once. The squeeze of your hands tells you everything. I know. I agree. Itâs okay.Â
âDo you hate me?â you ask in a moment of pure patheticness. Mark laughs and shakes his head.Â
âYouâre too pretty to hate.â
âUgh! You canât say things like that!â you whine, throwing your head back. He laughs again, soggy with his sorrow, and he shrugs.Â
âJust got to keep my good-guy rep up.â
Laughing, you shake your head at him and smile. The two of you share a breath and he nods. A conclusion. His smile dwindles.Â
âIâm gonna need time, thoughâŠBefore we can be friends, maybe. Just toâŠYou knowâŠâ
âOf course,â you whisper. âI understand. Whatever you want, whatever you need. Itâs all on your terms, I promise.â
Mark nods. Thanks you. It is so fucking bizarre to have the man you cheated on thank you but here we are. Life is full of strangeness.Â
âCan I give you a hug?â you wonder. Chuckling, he nods, and you waste no time in throwing your arms around his shoulders. Mark holds you in the embrace and the two of you savour the feeling of one another for one last time. Against his shoulder, you murmur, âIâm going to miss you, Mark.â
âIâm going to miss you too,â he tells you into your collarbone. âJJâs a lucky guy. But make sure to tell him I know where he lives if he hurts you.â
You tearfully giggle against him. âIâll pass on the message.â
Bacon Sandwiches
Itâs warm today; bright and brilliant. The critters are happy, chirping in the trees, croaking in the overgrowth by the water of the marsh that lines the Pogueâs house. Your footsteps feel heavy as you walk up the driveway, anticipating weighing you down. You lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight and make out JJ. Heâs at the entrance to the shop, stood a few rungs up a free-standing ladder. Heâs trying to staple something to the walls - a banner of some kind - and you make your way over.Â
âNeed a hand?â
He jumps and you cringe. Oops. JJ looks down at you and his lips quirk at the corners. The muscle tee he wears is grey and hangs loose on his well-kept frame. Heâs armed with a staple gun. âYo. Whatâre you doing here?â
âWant a hand?â you repeat, nodding up at the banner, not quite ready to confess. JJ shrugs and nods.Â
âSure. Thanks.âÂ
You glance around and find something that looks sturdy enough to stand on. Dragging it over, you boost yourself up and hold out your hand to take the other side of the banner. Holding it up against the wall, JJ leans forward and steadies himself with an elbow on the wooden panelling.Â
âWeâre selling bacon sandwiches on weekends now, so thought we oughta advertise it, yâknow? So, anyway, whatâre youââ a grunt and a click of the staple gun, â-doing here?â
You step down from your boost and JJ takes your place. You donât speak, stalling time, as JJ secures the banner. Sighing, taking it in, nodding with contentment, JJ jumps down and ditches the gun. The he stands with his hands on his hips and looks at you, shrugging again.Â
âI, uhâŠI needed to talk you,â you say, clearing your throat.Â
âAâright. What about?â
âJust likeâŠâ You rock your head back, take a breath, and steel yourself. Somewhere in that split second, you find a new mantra. JJ is good. JJ is good for me. Iâm good for JJ. Weâre good for each other. Smiling, you look at him again. âDid you mean it?â
âMean what?â he mumbles.Â
Thereâs a playfulness, a teasing, as you shrug. âThat youâll catch me.â
You can see the words as they process through his head. See the moment he tracks the meaning, parses it altogether. A smile, beautiful and brimming, greets you, and then JJ crosses the gap between you in two large strides. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you up in an embrace. He swings you around for good measure and you laugh, looping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close, smiling against him. This is good.Â
âYou mean it?â
âI mean it,â you whisper in reply. He carefully reunites you with the ground. You smile up at JJ, gazing into his blue eyes, bathing in their depths. Your hand strokes along his jaw, slides down his front until it rests just above his heart. âIt was always you, JJ.â
âYou thinkâŠYou think you can love me now?â he nervously asks.Â
You shake your head with a silent laugh. It feels like breathing, like youâre finally free, as you admit, âIâve always loved you.â
It comes and goes like a comet; the flash of shock in his eyes; the glow of his smile; the burning passion of his lips on yours. And as you kiss JJ, without guilt, without fear, you finally feel at home. When you break apart, short of air, JJ rests his forehead against yours. His thumb smooths along the soft line of your jaw and you smile. He takes a small breathe, shaky, unsure, but JJ's words are sure like bedrock.
"I love you too."
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Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)
âAll Iâm saying isââ Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, âif you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.â
You widely stare back, silent, indifferentâor at least pretend to be. Itâs gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. Itâs not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever. Â
She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. âSo Iâm taking that as an admission.âÂ
Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.
You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.
Despite all the time youâve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.
âââââ
The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. Thereâs also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and youâve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.
Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. Itâs how sheâs getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. Sheâs an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo thereâuntil sheâs more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most.Â
Sheâs the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.
So it comes as a surprise when sheâs casted as second fiddle to you, the first billingâand everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer.Â
(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces thatâs commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.
Itâs a team that sailed a thousand shipsâboth for your characters and in the real world.)
The consummate professional you are, you donât think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where youâre together on screen, youâve been separated at armsâ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. Itâs only during the press tour where youâve finally gotten somewhat close.
Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhereâin interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, thatâs what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.
Hereâs the thing: you love Hyewonâthat much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?
Thankfully, your duo doesnât get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that canât be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly wellâwell enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership.Â
Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few monthsâand how youâre a match made in heaven.Â
Everyoneâs gonna miss this pairingâand so will you.
Now youâre back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, youâve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded.Â
Itâs all behind you now. Youâre finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really mattersâthe pretty girl that you most likely wonât be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldnât be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.
Back to Hyewon. Sheâs looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.
âAre you gonna do something?â she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you donâtâor maybe you do. Youâre blinded by fear to realize it. âThe night is fleeting. If not now, then when?â
Her words ring through your head.Â
If not now, then when?
The same five words, ordered in the exact same wayâetched in tiny letters on her skin.
You still remember everythingâframe by frame, down to the last details. On screen, itâs implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your charactersâ supposed words, âCleanââ in your own unique way.
It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said.Â
The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.
During this period, there are a lot of things that youâve regretâand will regret. The fact youâve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you havenât thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If thereâs anything you want to admit, itâs that Hyewon is everything.
Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where youâd yearn moments when youâre not beside herâand you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When sheâs right at your fingertips.
Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice youâve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses sheâs been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras.Â
Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. âI wore this just for you,â she saidâand from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.
Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. Sheâs just waiting for those magic words. Thereâs no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.
She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters.Â
âIf youâre not gonna do anything,â she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. âThen I might as well do it myself. I was hoping youâd take this off meââ
âStop.âÂ
You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip.Â
Another win for Hyewon. Youâve lost count as to how many times sheâs been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense sheâs enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, itâs clear on your face that youâre stressed.Â
But for what?
âIf it hasnât gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.â Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; itâs not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot.Â
Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. itâs undeniable that she knows what sheâs doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldnât be this beautiful and seductive. âYou can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.â
You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When itâs all said and done, itâll definitely be as long as the career documentary theyâll make about you in 50 years.
What more do you have to lose?Â
This will all be behind you soon enough.
You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. âGod, I really wish you werenât such a tease,â you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. âBecause otherwise, it would have been so much easier.â
Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses youâas in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.
âOnly if you say the magic word,â she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.
Youâve really got no other choice.
âI love you,â you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginableâhiding that reluctance behind your tone.Â
Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be.Â
âThatâs it? Doesnât sound like someone who loves me,â she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.
âFuck me.â The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasnât your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.
âThatâs my line,â she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers whoâve laughed can speak on her behalf.
âYouâre gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?â you ask, knowing youâve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.
âYouâre gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?â she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isnât part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughsâbasks in your suffering.
Itâs the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocentâyouâve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesnât need to reaffirm herself.
But she would love to hear it straight from the source.
âSay it. Say it.â Hyewon is urging youâdemanding youâas if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you.Â
Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewonâs gravity is inescapable.
âLove youâHyem, pleaseââÂ
Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that sheâs taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that itâs alarming. Thereâs little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, youâd fold in a heartbeat. Sheâs the kind of girl youâd happily end up in a scandal with, someone youâd throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.
She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. Itâs the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.
âI love you Hyem,â you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. Youâre breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. Itâs unfortunate you canât make it look like an accidentâas is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. âFor the longest time, I wanted you, butââ
Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.
Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If thereâs one thing youâve learned about working with other actors, itâs that chemistry comes naturallyâit canât be taught.
And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you canât be any more tense.
âThen show me.â She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind.Â
You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and youâre wasting more by taking your sweet timeâresting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, youâre doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. Sheâs showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you werenât so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, youâd be wondering why sheâs this persistent.Â
Maybe youâre just as important of a character in her story too, or youâre both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.
None of that is your concern right now. Youâre cupping Hyewonâs face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, sheâs whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like youâre going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, itâs all coming together, untilâ
âStop.âÂ
You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away.Â
You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. âWhatâs up?âÂ
Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. Sheâs staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like youâre a problem to solveâwhich you areâbefore coming to a rather alarming conclusion. âYou donât seem like you want me that bad.â
The remark doesnât register in your brain. âWhat do you meanââ
She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturallyâand so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you canât get enough of.Â
Watching her other moviesâfor research purposesâyou knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display. Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldnât believe how well theyâve been hidden from you.Â
Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so rightâas if they were handmade for you.
âGod, Hyemââ you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position wonât allow you.Â
âThey feel so good right?â Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, youâre both surprised that youâve managed to get each otherâs clothes off.
And youâre only getting started.
Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze onâuntil she rests her hands around your shoulders. Youâre caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.
She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, sheâs feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that sheâs not the heaviest girl youâve lifted before; you have some experienceâmostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, youâll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Somethingâor someoneâyou canât ruin, or else youâd be ruined too.
You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion thatâs too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her.Â
It doesnât bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo thatâs been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.
You mutter the very words against her skin.Â
âIf not now, then when.â
Theyâve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetimeâs worth of regret.
Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.
âLook at me babe,â she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. âPut me down. You know why Iâm here.â
You oblige without a second thoughtâand youâre both on a level playing field again.
Still, you canât help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. Youâre a perfect match. Even as youâre making out, youâre thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while sheâs preoccupied.Â
It ends up being your biggest mistake.
Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later.Â
From there, itâs whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.
Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. Thereâs a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.
To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. Sheâs never looked better.
Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewonâs hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear thatâs been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized.Â
And itâs staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.
âYou have no idea how long I wanted this,â she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure sheâs building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, youâre leaking. Sheâs lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. âRemembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?â
She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you canât even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. âWhat about it?â
âI wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.â
Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didnât have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television.Â
Now that youâre in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.
âIâm not the best at reading the room,â you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.
âNot surprising, honestly,â she says, rewarding your candor with a kissâon your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. âAnyone ever told you that youâre kind of a dork?â
âNot the first time Iâve heard it from a girl,â you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. âAhâfuckââ
A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. Sheâs cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell sheâs having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think sheâs this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image thatâs universally admired by many.Â
Behind that gaze, sheâs thinking of more ways to further ruin you.
âI donât think a dork like you has been with other girls,â she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. âBut looking at this cockââ
She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she canât help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesnât stop, youâll soon be deep in her throat, and you know sheâs not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.
Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breathâthen slowly melts into you.Â
Itâs a car crash you canât look away from. Itâs inevitable, but youâre completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything youâve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful.Â
It doesnât help that sheâs taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion sheâs going to leave in her wake.Â
âOhâfuckâitâs so perfect,â Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hiltâand she keens. âThatâthatâs itâthatâs the fucking spotââ
Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. âGodâyouâre fucking tightââ
She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling herâand she begins to move.
As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while youâre forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive.Â
Youâre an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in placeâas if youâre in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. Sheâs crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And sheâs being open about it too: âWhy did it take us so longâughââ
You can only moan back. Truthfully, youâre wondering the same thing too.Â
As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When sheâs not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. Itâs a sound not of her high class image. Sheâs riding you like itâs life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isnât being stretched out.
With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You canât lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.
And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest.Â
So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewonâs body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isnât enough that youâre feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard itâs downright pornographic, and that sheâs screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. Itâs now or never.
âFuck yesâoh fuckâfucking take meâfuckââ Hyewonâs riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesnât matter, youâre drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. Sheâs swearing through her tongue like sheâs a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, itâs intentional. Sheâs determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.
And youâre going to do just that.
You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Hereâs another thing that canât be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that canât be faked.
âGod, Iâm gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.â There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you donât proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. Youâre not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard youâre fucking her. She canât help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.
Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, youâre digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount youâre filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one.Â
Just like that, sheâs clinging to you like youâre her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength.Â
The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, youâre sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comesânot with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.
You should be done at this point. Itâs been a long day. Youâve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you wonât wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, thereâs an image, a reputation to uphold. Youâve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetimeâs worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. Itâs a miracle you havenât cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.
And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adorationâbut most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired.Â
By all accounts, it should be a happy ending.Â
Except youâre not done. Youâre not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though sheâs settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much youâve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, sheâs quietly begging for more. It isnât about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; itâs about how far youâll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.
If thereâs anything youâve learned about acting, itâs that one take isnât enough.
Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that youâre ready to take your relationship a step further. Youâll hash out the details in the morningâif she hasnât left by then.
The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower.Â
Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. Youâre squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till youâre seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. Youâve fucked her to pieces, yes, but sheâs still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise.Â
With two fingers stroking at her cunt, sheâs keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldnât be kept secret, but youâre more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself.Â
Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. Sheâs clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you donât give her a moment to breathe. Itâs what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.
Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the processâonly a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. Youâre counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and youâre gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.
Youâre too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But thatâs the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. Sheâs one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, sheâs everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. Youâve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldnât have it any other way.
It doesnât take too long before you feel it again. The end. Itâs approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasnât going to be a drawn out affair, but youâre so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and youâre beyond waiting a second more.
Youâd give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.
âGonna cum againâfuckââ is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewonâs mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. Youâve never let up, terrified that sheâll magically disappear into nothing at any second.Â
Acting fast, as if youâve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot youâre unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.
The tattoo on her rib.Â
Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiatedâfor now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can.Â
With the âquickâ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom.Â
You donât even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.
âââââ
âThis is your fault you know,â says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. âIâm supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet Iâm still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.â
Itâs already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewonâs doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency sheâs speaking about, she doesnât seem to be interested in moving any time soon.
At least youâre awake and sensible enough to fire back. âWhoâs fault is that? I wasnât the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.â
She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. âAnd I wasnât the one who spent the last 18 months saying weâre just friends.â
Youâre already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh.Â
Hyewon laughs. Itâs what won over millions, including you. Youâre taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew thereâd be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, youâd do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing.Â
âSoâabout that show,â you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, âWhat was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?â
âYou mean Delete This? Letâs not.âÂ
Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump. Â
She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. âYeah. I mean, last night wasâdifferent, you know? Iâve shown my tits and body already, but Iâve never had sexâon screen before.â
You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.
âJesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.â
âOn the bright side, we didnât have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?â
She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didnât need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.
But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; itâs been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.
Hyewonâs cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. âShame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, butââ she huffs, âIâm running late. Too bad I wonât get to have this cock for a long, long time.â
You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. âWill you, though?â
Sheâs taken completely by surprise. âWhat do you mean?â
âCheck your phone.â
After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention diâvided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well.Â
Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention.Â
Next thing you know, sheâs grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattressâright where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.
Some jokes can go a little too far.
âYou fucking asshole. You mean thatââ
âYep.â
âAnd itâs notââ
âItâs not.â
You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. Youâre gonna loveâand hateâthe next 18 months with Hyewon.
âIâm going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.â
âNo better way to go out.â
âââââ
(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite oftenâheck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)
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LETâS GET A ROOM
KIM MINJI X READER
FT. BLACKPINK LISA, YUNJIN, GISELLE
TAGS: THREESOME, SUBMISSIVE
2.1K WORDS
What happens when two seniors found an innocent freshman in the Halloween party? What happens when the freshman is not so innocent after all? You and your friend approach the young girl who is searching for her friends. Every shot that you gave her, she drinks. You and your friend's hands are sneaking around her waist and her ass but she didnât mind it. You have all night to see how wild this can go.
A punk princess costume is all Minji found in a nearby store as she is last minute shopping to buy a costume. At first, she didnât want to attend this year's Halloween party as she didnât know anyone beside her classmates. But her classmates manage to convince her by saying they will leave the party early. Her pretty face makes the costume work. Her soft face contrasts perfectly to the ragged look of her attire. Entering a fraternityâs house as this is where the Halloween party is held. Her classmates disappeared from their group one at a time as they flirted with some boys in the party. Minji found herself being alone at a party she didnât even want to attend.
âThe fuck?â A sophomore wearing a Lakers jersey blurted out. Minji accidentally bumps into the brunette as sheâs searching for her friend. The girl didnât know what to say as she is intimidated by the girl who is with her friends in the same Lakers jersey. âWatch where youâre going! Gosh,â the brunette walked away calming herself.
Minji's heart beats fast as she hurriedly looks for her friends. She wants to go back to their dorm now but one of the girls has the keys. She just canât walk home alone either as she deems it too dangerous. She doesnât show it in her face but the girl is now panicking. She wants some company as sheâs afraid to get in the same situation as what happened earlier with the brunette.
An innocent face in the middle of the crowd caught your attention. You notice that she is all by herself and is looking for someone. You follow her with your eyes for a few minutes before sharing glances with your friend. The two of you smile as you have the same idea. The both of you approach Minji and offer her a drink.
Minji looks at the drink in your hand. Thinking about what she should do. She notices that you and your friend are waiting for her response. She seems frozen as she canât decide on what to do. She wants to have some company but she doesn't think that you will be a good companion for tonight. The girl might look innocent but it doesnât mean she doesnât touched herself every night while thinking of getting fucked. Innocent girls are wildest, and Minji is the same case. She fingers herself each night with erotic thoughts on how men use her body. She finger fuck herself in hope of satisfying her slit as itâs been a while since she felt a cock plunging in and out of her. Your friend's hand stays on her butt while yours are at her exposed waist. Your friend is gently squeezing her ass, waiting for the girl's reaction. Your fingertips glide on the hem of her top. Insinuating that your fingers want to reach something inside those top.
The punk princess notices these advancements as her slit gets wet. The thought of men lusting over her innocent body made her mind go feral. Her fantasies are coming into life. She didnât expect to have this experience tonight but she doesnât want the opportunity to go to waste. She sticks out her butt more, insinuating to your friend that he can freely grab her ass. While she guides your hand inside her top, being able to reach her bra. The three of you didnât mind if someone saw what you all were doing as the crowd were too busy partying.
The crowd roars once again as the girl in the spiderman costume has been carried to the upper rooms following them are the biggest guy in the campus thatâs carrying a brunette in a lakers jersey. Minji saw them, the thought of those girls getting fuck tonight made the girl jealous. âLetâs get a room,â the girl whispers to you. Her words rang into your ear loud and clear against the noise of the party. You were shocked by the girlâs boldness. Her face might be innocent but sheâs just like any other girl who has urges that need to be met too.
Your friend goes upstairs as you whisper to him what Minji told you. Not even a minute has passed, your friend calls your attention to go upstairs as he found a room. You take Minjiâs hand as you walk upstairs. The girlâs heart starts pounding, her urges are too loud for her to back out but she is still inexperienced. She only did it a few times back with her ex boyfriend. This will be her first time doing it with a stranger let alone two strangers at the same time. Her mind thought this is a bad idea but her body says otherwise.
The room is filled with sexual tension as the three of you are now sitting on the edge of the bed. Minji is between the two of you, your hand is caressing her thighs, waiting for her signal. She looks at your friend before panning her eyes on you, giving you a look as permission. You hold her face for a kiss while your friend zipps down her top to expose her bra. Your friend gropes her one boob as the other hand is unlocking the bra. Minji moans in between your kisses as your friend is sucking her boob while pinching the nipple of the other.
You pull her deeper in the kiss as your tongue enters her mouth. The inexperience of the girl is showing as she canât time the rhythm of your tongue. You thought that she may have previous experience but not enough to match your sexpertised. You tap your friend to switch positions with him. Heâs now kissing the girl while you focus on removing her skirt. Minji adjusted herself as you pulled her skirt out of her body. Your friend lays her body down as they continue kissing, your fingers find the girl's wet panties as sheâs clearly getting aroused.
You pulled her panties down, throwing it somewhere. Minji felt her slit exposed as sheâs now expecting a sensation to her slit. You put the tip of your two fingers on her wet slit before slowly sticking it inside her. Her slit feels soft as you enter her inside while her wetness lubricates your fingers. Minji moans as she feels your fingers. The woman keeps moaning while you move your fingers inside her. She knows that her own fingers and her dildos cannot be compared in getting finger fucked by a man. Your friend moves back his focus on her tits, flicking them by his tongue. Minji moans loudly, expressing her ecstasy of finally getting touched by a man for a long time. Encouraged by her heavenly moans, you plunge her slit faster than she could take. The girls arched her back as she released her first orgasm of the night.
The girl felt embarrassed about how fast she came. She lay down for a minute catching her breath as she heard the two men unzipped their pants. You and your friends are now naked on the waist down. Minji felt the bed move as you positioned yourself between her legs while your friend had his cock near her face. The girl notices what you are all trying to do. She positions herself on all fours, her firm ass is now exposed in front of you while her face is now an inch closer on the hard cock of your friend. Minji catches the cock on her mouth, sucking the head of it. This signals you to start at her other end. You hold the girlâs waist with your one hand while your other hand is holding your cock positioning it near her slit.
The punk princess has been pushed upward as you thrust inside her for the first time. Minji moans while a cock is still in her mouth. Your warm cock is stretching her inside. The girl is now more encouraged to suck your friendâs cock, she bobs her head trying to take his cock more deeper in her mouth. You pull your cock a little slower, feeling every part of her soft inside. You thrust on her again this time more deeper than the first. Minji muffled moans turn you and your friend even more. You slap her ass cheeks multiple times leaving a red mark of your hand before holding her by the hips. Your friend also pulls her cock out of her mouth, glazing his lubricated cock on her innocent face, smearing her makeup. The two of you simultaneously put your cocks inside her wholes, fucking the girl in unison.
Her firm ass moves every time you thrust into her, her eyes get teary as your friend's cock reaches her throat. The girl is getting fuck like a slut just like how she fantasizes it. Minjiâs mind is blank with her only thought of how good of a slut she is. The girl is tired of getting treated like a child where everyone is so careful around her. She wants to submit on a man that will treat her like a woman and for tonight, the girl feels like an submissive woman, getting fucked for the enjoyment of men. She let her body get used as this also satisfies her. Minji didnât care how tears are flowing for her eyes as they get more swollen every time her throat is getting stretched. Her slit is now getting ransacked by a real cock compared to the cold silicon dildo on her collection.
Your friend hold her hair while she fucked her mouth faster. Your friend is near his orgasm and wants to unload it on the girl's throat. Minji felt the cock on her mouth twitching, she looked at him eye to eye. Trying to signal him that he can cum in her throat. Your friendâs groan as he finally shoots loads on cum on her. Minjiâs cheeks swell trying to contain the amount of cum before coughing some of it. She hasn't gotten used to the taste of cum but she tried her best to swallow as much as she can to show sheâs the best slut. The sight of her getting a mouthful of cum turns you on more. Still composing herself of what just happened, Minji is now moaning loudly as rampage her slit with the thought of cumming inside her. The girl is now holding on the sheets as she puts her head down on the bed, feeling weak by the sensation of your hard fucking. You groan loud, matching her loud moans as you finally cum inside her.
Minji lays flat on the bed, cum licking out of her slit and on her mouth. She looks like a complete mess. The two men lay down on each side of her, trying to catch your breath as well. The sound of the party outside enters your room while the three of you lay silent on the bed. You noticed how the crowds roared. Lisa, the most popular senior on campus, finally arrives at the party. She wears full body lingerie. leaving nothing to the imagination. She explains to everyone that she dressed like a Victoria secret model. A wave of flashlights filled the party as everyone was trying to take a picture of the senior.
You felt Minji sit up. You and your friend are looking at her as she reaches on both of your semi hard cock, she strokes the two cocks wanting for another round.
#k pop smut#reader smut#aespa smut#blackpink smut#le sserafim smut#new jeans smut#kim minji smut#minji smut
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trust me
max verstappen x reader | 2.3k
after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.
cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.
a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.
__
The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.
Max Verstappen wins the SĂŁo Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.
But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.
Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.
You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.
"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"
"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.
"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.
"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."
That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.
But you should know better, it seems.
"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."
You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."
"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."
He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.
"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"
You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.
"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."
Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.
The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.
"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.
"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."
"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."
That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.
You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.
"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."
"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."
Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"
You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?
"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."
He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.
But how do you explain this?
"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."
The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.
But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.
You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"
His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"
You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."
Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"
Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."
You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.
"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."
One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.
"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."
"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"
If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.
"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."
He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.
"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."
He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.
Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.
"You trust me, right?"
"Of course," you say right away. "Always."
"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."
"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.
"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."
Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."
You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.
Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."
He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.
"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."
Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.
"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.
"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"
Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"
"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"
The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.
And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.
"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."
"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen fanfic#mv33 x reader#f1 fanfic#my writing#mv33#fic: trust me
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MS ⰠString you out ⧠CS
âââ~đ©âĄđȘ~âââ
Warningsâ ïž Smut!, Suggestive remarks!, strong language!, threesome!, size kink, lowkey breeding kink, pet names, p in v, dp, unprotected sex (do not), oral (m! receiving), squirting, vibe, slight intoxication (but full consent), etc.
Word count. 3k
Note. English is not my first language! Not proofread!
Psa. Matt refers to reader as "pretty" and Chris refers to reader as "ma", just so you don't get confused with the dialogues.
Sum. Everything goes south when you show up at the campus Halloween party in a tiny black witch costume; becoming their prey for the night.
You werenât prepared when your best friend came knocking at your door with a big duffle bag, trying to convince you to come to the annual Halloween party, but you had already decided to stay in your dorm room and continue doing your assignments.
"Câmon, donât be like that, I even bought us matching costumes," she stepped inside, letting you close the door behind her. "I can help you do your make-up, please?" Your friend begged, plopping down on your bed. You sighed and rubbed your temple, "I told you already, Iâm not going, that Halloween party will probably be just like a frat one and you know how I am about frat parties."
Your friend crossed her arms with raised eyebrows, "no, it wonât be like a frat party, but I guess thereâll be those fraternity guys there since you know... Campus party, everyoneâs gonna be thereâ" you cut her off, "except for me," causing her to collapse back onto your bed.
"Pretty please?" She pleaded again, jutting her bottom lip out dramatically, making you laugh. "No, like I saidâ" she cut you off with a groan, "câmooon, Halloween happens only once a year..." her voice trailed off as a grin made its way onto her lips, "if you go this once, I wonât bug you again, like I promise I wonât ask you to come to frat parties with me."
You couldnât help but be tempted with the deal, clearing your throat as you looked at her, "you serious?" She nodded vigorously, "yeah, I am, I am dead serious, so? will you?" You sighed and nodded, eliciting a happy "yay" from her.
She immediately spilled the contents from her huge duffel bag, tons of make-up products and two matching witch costumes. You picked one up, inspecting it. The costume was incredibly short and could almost pass off as a long shirt.
"Are you serious? This is what you picked?" She gave you a deadpanned look, "itâs Halloween! You know what they say, the only time of the year to be as slutty as you want." She nudged your arm, grinning, "plus I bet guys would go nuts when they see you in this."
đ©âĄđȘ
Your friend helped you with your make-up, and as you looked in the mirror, you felt like you were someone else, in a good way. The costume was short, but it made you feel a bit more confident than usual. The black heel boots you had lying around â that youâve been wanting to wear for so long â seemed to match the vibe of the dress.
The long sleeves and overall style of the costume had already started to grow on you. "Not too bad," you said as you curled your hair, "yeah? told you so," your friend grinned triumphantly, making you roll your eyes in a playful manner.
The moment you arrived at the party, your ears immediately rang at the loud music, "fuck, why is it so loud here?" you shouted to your friend, trying to get your words across the short distance, but the music drowned out your voice.
"Itâs always this loud, youâre just not used to it, câmon, letâs get drinks!" She dragged you towards the table of drinks, expertly weaving through the crowd. Alcohols that you didnât even know the names of were stacked in an oddly neat way along with soft drinks, water and way too many solo cups.
A girl standing by the table, dressed as the grinch, offered to make you and your friend drinks, halloween specials. As you were sipping on your drink, you noticed a pair of guys, almost identical looking.
"Holy fuck, you know who they are?" you nudged your friend, jerking your head at the direction of the guys dressed as vampires. She followed your gaze and looked at them, "yeah?" she chuckled, "you donât?" Shaking your head as you kept your gaze on the guys, unable to take it off of them.
"Of course you donât, youâre always buried in schoolwork," she clicked her tongue, "theyâre quite famous around campus you know?" You let out a huff, taking another big gulp of your drink, groaning at the burn of the mixed alcohols. "So? Who are they?"
"The one with the cap is Chris and the one that doesnât have a cap is Matt, obviously, theyâre identical triplets, but I donât think Nickâs here today." You let out an "oh" sound of understanding before you took another sip of your drink.
"Heard they got a bro code or whatnot, like they wouldnât hit the same girl," your friend shrugged, telling you all she knew about them, "yeah... couldnât care less, câmon letâs just dance or something," you said pulling your friend away from the table of drinks and onto the dance floor. You couldnât help but feel interested despite your words.
After one too many drinks and a few stolen glances later, you found yourself in a bathroom, two pairs of hands roaming over your body while you shared a kiss with one of the guysâthe one with the cap.
The other one kissed your neck, trailing it down to your collarbone and leaving love bites there before going back to your neck. The one with the cap broke the kiss, "you know our names ma?" He breathed out, "uh... youâre Chris, and heâs Matt, right?" you asked hesitantly, the slight intoxication making your mind a jumbled up mess.
"Mhmâbingo, pretty," Matt whispered, his lips grazing just under your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as they continued to kiss and caress your body, your body reacting to every word and touch from them, making their faces light up with smirks.
Their fake fangs nipped at your skin, causing you to gasp softly each time. "Say, letâs go to a more comfortable place?" Chris suggested, "Yeah, canât really do much in a bathroom," Matt chuckled as he added.
They led you out of the bathroom and weaved through the crowd of people dancing. You tried to find your friend to tell her you were going but you couldn't find her in the crowd. Suddenly, you got a message and a photo from her apologizing saying that she was gonna head home with her boyfriend since it was getting late. How convenient.
You sighed and let the guys lead you out of the party, your costume rode up ever so slightly as you tried to balance on the heel boots in your slightly tipsy state. You were very much aware of your surroundings and the two fellas, dressed as vampires, leading you towards their car.
"Where are we going?" You asked, a bit puzzled but willing. Matt and Chris both chuckled in unison at your confused state, "oh yeah, weâre gonna go to our place, you mind?" Chris asked as he looked back at you, "I mean, if you donât feel comfortable with that, we could always hit up a hotel," Matt shrugged.
You hummed, looking back and forth between them before making your decision, "no, yeah, iâm good with your place," they both visibly relaxed and grinned, "alright then, hop in, pretty," Matt said as he opened the backseat door.
đ©âĄđȘ
The drive to their place was fairly fast, accompanied by small talks and laughter, but that quickly turned into heated kisses and breathy moans once you got inside their house. Stumbling into one of their rooms, they started to strip you out of the skimpy costume.
Gently pushing you on the bed before they started to strip themselves, your gaze raked over their bodies as you waited on the bed, biting your lip in anticipation. Once they were matching you in nakedness, they sat on either side of you, starting to lavish attention to your body once again.
"Fuck, youâre so beautiful ma, so fucking beautiful," Chris murmured against the swell of your breast, "mhm... so pretty" Matt whispered an agreement in your ear before kissing along your jawline, his hand caressing your body, slowing inching down to cup your mound.
You hissed softly when his fingers made in contact with your swollen clit, slick with arousal, and throbbing for attention. The brothers quickly picked up on your growing need and desperation as they saw just how wet you had become.
Your folds glistened in the dim light of the bedside lamp, the obvious need evident in your tone when Chris plunged a finger inside your tight heat. "Fuâck," you moaned softly, your breathing a lot more ragged now that he was moving his digit in and out of you, slipping in a second finger and smirking at how you seemed to suck in his fingers.
"Someoneâs eager," Matt chuckled, his voice a bit deeper than usual, betraying his arousal. The pads of his fingers started to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting slightly louder moans from you.
The feeling was already so pleasurable, and you didnât know if it was the alcohol making you feel more than usual or just the brothers themselves, either way you knew you were incredibly turned on.
They adjusted your position, easily manhandling you, but their touch was gentleâ almost tender if you will. The new position gave them more to work with. You were on your hands and knees and they stood on their knees on either side of you, still squeezing and caressing every inch of skin they could touch.
They were big â huge even â it made you feel a bit nervous. They were easily 10", and who knows how thick, standing tall and proud. You gulped softly when Chris gripped your hip with one hand and led his length towards your aching pussy. The tip of his cock slid up and down your slit, making you whine and push back against him.
They chuckled at your needy gestures and sounds, "youâre so responsive ma, âs intoxicating," Chris emphasized his words with a slap on your ass, causing you to jolt and whine, his hand gently caressing the reddening skin.
Matt, being the one in front of you, caressed your cheek and made you look up at him by lifting your face by your jaw. Smirking when he saw the desperation in your eyes, "whatâs up pretty? Canât handle a little teasing?" He spoke with faux sympathy, making you all the more desperate.
Before you could open your mouth to speak, you felt the sudden stretch, causing you to move forwardâtrying to get away from the sensation, only to be held in place by two pairs of hands. Chris clicked his tongue, "relax ma," his hands squeezed your ass, sinking his fingers in your plush flesh as he moved forward, filling you completely.
"Oh fuâck, Chris too bigâ" your moans got muffled when Matt fed you his length, groaning at the sensation of your mouth on him and the vibrations from your moans as Chris took you from behind.
Chrisâ pupils dilated when he saw the way your ass recoiled against his hips with each deep and slow thrust, he gripped your hips tighter and surged forward with increasing fervor. The force of it pushed you forward, each thrust making you involuntarily deepthroat Matt, making them both groan at the pleasure.
Chris suddenly pulled out, and stood up, "I think Iâve got something nice." Matt chuckled when he understood what Chris implied and pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop. You looked at them confused, feeling empty and still aching with need.
A few minutes later, Chris came back with a vibrator and a bottle of lube in hand. You blinked rapidly as your gaze flickered between the brothers, making them chuckle, "donât worry pretty, weâll make you feel good, âpromise." Chris sat on the bed behind you, getting in position again.
"Alright ma, up," he playfully slapped your ass before helping you back in the position you were in moments ago, but this time you were facing Chris with Matt behind you. Your moans filled the room once again when Matt entered you, stretching you deliciously.
Your moans were quickly muffled by Chrisâ cock, which you eagerly let in your mouth, and the pleasure was already bordering on too much. Your body tensed when you felt vibrations on your clit. Matt groaned loudly when he felt you clench around him like a vice, his hips picking up pace in response.
Your moans vibrated around Chrisâ shaft, making him buck his hips faster, fucking your mouth as he gripped your hair in a makeshift ponytail. Your eyes rolled back briefly as Matt hit that spot deep within you, the one that made sparks dance behind your eyes, the one that made you moan louder.
The vibrations of the vibe increased, making your legs shake as you tried to ground yourself from the intense pleasure that you wondered if you could take any more of. That was when Matt held you by your waist and started to target a specific spotâyour g-spot.
The feeling of him hitting your g-spot with such precision and the vibrator doing its job on your throbbing clit, made you squirm, trying to get away from the intensity of it all, but their hands kept you in place. With a loud muffled moan you squirted, unable to warn them due to Chrisâ cock in your mouth. The brothers let out breathy chuckles when they saw the mess you were making, but didnât stop nevertheless.
They followed you soon after, their releases filling up your holes. You couldnât even keep yourself steady on your legs and arms anymore, it was all threatening to buckle under you any second.
Carefully, they laid you down, and seeing the wrecked state you were in just seemed to fuel their desires further. Their semi-hard lengths hardened once more as they gazed down at you. Your disheveled hair, the hickeys adorning your body, Mattâs release trickling out of you and Chrisâ dripping down your chin.
Mattâs hand came up to caress your side, causing a breathy sigh to escape your lips, "you think you can go one more round pretty?" Chris chuckled softly, "mhmâma, donât think we can get enough of you, think you can take us both?"
"Both? like at the same time?" you whispered, your voice already hoarse from overuse. They nodded, chuckling as they helped you into a sitting position, "yeah, weâve got lube, but itâs fine if youâre not up for it, prettyâ" you cut him off, "well, I donât mind, i mean... if it can fit that is..." your voice trailed off as you looked down at their laps.
"Donât worry, ma, weâll make it fit," is all you heard before they got in position. Matt laying with you on top of him and Chris behind you. The pop of the lube cap made your body shiver in anticipation, the mildly cold oil jolting every nerve as it ran down your slit, making you shudder.
Matt slowly pushed inside, eliciting a soft moan from you, and as you finally adjusted to his size, Chris nudged himself on your already full pussy. "Shhâ âs alright, pretty, just relax," Matt cooed from under you, his arms holding you in place as Chris entered you from behind. You squirmed under their touch, moaning loudly, and the stretch being too much, too big.
Chris grunted at the tightness as he pushed inside, stilling when he bottomed out inside you, "shit ma, so fuckinâ tight," he hissed through his teeth. Matt chuckled, his voice huskier, "yeah, you like how we stretch you, pretty? how fuckinâ big we are?" You could only mumble a "yes" that sounded more like a whimper.
They let you adjust to their sizesâthe fullness and the stretch. Their hands caressed your body soothingly, whispering sweet nothings in your ears, and kissing your shoulders and neck.
You finally relaxed around them, moaning softly at the sudden pang of pleasure from being filled to the brim. Your pleasure didnât go unnoticed by Matt and Chris, chuckling to themselves as they started to move. Your world blurred as you felt an immense pleasure youâve never felt before.
Your body moved on its own, meeting their thrusts, wanting more of that delicious feeling. And all that only made them move faster â harder â thrusting into you with renewed fervor. Your hands clutched whatever you could hold, grounding yourself so you wouldnât get consumed by the pleasure.
"Fuâck pretty, so fuckinâ tight," Chris mumbled an agreement, both of them holding you in place as they took what they wanted. You could only hold on, and moan for them. "Shit, gonna fill you up so goodâ swell you with my cum, ma," Chris groaned, "Yeah, fuckâ you ready for us pretty?" Matt added, muffling his sounds of pleasure on your shoulder.
You mumbled a plea for them to cum inside youâto which they gladly did, groaning and moaning as they filled you up. Their combined release spilled out from the sides, making a mess.
Gently pulling out from your well-used hole, their chests heaved with exertion. In spite of their softening cocks, they couldnât help the feral, almost animalistic, feeling when they saw the sight of their mixed release trickling out of your pussy.
They both groaned under their breaths before exchanging knowing glances, a silent conversation between them, and slowly alerting you about their insatiable desires for you. "You okay, pretty?" Mattâs hand caressed your cheek while Chris squeezed your ass, "weâre not done with you ma, not by a long shot."
They chuckled as they saw you look at them surprised, but didnât protest or say no, instead pulled them closer â a silent plea for more. "Weâre gonna fuck this pussy so good," Matt whispered in your ear, "and fill you up with our spend until you swell with our babies," Chris added, whispering in your other ear.
Their words were filled with promises, and that alone made you feel immense pleasure, a need for more.
The next morning, you woke up with a bad headache, and sore all over. It wasnât a surprise that you had a hangover but it was a surprise when you became aware of your surroundings. You were in an unknown room, entangled with not one, but two guys. It didnât help that they were brothers, identical brothers.
"Heard they got a bro code or whatnot, like they wouldnât hit the same girl." Your friendâs words echoed in your head. Guess it wasnât true after all, their bro code.
đ©âĄđȘ
wc. 3,086
Isa's notes. I've never written a Chratt fic before, or anything with two love interests, or a threesome in that matter so like... my bad if it's shit.
xoxo đ©âĄđȘ
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From Professor Christopher Robichaud, Senior Lecturer in Ethics and Public Policy, Harvard:
âI'll say this, and then I likely won't be saying much more on here for quite some time, to the relief of some, I'm sure. But my farewell warning is this.
Everyone in the days and weeks ahead will use this loss as an opportunity to seek validation for their own hobby horse complaint. Harris lost because she campaigned with Liz Cheney. Harris lost because she didn't embrace Gaza. Harris lost because she didn't choose Shapiro. Harris lost because she wasn't progressive enough (possibly my favorite one).
Take a good, hard look at the map, my friends. Trump has won the popular vote. Trump ran the table. Explaining that with your hobby horse issue isn't going to cut it, tempting and consoling as it may be. The problem isn't the electoral college. The problem isn't that we didn't have a full primary. The problem isn't Harris. The problem isn't that Dems didn't have the right message. The problem isn't even inflation or the border.
The problem is so much worse than any of those things. Those are all technical problems, with straightforward expertise fixes. If only it were so! No, our problem is not technical. It's very much adaptive. A party that embraced the Big Lie, supported an insurrection, and has been selling conspiracy-addled madness for years, [which] was widely and enthusiastically embraced. Voter turnout was profound! People didn't sit this out.
Simply put, the problem--as some of you have rightly posted--is cultural. America, culturally, has completely abandoned a politics of decency and respect and has embraced instead a politics of resentment, revenge, false nostalgia, and bullying. And if you look at the demographics, you also won't be able to comfort yourself that it's just a white thing, or a working class thing, or an education thing. It's multi-class, multi-gender, multi-educational, and multi-racial. That's what winning the popular vote means. That's what running the table amounts to.
A culture that has descended to this level of debasement is not easily fixed. In fact it may not ever be fixed. The timeline for changing something like this is decades--at best--not two-to-four year election cycles. You can extend that in this case, because with the GOP likely controlling all branches of federal government and the courts, they will ensure that mechanisms are in place to keep them in power long after their popularity has waned. You can count on that.
The GOP evolved into a party of rage, lies, and revenge--and it correctly diagnosed that there was and is a large appetite for that. That's what the country wants. At least enough of the country wants it to ensure broad appeal and widespread electoral success. The old GOP will never return, and the Dems have nothing to say to American culture at the moment. Nothing. They've been speaking to a country that's gone, like dust in the wind.
And that's my final thought, which my posts last night alluded to. The America I knew and loved is gone. This new America--nah, I won't even bother. I will say that cultural change is less likely to occur in politics or in the academy. You're not going to get people to see how vulgar they've become through a clever argument or a nice campaign speech, that's for sure.
This would be time for the arts, broadly understood, to step in. The arts can change hearts and minds. Too bad the arts have been systematically dismantled in education in this country, and on the other end, the tech industry's assault on the arts through AI is sure to hollow out any good-faith efforts that might emerge.
And for the rest of the world, America's rightward lurch is, I'm afraid, bad news for you too. I know you know this. Because it's not isolated, is it? It's just at the moment the most prominent example of a burgeoning trend. And this will embolden others in other countries, to be sure. We need not speculate what happens when countries become mired in lies, embrace resentment, and savor bullying. We know exactly what happens. Bloody conflict and global destabilization.
The first quarter of the 21st century will, therefore, in hindsight, be viewed as the seed-planting stage for the absolute shit show that's about to unfold globally over the next two and a half decades. Count on it.
Adopt whatever coping and endurance strategies you have available. You're going to need it.
I think that's all I've left to say.â
The least evolved. The most paternalistic.
The bully. The liar. The most resentful.
This is the reality we are in. FOX and Republicans have been repeating the script for decades.
The Dark Ages are conservative aspirations.
The abdication of values/principles is complete.
'Good faith' no longer exists on the Right. The more reprehensible the action/person, the bigger the addiction. Trump proves this.
Anti-paternalism, anti-fascism and anti-bullying are my paths forward. Join me.
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Thinking about John Price and his cute little assistant (reader) who ends up pregnant.Â
A/N: Guys i was inspired while scrolling on the john price x reader tag, this legit came to me as a vision and now i have to write it (I plan on expanding on this idea so just stay with me!!!!)
Imagine being John Price's cute little assistant, just the sweetest little thing that John is kinda obsessed with. Like don't get me wrong she is amazing at her job, smart, put together and well organized and John does feel that her addition has been a positive one, taking some pressure off his shoulders and making sure his team is always prepared for whatever they are doing. She is very good at what she does, but that doesnât stop John from admiring her. He knows he shouldn't be bit, he can't help it, she's young and sweet and a little bit innocent and he just wants to protect and love her all the time.Â
In the beginning she was shy, only addressing him as sir and knocking on his door hesitantly whenever she needed to speak to him but gradually their boundaries became less and less. More often than not she works out of his office, whether heâs there or not, he insists on buying her an early lunch when she lets slip that she didn't have breakfast that morning. He has even picked her up from a night out once or twice, a little bit tipsy and calling the most trusted person she can think of that just happened to be her boss. He takes care of her as well, helping her get her makeup and clothes off before tucking her into her bed with a bottle of water and pain killers for the morning. He doesn't mention it when he sees her next, knowing how embarrassed she will be when he tells her the loneliness her tipsy self admitted.Â
When she starts to get sick John is having absolutely none of it, driving her home and ordering her to take some time off (he even visits later that night to bring her some soup for her stomach). He doesn't expect her to look so sad when she comes back supposedly better from her âfluâ, he doesn't expect to see her eyes shine with tears when he asks âwhat's wrong babygirl?â. He sits them down on the couch in his office together, putting an arm over her and pulling her close for comfort. He certainly does not expect her to look up at him with those shiny wet eyes and admit she did something bad before crying that she's pregnant. Itâs news to John who never even considered that his girl would be dating (let alone sleeping with) people. When he vocalizes this and she admits that her baby daddy isn't a very good guy, it's over for John.Â
Suddenly he's all over her, promising to be there for her, that she can come to him whenever she needs. And he actually means it. Suddenly sheâs staying in the spare bedroom in his house, not only does it have more room but John can keep an eye on her. She entirely moves into his office working on his desk with him, he gets her a comfy chair so she can be supported in the later months. He gets up to hold her hair back when she has morning sickness and ensures she gets enough nutritious food each day. When she starts showing, oh my god John doesn't know what to do with himself. That little bump peaking out of her tight skirts makes him foam at the mouth. Of course he prioritizes her comfort, insisting she change shoes and stop wearing those uncomfortable looking heels, but he keeps her in her formal work attire for just a little longer, just so he can see her cute tummy poking out of it.Â
Speaking of her bump. He simply can't resist putting his hand on it. He feels so protective over it, best believe he goes feral if anyone tries to touch it. Hell all but breaks loose when his precious baby looks up at him with teary eyes telling him how uncomfortable she was when some rando put their hand on her stomach, (someone definitely lost their job that day). He eventually has her sitting in his lap, cooing over her and reassuring her that they won't get in trouble, that really he is the big boss anyways. He just loves having her there, perched on top of him he rests his head on her shoulder both arms coming around to cradle her now bigger bump.Â
John mandates maternity leave when she starts getting big, maybe around seven months when she spends a lot of her time complaining about back aches and swollen ankles, of course he does what he can to help her but it gets to the point where he knows that she should be resting. He has to basically forcibly put her on leave, reassuring her panics about money by promising to take care of her. And oh boy does he. He gives her foot massages and holds her belly, when she starts outgrowing her clothes best believe he would hand over any of his so she can fit in them more comfortably. He's just all over her, unable to stomach the fact that soon she will have a real live baby. That baby is about to become the most protected baby in the entire world.
That's all I have for now because I fear if I begin rambling about the rest of the 141 neither of us might make it out alive. (just know this baby is going to be so damn spoiled itâs crazy).Â
#john price#task force 141#john price x reader#mae writes đ#price cod#price x reader#task force x reader#john price call of duty#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#141 x reader#baby daddy#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#x reader#john price fluff#head canons#captain price
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thinking about the 141 when you get nipple piercings and they canât touch your nipples for four months
For clarity, I do not have my nipples pierced. Don't ever plan on it, but we can imagine that we did and what the guys think. I did do a little research, and I saw a wide variety of healing times, so instead of four months, I kept any mention of the healing process vague. The concept is the same though. I had a lot of fun with this one y'all. Enjoy it. :)
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Presented in four double drabbles.
Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, brief dirty talk, suggestive themes, swearing, fade to black
Word Count: 800
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
"You're not putting a shirt on."
âWhat are you talking about?â
âWeâre at home. And I want to see them.â
âIâm putting a shirt on,â
John is quick, snatching the shirt out of your grasp. You start to protest, but John tosses it onto the highest shelf in the closet.
âYouâre childish.â You gesture at the rest of the shirts on hangers. âAnd I have other shirts!â
John shrugs. âIâll hide them all.â
"I fucking swear, John."
"Or tear them all up."
You smack his chest but John only chuckles. Heâs having a go at you. A laugh.
"If I can't touch them, then I bloody well better be able to see them."
"You're ridiculous."
John carefully caresses a nearby path of skin near the piercing. "You got them for me," he purrs. "And I want to see them on display at all times." His hand settles on your waist, drawing you in. He leans in, lips lightly pressed to your ear. âEspecially when my head is between your legs.â
Heat rapidly warms your neck, heading for your cheeks. John notices your sudden flustered demeanor.
âThat sound good to you, love?â
You nod, and John guides you to the bed.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
"I can't touch them?" asks Kyle, sounding disappointed.
"Nope."
"Not at all?â
âEventually. But not right now.â
Kyle frowns at your chest, his gaze on the shiny metal. "Do they hurt?"
You wince slightly. "Mostly sore. The pain killers help."
Kyle nods and then glances up at your face. "How do you care for them?"
You rattle off a list of things and then hand him the paper the piercer gave you. Kyle takes it, looking it over as you go over everything, repeating it verbatim.
The small frown on his face turns into an upward smirk. "I can help with this,â he says, voice almost sultry.
"You can," you say slowly, taking the paper and placing it on the counter.
"So I can touch them. If I help.â
"Not in the way you're thinking, Kyle," you scold, knowing exactly where his mind is drifting off to.
"But I still get to touch them?"
"Only to help me,â you correct. âNot for any other reason.â
He sighs, voice a little breathy as he speaks to himself. âI can wait to suck on those gorgeous nipples.â
âKyle Garrick! I heard that!â
He snags the paper off the counter, hiding his grin.
John "Soap" MacTavish
âYouâre having a laugh.ïżœïżœ
âAm I?â
"I can't touch them?"
"Nope."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No, Johnny. Not even a little bit."
Johnny lays on his side facing you with one elbow propped under him. He rests his head in his hand. Johnnyâs gaze is locked on to your bare chest and the new metal there. The piercings are only a few days old, and theyâre fucking sore.
"They're sensitive right now," you continue, wincing slightly when you move, adjusting the way you recline on the bed.
"Aye. I see," he murmurs, leaning closer, gaze narrowing as he focuses on your new piercings. The middle of his brow creases as if he's intensely considering something.
"What is it?" you ask. "You look very serious."
Johnny's gaze doesn't leave your chest. "I'm thinking about all the ways I'm going to play with those beauties."
Heat rushes to your face. âBe fucking for real right now.â
His mouth morphs into a sly smile. Johnnyâs gaze shifts from your chest to your face. âNeed a distraction?â
âWhat are you on about?â
Johnny shifts, forcing your legs open as he slots between them. âA distraction,â he purrs. âFrom your soreness. And my thoughts.â
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon stands behind you, watching you in the bathroom mirror from over your shoulder.
"Do you need help?" he asks, gaze unmoving.
"I'm fine, Simon."
He is quiet a moment before he speaks again. "I canât touch them?"
"Not for a month. Possibly more. Healing is different for everyone."
You hear his annoyed grunt but his gaze doesn't leave you. It remains firmly planted on your newly pierced nipples.
"How sensitive are you?" he asks, taking a tiny step closer. Simonâs hand rests on your waist as you gently clean around the piercing.
"Iâm sore. Nothing terrible."
Simon's head dips, lips pressing to your neck as his arms drape around you. "I can't touch them." Itâs not a question, more like heâs speaking to himself.
"Nope,â you murmur.
Simonâs sigh has a hint of a growl in it. "Just means I'll have to give extra attention to everything else." His hands descend, and you bite back a groan as he touches you.
Simon's lips press to your ear. "I'll give you attention everywhere.â One hand comes up to trace a line near the piercing. âExcept here.â His hand drops away, returns to between your legs. âYouâll be begging for me.â
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